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headheartbellarke · 4 years ago

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Paper Rings | OWEN JOYNER

Requested by anon: “Owen request? A series of events that leads Owen to finally working up the courage to propose to his girlfriend?” PAIRING(s): Owen Joyner x fem!reader WARNING(s): some language, mentions of abuse, panic attack, anxiety, and fluff haha WORDS: 3.7k SUMMARY: Five times Owen almost asks his girlfriend to marry him, and one time he actually does.

Charlie looks around, feeling out of place amongst the big mirrors, bright lights, and the sparkling diamonds. When his best friend, Owen, told him that he wanted a ‘guys night’ (he’s still unsure as to why he wants to have one: they live together, it’s guys’ night every night – he was expecting bars, or clubs, or fancy restaurants; things they don’t get to do every night, because of work. But he definitely wasn’t expecting to be dragged into a jewellery store.

“O, buddy, what are we doing here?”

Owen shushes him, walking ahead to a counter. A woman with kind eyes greets him. “Mr. Joyner!”

He smiles, familiarity pooling in his eyes.

Charlie frowns. He didn’t expect Owen to be into jewellery – sure, he buys stuff for his sister and mother, but he always takes them with him.

He thinks of Y/N, Owen’s girlfriend of about five years – there’s a possibility that he may be buying something for her, but it’s highly unlikely. Y/N has been pretty vocal about the fact that she hates diamonds, and who’s to blame her, really? Her father used to buy her mother a diamond necklace after every time he hit her or when he came home smelling of another woman’s perfume.

Charlie exclaims, “Owen! I’m gonna die if you don’t tell me what’s going on!”

“I know, I know.” He shushes him, again, and Charlie feels like a child, even though he’s older than the blonde boy. Owen turns to the woman in front of him, Miranda, as her name tag reads, and says, “I hope it’s ready.”

She nods, excitedly. “Yes! I have it right here with me.”

She disappears beneath the counter, and Charlie expects her to return with a big box, like a magician’s apprentice. But, instead, she emerges with a small, tiny box and he wonders –

As realization dawns upon him, he feels a rush of euphoria. “Oh my god, are you –”

Owen nods, his face aglow with anticipation, hope and adoration. “I – I walked into this store a couple of weeks ago, after I decided that I wanted to marry her, I mean, I’ve known it for a while, you know? I can’t see myself being with anyone but her for the rest of my life, and I want a family with her. She’s my soulmate, dude. And I – I think it’s the right time, too. She’s got that amazing job, and my career’s going great, so, yeah. I wanna marry her.”

Charlie sniffs, feeling tears at the back of his eyes. “Bro.”

His friend grins. “Bro.”

Charlie pulls him into a hug, but Owen pushes him away, and they swat each other’s hands for a second before Owen whisper shouts, “Do you wanna see the ring or not?!”

Charlie’s eyes widen and he nods. They turn to the woman in front of them, and she points to the box placed on the counter before them. “If you’re ready.”

Owen nods, and Charlie feels amazed at the determination clouding his irises. He opens the box, and the Canadian boy gasps.

Inside sits a simple platinum ring. Except at the middle, there’s a diamond shaped like a star. It’s so beautifully built, every edge looking like they’re fit to cut steel. And the entire ring – it’s so simple, yet beautiful, and Charlie knows why he picked it.

It’s a mirror of the way Owen sees Y/N – something gorgeous, something priceless, something elegant, yet something so simple to him, and something that will always makes sense, no matter what.

Owen inhales, staring at his reflection in the full body length mirror in front of him. He’s going to do it today – he is going to ask his best friend, his soulmate and the love of his life to marry him. He has planned it all – even Charlie went out with the rest of the cast tonight to give the twenty-three-year-olds some privacy. (Charlie, Y/N, and Owen live together in Vancouver, at least while shooting the fourth season of Julie and The Phantoms, so, as one can guess, it’s really difficult to get a moment alone – but since the both of them love Charlie so fucking much, they don’t really mind.)

He straightens his tie and hears soft footsteps in the hallway outside his room. Y/N’s head pokes in, her face lit up like Christmas lights.

“Don’t you look sharp!” She says, while walking up to him and wrapping her arms around his torso. Owen smiles, catching her eyes in the reflection. “Are the bad puns ever going to stop?”

She gasps, dramatically, and exclaims, “You don’t gotta be so mean about it!”

He shakes his head, and feels love swell in his chest for the woman behind him. “I love you so much, you know that, right?”

A mischievous glint appears in her eyes. “I could use a reminder.”

Owen grins, turning backwards and cups her face in his hands, about to kiss her, when a voice stops him.

“I think I just broke the coffee machine!”

Y/N’s eyes widen, and she yells, “You did what?!”

Owen’s brows furrow. “Is that –”

She casts him an apologetic glance. “Zoe, yeah. I forgot to tell you, but Cece had to go out last minute, so I offered to watch her for the evening!”

Usually, Owen loves kids, especially Y/N’s cousins like Zoe, but right now, he feels like jumping off a cliff. She seems to sense that as she runs her hands down his arms, and says, “I’m sorry! I know you said that tonight was gonna be just us, but you love Zoe, don’t you? And it’s gonna be fun, I promise!”

It’s not. Owen had booked a table at Y/N’s favorite restaurant in Vancouver, and he would have proposed midway through the dinner, when the musicians there would start to play ‘Love Story’ by Taylor Swift, and when they got to the bridge, he would have dropped to a knee.

Ignoring the weight in his chest, he plasters a smile on his face. “Yeah. Yeah. I’m sorry, I just – it’s been a while since we’ve been alone, you know? With work and all. But I’m sure it’s gonna be great with Zoe, too!”

She nods. “Thank you. We can go out alone next week when Charlie has that photoshoot with Madi!”

He nods. “Absolutely.”

The little black box stays hidden in the pocket of the beige coat in his closet that he never wears.

As Y/N smiles at him, Owen thinks that this is it. This is the moment he’s gonna ask her to marry him.

As the light from the fire illuminates her face, he thinks about how perfect this weekend has been. After long days, and even longer nights of filming, they finally got a weekend off, and Charlie immediately booked a cabin in North Vancouver.

And there’s no one better at planning trips than Charlie.

Along with Owen, Y/N, and Charlie; Madison, Jadah, Jeremy and his wife, Carolynn, Savannah, Sacha, and Tori are here, too, everyone basking in the peace. Throughout the weekend, they’ve done anything and everything they can do in snow – from skiing, to making snow angels, and finally, as the shades of evening rolled on the last day of their trip, they are tired.

After dinner, everyone wordlessly returned to their rooms, and Owen knows that they’re all fast asleep, right now – except Y/N, who is still as bubbly as champagne.

When they returned to their room, Y/N quickly lit the fire – because no matter if it’s snowing or if it’s fifty degrees outside – she is always freezing.

It’s the opposite in Owen’s case, though – he’s always warm, and that’s why Y/N wasted no time to settle in his lap.

Owen quickly pats his pocket to check if the ring’s still there. It is, and it’s been there for the whole weekend. He’s been searching for opportunities, but they were always either with someone, or it wasn’t a good time.

“O?” She asks, her voice soft.

“Hmm?” He replies, threading his fingers through her hair.

Her eyes brighten up, putting the fire in front of them to shame. “I’ve just had an idea.”

“Later. First, I have something to ask you.” He says, his hand reaching into his pocket again.

She smiles. “I know what you’re gonna ask.”

Owen’s surprised. “You do?”

She nods excitedly. “Yeah. Charlie told me!”

He must have had a horrified look on his face because her eyes widen quickly. “Oh, he didn’t want to, believe me! But, now that I know, tell me, when are you gonna do it?”

Owen stammers, suddenly feeling breathless in this room. The anxiety starts to pool in his stomach, along with an anger, directed towards Charlie. “I – I – I can’t believe he told you this…”

She shrugs. “You know that he can’t hide anything from me. He’s like the brother I never asked for. Anyway, so he was showing me some of the designs, and I love you, but I don’t think you can handle a tooth piercing.”

Owen’s brows furrow. “What?”

“Like, totally no offence, but you passed out when the dentist came to do a routine check up on your teeth. I don’t wanna imagine what would happen if you got them pierced.”

“What are talking about?!”

“Charlie and your matching piercings, dummy! What else would I be talking about?” She looks at him as if he’s grown a third head.

Owen’s lips part. “We are not getting matching piercings – I wasn’t gonna ask you that!”

“Oh!” Her eyes widen. “What were you gonna ask, then?”

He gulps, thinking to himself – this is it. This is it. This is it.

“Do you wanna go home for New Year’s?”

He mentally curses when that question comes out of his mouth, and even with Y/N’s bright smile, he starts to feel queasy inside, knowing that he still isn’t confident enough to actually ask her.

Owen wipes his sweaty palms on his jeans and stands up. “Y/N, I have to tell you something.”

She nods, her eyes sweeping across the mostly empty LA beach. He brought her here today to finally ask her to marry him – his past attempts have been nothing short of disastrous.

As he opens his mouth, he feels a pang in his heart, and his mind starts to race. All kinds of thoughts race through his mind, like – what if she says no? what if she hates him for ruining what they have? What if Champagne Problems by Taylor Swift becomes his most relatable song? What if she –

Y/N stands up, and her hand finds that of Owen’s, a reassurance, and he knows that she can sense his anxiety. She doesn’t ask him to talk about it – she knows that he will, eventually, when he’s ready. For now, she shows him that she’s here for him, and somehow that is enough.

As she brushes his hair, his mind starts to calm down, his erratic breathing slowing down and involuntarily matching the pace of her breathing. She whispers, softly, “You’re okay. You’re safe. Everything is okay. You’re okay. I love you. I love you –”

She keeps repeating that, until it’s like a mantra in Owen’s head, turning the racing thoughts to mere background noise.

He opens his eyes, and looks into hers, and finally feels calm. He exhales. “That… uh....”

She nods, comfort flooding through her eyes. “I know, baby. But it’s okay. You’re safe now.”

He shakes his head, taking his hand in hers. “I – I – I think that maybe you and I should, uh, get – um, matching tattoos. Yeah. That’s what I wanted to ask you.” He lies.

She nods enthusiastically. “Yes! Of course. You don’t even have to ask – we’ve always talked about it, and I think that now is the perfect time! Do you wanna –”

As Y/N talks about designs, he thinks that he’s a fucking coward.

As Owen laughs, he feels confident, for once. He knows that tonight he’ll be able to ask her to marry him, especially in front of all his family – he loves his family, and so does Y/N and vice versa. He remembers the first time he brought her home three months after they’d started dating. He remembers feeling absolutely euphoric about the fact that she fit right in with his family. That was also the day that she had told him, for the first time, that she loves him.

He looks around the table, and watches Y/N talk animatedly to his mother. His parents think of her as their own daughter, especially after finding out about her rocky relationship with her father. Y/N’s mother sits next to Owen, and he loves how carefree she looks – her ex-husband, really, was an asshole.

He takes the little box out of his pocket, and his cousin, Elias, gasps. “Is that an engagement ring?” He whispers, his face scrunching as if the sentence left a bad taste in his mouth.

Owen nods. “Yes. Elias, I would appreciate it if you kept it down.”

His cousin raises his hands. “Always, homie.”

He rolls his eyes. “Right.”

Elias looks around. “Hey, do you think that it’s a good idea to propose now?”

“What do you mean?” Owen’s brows furrow.

“I mean people do it in private for a reason. What if she says no and then you get embarrassed in front of your entire family and hers? It’s sympathetic looks for the rest of your life, bro. And your parents wouldn’t be able to talk to her, nor to her mom, ‘cause it’d be, ya know, friggin’ embarrassing. Everyone’s probably gonna hate you.”

Owen’s eyes widen, and he toys with the truth in his cousin’s words. Elias shrugs, and takes a sip of his water. “But it’s up to you, dude.”

Slowly, Owen slides the ring back into his pocket.

Owen looks around, checking if any distractions could be in this room. None. How could it, though? He’s standing in an empty classroom, in the middle of winter break. Nobody in their right minds would be here.

Well, that would mean that Owen’s not in his right mind. To be really, really, really honest – he is kind of losing it. He has been trying to propose to Y/N for the past month, but every time – every god damn time, something comes up and ruins everything.

So, he decided to break into his middle school. Well, ‘break into’ isn’t the right phrase – he asked the guard to give him the keys for the night, and even thanked him with a hundred dollar note. Unlike his girlfriend, he’s incapable of breaking rules.

The guard thought that it was very romantic of him, but really, he’s just tired and wants to get married already. He taps his foot anxiously, and finally hears the door opening, signalling Y/N’s arrival.

God, she looks absolutely adorable. Her nose is crimson from the cold, and she is bundled under what seems to be ten layers of clothing. She huffs, grinning when she notices him.

“Are we here to make out? Because your house was much more comfortable and so, so warm.”

Owen shakes his head. “Nope.”

“Well, are you gonna murder me, O? Because, well, it’s certainly the perfect location.”

“I have to tell you something.” He says, taking a step toward her. He looks around and sees that there is nothing that could possibly ruin this moment, and smiles brightly, preparing himself. Y/N’s eyes gleam with anticipation, as she nods for him to continue.

“Y/N, I still remember the day that I met you. I remember the way you smiled at me even though I had spilled black coffee all over you and ruined your very pretty, white dress.”

She laughs. “I was really mad at first, yeah. But the cutest boy in all of Oklahoma was in front of me, and well, you know that I was a goner.”

He smiles fondly. “And the beautifulest girl in the world was in front of me.”

“That’s not a word.”

“I know. And then you laughed at my dumb jokes, and even agreed to go on a date with me.”

“To compensate for that absolutely gorgeous dress.” She clarifies, a teasing smile on her face.

He grins sheepishly. “And then somehow, somewhere we fell in love, and somehow, you became my other half, and somehow, I can’t imagine a world without you. I don’t want to. You are my best friend, and you are the one person around whom I can be completely myself and face no judgements.”

“No, I do judge you. You’re a little questionable.”

“And what would I do without your wicked sense of humour?”

“Honestly? You’d be lost without me. I mean, you forget to even put your socks in the washing machine.”

“You’re not supposed to wash them. They go on your feet. Obviously.”

“That is disgusting, and you know it.”

He laughs. “I wanna be with you for the rest of my life, and I… I… I want a family with you, you know? I know that we’ve never talked about this, and I don’t know how you would feel about one, but still, if you’re up for it, I’m too. But, if you don’t, that’s okay, too. More than okay.”

For a moment, an unrecognizable expression crosses her face, and he wonders if he’s hurt her. But then the biggest smile blooms on her face.

“We should have talked about this. But I would like a family with you, too. I mean, I’ve never really wanted one, and you know why. But, after seeing you and your family, I realized that a part of me does want it. I do want to have the home that I never got to have with you and I wanna do better. I know that you’ll be an amazing dad, and I wanna raise my kid the way that kids should be raised. And I want it with no one else but you.”

Owen feels as if he’s on cloud nine, and he stares at her for a moment, wondering how lucky he is to find a girl like her. He says, “Y/N, I –”

Before he can ask her the question, though, her ringtone cuts through the silence of the empty classroom. She whispers an apology and takes her phone out from her jeans pocket.

She accepts the call and speaks into the phone. “Hey, Luka, what’s up? Whoa, whoa, whoa. Slow down. Luka, slow down.”

She exchanges a panicked look with Owen.

Speaking of Owen, he’s losing it. Absolutely. He was so close. And for the first time, he had both confidence and hope. And something had to happen. He starts to feel annoyed at Luka, his sister, and then immediately feels bad about it, but then starts to feel annoyed again.

“Oh no, you did what? Do you need me to come?”

At Y/N’s last sentence, Owen bursts out. “Oh, for fuck’s sake!”

Y/N raises her brows at him. He feels anger replacing all his emotions, anger towards the world, it’s timings, and mostly, towards himself.

Sensing his rage, Y/N gives him a weird look. “What is wrong with you?” She whispers.

“Everything. Everything is wrong!” He whispers back.

He starts to feel breathless, and the familiar sensation of a panic attack starts to overcome him. He looks around, trying to focus on something, anything, when he spots the door.

He looks at his girlfriend, and says, “I love you, but I’m gonna lose it.” With that, he walks by her, and out the doors, while she yells after him.

+1.

It’s been twenty minutes since he last talked to Y/N, and he has lost all hope. He’s now sitting on a park bench a couple of minutes away from the school, and he is listing all the reasons why his life is absolutely shit.

“Hey, you okay?”

Owen looks up, and notices Y/N walking up to the bench, with a concerned look in her eyes.

“I – I just… I’ve been trying to ask you something, Y/N, for the past month. And every time I try to do it, I’m either interrupted, or I’m not confident enough. And, today, there were no distractions, and I was finally feeling confident and hopeful and then my sister decides to ruin it – is she okay, by the way?”

She nods and sits down beside him. “Yeah, she misplaced her dress for tonight.”

He grits his teeth in annoyance. He loves her, but his sister has the worst timing.

Y/N rests a hand on his, an odd look taking over her features. “You should know by now that the answer will always, and obviously be a yes.”

Owen sharply turns towards her. “What?”

A brilliant smile makes its way onto her face. “You are gonna propose, aren’t you?”

A gasp involuntarily escapes him. “How’d you know?”

“Well, you just said some pretty nice things about me. Also, I can see the outline of the ring box, and you keep checking your pocket for it every two minutes, even if you don’t realize it. You’re literally doing it right now.”

In his defence, he wasn’t, or rather, isn’t consciously doing it. He slowly retracts his hand from his pocket and gives her a sheepish smile.

She stands up. “Really, O, are you gonna do it or not –”

“Yep, yep, yep.” He clears his throat and stands in front of her and drops to a knee. He takes the ring out, and flips open the box, and as the diamond’s reflected light dances across her face, Y/N gasps.

“Oh my god, that’s gorgeous!”

He grins. “I have great taste.”

She smiles teasingly. “I know, baby.”

“Will you ma–”

“Yes! Yes, yes, yes!”

“You didn’t even let me finish!”

“Someone would’ve probably interrupted you and I couldn’t take the chance of you losing your shit again.”

“You do have a point.”

“I always do.”

He slides the ring onto her finger, and she kneels in front of him to match their heights. She wraps her arms around his neck, and he wraps his around her waist, both desperate to be closer, closer, closer.

“I love you so much.” He whispers into her hair, and she kisses his shoulder.

“I love you. Forever.”

She untangles herself from him, and as she kisses him, Owen realizes that he had no reason to be worried at all.

[MASTERLIST]

reblogs are always appreciated!! <3

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kikis-writing-world · 4 years ago

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Bug in the System

Summary: Reader has a complicated relationship with Nathan, living and working with him. They’ve always been nervous to bring up prescription medication, so shit hits the fan when they runs out and their mood plummets.

Pairing: Nathan Bateman x GN!Reader that struggles with mental health.

Word Count: 2k

Rating/Warnings: Mental health - depression and anxiety are expressly mentioned and reader is in a bad low. Talk of medication and ramifications of not taking them. Mention of doctors. Brief mention of sex. Worries of the stigma around mental health. Lots of swearing because it’s Nathan. Unedited/Betaed. it’s almost fluff in Nathan’s asshole way, there’s a happy ending.

A/N: I blame @foxilayde that I’m suddenly writing for Nathan... I hated him when I watched the movie and now here we are. Idk, this idea hit me last night while trying to fall asleep and I couldn’t get it out of my head. I had to write it.

You weren’t sure how to define the relationship you and Nathan had. He wasn’t your boyfriend - not only did that feel so juvenile, but also… he just wasn’t. There had never been a declaration of love between the two of you, no commitment to monogamy or even non-monogamy. The two of you lived together, worked together, slept together- it could almost be called a friends with benefits relationship, only… softer. You ate dinners together, danced around the house together, and cuddled together when watching movies. You also spent days, sometimes weeks at a time where you hardly spoke to each other when engrossed in a project. Did this form out of attraction, or emotion, or was it an inevitability when two adults - whose sexualities, attractions and availabilities lined up accordingly - lived together in isolation for an extended period of time?

In summary: there was no easy way to define what was between the two of you, and you were happy there were no other humans around to ask. You didn’t feel the need to defend what you shared, but you had no desire to try to label it either.

Despite the friendly and casual nature of whatever the relationship was, there were still things that you had yet to admit to Nathan. The dwindling supply of medications tucked safely in a make-up bag inside the drawer of your bedside table felt like a ticking time bomb. You only had so many doses remaining and it wasn’t like you could walk down to the local pharmacy for a refill. Any supplies coming to the fortress of a home had to be called in, ordered, and helicoptered to you. There was no way to do it without Nathan finding out along the way.

You watched the pills slowly empty from their plastic bottles like a reverse hourglass. Despite the effects they had on your malfunctioning brain chemistry, they never quite tampered down the anxiety you had about opening up about your mental illness, let alone to someone like Nathan.

Nathan worked hard and played harder. He strove to be the best him he could be at all times. He accepted nothing less than perfection and no matter what the relationship between you two could be defined as -coworkers, employer/employee, friends, friends with benefits, lovers - you didn’t want to disappoint him.

You avoided and avoided until inevitably, the last pill came out of the last bottle. It only got worse from there. Without the anxieties in check and the chemicals being balanced, the insecurity flared even worse. Your inner voice told you that you deserved the unhappiness flowing through you, that you should just stay in bed and give up since Nathan would kick you out of the house soon enough: he’d either get tired of your low mood, your falling productivity, or he’d discover your secret and be done with you.

He noticed. Of course he did. You stopped dancing, stopped cuddling, stopped fucking. Then you stopped eating, stopped talking, stopped leaving your room. You felt like you couldn’t get out of bed at all. You spent your time sleeping or curled up under your blankets in the dark room wishing you could sleep more. That or just disappear.

That was where Nathan found you, a month and a half after you’d run out of your meds.

“What the fuck is going on with you?” He barged into your room one morning… afternoon… you had no idea what time it was.

Nathan turned the light on and you could hear him pacing. “Are you sick? Do I need to call in a doctor? Are you even alive under there?! Hello?!”

You sighed, forcing yourself to sit up and prove you were alive, awake, and hearing him. The blankets dropped to your waist, revealing what you were sure was an absolute mess of a human. You knew what you looked like the last time you’d been brave enough to look in the mirror and you were sure it was even worse now.

Nathan cursed and you swear he nearly recoiled at the sight of you. “Are you in here dying on me or something?” He questioned.

You weren’t sure how to answer, what you could possibly say to him.

“Hello?!” He snapped his fingers in front of your face. “Is anybody in there?!”

You blinked as he crowded you, hysterics growing as you seemingly ignored him. You could tell he was close to grabbing you and shaking you, and you didn’t know if your body could handle that. As it was, your muscles had protested sitting up. Instead, you leaned over and opened your drawer, taking out the zippered make-up bag.

You tossed the pouch at him, hearing all the plastic bottles click together as it landed at his feet. He bent down to pick it up, opening it carefully like he thought some sort of creature might jump out at him. His brows furrowed when he saw the bottles inside and dumped them out onto the mattress.

“Are these all empty? Fuck did you take these?” He questioned, panic rising in his voice. “Are you trying to OD on me or something? Shit.” He pulled his phone out of his pocket, about to call for help.

“No.” You croaked. “Well, yeah. I took them… but… they’re my meds.” You gave in. “I’ve been taking them since I got here. I[was taking until they ran out.”

Nathan looked down at the bottles, picking one up as he read the label. “What are they for?”

“Depression mostly. Anxiety.” You shrugged, listing the simple ones.

Nathan was quiet as he read the bottles. You had no idea if he knew what any of them meant. It’s not like the labels read “Take one daily to stop the crazies!” The names, the dosages, the frequencies meant nothing to someone with no experience… but then again, Nathan wasn’t just anyone.

“How long?” He sighed, turning to sit on the edge of the bed.

You would have deflated if you didn’t already feel as low as you could go. Having assumed the worst, you weren’t surprised he couldn’t look at you.

“I was diagnosed in junior year-”

“No, I mean how long have you been without your meds?” He interrupted you, turning to stare you down.

“A month.” You shrugged. “Almost two.”

“For fucks sakes.” He grumbled, turning to his phone again and typing away.

“I’ll pack my shit. Just, give me a few days and I’ll go.” You mumbled, laying down on your side and facing away from him. You didn’t want to watch him posting for a new assistant or scheduling the pick-up or whatever he was doing. You’d wallow for a bit, probably take a nap, and then you’d pack anything here that was important. Fuck the rest. You didn’t have the energy. You didn’t care.

“The fuck are you talking about?” He asked distractedly, like he hadn’t heard you as his cogs of his brain jumped to life. He did that a lot when he was preoccupied. He would hear your voice, realize you’re talking, but not absorb the words. Sometimes he needed to ask 3 or 4 times until you gave up and texted him instead.

“I’m bringing in a doctor. You need to get checked out before you start back up on anything. You’re not supposed to go off of these without supervision. Says so right here. Black and white.” He chastised you.

You frowned, looking over your shoulder in confusion. You saw him still typing away on his phone, holding one of the empty, orange-tinted bottles in his hand. He set it down, picking up another. He took a picture, looking over the label quickly for himself before setting it back down.

“What are you doing?”

“Sending him the labels so he knows what he’s walking into. Why the fuck would you just stop taking your meds?” He sniped. “Why didn’t you get more? I fucking ask you if you need shit and you just conveniently forget your pills?”

You picked at a thread of the blanket, not wanting to watch him as he grew angrier with you. As soon as you were in good health and his conscience was clear, he’d be rid of you. You were sure of it. It was more than you’d expected to be honest.

You heard the quiet noise from his phone, indicating the email had been sent. That meant his attention wasn’t divided as he rounded back on you.

“Why won’t you answer me? It’s like fucking talking to a wall or something. If I wanted one-sided conversations, I never would have brought you up here. Why didn’t you get more?!”

You took a shuddering breath before answering. “I didn’t want you to know.”

“Know what? That you take medication?” He scoffed in disbelief.

The room was quiet as you didn’t answer, but you could practically hear his brain processing, whirring like a computer with a squeaky exhaust fan.

“Hey, look at me.” He ordered, his voice dropping in volume to a kinder tone, but it was still not a request. It was a demand. You sat up again, looking at him stare at you with dark, angry eyes.

“When a program isn’t working, do you throw away the whole CPU or do you debug it and fucking find the fix?” He asked. You didn’t answer, assuming it was rhetorical.

“Your software is fucked, and these,” he picked up one of the bottles to hold up between you two. “These are the fix. Why the fuck would you be embarassed about shit like that?”

You shrugged your shoulders, dropping your gaze again. “You’re…” you struggled to find the words, but Nathan jumped on your train of thought frighteningly quick.

“Me?! So it’s my fault? I eat brown rice and salad and work out every day so I’m some health nut hippy who wouldn’t understand, is that it?”

He was putting words into your mouth, but he was essentially getting the point. You were scared he would reject you, mock you, think less of you.

He crawled towards you on the bed, cupping your chin a little too tight as he lifted your face. He was clearly done having you look away from him. “I’m a fucking reclusive genius who lives in the middle of ass fuck nature and only lets people come and go with a goddamn keycard! Do you not think I’m self-aware enough to realize that? A fucking prodigy, multi-millionaire by 15, CEO of the most successful technology company in history. The President calls me and I hit ignore. Do you really think I’m not self-aware enough to know we all have our own brand of fucked up?” He laughed.

“If you need these to get through it, to be my little genius-” He released your jaw to cup your face in both hands, giving it a shake. “To keep up with my shit, to live here without losing your mind at the isolation, to be my dance partner and dinner partner and movie date - then fucking take them. Would I be having to tell you this if it was for your blood pressure or a heart condition or something?!”

His phone buzzed and he released his hold on you, leaning back to read the message that had just come through.

“Doc’s gonna be here tomorrow morning. Gotta keep you hydrated until then and you should try to eat.” He summed up the message as his eyes skimmed the screen. He tucked his phone back into his pocket before slapping your blanket-covered thigh. “What are we eating tonight? Your choice.”

“I’m not hungry.” You mumbled.

“Not an option!” He declined as he stood off the bed. “What are we eating?”

You sighed, letting your head fall back as you thought. “Grilled cheese?”

“And tomato soup? Coming right up.” He leaned over to you, cupping the back of your head as he pulled you close enough to kiss the top of your head. “Rest. I’ll bring it in when it’s ready.”

Tagging: @wickedfrsgrl @din-damn-djarin @dinthisisthe-wayson @seasonschange-butpeopledont @kesskirata

#Nathan Bateman x Reader #Nathan Bateman x GN!Reader #Nathan Bateman x You #Nathan Bateman imagine #Nathan Bateman drabble #Oscar Isaac Character Fanfiction #Wookietales #Nathan Bateman

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cherrynojutsu · 4 years ago

Text

Title: Like Gold

Summary: Sasuke grapples with love and intimacy regarding his developing relationship with Sakura after returning to the village from his journey of redemption. Kind of a character study on Sasuke handling an intimate relationship after dealing with PTSD and survivor’s guilt in solitude for so long. Blank period, canon-compliant, Sasuke-centric, lots of fluff and pining, slowly becomes a smut fest with feelings.

Disclaimer: I did not write Naruto. This is a fan-made piece solely created for entertainment purposes.

Rating: M (eventual nsfw-ness)

AO3 Link - FF.net Link - includes beginning/ending author's notes

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Chapter 6/?: Roots

It's pouring rain by the time Sasuke awakens, a tempestuous sort of hush awash a village swathed in grey. He's gotten a very good night's sleep, only waking once around five to groggily hearken as the pitter patter of droplets began against the asphalt and metal of the roof. He'd watched the beads of liquid slowly connect to others, forming small rivulets pulled downwards by gravity on the glass of his bedroom window, before he made the decision to try to fall back asleep. To his bewilderment, it had actually worked; a rare occurrence, as it usually doesn't. No dreams, no nightmares, just blissful emptiness, like he was allowed for once to drink in the moisture of rest like a tonic, exuding into his being much like the precipitation trickling into the soil outside.

It's nine thirty when he rolls out of bed, reluctant to leave the warm requiescence of his comforter, but also wanting to give himself plenty of time to get ready. He'd like to shower before he heads over to Sakura’s, and he also wants to eat something light for breakfast first. He decides on ochazuke, because it’s relatively easy to prepare and he thinks he would like more tea; two birds with one stone. There are sesame seeds in his cupboard that he could sprinkle over the dish, at the end. He sets a portion of brown rice to boil before brewing a cup of the caffeinated green sencha to eventually seep over it.

It smells really good as it permeates into the hot water, earthiness propelling upwards and sinking into his nostrils. He'll have to thank her again today, now that he knows what her gift actually contained.

While he lets things stew, Sasuke considers the kitchen table, where he left the remainder of the gifts yesterday. Now is as good a time as any to find a place for each of them, he supposes. He makes quick work of washing the paring board before setting it aside to dry. The cough drops find a home in his bathroom's mostly empty storage behind the mirror; he takes the two lozenges left from the hospital and puts them there, too, to use before he opens any of the new packages.

He decides that the photo should go on the bedside table, next to the clock. He can always move it, if he changes his mind. It catches his eye for longer than is strictly necessary.

Eventually he returns to the kitchen, removing the strainer from the tea and stirring the pot of rice twice as he waits for it to finish cooking. The barrage has lessened since daybreak, not overly loud, but enough to create an ambient sort of background noise that is a nice change of pace; less of a storm and more of a quenched thirst for the earth, emptying from rooftops down the gutters and into the ground. Sakura’s building is older, too; it probably will sound much the same at her apartment.

He savors the ochazuke once it’s finished, a simple but enjoyable way to start the day, caffeine threading its way into his system gradually. Washing the dishes is his next task, followed by an extremely lengthy shower, temperature near thermogenic. The bruises from his two spars with Naruto are still sore, but not terrible; the heat feels good on the marred skin. Water drifts across more bruising that has bled into existence overnight on his shins, before it sinks between his toes and vanishes down the drain. He’s not sure why he watches it; it just seems compelling today for some reason, everything pulling downward.

When he’s dry, he throws on a comfortable pair of black pants and a matching long-sleeved shirt. He doesn’t want to read more of his book since he has a little less than half left of the one on kenjutsu, so he decides to complete some meal prep instead, testing out the paring board by chopping and slicing various produce; mushrooms, bell peppers, broccoli, carrots, tomatoes, green onions, and burdock roots are slowly removed from his fridge, cleaved into neat pieces, and then returned to their respective assortment of bags and containers. The small bits of metal attached to the board allow for cutting goods with ease, a bit ingenious. It works extremely well, much more efficient than the hassle of summoning a clone to simply stand there holding each item still. It’s not that he doesn’t have the chakra to spare, but it feels more dignified this way.

After enough time has passed, Sasuke pulls on a pair of grey socks, sandals, and his cloak before he leaves, library book concealed and protected by the black garment.

It’s marginally chilly outside, but not terribly cold like it would have been earlier in the morning. Petrichor overwhelms him, an aroma he is well acquainted with. He is reminded of the scent of the foliage the handful of times he passed through the Land of Rain, and also of drizzly days spent as a child here in Konoha. Every bit of vegetation he glimpses on the way to Sakura’s apartment complex is drinking up the liquid greedily, drop after drop of nourishment with which they will sustain themselves and use to grow.

The puddles are starting to join in their crevices, small streams of gentle cascades forming. It captures his attention like the shower drain did earlier, and it feels nostalgic for some reason, like there is some forgotten secret that the land beneath is whispering through the medium of interconnected pools, rippling outward until they touch more solid soil.

His hair is a bit damp when he arrives at her building just prior to eleven. Illumination flows from beneath doorways of variegated colors; everyone else is inside today, too. The tonality is similar to the harmony overheard at his own apartment, as he expected; he finds it comforting.

He knows he’s a little early, so Sasuke takes his time going up the stairs. Once he reaches the sage green of her threshold, he raps twice and waits, studying Sakura’s plants in their terracotta pots. There are a few amongst them that he doesn’t recognize, which is curious, given that he’s wandered so many places and has grown familiar with a vast diversity of flora. There is lucky bamboo pushed towards the back of the array, in the area that gets the least amount of light. A spider plant is to its left, and a golden pothos, along with a snake plant, are sandwiched to its right, towards the corner. A lilac moth orchid blooms near her door, a paler variety than he has seen anywhere else. Coral kalanchoe spill out the side of a taller planter, next to pink and pistachio mums, faded yellow butterfly ranunculus, and a small vessel filled with white daffodils, sunny insides flourishing outwards. There are succulents, too, tricolor lavender scallops sprinkled throughout several of the ceramic containers, along with a strain he doesn’t recognize.

Yarrow and jewelweed emerge from smaller pots on the edge of the spread, which makes him wonder if the few plants he’s unfamiliar with are being grown for useful purposes rather than decorative. Perhaps she keeps them for her work crafting antidotes; he knows that the roots of plants can often carry medicinal benefits. One of them is quite odd looking, now that he is peering down at it closely; dark plum-colored stems spread upwards with circular leaf-like shapes at the crown, trains of spiky white flowers budding from them. Another one he can’t identify has a tiny whitish yellow flower, dwarfed by the huge wrinkled leaves that surround it.

They appear as if they have been tended already, the loam damp as it is outside with no opportunity for warmth to dry them as of yet, though this verdure is more tame, less wild. She must water them in the morning. All of them are so different, yet they are all alike, too, stringy germinations and rhizomes expanding to suffuse through their similar planters.

Her door clicks open, and he shifts. Sakura smiles up at him, sunshine on a rainy day accented by a dimple, wearing an extremely comfortable-looking outfit: an oversized cream crewneck that slips off one of her shoulders a little, and a juniper pair of jogging pants that he thinks would be too long for her if not for the gathering at the ankles.

"Good morning, Sasuke-kun," she greets, eyes he loves radiant on his. "It's almost ready; come in."

He responds, “Morning,” and follows her inside, placing his library book on the console table momentarily, where her lamp is already switched on. As he shrugs off his cloak and toes off his sandals, she drifts back to the kitchen, something likely needing her attention there. He notices as she goes that there is an extremely fuzzy pair of beige socks on her feet.

As he hangs his cloak, he realizes that her apartment smells like roasted tomatoes and toasting bread, overpowering any vague notes of her tea cabinet in a way that makes his mouth water.

Sasuke reaches for his book from the console table and goes further into her living space, where the rest of her lamps are also turned on already; no hard lighting. He assumes they'll read on her couch, so he sets the text on the end table, closest to the side where he’d sat the previous night. There are two blankets thrown over the sofa now that weren't there yesterday, one appearing plush that is a color somewhere between mauve and lavender, and the other one a knit heather grey. It’s probable that they came from her bedroom; perhaps the walls are some variant of violet, a color he would not have expected.

As he turns, intending to join Sakura in the kitchen, his eye catches on a familiar photo, and he stops. Perched on one of the few empty areas of one of her bookshelves is their original Team Seven portrait, in a pale wood frame, near white. It's different in finish from the other frames adorning her walls near the kitchen, much lighter in color.

He is struck by it for multiple reasons; it wasn’t there yesterday, meaning it probably has also come from her bedroom, and it is very close in finish to the wood of the uchiwa fan he gave her as a birthday gift. He hasn’t seen it; Sasuke knows most women keep ornamental fans like that in storage for safekeeping. He vaguely recalls his own mother used to keep hers, though less ornate and made of paper rather than silk, in boxes, stored securely for future use at festivals and such in her closet. She’d shown them to him, once, and he’d seen her carrying them on special occasions, from time to time.

Sasuke studies the picture and the wood grain for a long moment, gaze softening. He wonders if she moved it out here to make him feel more at home.

He breaks his contemplation by making his way to her kitchen finally, where Sakura is flipping a grilled cheese sandwich over in a pan, one of two. A slow cooker lies atop the counter, lid condensed with moisture, with plates, bowls, and spoons laid out next to it.

It smells really good.

Green eyes fall on him, bright and filled with exuberance. "These are on their last minute, I think, so if you wanted to, you could dish up the soup while I finish them. There’s a ladle in there.” She gestures towards the drawer beneath the counter where the slow cooker rests. “It's tomato miso; I hope you like it. It should be done by now.”

His stomach suddenly feels tied in knots in the best sort of way. A gilding of warmth spreads throughout his entire being, veins and arteries and capillaries slowly immersed in something numinous.

“...I’m sure I’ll like it,” he murmurs, reveling in the blush that inks its way onto her cheeks, all the way back on her cheekbones to surround the freckle he’d touched yesterday. She looks away shyly, grinning like he has given her some grand compliment. The corners of his own mouth twist upwards.

Sasuke pulls the ladle from the aforementioned drawer, where it sits amongst other utensils, setting it in one of the bowls already placed on the counter. When he removes the lid, his olfactory senses instantly flood with a wave of savory miso; by the aroma, she must have used red, middle range, a perfect foil for the acidity of tomatoes. When he grabs the ladle again, he stirs it a few times; quartered shiitake mushrooms, kombu, scallions, and tomato chunks - he thinks they are of the plum variety - circle the pot, filling it near to the brim just below the surface. Sakura has made a considerable amount of it, much more than is needed for a single meal for two.

He shifts the plates closer to the slow cooker, bowls set atop them, before ladling soup in, careful not to spill and making sure to get an even mixture of produce with which to fill the broth in each. He rinses the ladle clean, and she mentions that there are small plates in the cupboard to his upper left, to rest the ladle on; he grabs one as she moves to open a different cupboard behind him.

Sasuke returns the lid to its place to trap in the slow cooker’s heat, rotating the dial from hot, past low and into the warming setting. When he turns back to Sakura, she’s shutting the stove off and moving the pan to a cool burner. Both of the sandwiches are resting on a cutting board, sliced diagonally.

The sandwiches smell really good, too. She veers the halves onto the empty space of the plates using the knife, before leaving it, along with the paring board, in the sink.

They each grab a plate and spoon before heading to her dining table, in front of the northern window. The dangling market lamp is already turned on, and fat droplets are slipping down the glass.

It’s a calming lunch they share, a steady lulling of inclement background noise alternating between bites of sandwich and spoonfuls of soup as they watch the street below. The avocado is good in grilled cheese; it’s something he would have never thought to add. Sakura dips hers into her soup, so he tries it, too, and finds he likes it even better that way. The soup on its own is something else, though; filling and savory, near perfectly spiced. She’s a good cook.

“It’s good. Thank you,” he compliments halfway through as she chews and swallows a bite.

She beams at him. “You’re welcome.” She studies him before adding, “There’s enough for leftovers, if you’d like any more.”

He nods and takes another mouthful, looking out the glass thoughtfully. The residential buildings across the way are also lit up, soft light blurred through the fractals of raindrops.

“Do you think Naruto’s doing his homework on a day like today?” Sakura asks eventually.

“Tch.” He turns his gaze to her. “I doubt he’s even awake yet.”

Her grin is mischievous. “You’re probably right. It's his weekend. No Hinata around to wake him up? Definitely still asleep.” She sighs exaggeratedly. “Kakashi-sensei will be so disappointed. Though it’s better than copying someone else’s, I guess.”

“...Did he used to copy yours?” He’s more amused by that prospect than he should be, though he’s pretty sure he knows the answer.

Sakura furrows fine pink brows as if she knows that he knows the answer, too, but she’s still smiling. “He used to ask if he could. I was too good of a student to let him.”

“...Figures.” A ghost of a smile overtakes him, a cleansing sort of sentimental fondness for bygone days during which their third squad member was at his most annoying.

“I think Shikamaru used to let him. It was too much effort to say no that many times.”

Sasuke exhales through his nose, a rendition of a laugh as she takes another bite of her sandwich, dipping it first in the soup and looking amused. Nara would.

He also takes another bite, and mulls over his next words.

Swallowing beforehand, he inquires, “...What’s in Suna?”

Sakura blinks in surprise, analytical eyes quickly working out that he’s referring to her comment yesterday at Ichiraku’s. She turns to the window, smirking and chewing her food as if considering something of great importance. The dimple sinks in and out as her mouth moves; he averts his eyes back to his plate before he gets caught staring.

When she swallows, she’s quiet for a long moment, then says ambiguously, “I’m not sure I should say anything. Insider knowledge.”

Interesting. Sasuke is sure she has the same friendly camaraderie with Nara that she has with everyone else, but he assumes the insider knowledge must have actually come from Ino; she is the type to know everyone’s business, given how much she apparently shares her own with Sakura, and she is Shikamaru’s teammate, though they're both Jonin now.

“...No hints?” He presses, pinning her with a stare. Now he’s more curious; it must be something good, if it’s a secret of this magnitude.

She bites her lip, still grinning, then bites into her sandwich, watching precipitation race down the glass.

“One,” she finally acquiesces, as if it’s a monumental conspiracy. He raises an eyebrow in anticipation.

“It’s in Suna sometimes. Other times, not.”

He narrows his eyes and suppresses an urge to twitch, because that could really be anything, given their line of work, but based on her bemused expression, he’s not going to get more than that. He settles for studying her until she looks elsewhere, a shy giggle escaping her throat as if this is very funny.

“Sorry. Not mine to tell.” She raises another spoonful of soup to her lips.

“...But Kakashi knows?”

She swallows. “Oh, yes. He might have known before anyone else caught on.”

“Naruto?”

Sakura appears to be deliberating. “...Mmm, he’s more observant than when we were kids, so he might. I kind of doubt it though. They’re pretty good friends now, but…”

Sasuke hadn’t known that. He waits for her to finish her thought, staring at her pointedly. Her gaze flicks back up to his after a second.

She shrugs, then. “He’s a good strategist. I kind of think he’ll hold a higher-up position, once Naruto becomes Hokage, if Kakashi-sensei doesn’t promote him before that. He’d be an asset as an adviser.”

Shikamaru became the chief coordinator of the Shinobi Union, after the war. That type of advancement would make a lot of sense. He would be well-suited to assist the Hokage even now, moreso in a few years. It speaks to Naruto’s increase in awareness, Sasuke thinks, that he would be planning ahead to compensate for areas he is less strong in by appointing sensible counsel. A clan head is an astute choice, especially one who has put in efforts to make peace.

It’s odd, to think of the roles everyone in their generation has come or will come to fill, the more he considers it. Distinctively different plants with roots distending into analogous vessels, like the terracotta ones on Sakura’s doorstep.

“Nara’s a good choice for that,” Sasuke finally says, realizing he should respond.

Sakura inclines her head before lifting her bowl to her mouth to drink the last of her broth. She’s finished her sandwich now. He’s about finished with his, too.

This is nice, he thinks as she smiles at him before glancing outside again. “It’s really coming down now, huh?”

It’s the type of question that doesn’t really need an answer, but he nods anyway, because it is. Meager ponds are collecting in the street, rills tracing pathways over the awnings of the building across the thoroughfare. Pitter patters on the roof have grown in intensity to rival those of the early morning. It reminds him almost of the summer monsoons Konoha tends to get, though this clearly isn't one, still being in the throes of spring. Moisture is good for roots, he supposes.

He sips the last of the broth from his bowl, and she looks back to him. “Would you like another bowl? Or maybe some tea? I can brew some while I do the dishes.”

Sasuke considers the offer. It was a pretty filling meal, the soup piquant and packed with produce as it was. “...Tea would be good. I can help.”

Sakura seems like she’s going to protest, so he adds, “Thank you for the sencha… and the rest. I didn’t have loose leaf yet; I like it.”

She flushes, smiling at him softly. “You’re welcome.”

A silence filled by drizzle passes in which they regard each other, and then she’s standing to collect her plates, so he follows her example and grabs his own before trailing behind her to the kitchen.

It’s early enough still that they can have caffeinated tea, so she cycles through the loose leaf options she has as the sink fills with suds; matcha, chai, ginger peach, white monkey, and rose bouquet white. “The white monkey isn’t as sweet as it usually is; I think I got a unique batch. It’s more woody and peppery than anything; I’ve been mixing it with matcha.” There are the pre-packaged versions, too, but she doesn’t read them off, since they have more specifically sweet flavors, like caramel vanilla, banana dessert, and strawberry shortcake.

He picks white monkey at her recommendation of it not being too cloying, and she grabs one of the banana dessert pre-packaged tea bags for herself. Sakura makes short work of setting the water in the kettle to boil before procuring two teacups and siphoning some of the white monkey blend into a small strainer she pulls from another drawer.

Once she’s done that, she unplugs the slow cooker and reaches for something from a lower cupboard - two hand towels - to put on the counter; he assumes one is to utilize as a dish mat and the other is to actually dry with.

“If you really want to, you can dry… But you’re a guest, so you don’t have to,” she murmurs, expression affectionate in a way that makes his neck warm.

So Sasuke helps. She washes and rinses - her dish soap is lemon-scented - and strategically sets each piece atop the first towel he’s laid out. He dries one side of the plates and bowls, then flips them over one-handed to dry the other, stacking them on the clean expanse of counter to his right. It doesn’t take very long with them working together. When she goes to empty the sink, she gives it a scrub and a rinse with the soapy sponge she’s been using, efficient as always, before rinsing any remnant suds from her own hands.

“I can show you where everything goes,” Sakura says, so Sasuke helps her put things away, too, mentally cataloging what’s in each cupboard for future reference. Her storage system is well thought out, organized in a way that makes the most sense for the layout of the space.

When she reaches upwards to put the cutting board back in its place, the sleeve of her top slips further to one side, gravity pulling the fabric downwards on her slender frame and exposing some of the skin of her upper back. There is a dusting of tiny freckles just above the interior portion of her left shoulder blade that he hadn’t known was there. The way they are scattered reminds him of serpens caput, missing only one of the constellation’s general equivalent of stars. He forces his stare away, ears reddening, when she turns to remove the pot from the slow cooker.

“Thank you for helping.” Sakura adds coconut creamer and sugar to her own cup of tea, stirring. “Would you like lemon with this one?”

Sasuke thinks, still a little distracted by dainty freckles, before shaking his head. If it’s woody and peppery, he’ll probably like it fine on its own. She pushes his teacup towards him on the counter with a look that tells him to test it, so he does, and finds he was right; it’s herbaceous, with a scant amount of woodiness and pepper lurking underneath. Maybe the tiniest hint of sweetness, but barely.

“It’s good,” he tells her quietly, before taking another sip.

Apparently the grey blanket is reserved for him; she takes the lavender once they head to the living room, curling up on one end of the couch with it, tea and her book on the table. Based on her bookmark, she’s about halfway through hers. Sasuke does the same on the other end, mirroring her pose, back propped towards the side of the couch with feet extending to the middle rather than going off the front. He keeps his knees slightly bent so he doesn’t invade her space too much, though he doesn’t think she would mind.

He steals one last glance at her before opening his own book to get lost in the different ways to wield a blade. The rain on Sakura’s roof is ataractic, accented by the pleasant smell of tea, the sensation of a full belly, and a warm blanket that smells like her, though it’s more raspberry this time than any lingering antiseptic.

It’s nearly three by the time he finishes his book, mind swimming with descriptions of sword forms. Sasuke peeks at her and sees she’s almost done, too, so he rereads the more engrossing passages, the ones that were particularly well fleshed-out. He’s so relaxed that he thinks he could fall asleep despite the caffeine, if he closed his eyes for more than a few minutes; focusing on rereading should help him stay awake.

Sakura closes her book after a bit; he looks upward at the sound, meeting green.

“How was your book?” She asks, lips twisting upwards; she must have noticed he finished his, despite still reading her own.

"...Good."

“Learn anything?”

“...A bit.”

Her smile widens as if she is amused; maybe he should elaborate, but he’s not sure if practical applications of swordsmanship are something she’s interested in.

Evidently they are, because she questions, “Care to share?”

Sasuke begins explaining the concept of iaido, derived from iaijutsu, the samurai skill of drawing one’s sword and cutting in the same movement, rather than cutting from an assumed stance after already drawing the weapon. It’s a simple idea, one he’s experimented with in the past, but there had been illustrations on a few of the pages showing different forms, and two of them he has never attempted. The pictures helped; he thinks to himself when he visits the library again, he’ll seek out one containing more visual aides.

He expounds upon the chapter on dual swordsmanship, too, primarily utilizing one sword to attack and another to defend; the defensive stances detailed are some he would like to try, specifically tailored as they are to be used with one arm. Some of them he’s already used intuitively, but one of the forms captured his attention, involving a slight variant sweeping of the blade to repel an attacker that would situate them at a more advantageous angle. It could be useful, if he ever needs to draw an enemy into a trap.

“Interesting,” Sakura remarks, and it seems genuine. Maybe it is interesting, in the case of someone who has, at least to his knowledge, never used a sword. He would like to ask her about medical ninjutsu sometime. “So it was a good read?”

He inclines his head to indicate yes. “...And yours?”

Sakura grimaces. “It… wasn’t terrible, I suppose. I didn’t really like the author’s writing style. Ino and I differ in that regard. She reads things more for the story itself than the way it’s told, so sometimes this happens.”

Sasuke raises an eyebrow so she’ll clarify. She shifts slightly, bringing a finger to her chin in thought. “It was too… straightforward. Limited and repetitive vocabulary, not a lot of dialogue structural variation, though it’s well-researched; I’ll give it that. It takes place during the second Shinobi War. A civilian woman’s husband going off to battle, they have to evacuate the area, the costs of conflict, that sort of thing. The ending was sad…” Her voice trails off, punctuated by the plunk of deluge, then she adds, “I guess it makes sense that the protagonist would think in limited language given the rudimentary basic education structure of everything back then, but it’s not very… poetic. It was like the author felt nothing as they wrote it, a kind of detachment from the whole thing.”

He suppresses an urge to smirk, reminiscing on her letters and extensive vocabulary. “...You like poetry.” It’s just an observation, but it’s something he hadn’t known about her, prior to now. Very Sakura.

Color floods across her cheekbones, and she looks at him with an expression that is very tender, as if there’s something else she would like to say. He could stare for hours, entranced by her as he is. “...I do.”

Sasuke wonders, then, if any of the books on her bookshelves are poetry books. He hasn’t read the titles carefully. It occurs to him that she might have more books in her bedroom, now that he’s thinking about it. When he was younger, he used to keep many of his own in his room, too, sorted by genre.

“Did you finish your other book already?” Sakura asks him, then, expression inquisitive.

He nods, eyeing her as he contemplates what he would like to say. He decides not to phrase it as a question this time; he wants her to offer, so he knows he's not requesting too much. Give her an out. She trains with Ino in the morning on Mondays and has lunch with her after, but she hasn’t said anything about her plans for the afternoon.

There’s still something in him that’s nervous, tightening as he speaks, careful to specify time. “...I was thinking of going tomorrow afternoon to get some new ones.”

Her smile unfurls slowly; Sakura really can read him well. “...I was, too.”

His chest rushes with warmth, anxiety released in a single relieved breath; it's not too much, then. The corner of his mouth quirks up, and that seems to encourage her, because she adds, “Ino and I are usually done with lunch by around one. It’s supposed to be nice out, I think. We could…” Her voice trails off, as if she’s considering. “...We could meet at the library around one thirty, and then maybe… take books to a quieter area to read, after. If you want. I... think I know a spot that should be fairly dry by then.”

“...I can meet you here,” Sasuke offers in a low voice, a confession he's more comfortable with now. The way she glows in response as she agrees is captivating.

Sakura invites him to play go with her, after. He agrees, because he wants to, and also because he doesn’t want to leave just yet. They set up the board on her dining table, a gridded battlefield of sorts beneath the market light.

She absolutely demolishes him in the first round, carefully surveying the board before each play of her white stones with careful calculation and syllogism. It’s to be expected, because she has always been smarter than him, but also because he hasn’t played in years and is woefully out of practice, ill-prepared to deal with this sort of onslaught. The second round is closer, but he still loses. It’s a challenge, as he knew it would be; Sasuke finds her moves to be quite roundabout, more about the long haul tactics of trapping than any short and quick route to victory. There are times where he realizes he unknowingly played right into a ruse more than five turns previous.

It’s four thirty by the end of the second match. Sakura’s attention flashes to the clock once as she puts away the board; he helps, sorting his own black pieces into their respective container. He will have to head out soon, though he’s not looking forward to it. He is quite comfortable here, with her.

“It’s still coming down out there,” she muses as she rises to store the box, peering through the glass before turning to make her way to the bookshelf she’d retrieved the set from earlier.

“...It is.” He gazes out the window, distracted by the puddles and their ripples below them in the street. It feels almost as if something is tugging on him to focus on them, suggesting something orphic, beyond simple rainwater.

The soft clicking of teacups and small plates being collected from her coffee table resounds behind him, so he turns to her, thinking he could offer to help wash them.

“I made enough soup for leftovers, so if you want to take some home, you can.” Sakura says, before the words make it out of his mouth. Outwardly he remains blank-faced, but something in him sighs. He’s not really sure what he's going to do with the rest of the day. Sparring with Naruto would be unwise on a day like today; he’d probably catch a cold. He could go by a store and buy a book to read, he supposes.

Being back in Konoha is odd like that. He used to just… walk, if he didn’t have anything to do on his journey, or read her letters, but now that he has had the opportunity to spend time with her, he selfishly just wants more of it. Time spent alone seems dimmer in comparison.

He would like to take some soup back to his apartment, though. It was kind of her to offer; he should probably say something.

She looks contemplative when he looks to her, though, carefully clutching porcelain, and thank you lingers in his throat, unspoken.

“Or… If you would like to stay for dinner, and do something after... you could.”

The faintest of stings begins behind his retinas, something long in the tooth stirring, aged roots buried so deeply he had perhaps forgotten they ever existed in the first place. He thinks it is the feeling of being wanted, of having a place in someone’s home.

He hopes she’s offering because she genuinely wants him to stay. She has a mountain of responsibilities, he knows, although it is her day off.

“...You’re sure?”

Pink brows furrow as if she’s confused how he could ask such a thing; she shuffles her weight slightly from one foot to the other. “Of course.”

An interlude passes in which the torrent measures time, the beat of a ballad that is very old. Her next words are hushed, pianissimo lyrics that he’s sure she has no idea just how much he has yearned for; she’s biting her lip and peeking at him from beneath pink lashes as she says them.

“I missed you, when you were gone. You… can fill as much of my free time as you’d like.”

The daunting prospect of a lonely evening evaporates completely. His tongue feels tied up in his mouth, but he nods, hoping she can read in his eyes his gratitude; he’s fairly certain that if he spoke, it would come out hoarse, not at all suitable as a response to the song she has just offered to him.

Sasuke thinks that she can see it just fine, because she gives him a breathtaking smile that could sustain him for a long time, a drop of honey added to an overflowing teacup in which he sips the surplus, with a tinge of an aftertaste that isn’t too sweet for his liking.

The dishes are tackled together. After they finish, she reheats tomato miso soup and cooks two more sandwiches for supper. Another meal is shared at her dining table, overcast skies overlapping into evening, the lights from the windows of Konoha glowing more and more as time passes. It’s just as good the second time, flavorful and filling.

They watch a geology-focused documentary on her television about lava, earthquakes, and landslides. Sakura questions him afterwards about the little time he was in the Land of Volcanoes, south of the Land of Mountains. He hadn’t stuck around for any extended time due to the extreme heat, but what time he did spend there is seared into his memory due to the intensity of it. He had come rather close to one of the region’s volcanoes, within sight of a smoking center mere miles away with lava tendrils trickling outwards, in the process of cooling but still alarmingly hot.

It makes him feel more appreciative for the rain here today, recalling it. Here in Konoha, he could touch the streamlets if he wanted to; he doesn’t need to keep a distance.

They follow up the documentary with a movie after; this time he tells Sakura to pick one. It’s unique, including some fantasy elements, about a struggle between the gods of a forest and the humans living on its edge that consume its resources. The protagonist is cursed by an animal attack, and seeks out a cure from one of the deities. While traveling, he sees other areas in which humans are ravaging the earth and warring with the gods of nature, a thought-provoking contrast considering they’ve just viewed a program detailing the inner mechanisms and wrath of volcanic eruptions, much like gods of nature in their own rights. The conclusion is open-ended; though the hero tries to broker a peace between humanity and the spirits, there is no feeling of resolution or success, no guarantee that one side will mediate with the other. It isn’t quite what he expected it to be, but he notes that the characters were quite realistic, allowing for the viewer to identify with them and better experience what they must be feeling secondhand; it was not told in a detached sort of way as she’d said the book from earlier had been.

Sakura makes earl grey tea, after, and they visit for the better part of another hour, quiet voices awash in auriferous lighting, relaxed by bergamot malt and lemon slices. She inquires about his travels, which places overall were his favorite in the four other great nations. The way she looks at him as he answers makes his heart thump, as if she is hanging on his every word.

It’s near eleven at night by the time he rises for the entryway. The kiss they share before he leaves feels like the drizzle of the rainwater outside, mellow collections grown slowly but surely deeper from time spent together, inexplicably telluric like submerging into soil.

He steps in a few unavoidable collected pools of moisture on his way back to his own apartment, drenching his socks. It makes him feel strangely nostalgic again for some reason, a reminder of a place’s capacity for change, to absorb something and thrive again.

Sasuke has seen many parts of the world now, absorbed as much as he can through his brother’s eyes, and has just relived his favorites by describing them to Sakura. She didn’t ask him about his favorite place in the Land of Fire, though.

It may easily become Sakura’s apartment.

XXX

When he sinks into slumber, he is pulled further downwards into a memory from a very long time ago, something quondam that has since dissolved.

The recollection is hazy in the ways that dreams are, slightly murky as if he is viewing it through a puddle tinged with the loam of Konoha, but perhaps there is something about Sharingan vision even unactivated that embeds the visual acuity into one’s optic nerves, to live there in perpetuity for eventual retrospect. It is one of his earliest memories, he thinks; he would have been maybe four, meaning Itachi had to have been nine or ten, though there is no one he can ask to confirm.

There had been a summer monsoon, perhaps the first one he was old enough to remember, water temperate enough to exult in without catching cold. Their mother warned them not to be outside too long in the storm, and occupied the covered porch, observing them to make sure they heeded her will. There had been no precipitation for a while prior - he thinks there may have been a drought - so the moisture was welcome. Plashets collected in their sprawling yard, causing Mikoto Uchiha’s prized white lilies to appear as if they were emerging from small lakes. She had expressed concern that they may drown upon Sasuke’s examination of them, framing the boundary of their home, but he, in that naive viridity that small children have before the world beats it out of them, thought they were strong enough to persevere.

“I’m sure you’re right, Sasuke,” his brother had said supportively, before showing him a path that allowed a step in every puddle on their family’s grounds. They had raced to the far end of their property and back; he had clumsily fallen at the end of the first pass, getting soaked, as if he wasn’t already from the warm rain coating both of them from the ashen sky above. Mud stuck between his toes, squelching and cushioning his fall while simultaneously making him filthy. It had sloughed off so easily back then in the deluge, corroding all at once and bleeding into the mess of their yard to immediate murky liquidity.

Itachi helped him up by his left hand, getting covered in his muck before the water rinsed their digits clean, and then he was being challenged to a second sprint. Sasuke emerged victorious this time, though now, looking back with eyes that are not his own, he realizes his brother obviously let him win, trained Shinobi that he was by that point. Coming to terms with that is horrifying, because he can see now that his brother was still just a child, wisdom beyond his years be damned. Sasuke is sure Itachi would have to have killed people on missions by then, completely at odds with the soft-spoken and gentle countenance he portrayed at home.

Eventually there was enough drizzle that miniature rivers of connected pools formed, capillaries of nourishment interlacing everything. Sasuke had been fascinated by the changing landscape, until Itachi had ambled up to the porch to speak with their mother. Disappointment swept into him like a tide; he had thought that his brother didn’t want to play with him anymore. But then their mother had risen and gone indoors, and Itachi motioned for him to join him at the edge, beneath the awning.

She came back carrying a small pile of paper, which confused him. He’d watched, enthralled, as Itachi folded one of the pieces into something reminiscent of a boat, simple yet perfect.

“If you put them by the gutter, the force will push them sailing across the yard,” his brother had said; he remembers the inflection so clearly, strange because it is from a time when Itachi was young enough to have the voice of a child, so unlike the rich timbre he’d held later in life.

He had trailed after his brother to the gutter, and sure enough, the paper boat was propelled by the rain streaming down from the roof; it took off as soon as Itachi let go. Sasuke had stomped after it with approximately zero grace, mud coating him up to his ankles, until it reached the boundary fence, saturated through and less buoyant due to the barrage of droplets dampening it from above.

The absolute joy he felt, when he had sprinted back to tug on his brother’s sleeve to ask if he would show him how to make one, and he’d agreed. They’d returned to the pile of paper guarded from the elements by their mother, and Itachi showed him each step, creating another one alongside him as an example. His small hands were not very coordinated back then; his boat hadn’t turned out as nice, all wrinkled sloppiness instead of crisp, clean folds.

“You just need more practice,” Itachi had murmured. “My first one was messy, too. I’ll help you.”

Larger hands had closed around his, creating skillful creases and shaping with dexterity. The second boat turned out much better. Sasuke had given his first one to his mother, then, so she could race, too. Remembering the smile, the genuine look of motherly gratitude she’d given him, bruises something in his soul, precipitation on frail roots entombed deep; it reminds him of the struggle of swallowing a gulp of water after traipsing through the desert, dry mouth making it almost painful, a gargantuan effort that takes everything in him not to look away.

She’d followed them from the porch over to the corner eaves, staying under the cover to avoid getting drenched, and the three of them had released their creations. Sasuke thinks they had to have given him a small headstart, surrendering theirs just after his, so his boat would make it to the other end of the yard first. He’d run after it, Itachi meandering along behind him at a slower pace, while their mother stayed beneath the awning.

His brother had smiled at him as he jumped puddle to puddle in glee. They’d grabbed the now-soaked paper boats at the conclusion of their path, and brought them up to the porch to set in a pile. Then they constructed and raced more, a veritable treasure of a late morning. For his last of the day, Sasuke had tried folding one on his own again, and it turned out better than his first attempt. Though a little lopsided, it hadn’t capsized, sailing strong in the current unaided just like Itachi’s.

Their mother had made them shower and then drawn them a hot bath after, to ensure they were clean and warmed. She had parted his toes to get the mud stuck there out, soil spiraling and dissolving down the drain as he watched. He’d splashed Itachi in the bath after, and folded one more boat with a piece of paper his mother brought him, so he could see how much time it took for it to sink without getting flooded from above, an experiment in buoyancy.

She made miso soup with rice for a late lunch, with something from their aunt and uncle’s shop as a treat after, some variety of warmed pastry. Itachi had let him try his in addition to his own; Sasuke’s had been strawberry, but Itachi’s tasted of peach, gooey sweetness to top off a perfect day that wasn’t even over yet. Their mother must have made herself some tea, too; he remembers the aroma of jasmine filling the space, warmed by lamplight cast on dark wood. When she’d told Sasuke it was time for a nap, he’d become extremely sullen, because he didn’t want to sleep; he’d wanted to spend more time with his brother. It wasn’t often he was home for a full day, prodigy that he was by then and always on missions.

Itachi had surprised him. “I’ll take a nap, too. It's important to rest sometimes. You can join me, Sasuke.” His refusal morphed instantaneously to greedy acceptance. Sasuke crawled into bed with his brother in his room, huddled in the comforter for warmth as the deluge continued for hours, the dousing on their roof and peaceful breathing composing a conciliating symphony with which to lull him to sleep. Eventually he'd succumbed, tuckered out and content, though he'd tried to stay awake as long as he could so he didn't miss out on time with Itachi.

Ten year olds don't usually take naps. His brother may have feigned sleep just to get him to do as their mother wanted. That realization is trenchant, too, sharp like a blade, because it’s a cycle that would repeat itself until Itachi’s end, Sasuke never understanding until the moment had passed, always a step behind and looking backward instead of forward.

When he’d awakened later in the evening, he’d smelled food cooking, miyabi soup and some kind of grilled fish. Itachi hadn’t been beside him anymore, but after blinking groggily, his brother had appeared like an apparition in the door frame.

“Dinner’s almost ready, Sasuke.”

Drizzle is still pummeling his apartment building when he rouses in a dark bedroom, alone. No one appears in the door frame this time as he blinks unsteadily, throat choked before the silent tears come, because this memory aches, haunting his heart like some kind of drowned spectre, dripping muddy stains onto clean floors. Sasuke moves to wipe them away with his left hand, the one Itachi used to help him up from the mire, until he remembers that he doesn’t have a left hand anymore. Making a paper boat now would take twice as long.

Everything in him hurts, marcid marrow writhing in his bones as if they are dead roots that have gotten a drink after a decade spent in drought, someone trying to nurse something deceased or rotting back to life. He goes to the memorial stone under the tenebrose cover of two in the morning, but it doesn’t feel like his brother is there. All he has of him are the eyes drowning in his sockets and excruciating retrospection, intermixing with the rain soaking him outwardly.

I miss you, he thinks as he tries not to asphyxiate on the memory, hoping that his mother at least hears his thoughts here, echoed in the ponds collecting around the stone that bears her name. He has to leave eventually, because he starts picturing white lilies emerging from miniature lakes, full of life and swaying with wind and torrent, instead of cold and motionless grey granite, and he thinks he is going to start sobbing.

Sasuke returns to his apartment after the better part of an hour and stares out his living room window, nursing a miniscule cup of sencha tea, weak so as not to unsettle him too much. The weather lets up eventually, turning from a drench to a drip between the fine branches of the cherry blossom tree across the street. The puddles slowly begin to sink in, though there are remnants of dirt collected in the grooves of the pathways due to the overflow. The tree is starting to lose its petals; they float atop the collected areas of water, a hint of hope buoyant atop sorrow like a paper boat.

He isn't at all hungry, but Sakura said he should try to gain weight, so he forces down a very early breakfast of plain rice, tasteless, before he goes to rifle through the box in the closet. He averts his eyes as he lifts the lid, fumbling to turn the photo upside down without looking at it and moving it to the bottom of the container before sifting through Sakura’s letters.

He picks a favorite of his, one she wrote to him while he was passing through the Land of Savanna, the first autumn season of his journey.

Sasuke-kun,

I was so happy to see your hawk on the horizon today. I gave him some water since he had a long journey.

The way you described the grasslands changing color in Savanna was lovely. The trees are changing here, too, shedding all of their leaves and making the roads a sea of color. Naruto slipped on a scarlet one the other day coming out of Ichiraku’s. He almost dragged Hinata with him, but thankfully no one was hurt. That's providence, I suppose, though it's not a red thread.

Soon it will be the season for chestnut-flavored everything. Stout squirrels come next, and Tsukimi will be happening, too. I've only ever seen it here in Konoha and once in Sand, while we were on a mission. You'll have to tell me if the moon looks any different where you are. Don't forget to make a wish.

The air is turning crisp here, like the leaves, so I imagine it will be there, too. Please stay warm.

I miss you.

-Sakura

Sasuke comes to the realization then that he’s sitting in damp clothes, and that he is kind of cold; he hadn't thought to grab his cloak earlier, too overcome with mourning. He carefully puts the letter back, and makes the decision to take a hot shower. The heat makes him feel incrementally better, thawing him from the inside out. It also makes him realize his mouth feels dry; he’s probably dehydrated, and needs to drink more than a weakly brewed half glass of tea. He prepares another cup, stronger this time.

A mission summons arrives around nine. He uses the mirror of his bathroom to make sure he doesn't look too disheveled - the shower helped, he thinks, though he’s slightly pallid - before heading to the Hokage’s office.

He's the first one of those requested to arrive, though not by much. Naruto is sitting in his designated chair with the scroll again, looking for all intents and purposes like he just woke up.

"Teme?! Eh, really?!" The dobe turns in his chair to glare metaphorical daggers at Kakashi, who pointedly ignores him. "You're seriously not sending me with?! Bogus."

Kakashi simply inclines his head towards him, not even sparing Naruto a glance. "Sasuke. Good morning. Ready for a mission?"

He nods mutely, wondering what it could be. Naruto whines some more, but Sasuke tunes him out. There's nothing like his teammate’s complaining that grinds on him in the morning, though he’ll inwardly admit it is helping to coax him back into some sense of normalcy.

His replacement walks through the Hokage’s door next, impassive as always. He inclines his head politely at Sasuke, so he returns the gesture. Naruto heaves a sigh. "Oh, come on!"

Sai doesn't miss a beat, turning to Kakashi, absolutely devoid of any kind of emotion as he delivers Sasuke’s favorite invective. "Is Dickless not coming?"

Sasuke barely manages to suppress a snort as Naruto guffaws, launching an entire container of pens at Sai. "STOP CALLING ME THAT!" Not all of Sai's nicknames are poorly chosen. He loathes the one he has for Sakura, but Sasuke doesn't think he'll ever get tired of hearing Naruto’s. It improves his mood measurably.

Shikamaru Nara saunters through the doors last, looking extremely apathetic already. Shrewd eyes flick to Sasuke’s momentarily, too quickly for him to read anything from them, then to Sai’s, then to the pens Naruto is picking off the floor, before settling on Kakashi.

Interesting. So it’s the escort mission, after all.

Naruto is outright mad now, glowering but past the point of saying anything as he returns to his seat in silence. It seems he at least knows when to give up, these days.

"Now that I have you all here, I'm afraid I must break the news that this won't be a terribly exciting mission. Simple escort to Sand for our diplomat tomorrow. It may be a bit… overkill, but there will only be three of you on the return trip, and my newest batch of missions didn't have anything terribly exciting in it. It's better to complete something useful with enough time to get back in case we need you for bigger tickets next week; it can't be helped." Kakashi shrugs, before adding, "Sending Sai should shorten the trip and make it less taxing, at least, flying birds and all. Shikamaru will lead, like usual."

Kakashi goes on to disclose that they'll be leaving at dawn tomorrow. Apparently it's only a four day round trip with his replacement's jutsu involved; this means they’ll leave on Tuesday morning and be back on Friday evening, should nothing go awry. It’s not likely that it will; Suna and Konoha are strong allies at this point.

“Any questions?” Kakashi asks at the end of the briefing. Neither Shikamaru nor Sai say anything; he doesn’t, either. An escort is simple enough, especially one of a fellow Shinobi.

His old sensei smiles in a way Sasuke feels is directed mostly at Shikamaru. “Alright, then. Dismissed.”

Nara strolls lackadaisically out of the office as Sai follows. Sasuke gets the inkling that this will be a rather silent journey, between the three of them. He’s a bit thankful he hasn’t been assigned a mission with more talkative comrades, at least not for his first one back.

“Teme!” Naruto pipes up as he turns to leave as well, so Sasuke lingers. “Wanna spar this evening?”

His brows knit together while Kakashi looks between them, as if amused. Sakura has not invited him over for the evening, but he thinks of soft words yesterday anyway.

I missed you, when you were gone. You… can fill as much of my free time as you’d like.

“The day before a mission? You’re stupid. Pass.” Sasuke says, both because he’s hoping to spend the twilight hours with her, too, but also because he knows it will annoy the hell out of Naruto. They really shouldn't go all out the night before one of them leaves for a mission anyways; if one of them breaks something, Sakura will be stuck fixing it, and it’s supposed to be her day off.

Naruto looks miffed, a lone blond brow twitching, so he adds, “...Saturday, early morning. If you’re even awake. Dobe. ”

Before he turns away from Naruto’s spluttering, he catches an all too knowing gleam in Kakashi’s visible eye. Sasuke is suddenly sure that their old sensei is well-acquainted with Sakura’s work schedule. He can feel the hole being burned into the back of his head by blue eyes and a single dark one as he leaves the Hokage’s office, the dobe still struggling to come up with a response to his quick refusal.

He feels marginally better as he walks leisurely back to his apartment, noting along the way that more of the puddles are already beginning to dry up.

Sasuke fixes something more substantial for lunch, since he knows Sakura will eat with Ino; a chicken curry, fragrant with garlic and ginger and carrots, poured atop rice. He doesn’t have any potatoes, so he substitutes with other produce, a unique mix for curry; bell peppers, green onions, and burdock roots. It’s not bad, but maybe he’ll pick up some potatoes when he gets back from Sand.

He is looking forward to going on a mission again, he realizes as he eats. It’s probably going to be a rather routine one - it’s not likely that they’ll face any enemies in friendly territory - but it will be good to be amongst allies again, contributing to fulfilling a purpose, however slight. Sasuke thinks maybe he should make more of an effort to interact with Sai. It appears as though he and Sakura are close, if he’s been to her apartment; Ino was there, too, he supposes, but still.

Sasuke spends the remainder of his time doing the dishes and making sure everything in his fridge is wrapped well, to ensure it doesn’t spoil in the time that he’s gone.

XXX

Sakura’s hair is damp, pink more saturated than it normally is, when he meets her on her doorstep; she must have showered. The scent of mixed berries is renewed, and suddenly he is certain that it has to be some kind of soap, perhaps a body wash. She has her single fiction book in hand.

“Hi,” she says, grinning up at him with a disarming beauty that makes his heart skip. Her hair clings to her neck when she locks her door behind her; Sasuke focuses on a ranunculus bloom instead, noticing that there are two small cuttings of the flowers missing, taken from its rear portion, until she turns back around.

“...Hi.”

“How was your morning?” She questions kindly as they make their way down the stairs and out the glass door, spring sunshine filtering in.

He blinks once as he considers how to answer. “...Fine. I had a mission briefing.”

Sakura’s lips quirk upwards. “Anything exciting?”

He exhales through his nose, a shadow of a laugh. “No. Just an escort.”

Jade eyes twinkle. “Ah, I’m guessing… Sai and Shikamaru.”

“...Kakashi might listen to your squad suggestions more than Naruto’s.”

She chuckles a little. “No, it’s just that he usually sends them for that. You must have replaced Naruto; he’s the third squad cell member, most of the time. Sai’s jutsu makes it a quicker journey, especially with Temari’s fan techniques; she can create updrafts.”

Sasuke thinks he vaguely remembers a blonde woman who is Gaara’s sister; that must be the diplomat. The sibling of the Kazekage would be well-suited for such a job.

“...Maybe I’ll find out what’s in Sand.”

She smiles while biting her lip. She’s very pretty.

“Maybe,” she finally offers cryptically.

They weave through the road on their way to the library, taking care to avoid the water still lingering; it has sunken into the earth for the most part by now.

Sasuke checks out three books this time. One is another on historical samurai, this one with more illustrations as he’d wanted. The second is a historical account of the establishment of Nunogakure, in the Land of Silk. He had passed through the country twice, and had always been interested in learning more about its history, given the establishment of its hidden village by kunoichi and their record of hostility with the ruling daimyos. The third is a fiction book about an old man at sea, suggested to him by Ichika as she scans Sakura’s books, then his.

“It’s kind of proverbial, and not terribly lengthy. You seem like the type who would like it,” the librarian offers, so he adds it to his pile. It’s not quite an old lady giving him vaguely prophesying teacups, but it sounds interesting enough. He appreciates her kindness; not everyone in Konoha gives him this particular brand of easy acceptance after the debacle that was his past. Sasuke thinks perhaps showing up with Sakura helps. Ichika looks at his empty sleeve for a long moment this time; she must not have noticed the last time he was here, the unfilled end of it hidden by the counter.

Sakura says there’s a spot towards the slope of Hokage Rock that drains off the cliff, a hill that should be dry enough to sit on, so they meander upwards. It’s on the western side, just at the juncture where the grass begins to give way to harsher stone. A wild cherry blossom tree that he spotted from a half mile away is clinging to the precipice, a bit off the beaten path. It must have sturdy roots, he thinks, reaching deep into the dirt and bedrock to give it the strength to soar upwards even here on uneven ground.

As they near it, he observes that it’s losing its petals, too, late in blooming like the one across the street from his apartment; small green buds are starting to take the flowers’ place.

They read for a bit under its branches, sprawled out on the hillside. She was right; the ground is dry here, already soaked into the soil or run off the slope. It’s not too warm or cool out, an enjoyable spring day where everything is freshly watered. The book Ichika recommended is pretty good, full of oceanic metaphors, some of which he finds unnervingly relevant. Sakura might like it; it’s written somewhat artfully. He gets about a third of the way through its pages as the sun begins to hang lower in the sky.

It’s around four when he allows his focus to wander away from his book to her. He's been leaning up against the tree, in the only spot someone could; the rest of the area by the trunk is too asperous to sit comfortably, roots twisting ruggedly, but strong. Much stronger than white lilies, hardy enough to weather even the harshest storms. Sakura is on her back a few feet away, book open above her and pink hair settled in a halo on the grass. She looks extremely comfortable, as if lying like this in the small amount of shade offered is something she does all the time. Maybe this is a place she visits often.

Her book is titled Hazel Wood; he can tell by the cover it must be fiction, but he's not sure what exactly it's about. He's thinking maybe he’ll ask her later. He's also thinking maybe he should ask if she wants to do something after this; he would like to, if she's free.

She shifts slightly, and he slides his eyes to the skyline so he doesn't get caught staring, very suddenly becoming conscious of the fact that he’s been admiring her for the better part of a few minutes. When he looks back over warily, she is picking up a stray petal and situating it between the pages, sticking out like a bookmark to mark her place. Then she regards him, smiling like she's amused.

He arches a brow, unsure what could be funny, but she's setting her closed book neatly aside and pushing afoot to close the distance between them. He tilts his head up towards her as she walks to the tree trunk, and then she's reaching out. Two fingertips skim his scalp, and then she's handing him a cherry blossom petal that evidently had been caught there.

"A bookmark, if you want one," she offers, her expression saying she is incredibly entertained.

He blinks once before taking it, lone hand brushing hers for a millisecond. He's distracted by how soft her fingertips feel again.

"...Thank you." He puts the petal in his book to mark his spot as she straightens.

Now would be an opportune time to query her evening plans, but she beats him to it. "Would you want to stop by the market quick with me and then come over for dinner?" Comely green melts into charcoal when he looks up. "I was thinking of making teriyaki atsuage and cucumber salad, but I'm out of cucumber."

His agreement is immediate, insides twisting pleasantly.

As they head down the hill together to beat the evening rush, books in hand, a single crow passes overhead, swooping low towards the center of the village extending before them.

That’s providence, he thinks, though it’s not a red thread. He stares at it like he’s seen a ghost until it disappears.

He helps her cook this time. Sakura handles the cutting and chopping while Sasuke seasons and turns the tofu as it fries in one of her pans, mixing together mirin and soy sauce to create the teriyaki dressing while she slices cucumbers and tosses them with other ingredients; she loads the salad with peanuts, sauces, garlic, and red chile flakes.

It’s another gratifying evening together. They play three rounds of chess this time, and it’s just as challenging as go; she cycles through positions intuitively, sometimes with seemingly little thought involved. Sasuke thinks she might be analyzing her next moves in her head during his turns, having a few planned out and simply narrowing it down based on whether he moves a rook or a pawn. He comes close to winning the final match, at least. With more practice, he might win once in a while.

Sakura offers to make tea again, after. He accompanies her to the kitchen, and when she opens the cupboard, his throat closes, because two new jars of loose leaf sencha from the tea shop have mysteriously appeared, one for the caffeinated shelf and one for the decaffeinated shelf.

Sakura’s expression is tentative. “I thought maybe sencha this evening. I… picked some up on my way back from lunch, earlier today.”

He nods weakly, tongue-tied and endlessly grateful.

She makes some for the both of them, finishing off her own with sugar and honey. Sasuke watches her swirl the spoon in the now fading luster of her kitchen, thinking the way she takes her tea is like her very being, so sweet.

Verdant eyes peek up at him when she walks him to her entryway, hours later. He sincerely hopes that she’s enjoying spending time with him as much as he is with her.

Then, Sakura’s voice lilts up to him, a quiet murmur, "Will you… come see me, when you get back?"

He blinks, sugar and honey pouring into him now, because it’s almost an answer to the question in his head that he hadn’t vocalized. Then his brow furrows, because maybe he’s failed at conveying that he'll spend literally any amount of time with her that she allows him. Sasuke knows his communication skills aren’t the best, and he has never been in any sort of romantic relationship, so everything is new territory, stunted by his lack of practice.

Her gaze flits away from him. "Just… so I know you're okay."

Oh. She means coming to see her right after debriefing, so she'll know he's returned safe. Something pleasant pools in his belly, sinking to the extremities in a way that feels nurturing. He realizes he is taking too much time to respond; she looks nervous.

"I will."

Jade centers back on him, reassured now, and he's not sure how he's going to go four days without it, this limitless green that soothes him to no end.

"Oh. Good. Thank you." Her expression changes to one that is considerably more relaxed, a tender look directed upwards that he has never seen her wear for anyone else.

Sasuke presses his lips to hers for a long time before he departs, a soft goodbye he’s hoping will convey all the words that are caught in his throat, gratitude and affection that have been stewing there since they were thirteen.

He thinks he feels love press back from hers, a delicate flickering that makes him ache, and perhaps providence. Sugar and honey, too. Sweetness doesn’t hurt him like the recall of pastries does, when it’s experienced secondhand like this.

XXX

The mission goes smoothly. Sai's jutsu does speed things up considerably, and the Sand delegate, Temari, uses her giant fan to give them a boost in places that are lacking in higher gales. He rides with Sai on the way there, while Shikamaru and Temari drift on the other; Sasuke thinks the separation must be so she can use the jutsu, strategically getting behind his replacement's bird to give him a boost before Sai can control it and have theirs catch the subsequent updraft, too.

Sasuke and Shikamaru fulfill lookout roles, him scanning ahead and Shikamaru scanning behind. It is refreshing to see the land from above, giving way from forests to grasslands to the beginnings of desert edges. He finds himself thinking about what his hawk saw, all of the times he brought correspondence to and from Sakura. It’s not as hot this way, traveling through the air with breeze ripping around them, though they make an effort to stay hydrated, still.

Sai is quiet, but Sasuke is, too, so he can't knock him for it. He wonders, scanning the horizon for the upteenth time, if Sai knows what's in Sand that interests their squad leader. He would have to, dating Ino, but he doesn't feel comfortable asking him something like that.

They spend most of the first day in relative silence, only spying a single squad of comrade ninja from Suna traveling hundreds of feet below them, just leaving the desert. Towards the end of it, as they finally cross into the first area that is truly all sand as far as the eye can see, Sai surprises him by speaking.

"Beautiful says Ugly is stupid happy that you've returned. I am certain that Dickless is, too."

The effect the words have on him is a little jarring and complex. There is the immediate familiar disdain for Sai’s inaccurate nickname for Sakura, intermixed with immature amusement at Naruto's epithet. A feeling of brotherhood follows, and his heart blooming with something tender, vines twisting or perhaps not-so-dead roots getting another drink. Stupid happy doesn’t sound like a phrase common to Sai’s vernacular, leading him to believe it was Ino’s exact wording, likely after spending the morning with Sakura yesterday.

He thinks it over as they soar over the last bit of terrain for the day, sorting through the different emotions. His answer isn't hesitant; it just takes preparation for him to muster the gall to vocalize it to someone he's not terribly close to.

"...I am, too." It’s an understatement.

XXX

They arrive back in Konoha on Friday evening, as scheduled. No issues, just more lookout duty and enjoyable wind offering relief from the heat. Peacetime is nice; anyone they saw to or from Sand was an ally, no foes. They only utilize one of Sai’s creations on the return trip, Shikamaru still observing the rear but this time atop the same bird as them. It’s a slightly longer trip, without the diplomat to speed things up, but they still make good time.

It's a bit after six when they leave Kakashi’s office, mission report paperwork folded neatly into his satchel. Naruto wasn't there; Sasuke assumes he's either been sent on a mission or has gone home for the day already. He supposes he’ll find out tomorrow, if a banging erupts on his apartment door after sunrise. It must have stormed again recently; the soil is damp, and everything is faintly greener than it was before.

He finds he missed it, the smell just after it rains that was decidedly not present in Suna, even if it does bring hard memories.

“Good work,” Shikamaru says simply to both of them as they step outside, ready to go their respective ways. It’s not necessary for him to say it, but Sasuke appreciates the acknowledgement. He’s aware it is probably not easy to trust him, after everything. Not everyone has the same confidence in him as Team Seven does.

Sai nods towards Shikamaru, then turns to him.

"Tell Ugly I say hi." His tone sounds almost kind as he turns to part ways from them in the street. Shikamaru glances at Sasuke for an instant, expression not containing an ounce of surprise, but he doesn't say anything as he turns to head the other way.

Tentatively, Sasuke starts out in the direction of Sakura’s apartment. She should be home right now, if she didn’t stay late at the hospital. He wonders as he gets closer if maybe he should wait a bit; she might be in the middle of cooking, or eating dinner.

He wants to see her, though. He's missed her greatly, and she did say to come by; he tries very hard to swallow his doubts.

Soon he's knocking on a sage green door that is beginning to look familiar. The plants are still damp indoors, too; maybe it rained as recently as this morning. It has to have been overcast for a good portion of the day, for the sunlight through the diamond window to not have dried the moisture from her watering them just yet.

Sakura opens the door wearing a smile; it grows wider upon seeing it's him, like she can’t help it.

His heart skips a beat when she says his name. "Sasuke-kun."

"Sakura."

She steps aside while holding the door open, a silent invitation for him to come in, so he does. He stands in her entryway uncertainly for a second, until she offers, "I'm making tenmusu; there's enough for two. Would you like to stay for dinner?"

Everything in him relaxes, any and all ambiguity dried by her kindness in an instant. "...I would. Thank you."

Little flecks of gold shimmer in the lamplight, facets atop something burgeoning with warmth. There is love there, in her eyes and upturned lips. He wonders if she can see it in his, if she has any idea of the true gravity of his feelings for her, all of the things that flare to life in his belly at the mere thought of time spent here.

It’s a break in routine, but there is something he would really like to do, something he has been working up the courage for over the past few days, so he takes the risk, pulse quickening; he hasn't kissed her anything but farewell yet, really, aside from their first, which was somewhere in the middle.

It is better than he imagined, vespertine devotion saying hello rather than goodbye. He skims the freckle on her cheek again as his lips brush hers, hand tender against her skin and silky pink locks. When she leans into his touch, he finds himself wishing there was a way for his soul to graze hers, to tell her the utterly selfish thing he wished for after her letter so many moons ago. Sakura’s soul would be warm to the touch, he thinks, like freshly-brewed tea or the flux of a summer monsoon, but much more illimitable, and endlessly ardent.

Her hands on his shoulders are becoming a familiar weight, grounding him like the roots of her namesake.

When they part, she blinks up at him once, and then suddenly her arms are wrapping around his center instead of his shoulders, pulling him close. His heart swells, and he hooks his lone arm around her waist.

She smells like home, he realizes. "...Tadaima," he murmurs against her hair.

"Okaeri," she responds, soft and sweet against his chest.

#naruto #sasusaku #ssfanfiction #cherry writes #like gold #fanfiction #2nd longest chapter to date idk how it got this long it just kinda happened lmao #also the paper boats scene was like one of the first four passages i wrote that ultimately became this fic #anyways that's providence

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buckyownsmylife · 5 years ago

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Je Veux - Tom Holland Smut

The one where Tom is a biker and you’ve been trying to get him to take your virginity, but he’s been keeping you away until the day you’re in need of a ride.

Warnings: pwp, motorcycles, loss of virginity, cursing, teasing from both sides, sexual activities in a public environment, a lot of dirty talk, impatient Tom, daddy kink, multiple orgasms, dominant Tom, possessive Tom, breeding kink

Word count: 3.1K

A/N: Okay, so here it is! My Tom Holland Biker! AU! It’s pretty much only smut, the plot was just sprinkled in there. I took A LOT of creative liberties with the whole motorcycle idea, mostly because I have no clue how they work, so just bear with me and pretend that everything I say is actually physically possible. Also, DO NOT TRY any of this at home, mostly because I’ve been burned by a motorcycle before and a lot of the positions described here can’t really be considered safe. Hope you guys like it nonetheless and don’t forget to let me know if you did and what else you want to read next!

Tom’s P.O.V.

“Come on, princess. I’ll give you a ride home.” I watched with great pleasure as her eyes grew twice their normal size, her mind undoubtedly struggling to comprehend what I was offering. “Come on, now. Isn’t this what you wanted? Or are you finally prepared to admit that I’m better kept away?” I could see the precise moment my words sunk into her. Her eyes narrowed and she pursed her lips, her hands coming to cross in front of her body.

“Thank you for your offer, Tom. I would never say no to your offer for a ride.” The double entendre wasn’t lost on me, and I only started to realize my own mistake when she sized up the motorcycle. “I’ve never ridden one before. I’m going to need you to help me.”

I gulped hard before cautiously approaching her, my own hands on my hips as I thought over this situation I had quite literally put myself into. “Am I supposed to ride in the front or in the back?” The question brought a smirk to my lips, reigniting the flames of mischief I had in me.

“Well, usually people would ride in the back, but with you, sugar…” I squeezed her jaw with my thumb and pointer finger. “... I can’t very well do that, now can I? You’re going upfront, so I can keep an eye on you, make sure you don’t fall out of the bike.”

The look she gave me let me know she knew for sure I had something up my sleeve, but nonetheless, I couldn’t wipe away the huge grin I bore on my face as I got up on the bike and waited for her to approach me. She did so, albeit slowly, clearly trying to get a grip over the situation. Poor thing didn’t know I’d never allow her that.

As soon as she was within reach, I picked her up, depositing her in front of me, her legs on each side of the motorcycle. I leaned down to kiss the back of her shoulder that was exposed to me, courtesy of the incredibly tempting sundress she had decided to wear, and that’s when she realized how screwed up she was.

“Oh.” Was all that I heard as she tried to adjust her skirt around us.

“Don’t worry, baby girl. I’ll keep it down around here.” And with that, I pressed myself against her more firmly, pressing a hand on her lower abdomen to make sure she’d feel my cock straining under my jeans. She didn’t say anything after that, which I took as an invitation to start up the bike.

Y/N’s P.O.V.

I wasn’t prepared for the shiver that went through my entire body as the machine’s engine came alive under me. Quickly, I realized what his plan was all about. He had pretty much sat me over a vibrator, even if it wasn’t a powerful one. As the bike purred under me, I started to tremble, and I had to be thankful for Tom’s strong thighs on each side of my body and his hands that caged me in.

“You’re not second-guessing yourself, right princess? ‘Cause this is exactly what you wanted.” He was right. This was what I had been asking him for ages, and now that he was giving me a taste of it, I could see why he thought it might be too much for me. But as my eyes rolled back and my body started to go limp against his, just as he was pulling up in front of my house, I knew he was wrong. This was all I had ever wanted. “There you go, princess. Now that your thirst is satiated, do you see how it’s pointless to keep tempting me?” These words were whispered against my neck, where he deposited another quick kiss. And that small gesture made me smile, because if anything was obvious after this little ride, was that he was hanging on by a thread when it came to his own desire for me.

I pulled one of his hands, placing it underneath my skirt, now fully relying on his strong body to keep me upright as I sank back into him. “Do you think I’ve ruined your motorcycle?” As his fingers came in contact with the wetness that was still dripping from me, moistening my panties that were now rubbing against the leather in our seat, I heard a sharp intake of breath.

“Shit.” Was all he said before his fingers grew more fidgety, and he rubbed my underwear against me, almost like he was testing the wetness. “Fuck,” he cursed again, and I released a long moan as one of his thick fingers bypassed the lace that kept him away from my emptiness and penetrated me with it.

Suddenly, there wasn’t enough air in the world to keep me alive and I was gasping as I struggled against him and the cage of his arms, desperate to keep the finger inside of me moving. It was the first time someone touched me like that and I was already on edge from my last orgasm, so I knew it would take very little for me to cum again.

“Fucking hell.” I heard him whisper right over my ear, eliciting goosebumps all over my body before he unceremoniously retreated his finger and started up the bike again.

Tom’s P.O.V.

“I have to see this.” It was all the explanation I gave her as I quickly took us up on one of the trails that started on the other side of the street, just opposite of her house. It was only ever in the summer that it was used, right when tourists strolled into town, so I knew the probability of us getting interrupted was minimal.

As soon as we reached a clearing, I turned off the motorcycle and climbed down, adjusting her so her body was now laid down over the seat, in the opposite direction it was facing before. “Now, princess… Let me take a look at this mess you’ve made.” Slowly, I inched up her skirt until it was completely out of the way and her panties were in full view. Besides the fact that they were fucking white lace, her moisture had completely glued them to her pussy lips, making it very clear that they were, in fact, ruined. “Oh, fuck.” I pressed my thumb against her clit, only to glance up at her in surprise when she whimpered underneath my simple touch. “You really haven’t been touched before, have you?”

Gathering some of the excess moisture, I lazily glided my fingers up and down her cunt while she trembled. “I told you that.” I huffed, my eyes now fixed on the movement I was making.

Y/N’s P.O.V.

“Doesn’t mean I believed you.” I would have scoffed if I could, but as it were, his fingers had deftly pushed away my underwear so that he could penetrate me with a single finger again and all I could do was whimper. From the way that he bit down on his bottom lip, he seemed to have liked that very much, his eyes never straying from the place he was working on.

“Then…” a breathy sigh left my lips as he picked up his pace, thrusting his finger desperately inside my aching heat. “Then why did you avoid me? I thought you didn’t want to be my first.” That caught his attention, but fortunately, instead of clearing his mind, it seemed to have scrambled it even further.

“I didn’t, but that’s what’s going to happen now.” My heartbeat - that was already scary fast - picked up so quickly at his words that all at once I realized I was cumming around his finger, much to his delight. “Fuck yes, baby girl. I need you really wet if I’m going to get my cock inside of you, so here, take another finger.” Suddenly, I was choking on air, the new intrusion much more difficult to adjust to than the last one. Still, it was in no way an unpleasant sensation, and before long I was desperately thrusting back against him.

A loud moan escaped my lips at the dirty wet sounds from my pussy that got lost in the woods as he fingerfucked me against his bike. “Fuck,” he whispered, and I opened my eyes just enough to see that he had released his lower lip and was currently looking at me with dark eyes and an open mouth, from where labored breaths escaped. “Fucking cum already, I still need to open you up more before I fuck you and I feel like I’m going to burst any moment now.”

With that rant out of his chest, he picked up his pace, until I was, once again, trembling with desire underneath him. “There you go… One more finger, princess. Then you can have daddy’s cock.” I probably would have questioned the self-appointed nickname if it hadn’t made me moan out loud again. The smug idiot simply smirked, finally pushing one last finger in me, as promised, while I struggled yet again to accept the invasion. I was so focused on the pleasure he was giving me that I only realized he had pushed his jeans down and was playing with himself when his grunts reached my ears, forcing my eyes open in surprise.

He never stopped his movements on either of our bodies, but that cocky smile was back on his lips, despite the continuous breathless sounds escaping him at the sight of my widened eyes. He was huge, and so freaking hard, his red tip weeping precum while he caressed himself.

“You like it, baby girl?”

A breathless “mhmm” was all he could get from me at that moment.

“Do you want it inside of you?” A gasp echoed around the trees as his fingers grazed a particular spot that made me see white light.

“So, so much…” I whispered, just before succumbing to the pleasure once more.

He waited for me to come down to Earth, never stopping his movements on either of our bodies, but significantly decreasing the speed. When the last tremble of my thighs ceased, he finally pulled away from my pussy, and I tried not to whimper at the feeling of emptiness that overcame me - failing miserably. Thankfully, it allowed me to see another smirk break through Tom’s handsome face, as he appreciated the needy state he had put me in.

“Don’t worry, darling… I’ll take care of you.” And then I was in his arms again, and he was pulling me to stand up from the bike. As I did so, he wrapped his arms around me, his mouth meeting mine in a kiss that was pure desire and possession. I melted against him, allowing him full control of my body, because the truth was, I was his. I had been his for a long time now, and this moment was only solidifying it.

When we broke apart for air, he forcefully turned me around, pushing my back down so I’d lay over the seat of the bike again, only this time, with my breasts pressed against the seat I was once sat on.

Tom’s P.O.V.

“Oh, fuck.” That was all I could say as I took in the sight before me. I had pushed her skirt away so it wouldn’t be hiding anything from me anymore, but even though she still had her underwear on, I felt my knees buckling just from seeing her like that, her ass in the air, the lace sticking to her wet pussy.

Licking my lips, I quickly pushed down her panties until they pooled around her ankles and leaned down to taste her essence. “Oh…” Such a small noise, but it went straight to my cock, that was throbbing in my hand by now. She was such a fucking treasure. I wanted to ruin her. I’d make sure of it.

“Spread your fucking legs,” I growled, still intoxicated by her taste, and when she immediately struggled to obey me, separating her legs as far as the fabric around her ankles allowed her to do so, I buried my face on her pussy from behind, devouring her like she was the last meal I had been granted in this life.

“T-Tom!” She screamed, her fingers scrambling to tightly hold her up against the bike, while I could feel her legs shaking on both sides of my face.

“Shhh…” I tried to calm her down, one of my hands softly caressing the back of her thigh. “Let me get a taste of you, yeah? I told you I’ll take care of you, darling. Just relax.” I raised my other hand to squeeze her ass while struggling to keep her standing and still while my chin dripped with her juices. She tasted delicious. Better than those chocolate milkshakes she’d always order and I’d steal a sip from.

Her legs trembled more anxiously as I brought her to another release, and although I was tempted to keep my face buried in her and drink her release, I knew neither of us would resist much longer. So after she drenched my face with a strangled cry, I forced myself to rise from my position and take a much better spot, still behind her.

She kept trembling when I slowly pushed the head of my cock between her pussy lips, and I knew that her orgasm was still taking over her, but in some part in the depths of her desire, she felt as every inch of me slowly struggled to open her up to welcome me. I knew she was aware of what was happening, that I was taking her virginity just like she’d begged me to do for months, only it was in the middle of a forest and on top of my bike, but she was too weak to express any sort of reaction other than another weak “Oh”, as she fought to keep herself up against the motorcycle.

“Yes, baby,” I whispered as I finally bottomed out, after what felt like hours, but couldn’t have been more than a couple of minutes. My right hand came up to caress the back of her head, hoping to help her relax and better accept my intrusion, and as I felt the muscles of her thighs soften, I took advantage of my grip on her hair to pull her up against me. “See, princess? Just like that, you’re not a virgin anymore.”

She gasped, but if it was due to my words or the way I pushed her down against the bike again, I’ll never know, because I’d done enough waiting. It was time to start moving. Despite feeling like I desperately needed to fuck her, wildly, untamedly, I kept my movements slow, at least at first. I didn’t want her hurting any more than she had to. So I moved at a snail’s pace, making sure she’d feel every inch of my cock as I slowly dragged it out of her, just to push it in again.

When her somewhat pained whimpers subsided, giving place to loud moans of pleasure, I started to pick up my movements. My hands held her hips tightly, unworried about leaving marks behind because I knew she’d be left with much more than that after I was done with her.

“Does this feel good, baby girl? Do you like the feeling of my cock stuffed in your tight little pussy?” My filthy words made her moan.

“Y-yes…” She was able to breathe out.

“That’s good, baby, you know why?” I teased her, my fingers digging even deeper into her perfect skin.

“N-no.”

“Because the only man who’ll ever get to fill you will be me, princess. You’ll only ever know what my cock feels like.”

Y/N’s P.O.V.

I whined in appreciation as one of Tom’s hands found my clit and started rubbing. This was precisely what I wanted, to experience him in the most primal way possible. Knowing that being inside of me made him want to make me his left me a mess, and I couldn’t stop sobbing as he started to thrust into me violently, the tip of his cock hitting my cervix almost furiously. “F-fuck, Tom!” His groans were animalistic, and his pace never faltered, despite my obviously pained moans.

“Cum for me, princess. Milk me for all I’m worth. I want to fill your womb with my cum.” His words did it for me. I came with a desperate scream of his name, and just when my senses started to come back to me, I heard him moan my name before feeling a warmth spread from inside of me.

My legs were trembling, so I felt thankful that he was still holding me up. Still, he never pulled away from me, instead pulling me so my back was against his chest. He deposited sweet kisses against my sweaty neck, while I tried to catch my breath.

“T-tom,” I decided to call his attention to the problem before it was too late. “You came inside of me.”

My only response was a dismissive “mhm”, while he kept on sucking on my skin, one of his hands fondling my heaving breast.

“Tom,” I tried again. “You know I’m not in any sort of contraceptive method.” That finally made him raise his head, and I closed my eyes tightly, prepared for some sort of outburst, but all I got was a low chuckle.

“Which part of ‘you’re mine’ didn’t you understand? I know you’re not protected, that’s why I made sure to cum inside of you.” My mind wasn’t keeping up with him, and I wasn’t sure if I could attribute it solely to how thoroughly he had fucked me.

I supposed he noticed my confusion, because before I could understand what was going on, he was turning me around and picking me up so I could sit on the bike again, facing him. His hands brushed a few stray strands out of my face, and he smiled so sweetly at me that it almost made me forget I still had his cum dripping down my thigh.

“Now no one can keep us apart, baby girl. Not even your parents. And everyone will know you belong to me.” He sealed his promise with another deep kiss and I knew right then that I’d made the right choice by accepting his ride. Now I’d get to be forever his.

#tom holland x reader #tom holland smut #tom holland imagine #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland insert fanficiton #tom holland x you #tom holland #smut #au #biker au #my fics

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phantasticworks · 4 years ago

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Take a Picture (It'll Last Longer)

hi guys! so it occurred to me that i completely forgot to post the newest part of my new fic on tumblr when i posted it to ao3 the other day so here it is! I hope you guys enjoy this one! I've had a lot of fun working on it!

read on ao3

Words: 18.9k

Summary: Dan and Phil continue their arrangement, but are things changing?

Warnings: swearing, explicit smut, light angst

“We should go Christmas shopping,” Phil announces one afternoon. They were laying in his bed after giving each other blowjobs, and Dan was half-asleep.

“Mmf,” Dan huffs. It’s not exactly an answer. It’s not even really a response.

“Dan,” Phil whines, prodding his chest. “C’mon, it would be fun. We could go into town, get a festive drink, let the spirit of Christmas enter us.”

Dan cracks one eye open at that, giving Phil a smirk. “I don’t think I want the spirit of Christmas to be the one entering me tonight,” he says, his voice smooth.

Phil breaks out into a very predictable blush, but it’s still one of the cutest things Dan’s ever seen. “Dan!” he nearly screeches, swatting at him.

“What?” Dan cackles.

“That’s awful!” Phil shakes his head like he’s disappointed, but his eyes have gone a little wide, and Dan knows he’s thinking about what Dan has just suggested.

It’s the one thing they hadn’t yet done together. They’ve fooled around in every other possible way, but penetration has just been off the table. Until now.

“Do you want to?” Dan asks after he’s done laughing. His voice is unintentionally small. It’s not like he’s particularly nervous about this particular sex act; he’s fucked and been fucked before, but never by someone he cares this deeply for. And the part that hurts the most is that they aren’t even like that, not really.

He watches as Phil swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing against the pale skin of his neck. “Fuck,” he swears under his breath. He glances at Dan quickly, like he hadn’t mean to say it at all. “I mean- God, yeah, of course I want to,” he says.

Dan smiles, scooting closer to him and swinging a leg over Phil’s, as if they didn’t just have sex half an hour ago. “I’d let you, if you want,” he murmurs, trying for seductive. He’s not sure he’s really hit the target in his tone, but Phil swallows again, and he reckons he’s close enough.

“We should go out for dinner,” Phil blurts suddenly.

Dan pulls away a little, blinking at him. “Er… okay?”

“Yeah, we should go eat dinner, and then do some shopping, yeah?” Phil sounds nervous, and Dan can’t for the life of him figure out why. They have dinner together all the time nowadays. In fact, almost every time they see each other they wind up sharing a meal somewhere. It’s not usually at a restaurant, he concedes, the both of them horrible introverts who would much rather be inside the comfort of one of their flats, but still, it has happened.

“Sure,” Dan agrees easily. If he’s honest, dinner is the last thing on his mind.

If he can’t have Phil in the real way, in the way he so desperately wants, then he’ll take this: casual sex and friendship, until Phil no longer has a use for him. The fact that all of this has an expiration date tears at the tattered threads of Dan’s heart more and more each day, but it’s a pain he’s learning to cope with nonetheless.

He’s so deep in his own thoughts that he barely notices when Phil climbs out of the bed and makes his way to his closet. “Um, what are you doing?” Dan asks stupidly when he sees Phil pulling out what looks to be a nicer outfit.

Phil turns and gives him a look like he is stupid. “We have to get dressed if we’re going out!” he says, like it’s obvious.

“We’re going out tonight?” Dan squawks, still mostly naked and covered in slowly-drying bodily fluids.

“Yes,” Phil says, voice full of exasperation. “Go on, go take a shower, I’ll pick something out for you.” He sounds excited, but Dan can’t help but be weary.

“Phil…” He starts.

“No, no!” Phil protests. “Just go, I promise it’ll be good, I won’t pick anything you wouldn’t wear yourself!” It’s probably an empty promise, but his bright eyes and the way he dances on the balls of his feet have Dan convinced.

“Fine,” he says with a sigh, giving in. He stands to go jump in the shower, and he doesn’t miss the way Phil takes a long look at his body. “But I swear to god if you try to put me in color, I’m gonna actually kill you.”

“Fine, whatever,” Phil says, waving him off. “Go, go shower, smelly boy. Your fairy godmother needs some space to think about your outfit.”

Dan feels a tug in his chest when Phil smiles at him. He can’t help but step close and kiss him, just once, to dull the pain a little. “You’re on thin ice,” he whispers, his lips still a breath away from Phil’s.

“You have semen in your hair,” Phil murmurs back, pecking his lips.

Dan flips him off as he stomps off to the shower.

~~~

“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” Dan says nearly half an hour later, staring at the clothes Phil has so charitably laid out for him. The jeans are fine, black skinnies with rips new enough that he knows Phil hardly wears them. His problem lies entirely with the sweater.

The red, sparkly sweater.

“What?” Phil asks, voice pitched high in false confusion. “It’s nice!”

“I’m not wearing that,” Dan says vehemently.

“But Dan, it’s Christmas! Red is a very Christmassy color!”

“Red is Christmassy,” Dan spits. “This is- that’s fucking-“

“I call it ‘ladybird chic’,” Phil says, unhelpfully.

Dan turns, very slowly, to glare at him. “Absolutely not.”

Phil pouts. “It’ll look really good if I take any photos this evening.”

Dan swears under his breath. Stupid Phil with his stupid soft, kissable lips with their perfect Cupid’s bow. “I’m wearing a coat over it,” he says haughtily.

Phil grins proudly. “Of course,” he nods. “It’s not exactly my warmest sweater, and I don’t want you to get cold.”

Something about that makes Dan’s stomach twist sharply, a feeling he can’t name taking up all the space in his chest as he watches Phil search for a coat. He makes it so hard, sometimes, to not confess that he’s in love with him. Dan isn’t too stupid to think he’ll let himself go that far- he does have some dignity- but god Phil makes it hard.

“Will this work?” Phil asks, returning with a simple but warm-looking black coat.

Dan nods, taking it from him and setting it on the bed next to the outfit. “Thanks,” he says, his voice soft.

Phil smiles at him when he glances up. “No problem,” he says warmly, leaning in and planting a kiss on Dan’s temple. “I’m gonna hop in the shower, I’ll be right back,” he says, leaving Dan with the lingering feeling of lips and warmth.

~~~

Phil looks amazing.

That’s probably the understatement of the year, Dan thinks, but he’s at a loss for words when Phil steps into the lounge, fully dressed.

He’s got black skinny jeans on as usual, but he’s gone for a really nice grey sweater and his glasses, something Dan is always, always enamored with. He figures he’s probably fully staring at him, but Phil doesn’t seem to mind, so Dan sees no reason why he should look away. In fact, Phil seems to like it, if his smirk is anything to go by.

“Ready to go?” He asks, completely ignoring the way Dan is practically undressing him with his eyes.

“Sure,” Dan says, his voice coming out a little garbled. He clears his throat, flushing. “Let’s go.”

~~~

They end up at an Italian place, one that Dan’s never been to. It’s nice, nicer than he expected when Phil suggested they go out to dinner. It almost feels like a date, if Dan lets himself think too much about it. But he knows better than that, so of course he doesn’t let himself think about it at all.

Instead, he convinces Phil to order wine.

“Come on, I’m almost done with classes, and it’s a Friday. Shouldn’t we celebrate the end of the week?” Dan says, batting his eyelashes to really sell it. The truth is he doesn’t think he can keep his mind from drifting off into romance land if he’s not at least slightly inebriated.

Phil sighs, but nods. “Fine.” He gestures for the waitress to come back over, then points to something on the wine menu. “We’ll each do a glass of the Cabernet Sauvignon, please,” he says, tapping the name.

The waitress nods before disappearing, and Dan watches Phil as he fiddles with the menu, biting his lip in thought. “You sounded like some proper wine connoisseur, just then,” Dan says mildly, glancing over his own menu. He already knows he’s likely to get the same thing he always does at Italian restaurants, but he feels weird staring at Phil when he isn’t looking back.

Phil snorts. “Not hardly,” Phil says dryly. “Cabernet‘s just the happy medium.”

Dan tilts his head at that. “How so?” He asks.

Phil glances up at him, and his lips twitch into a smile. “Well, you like wine that’s bitter, and I like sweeter wine. You always order something with mushrooms when we do Italian, and I usually do some type of tomato-sauce pasta, so...” The waitress returns then with the bottle of wine, and Phil smiles at her. “So Cabernet is the happy medium for us.”

Dan blinks at him. Phil asks the waitress a question about something on the menu, looking completely casual, as if he didn’t just send Dan’s heart spinning. As if they just know each other that well- just fit together that well, without ever even acknowledging it.

He’s still lost in thought when the waitress turns to him with a smile. “And for you, sir?” She asks.

Dan shakes his head in an effort to clear it. “Uhh...” His mind is cloudy at the moment, and he can’t really see the menu.

“They have the mushroom risotto you like,” Phil says softly. “Is that okay?”

Dan nods dumbly. “Yeah,” he says weakly. “That’s fine, thanks.”

The waitress nods, taking their menus before leaving the table. It’s quiet then, and Dan jumps a little when he feels Phil’s foot brush against his. “Sorry,” Phil says, frowning. “Are you okay?”

Dan nods. It’s not a lie, exactly. He thinks maybe he is okay, but everything feels stilted and weird now, and the traitorous, lonely part of his brain is trying to convince him that this- this thing between him and Phil- means more than it does. “I’m fine,” he says quickly, nodding again. “Just tired, I guess.”

A brief flash of something like disbelief flashes across Phil’s face, but it’s gone in a blink. “We can just go back home after dinner, if you don’t feel like shopping.”

The word “home” plays on loop in Dan’s brain until he processes the rest of the words. “No, no, it’s fine. I’ll feel better after we eat,” he says, shrugging it off.

Phil nods, and they fall into silence again. They’ve known each other long enough now that it’s not uncomfortable, but Dan’s skin still itches with the quiet. He’s trying to think of something to say when he feels something brush his ankle. He glances up to find Phil smirking at him.

Dan quirks a brow. “Can I help you?” he asks, barely hiding a smile.

The smirk on Phil’s face just deepens, and he rubs his ankle against Dan’s. It shouldn’t feel as good as it does, but Dan’s long past the point of being surprised that everything feels better with Phil. “Nope,” Phil says, biting back a laugh.

Dan rolls his eyes. He takes a sneaky glance around them, and finds that no one is paying any attention to them. He takes that confirmation of almost-privacy and decides to be cheeky. Taking a sip of his water, he shifts his legs, trailing his foot up the length of Phil’s leg teasingly slow. He watches as Phil’s face flushes, the smirk dropping away to a look of surprise.

“Dan,” he hisses.

“What?” Dan says innocently. “You started this.”

Phil shakes his head, his hand disappearing below the table and catching Dan’s ankle in his hand before Dan can reach his destination. “Not now,” Phil murmurs.

That sends a little thrill through Dan. There’s an unspoken “later” in the air between them, and Dan recalls suddenly what he had offered earlier, when they were getting ready to leave. His blood rushes through his veins hot and fast, making him light headed.

“Are we still going to...” he trails off when the waitress approaches with their food, giving her a fake smile.

She makes sure they’re comfortable and have everything they need before leaving the table again, and by then Dan’s too distracted by his food to return to what he wanted to say.

“Fuck,” he moans around the first bite. “This is delicious.” He’s trying to mind his table manners, but the food is hot and sort of amazing, and he hasn’t eaten anything since breakfast. He really can’t help the sounds that fall from his mouth at that point.

He takes a sip of his wine to wash it down and finally glances over at Phil. His entire face is red, and he’s staring down at his plate with pursed lips. Dan blushes, realizing exactly what he sounded like. Then, he remembers their current situation, and the fact that it really shouldn’t bother Phil, hearing Dan make sexual noises. After all, they’ve been getting each other off for the past month or so, so he’s surely used to it by now.

“Sorry,” he says, despite himself. “Got a little too excited about dinner,” he explains, flickering his eyes between Phil and his plate.

Phil nods, avoiding eye contact. “Right, yeah,” he says, his voice sounding hoarse.

Dan smirks down at his plate, but decides to give Phil a break. “How’s the photo series going? Are we almost done taking photos?”

Phil looks relieved at the change of subject, and his eyes are bright when he looks up at Dan. He’s so enthusiastic about this project, just like he is with everything that he really cares about. Dan can’t help but find it ridiculously endearing.

“Almost, yeah. We’ve gotten some really great shots for experiential, but I don’t think I’ve gotten like the perfect shot for each of the other categories,” Phil says. His eyebrows furrow as he looks down, looking more than a little bothered by that.

“What’re the other categories again?”

“Intellectual, emotional, and er- sexual,” Phil says with a deep blush.

Dan smirks. “Sounds like we can knock that last one out pretty easily,” he says, only sort of teasing.

Phil’s nose goes a little pink, but he’s got a guarded look in his eye as he chases a bite of pasta around his plate. “I don’t know if I want that one to be like...” he trails off, glancing up at Dan with something soft in his eyes.

“Like...?” Dan prompts, confused.

“Like... genuine,” Phil says.

Dan blinks. “Why?”

Phil clears his throat, looking down again. “I don’t- I just- I just want you to be comfortable, yeah? And if it would make you uncomfortable to-“

“It wouldn’t,” Dan interrupts. His face immediately warms when he realizes how that must sound. “I mean... it’s what we’ve been doing this whole time, right? I’ll be no more vulnerable naked than I have been for every other candid shot you’ve done.”

Phil looks almost- disappointed, in a way. Dan can’t think of a reason why he would be, so he convinces himself that he’s probably just imagining it, that Phil is probably just thinking about the best way to shoot the more explicit photographs.

“Sure,” he says eventually, downing a few gulps of his wine. “We’ll work on that stuff- later, yeah?”

“Sure,” Dan echoes, sipping his own wine.

‘Later’ is starting to have a lot of weight.

~~~

After they’ve finished their meal and Phil has ignored Dan trying to pay for the check, they head out to see what the shops have to offer. Everything is so bright with all the twinkling lights and decorations, and Dan’s feeling just a little bit warm and fuzzy with it all. Maybe that’s why he reaches for Phil’s hand, he thinks to himself absently. It’s probably just the overwhelming excitement of it all forcing him to reach out for something to ground himself. Definitely not his deep attraction and infatuation with his best friend.

Right?

Either way, for whatever reason on both their parts, Phil doesn’t pull away at the touch. Instead he laces their fingers together, swinging their hands between them as they meander down the busy streets. It feels safe, with so many strangers surrounding them, to share a touch like this in public. No one here knows them, any looks cast their way are forgotten the moment the gawker looks away.

“Ooh, mulled wine!” Phil announces after a while of aimless wandering. He tugs Dan in the direction of the stall he’s laid his eye on, and Dan allows himself to be dragged. “Do you like mulled wine?” Phil asks as they stand in line to order.

Dan shrugs. “Yeah, it’s alright.” He wants to say something about how it would taste better coming from Phil’s lips, but he thankfully restrains himself from going that far.

Phil rambles on about something that happened to him a few years ago, something about spilling cider all over a guy he worked with that he also had a crush on. Dan’s trying to listen but he keeps getting distracted by the rosy patches on Phil’s face, his frostbitten cheeks looking more kissable than ever.

“We’ll have two mulled wines, please,” Phil says to the sweet older lady tending the booth.

She smiles and nods as she goes about preparing them, and Dan doesn’t even have the chance to reach for his wallet before Phil is sliding a few notes across to her. “Have a good evening! Happy Christmas!” the shop lady says with a happy wave after she hands them their drinks.

“Thanks, you too,” Phil replies with a smile, taking Dan’s hand again and leading them over to a set of benches situated around a massive tree. “Mm, this is really good for the spot,” Phil hums happily, slurping on his mulled wine.

Dan gives him an odd look as they sit together. “Good for the spot?” he repeats.

Phil nods. “Yeah, you know. That thing people say when something tastes good.” He looks so sure of himself, and Dan sort of hates to burst his bubble, but it’s basically his duty as a citizen to do so.

“You mean “hits the spot,” right?”

Phil blinks. “Er...” He seems to consider it for a lot longer than Dan thinks is necessary, and finally he shrugs. “Okay, maybe. Maybe that’s what I meant.”

Dan cackles out a laugh at this, dropping his head back with unabashed glee. “Oh god,” he giggles. “You’re such an idiot.”

Luckily they’ve grown comfortable enough with each other that Phil’s not really offended. He pretends, though, knocking their shoulders together with a pout. “You have to be nice to be. I bought you dinner and mulled wine.”

That makes Dan’s skin prickle just a bit. “Right...” he says, looking down. He knows Phil didn’t say that with the intentions of making him feel guilty, but he can’t help what he feels. “About that, actually,” Dan starts.

“Hm?”

“I wish you’d let me pay for something. Like dinner, or the wine, or something, you know?” He looks down at his hands wrapped around his cup, flicking the plastic lid with his thumbnail. “I’m not entirely useless.”

Phil makes a startled, hurt noise in his throat. “Dan, I never said you were. I don’t- listen, I paid because... well, I dragged you here, didn’t I?” He shifts awkwardly, and won’t meet Dan’s eye. If Dan didn’t know any better, he’d say Phil seemed sort of nervous.

“You hardly did any dragging,” Dan says with a roll of his eyes. “I wanted to come. Believe it or not, I genuinely enjoy spending time with you.”

Phil looks surprised, and Dan snorts. He feels like it’s really hardly a shock that he enjoys spending time with him; if Phil was only slightly less oblivious, he’d have already realized that Dan’s got feelings for him.

“Oh,” Phil says, stupidly.

Dan knocks their shoulders together. “Yeah, oh,” he mocks, his voice gentler than he meant it to be. “I’m just saying, you should let me pay for stuff now and again. It’s not going to break me.”

Phil nods, but looks down, mumbling something under his breath. It sounded like “I like taking care of you,” and that sends Dan’s heart beating so fast that he can’t even ask Phil to repeat himself. If that wasn’t what he said, well, Dan wants to be ignorant for now, and live in that bliss.

“Shall we do some shopping?” Dan asks, changing the subject. He’s drained nearly half his mulled wine already, and the warmth of the alcohol is making its way to his veins, making him giddy with energy.

“Yeah, but first...” He hands Dan his cup, which is almost completely empty already, and grabs his camera.

Dan rolls his eyes. “Is this really a photo-worthy moment?” he asks, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Phil smirks at him over the camera. “Of course it is. Now smile!”

Dan looks directly over the camera, straight into Phil’s eyes. He’s not really smiling, but he’s not frowning either. He’s just... looking at him. The camera flashes once, then twice, and then Phil lowers it, looking back at Dan with something almost wild in his eyes. Dan hands him his cup back silently, and purposefully brushes their fingers together. Something settles in Phil’s expression then, and he gives Dan a soft look before downing the rest of his drink.

“Shall we?” he says as he stands, holding a hand out for Dan to take. The smile he gives him when Dan does is gorgeous and makes every photo worth it.

~~~

Dan allows himself to be led in and out of shops for the next two hours, and Phil takes plenty of photos along the way. He takes photos of Dan window shopping, walking, admiring decorations; basically any move Dan makes, Phil captures. And Dan knows he agreed to this, he knows that it’s all for Phil’s project, but after a while, he grows tired of it.

Eventually, Dan turns to him and gives him a withering look. “Can we put the camera away and just be us for a little while?” He doesn’t intend for his voice to be so soft, but he can barely hear it as it floats in the air between them.

Phil lowers the camera with a strange look on his face. “Yeah?” he asks, like he’s surprised.

Dan nods, and before he can think twice about it, he reaches out and laces their fingers together. “C’mon, I saw a nerd shop over there that I want to check out.”

Before he gets the chance to turn away, Phil darts into his space, kissing the corner of his mouth softly. It’s over so quickly that Dan almost thinks he may have imagined it, simply because Phil looks so calm and confident afterwards. He simply squeezes Dan’s hand and leads him in the direction of the shop, and Dan feels like he’s been left to play catch-up, not for the first time today.

“Hey, look at this,” Phil says suddenly, when they’re almost to the shop. He slows to a stop, his eyes scanning over a bulletin board posted on the bit of brick wall between the windows of the game shop and the bakery next door. “Dan, look!” He taps Dan’s arm excitedly as he speaks, as if Dan’s not already looking at the poster.

“Open Auditions” it announces at the top. Dan’s heart quickens, just slightly. A quick scan of information confirms what he’d already gathered: a local theatre company is holding open auditions for their upcoming performance of Shakespeare’s The Merchant of Venice.

Dan’s heart races and his vision has gone slightly fuzzy as he tries to take in the information. He can barely focus on anything, his ears ringing with the possibilities. This could be it, a little voice in his head mocks. An escape from the life you don’t want, a chance to be more.

It takes him a minute to come back to his senses, and when he does Phil is rambling excitedly beside him. “-great this is, Dan, you’ve got to audition, this would be perfect for you!”

Dan shakes his head slowly, trying to clear the cloud of fantasy that’s infiltrated his mind. “No,” he says eventually. He forces himself to look away, reminds himself that life isn’t a fairytale. He chose this shitty career and this shitty life, he can’t just back out now. His parents may have raised a socially awkward, queer procrastinator but they didn’t raise a quitter.

“No?” Phil says the word like it’s foreign. “What do you mean, I thought you wanted to act again if you got the chance?” He sounds confused.

Dan shrugs, avoiding eye contact with Phil as he shuffles his feet, moving further from the bright poster. “Yeah, but... come on, this? It’s not very responsible, is it?”

Phil blinks at him, glancing at the poster like it has the answers he needs. “Er- how do you mean?” he asks carefully.

Dan hates that. He hates that he’s ruining their nice day with his bullshit. “Well, I’ve got class, don’t I? And like, work, and shit. I can’t - I don’t have time for this.”

There’s a brief moment of pause where Phil looks at him, then studies the poster again, clearly thinking hard about something. “The auditions are next week, so I bet the rehearsals start after you’re done with classes.”

Dan tells that little stirring of hope in his chest to pipe down. Instead, he shrugs, like he couldn’t care less about the whole thing. “Whatever. Are we going in? It’s fucking freezing out here.”

Phil nods and gestures to the store, so Dan turns to lead the way. He notices Phil doesn’t move to hold his hand again, and he pretends that doesn’t hurt his feelings. When he opens the door he glances behind him, and Phil is still a few steps away, like he’d stood there for a minute before following after Dan. Dan can’t imagine why, and decides it’s better not to think about that at all.

He waves Phil in ahead of him, and spares one last look at the poster before following after Phil and into the shop.

~~~

Dan would love to pretend that he stops thinking about the audition flyer by the time they make it back to Phil’s place, but it would be a lie. It’s still there, in the back of his mind, mocking him with the possibilities.

So he does what any reasonable adult would do.

He immediately jumps at the opportunity to get in Phil’s pants.

It’s not like it’s difficult at this point in their... situation, but he still finds part of him is reluctant to be the one to make the first move, if only because he’s scared of rejection. But this time, like so many times before, Phil indulges him.

“Oh,” Phil laughs as Dan pushes at his coat, his voice deep and sexy like it always is at the end of a long day, when he’s truly worn out. Dan can’t believe he has the privilege of knowing exactly what this sounds like. “Eager, are we?”

Dan latches his mouth onto Phil’s jaw, sucking gently as he shoves the stupid coat off of Phil’s shoulders. “Wanna fuck you,” he mumbles against Phil’s chin, loving the prickly feeling of almost-beard under his mouth.

Phil makes a good noise then, a horny one that Dan doesn’t get to hear nearly often enough. “Can we- bed?” he mumbles out around Dan’s mouth, which has finally found its way to Phil’s.

“Mhm,” Dan mumbles, guiding Phil backwards blindly.

This proves to be a bad idea when he leads him into a wall approximately five seconds later, but luckily, Phil is able to laugh it off. “I’m fine,” he mumbles, pulling Dan back against him once more and kissing across his cheeks. “Let me lead,” he whispers.

Dan allows that, following Phil as he shuffles them backwards down the hall towards his bedroom, their lips barely parting the whole way there. It’s sloppy and messy, but it’s hot, too, unbearably so. Dan is so turned on by the time they step foot in Phil’s room, he’s half afraid he won’t even make it to the good part.

Luckily, Phil trips right before they reach the bed, and the resulting stumble-almost-fall is enough to calm Dan down a little. He’s giggling against Phil’s mouth as they right themselves, and Phil is struggling to mumble an apology around the kisses he’s receiving.

“Dan,” he manages, thumping on Dan’s chest a little, just enough to get Dan’s attention and make him pull away for a second. Phil catches his breath and then smiles at Dan, a wide, gorgeous thing. “Slow down, baby. We’ve got all night.”

It’s said so softly, so lovingly, that Dan thinks he’s going to cry. So, instead of listening, he throws that caution to the wind and leans in for another kiss, his hands dropping to undo Phil’s belt. Phil makes a little noise in his throat, and Dan feels gentle hands pull at his wrists, pulling his hands away from where they’re struggling to undo the fasteners on Phil’s jeans. Dan whines and tugs at the grip, trying to free his hands, but he hears a soft shushing noise as Phil breaks the kiss.

Dan doesn’t realize it at first, but when they’re no longer kissing, he feels a dampness on his cheeks. Frustrated, he wipes at the traitorous tears, but at the same time, Phil’s hands come into view, gently wiping the tears away as he murmurs soft words. Dan struggles to make them out at first, his breathing gone hard and ragged. He tries to settle himself, and Phil tugs at his hand, settling it on his own chest like he wants Dan to copy his breathing. He does, and when he finally calms down, Dan can make out what Phil’s saying.

“Shh, there we go. It’s okay, baby. You’re okay. You’re okay.”

It’s said in such a soft, soothing voice that Dan almost starts crying again. This can’t be meaningless. Even though he knows Phil doesn’t feel anything for him like that, some part of him is just begging for this moment to have some kind of meaning, something that means Phil wants him. But wishing can’t change the truth, and he knows that.

“I’m sorry,” he says eventually, his voice raw.

Phil makes a startled noise. “You have nothing to be sorry for,” he says. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I know, but like... crying is so not sexy.” Dan feels embarrassed just to say it.

“I don’t know,” Phil muses. “I think showing your emotions is kinda hot.” He gives Dan a smirk then, and Dan barely refrains from pushing him off the bed. The only reason he doesn’t is because of how much he craves the closeness.

“Did I ruin the mood?” Dan asks timidly, sitting up in Phil’s lap to give him some space.

Phil smiles, but shakes his head. “I don’t think so. Do you still want to...” His face flushes then, like he can’t even bring himself to say the words.

Dan grins. “I definitely still want to fuck you. If you still want that.”

“I do,” Phil says quickly. Dan smirks and Phil blushes. “I just... it’s been a while since I’ve done that, so...”

Dan nods easily. “Do you need some space to get ready?”

Phil looks relieved. “Please?”

Nodding again, Dan leans down and kisses him sweetly. “Of course. I’ll go sit in the lounge while you do what you need to do.”

“Thank you,” Phil says softly, leaning up to peck Dan’s lips once more. “I won’t be long.”

With that reassurance, and a dismissive pat on the bum, Dan sees himself out of the room, going to wait in the lounge like he’d promised while Phil showers and does whatever else he needs to do to feel comfortable with how the evening is proceeding.

~~~

“Dan?”

Phil’s voice is more than welcome in the quiet of the lounge, but it still makes Dan jump a bit. He’d been lost in thought again, pondering over the amount of time they’ve spent together lately and trying to count in his head how many nights he’d spent at Phil’s over the last month. He’d just made it to thirteen when he hears Phil’s voice.

“Yeah?” Dan calls back, already rising from the sofa.

“Can you come here?” Phil replies, his voice a bit quieter. If Dan didn’t know any better, he’d almost say he sounded nervous.

When Dan steps into Phil’s bedroom, he nearly coos. Phil’s turned the overhead light off and lit a couple of candles, and he’s even got music playing from somewhere. It’s all very relaxing, and something about it feels sort of romantic. Dan bats that thought away immediately before it does something stupid, like settle in his already lovesick mind.

“Is this okay?” Phil asks, and Dan’s gaze snaps over to where Phil’s sat at the edge of the bed. Dan hadn’t even registered him sitting there at first, his mind trying to wrap around the way the room is set up. Phil definitely looks nervous, tugging at the hem of his sushi-printed boxers and avoiding eye contact. “I just thought... I don’t know, actually.”

“It’s nice,” Dan murmurs, going to join Phil on the bed. He’s trying to be considerate of the conversation they’re having, but honestly it’s a little hard considering Phil is practically naked, and god Dan loves to look at him. He nudges Phil’s knee with his own, prompting him to make eye contact. “It’s really lovely.”

Phil smiles, pleased. Something darkens in his gaze then, and before Dan has a chance to decipher that look, Phil is climbing onto his lap and gently pushing him to lay flat against the mattress. “This okay?” He murmurs as he kisses his way across Dan’s jaw.

Dan swallows hard, the kissing and weight of Phil on his lap sending heat to his groin. “Yeah,” he chokes out. “This is... fuck, this is perfect.”

Phil makes a humming sort of noise before finally pressing his lips to Dan’s, swiping his tongue against Dan’s bottom lip. Of course Dan opens up for him, feeling that tongue slip in easily. This is possibly Dan’s favorite kind of kissing, the kind that’s wet and maybe a little bit messy. It just feels good, in a way most things don’t.

Eventually, Dan’s hands trail over Phil’s pale back, tracing shapes down his spine with a featherlight touch before reaching his destination. Dan isn’t like, a hundred percent sure, but he’s actually pretty positive that Phil’s got the nicest bum in the world. It’s thick and soft and gives easily under the pressure of his kneading fingers.

“You’ve got the nicest ass,” Dan murmurs to Phil, pulling away just enough to get the words out properly.

Phil laughs against Dan’s neck, and Dan can’t help the full body tremor that happens when he feels pressure on the sensitive skin. “Do you want to fuck it?” Phil asks, in a voice that’s almost innocent.

Dan groans, kneading his cheeks with more purpose. “God. Yeah, I do. Can I?” He knows they’ve sort of already discussed this, but Phil’s allowed to change his mind.

“Of course,” Phil says with a little smile. He leans back, trailing his hands down Dan’s clothed chest before tucking his hands under his borrowed sweater and stroking the skin there. “Take your clothes off, babe.”

Dan feels a tingle down to his toes at the pet name, and has to remind himself very quickly to get a fucking grip. They’re just friends, this is just a friendly fuck. A mutual benefits kind of deal.

Maybe if he says it enough in his head, he’ll start to believe it.

He’s quick to discard of Phil’s stupid ladybird sweater, throwing it across the room blindly, which unsurprisingly earns him a pinch to the hip. “Don’t be rude to my favorite jumper, Daniel,” Phil chastises, a smile in his voice.

Dan’s got a retort on the tip of his tongue, but he bites it in favor of arching up into the way Phil’s stroking his chest, his thumbs catching on Dan’s nipples repeatedly. “Fuck. C’mere,” Dan mumbles, tugging Phil down by his neck. They’ve had enough sex together for Phil to know what he wants, so he goes easily, latching that wonderful mouth around a pink nub and sucking gently.

The sounds that fall out of Dan’s mouth are too loud in the quiet of the room, but if Phil wants him to be quiet, he’s got a funny way of showing it. Instead he reaches for Dan’s jeans, thumbing at the zipper without looking. He’s got them unlatched in seconds, pushing at the material like it offends him.

“Let me-“ Dan mumbles, pushing at Phil’s shoulders. Phil bites down on his nipple then, and Dan keens. It’s never felt so good before, but when they’re like this, it’s never better. “Fuck, fuck,” Dan chants, holding onto his willpower by a thread.

“You will,” Phil mumbles against his skin, kissing his way across to Dan’s other nipple, which has been quite ignored so far. In a feat of coordination Dan wouldn’t have thought him capable of, Phil manages to shuffle his lower half enough to yank Dan’s jeans down past his thighs without stopping the movements of his mouth.

If Dan wasn’t so stupidly turned on, he’d probably say something about how impressed he is.

Phil massages Dan’s thighs with gentle pressure for a while, kissing and sucking and biting at Dan’s nipple all the while. Dan is leaking through his pants at this point, and he makes a very pathetic sort of noise when Phil brushes a hand over his cock.

When Phil pulls away, it gives Dan just a brief moment to recover, but he still squirms under the heat of Phil’s gaze. “What?” Dan finally asks, when Phil won’t stop staring at him.

Phil shakes his head slowly, blinking like he’s coming out of a dream. Dan is positive that it shouldn't be as hot as it actually is. “You’re so gorgeous,” Phil murmurs, rubbing gently over Dan’s thigh.

Dan covers his blushing face with a squeak. He’ll never get used to this naked appreciation that Phil has for his body. A traitorous corner of his mind reminds him that he better not get used to something he’s not even allowed to keep. Dan clears his throat, twitching his head like he can shake the thought away.

“You know...” he starts slowly, a certain conversation coming back to him. “You said that part of the photo series was about sex, right?”

Phil freezes a little then. He’s quick to recover, but not quick enough for Dan not to notice it. “Sexual intimacy,” he corrects, his voice soft. “What about it?”

Dan shifts his hips pointedly. “I think this might be prime photo taking time, bub,” he jokes.

Something shifts in Phil’s face, and he stares down at Dan like he’s grown a second head. “You want me to take them now?” He asks.

Dan shrugs. “Might as well. We’re horny, and all. Kind of makes sense, doesn’t it?”

Phil draws his hands away from Dan’s thighs, and Dan immediately craves his touch again. “I thought you... I thought we were going to...”

“Fuck? Well, that’s the plan, yeah. Doesn’t mean you can’t get your photo thing done too. Two birds, one stone.” Dan doesn’t intend to sound so tetchy, but Phil’s hesitation is getting under his skin. Has he changed his mind? Is Dan’s body not good enough to be photographed in the light of intimacy? His head swirls with self doubt as he sits up. “Look, we don’t have to, but-“

Phil stops him with a hand on his shoulder. “No, we... that’s okay. I’ll, um... let me grab my camera.” His voice sounds wobbly all of a sudden, and Dan frowns.

“Phil, I-“

“It’s fine,” Phil interrupts, climbing off the bed. His face is horribly neutral, and Dan feels a churning, the bad kind, in his stomach.

He watches, wordlessly, as Phil leaves the room, returning a few minutes later with the fancy camera he totes around with them nearly everywhere they go. Dan tries not to glare at the stupid thing. Phil climbs back onto the bed and goes to straddle Dan’s lap again, clicking different things on the camera before holding it up. “Tilt your head,” he says softly.

Dan does, but Phil makes a tutting noise like it’s not what he wanted. Before Dan can ask for better instructions, Phil shifts forward, the movement effectively causing their hips to grind together. Dan can’t help his very human response, tossing his head back with a quiet moan. He hears the camera shutter, and for some reason his skin crawls. He tries to ignore it in favor of grinding up for more of that delicious pressure, reaching out blindly to grip Phil’s hips and pull him closer.

The camera goes off a few more times, but eventually Phil leans away and Dan hears the sound of it being set gently onto Phil’s bedside table. Dan opens his eyes, glancing around until he catches Phil’s gaze. Something has changed. Phil’s got a guarded look in his eye, and Dan feels his stomach clenching with nerves.

“Phil,” he whispers, reaching up and stroking Phil’s cheek gently. He watches as Phil’s eyes slip shut and he leans into the touch. Dan breathes out a sigh of relief at that. It’s a gamble, sometimes, showing even the slightest amount of affection. Because no matter how Phil reacts, Dan has to remember to keep his guard up, protect himself first and worry about the consequences of it all later.

“I want you,” Phil breathes against Dan’s palm.

“You have me,” is Dan’s immediate response. Even if it’s a lie, it’s a lie he feels comfortable telling, as long as it settles whatever is making Phil look so despondent.

Phil blinks at him, raising an eyebrow like a question. Dan nods. It’s worth it for the smile it puts on Phil’s face, for the way he looks down at Dan like he’s given him the world. It’s worth it even though it tears a hole in Dan’s chest. Phil presses a gentle kiss to Dan’s palm then, and Dan knows he’s absolutely fucked.

“How do you normally like it?” Phil asks, pulling away and doing an odd little wiggle to free himself from his pants. Even as ridiculous as he looks, Dan is naturally very distracted at the sight of his cock, and it takes him a second to process what Phil said.

“Oh, uh,” Dan says stupidly. Phil is looking at him with a smug little smirk, and Dan begs his brain to stop being so fucking gay, for like two seconds. “I’m not picky,” he eventually comes up with.

Phil’s lips twitch. “Really?”

Dan nods, watching the way Phil sits up on his knees and begins tugging at Dan’s jeans, which until this moment, Dan had honestly forgotten he was still wearing. “I’m easy,” he says, trying for a flirty tone but not quite getting there.

Phil snorts. He finally pushes the jeans down to Dan’s ankles, leaving Dan to finish kicking them off, paying no mind to how they crumple to the floor in a sad little heap. “Do you think you can handle it if I ride you?” Phil asks, tilting his head.

Dan’s not sure if he wants to laugh or moan. “Uh, yeah,” he stutters out stupidly.

“You sure?” Phil gives him a doubtful look. Dan almost bristles, but then Phil’s hand is diving under the band of his pants and wrapping around his hardness, and Dan can’t find it in himself to even be mildly offended.

“Fuck,” Dan whines. “Yes, just let me-” Dan wiggles helplessly, trying to push his pants off with the use of only one hand. His other is clutching Phil’s thigh, trying to keep himself under control while Phil wanks him.

Phil laughs quietly as he watches Dan struggle but he finally pushes at Dan’s pants, freeing him from them at last. “Are you comfy there?”

Dan nods, but flails an arm above his head in search of a pillow. Phil rolls his eyes and reaches out, tugging on the pillow Dan normally uses when he sleeps over. He pats at Dan’s shoulder to get him to sit up, and when he does, Phil gently places the pillow under his head before pushing his shoulders back down. “Better?” Phil asks.

“Yeah,” Dan says with a smile. “C’mere.” He tugs at Phil’s body, trying to manhandle him onto himself. Phil giggles, like actually giggles, as he complies, straddling Dan’s hips like before. Their nakedness is hard to ignore now, especially when Phil settles, their cocks rubbing together without a barrier between them. Dan groans, squeezing his eyes shut at the feeling.

“You okay?” Phil asks, rocking his hips gently.

Dan swats at him lightly, with absolutely no force behind it. “Don’t be a tease, you know I hate that,” he complains.

Phil grins. “I know you pretend to hate it,” he says, leaning down and kissing Dan’s mouth wetly.

Dan loses himself in it for a bit, forgetting to defend himself entirely. Instead he arches into the kiss and strokes his hands down Phil’s back, trailing his fingers down until he reaches the small of Phil’s back. He pauses there, stroking his fingertips up and down, but Phil arches, making a needy little noise in his throat, and Dan grins, pulling away from the kiss to speak. “Yeah?”

Phil nods, his eyelids fluttering shut. “Yeah. Touch me.”

Dan certainly doesn’t have to be told twice. He pushes his hands down further, kneading Phil’s ass cheeks with a firm hand. Phil groans, pressing back into the touch, and Dan feels a hot surge of arousal in his gut. It’s so beyond sexy for Phil to be on top of him like this, and then for him to be making those noises... Dan can hardly stand it.

“Condom?” He breathes against Phil’s jaw, trailing wet kisses along the smooth expanse of skin. Part of Dan wishes it was a bit stubbled, and then he’s wishing that he’d had the foresight to ask for something a little different. He’s never personally experienced it, but he’s heard good things about being rimmed by someone with facial hair, and he thinks if Phil put off shaving for a couple days, he’d be well on his way to a decent beard.

Dan shakes himself out of his horny fantasy when Phil moves off his lap. The whine that comes out of Dan’s mouth is embarrassing at best, and Phil rolls his eyes when Dan makes grabby hands for him. “Calm down, you actual goblin,” Phil chastises as he looks through the top drawer of his nightstand.

When he finds what he’s looking for he makes a little trumpet noise. Dan’s so endeared with him that it’s actually kind of ridiculous. Phil smiles at him with the same little happy grin he gets sometimes when he makes Dan smile, and Dan reaches out for him. His hand finds Phil’s thigh, and Dan scratches at the hair there while he watches Phil fight with the corner of the condom package.

“Need some help?” Dan asks, his voice softer than he’d intended.

Phil huffs, but shoves the packet into Dan’s hand with an adorably frustrated noise. “Stupid plastic,” he mumbles.

Dan nods as he rips the corner off easily. “Bad for the turtles,” he says mindlessly.

When he glances up, Phil is smiling at him stupidly. “Yeah,” he says, his tone affectionate. “Bad for the turtles.”

Dan grins and gets to work rolling the condom on, squinting when he realizes that it’s a bright blue color. “Uh, is this gonna like dye my dick blue or something, mate?”

Phil scrunches his face up in adorable disgust at that. “Okay, first of all- ew. Don’t call me “mate” when we’re...” he gestures between them pointedly, making eyes at Dan’s penis. “Secondly, no, you weirdo. Your dick will be fine, I just thought they were neat.”

He’s got a little flush on his cheeks when he’s finished with his rant, and Dan has to bite his tongue to keep himself from cooing at him. “Okay, babe, whatever you say,” Dan says, mostly teasing.

Phil bites his lip, but Dan can tell that the pet name does something to him. It may just come from a point of arousal instead of affection, but Dan will take what he can get. “Here,” Phil says, grabbing Dan’s hand and putting something in it.

When Dan looks down, he’s met with a bottle of lube, and he smirks. “You don’t want to put it on me?”

It was meant as a joke, but Phil’s nose crinkles like the idea disgusts him. Dan tries not to take offense. “I don’t like the texture,” he admits. “That’s why I prefer to, like, prepare in the shower. It’s cleaner and I can just wash the lube off my hands right there.”

Dan nods in understanding. Phil was a bit peculiar about textures of things that he touched. “Maybe next time I can help you out with that?” He means for it to come out as a sexy suggestion, but halfway through the sentence he loses his nerve and it comes out as more of a nervous question.

Phil leans down and kisses his shoulder. “Yeah,” he says simply. Then he nudges Dan’s hand. “Alright, get to work, I’m not getting any younger.” He waggles his eyebrows as he says this, making Dan snort.

“Bossy,” he mumbles as he pours a dollop of lube onto his hand. He tries not to feel watched as he covers himself with it, but he can feel Phil’s eyes on him like a touch. Instead of psyching himself out, he leans into the feeling, giving himself a couple good wanks before drawing his hand back. “Reckon that’s enough?” He asks as Phil settles in his lap again.

Phil shrugs. “You can add more if it isn’t,” he says with a cheeky grin.

Dan rolls his eyes, but Phil’s already sitting up and looking at him expectantly, so Dan reaches down, carefully guiding himself to Phil’s waiting hole. He grips Phil’s hip with his free hand, smiling when Phil reaches down to grip his wrist in a loose hold. They’re both quiet when Dan presses into Phil for the first time, almost holding their breath. It takes Dan a second to realize that Phil actually is holding his breath and he moves his hand to hold Phil’s, squeezing gently.

“Breathe, baby.”

Phil takes in a noisy breath, and his body relaxes enough for Dan to push inside past the first tight ring of muscle. He’s already sweating, the pressure he feels around the head of his cock absolutely maddening already. “Thrust up a bit,” Phil whispers, balancing himself with one hand on Dan’s chest, his other still kept in Dan’s grip.

Dan immediately obliges, pausing only to decipher the noise Phil makes when he bottoms out. “You okay?” He whispers, reaching up and stroking Phil’s chest in a soothing sort of way.

“Yeah,” Phil breathes, nodding. “It’s just, like... been a while.”

It’s stupid how happy those words make Dan. “Same,” he murmurs, trailing his hand up and petting at Phil’s collarbones.

Phil smiles down at him, shifting his hips a little to get used to the stretch. He leans down slowly, taking care not to disrupt the position, and peppers Dan’s face with kisses, only some of them landing on his lips. It feels like so much, all of this affection while he’s buried balls deep inside his best friend, and as much as Dan craves it, he can feel himself beginning to suffocate underneath it all.

Gently, so as not to hurt or surprise Phil, Dan reaches down to grip his hips, pulling out a little ways and thrusting back in. Phil moans against his cheek, and Dan smiles. “Good?” He asks, just to make sure.

“Yes,” Phil whispers. “Right- right there!” He nearly squeals the last part as Dan thrusts a few more times, keeping his angle. He must’ve managed to find Phil’s prostate like this, so he reaches one hand up to grip the back of Phil’s neck, holding him in place.

“You feel so good,” Dan whispers. It’s the truth, Phil always feels good whether they’re sharing a kiss, giving each other blowjobs, or just brushing shoulders as they sit on the couch watching a film. He realizes with a start that as incredible as this is, this isn’t even his favorite way to feel Phil, not by far.

“Mm,” Phil moans, barely coherent. Dan looks at him and smirks when he sees how out of it Phil is, watery, hooded eyes and his teeth digging into his bottom lip in a very Dan-esque fashion. “Meant to be riding you, though,” Phil finds enough brain cells to mutter.

Dan pulls him in for a wet kiss. He can’t not, not with Phil looking like this sat on his cock. When he releases him, he does so completely, tossing his arms over his head to rest on the pillow. He settles Phil with a challenging look. “Okay, so what am I doing all of the work for?”

Phil narrows his eyes at him as he sits up. “You lazy git,” he says, with no bite in his voice.

Dan smirks. “I could say the same about you.”

“Pft.” Phil seems to take this as a personal challenge, steadying himself on Dan’s chest with both hands before he begins moving his hips, doing little bounces at first before eventually abandoning that to grind in tight little circles.

Dan moans. Loudly.

“Fuck.”

“Shh, my neighbors will hear us,” Phil chastises.

Dan groans. “Fuck the fucking neighbors.” He grips Phil’s hips, digging his thumbs in a bit harder than he normally would, and he would probably feel bad if he had the brain capacity to think about it.

“Nah, I don’t think I will,” Phil says smugly.

Dan wants to roll his eyes in annoyance, but Phil just feels too good. He can’t focus on anything but tight, wet heat and searing blue eyes. “God. Make me come,” he grunts, grinding up into Phil. They’d been having sex together long enough that Dan knows Phil doesn’t mind him being a little bossy.

Phil shakes his head though, grinning. “Me first,” he says, grabbing Dan’s hand and pulling it over to his neglected cock. Dan’s pleasantly surprised to find that it’s only flagged a little, still mostly hard. It only takes him a couple of strokes to get him back to full hardness, but then Phil whines like he’s in pain.

“What?” Dan asks, immediately releasing him and stilling his hips. “Are you okay?”

Phil pouts. “It’s getting all tacky and drying out,” he complains.

It takes Dan’s horn-driven brain a second to understand what he’s talking about. “Oh, hang on, let me-“ he reaches blindly until his hand discovers the discarded bottle of lube, and he pats Phil’s hip with his dry hand so he’ll climb off for a second. As Dan’s lathering himself back up, he notices Phil rubbing at his thighs. “You alright?

“Yeah. Little tired though. My thighs hurt.” Phil gives him an apologetic smile.

Dan returns the smile easily. “That’s fine. Do you wanna try this a different way?”

Phil gives him a sheepish look. “Do you mind?”

He’s so considerate. Dan cares for him more than he wants to admit. “Not at all. How about...” he shuffles around on the bed, moving the pillow further up so that it’s out of the way. “Do you want to lay down or would you be okay on all fours?”

It’s funny, the horny expression that crosses Phil’s face as he considers the options. “I think... for now I think I'll lay down. I’m so out of shape, and my legs already feel a bit like jelly.”

Dan giggles. “Alright. Well, get comfy, then.”

As Phil settles himself on his back, he seems to be mulling something over. “I do want to try the- the other one. Like, some other time, obviously, but I do want to try it like that as well.” He sounds nervous, even shy, and Dan feels it settle somewhere in his chest.

“Sure,” he says quietly. He settles himself between Phil’s legs, running his hands up Phil’s calves and stopping at his knees. “You think you can be flexible for me?”

Phil nods. Dan helps him settle back, then brings both of his legs over Dan’s shoulders. Phil looks a little ridiculous, but he grins up at Dan, so Dan smiles back, tilting his head to kiss his knee. He curses himself afterwards, at the soft look Phil gives him. He’s probably already thinking of ways to distance himself from Dan, to tell Dan that they really should just finish the stupid photo series then never speak to each other again.

At least, that’s what’s running through Dan’s head at first. After a moment, however, Phil distracts him again by speaking in a soft voice.

“Are you okay?”

Dan can’t help but smile down at him. “Yeah. Just thinking.”

Phil tilts his head. He looks like a curious puppy. Dan keeps that thought to himself.

“About what?”

Dan nearly freezes at the innocent question, but reminds himself to stay calm to avoid suspicion. Instead of telling the whole truth, he smirks, reaching down to press his fingers to Phil’s perineum. “You,” he half-lies.

Phil smiles, his eyelids fluttering shut as Dan applies gentle pressure. “Mm. Might wanna start doing me instead of thinking about me, Howell. Running out of time, here.”

Dan knows that Phil’s just joking about it being late, but that cuts deep. He really is running out of time, already. This may be the last time he ever gets to have Phil like this, even if it’s technically the first.

“Hey,” Phil murmurs. Dan’s eyes refocus on him, and Phil smiles, a little twitch of his lips. “Come back,” he says.

Dan smiles at him. “I’m here,” he replies.

Phil reaches up, stroking Dan’s arms in gentle sweeps. “No. You were stuck in your head. Get out of there, come be with me for a little while.”

It’s stupid, but for a moment Dan thinks he might cry.

Instead, he leans down, pressing a kiss to Phil’s mouth. “I’m with you,” he murmurs, reaching down to line himself back up.

Phil gasps against his mouth when Dan presses back inside, but it’s a good noise, Dan thinks. “Mm,” Phil hums. “This is better.”

“Yeah?” Dan asks, grinning.

Phil nods, twirling his fingers around a curling piece of Dan’s hair. “I can feel you even deeper like this,” he murmurs, sounding inexplicably fond.

Dan makes a noise that’s somewhere between a whine and a whimper, and Phil tugs at his hair, pulling him down for a kiss. Dan slows his thrusting to a grind so they don’t knock their teeth together too much, and Phil opens his mouth up for him with a soft noise.

It’s softer like this, Dan realizes. They’re slow and careful as they drag fingers over damp skin and press kisses to any place they can reach. Dan’s never been a fan of the term, but this feels more like making love than anything he’s ever heard described in any movie or book.

He’s quick to bat that thought away though. If there’s one thing he understands about their arrangement, it’s that this is temporary.

He doesn’t want to think about that right now, though. Not when Phil is squeezing around him so tightly and he’s making these sounds, like he feels just as good as Dan does. So instead he does what any sensible person would do, sitting up and reaching down to take Phil’s dripping cock in his hand.

Phil keens, and Dan hides his pleased smile against Phil’s knee. “Good?” He asks softly.

Phil nods jerkily. “Really good,” he breathes. “Just, ah-“ he flaps his hand vaguely. “Bit dry.”

“Oh, hang on.” Dan pulls his hand away in search of the lube, but keeps idly thrusting his hips while he searches the sheets for it. Phil whines, and Dan glances down at him with a smirk. “There it is,” he says, brandishing the little bottle triumphantly when he spots it near Phil’s shoulder.

“Pour some more on you, too,” Phil says, reaching up to hold his thighs close to his chest so Dan can pull out.

Dan nods, resting a hand against the back of one of Phil’s thighs as he dribbles a bit over the length of his cock, pushing back in gently and glancing up at Phil to gauge his reaction. “Is that good enough?” He asks.

“Yeah,” Phil nods, gripping at his own hair. “I just don’t like the drag when it starts drying out.”

Dan smiles. He loves learning all these little intricacies about his favorite person. “You like it wet, no shame in that,” he teases, pouring a dollop on his hand and tossing the bottle to the side before wrapping Phil up in a tight grip. He’s learned a few things about how Phil likes to have his dick touched over the weeks that they’ve been doing this, and nothing is better than getting to practice them all.

Phil blushes at what Dan said, but doesn’t argue. “God,” he murmurs instead. “I’m getting really close, baby.”

Dan’s whole body tingles at the pet name. “Okay,” he murmurs, using his free hand to drag Phil’s legs back over his shoulders. He kisses Phil’s knee, trailing across to nip gently at a bit of thigh. Phil jerks, and Dan smiles down at him innocently.

“Cannibal,” Phil says affectionately.

“You like it,” Dan argues.

Phil doesn’t deny it. Instead, he shifts his hips to grind up against Dan, his eyes fluttering closed as Dan tightens his grip, wanking Phil’s cock with purpose. Phil sighs, a little punched out noise that has Dan feeling desperate, his hips driving in faster and harder to reach that place that Phil’s at.

It doesn’t take long. Listening to Phil’s noises and feeling his tight, wet heat around Dan’s cock are recipes for an early finish, but Dan is still a little impressed at how long he’s managed to hold out. Still, he feels a little bad for how quickly he’s approaching that finish line, with Phil still whining and twitching beneath him, like he can’t quite reach it himself.

“C’mon, bub,” Dan breathes, nipping at Phil’s thigh again and twisting his wrist on an upstroke. “I want you to come first.”

“I’m trying,” Phil whines. “It’s- it’s too much, too-“

Dan gets a weird idea. Weird, because, well, it feels incredible to be buried inside Phil’s body like this, as close as two people can be, and honestly someone would have to fight to pull him away from that any other time.

So it’s weird that instead, he pulls out gently, shushing Phil’s noise of protest as he crawls down Phil’s body so that he’s level with Phil’s cock. “Oh,” Phil breathes when Dan ghosts his lips over the tip, dragging his mouth down lower to kiss and suck at his balls. His hands go exploring, searching lower until he finds exactly what he’s looking for.

Phil groans when Dan pushes two fingers inside, and Dan hears the complaint before Phil has a chance to make it. “Your hand’s too dry, Danny.”

“Shh, I know,” Dan placates him, pulling his hand out after a gentle prod around. He glances up at Phil for a second, and when he sees that Phil’s got his eyes closed, head thrown back, Dan grins. Phil’s a little on the shy side about certain parts of sex, and so he’s not sure how Phil would feel about this particular idea if Dan were to ask him.

So instead of asking with words, Dan gives a last gentle kiss to Phil’s balls, then kisses further down, slow enough that Phil could stop him if he wanted.

He doesn’t.

Dan reaches his destination and places a light kiss to the pink puffy rim before him, and he hears Phil’s sharp intake of breath.

“Dan,” he breathes, his voice tight.

“Can I?” Dan asks, excited. He loves doing this for people, even though it wasn’t something he was often allowed.

Phil seems to be struggling to decide. “I...”

Dan kisses him there again, gently. “I’ll be gentle, I promise,” he says softly, looking up at Phil with what he hopes are perfect puppy eyes.

Phil reaches down, brushing Dan’s damp, curling hair out of his eyes. “Yeah,” he agrees after a moment. “Just...” He looks embarrassed.

Dan thinks he gets that. He’s not usually shy about sex like Phil is, but he understands how nerve wracking this particular sex act is, especially with a new partner. “I’ll make it good for you,” he promises, grabbing Phil’s hand and pressing a quick kiss to his palm.

Phil rubs his thumb over Dan’s lips. “I know,” he says softly. He shifts to give Dan more room, and Dan takes that as an invitation.

He dives back in, gentle, just like he promised. He starts with kisses at first, just gentle brushes of his lips while one hand reaches up to wank Phil’s cock, which is still rock hard and hot. Dan slowly introduces a bit of tongue, just an occasional brush against Phil’s rim until he hears him whimper. Dan can tell without looking that it’s a good noise, Phil’s legs shaking with pleasure.

After that, Dan’s a little less cautious. He’s basically making out with Phil’s hole, so he fully commits to it, pressing his tongue in as far as it’ll go, using one hand to hold Phil in place. He struggles to get the position right at first, but then Phil’s hands appear, reaching down to hold himself open, giving Dan plenty of space to work. Dan glances up at him with a grin and a wink. “Thanks,” he mumbles against Phil’s puffy hole as he dives back in.

He laps and sucks and fucks him with his tongue, and eventually Phil is grabbing his hair, moaning loudly above him. Dan will pat himself on the back for this later, but right now he just really, really wants to make Phil come.

“Close,” Phil breathes. “Really fucking close.”

Dan doubles his efforts, wanking him fast and sucking hard and it takes just two, three strokes, and then Phil’s body is seizing up, tight like a wire before he finally releases with a long sigh.

Dan kisses his hole once more, nuzzling his thigh gently before kissing his way back up, lapping at the come cooling on Phil’s stomach just a bit, just enough that Phil groans and squeezes his eyes shut when he looks down and sees him.

Then, Dan decides it’s his turn. He’s hard and aching and ready to burst, but he’s polite enough to give Phil some space to recover. For a moment, at least, and then he’s tugging the condom off and swinging his legs over Phil, rutting his cock against the come smeared all over his stomach.

“Fuck, Dan,” Phil groans. “You’re gonna make me hard again.”

Dan shrugs. “That’s fine. We can go again. Maybe you can fuck me this time,” he says with a cheeky grin. He’s mostly kidding. He’s already feeling exhausted, and at this point he just wants to come his brains out and then immediately pass the fuck out for the night.

Phil seems to be on the same page. “Maybe another night,” he says vaguely, reaching forward and gripping Dan’s hips. “Come here, I’ll blow you the rest of the way.”

Dan smiles and crawls up Phil’s body to straddle his chest, holding his cock to Phil’s lips. “Here comes the airplane,” Dan says in a stupid voice.

“Shut up,” Phil laughs. He tugs Dan forward by his ass, holding his mouth open like a baby bird.

Dan really needs to stop with the childish references before he gives himself a complex.

Instead, he focuses on the feeling of Phil’s mouth. Dan thinks that he’s got this down to a science by now, knows all the right places Dan likes to have touched when he’s getting a blowjob, knows the exact pressure he can use when sucking to really make Dan’s eyes roll back in his head. It’s kind of perfect, if he’s being completely honest.

It doesn’t take him long, not with how long he’s been aching to come, and when he does it’s with a long whine and a full-body shiver. Phil swallows and gives his cock a sweet little kiss, looking up at him with this adoring smile.

“I love it when you do that,” he says.

Dan quirks an eyebrow. “Do what? Come in your mouth?” He smirks.

Phil rolls his eyes, pinching his naked hip in reprimand. “No. That cute little shiver thing you do when you come. It makes me feel like I did a good job.”

And that’s... really adorable, that Phil would even be worried about that.

Dan scoots himself down Phil’s chest so that he’s laying flat on top of him, then smashes their lips together messily. He can taste himself on Phil’s tongue, sharp and salty and a little bit gross. He still likes it though, probably more than he should. So he lets himself indulge for a while, relaxing his weight onto Phil’s body and plying him with kisses.

Eventually, Phil pushes him away a bit. “I’m covered in semen,” he says matter-of-factly.

Dan sits up, looking down at the mess now smeared across both of their chests. “I suppose we both are,” he observes. “Wonder what we ought to do about that.”

Phil smiles tiredly. “Can we just do a quick wash up? I’m really tired.”

“Sure,” Dan nods. He goes to climb off of Phil’s lap, when a thought hits him. “Should we do some more photos?”

Phil flinches. “Now?”

Dan shrugs. “Yeah. I mean... I’m all debauched, I reckon that’s what you’re going for, right?”

Phil stares at him for a long time. Dan feels his gaze like a brand, and it makes him twitch. Finally, Phil shakes his head. “No. I got enough photos for that part.”

“Oh,” Dan says slowly. “Okay.”

There’s a moment of silence as they stare at each other, and then Phil leans back, closing his eyes. “Can you go get something to clean us up with?” His voice is flat.

Dan’s heart squeezes. “Sure,” he whispers. He feels chastised, even if Phil really hadn’t said anything out of order. He climbs off of Phil gingerly, being careful not to touch him more than necessary. It feels wrong, now, to be this naked together, and Dan makes sure to grab his pants from the floor on his way out, as well a random shirt. It’s probably not his, but they’ve fallen into a habit of sharing clothes a lot lately so there’s a good chance that it might be.

He goes to the bathroom and wets a cloth, carefully cleaning himself up and dressing in silence. His heart is racing all of a sudden, like he’s two seconds away from a panic attack, and he really, really doesn’t want to deal with that on top of everything else right now.

Quietly, he returns to Phil’s bedroom with the damp cloth, hovering by the bed awkwardly, looking down at Phil, whose eyes are still closed. His breathing is too uneven for him to be asleep, but Dan feels strange, like he’s not supposed to speak to him when he’s like this. He tries not to think about which part of his childhood instilled this particular behavior.

“I can feel you staring at me,” Phil says suddenly, interrupting the weird, tense silence.

“Sorry,” Dan mumbles.

Phil blinks up at him, and Dan’s never seen him look so tired. Like the weight of the universe is clinging to his shoulders. “Clean me up?” He asks, voice soft.

Dan’s shoulders relax and he lets out a breath. “Yeah, course,” he murmurs. He drags the cloth over Phil’s chest and stomach, wiping away all the evidence of their activities, then carefully cleans up around his dick before going lower. Phil hisses, and Dan stops immediately. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. Just sensitive. Be gentle.” Phil looks at him with kind eyes, like he already knows that Dan will do his best.

“Yeah,” Dan agrees. He carefully cleans up the tacky, drying lube, and when he’s finished, he holds the cloth in his hand, slightly disgusted.

“Just toss it wherever,” Phil says, flapping a hand, uncaring. “It’ll get into the wash eventually.”

Dan at least has the decency to drop it far enough from the bed that there’s very little chance that either of them will step on it, but with empty hands, he’s suddenly unsure of his purpose. He shifts awkwardly near the door, hesitating. He wants to stay, but he’s not sure if he’s allowed. They don’t always sleep together after, well, sleeping together, but tonight... Dan really fucking wants to.

“Are you coming to bed or are you just going to stand there creeping?” Phil asks eventually, looking over at Dan like he’s gone crazy.

Dan could crumple with relief at that. “Yeah,” he says, making his way back across the room and sliding into bed next to Phil. “I wasn’t sure if, like, you wanted me to stay.”

Phil snorts. Dan tries not to be offended, since he doesn’t really know the reason for the rather unattractive sound. “I always want you to stay,” Phil mumbles, wrapping around Dan like an octopus once he’s settled.

“Me too,” Dan whispers, wrapping his arms around Phil’s waist. He’s clinging, but Phil is too, a bit, so Dan doesn’t feel too guilty. He does realize, however, that Phil is still naked. This feels like it needs to be said. “You’re naked,” he says softly, stroking Phil’s shoulder with gentle sweeps.

“Mm,” Phil hums. “Yeah. That okay?”

Dan snorts. “Of course. As long as you’re comfy.”

Phil nuzzles him then, like a proper nuzzle, and Dan knows he’s not going to be able to escape his very real feelings for much longer.

“Dan?” Phil says eventually, breaking the lull of almost-sleep Dan has fallen into.

“Hm?” Dan mumbles, his eyes already closed.

Phil’s quiet for long enough that Dan is mostly asleep when he speaks again. “You like me, don’t you?”

Dan hums, a sleep-drunk noise that’s barely coherent.

“Dan,” Phil says again, nudging him. “You do, right?”

“Mhm,” Dan mumbles, sighing noisily and snuggling in close to Phil. “Like you best,” he says nonsensically.

Phil makes a noise then, that Dan’s mostly-asleep brain deciphers as a pleased noise. He whispers something against Dan’s hair, but Dan loses it to the clutches of sleep.

~~~

When Dan wakes up, he knows something is wrong. It’s still dark out, but the bed is empty and the sheets are cold, and even as he tries to claw his way out of the haze of sleep, he knows that something about that should raise some alarm.

“Phil?” He calls, patting around on the bed for his phone. The screen is too bright when it powers on, showing a hideous three a.m. that makes Dan want to gag. But part of him, the part that’s spent maybe fourteen nights with Phil so far, is very concerned about this turn of events.

Quietly, as if there’s someone to wake, he crawls out of the bed, shivering in the chilled air. He quickly grabs a random blanket that’s thrown over the back of Phil’s desk chair, wrapping it around his shoulders as he goes in search of Phil.

A peek into the bathroom and kitchen has him coming up empty, so he journeys into the lounge, unnerved by how quiet and dark everything is. He shivers as he turns slowly in the space, and his breath catches when he sees movement out on the balcony.

He relaxes when he realizes that it’s Phil, and paces over to see what the fuck has him out of bed and in the cold, half-dressed at three in the morning. Dan taps on the glass door before he slides it open, making sure Phil isn’t startled by his presence.

It appears he needn’t have bothered, as Phil barely glances at him when Dan steps out on the balcony. Instead, he stares out at the sky before him, not sparing Dan a single look.

Dan can’t take the silence for long. “Having a nice freeze?” He jokes quietly.

Phil doesn’t laugh. His lips barely twitch. “Yeah,” he says flatly.

Dan shuffles, looking down at his feet. He’s already freezing, and he’s got far more layers on than Phil. Phil, who is only wearing a t-shirt and Sonic-printed pants that peek out from under his shirt just a bit. “Are you cold?” He asks softly.

“Why’re you out of bed?” Phil asks, ignoring his question.

Dan startles a bit at his tone. “I was looking for you,” he says, almost petulant. “I woke up alone, and I wanted to know where you were.”

“Well, you found me,” he says. He still doesn’t look at Dan.

“Yeah,” Dan says slowly. “Wishing I didn’t, to be honest.”

Phil finally glances at him, quirking an eyebrow. “Hm,” is all he says.

“Why’re you being a dick?” Dan asks bluntly. He’s always been one to get straight to the point, as he’s been told by many people in his life.

Phil sighs, settling back in his chair and closing his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he says, his voice low. “I don’t mean to be. I’m just tired.”

Dan takes a risk, stepping forward to stand between Phil’s knees. “So come back to bed,” he mumbles, nudging Phil’s knee playfully with his own.

Phil’s lips twitch in an almost-real smile, and Dan savors that victory while he can. This turns out to be a good thing, because when Phil opens his mouth, it’s not what Dan wants to hear. “You can go back to bed. I’m sorry if I woke you up.”

Dan frowns. “I don’t want to go back to bed unless you come too.” He sounds like a child, but he can’t help it.

Apparently Phil picks up on the whiny tone, as well. “Dan, I’m really not in the mood,” he sighs.

“In the mood for what?” Dan demands, his temper flaring.

Phil rolls his eyes. That pisses Dan off even more, if it’s possible. “To argue. Just, go to sleep, or watch tv, or something.”

Dan hates himself for it, but he feels rejected. “I’m not trying to argue with you,” he starts, wrapping his arms around himself as a gust of wind blows over the balcony. Phil shivers, and Dan’s heart clenches. “You’re cold,” he says gently.

“I’m fine.”

“Right.”

“Dan, just...” Phil sighs, rubbing his eyes.

Dan doesn’t want to hear what he’s about to say. “Do you want me to leave?” He asks suddenly, his stomach twisting with the thought. London at three in the morning was a terrifying place.

“Of course not,” Phil replies vehemently. “I want you to stay, I just...” he sighs, running his hands through his hair and making it stand up at funny angles. “My head’s being loud,” he murmurs eventually.

“Oh,” Dan replies. This is really the first time Phil has shared this side of himself, this side that feels pain and annoyance and discomfort.

“Yeah,” Phil says. “So I came out here to try and clear it.”

Dan feels guilty, suddenly. “And then I came out here and made it worse,” he fills in.

Phil shakes his head immediately, reaching out for Dan and gripping his hip. “No, you didn’t. I’m sorry I snapped at you.”

“It’s okay,” Dan mumbles. He hates his body’s natural reaction to this kind of stress, as he can feel hot tears pinpricking his eyes. He blinks rapidly, hoping Phil won’t notice.

Of course, Phil notices. “Come here,” he murmurs, pulling Dan in to sit on his lap.

Dan goes willingly, settling into Phil’s arms that wrap around him, one hand coming up to rub his back in gentle sweeps. “Sorry,” Dan mumbles, wiping at his eyes with the edge of the blanket.

“It’s okay,” Phil says softly. “I’m sorry I upset you.”

“You didn’t,” Dan immediately says. It’s a lie, but his natural instinct is apparently protect Phil first and then feel guilty about it later.

Phil kisses his cheek. “I know that I did,” he says gently. “I’m sorry.”

Dan stays quiet, nuzzling against Phil’s neck, curling up as if he can make himself smaller by sheer will alone.

They sit in silence for a long while and then eventually, Phil sighs. “We should go back to bed.”

“Is your head still loud?” Dan asks.

Phil pats his back, prompting him to climb off his lap. “It is, but it’s fine. I’ll go to sleep eventually.”

Dan doesn’t move from his spot, chewing on his lip as he considers something. He turns so that he’s facing Phil, offering a timid grin. “I think I have a better idea.”

~~~

“This is not exactly what I thought you had in mind,” Phil says, his voice sounding very skeptical.

Dan huffs. “Quit being a hater,” he says, snuggling back against Phil. They’re sat on the sofa, Phil leaning back against the arm with Dan tucked between his legs, his back pressed to Phil’s chest.

Phil kisses his neck. “Sorry. What’re we doing again?” He wraps his arms around Dan’s waist, squeezing him like a teddy bear. Dan doesn’t mind being that teddy bear at all.

“You’re gonna help me decorate my island and my house on the new Animal Crossing game,” Dan informs him, leaving no room for debate.

“And why are we doing this instead of sleeping?”

“Because you said you probably wouldn’t be able to sleep,” Dan says, rolling his eyes.

Phil kisses his neck again, and nuzzles at his shoulder, biting gently and playfully. “Okay, so instead of not-sleeping,” he says, a certain lilt to his voice. “Why are we doing this?”

Dan tilts his head to give him a look. “Because this is just a mindless little video game, and I think it would make you feel better to focus on something unimportant for right now. Something that’ll keep your brain busy but not in a bad way, you know?”

Phil looks at him for what feels like a long time before finally nodding. He kisses Dan’s cheek softly, lingering just a little. “Okay, fine. Let’s check out this island, then.”

~~~

“That is so tacky,” Dan complains.

“It’s not!”

“Phil, it doesn’t match.”

“So?”

Dan groans, crossing his arms petulantly. He’d handed the switch over to Phil when he realized that Phil was already familiar with the concept of Animal Crossing. He hadn’t played New Horizons yet, though, so Dan thought this was a perfect opportunity to get a taste of the game before he committed to buying it for himself.

“I’m gonna have so much to fix when you get done playing,” Dan complains.

Phil pinches his thigh. “Shut up, rat. Now where can I go with all these fossils? Should we sell them?”

Dan screeches, a fair impression of a pterodactyl. “No! Take them to the museum, you tit.”

Phil giggles behind him, and Dan feels it vibrate against his back. “Fine, fine. Where’s the museum?”

Sighing loudly in a very put-upon way, Dan guides him through the game to where his museum is located, screeching and complaining when Phil gets his lefts and rights confused and can’t figure it out. By the time Phil gets there, they’re both giggling uncontrollably, poking at each other repeatedly just to start laughing again. It’s so nice, Dan thinks. This is just what they needed. Even if it is nearly five in the morning and they’ve gotten absolutely no sleep, this is what they needed.

“Hey,” Phil says softly after a few minutes, once they’ve mostly settled down.

“Hm?” Dan replies, watching the screen as Phil makes Dan’s character run around in circles.

“Thank you, for this.” Phil’s voice is quiet, and it almost feels like too much, there in the darkness when they’re wrapped around each other like this.

“Of course,” Dan murmurs to him, tilting his head back and puckering his lips for a kiss. Phil grants him with a gentle peck, and Dan turns back to the game, pretending that the pointless kiss didn’t send an army of butterflies raging through his chest.

“You really knew exactly what I needed to calm down,” Phil says, sounding almost in awe of the fact.

Dan snorts. “Of course. You’re my best friend, Phil.” He hesitates, then, nervous that he may have crossed a line that he’s not ready to cross. “I mean- I may not be yours, and like, that’s fine, I just-“

“You’re mine, too,” Phil says quickly. Dan glances up in time to see Phil blushing. “You’re my best friend.”

They stare at each other for a minute that feels like forever, and then Dan clears his throat. “Right. Glad we got that cleared up,” he says, trying to joke.

Phil tightens his grip on Dan’s waist, and Dan tries to pretend that it doesn’t make his heart pound. “Should we go back to bed?” Phil says softly.

Dan smirks at that. “Round two?”

He feels a laugh vibrate against his back and a kiss pressed to the top of his head. “Don’t know about that, babe. I’m actually kind of exhausted.”

“Yeah,” Dan agrees. “It’s getting late. Or early, depending on how you look at it.”

Phil sighs, nodding. “And I’ve got to meet Martyn in the morning.” For all the time Dan has known him, Phil has never sounded so upset about meeting up with his brother.

“Well we definitely need to hit the sack, then,” Dan says. He pats Phil’s arm that’s wrapped around his waist and sits up. “C’mon, bub. To bed, to bed.”

Phil allows himself to be pulled off the sofa and down the hall into his room. Dan tugs Phil’s shirt off with no other intention than making Phil more comfortable, and Phil’s got a soft look on his face when his head emerges. Dan brings a hand up to rest at Phil’s neck, rubbing his thumb over his pulse gently. It’s a moment that feels like it’s suspended in time, their breaths evening out to match. Dan thinks that maybe, maybe this is what it would feel like if they were actually together. Maybe this hot air balloon feeling would be comfortable someday, if he was allowed to grow more used to it. As it is now, it’s so unfamiliar that Dan feels like he might choke with how overwhelming his feelings are.

“Dan,” Phil breathes in the limited space between their lips.

The moment is shattered, and Dan forces himself to pull away. “I’m tired,” he says. His voice is flat.

He doesn’t miss the hurt on Phil’s face, for the flash of a second that it’s there. It’s gone before he gets the chance to feel properly guilty over it, and Phil’s turning away, crawling under the sheets without a word.

Dan settles on the side he’s come to think of as his own, but there’s an undeniable tension in the air between them now. He pretends there’s not, reaching out and turning off the bedside lamp. “Goodnight,” he whispers once he resettles.

He’s greeted with silence.

~~~

The next morning, Dan wakes up alone.

The light is streaming in through Phil’s shitty blinds, and Dan groans out his discomfort, flailing about like he can will the sunshine away by sheer force alone. It doesn’t work, obviously, but his flailing about does bring his attention to the emptiness of the bed.

He sits up, rubbing the exhaustion out of his eyes with sleep-numb fingers. “Phil?” he calls out. His voice echoes in the quiet of the room.

When he doesn’t immediately hear a reply, Dan starts worrying, because of course he does. He’s never woken up totally alone in Phil’s flat. On the rare occasions when Phil isn’t still in bed with him, Dan always finds him in the kitchen or bathroom, or somewhere. But a quick search of the flat has him coming up empty and he’s trying not to panic, really he is, but he actually can’t help it.

He calms down a little when he notices a note pinned to the fridge. It’s a little ridiculous how relieved he is when he pulls it down to read it.

Dan- I would’ve texted but I didn’t want to wake you up. I’m just out to breakfast with Martyn. Help yourself to anything in the kitchen. I hope you’ll still be there when I get home. Phil

He’s signed the note with a heart beside his name, and Dan refuses to think about how that makes him feel. Instead he focuses on the last part. I hope you’ll still be there when I get home. The idea that Phil would still want to see him again, after the awkwardness of the night before, makes his heart pound. He feels almost sick with guilt over how he’d acted. But he had been so overwhelmed, with the sex and the emotions that came with it. It was no surprise that he was pushing Phil away by the end of the night.

Dan sighs, folding the note carefully and making his way back to Phil’s bedroom. He tucks the note into his backpack, and then he just sort of stops. He’s not sure what to do, alone in Phil’s flat. It’s not something that’s ever happened before, he realizes with a start. Of course he’s spent the night with Phil before, several times by now, but this is the first time he’s found himself waking up alone on a Saturday in the other man’s flat, with no real idea of when he’s coming back. It’s probably stupid, how much he’s already missing Phil, when he’s got no idea how long he’s even been gone.

It takes Dan a few minutes of searching, but eventually he finds his phone amidst the sheets, and he sighs when he doesn’t see any notifications. He debates with himself for a minute or two, but ultimately decides that yes, he is that pathetic, and opens his chat with Phil. All he does is type out a quick “good morning” before going to find a phone plug, a mocking thirteen percent glaring at him from the top of his screen.

He’s barely gotten the phone plugged in when it vibrates with a notification. It buzzes two more times before Dan manages to swipe over to the messages, and he grins when he sees what’s there.

Phil: hi! Phil: why did we stay up so late 😭 Phil: I swear I have some sort of weird sober hangover

Dan grins as he types out a response, leaning awkwardly on Phil’s desk as he does.

Dan: Idk bub I guess maybe you should’ve stayed in bed Dan: you know, instead of abandoning me

Phil: I had to meet my brother!

Dan: I’m naked though

It’s sort of a lie, since Dan is wearing a pair of Phil’s pants, but he could easily be naked, if he was so inclined.

Phil: ..... okay maybe I should’ve stayed at home

Dan smirks to himself. This part of their arrangement, at least, is easy.

Dan: where r u guys at

Phil: That cafe close to the park Phil: The one you said had hipster vibes

Dan: ew of course martyn would like that place

Dan’s never actually met him but from what he hears from Phil, Martyn’s definitely the hipster-y type.

Phil: You wanna come meet us? Martyn keeps asking about you

Dan: you want me to meet your brother?

He’s trying to be normal about this. Because really, that’s a normal thing. Friends do that. Friends meet their friends’ siblings and families all the time.

It’s the “friends” part that Dan is having trouble with, actually.

Phil: Yes.

Dan hesitates. That does sound kind of nice, actually, but something in him doesn’t really know what his answer should be. He knows what he wants it to be, of course. He definitely knows that.

He must take too long to answer, because suddenly his phone is vibrating in his hand, the constant vibrate of an incoming call. Of course it’s Phil, and of course Dan answers almost immediately.

“I still can’t believe you’re the kind of person who just calls when they don’t get a text back,” Dan says in lieu of a hello.

Phil sounds like he’s smiling when he replies. “Come to the cafe. I’ll buy you breakfast.”

Dan makes a considering noise, as if he’s not already digging around Phil’s dresser for something to wear. “Alright, fine. But I’m not putting out.”

Phil laughs. “Yes you will,” he says quietly. Dan wonders if Martyn can hear both sides of this conversation. “Now hurry up. I want another croissant, but I don’t wanna order twice.”

“Okay but I’m borrowing your clothes,” Dan says, tugging on a pair of dark grey sweats. He goes to the closet, looking through the selection with pursed lips.

“Fine,” Phil says, unbothered. “Wear something warm, it’s cold out.”

Dan smiles. “Okay. I’ll see you in a bit.”

“Bye, Dan.” The call disconnects with a click, leaving Dan to select a shirt in silence. He debates with himself for all of a minute before tugging at Phil’s hoodie from his university days, tugging it over his head easily. It’s hideous, but it makes him feel warm when he wears it, both literally and figuratively. It’s well worn with all the years of use it’s seen, but it also makes Dan feel a little possessive. As if anyone who sees him will somehow assume that he belongs to someone just because of a stupid sweater, with a university insignia on it that’s not his own.

He tells his brain to shut the hell up as he makes his way out of Phil’s flat, locking the door behind him with the spare key Phil keeps above the door. He considers slipping it into his pocket but figures that if he comes back it’ll be with Phil anyway, so it would be pointless to pocket the key.

It’s a short walk to the cafe he’s headed for, but he still tucks his AirPods in and scrolls through one of his many pretentiously named playlists until he finds one of his favorite Frank Ocean songs, one that’s really good to listen to while he walks. He hums along as he walks, stuffing his hands in his borrowed hoodie pocket. Phil wasn’t joking about the weather, and Dan’s already regretting his lack of undershirt as the wind nips at every bit of exposed skin.

When the cafe comes into sight, it’s a very welcome thing, and Dan stuffs his AirPods back in their case as he pushes the door open. There’s no happy little bell ringing out the sound of his arrival, not like the little cafe that he and Phil always go to on their own. Still, it’s a warm building, and somewhere in it is the promise of food and Phil, so Dan is pleased to be there anyway.

It doesn’t take him long to spot Phil and his brother sitting at a table towards the back of the cafe. And from the goofy look on Phil’s face, it didn’t take them long to spot him either.

“Hi,” he says when he reaches the table. He didn’t realize it until now, as he’s face to face with the infamous older Lester brother, but he’s nervous. He’s so nervous to meet someone that he knows is so important to a person who’s so important to him.

“Hi,” Phil parrots, sliding over and patting the space of booth next to him. “Cute top,” he smirks as he looks over Dan’s outfit, making Dan’s cheeks flame in mild embarrassment.

When Dan slides in, he offers a smile to the stranger across from them, unsure what to say. He turns to Phil with the intentions of making some sort of joke, but he’s thrown off track by Phil leaning in, planting a short kiss right on his mouth. Dan startles away, his heart racing as he shoots a panicked glance over to Phil’s brother.

Martyn looks completely unbothered, and more unsurprised than Dan thinks he’s really got a right to. “So you must be Dan,” he says, his tone neutral. He’s got a smirk on his face, or what Dan thinks might be one if his eyes weren’t also a bit smiley. “Unless my brother is just in the habit of kissing strange boys.” He sends Phil a funny look, his mouth doing a mimicry of Phil’s precious tongue bite thing.

“Er-“ Dan says with an awkward laugh. “Yeah, I’m Dan.”

Martyn reaches his hand across the table, and Dan accepts the handshake, still a little shaken by the weirdness of the whole encounter. He’s trying not to think about the other reason he feels a little shaken, or the way his lips feel decidedly tingly from Phil’s kiss.

“I’m Martyn, his brother. It’s nice to finally meet you,” Martyn is saying. Dan forces himself to pay attention. “Phil never shuts up about you.”

“Martyn,” Phil hisses. There’s a thudding noise and Martyn winces. Dan knows without asking that Phil just kicked him. Phil smiles sweetly at Dan, and Dan can’t help but lean into the warmth of his gaze. “What would you like for breakfast?”

“Hm,” Dan hums thoughtfully. “There was mention of croissants?”

Phil rolls his eyes, but nods. “I’ll go get you your usual carb selection. Scooch.”

Dan dimples up at him as he slides out of the booth so that Phil can get up to go order. As Phil passes him, Dan makes a split-second decision and kisses his cheek, his body desperate to release some of the affectionate energy he’s got stored up from a morning without him. “Get me something sweet too?” Dan requests as he slides back into the booth.

Phil grins at him. “You’ve already got me, though!”

Martyn makes a retching noise and Dan feels himself blush as Phil trots over to the counter to order their food. Dan forgets to be nervous about being left alone with Phil’s brother for a second, so wrapped up in watching the awkward hand gestures Phil makes as he selects an array of croissants and muffins for them.

His brief reverie is ruined when he hears Martyn clear his throat from across the table. Dan jerks at the noise, startled. Martyn sends him an apologetic smile, and Dan finds himself relaxing. Martyn really isn’t that scary in person.

“If he wasn’t so tall, I’d swear he’s a hobbit,” Martyn says, nodding towards his brother.

It takes Dan a minute to think about it, but he grins when it clicks. “Are we on second breakfast or elevensies?” he jokes.

Martyn laughs, seemingly pleased that Dan understood the reference. “Definitely elevensies,” he says.

Dan smiles, shaking his head in fond exasperation as he sneaks another glance at Phil. “He eats like he’s been starved for twelve years. I don’t know where he puts it all,” Dan jokes, rolling his eyes.

Martyn grins. “One of the world’s greatest mysteries,” he agrees. He glances over at Phil for a second, like he’s checking that he’s still preoccupied, and then he’s turning back to Dan, a thoughtful look on his face. “Phil seems really happy these days.”

“Yeah?” Dan says lightly, trying his hardest not to let that go to his head. He can’t hide the smile it causes though, but he tries, biting down on his lip hard.

“Yeah,” Martyn confirms. He taps the table a little, peeking over his shoulder at Phil again. Phil’s chatting with the barista as they prepare the drinks, and Dan just knows that Phil is trying to tell some weird coffee joke that he tells every time he’s in a coffee shop. Dan’s attention is brought back to Martyn when he speaks again, his voice quieter than before. “We never thought he’d get over his ex-boyfriend, to be honest with you. He was so hung up over him, even after the breakup.” Martyn shakes his head, taking a sip of his coffee with a pained look in his eyes.

Dan feels like he’s been doused in cold water all of a sudden, the thought of there being some other man, some other partner before him... But then again, he reminds himself bitterly, they aren’t partners. They’re just friends who... friends who sleep together sometimes. And that’s enough for Dan. But if that’s all they are, he can’t bear this- hearing about some ex-boyfriend that left Phil broken and obsessed. Some person out there that’s been lucky enough to have the parts of Phil that Dan himself isn’t allowed to have, and then wasted it. He can’t handle it.

Martyn doesn’t seem to notice the breakdown Dan is having, steamrolling right over the topic like it’s nothing. “So I’m sure you can imagine my surprise when Phil told me that he met someone.”

Dan startles at that. The way he phrased it makes it sound like Martyn has a very different perspective on their situation. Almost like Phil told him they were...

“Freshly made breakfast, per your request,” Phil announces as he appears beside the table, his arms laden with various treats and pastries.

“You say that like we don’t know they’re thawed out of a freezer every morning and then chucked in a microwave,” Martyn says, grinning.

“Well... they smell delicious, so surely that counts for something,” Phil says, flapping a hand, completely unbothered by Martyn’s comment. He starts sorting out the food, and Dan doesn’t realize he’s staring until Phil turns to speak to him, freezing when he catches the undoubtedly intense look on Dan’s face. “Are you okay?” Phil asks, his voice dropping to something soft.

Dan nods, trying to shake himself out of it. It’s fine. Everything is fine, so he needs to get a grip and get over himself. “Did you forget our coffee?” He asks, looking pointedly at the table.

Phil makes an offended noise, immediately followed by an “oh- yeah.”

Dan rolls his eyes, looking over at Martyn and shaking his head with a mocking thumb pointed in Phil’s direction. Dan can’t help but grin when Martyn laughs at that. “Scoot over, I’ll go get the coffee,” Dan says, patting Phil’s thigh.

Before he gets the chance to get up, a barista is appearing at their table with two cups of coffee, a small smile on their face. “You forgot your coffee,” they say pleasantly.

Phil looks embarrassed, but nods. “Thank you so much.” He pushes Dan’s cup to him as he gestures at his own head vaguely, saying, “one brain cell, and all that.”

The barista laughs and nods. “Same. Have a lovely day, guys.”

Dan waits until they walk back to the counter and out of earshot before he looks over at Martyn, nodding his head in Phil’s direction. “I can’t believe he told them he had one whole brain cell.” His voice is dripping with false disappointment, and he ignores the noise of protest from Phil.

Martyn grins though, clearly finding this banter delightful. “Right? He’s obviously only got half of one.”

“Hey!” Phil whines. “You can’t team up against me. It’s not fair.”

Dan reaches over and squeezes his knee, letting his hand linger for much longer than is actually necessary. “Don’t worry, bub. I have the other half.”

Phil looks surprised for a second, and Dan revels in the way that look melts into one of delighted affection. Turning to his brother, Phil sticks his tongue out childishly.

Martyn rolls his eyes, reaching over and snatching a croissant, dipping it in his coffee in a decidedly Lester fashion. “You’re a child,” he tells Phil mockingly.

Of course, Phil, ever the younger brother, retorts with a truly impressive: “I know you are but what am I?”

~~~

It’s nearly an hour later when Martyn makes his exit. He apologizes but says he’s got to get back home to his girlfriend, who has some kind of stomach flu. Phil mocks him for leaving her alone all morning, but Martyn has this oddly unbothered look, waving it off and saying, “she’s fine. Corny is a tough bird. She doesn’t need or want me to coddle her.” Phil says he can’t really argue with him there, and they laugh about it, making it clear that there’s something to this Cornelia person that Dan doesn’t quite get, having never met her.

They all clear off their trash and dishes from the table before Phil and Dan follow Martyn to the door. They pause as they stand outside, Martyn and Phil making plans to hang out again sometime the next week. Dan feels sort of awkward stood there, as they haven’t included him in this bit of the conversation, so he pulls his phone out, messing about on Twitter until he hears his name. He tunes back in, glancing up to find Martyn looking at him with a smile.

“Sorry, what?” he asks, feeling his face flush with embarrassment. God, way to look stupid in front of a stranger.

“I just asked if you’d be coming with Phil, when we go out next weekend,” Martyn says, with the air of someone who is not used to accepting no for an answer.

“Oh, er...” Dan looks to Phil helplessly, but Phil just shrugs. He’s smiling encouragingly, like he wants Dan to say yes, so Dan gives Martyn an awkward, uncertain nod. “Uh, sure. Where are you guys going?”

“We’re going with Martyn and Cornelia to have dinner and maybe clubbing a little bit,” Phil replies, giving Dan an apologetic look. He knows how Dan feels about clubbing, and something about that fills Dan with such an ooey-gooey warmth that he finds himself agreeing to it easily, despite how much he despises the club scene.

“Sure, I’m in. Sounds fun,” Dan says with a smile.

Martyn looks pleased, and Dan is surprised when he holds his arms out for a hug. “Cool. Listen, it was nice meeting you, mate. Be good to my little brother, okay?”

“O-kay,” Dan says, stuttering through the word just a bit. He can’t hide his surprise, though, and it only melts into confusion when Martyn pulls away with a wink.

“Bye, Phil,” Martyn says, hugging Phil next. He mumbles something in his ear that Dan doesn’t catch, but Phil’s ears go pink, and Dan decides that he’ll be pestering Phil about it immediately after Martyn leaves.

“Goodbye, Martyn,” Phil says, a little bit strained. He waves his brother off, reaching out and catching Dan’s wrist with the one not waving. Dan thinks he probably means to hold his hand but just doesn’t have the coordination to do both at once.

Dan watches Martyn walk away, then turns to look at Phil. “Your flat is also that way,” he points out, unnecessarily, probably, considering Phil looks like he’d rather choke than have to walk with his brother. Dan’s dying to ask what Martyn could’ve possibly said that would make Phil react like this, but he’s going to give it a moment.

“I know,” Phil says, petulant. He’s a lip twitch away from a full-on pout.

“So... shouldn’t we also be going that way?” Dan teases.

Phil suddenly shakes his head, turning and tugging Dan in the opposite direction. “Nope. We’re going to the park.”

“Are we?” Dan laughs, letting himself be towed along.

“Yep,” Phil says, popping the ‘p’ as he says it. “Gonna buy some bread and feed some ducks.”

Dan shakes his head, adjusting the grip their hands are locked in so that their fingers are properly laced together. He tugs a little on Phil’s arm, slowing Phil down from where he’s walking a pace and a half quicker than Dan. “Bread is bad for ducks,” Dan remarks mindlessly.

“Hm,” Phil hums. He sounds distracted. “Fine, we’ll just look at the ducks.”

Dan shrugs. “Okay.” He waits for a beat. When it’s clear that Phil isn’t going to look at him or speak, Dan cracks. “So what did Martyn say?”

Phil’s face immediately flushes, an incredibly big tell for him. Dan bites back a laugh, squeezing Phil’s fingers reassuringly. “Nothing,” he says quickly. Another tell, and clearly he doesn’t know Dan very well if he thinks that Dan is just going to let it go.

“Come on,” Dan whines, tugging on Phil’s hand. “Tell me! I won’t leave you alone until you tell me.”

Phil rolls his eyes, tugging his hand out of Dan’s grip. Dan feels mildly offended for a moment, but he recovers quickly when he feels Phil’s arm wrap around his shoulders instead. “You’re not wearing anything under this, are you?” Phil asks as he tugs at a hoodie string, ignoring Dan’s pestering entirely.

“No, I’m not,” Dan says quickly, batting Phil’s hand away. “Quit trying to change the subject, I wanna know what he said.”

“It’s really cold out, Dan, you should’ve worn a t-shirt or something underneath this,” Phil continues, a little frown tugging at his lips.

Dan huffs. “I think you’re stalling,” he says.

Phil shrugs, looking away. His ears are still pink, and not the kind you only get from the cold. “I’m not,” he mumbles half-heartedly.

“Was it about me?” Dan asks, excited. He already knows it was, but the way Phil blushes confirms it for him. “It was! What was it?”

Phil sighs deeply. “If I tell you will you drop it?”

Dan nods, holding out his pinky for a sacred pinky-promise. Phil rolls his eyes, but locks their pinkies together anyway. “So?” Dan asks, giddy.

Phil’s quiet for a moment, pulling his arm away from Dan to shove his hands in his coat pockets. Dan feels the loss of his warmth immediately, and leans into his space to get a little of it back. “He told me that he was happy to see me happy,” Phil says quietly.

Dan’s heart squeezes. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Phil says with a nod. “And...” he glanced over at Dan, looking away quickly with another flush to his cheeks. “He told me not to screw it up this time.”

At first, Dan is surprised that Martyn would tell him not to screw this up, considering he clearly doesn’t understand the arrangement they have, but then his brain processes the implications of that. Martyn had told Dan that Phil had gone through a terrible breakup, that they thought he’d never get over it... but what he said to Phil makes it sound like he was the one at fault. And despite the fact that they aren’t actually dating, that Dan doesn’t actually really know how Phil is in a romantic relationship, Dan just knows that this cannot be true.

“You couldn’t,” Dan says, leaving very little room for argument.

Phil gives him a strange look. “What?”

Dan clears his throat. “You couldn’t screw this up. You know that, right?”

Phil looks at him like he doesn’t quite agree, but shrugs. “I thought that last time, too,” he mumbles.

Dan’s heart jumps. Phil’s never told him about his previous relationships, and this feels like that might be where this conversation is headed. Dan doesn’t know if he can stand that. It was bad enough to hear Martyn tell it, Dan thinks he might actually be sick if he has to hear Phil tell it as well.

“Phil,” Dan murmurs, reaching out and touching his arm.

“It’s fine,” Phil says with a shrug. “This time will be different.” He turns to look at Dan, a little smile tugging at his lips. “Because you’re different.”

Dan has to pretend that doesn’t make his insides set alight, but oh god, it does. “Right,” Dan murmurs. He doesn’t even know what Phil meant by it, really. Is this different because they aren’t actually dating? Is it different because Dan isn’t like Phil’s mysterious ex? Dan is desperate to know, but he’s afraid to ask.

He didn’t realize how far they’d walked, but his spiral of ruinous thoughts is cut off by Phil tugging at his arm and pointing. “Look! Ducks!”

Dan still has questions, he still wants to know if there’s something else going on between them, but for now he decides to ignore it. There will inevitably come a day where he can’t ignore it, but he decides that today is not that day, and instead allows Phil to drag him over to where the family of ducks is quacking about near the pond.

#phanfiction #phanfic #photographer!phil #student!dan #model!dan (sort of)#strangers to friends to lovers #friends to lovers #best friends #miscommunication #angst #fluff #smut #break up #getting back together #photography fic #take a picture (it'll last longer)#tapill #part 2

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ally-127 · 5 years ago

Note

What about first kiss with Wonwoo and poor baby is nervous because he really likes you

colour

pairing : barista!wonwoo x reader word count : 1.6k warnings : none! like one curse word used in a positive context, i guess. music : ‘love like that’ by lauv a/n : a little bit of domestic life here with mr jeon ++ happy comeback day everyone!! i‘m enjoying the album so far i hope you did too!!

in your life, there weren’t many things that were vivid, dynamic.

everything was set with a clear outline. you graduated with a degree your parents had chosen for you. you settled down in an apartment downtown of seoul, got a job in a company your father had recommended for you. you lived your life from nine to five every day exactly how your parents had wanted you to live.

all of it was fine-tuned to your parents’ desires.

you were beyond grateful for all they have given you. but there was a lack of colour, of taste, in your life. your day-to-day activities ran mostly on a flat curve, all in monochrome and it made you shrivel up, almost resorting to ignorance.

and that was until you met wonwoo.

you labelled meeting him as a coincidence but later he labelled it as fate, to which you laughed in his face and said,

“there’s no such thing as fate.”

you met him at a small café that only took a five-minute walk from your apartment. you were the only customer when you arrived at half-past nine in the morning, making a dark-haired barista and a load of empty chairs and tables your only company.

you didn’t mind, though.

there were many things you were used to.

solitude was only one of the many.

that was until the dark-haired barista—whom you eventually found out was called wonwoo—began to strike up a conversation with you after he handed you an iced latte you’d ordered.

for the first time since high school, someone paid attention to you and took interest in you. it was extremely sad, now that you thought about it, but it was nothing short of a life-changing revelation.

it was so mundane, the small talk you had with him, but at least it brought some colour—feeling—into your life.

you visited the café more often after that.

you learned that he was a quiet one, one that kept to himself around others, often only murmuring under his breath and barely looking them in the eye when he served their drink by the little counter at the end.

you were the only one, well you hoped you were the only one, who could see his feline eyes light up with recognition once they landed on your face.

it was when you visited him one day after he closed up the café that you realised he actually owned the place.

he laughed, brushing away your awe and told you it had been a dream of his to open one since he was a teenager. his hands were tucked into the pockets of his jeans then, raven hair falling across his arched brow as he looked down at the ground, embarrassed.

an unknown feeling, something of a slight thrill, if not excitement, seized your entire being when he asked you, quietly, if you wanted to have dinner with him that night.

you had hints of this excitement over the past month you began to see him during your short run for coffee, in a rush for work or after work, when you made use of the wifi there and completed your work in your usual seat by the window.

just as the conversations between you and him became deeper, so did your friendship.

you two basked in the warmth of after-hours in the café, diving into topics like the childhoods you experienced in different regions of the country or things like the books you enjoyed reading or the food you liked eating.

it was simple. like cookie crumbs, the two of you unintentionally collected bit by bit about each other and became friends who knew every single one of each other’s secrets.

not long after, wonwoo started to take you to places in seoul you’d never been to, even if you had lived there your entire life. he introduced you to new people—his close circle of friends—and had unknowingly opened up your mind, your heart.

before you knew it, you were too engrossed by everything about him to back out from any social setting anymore.

his kind-hearted nature was irresistible to you. his sweet smile was like pure serotonin, the only drug you ever needed on a bad day. you found yourself needing to be around him more often than not.

you liked watching the crinkle of his nose when you told a bad joke and feeling the shy glances he threw your way on the days you decided to put in more effort into your appearance.

thanks to wonwoo, you had finally broken out of your shell but it wouldn’t be you if you didn’t feel some sense of self-doubt, especially when you were constantly surrounded by new friends night after night for drinks and dinner.

so you decided to ask him as you two sat by the ocean in busan.

“why me?”

“what do you mean?” his hair, tousled by the prevailing wind, blew across his forehead when he turned his head to meet your eyes.

the picnic you had was situated by the cliff, on a grassy plain behind the rocks where the view of the sea could still be seen. your recent convenient store purchases of gimbap and cup ramyeon and your favourite fizzy drinks were littered across the blanket, waiting to be consumed by two hungry adults.

it was his idea to take a train here for a weekend getaway, renting a car and even booking a hotel room.

whether he booked one or two, you didn’t ask.

“on the first day we met, why did you decide to talk to me? why even help me at all?” you sipped on your drink, the sweetness bringing about nostalgia from the past of when you were younger and had a sweeter tooth than now.

“to be honest,” wonwoo scratched the nape of his neck. “you reminded me a little of myself back in high school, so confined within the walls of your own mind.”

before you could defend yourself teasingly, he added,

“and you were beautiful, more than anyone i’d ever seen.”

with that you were left speechless.

“wonwoo, i—“

“i know everything between us right now is strictly platonic,” he began. “but you have to hear me out on this.”

you nodded.

“the thing is i-“ he averted his gaze from you to the blues of the waters below as he said, barely a whisper. “i like you.”

your lips parted, your blood rushing like rapids in your ears. “wonwoo.”

“i like you,” he said again, in case his words got lost in the wind.

you took a moment to digest it.

his deep voice, his tall frame, his broad shoulders. he was attractive, and hell of course you knew that. anyone with eyes would.

with wonwoo, however, it was beyond that.

your safe haven where you went to just let go, to be free, wasn’t a place.

it was by wonwoo’s side, quite literally.

throughout the many mental breakdowns you had over the course of your job, he was the first one who came to mind when you were in need of relief. to be frank, you probably knew wonwoo had your heart as soon as you laid eyes on him.

you loved him before you even knew it.

the crash of waves and seagulls squawking away into the open led you out of your reverie.

his eyes, squinted from the sunlight, was still aimed at you. his teeth nibbled on his bottom lip, his fingers fidgeting. it was a habit he had, especially when he was nervous.

there was something that snapped in you that you just thought, fuck it, leaned over to cup your hands under his jaw, and pulled him in. you didn’t touch his lips, yet.

you let your mouth linger by his for a moment, your eyes fluttering.

he took a sharp inhale between your lips, insinuating that his nerves had not calmed.

you simply laughed and pressed your lips on his. the impact made you fall into his embrace, your body falling atop of his clumsily. his lips were soft on yours, slowly stretching into a smile as if he’d just realised the girl he wanted was kissing him. his arms wound tight around your waist to tug you closer.

his sugary taste was addicting, the skillful tease of his tongue across your bottom lip flaring up foreign sensations deep within you. arms wrapping around his neck, you remained in this position for a hot minute, till you both ran out of breath.

pulling away for air, you held yourself up with hands against the blanket.

“i love you,” you whispered into his ear.

after hearing that wonwoo flipped you over. his face bore a surreal glow when he hovered over you, flashing his pearly whites at you. “i changed my mind.”

“how so?” you raised a brow, a smirk teasing your lips.

“i don’t like you,” he lowered himself down to whisper into your ear.

“you don’t?” you smiled even more, knowing exactly what he meant.

“yeah,” he nuzzled his nose into your neck. “i looooove you.”

“you corny prick,” your chuckle was vibrant, like the blue of the sky above. it reverberated, prominently, against his chest, a melody he never wanted to forget. your fingers threaded through his soft hair, savouring the feeling of his steady heartbeat against your own.

“says the one who kissed me without saying anything first,” he offered grin of his own as he rose back up.

“actions speak louder than words.”

“they do, don’t they?”

just like that, everything you wanted, colour, had bled into your life like the prettiest of paints.

#kwritersworldnet #seventeen #wonwoo #jeon wonwoo #wonwoo fluff #wonwoo angst #wonwoo imagines #wonwoo drabbles #wonwoo x reader #seventeen fluff #seventeen angst #seventeen imagines #seventeen x reader #seventeen drabbles

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stop-breaking-my-heart-telltale · 4 years ago

Text

[against all odds, your hand is in mine] [1/4]

Seasons change, and with each comes a different story. In a world where the dead roam around, romantic companionship seems unlikely. Yet Ericson stands, and within it are four couples who are proof that it's possible.

Spring: Briolet | flowers, picnics, blueberries, running river

Read on AO3

Notes: Sometimes I get the urge to write four oneshots over the course of two days. This is the first of those oneshots. It’s briolet in spring, but be careful: there is so much hand holding and some smooches. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

[screenshot used is from the lovely @pi-creates]

---

Brody pricks her finger again. It's easy to avoid that, but she doesn't have a thimble, and her hands refuse to stop trembling.

No blood, and really, it didn’t even hurt. It more startled her, a bit of panic sparking in her gut at the idea of staining the martial and ruining her project. She stops her work to rest her hands and the fabric in her lap, closes her eyes, and sucks in a deep breath. It does little to calm her nerves or her impatience.

“Don’t rush,” she mumbles to herself, readjusting her position on the bed. She crosses her legs and notices a long strand of thick, pale blue thread stuck to her pants. Great, she needed that color an hour ago to finish one of the flowers.

Doesn’t matter now, the floral design is complete and all she has left is to sew the pieces together. If she can finish soon, there’ll be more than enough time to clean up, gather the basket she made up the night before, and head down to the greenhouse. Violet should still be there.

Brody smiles, setting down her needle and holding the handmade eyepatch in her hands. She rubs a thumb over one of the little white flowers. She embroidered them just this morning, a final touch to the overall design. That feeling strikes her gut again, exciting her nerves.

The idea came to her one night after Violet found her in the common room. It was late at night, and the two shared a blanket on the couch and drank tea. Violet's ruined eye was covered with bandages despite being healed over. No one was able to find her an actual eye patch. The best they found was a plastic one used for a children’s pirate costume, so she kept it bandaged.

Violet never complains about it. She considers the bandages her patch, even though they're not the most comfortable to wear every day.

Brody decided at that moment that she would make her one. She tore through her closet the next morning, sorting through old shirts until she found one she never wore. Taupe in color, a thicker material, something she could easily work with.

Though she had no idea how eyepatches were made, figuring those things out came easy to Brody. She made several patterns, testing each one out on scraps until one worked. From there, it was all about creating a design should could see Violet wearing. It wasn't difficult- sewing and embroidery work came easy to her.

A family thing that stuck, she assumes.

Her grams used to do embroidery and cross-stitching work. She made a living off sewing intricate designs, all more beautiful than any painting. If Brody closes her eyes, she can still see the doorway into her gram’s cabin. The framed design of a flowery cottage with a stone path, rural trees and a cloudless sky hung up on the wall. Her gram’s final masterpiece. She worked on it for months, pouring every ounce of love she had into each stitch. It was something Brody admired every time she walked through that doorway.

She learned to hunt and skin animals from her dad and uncles, and sewing from her grams. Best of both worlds, she supposes. Two skills that became handier than she would’ve ever thought at the time.

Though her flowers weren’t as flawless as her gram’s once were, she still put her heart into each stitch just as she did. She hopes that when Violet sees it, she’ll feel the unspoken words Brody threaded through the fabric.

Purple, white, and blue flowers of all sizes, each with a yellow french knot in the center, standing bright against the muted taupe. She sewed a thicker piece beneath it, used a tiny bit of stuffing from an old, ripped pillow to give it some comfortable cushion. A piece of a silky shirt lines the inside so Violet’s skin won’t get agitated while wearing it.

After weeks of work, all she has left to sew is the straps she made. She had no way to measure the fit for Violet’s head since she wanted this to be a surprise, so she figured she could make them extra long enough to tie comfortably while wearing. If she needed to adjust anything, she could do that later.

Brody picks her needle back up.

It doesn’t take long to finish, even with her forcing herself to take her time.

With triumph, Brody sticks her needle back into its rightful container and hops off her bed, singing, “Ta-daah~ !”

Her mind is all over the place. Wrap up the patch-- does she have a box or even a bag?-- and hide it at the bottom of the woven basket she found in the basement, stuff the blanket in as much as she can so the two cups don’t clank together, and start boiling water for tea-- where the hell did she put the jar of blueberries?

She flicks a match to light the heater she borrowed from Clementine, letting the water come to a slow boil as she searches around for the mason jar. It’s right under her nose, of course, sitting in plain sight on her shelf.

With the greenhouse running smoothly and the trading they’ve done with the traveling caravan that comes around, they're able to plant seeds for several different fruits and vegetables. This week, they finally got their first bunch of blueberries in. She managed to pick a bunch and seal them away in a jar yesterday without Violet noticing. She thought they’d make for a refreshing picnic snack to pair with tea.

Brody’s been planning this picnic for a while now, all while she was working and spring came to chase the cold away. Her favorite time of year where it’s finally warm, but cool enough to not overheat everything. Grass grows greener, flowers bloom all over the place, the river flows, and the sun shines bright in the sky most days. Other days, like yesterday, it rains. She was worried it would rain today as well, but there isn’t a cloud in the sky today.

She lets the tea steep in a large mug and squeezes what she can from an old container of mostly crystallized honey. When it’s cooled down enough, she pours it slow and steady into an empty water bottle. Sure, they can’t have iced tea given they have no way to actually make ice once winter ends, but lukewarm tea would be just as good.

Basket in hand, Brody looks out her window one last time before leaving the dorms. With every step she takes, she grows closer to the greenhouse and her heart thumps gaily against her ribs.

Outside, everyone is out and about, enjoying the warm weather. AJ and Tenn color together at the table while Mitch works on sharpening his favorite knife. Willy sulks on the couch beside him with Ruby attending to his bleeding knee. She's going on about him needing to be more careful.

Clementine and Louis sit on the steps leading into the admin building. She sits a step lower, leaning back into his chest as the two talk. Brody waves at them as she passes, and Louis gives her a knowing grin when he eyes the basket.

It’s not a long walk to the greenhouse from there. She stops when she notices the wildflowers growing by the fence of the rabbit coop. Bees buzz around the white flowers, landing in their yellow centers. She hates to disturb them, but these flowers were part of her inspiration when designing Violet’s eyepatch. They're too perfect not to pick. She shoos away a fat bumblebee with pollen sticking to its little black legs, and gathers eight of the flowers, leaving plenty for the rest.

A simple bouquet, if she could even call it that, but it works.

Once inside, the fresh scent of wet soil and leafy greens hits her. Not as refreshing as the sweet air outside, but still, it fills her lungs with warmth. Or perhaps that sensation is from seeing Violet standing beside Omar, watering what Brody believes are the potatoes.

Most of her hair pulls back into a hair tie, apart from the bangs that fall over her forehead and bandages. She hasn’t had a haircut in a while, letting it grow long enough past her shoulders. A surprise, actually. Violet hasn’t had long hair since they were kids.

Not that Brody was complaining- she likes it very much.

Violet breaks her attention from the potatoes to meet her gaze. She grins, and yes, that warmth is definitely from her. Omar continues on about some sort of new stew he wants to try making, only stopping when he notices he’s lost Violet’s attention.

“Everything doin’ okay in here?” Brody asks.

Violet gives a shrug. She sticks her hand out to run along the wooden planter to steady herself. She meets Brody halfway, replying with, “Eh, nothing too exciting. Willy biffed it while watering the rabbits this morning, but other than that...”

“He about crushed one of the babies,” Omar adds with a shake of his head. “More upset about that than he was about his skinned knee.”

“Aw, poor little guy,” Brody laughs. “That why he looked so miserable when I passed him?”

“Probably. He tried to catch it to apologize, but it was too quick even for him, and Ruby didn’t want him getting a bunch of muck all over him with an open wound, so…”

Apologizing to a baby bunny that they’re eventually going to eat? Sounds like Willy, Brody thinks. But never mind that, she has more important things than rabbits.

She reaches out to grab Violet’s free hand, her lips involuntarily curling into a bright smile as she asks, “Are you almost finished ?”

“Yeah,” Violet says, raising a questioning brow. “Why?”

“We’re going on a picnic!”

Violet pauses, only now noticing the basket in Brody’s grasp.

“We are?”

“We are!”

“That’s news to me.”

Brody lets go of her hand to present her with the flowers. Violet stares at them for a moment as her skin flushes, starting at her neck and blooming along her cheeks. If Omar weren’t standing over there, Brody would lean over and kiss that lovely blush.

“And where exactly would we have a picnic?”

“By the river. Already got a spot in mind.”

Violet holds the flowers close to her chest and clears her throat. She glances back at Omar, and says, “Uh, I don’t-”

“Go ahead,” he interrupts with a wave of his hand. “I can take care of the rest. Go have your picnic, be careful. And Brody,” he points to her, putting on a stern voice, “have her home by eight, and don’t have too much fun.”

Brody laughs.

“Yes, sir!”

Violet shakes her head, but her smile betrays her amusement.

“Well, okay, I guess we’re going on a picnic. There better be peanut butter and jelly sandwiches in there... that's what people eat on picnics, right?”

“Yeah, but no. Close, though.”

Locking their hands together once more, Brody leads Violet out of the greenhouse and through the gates. Soon, they’re outside the walls of Ericson. Heading down the path, she makes sure to keep watch out for any obstacles to warn Violet about.

Brody knows that Violet’s other eye works perfectly well, but given that her depth perception isn’t what it used to be, she can’t help but be extra careful. She used that excuse to hold Violet’s hand before they were together, both still recovering from their respective injuries. Better safe than sorry, use the buddy system, and that system requires hand-holding. Brody didn’t make the rules.

“Never been on a picnic before,” Violet breaks the silence.

“No? Not even before?”

“No.”

“We used to go out on picnics to eat and play games all the time. Me, my grandma, my daddy and uncles, cousins- if it was warm out, we were out.”

“That sounds nice.”

“Most times it was,” Brody says, giving Violet’s hand a squeeze. “ Just because those days are gone doesn’t mean we can’t do that kinda stuff now, y’know?”

“Yeah, I guess so. Though there are more walkers around than there were back then.”

“True, but that shouldn’t be a big issue today,” Brody smiles. “I asked James to check the area and he collected the walkers he found. The river should be clear.”

Even without looking at her, she can sense her surprise. Violet’s quiet for a moment, turning her head to peer around them before saying, “You planned this.”

It’s not a question, but more of a realization.

“I thought this was a spur of the moment thing,” Violet admits. “I, uh…”

When she doesn’t continue, Brody says, “ Not many opportunities to take you out on a date,” the word makes Violet blush and repress a smile, “and when one does arise, you bet your bottom dollar I’m gonna take it .”

Violet says nothing more, but her grip on Brody’s hand tightens.

They make it to the river without spotting a single walker. She kept her knife handy in case, but James was thorough, it seems. Brody makes a note to thank him again for helping her out.

The running water is soothing and the grass colors with golden dandelions. It’s nice to be down here without the intention of working up a sweat while fishing, she thinks. They find a flat piece of grass, kicking rocks, sticks, and pinecones out of the way to lay the blanket down. Together they sit side by side with the basket between them.

Rubbing her hands together, Brody digs in to pull everything out. Except for the eyepatch. It remains, wrapped in a pillowcase she found. Hopefully Louis won’t notice she snuck it from his horde of pillows.

“Alright, we got tea and blueberries,” Brody says, handing one mug to Violet and opening the mason jar of berries. Their sweet scent escapes into the air, making her mouth water.

“How’d you manage to sneak these past Omar?” Violet asks, popping a blueberry into her mouth. Her face twists at the taste, and for a moment Brody worries they might be sour, but Violet shakes her head. “They’re good, just not used to that.”

By now the tea is completely cooled, and while not cold, still delightful to sip on.

“Open wide,” Violet says, holding up a blueberry. It misses Brody’s mouth, bouncing off her chin. Violet laughs. “Pfft, c’mon.”

“Okay, okay, I’m ready, try again.”

Another miss.

“Aww, nope!”

“Well, let's see you try!”

Brody throws up a berry, and Violet misses it completely.

“Damn depth perception,” she grins, grabbing the berry and tossing it up herself. It hits her cheek, lost to the grass. “Damn it!”

Violet’s laugh, while rare, is as bewitching as it is infectious. It’s been so long since Brody heard her laugh like this, and to know that they’re here together, comfortable together…

Emotion builds in her throat, and she has to eat berries to suppress it. She aims the blueberry just right, and Violet catches it this time. As she chews, they both let out victorious giggles.

Once the laughter dies down, Violet brings her knees to her chest as she watches the river.

“Think we’re missing out on a fish haul?” she asks.

“Nah,” Brody pulls the basket closer to look inside, biting her lip as she runs her fingers over the covered patch. “And if we are, I’m sure the traps’ll make up for it.”

Should she do it now? They did just get here, did she want to surprise her early, or…?

Brody grabs a flower instead, bringing it up to her nose to inhale the soft scent. An idea occurs to her as she admires the girl before. Scooping up the flowers, Brody breaks off most of the stems. The flower slips in through Violet’s hair, right where the hair tie is.

Violet jerks her head around to look back, but Brody says, “Don’t move.”

“What are you-?”

She doesn’t need to answer the question, she merely secures a few more flowers within the light strands of hair before leaning back to admire her work. She even tucks one behind her own ear so they match.

Violet remains quiet, but lays her hand on Brody's. A silent, content thank you.

Brody doesn’t know how long they sat there watching the river, sipping tea, and listening to the birds chirp from the trees . A small butterfly flutters by them, and for a moment, Brody forgets the world around them. Forgets the walkers, forgets Ericson, too swept up in the way the warm air blew against her skin, in how Violet’s hand felt in hers, and the strange sense of wonder, a desire to kick off her shoes and run through the river.

It took Violet kissing the back of her hand to break her out of it.

Violet grew sheepish, glancing away as if she needed to come up with an explanation for the kiss, and that was it.

“Vi,” she started, pulling her around to face her. “I have- I made ya somethin’.”

The nervous pounding in her chest thumps in her ears as she reached back into the basket, pulling out the pillowcase.

“Aw, from Lou’s stash,” Violet grins, amused. “You shouldn’t have.”

“No, no, not the pillowcase,” Brody fidgets with it until she finds what she’s looking for. Her thumb brushes over the flowers beneath the thin material. With a deep breath, she goes for it. “Listen, I’ve been thinkin’ a lot about you. Us... just everything, and- Remember that night we stayed up in the common room talkin’? I thought… well, I wanted to do this for you.”

Brody hands her the pillowcase. Not once does she take her eyes off Violet’s face, noting the curiosity and confusion playing in her features as she accepts the gift.

The eyepatch is finally brought out into the sunlight, laying in Violet’s palm.

Neither of them speaks. Violet’s lips part, eye widening.

Brody lets the air out of her lungs slow, and then the words spill from her lips before she can stop them.

“We couldn’t find you anything to wear other than that stupid costume patch, and I know you said you didn’t mind the bandages but then I got to thinkin’ ‘bout how bandages might not always be the comfiest-”

“Brody…” Violet’s voice is quiet, trembling as it breaks.

“-and I want you to be comfortable in somethin’ that you like, so I made this for you- the whole thing, hand sewed it myself. I- but y’know, if it’s maybe too much- I wasn’t sure if it might bring too much attention and you wouldn’t like that-”

She’s cut off when Violet practically throws herself at her, burying her face in the crook of Brody’s neck and holding her tight. Brody doesn’t hesitate. She embraces her back, pressing a hand to cradle her head.

“I… don’t know what to say,” Violet's voice quivers.

“You like it?”

“Yes.”

“Then that’s enough.”

Violet pulls back, and without warning, her hands cup Brody’s face. She presses their lips together in a way that’s anything but gentle. It’s firm, purposeful, and loving. All tension from her body melts away, and Brody truly believes she could kiss her all day and that tingle? The one that coursed through her veins, the butterflies that fluttered in her belly? It would never go away. It wouldn't even lessen.

They break apart, and Violet’s staring down at the eyepatch in her hands.

“Holy shit. It’s… I don’t-” she tries again. “You didn’t have to do this.”

“I wanted to,” Brody assures her, brushing the bangs that fell over her face.

“No one’s ever made me anything like this before. I mean, not a patch, just … you know.”

“Want to try it on?”

Violet nods, and Brody’s undoing the bandages with ease. Her eye's healed from the damage the raiders inflicted, leaving only angry scars. The patch is a perfect size, covering everything.

“Does it feel okay?”

“Yeah, it’s… nice. Soft.”

“Does this feel tight enough? Like it won’t fall off, but not too tight?”

“Yeah, it feels good.”

“Couldn’t figure out a good way to clasp it together, so it ties. If ya want me to change it or anything, I can make adjustments... There!”

Violet turns back around, avoiding her gaze. Brody studies her face, the way the colors of the embroidered flowers make the green in her other eye vibrant, how the taupe of the fabric flatters her.

“Beautiful.”

Violet scoffs, ducking her head to hide the flustered smile that betrays her lips. This gives Brody the perfect excuse to place a quick kiss on her forehead.

“You’re so mushy,” Violet says, embarrassed but trying to force a playful tone. “Y’know that?”

Well, to be fair, Brody could be mushier, so she replies with an over-the-top, sweet, “Only with you.”

Violet groans and they laugh once more.

They know their little picnic will wrap up soon, so together they sit close and enjoy the comfort of nature for a few minutes longer.

“Thank you, Brody… really.”

Brody responds with another kiss.

Yeah, she thinks. She could kiss Violet all day.

#[against all odds your hand in is mine]#twdg briolet #twdg violet #twdg brody #briolet #violet twdg #brody twdg #spring: briolet #thank you for reading #it's always super appreciated :D #twdg fanfics #twdg fanfiction

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halstudandruz · 5 years ago

Text

Watch My Lips (NSFW)

*Not my gif*

Pairing: Antonio Dawson x Reader

Requested: Yes

Prompt: Antonio steps up to teach the reader a few things

Warnings: Smut (18+), swearing

A/N: I took a small page out of the Peter and Gabby book (I really miss Mills) anyway I don’t in any shape or form speak Spanish so blame google translate if anything is wrong, what they’re saying will be in English in parenthesis after just in case.

“Dawson, we need you.” Hailey yelled coming out from the back. Looking up from his desk he gave Jay a questioning look, “he only speaks Spanish.” Upton explained. Antonio nodded closing his file before locking his gun up and following her back. You contemplated between continuing to work or going to watch your partner question the suspect for a few seconds before giving into yourself. Against your better judgment you saved your file on your computer getting up to walk back as well. Kim catching your arm as you passed her desk amused smirk covering her face,

“What?” You asked.

“Where are you going?” She wondered.

“Just going to watch.” You shrugged making her smile grow wider,

“And is there any particular reason you’re going to stand back there and listen to people talk in a language you don’t understand?” She raised an eyebrow at you making your face blush a deep shade of red shifting on your feet,

“Shut up!” You begged looking around to make sure nobody was watching, making her laugh loudly.

“Hey I ain’t here to judge just here to enjoy the show.” She winked, turning back to her computer. Sighing loudly you shoved her in the arm taking the steps to head back to the room opposite of Antonio.

So, Kim may have been your best friend and might have known about your crush on Antonio. Of course taking any opportunity to tease you about them as if she wasn’t doing the same things with Ruzek. Antonio was hot any day of the week, but add on him speaking a different language, being able to watch the way it rolls off his tongue, and the confidence he has while doing it, had you sweating, heat rising in your body.

“Hey.” Jay spoke coming up behind you, making you jump a mile as he laughed out loud. “Looking a little flustered there [Y/L/N].” He smirked.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about Halstead.” You huffed.

“Yeah, okay. You keep telling yourself that. You might want to pull yourself together before Voight comes in though.” Jay winked, an accusing smile on his face.

————

You were a little zoned out heading back to the district later in the day. Antonio was talking your ear off, but your mind kept drifting. You were normally really good at keeping your thoughts and feelings at bay, but looking at him today for some reason caused a wetness to pool between your thighs. Could’ve been his new haircut, could’ve been the way his jeans fit him just right, or maybe the v-neck he was supporting that day because damn you weren’t sure how his arms even fit in it to be honest fighting the urge to reach out and squeeze them.

“Earth to [Y/N]?” Antonio cleared his throat making your eyes shoot up to meet his face immediately turning red.

“Yeah? Sorry what were you saying?” You swallowed, turning to look away from him.

“I’m just saying someone is going to have to learn Spanish before I retire.” Antonio pointed out.

“Yeah cause lord knows that’ll be sooner rather than later.” You teased, stealing a glance as his eyes focused on the road.

“Haha, very funny.” He shook his head hiding a chuckle, “I think you’re going to have to be the one to step up though,” he continued making you laugh,

“Yeah let’s pretend that would happen.” You rolled your eyes, but the smirk on his face never left making you suspect he wasn’t joking, “Antonio, no. I’m not taking a Spanish class.” You crossed your arms against your chest.

“You don’t have to, I'll teach you.” He shrugged, putting the car into park after reaching the district’s parking lot.

“Wouldn’t it just be easier to hire someone who speaks Spanish?” You raised an eyebrow at him.

“Yeah. Probably. This will be more fun though. Come over to my place at 7. I’ll even make you dinner.” He smiled getting out of the car.

“Antonio! I don’t-“ You started to protest before he closed his door cutting you off and heading back into the district without you. Sighing you followed him knowing it was going to be a long night ahead of you.

——————

“This is so a date.” Kim giggled helping you with your makeup.

“It is not!” You retorted for the thousandth time.

“No? Then why are you so concerned about how you look?” She questioned.

“Maybe cause I never get to look nice and for once I’d like to take advantage of it.” You shrugged knowing deep down she could see through you.

“Sure. Okay. We’ll go with that.” She nodded an obvious smirk on her face. “You’ll tell me how he is thought, right?” She continued after a few minutes, making you groan, covering your face with your hands.

—————-

Walking up to Antonio’s door your heart was in your throat. This was nothing new, being at Antonio’s house. He was your partner and you were together regularly even outside the job, but knowing you were going to have to listen to him talk to you in Spanish all night while simultaneously keeping your composure already had your knees weak and your head doubting yourself.

Dinner was good. He had always been a good cook and you enjoyed watching him. You had talked mostly about work which wasn’t a surprise. Eva and Diego coming up frequently too as they were his pride and joy. Which you admired even more. You loved watching him with them even on the bad days the love you could see in his eyes was more than any words he could ever string together and that had you falling even deeper every time.

You were now seated on his couch nursing a glass of wine as he sipped a bottle of beer. Seated just close enough to him that your knee would slightly bump against his every so often.

“You know it’s really not that hard.” He teased.

“It’s your first language! I’d say the same thing about English.” You retorted.

“Do you know anything?” He chuckled, resting his arm against the back of the couch which caused his hand to land against your shoulder. Taking a deep breath you tried your best to ignore it before answering,

“Uh no not really. Just the real basic stuff we have to know. I didn’t even take it in high school. I took French.” You shrugged while taking a drink.

“Yeah? How’d that work out for you?” He asked, amused.

“I don’t remember any of that either anyway.” You chuckled. It started off simple naming things around his house. Following his lead.

An hour later your body was starting to heat up from the wine and listening to Antonio’s hidden accent come out even more prominently had a certain impact as well. So, whenever he started rolling his r’s you could hardly contain yourself wondering what it’d feel like against your own tongue.

“Come on try it again.” He laughed setting another empty beer bottle aside.

“Tonio, I can’t.” You whined setting your almost empty glass on the coffee table next to you.

“One more time. For me?” He smiled brightly at you as you huffed giving in. “Just start slow. Por favor (please).” He repeated and you could swear you heard a whine slip through your own mouth, breath starting to get heavier as you listened to his smooth words flawlessly falling out of his mouth. Taking a deep breath you tried again,

“Por favor.” But it ended as ungraceful and clunky as all the other times, making Antonio laugh loudly. “It’s not funny! I told you I couldn’t do this.” You frowned laying your hand on his knee.

“Alright just watch my lips.” He tapped his mouth, and he didn’t have to tell you twice. As if you hadn’t been already. Nodding you chewed at your bottom lip, inching just a little closer unintentionally. “Por fa-“ he started your lips cutting him off without a second thought. You didn’t remember leaning in, you didn’t remember your mind telling you to do it, but now your lips were tangled with his, hands fisted into his shirt. Antonio didn’t move, didn’t react to your lips on his. Which had you pulling back, your mind catching up to what you were doing.

“Oh, god. I’m so sorry.” You begin to apologize, backing away from him, going to stand up in a rush, panic beginning to set in as you realized what you did. Before he grabbed your wrist pulling you back down to him, but this time closer.

“You sure?” He asked.

“Am I sure about being sorry? Yes, I di-“ But he cut in.

“I don’t believe you.” He smirked one hand landing on your waist, the other on your neck. You gulped not saying anything making him smile and lean into you this time. You gladly welcomed the feeling of his lips on yours again this time relaxing into it. Noticing how he smelled even better this close, how soft his lips were, and how smooth his hair felt as you threaded your fingers through it pulling him impossibly close. He picked you up, sliding you into his lap effortlessly. Pulling back to get a breath before moving to your neck.

“Antonio. Are y-oh,” you moaned feeling him nip behind your ear trying to compose yourself as you continued, hands grasping at sleeves of his shirt, “are you sure about this?” You eventually got out between a few deep breaths and whines. Antonio kissed your shoulder gently before leaning back to look at you, hands resting on your hips.

“Completely. Are you?” He answered.

“If you think you can keep up, old man.” You teased. Laughing he pulled you back to him, tongue immediately sneaking into your mouth, beer taste still existent, but you couldn’t have cared less, hands slipping under his shirt to feel his stomach and you were pleasantly surprised at the hardness. Curious now to see what was underneath up close you tugged at his shirt breaking to pull it over his head when he lifted his arms. Throwing it to the side, hands returning to his abdomen to admire his broad shoulders and perfect chest. “Oh hell yes.” You gaped causing him to chuckle below you.

“What are you thinking?” He asked as you traced your fingers over his scars, leaning down to answer,

“Lots of bad, bad things.” You replied nipping at his ear lobe which earned you a growl from grinding against him at the same time. He moved to pull your tank top off leaning down to leave gentle kisses across the neckline of your bra once it was tossed to the floor. Slowly unclipping it behind you and letting it fall between the two of you. Watching his eyes roam over your body had you immediately self conscious which he sensed.

“Hermosa.” He whispered, hands moving up your body.

“What’s that mean?” You asked.

“Beautiful.” He smiled, taking your breasts into his hands, moving his thumbs over your nipples as you sighed loudly. Closing your eyes tight when his mouth attached to one. Trying to keep from making too many sounds so early on you bit your lip feeling his fingertips digging into your hips encouraging you to move against him again. Gladly you moved your hips teasingly slow against the stiff cock pushing evidently against his jeans earning you a hard bite on your chest that without a doubt would leave a mark. “You want to tease now?” He looked up at you, cockiness in his voice, lips swollen from yours. Lip still trapped between your teeth you nodding looking down at him to see the lust in his eyes grow by the second. “You know I’m not stupid, right?” He chuckled moving to unbutton your jeans, “I could feel your eyes on me all day baby. Even in the two-way glass. I couldn’t see you, but I knew you were watching me.” He leaned up to kiss you reaching his hands under your thighs to pick you up and move you to his bed. Laying you down gently when he reached the edge, “Admit it, [Y/N]. Tell me I’m not wrong.” He pushed one hand holding himself up as the other cupped your face looking down at you.

“You’re not wrong.” You admitted flattening your palms against his chest and slowly moving them down. “I couldn’t keep my eyes off you no matter how hard I tried.” You swallowed hard one hand moving to cup him and push against his jeans making him gasp eyes closing tight for a second as he pushed against your hand.

“I wanted to take you in that car today. So bad. Feeling your eyes all over me. Trying to be inconspicuous. I’ve wanted to do this for so long, [Y/N].” He confessed rubbing a thumb against your cheek staring hard at you.

“Me too.” You agreed smiling up at him.

“That’s all I needed.” He smiled back giving you a quick kiss before leaning up to slide your jeans and panties down your legs, humming in satisfaction when he leaned up to look over you, “you’re even more gorgeous than I imagined every night.” He winked, kneeling down landing on his knees before pulling you closer to the edge of the bed moving your legs so they rested on his shoulders. He kissed from your ankle to the top of your thigh before stopping and moving to the other leg leaving sloppy kisses and bite marks along the way of each. No doubt purposely avoiding where you needed him most. You could feel yourself growing wetter every second at the anticipation, starting to drip onto your thighs absolutely in awe at the sight of a shirtless Antonio in between your legs.

“Antonio...come on, please.” You whined wiggling closer to his face and feeling the huff of his laugh hit your core causing you to buck your hips unintentionally.

“That’s not what I taught you.” He teased leaving tiny kisses closer and closer to your center.

“Baby..” You huffed running your fingers against his hair.

“Just like I taught you, princesa (princess) and I’ll make you feel so good. I promise.” He bargained moving his hands to hold your hips down.

“Antonio...” you cried before seeing he wasn’t gonna give in sighing you tried, “Por favor.” coming out better than before but still not perfect.

“Good girl. I don’t think you’ve ever been sexier.” He winked before moving his mouth to connect with your core, a moan immediately escaping you as your head fell back. If you thought he was good with his tongue before you had absolutely no idea. It took mere minutes for you to be a moaning mess shoving his face deeper into you and thank god he had your hips pinned down or the man wouldn’t have been able to breathe.

“Yes baby that feels fucking incredible.” You croaked. Your head was swimming as his tongue covered every inch of your pussy in the most amazing way possible. Summoning all of your strength to push him away seconds before you came. You watched as he backed away using his shoulder to wipe his mouth off leaving it glistening as he came back to his feet. Leaning down again to kiss you,

“Sorry I was too close.” You apologized once you broke apart.

“That was the goal.” He joked kissing your cheek and standing back up to undo his belt stepping out of his jeans and boxers and kicking them to the side. Whistling you moved up the bed some pulling him back down on top of you catching him by surprise.

“Ugh. Careful love.” He laughed adjusting himself.

“What? Am I gonna hurt you or something?” You teased moving your hand down to wrap around his shaft. Pleasantly surprised to find how thick it was in your hand.

“Yeah you wish.” He groaned when you started moving your hand. “Fuck.” He cursed.

“What?” You asked.

“I don’t have condoms.” He sighed, closing his eyes as you started to speed up your hand.

“What? You didn’t plan for this?” You joked.

“Maybe in my dreams.” He smirked thrusting into your palm.

“I’m on birth control. So as long as you're clean...” You trailed off letting go of him to lick the precum that had leaked out onto your hand.

“Of course I am.” He looked down at you in disbelief.

“Hey, shit happens.” You shrugged.

“You think the hottest detective in the city wouldn’t be a little careful about who they jump into bed with?” He joked.

“Well you know Halstead isn’t always the brightest.” You shot back.

“Very funny.” He rolled his eyes. You shrugged, grabbing ahold of him again and guiding him to your entrance wrapping your legs around his waist to pull him in closer., shivering at the feel of his cock rubbing against your clit for the first time. Using the tip of his cock to your advantage you moved it through the lips of your pussy adoring the way his dick slid perfectly between them, mouth parted soft sighs escaping every time the head brushed against your clit. Enjoying every second before you had enough of your own teasing moving your hips up to let him slide in, “Tell me one more time.” He looked down at you nervously.

“I want you, Antonio.” You reassured him. Sighing in relief his palms landed on each side of your face before he started to push himself in. Breathing through the slight sting your nails dug into his back pulling him closer. Enjoying the pain more than you ever had in your life. Each inch clenching him even deeper. He wanted nothing more than to thrust into you as hard as he could but he talked himself through his impulses stopping every few seconds for you to adjust until he finally bottomed out. Breaths heaving in your ear. He started slow obviously trying to keep his control, only pulling out slightly before pushing in. Just worried about loosening you up first or he was going to lose it before it even started, but as you started to feel the pleasure taking over it started to get agonizing, never having felt so full in your life, just wanting to feel him pound into you already. You had never been so happy to be on birth control giving you the ability to feel every throb, every twitch, every inch of his dick inside of you and that thought had you moaning out loud.

“Oh my god, baby.” He groaned against your neck at the sound and feeling of you.

“Come on handsome. I’m ready. Give it to me.” You encouraged holding his face in your hands. He moaned louder at your words, closing his eyes to avoid looking at you as he started to move faster and with each thrust the more you both lost yourselves in each other. In no time Antonio rested one of your legs on his shoulder giving him even deeper access than you ever thought possible, filling you to the absolute brim. His groans and sounds from his thighs hitting yours filled the room with each thrust making it even hotter. Shuddering his hips forward caused you to scream, hitting your sweet spot dead on. With his free hand he captured your wrists holding them tight above your head. You couldn’t believe the pleasure that was coursing through you was even possible before he leaned down capturing a nipple in his mouth and you swore you blacked out for a second screaming Antonio’s name. “Nobody has ever fucked me like this baby. You’re mouth, your tongue, your cock my god. You love making me scream from it all don’t you?” You got out between a series of moans. Antonio couldn’t answer you fully only able to get out a loud,

“Fuck, [Y/N].” You could tell he was close. From his sloppy thrusts and his moans to his cock starting to throb in you. You were close too right on the edge ready to fall any second. Moving your eyes up from where you two were connected up his body that was glistening from sweat rolling down from his chest, to his face where his mouth hung open groans and curse words flowing from it without shame and when you met his own eyes completely full of lust staring down at you that was the end. Stars clouding your vision as your eyes closed tightly, mouth falling open in a silent scream, hips bucking up, and thighs tightening around different spots of Antonio. You came back just in time to feel Antonio’s cock twitch, his body stiffening, nails digging into your wrists, and head falling into your shoulder muffling a moan that would’ve been sure to wake up the whole neighborhood as he spilled himself into you completely. Eventually the room was silent besides your heavy breaths. Antonio eventually pulling out slowly and rolling off you. No words were spoken or movements made for a few minutes until you decided to break the silence.

“Every night huh?” You smirked turning on your side towards him making him chuckle.

“Maybe not every night.” He smiled pulling you to his chest.

“But close to?” You continued.

“Damn near.” He kissed the top of your head.

“I might have to send you some material then.” You looked up at him wiggling your eyebrows.

“Cannot say I’d be opposed to that.” He kissed you gently before standing up and walking into his bathroom carrying a cloth and water with him when he returned handing you the glass and nudging your legs apart to clean you.

“Well aren’t you a gentleman.” You took a drink before setting it on the night stand.

“I made the mess might as well clean it up I guess.” He shrugged kissing the inside of your knee as he did, before laying back down beside you gladly letting you cuddle back into him.

“You know that was like really incredible right?” You laughed looking up at him.

“Yeah? Not so bad for an old man huh?” He smirked.

“Yeah...young enough for round 2 yet?” You joked kissing at his chest squeezing his biceps.

“Only one way to find out I guess.” He lifted you back into his lap pulling you towards his lips. Later that night you would be sure to send Kim plenty of thumbs-up emojis (and maybe a few eggplants.)

#antonio dawson x reader #antoniodawsonxreader #antonio dawson smut #antonio dawson imagine #antonio dawson #chicago pd imagine #chicago pd #chicago pd x reader #chicago pd smut

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carmenxjulia · 4 years ago

Photo

I put together a transcript of the 2 hour Q&A Interview the Carmen Sandiego Discord did with Showrunner Duane Capizzi. All of the questions were submitted by server members. You can read everything below the break!

Duane Capizzi:

Hi there!

Am I in? Is this thing on?

PizzaHorse:

Hi, welcome!

Yep, you're in the right place!

Duane Capizzi:

Sorry I'm late, I was wandering around some empty Discord hallways looking for the right room haha

PizzaHorse:

No worries. Let's get started!

Who is your favorite character?

Duane Capizzi:

Moose Boy!

KIDDING!

Alright, how to NOT get myself in trouble if my answer isn't "Carmen" haha.

But really, they are ALL my babies.

So I know it's going to sound like a cop out to some that I can't pick just one. But hmm, some for instances...

I love that she's so morally evolved at such a young age; her ability to always take the high road and never lower herself; her drive and conviction and dedication. Her ability to kick serious booty and look good while doing it. Her progressive values, her fashion sense. I could go on and on. But then there's Shadowsan and his arc; Chase and his. Julia, who's every bit as strong as Carmen but shows it in different ways. The Cleaners don't get enough love.

I'll close that question with an anecdote about The Cleaners ...

I love that all our characters are embraced and that everyone seems to have favorites. Our sound engineer Marcel is a pretty serious guy: he has a serious job that takes high levels of focus and attention. He's always deeply focused and not prone to small talk. Anyway, we were in the middle of our first or second sound mix, and he suddenly stops in the middle and turns around to face us. I'm thinking, "uh oh, we're giving too many notes." That's when I notice he's freeze framed the Cleaners. He says "I really like these guys." Then he turns around, hits play and gets back to work.

PizzaHorse:

What was the biggest challenge for coming up with new stories and plot for the reboot?

Duane Capizzi:

THE biggest? Sigh. I'm not sure I could come up with just one. Plotting is always challenging and we had the brain trust of the room, our trusty white board, and writer assistant to keep the threads of the ongoing storyline together. I think the single biggest ONGOING challenge was tracking which character knew what at any given time.

The caper part was challenging - coming up with new capers and keeping them interesting and fresh. But, it was the characters and their interactions that kept things fresh and interesting. Another museum heist? That's okay - Chase is on the case and he gets to interact with "X" this time (for instance).

There were also some episodes - Duke of Vermeer and Crackle Goes Kiwi come to mind - where there was SO MUCH SET UP needed to get the payoffs to work. I was really worried about too much talk/too much detail. Very "Swiss watch!" It took a lot of work to make sure it all clicked and was clear - hopefully it seems effortless on screen but I can't say there wasn't some sweat and the occasional tear (mostly from me - I'm a big cry baby

But really, what made it fun was that we had so many buckets to draw from: sometimes a story germ initially began with a character idea; sometimes it was inspired by global location; sometimes it was a clever way to update or reimagine an idea from old Carmen lore. Usually, it was some combination of all of the above!

PizzaHorse:

What was your favorite scene to write?

Duane Capizzi:

I think we have a theme here! "How can I pick just one ...?"

As a film buff, I got to indulge in some serious fan nerdery on this show: I got to write spy movies, yakuza movies, spaghetti neo-westerns (though turning it on its head: spaghetti westerns usually involve REVENGE and because of Carmen's character make up, this was sort of anti-revenge).

Is writing coming up with the idea or typing it? Haha. An "if a tree falls in the forest" question. The writing team and I had so many cathartic "that's how it goes" in the room. But on my own, writing the Pilot, was a very inspiring time for me: I remember laughing out loud the moment I thought of Chase falling on his own car (in part because of doing my spin on "that trope" that we've seen in so many hard boiled movies recently). But also how emotional I got when I imagined the simple but potent image of Black Sheep deciding to take her destiny into her own hands and walk that long corridor to the Faculty who we were about to meet for the first time.

I think I've cited this in another interview, but there was a period where I was completely immersed in Chase's arc and the scene where he would crack the location of VILE island ... by listening to Julia in a dream ... was a big one for me. It revealed he was finally open to admitting he needed Julia more than he would ever admit - yet, it was his own subconscious speaking.

The next morning, after cracking that scene, I bumped into Raf Petardi (voice of Chase) ... at the supermarket! It was very strange and hilarious

PizzaHorse:

Did you scrap any lengthy or funny scenes that you would be able to share?

Duane Capizzi:

With few exceptions, most scene cuts are done at the script stage so that the story board team doesn't waste effort over boarding. A variety of trims to any script are common, but they are usually for the better

The easier question to answer might be scenes were part of our "wish list" at writer room stage, but never made it to story or script. I hesitate to go too deep here (in the event that we might ever do more Carmen episodes in this canon - I'm not giving up hope). And there were cases where things we wanted to do earlier in the series wound up getting nixed or not fitting for whatever reason, but we got them in later - USUALLY FOR THE BETTER. So there's sort of a reverse Murphy's Law/rule of good fortune somehow in these things. But some fun things that didn't make it into the show, that leap to mind were: a Bollywood dance sequence (!). A Vegas caper involving Brunt wanting to steal an Elvis jumpsuit against the backdrop of an Elvis impersonator convention. We also thought it would be neat to get Maelstrom imprisoned so that Julia could interrogate him and he would play mind games with her - very Lector/Clarice!

PizzaHorse:

Were there any different treatments of Carmen you pitched before settling on the one we ended up with?

Duane Capizzi:

I was one of several "pitches" that I'm sure HMH heard before running with my version. But I can honestly say I've never pitched anything as fully formed: the take on Carmen felt so right to me, and clearly HMH and by extension Netflix agreed

I'll answer your question with an anecdote: I had the entire Pilot pretty well worked out, and pitched it in the first meeting. But one key thing that changed (much for the better!), simply because it wouldn't have fit without slogging things down ...

In my Pilot pitch, Black Sheep's escape on the boat was off screen: we see Shadowsan corner her, then we cut away. The rest of the Faculty show up to find SS's broken sword on the rocks, and are led to believe BS killed him (!). In the present, Crackle points his weapon at Carmen and prepares to pull the trigger. We know that Chase is on the way and may rescue her. The compartment door opens to reveal - not Chase - but Shadowsan! Big surprise! Then we cut back to BS's escape and find out what really transpired etc etc.

Crazy, right? SS would have been hanging out with the gang in season 1; we might not have gotten to 203 with his back story, since his sword was broken and he couldn't return it. Just one of those magical things where "things work out" the way they are supposed to. THAT SAID, it made for a heckuva pitch

PizzaHorse:

Are there any characters that ended up taking a direction you didn't initially anticipate?

Duane Capizzi:

GRAY.

I didn't know we'd make him amnesiac when I wrote the Pilot, that was something we came up with in our first week Writer Room.

And even then, when it became clear he'd be a key piece of the bigger puzzle, we didn't know how exactly (mostly the Season 4 stuff).

We did get very deep with a version where 404 ended with his protective streak for Carmen kicking into high gear, and they would be fighting off Vile Guards back to back in perfect tandem. Then, having chosen Carmen over VILE, it was Carmen who actually orchestrates Gray going "off grid" so that VILE can never find him again. Funny, I know that is arguably the version of Gray's arc that many fans might have preferred seeing. But in the tradition of spy thrillers and film noir, and for a lone wolf character like Carmen who is focused on her life mission and not romance, we stand behind where we went with him. We felt it was so much more compelling ... and truly more emotional that he totally has a get out of jail free card when he sacrifices everything (including his life, potentially) to save Carmen.

when she needs him most!

I know I made some controversial comments about Gray "not being good enough for Carmen" and I'd like to clarify that I meant, until that final episode. What he did was so selfless and heroic. Is there hope for them in the future? Who knows?! But I do hope we get to explore that one day

I'm sure Gray is living off the grid somewhere now, inspired by Carmen's selfless good and thinking of her from time to time.

PizzaHorse:

You mentioned in the interview with Alicyn that Carmen is a love story, but you were cut off before you could finish discussing. Could you elaborate on your answer now?

Duane Capizzi:

Ugh, yes! Sorry about that. I actually answered that privately for someone so will cut and paste that response here. Let's see if it works.

Something we never said in the show, but something I imparted to the creative team was: Carmen Sandiego is (among other things) a LOVE STORY, where every character in our ensemble is in love with Carmen in one way or another. Even if they don't know it! That love can take different forms: we see how spurned by Carmen Coach Brunt feels and why she retaliates so excessively. Chase eventually comes to realize that he too loves Carmen, even if he wasn't initially aware of it haha. One of the most moving things to me about the series is how all of the different factions come to Carmen's rescue at the end when she's not "in her right mind," without knowing the others are there too. It's a massive group effort to bring back the Carmen they love. But we weren't looking for a fairy tale ending for Carmen with ANYone - Carmen's a classic lone wolf anti-hero, that goes with the territory. At least at this stage in her journey.

PizzaHorse:

Were there other locations that you wanted to feature in the show that didn't make it?

Duane Capizzi:

I think we managed to cover a lot of ground and "cadence" between different countries/cultures/continents was important to us. Many "iconic" locations of course, and it would have been nice to explore some lesser known locations if we had more episodes.

One that we almost did was Niagara Falls, Canada - actually literally going to the Falls and doing a big hydro-electric caper, where Player could actually get into the field with Carmen and the team.

But ultimately, we wound up bringing Player into the fold the way we did and wound up stronger as a result. It made his "first face to face" with Carmen even more impactful, IMO.

PizzaHorse:

Were there any changes in production between the first half and the second half of the series?

Duane Capizzi:

Well, there was that Covid thing

But while it was no doubt a colossal undertaking to get the entire staff transitioned to work from home (animators! and their equipment!), we managed to make up for lost time WITHOUT a dip in animation quality. My fedora's off to our amazing team at Wildbrain for pulling it off!

We did lose some staff between orders, but that is a natural part of production unfortunately. Namely, one of our episodic directors Kenny Park, our first storyboard artist Dennis Crawford, and our story editor May Chan were among those who moved on to other shows during the break. But, as hard as their shoes were to fill, fill them we did!

PizzaHorse:

What is your favorite season?

Duane Capizzi:

Easy. Hands down, Season 3.

(crickets)

KIDDING!

Again, another "they're all my babies" answer (and yes, I love Season 3 equally

It's hard, because really when you step back I'm sure you'll agree it's a series, with stand alone capers; but it's really all ONE BIG MOVIE.

Season 3 is like the scherzo of a symphony: the shortest movement of four, and the one that tees up the big finale.

That's my hoity toity answer but I'm going to put to rest all of the various theories on what happened with season 3. It was a combination of two things: Netflix's desire to experiment with different ways of "dropping" seasons, and their desire to do a holiday themed drop (in this case Halloween, naturally). It became our challenge to come up with a theme (easy enough: masks), and the bigger challenge to serve their need while not interrupting our ongoing narrative. A challenge to be sure, but a challenge met. I think the biggest bump was perception: it was a short season and I know that was disappointing to many. But, by design.

So, Season 3 = an essential part of the whole. I don't think there's a wasted episode, and it gets everyone into position for the big finish. I can't pick a favorite season - you can't make me

PizzaHorse:

Were there any characters you had wanted to give more time to but couldn't due to time/plot restraints?

Duane Capizzi:

Well, there's the "what was on the white board" answer but hopefully some of those ideas will see the light of day in some way, shape or form some day. I think if we had more episodes, we would have shaken up the internal dynamic of VILE a bit more (as hinted at Brunt's displeasure with Maelstrom for leaving her hanging out to dry at end of 405 - a seed we planted "just in case," as some have noted). And we had more scenes in mind with Chase's partnering with Carmen for the first time that we had to cut to the bone because of what little room we had in that otherwise packed episode (worry not: it's mostly more gags, more embellishment, more twists and turns - but the important stuff is there). Mostly, and I don't think it would have been right for Season 4 but I hope to tell in the future, I think there's an interesting history between Shadowsan and Lady Dokuso - possibly tragic - that I would love to explore one day. (She was a cameo in Duke of Vermeer at the dinner party BTW, I'm not sure if anyone noticed. And we built a bigger role for her out of that)

PizzaHorse:

What are some pre-2000/nostalgic Carmen references you snuck into the show? Do you have a favorite reference that was included?

Duane Capizzi:

Doing that was so much fun! I'd say roughly 60% of the characters were from previous iterations of Carmen, though often in name only. We had fun reimagining most everyone to make them more relevant or updated or giving them a more colorful personality for starters.

"Suhara" was Carmen's Japanese mentor when she worked at the ACME Agency in a flashback episode in the 90's series, for instance. I don't think I need to spell out how we turned that one inside out

And Tigress was also one episode only: she was a "rival thief" to Carmen, but revealed to be an ACME agent in disguise - a persona created solely to bait Carmen. It was really cool of course, but it seemed like untapped potential so we made her an ACTUAL Vile Thief.

My own internal rule was to make sure the references/easter eggs wouldn't confuse anyone - they were there for those who were in the loop and window dressing. The one and only time i broke that rule was Dark Carmen's line from 407: "I do it for the mental gymnastics." It was one of the most absurd lines from the 90's series (IMO) and i was determined to have it come out of Dark Carmen's mouth. I'm sure it left some 7 year olds scratching their heads

aside from that, the key references were the music: I still tingle at how we worked the Rockapella theme into the Interactive Special; and the 90's main title theme (composed by Mozart!), in our Vienna episode ("They're playing my song"). If you wanted Rockapella or Carmen as a bad guy, well ... be careful what you wish for!

PizzaHorse:

Was there any improvised content from recording sessions that made it into any episodes?

Duane Capizzi:

Yes! Not much, because a lot of it would have pushed us into TV-MA haha

Mostly Mary Elizabeth - Coach Brunt has a POTTY MOUTH!

Mikey and Abby usually riffed their banter WAY beyond what was on the written page and had us in stitches. Some bits definitely made it in! But mostly there was too much or it would get off point (hmmm, much like my interview answers maybe? haha)

Sharon Muthu did rise to Pun Goddess status with "Mask and you shall receive." And Raf pitched me "Chasse means hunt in French" after one session and I said: "I'm going to write that in." I don't think he believed me. You can't say I'm not a straight shooter.

PizzaHorse:

If you could get more season, would you do it, and what type of story would you tell?

Duane Capizzi:

Well if that hasn't been clear so far, ABSOLUTELY

There have been discussions of course. It's up to the powers that be at this point. I will say this: the beauty and tradition so far has been that every iteration has been its own thing. I definitely think there are more "different canon" versions of Carmen that can be had and be a part of this wonderful tradition. After all, there were many naysayers for our version when it was first announced.

I will also say that if we don't get to tell any more stories in this canon with these characters, we've left a perfect gem that will stand the test of time. I would rather go out on a high note than overstay our welcome.

All that said, we worked within the allotted episodes given, ended it as we wished, but left the door open for other stories. I'd love to do an expansion and a deepening: pick up where we left off; find out what happened in those two years; and proceed to do the equivalent of Godfather II or Better Call Saul as related to the amazing originals they followed.

Let's hope! Keep putting good vibes out there!

PizzaHorse:

If you could pick a character on Carmen Sandiego who'd you switch places with for a day (you get to control their life and they get to control yours) who would you pick, and why?

Duane Capizzi:

Okay, THIS is difficult. So you're going Freaky Friday on me?

on a Sunday?

Hmmm, I know Ivy would get along with my cat ... but then I'd have to hang out with Zack!

That's the trick: I can't pick my favorites cuz I couldn't hang out with them!

(not that I have favorites - they're all my babies haha)

Okay, I have one: ROUNDABOUT. I could fill Shadowsan's seat - how cool is that? Then, I could enact all my evil fantasies - but still have a get out of jail free card cuz he'd be sitting at my desk!

(cut to Duane being brain wiped - D'oh!)

PizzaHorse:

Who are two characters who don't really interact in the show that you think could be good friends or work really well together?

Duane Capizzi:

Hmmmm. Okay, now I'm going to give you quick and sassy answers. Gray and Julia! They'd be so cute banding together to rescue captive Carmen (for instance). And they could also duke it out and maybe settle things between themselves re: shipping controversies instead of dragging me into it

PizzaHorse:

The FINAL QUESTION. Have you learned anything super impactful while working on the show?

Duane Capizzi:

Aside from Iceland's terrifically low crime rate?

I think I have learned to never underestimate how meaningful characters can be to fans. Social media has obviously brought us a lot closer to our fan base in more immediate ways: it's been really gratifying to hear/see/read feedback and not be writing things in a vacuum. It's been gratifying to see that ideas that were meaningful to myself and the creative team on Carmen that were crafted with care, have also resonated with our fan base. THANK YOU TO EVERYONE who has traveled on this journey with us - for embracing Carmen's world view, and her friends and foes alike. Take care everyone! Stay safe! This has been fun, thanks for having me!

PizzaHorse:

HUGE thank you to Duane Capizzi: for being here today.

Thank you everyone for watching and reacting!

Duane Capizzi:

Okay, gotta run - just gotta find the door

Anyway, really: THIS HAS BEEN AMAZING. I speak for everyone involved in the creation and production of Carmen: it has been an amazing and inspiring series and we're elated to see it connect with such a CREATIVE, TALENTED and INTELLIGENT fan base. Take care everyone! Until next crime...

#Carmen Sandiego #Duane Capizzi #CS Crew #Interview #Transcript

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houseofhurricane · 4 years ago

Text

ACOTAR Fic: Bloom & Bone (18/28) | Elain x Tamlin, Lucien x Vassa

Summary: Elain lies about a vision and winds up as the Night Court’s emissary to the Spring Court, trying to prevent the Dread Trove from falling into the wrong hands and wrestling with the gifts the Cauldron imparted when she was Made. Lucien, asked to join her, must contend with secrets about his mating bond. Meanwhile, Tamlin struggles to lead the Spring Court in the aftermath of the war with Hybern. And Vassa, the human queen in their midst, wrestles with the enchantment that turns her into a firebird by day, robbing her of the power of speech and human thought. Looming over all of them is uniquet peace in Prythian and the threat of Koschei, the death-god with unimaginable power. With powers both magical and monstrous, the quartet at the Spring Court will have to wrestle with their own natures and the evil that surrounds them. Will the struggle save their world, or doom it?

A/N: Everyone is back at the Spring Court, but nothing is as Elain imagined. I hope you enjoy! You can find all previous chapters here, or read Bloom & Bone on AO3. Thank you for reading! ❤️ There will be no new chapter next week because I will be on vacation with limited wifi, but after that, it's full steam ahead until the end.

Once Lucien takes Vassa to their room, Rhys and Tamlin agree to survey the wards on the estate, and Elain waits with Feyre and Eris for any sign of Koschei. She does not know what use she’ll be, but though her dress is torn and there are leaves tangled in her hair, Elain is not willing to leave the great hall.

“Will you go to the Autumn Court and claim your title?” Feyre asks Eris, her voice carefully neutral.

“I think that even with your limited years in Prythian, you will understand that such a thing is not a simple matter of appearing on the throne,” Eris responds in that silken tone which is seemingly not affected by torture or pain.

He shoots a look at Elain that indicates her presence is unwelcome. She crosses her arms.

Then Feyre turns to her.

“Can you give us a moment?” her sister asks, in that too-gentle voice that knows that Elain could not do what was needed in the moment of crisis, that she will always need rescuing.

But this is not some private room in which she can tell Feyre what is the matter. She is standing before the High Lady of the Night Court and the High Lord of the Autumn Court, and she’s been dismissed.

She forces her lips into the approximation of a smile and leaves the room, pushes her way out of the great wooden doors, and walks into the garden.

Elain has imagined this moment, her return to the gardens of the Spring Court, so many times. She would be walking with Vassa, healed and happy, and Elain would share her plans for the new garden, new hybrids developed on the continent or a more pleasing arrangement of plants, and Vassa would tell her a story about Scythia, which would make her laugh and also contain a thinly-veiled lesson on what it would mean to rule. There would be an affectionate joke about Lucien, perhaps a reference to Tamlin that would have Elain blushing, but mostly she would savor the nighttime walk in the garden with her friend, who would trust that Elain was capable of nearly anything.

Now Vassa screams at her touch.

Elain makes it as far as the edge of her field of tulips before she falls to her knees, ready for the sobs to overtake her. Instead, there is a great roaring emptiness inside of her. She’s surprised to realize that this feeling is not unfamiliar, something akin to what she felt in the Night Court months and months ago, convinced she’d turn into a monster. The feeling that she’d once had a purpose, only to find it had abandoned her.

She does not want to go back to the Spring Court, or to the Night Court, or even to all of Helion’s libraries. Instead, Elain thinks about wandering the forest, letting the low-hanging branches tear at her until she is dirty and empty and snarling.

Still, when she hears the sound of footsteps behind her, Elain does not fight. She freezes. She feels the hand on her and then she does the only thing she knows: she disappears.

Elain had worried that she’d lost this ability because of Koschei’s magic, that she’d be bound to her own world forever, but she leaves Prythian behind as easily as a leaf falls to the earth, the Spring Court gardens giving way to the familiar passageways.

Tamlin is beside her.

Watching the play of emotions on his face, Elain is sure he’s going to rage at her, point out every stupid decision she’s made, every risk and every failure, but instead one of his hands goes to her shoulder, the other to her chin, gently lifting her face until their eyes meet.

What she sees in his eyes makes everything else dissolve into mist around her. His green eyes do not waver in their gaze on her, as if he can behold every piece of her. She could never have imagined a look that tender, that hopeful, that concerned, that kind. The fairytales never went into such specifics.

“Are you all right?” he asks, the words so gentle and raw that Elain begins to cry. Not the screaming sobs she imagined. Instead, her tears leak out from her eyes, silent as they fall to her cheeks.

“I couldn’t save her,” she says. Her voice goes high and plaintive, a child’s wail. “I couldn’t take her to a place where she’d be safe. And she was there for so long. And the way she screamed when I touched her. I thought I was helping but all I did was cause her pain.”

The thought brings on the sobbing, her shoulders heaving with the recollection of Vassa’s screaming, the fact that even in the face of her friend’s suffering, Elain did not let her go. The fact that in the end, all she’s learned, all her abilities, were of no use.

Tamlin does not tell her to stop crying, does not tell her it is all right, doesn’t even remind her that everyone is waiting at the Spring Court, that there is every chance they’ll be retaliated against by Koschei or some unknown ally. Instead he draws her against him, her cheek against his chest, his hands on her back, up and down her spine, over and over, until her sobs calm.

“Without you, we wouldn’t have known that Vassa and Eris were in danger in the first place. You were the one who drew us together, who made the strategy.”

“Koschei will just claim her again.”

“We won’t allow that to happen,” he says, his hands cupping her shoulders, warm even through the heavy beading on her gown. But some perverse part of Elain is tired of being comforted.

“You think the High Lords will be willing to sacrifice themselves for the safety of a human queen?”

“I’m not talking about the High Lords. I mean you and Lucien. And me.” The last part comes after a hesitation, phrased almost as a question.

Her mind shifts them, to his appearance in the clearing.

“What happened to the shield against Koschei?”

“Feyre realized you were in trouble. She or Rhysand winnowed me to you. Koschei built a trap into the spell he has on Vassa. Likely it’s on Eris as well.”

She knows this will have political implications for Eris, but she cannot think about those now. Not when she’s dismissed from the rooms where such matters are discussed.

“I should have thought that Koschei wouldn’t make rescue so easy. Not when everyone was telling me to wait.”

He pulls away from her, meets her eyes, and does not look away.

“There is always a point where courage seems like stupidity.”

She shakes her head, tries for a smile. Of course Tamlin would know this.

“You’re being too nice to me,” she says. She was trained all her life to read the desires of men on their faces, and she knows when there’s something they’re not saying.

He sighs, looks away from her.

“You tried to do everything on your own. If you were anyone else, I would have started by saying that you should have let go of Vassa the moment she started screaming. Lucien could have winnowed her, or Feyre or Rhysand. You didn’t know what magic Koschei was working. And when I thought you were in danger, I… I was willing to sacrifice myself for you, Elain. To buy you the time to save Vassa, or run to safety. I would gladly make the same decision again. But you did not show the same amount of trust.”

She looks at him for a long moment. His muscles are tensed against her, as if he is waiting for her to rage at him, or else to disappear and leave him stranded between worlds. It occurs to her, then, that he is completely at her mercy.

In the space of that realization, all her angry thoughts toward Feyre evaporate. All she can think about is that if he braces for rejection in the face of such a gentle critique, he must have faced it from everyone he ever cared for. That she is now one of those people. Elain isn’t sure if it’s the mating bond, but this idea is a heady one, thrumming through her body.

There are a thousand reasons she should distrust Tamlin, even now, but she pushes each one firmly aside.

“I think you’re right,” she says, her voice a thread, swallowed up by the expanse around them.

When she sees the slight widening of his eyes, the surprise at her acceptance, she wants to fling herself at him, press her mouth to his. But they need to return. There is work to do, still, and she cannot lose herself to this desire, she cannot be the person who winds up trapped by the idea of romance.

And though Elain wants to trust Tamlin, believe that he has changed, that his past is behind him, she’s still comforted by the fact that in this place, she is the one with the power. That despite all his training, the arms that heft a broadsword without hesitation, the thighs that strain at his pants, she could trap him with a thought. In another world, he cannot harm her.

So instead of kissing him, she steps out of the circle of his arms, says, “We should go back to the Spring Court.”

“I need you to go to the Summer Court.” He looks down at her but she doesn’t feel him looming, only the earnestness of his gaze. Still, she steels herself.

“In case Koschei comes for Vassa and Eris?”

“Because I’d like you to tell the High Lords of Prythian everything that has happened while I ensure my court is secure. I’m asking you to be my emissary.”

“Why me?”

“You see what nobody else does, Elain, and beneath your lovely face is a mind that never stops. I think only a fool would underestimate you, but it seems this world is full of fools.”

His little speech is pure poetry, everything she’s ever dreamed a man or male could say to her, more than she ever expected. Still Elain remains out of the circle of his arms. She was part of the deliberations between Tamlin and Lucien over the meeting of the High Lords, the bickering that turned thunderous. As much as she wants to believe them, she knows firsthand how words can be manipulated, how a story of disaster can be turned into an epic tale of bravery and vulnerability and redemption. And while she believes both halves of this story when it comes to the Spring Court, tonight her heart feels too bruised and tired to take the risk on Tamlin.

“You’re sure Lucien won’t mind losing his post?”

“Lucien has been revealed as the heir to the Day Court and will likely be the consort of the Queen of Scythia. Even if he’d like to reclaim the position in the future, I don’t think he’ll object to your mission tonight.”

“Then I’ll accept,” she says. “As long as you’ll agree to consider the fact that you’ll still need an army to deal with the Autumn Court and fend off Koschei.”

His mouth thins while he considers.

“What did you see when you were there?”

“I don’t think the Vanserra brothers are ready to hand over the throne to Eris. We can try a diplomatic option but they’re unlikely to be receptive. They threatened Feyre and me with fire when they found us in the Autumn Court.”

His fists are clenched.

“How did you escape?”

“Feyre made a shield of water and we ran as fast as we could.”

“You could have--”

“I know I could have brought you from the passageways,” she says, “but this is going to be a political nightmare already, and we barely have the other courts as our allies.”

She hadn’t realized she’d looked away from him until his hand interrupts her view of the tiled flooring of the passageways. She reaches for him and their fingers intertwine, effortless.

“We will require an army,” he says, and Elain could swear that the air fills with the scent of springtime, green and sunlit and full of promise.

The High Lords have remained in the same room of the Summer Court, and at first Elain wonders why their expressions are rapt from the moment she appears. Then she realizes that Feyre is speaking, that Vassa is at her side.

“That is the chaos in the Autumn Court,” Feyre says, without acknowledging Elain’s appearance, “but I think that the larger threat to all of us is Koschei.”

“The sorcerer is bound to the lake.” Kallias’ voice sounds certain, but he looks around at the other High Lords as if requesting reassurance.

“He spoke to me of other worlds.” Vassa speaks into the silence, which grows more profound as her words resonate in the room. “He means to conquer them.”

“By what means?” Helion tries for arrogance but Elain can hear the concern, the curiosity in his tone. She has heard those qualities in his speech too many times to miss them.

And it occurs to Elain that she knows the answer to this question, that she’s held it inside of her since that vision long ago. The world shifted around her to make sense of it, and still her thinking mind shielded her a bit longer, as if knowing she was not ready.

Before Feyre can answer, she steps forward to where the rulers of Prythian cannot help but see her, her tired face and the leaves in her hair and the sparkling dress that’s smeared with blood and dirt.

“I think he means to get the Crown on me,” she tells them.

“I heard you were a seer.” Tarquin’s voice is calm, the sea on a sunny day, but Elain wonders what’s lurking below, how his mind moves.

This is the moment when Elain must choose how much of her gifts to reveal. For a second she hesitates, nearly looks to Feyre or Helion for guidance. Instead, she turns to meet Vassa’s eyes.

Though her friend’s face is pale and haunted, her blue eyes blaze bright. The gaze of a queen.

Slowly, because a queen is never hurried, much less by a commoner, Vassa nods at Elain, her lips ever so slightly uptilted.

“I am still learning about my powers,” Elain says, turning back to Tarquin, then letting her gaze rest on each of the High Lords in turn: Kallias, Thesan, and Helion. “But what I thought was the power of foresight seems to be more complicated. I can see the inflection points, where one world becomes another. These worlds are forged by our choices. In one, for example, Koschei captures me and forces the Crown on my head. In another, we defeat him.”

“And why are you the central figure in his plan?” Thesan’s voice is pleasant, almost musical, and yet she sees the tension in his body, nearly hidden. Elain thinks that, should she survive what’s to come, she would like to know him better, learn the way he balances his strength and kindness, the way it is not weakness.

But there is work to do, so she breathes deep and explains to them about the way that she can walk through worlds. She tells the High Lords about the passageways, the way she’s guided by desire, so that she can find the worlds that answer her needs in half a heartbeat. She speaks of the world of Koschei’s origin, the tethering spell, the spell that keeps Vassa in this world.

“There’s one other thing I encountered on my travels,” she says, trying not to sound too excited, too naive. “I found a world where the fae and humans live together, a world at peace. I did not speak the language and looked unlike the humans of that world, but they gave me food and shelter and kindness. When this is over, if we can defeat Koschei, that is the kind of world I want to live in. Where visitors from other realms would like to stay because they know they will be safe.”

“First we will need an army.” Vassa steps in before any of the High Lords can speak, stepping towards Elain but far enough away that their bodies cannot accidentally touch. “First we will need Eris to rule over the Autumn Court. His brothers will be easy targets for Koschei.”

“I thought you would say that we must protect Elain,” Helion says, more steel in his voice than Elain would’ve expected, until she remembers once again that Helion is now Lucien’s acknowledged father, observing his lover for the first time.

“I will not be safe if any court in Prythian falls to Koschei,” she says, shooting a glance at Vassa, makes it as warm and encouraging as she can. “The Spring Court will raise the largest army it can cobble together to support Eris’ claim.”

“The Night Court will back Eris with an army.” Feyre’s voice is as sure and savage as any of the High Lord’s, and this is the moment when Elain has most delighted in her sister, at the swell of her power in the room, her refusal to yield.

“The Illyrians?” Helion asks, crossing his ankle over his knee.

“The Illyrians support Eris.” Feyre crosses her arms over her chest.

“If it cannot be Lucien,” Thesan sighs, “Eris is the best of the lot. The Dawn Court will offer its army.”

Kallias gives a nod, and then the room goes quiet.

“This is what your son would want,” Vassa says, her face aimed at Helion.

“Then why does he not ask me himself?” The words are too hard to be entirely false.

“He is strengthening the wards on the Spring Court against Koschei.” Vassa crosses her arms. “He’d like it clear that he wants to make no claim on the Autumn Court.”

“I see why he likes you, Queen of Scythia,” Helion says, his smile brilliant. “I’ll offer my army.”

“Then we’ll return tomorrow night to discuss our strategy.” Feyre’s gaze sweeps across the room but does not rest on Elain.

“We need to rule our courts,” Kallias says, with a shake of his head. “Give us another night, and bring the firebird queen.”

The other High Lords murmur their agreement, and when Elain steals a glance at Vassa, she could swear her friend is barely concealing a victorious smile. One battle, at least, has been won.

But when they’re in the Spring Court again, Feyre tugs on Elain’s arm, pulls her into an alcove off the great hall.

“Which vision was the lie?” Feyre’s voice is sharp, her fingers pressing into the soft part of Elain’s upper arm, so that she thinks of claws.

“I meant to tell you--”

“I gave you everything you needed, and the High Lords came to your meeting, they left their territories vulnerable against Koschei and the Autumn Court, and you lied. Was there even a true vision? Because I have been looking over my shoulder and wondering how he’d use you, how he’d break you, all the misery that would happen when your vision came true. And all that time you were here, and silent, and I thought you were in danger from him. Are you really such a monster that you needed to hurt me? Or are you in league with him, trying to have us all tearing at each other’s throats until you truly do wear a crown?”

At first Feyre’s words had been ragged and filled with hurt and rage, but gradually the emotion had disappeared, leaving only a flat despair.

Elain had never stopped to consider the impact of her lie on Feyre. She’d been so focused on her escape, the life she’d made in fits and starts in the Spring Court, her power. Just as she’s always been, she realizes, focused on her gowns or the men she might marry, her dreams of flowers when they’d lived in the cabin.

“I lied to you,” she says, trying to keep her voice steady. “I am sorry, Feyre. I felt… when I saw that vision, I felt like the monstrous thing inside of me was going to turn me into something completely different. A person I couldn’t recognize. Except I already felt that way. Angry and useless and vile. And I thought, I couldn’t bear it if you and Nesta saw me turn into a monster. But I should have thought of you, what it would mean if I went to Tamlin. That you were in the vision.”

She expects Feyre’s voice to soften at her words, the honesty in them. Instead her eyes are downcast, her face hard and focused.

“I want to forgive you,” her little sister says. “But I don’t know if I believe you. Because I believed you when you lied to me. And you didn’t even think…”

Elain wants to insist that she’s sorry, kneel in front of her sister and weep until she’s so wretched that Feyre has no choice but to forgive her. Somehow she forces her spine to stay straight, her head to nod.

“I understand,” she says, unable to keep her voice from wavering.

“Of course this will not affect relations between our courts.” Feyre adjusts the sleeves of her gown, the same one she’d worn to the High Lords’ meeting, black and almost severe but for its close fit against her body. Her sister, who went off into the woods every day in search of food, who learned how to be a queen.

“I wasn’t aware that those relations were particularly friendly.” Elain tries to smile and feels it twist into a grimace.

“I will never let this court fall if you are there.”

“I -- thank you, Feyre.”

She had planned to say that she did not need this special protection, but she thinks of what Feyre said. Of what Tamlin said. The feeling when she was stuck in this world and Koschei seemed imminent.

Instead of arguing, she holds out her hand to her sister, and when Feyre takes it, she squeezes it tight until Feyre steps away, leaves the alcove, her skirts sighing against the marble floors.

Elain sinks to the ground, curls herself into a ball, and stares at the tiles until she hears the footsteps approaching her, Tamlin’s scent.

“Are you all right?” he asks.

“Are the wards secure?” she shoots back, looking at him, dirty and disheveled but still so handsome he’s practically glowing.

“They recognize Koschei’s magic and should repel him from appearing. And Rhysand is taking Melis to the Night Court. Apparently Nesta and her Valkyrie friends will be guarding her in the library.”

“I thought Melis would stay here.”

“We still don’t know what she can do if she touches you. As talented a designer as she is, and as beautiful as this gown is, I would rather know that you’re safe from her.”

“It’s not -- I don’t care about the dresses,” she says, holding up her hand so that he cannot get close enough to drown out her voice. “But we didn’t torture Melis. And in the Night Court, Azriel might.”

“That is why I made Rhysand swear that Melis would not be tortured as long as she behaved herself.” Tamlin crouches down, and even then, she has to tilt her head back to meet his gaze. “I made sure that Melis was aware of the arrangement.”

“So Vassa and Eris are safe?”

“As safe as anyone is in this world.”

The day and night have been endless but still Elain reaches for Tamlin. The world around her wavers, half-dissolving, before she resolves herself. That this must be here and now.

Before he can speak, she presses her mouth to his, hot and searching.

There is only time for a kiss in this world. Elain is battered and bruised and exhausted, and Tamlin is needed for a thousand things, and anybody could see them, but for this moment there is only his mouth opening to hers, his arms pulling her body tight against his, Elain is only a person who wants, and wants, and wants.

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hajimewhore · 4 years ago

Text

Million Reasons ⛅ (Matsukawa Issei/Reader) on [Ao3] ➸Rated E, fem!Reader, 7k+words ➷Part 2 of the Haikyuu Song Fic Collection ➷Angst, depression, fluff, this one is pwp ➷Left in Matsukawa’s wake, you find yourself struggling to come to terms with your break up. Everything reminds you of him. From the sheets that smell like him, to something as simple as coffee.

After everything, you know you should let him go, but you can’t help but search for reasons to stay.

[Masterlist] [part 1]

A/N:

Here’s part two for my song fic collection, as promised! Highly recommend reading part one, linked above.

This one is Million Reasons, Lady Gaga. Despite it endlessly being played on the radio in the car and at work, I can always jam to it. I think it’s a nice follow up to Harry Styles’ Falling!

It had been a long week, and you found yourself mindlessly going through your days.

You rely entirely on muscle memory to carry you through daily tasks and basic human needs, but barely have an appetite to finish meals or the energy to leave the house.

You haven’t seen Matsukawa or heard from him since your ‘break up’, you’d only gotten confirmation from Hanamaki that he ended up staying at his place.

After the first day, you noticed Matsukawa had picked up some of his things when you came back from work.

The closet you shared was emptier, stray coat hangers and missing sweaters and tees. You’re ashamed to admit that you slept in one of his tee shirts that night.

Wrapped up in his scent between his shirt and the sheets, you were able to wake up the next morning in your sleepy haze, believing that it never happened. That Matsukawa hadn’t said any of it.

If only you said more, told him all the things that he needed to hear. But any words of encouragement went out of his head, and no amount of I love you’s would get through to him.

And as the week progressed with radio silence, the intrusive thoughts in your head began to convince you that he might have meant everything he said.

You told yourself otherwise, that he just needs a break to sort everything out himself. He just wasn’t in the right state of mind when he snapped at you, he hadn’t been for months. Matsukawa struggled to love himself as much as he did you, and though you tried to support him, he wouldn’t accept it.

You lay back in the empty sheets, lonely sigh bouncing off the walls into white noise.

You already miss being wrapped up in the sheets with him, whispering in each other’s ears and laughing about nothing. You’ve missed it for awhile now, but now that he’s not here the longing sits heavier on your chest.

You’d noticed the signs, Matsukawa had started to lack affection and his depressive episodes became more frequent. You thought you were acknowledging them, but every time he brushed you aside, you stepped down so easily.

Every time he interrupted your concerns with a subject change, you accepted it. You’d confront him later, you always told yourself.

Curling into your side, arms aching to wrap around him, you fret yourself over things you should’ve and could’ve done.

After tossing and turning, you’re finally able to drift to sleep, caught in the dream of a memory.

“Welcome home!”

You cheer, when Matsukawa arrives home from work.

You’d been used to serving food at the restaurant, but not cooking it. You’re grateful Matsukawa at least knew his way around a kitchen, you mostly aided him to the best of your abilities. But tonight, you wanted to make sure a meal was sitting at the table when he arrived.

Despite your underwhelming talents in the kitchen, you’d researched recipes to prepare his favorite hamburg steak.

Admittedly, you played the recipe video back about six times after every direction to make sure you were doing it right.

But you’re pretty confident how it turned out, and you repeated the process with several other dishes he liked, all in time for his arrival home.

You’d even spent the day cleaning and organizing. Even though it wasn’t your designated cleaning day, you wanted him to come home to a brighter apartment.

You’d decorated the walls with photographs that the printing place finished earlier. High school photos from Hanamaki line the wall, mostly of their volleyball team, as well as photos of you and Matsukawa together.

You got caught up sorting through the old pictures of Matsukawa, excitedly giggling at his younger face, his hair style then, how lanky he was, same thick eyebrows.

You almost thought you hadn’t given yourself enough time to prepare the food.

When the front door swings open, you set off a party popper, just for the sake of being extra. Simultaneously, you scare the living shit out of Matsukawa.

“Woah! What is all this?”

Overcoming the initial surprise, his eyes flick around the room. His arms outstretched, you accept the hug eagerly as he peers at you with curiosity.

“It’s not our anniversary. Or my birthday. Or your birthday. What’s going on babe? Are you pregnant—“

He mentally ticks off important dates, before his eyes blow wide at his own assumption.

“No, no. Nothing like that, silly. You’ve been working so hard at your new job, I figured I’d reward you for it!”

You slide your hands up to link behind his neck, attempting to tug him closer as you straighten your posture.

He laughs, leaning down to meet your awaiting kiss. Your lips feel warm against his, and you can feel him unable to resist smiling into the kiss.

Matsukawa’s hands move to caress your hair, he separates momentarily to read your expression.

You open your eyes and peek through your lashes to see his warm gaze.

Ever since he had to work at the funeral home for his father, his mood had plummeted.

It was completely understandable, his goals and aspirations were put on the back burner.

And when he was told he needed to take over the business entirely, the dreams he worked tirelessly for were completely out of his reach.

Needless to say, he’d been despondent. For awhile, nothing you could say could pull him out of it.

But day by day, he grew accustomed to it, even told you things he started to like about the seemingly grim business.

Even though he managed to find a silver lining, it never brought him back to his usual self.

So seeing the light in his eyes and his rosy cheeks made you beam with pure, unadulterated, joy.

“I’m so proud of you, Issei.”

You mumble, words dancing across his lips, and he thanks you with a contented expression, running his thumb softly across your cheekbone.

He reconnects your lips into another gentle kiss, and you easily find yourself lost in it.

Despite complaining about how cold he is all the time, he radiates warmth, and it encompasses you wholly.

He trails his hand down your cheek, slotting his thumb and fingers to either side of your jaw.

When you feel the soft pressure of his fingers, you open your mouth at the gesture, and he doesn’t hesitate to slide his tongue against yours.

Threading your fingers through his curls, you hear the softest moan of satisfaction from him. As your hot tongues slick together, you drag your nails from his hair, down his neck, broad shoulders, to his chest.

You pop open the buttons of his collar with relative ease, but as your excitement grows the difficulty of the task increases.

Matsukawa’s arm wraps around your middle, pressing you close to his body. He rests his free hand to the back of your neck, and to accommodate your tight proximity you tilt your head back.

Bodies now flushed together, you feel the heat exchanging and rising between the two of you, and he hasn’t stopped attacking your mouth for a moment.

Matsukawa bites your bottom lip softly, teasingly, and his mouth covers the gasp that threatens to escape your lips.

He presses a knee between your legs, and you stagger back.

“Ah,”

You separate momentarily,

“Fuck,”

He grunts out as your bottom hits the edge of the dining table. His palm quickly flattens against the surface of it while using his other arm to maintain your balance.

“Sorry, I got a little excited there.”

He mutters close to your face, but the clatter of the plates at the table echoes in your ears. The noise winds up bringing you out of your haze, back to your senses.

“Ahhhh! The food is getting cold!”

You press your hands to his chest, and he lets you push him off with minor hesitation.

“Mmm, and we were getting to the good part.”

He sighs, running his hand through his dark hair.

“We can get to the good part later! We need to eat before all the food dies!”

You settle at one end of the table, and he smiles taking his seat across you.

“This part is just as good too...”

He comments, making you flush as he helps himself, his eyes practically glitter at the meal you worked so hard to prepare.

“I can’t fuck you as good if I’m running on empty, anyways.”

You sputter at his brazen comment, and by the look on his face you can tell he feels zero shame.

“Issei!”

Your cheeks brighten, and he holds a piece of steak up to your lips as a peace offering.

“Kidding.”

You know he’s absolutely not kidding, but you accept it nonetheless, laughing with a blush after getting over the initial shock value.

You banter and laugh through the meal, blushing at all the praise he gives you for your cooking. It leaves you satisfied that your efforts payed off and he enjoyed everything.

When you clean up the table, you try to convince him to let you do the dishes yourself.

“I’ll take care of it! Don’t worry,”

You collect the plates on your arms with practiced ease, despite not working at the restaurant anymore you can still balance everything perfectly.

“You cooked, I should clean.”

Matsukawa insists, of course, and he’s much stronger than you so you don’t resist (much) when he takes the plates from your hands.

In the end, due to your excessive pouting and puppy eyes, you compromise by cleaning the dishes like you two normally do. Side by side at the sink together, elbows brushing occasionally.

The domesticity of doing a regular household chore together with Matsukawa makes your heart feel full.

When you leave the kitchen, you catch him staring fondly at the photos of the both of you, newly framed and hung.

“I like how this one came out.”

You point out your favorite one. You were a brand new couple then, eager to impress each other and afraid to mess things up.

Matsukawa wraps his arms around you, pressing his front to your back. He rests his chin at the top of your head, and you hold his hands softly and lean back into the touch.

You take the next opportunity to roast the fuck out of Hanamaki’s haircut in high school, pointing at the old Seijou volleyball team photos.

“Maybe that’s why he put up a fight when I asked for them.”

You snicker, he didn’t look... bad. But it was certainly a contrast to his K-Pop reminiscent hair style now.

“How’d you manage to convince him?”

“I told him I’d just ask Oikawa for pictures instead, and Hanamaki immediately said he could find some for me.”

Matsukawa snorts at your response, knowing exactly what your play was,

“You’re pretty evil. I’m positive Oikawa has a stockpile of team photos where he’s the only one that looks good.”

“Really? Should I text him now for some?”

“Please don’t.”

“Mmmm, I’ll let it slide. But only for tonight.”

You tease, and you feel the laughter rumble from his chest.

When you make your way to the bedroom, the both of you make good on your promise before dinner.

Matsukawa is quick to press you into the mattress, lips back against yours.

Before you get too excited, you make sure to finish unbuttoning the rest of his dress shirt this time.

You don’t trust yourself enough to be able to do the job right later, especially now that his hot breath is trailing past your jawline down to your neck.

The feeling combined with his tongue now laving at the junction between your neck and shoulder sends a shockwave down your spine.

You arch into him, just barely muffling the noises behind your lips shut tight.

“I wanna hear it all, baby,”

Matsukawa whispers against your neck, sliding his hand up to grab your chin. His thumb presses against your bottom lip, and you open your mouth obediently.

He’s careful not to leave any marks behind, despite how badly he wants to. But recalling how you scolded him fairly recently for the discolored bruises in obvious places, during the summertime no less (where it’s impossible to wear scarves or turtlenecks, apparently), made him think twice.

The feel of his hot breath ghosting across your neck makes you sigh with pleasure. You make a noise of upset when he pulls away, lips turning down into a pout.

Your disappointment doesn’t last for long, when you see him shrugging his dress shirt the rest of the way off.

Your eyes catch his broad shoulders, traveling down to his abdomen, and you thank god for high school volleyball for giving him a routine as you trail your hands across his chest to his abs.

“You’re so hot it hurts.”

You whine out, pouting as he chuckles.

“Oh, it’s gonna hurt for sure.”

You know he’s just teasing, and you roll your eyes.

Matsukawa wouldn’t hurt you if he could help it, you’d have to beg for it before he did anything remotely close to harming you.

“You’re full of it.”

“Hey, I’ve got a big dick and the attitude to back it up.”

He shrugs, slipping his fingers under the bottom of your shirt.

You laugh at the route your conversation turned.

At least he didn’t say something like ‘You’re about to be full’.

You aid him tugging your shirt overhead,

“You really do though.”

And you can feel said ‘big dick’ pressing against you when he leans back down to kiss you.

The first time you saw it, released from the confines of his unbuckled pants, you thought instantly that it wasn’t going to fit. His briefs and pants dropped to the floor along with your jaw.

And you’d never thought something so ridiculous before, but that was how big Matsukawa’s dick was.

But he took things slow, let you grow accustomed to him, and only fucked you hard into the mattress when you cried for it.

Matsukawa is proud of it to this day, and you’ve never told another soul, but he wound up putting you out of commission the next day.

You had to call in a favor for Iwasaki to cover your shift because there was no way you’d be getting in thousands of steps at work after the night you had.

Snapping you out of your thoughts, you moan against Matsukawa’s mouth when he grinds against your lower half.

The two of you have gained a lot of experience in the bedroom over the course of your relationship, attuned to everything the other likes and dislikes, and what feels best for the other.

And Matsukawa is able to find the right spot and angle to grind his hips into you, and he does so with practiced ease.

As much as you love the feeling of his hard on pressing through his slacks and your shorts, the friction and pressure driving you wild,

“You’re wearing to much.”

You break the kiss with a whine.

“You’re wearing just as much as me.”

He laughs, but doesn’t wait another moment longer to pull your shorts down.

You raise your knees to make the task easier, and he tosses the garment aside carelessly. It falls to the floor to join your previously discarded shirt,

“Hey, I worked hard to clean today you know,”

You tease, as he makes quick work of his belt and his own pants.

“I’m sorry, babe. Do you want me to fold it as I go?”

He laughs lightly, pulling his slacks down.

You wonder in the mean time how he’s able to get undressed in bed without looking awkward.

He actually starts to fold them, and you snatch the fabric from his hands with a laugh, tossing it to join the rest of the clothes.

“I was kidding, just hurry up and kiss me!”

You pull him back to meet you in another searing kiss, and he laughs against your lips, pressing you back into the sheets.

Your banter is quickly forgotten, in favor of hot mouths and tongues getting reacquainted.

He snaps your bra and you meet his satisfied smirk with a glare, but the bite is lacking due to your lust addled state. He unclasps the hooks easier than you can yourself, but before you can feel jealous of his skill he’s slipping the lingerie off.

He’s sure to give your breasts the same attention your mouth received, licking and biting gently.

Matsukawa’s fingers trail down your side, the touch so light it’s almost nonexistent, until his hand is slipping past your panties to the wet heat behind them.

“Issei,”

You gasp, body tensing on reflex at the touch, and he tucks his face back into your neck with calming words of reassurance.

You sigh contently when his fingers slip inside, giving a few slow thrusts.

Your hips arch into his hand, and he bites your neck, causing you to moan out his name once more.

“You’re so wet baby. Were you waiting all night for this?”

Not trusting your voice, you nod with a hum, threading your fingers through his hair.

“Hm? You’re usually so good with your words,”

He clicks his tongue, pumping his fingers at a slow and teasing pace,

“Slow, or faster? Use your words baby.”

There’s that hot breath against your neck that sends shivers throughout you, and the pet name that warms your body in an instant.

“F-Faster, please!”

He smiles against your skin, kissing up to your jaw.

“You even said please, good girl.”

He praises, increasing his pace. The sounds become embarrassingly loud, and you can hear what he’s doing to you as well as feel it to your core.

You gasp out when he presses his thumb to your clit, hands dropping to find purchase on his back. The bundle of nerves so suddenly abused sends your back arching off the mattress.

“I-Issei, please, I think I’m ready—“

And with that, he slips his hands out and tugs the flimsy garment down your legs.

Your body misses the feeling of his long and slender fingers deep inside you, but you know very well that his cock can reach the places his fingers can’t.

And though you love the way the dark under armour briefs look hugging his thighs, barely concealing his hard on, you’re way more excited to see them coming off.

You let out a gasp when he hikes your leg up his shoulder, and you’re physically brought back into the moment when he lines up his erection against your slick folds.

He rocks his hips gently against them, cock sliding just outside your heat. His voice sounds thick with anticipation and lust,

“Ready?”

You love how even now he’s still looking to you for permission, and you nod eagerly,

“God yes, just do it, Issei.”

And with that he slowly pushes his cock inside you with a low moan. Your jaw slackens, and your eyes screw shut with a moan of your own.

You swear, every time it feels like he’s splitting you open. But his fingers and care from earlier certainly helps, and you feel your walls accommodating the width of his girth as he slowly pushes in.

It’s tight, it always is with him, but you love the feeling of being so full of him.

He pauses when he’s nearly fully in, and you peek up to catch his hesitant expression.

“Keep going, babe,”

You instruct with a pant, your raised leg and hips shaking despite your wishes.

He smooths his hand over your thigh up to your knee, waiting for it to subside while he gently pets caresses your skin.

When your body arches for more contact, he decides to push all the way in.

You’re panting, and it’s barely started. Sweat drops down Matsukawa’s brow in concentration, and you internally praise him for his willpower to not absolutely plow you when you know he really wants to.

“How are you feeling?”

His other hand traces at your hip, thumb brushing gentle circles.

“I’m good, how are you?”

Your lidded eyes catch his and he laughs at the mundane response.

“Ready for me to absolutely rail you?”

If you could muster any excess energy, you might even roll your eyes at him,

“Just shut up and fuck me.”

“Anything for you, darling.”

He presses a chaste kiss to your lips, the sweetness of the action contrasting heavily with the indecent things he’s about to do to you.

He quickly busies himself with the task of ‘shutting up’ and ‘fucking you’, though with the rough moans slipping out of his mouth he’s not sure he could even tease you properly.

He feels a surge of pride at the delighted noises coming from your pretty lips, and he eats them up with a kiss.

You keen when the leg you have hooked on his shoulder presses to your chest to accommodate the kiss, his pace not faltering as he thrusts his hips to yours.

“I-Issei!”

And you can tell by the way he speeds up he loves the way you call his name so impassioned, and despite his increased tempo he remains attentive.

It’s when you feel his fingers back to abuse your clit in tight circles that you immediately start meeting his thrusts sloppily, not quite aligning with his rhythm.

Your mind (and body) is so full of Matsukawa, you don’t think you can concentration on matching his pace properly, but your sloppy thrusts at least give you a shred of the satisfaction your body is desperately craving.

Various iterations of his name spill out of your mouth, alongside other blissful noises.

In your hazy vision you take in the the man before you. The sheen of sweat covering his neck, his chest, abs, catching the dim lighting.

Every part of your body is practically bouncing as he pushes you harder into the mattress, his thrusts unforgiving and unrelenting.

Your eyes screw shut for a moment as you cry at a few consecutive thrusts where his cock hit deep, but you glance back so you can catch his expression.

His brows are knit tight in concentration, eyes fixed shut, lips parted occasionally for every curse and moan that escapes him.

And when it all becomes too much for you, his cock pushed as far as it can go, if not farther, his fingers keeping up their mission to stimulate your overly sensitive clit, his other hand gripping your hip tightly, your nails raking across his back, every sound filling your ears whether it’s from his lips or your bodies, you throw your head back with a cry.

“Come with me baby—“

Matsukawa voice is rough and hot, he thrusts deeper than you thought possible. Your name falls from his lips, soft flesh red from biting.

He presses his palm beside your head, creating an indent to the mattress. In the process, he catches your hair as he grips the sheets, balancing himself on a shaking arm.

You arch into him, hot skin pressing to hot skin.

White hot flashes over you when you feel his body shaking, painting practically your guts with his release as he pants and moans above you.

And it throws you headfirst into your own euphoric release.

And against better judgement, you cry out,

“Mattsun!”

Matsukawa’s dark eyes, hazy with lust and the satisfaction of release, immediately blow wide with momentary confusion.

“What the fuck—”

He scrambles off of you in a disoriented haste, and the bed dips when he presses his knees beside you on the mattress.

“What the fuck was that?”

He growls out, but it sounds more like a cry, or maybe a whine.

You can’t help but laugh at his reaction, stifling it behind your palm as you will your aching body to sit upright,

“I-I’m sorry!”

You’re still laughing, and his glare eases when he sees your rosy cheeks, watching your shoulders shake with mirth.

“Thanks, my dick is completely soft now.”

“You wanted to go again? You have work early tomorrow.”

“I might’ve stayed up for another round. But now we’ll never know, because of that stunt you just pulled.”

He pinches your nose, and you have the audacity to giggle as he grabs a stray towel to clean you up.

Pitching it with a perfect arc into a bin across the room, he lays back beside you grumbling something about your aforementioned audacity.

Even though he was mildly distressed by the prank you pulled in the throes of passion, he still made sure to clean you himself.

You turn on your side with a wide, blushing smile, wrapping your arm around his middle.

“I can’t believe you’d use that nickname. And while I’m cumming, too.”

He complains again, grudgingly slinging his arm around you.

“Oikawa always calls you that, and you never let me use it when we first met. I thought it would be funny to try it then.”

“Right. As much as I’d love to talk about Oikawa in the afterglow of our mind blowing sex—“

“You would?”

You snort, and he rolls his eyes,

“No. Honestly, I wish I could convey to you how much I don’t want to do that.”

The sour look he sends you makes another laugh bubble up.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry Issei. You just... have seemed so down lately. I wanted to do something special for you, and make you laugh.”

“You thought something special would be using one of that guy’s crappy nicknames during hot sex?”

You slap his chest lightly when he raises a skeptical brow, deciding to ignore for now how he verbally sidestepped your concerns with a jest.

“No, I meant the dinner, and the pictures. That was just so you could look back and laugh!”

You pout, feeling the rumbling from his chest as a laugh escapes his lips.

“Ahh, now I can look back on the night my beautiful girlfriend made a special dinner, and decorated our apartment with lovely photos. And when I had sex with her she called out the terrible nickname one of my best friends gave me.”

“Issei!”

You drag out each syllable of his name with a cry, of course when he says it like that it sounds more like a bad idea.

“I know, I’m just teasing. I’m very, very grateful for tonight. You really surprised me, in a good way.”

He gives you a soft expression that makes your chest warm up.

“...but I’m letting you know now, I’m not telling anyone how it ended. Not even Hanamaki,”

He pinches your thigh and you yelp, grabbing for his wrist as he continues,

“And you better not tell anyone either.”

“Okay, okay, I won’t! Just don’t start tickling me!”

He flattens his palm against your thigh, leaning over to kiss your pink cheek.

“Good girl.”

The pet name sends butterflies stirring in your stomach, and you pull him closer to cuddle.

Matsukawa pulls the covers to settle comfortably over the both of you, tangling your legs together and wrapping a strong arm over you. He settles snug against you, and presses a soft kiss to your forehead.

“I love you, Issei. So much.”

“I love you too,”

He whispers your name affectionately, kissing your nose this time, as you both let sleep overtake you.

“I don’t think this relationship is working out.”

“I cheated on you.”

“You’re in denial.”

“Stop looking for excuses!”

“—I don’t love you anymore!”

Matsukawa’s last words to you rattle your sleep addled brain, and you blink awake, the haze of your pleasant memories forgotten.

Tears sting at your eyes, and you wipe furiously at them as they start to pool.

Regretting the nap, and your next actions, you pull your phone from the covers to call him.

You don’t end up building the courage to press the call button in the end, and hastily settle for a text reading ‘I miss you’.

And god, you miss him so much.

But the immediate silence that follows puts that pit right back in your stomach.

You spend the rest of the day, periodically checking your phone for any updates.

Your hand constantly itches to grab for it in your pocket, and you resist the urge to check less often than you’d hope.

Each time you’re met with an empty notification screen, your lock screen ready to shove a photo of you and Matsukawa in your face.

But the wound is too fresh to replace it, and you ache to see his face even if it’s through a screen or a photograph on the wall.

You slip your phone back into your pocket for the millionth time, returning to your tablet to get some work done.

Every time your stylus meets the screen, you can’t come up with the ideas or muster the creativity to produce anything.

You miss when Matsukawa would have you snug in his lap, and you could lay your head on his shoulder while sketching away.

Those moments were second nature to you, you’d grown so accustomed to his company and comfort. You never thought once that something as simple as cuddling on the couch with Matsukawa during downtime wouldn’t be an possibility anymore.

You never contemplated losing the encouraging words whispered against your ear. About what colors he liked, what a good job you were doing, or even the silly doodles he laughed at when you were getting sidetracked.

Your head gets stuck in the same cycle you’ve gone through every day since Matsukawa left.

What could you have said? What could you have done?

You miss his voice, his warmth, his touch, his face, you miss him.

You look off and stare out the window, resting your chin against your palm.

Is this really it?

It feels like your breathing cuts off then, and you feel numb as your chest tightens.

Despite it all, you feel completely aware, as the thought sits heavy on your mind. Do you really have to let him go?

It’s nearing a month now, and since that moment in your apartment it didn’t take long for your thoughts to go into disarray again.

You desperately want to believe in Matsukawa, give him the space he clearly needs, but the radio silence ends up driving you crazy.

You’re left with your heartbreak, your intrusive thoughts, the devil on your shoulder constantly telling you he meant everything he said.

You’re clinging to anything that’ll convince you Matsukawa loves you, that he wouldn’t leave you like this, but the distance between you two has diminished anything to hold on to.

All you have to keep you sane are memories of I love you’s.

But he hadn’t said it in a long time, and he hasn’t been here to give you any semblance of closure, or a reason that doesn’t sound like complete bullshit.

He’s giving you a million reasons to let him go, but you keep hanging on.

Normally, you’d be curled up in your sheets letting your emotions run wild, the memory of that night playing back in your head as if it were a big screening of a drama.

Your friends convinced you to get outside, anything to make the worst seem a little better. You told them you would heed their advice.

Instead of lying in sorrow at your apartment, you’re at yours and Matsukawa’s favorite cafe.

Getting out of the apartment was a good idea, your friends were right about that. It never truly felt like yours alone.

It was yours and Matsukawa’s, everything belonged to the both of you. It was decided together, down to the furniture and the kitchenwares.

Getting fresh air was healthy for you, your friends weren’t wrong, but coming to this cafe was the worst idea possible.

You’d been a frequent customer prior to the incident, but you’ve since ghosted the place. You thought it would be fine, just one latte to bring your spirits up.

But you only managed to satisfy the sick, subconscious urge to feel sorry for yourself in the place you and Matsukawa made memories in together.

Your favorite drink overdosed with sugars tastes bittersweet on your tongue.

And it doesn’t help that the smells and images of the cafe are attached to memories that are starting to feel even more bittersweet.

“...Mm... It tastes great...!”

You struggle to keep your lips from turning down, and even more to swallow down the bitter black coffee. Nonetheless, you flash a smile Matsukawa’s way.

After Matsukawa had given you his number, your conversations flowed with ease. It was surprisingly natural texting him, and even more so conversing with him over the phone or in person.

After a few dates, you found yourself at a local cafe with him.

It seemed to be climbing in popularity, and you’d known Matsukawa was passionate about his coffee.

“You don’t have to pretend to like it.”

He laughs, eyeing the look on your face.

Your extreme distaste must have been more obvious than you thought, or maybe he’s just more perceptive than he lets on.

“Okay, you’re right. It’s actually pretty disgusting. How do you drink it like this?!”

You gently slide his coffee cup over, and try not to think too hard and combust when his fingers brush over yours to take it back.

You also try to convince yourself that the burning heat on your fingers is from the heat seeping from the to-go cup, and not from Matsukawa’s brief touch.

Taking a swig of your own coffee, you attempt to wash away his coffee’s aftertaste.

“How do you drink it like that?”

He points his finger at your drink.

“...Fair. I just like coffee with milk and sugar! It’s common.”

“You like your milk and sugar with coffee.”

He teases, expression straight and neutral. You smile thinking that you’re beginning to understand Matsukawa’s sense of humor.

You poke your tongue out at his deadpan correction, and his eyes flash with amusement.

“It’s better with flavor, and sugar makes almost anything taste good! You’re just drinking bean juice, but plain and without all the extra stuff.”

“If anything, you’re just drinking bean juice with sugar in it, and that doesn’t sound much better.”

He points out, and you hum at his wit.

“....I think we’ve reached a stalemate, Matsukawa.”

You pout. He laughs, and it sounds so charming to your ears.

You hold your hand out to him, and he cuts himself short to peer at it in confusion.

“Truce. I won’t make fun of your plain bean juice as long as you don’t make fun of my sugary bean juice.”

“I accept. But only if we stop saying bean juice.”

“Deal.”

You accept his hand into a firm shake with a bright smile, and a pink hue creeps up your cheeks when you notice how much bigger his palm is compared to yours.

You blink when you attempt to pull your hand back and he doesn’t let go.

“Come on, we’ve got a movie to catch. Don’t wanna miss making fun of the trailers.”

He stands from his seat, pulling you up to your feet.

Your brain short circuits then. Does he want to hold your hand?

How are the two of you going to hold right hands while walking?

Would it be too awkward to just let go and try to hold his other hand? But he’s holding his coffee in it!

You don’t have to think much longer on it, Matsukawa’s already swapping his coffee with his other hand, placing his newly freed one into your palm.

It’s warm from the heat of the coffee, and your heart swells when you come to the realization that he was in fact trying to hold your hand.

“Ready?”

You glance up to see his expression, and your heart practically skips a beat at the shy look on his face.

He’s looking for any distraction, sipping at his coffee as he waits for your reaction.

When he risks a glance at you, he catches the eager smile that spreads across your cheeks.

You lace your fingers with his, holding his hand tightly,

“Mm. Let’s go!”

After that memory, you start to feel sick.

You can’t even stomach the coffee anymore, and you toss it in the trash in a rush, ignoring the questioning looks sent your way by the customers and employees. You pull your coat tighter to your body, before hurrying out of the cafe.

Pacing down the street, you decide to head back to the apartment.

Anywhere else is just another memory.

The park, the theatre, restaurants, bars, you can’t even see Hanamaki, and you don’t want to bother your other friends.

It’s better to wallow in your misery at home than in the public eye, anyways. You can’t stand the looks of confusion or pity being sent your way.

You kick off your shoes at the door, freezing when you notice the pair that wasn’t there before.

Is your mind playing tricks on you?

No, Matsukawa took these before he left, you’re almost positive.

Your knees shake as you take the first step forward, scanning the living room, but there’s no sight of him there.

When you open the bedroom door, you find him sitting at the edge of the bed.

The bed you shared together, that you’d slept in alone for a month now.

When he perks up at the sound of the door swinging open, he’s at a loss for words when he catches your shocked stare.

Your name leaves his lips, and it’s almost a whisper, so easy to miss, but it’s what you’ve been wanting to hear for weeks now.

“...here to collect the rest of your things?”

Your voice is shaky at best, lacking nerve.

“No, no. I... really wanted to talk to you—”

“Now you wanna talk?!”

For the briefest of moments, you felt happy to hear he wasn’t back to grab his things and leave you again, but it’s quickly replaced by your pent up emotions.

He opens his mouth, but you don’t let him speak.

“I get you needed space. I didn’t try to call you, I didn’t go to Hanamaki’s. I was happy to give you time, but what the fuck Issei? You ghosted me! I kept convincing myself that it was my fault, that I should’ve been better, or I should’ve done more for you. And you left me completely alone and heartbroken!”

You’re panting after the outburst, but there’s still so much more you want to say,

“You told me you wanted to break up, you lied to my face, and then you keep me in the dark! Did I not deserve at least a small explanation? Fuck, Issei, you’re giving me a million reasons to walk away!”

You don’t want to, of course, but the words spill out with everything that had remained unspoken in his absence.

Your lips purse shut, and your heart aches when you see his jaw clenched tight and his watery expression.

“Issei... I just need one good one to stay.”

You finish with a sigh, gazing up at him hopefully. You desperately want to reach out and hold his hands, but you clench your fists at your sides and keep yourself back.

The silence is deafening, the tension and dread in the air thick as you swallow tightly.

“...I love you. I don’t think I could live without you.”

Matsukawa finally says, staring at you resolutely. He immediately panics at the statement though,

“Fuck, I shouldn’t talk like that. I meant to say, I want to... keep living my life with you, or something like that.”

He runs a hand through his hair nervously before clicking his tongue,

“Shit, that sounded dumb. Ahhh... I’ve actually been seeing someone...”

His eyes widen at his own words, and he quickly waves his hands as if to wipe the words out of existence,

“N-Not like that though! You were right, actually, I lied about... cheating on you. I talked to Hanamaki, I’ve actually been getting therapy now. I haven’t had many sessions yet but...”

He trails off, fidgeting and wringing his hands together as your brain catches up with all the information he’s dumped on you.

Your eyes water as you lunge forward to pull him into a tight hug,

“That’s all I needed to hear!”

You cry into his chest, and he wraps his arms around you, petting your head softly, he missed holding you like this,

“That I got a therapist?”

“Not that silly,”

You whine, pulling away to peer up at him through teary-eyed lashes,

“That you love me. I haven’t heard it in awhile. I’m sorry I forgot... I just really wanted to hear it.”

He stares at you with a regretful expression, brushing your tears away. It only makes you cry harder, strange happiness filling you that he’s finally here in person to wipe your tears away.

“I’m sorry. I love you. I had a hard time believing someone like you could love someone like me. I know you were always there to support me and love me with everything you have, but I kept thinking you deserved better,”

He tucks his chin on top of your head and pulls you back in, close to his chest,

“And that was selfish of me to decide for you. I’m sorry I lied, I’m sorry I pushed you away.”

You can hear how shaky his voice is, and press your face to his sweater. Your tears drip down and catch the soft fabric, and you think about how hard it must’ve been for him to come to terms with himself.

“But you really do deserve better,”

You pull away to scold him for that but he’s quick to interrupt,

“And I’ll be better for you if you’ll let me. I’ll work hard on handling these thoughts and anxieties.”

“Issei...”

You bring your hands up to cup his cheeks, and it’s your turn to wipe the tears brimming at his eyes,

“Only if you accept that I can do better for you, and let me support you every step of the way.”

“Deal.”

You slide your hands around the back of his neck and lean in close.

At your gesture, he instinctively brings his hands to your sides, and tilts his face towards yours.

Your lips catch his in a kiss, filled with all the bitter and sweet emotions. Your longing and heartache fades away with your growing promise to each other.

“I love you, I love you.”

He says between each kiss, and you can’t help but smile into it each time.

“I love you too.”

A/N:

sorry for the absolute ANGST of the first part and a majority of this part, but I thrive in chaos. I made it better right? :’)

[Masterlist]

#haikyuu!!#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu reader insert #haikyuu x y/n #matsukawa issei #matsukawa x y/n #matsukawa x reader #matsukawa issei/reader #matsukawa issei x reader #haikyuu angst #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu fic

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hautecompress · 4 years ago

Text

Perfume

The largeness of the room threatens to swallow Erwin whole. Lying on his side in bed, he can see the outline of familiar shapes in the dark--a sleek, white desk, a large computer, long black curtains over two equally long windows. A minimalist chair. Two overstuffed bookshelves. There is a closet on the far wall, a small room in its own right. The white doors are slightly ajar, a mound of dirty laundry spilling out from within.

The windows are open, and he can smell rain, hear it even, tapping against the glass. The earth smells different here, he thinks. Deeper, older. Less complicated. He can smell the woods beyond the house, the maple and elm and pine with their leaves that change from green to gold and red. He wonders what it will look like in the winter, when all the leaves have gone and only the long tangled branches remain, clasping at one another like lover’s hands. He wonders if he will be able to see the horizon through them--the sun setting behind the mountains far in the west, its rays reaching out towards him like warm arms. He wonders if the sky will turn a thousand splendid colors, splintered into shards like light off the surface of a diamond.

He lights a cigarette, rolls onto his back.

The ceiling seems to drift away, even as he remains still on the flimsy IKEA mattress that his father managed to drag up the stairs while he was at school. Could it be growing? Floating upwards? Lifting away?

This will be a new beginning for us, Erwin, I swear.

He thinks about the brownstone in the city, with its steep stairways and small closets and narrow rooms. He thinks about his body pressed into stranger’s bodies on the train, the cats in bodegas who wrapped like twine around his ankles. He thinks about his mother, holding him tightly to her chest as they slipped into a crowd, her hand cupped over the back of his skull. He thinks about protection. Being protected.

Life is smaller without her hands on his shoulders. Miniscule, like walls closing in or doors slamming shut. His father says the woods will do them good. All of the space will encourage them to change, to move on, to grow up.

It’s like with fish, Erv. Bigger the tank, bigger the fish. We need a bigger tank-- that’s all.

Erwin frowns, soft blonde hair spilling across his pillow like milk. He wants to believe that that’s true, but in his heart of hearts he knows he’s simply not a fish. Even with all this room to grow all he wants to do is curl in, shrivel up, and disappear.

At school the classrooms seem empty. Twenty vacant desks to ten filled ones. He wonders why people stay, why they don’t move to the cities and let nature take back what belongs to it. What is the point in passing through the world like a ghost, so far removed from other people that you hardly know what’s real? That morning he’d heard an old song on the new hits radio station. He wonders if they ever play the songs he knows intimately, the ones that blare out of open car windows and through the swinging doors of clubs you have to know somebody to get into. He wonders if he’ll ever hear those songs again, or if they’ll fade away like the fall, like the sun in the west, like the smoke from a cigarette.

“Can I sit here?”

Erwin is surprised, so he doesn’t answer. The boy is small and pale, fingernails picked so clean that he can see the skin underneath. He has black hair, inky and soft. It falls in waves over his forehead, the rest of it shaved to the scalp. He has very full lips, like two petals blooming from the stem of his sharp chin.

“Yeah, sure. Of course,” Erwin says. He sits up a little straighter.

When the boy sits down, his hair falls over one eye, Erwin notices, and the smell of it wafts across the table. The boy smells uncomplicated, like smoke and leaves and something fresh. Laundry detergent.

“What are you drawing?” the boy asks, rusty, rough--but still so quiet.

Erwin looks down at the table, to the notebook he has cupped between his hands. He’s sketched something crude there, a scribble of a skyline that is etched like a tattoo on his memory. He pushes it across to the boy, an offering.

“Home,” he says, simply.

The boy looks at the drawing for a long time.

There is a box in the front room that neither Erwin nor his father will touch. They have adapted their lives around it, have grown so used to it being there that he hardly notices it anymore.

It is three in the afternoon, and he is crawling on the floor, looking for the dropped back of an earring he’s been wearing since middle school. His shoulder snags the corner of the box, and he sits back on his heels, looking at it properly for the first time in months. He knows what they’ve packed in there, of course. He knows why they don’t unpack it now, and knows that he won’t ever do it alone, even if it feels irrational. Still, it seems important, all of a sudden, to at least look inside.

He crawls forward, kneeling in front of it, a boy at the altar.

Inside, things are just as he expected. He runs his fingers over a silk scarf, wound up tenderly and placed neatly on top. When he pulls them away, they smell like perfume. He closes the box, and goes upstairs to wash his hands.

The boy with dark hair is called Levi.

Levi is allergic to peanut butter and doesn’t like to be talked to. He talks a lot to Erwin, though. Mostly about books he reads, or things he sees on the internet. At times it seems that all Erwin does anymore is sit and listen to Levi talk, busy fingers working at something on a blank piece of paper. A memory, perhaps, or a want. A forest of tall green trees. Feathers, falling. The faces of monsters.

It always becomes a blur before the end.

Erwin doesn’t mind when Levi talks. In fact, he has started to feel as though he needs Levi to talk. It makes him feel special, unique. Relevant. When Levi talks, he leans closer, their cheeks nearly brushing as Levi mumbles thoughts against his ear. He doesn’t always follow their meaning, doesn’t always have to.

It’s enough just to feel the vibrations against his skin. To be told a secret.

When winter comes, Erwin cannot see the mountains. He is walking past his window one afternoon and sees only the tangles of trees, thick silver arms twisting up towards the sky. They have fingers, but not faces.

He feels strangely relieved.

“What’s in there?”

Erwin looks up, following the direction of Levi’s eyes. They are in his living room, curled side by side under a soft blanket. At first, he doesn’t see what Levi means. His eyes scan the large room, finding nothing but familiar shapes. Large, leather sofa. Broad oak table. Wide brick fireplace. There is a circular rug in the center, a simple design. There is a pile of magazines on the side table, old copies of Outdoor Life that his father won’t throw away.

When he sees it, his fists clench.

“Nothing, just some old shit we haven’t put away.”

Levi looks at him, gray eyes searching his for something. It makes Erwin feel distinctly uncomfortable and he looks away, folding his arms across his chest. He feels defensive, though he isn’t sure why.

“It’s always there. Since we met.”

Erwin frowns, padding in his shirt pocket for a pack of cigarettes. He pulls one out, lighting it. The silver smoke fills up the space between them, makes the room feel smaller.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he says.

“You never want to talk,” Levi replies.

“How could I get a word in edgewise?”

It comes off harsher than he means it, and he worries that Levi will leave. He looks up, face tight with anxiety. He needs Levi to stay, to talk. If Levi goes the world will expand. If Levi goes he’ll drift away, like a ship without an anchor. Like he’s made of nothing but air.

Levi’s eyes are soft when he catches them. It startles him, how much he sees there. Gentleness swims in those gray eyes, a fish kept small by the size of his irises. Erwin wonders how big that fish might grow if only it could escape, if Levi’s eyes became the size of the sun, or the moon, or even something small, primitive--a fist.

Warm fingers brush against Erwin’s cheek, smoothing a line beneath the bone.

When Levi kisses him, Erwin is not startled. Instead, he is heavy, so weighed down by their physical bodies that he is sure that he can feel the ceilings lowering, the room shrinking. He fits, here, against Levi. In this room.

It’s snowing when Levi goes home that night. Erwin watches it fall through the living room window, kneeling in front of the open box. He holds the scarf in his hands, tight.

It’s cold out, but Erwin walks to school. The sky is white, so thick that he can hardly tell where it ends, where the earth begins. He feels small, comfortable. His hair is growing longer, white threads along his pale cheeks. He’s nearly as tall as his father, now, has to wear socks under his jeans to hide his peeping ankles.

As he walks, he listens to an old song, one he knows the words to. One he knows the feeling of.

“Can I see it?”

Levi is perched like a cat on his knee, curled around his body like twine. Erwin looks up, smiling his crooked smile. The one that is like his mother’s.

The page is full. There is the city there, it’s skyline crisp against a blue sky. In the center, a woman in a silk scarf looks back, bag hanging off her shoulder. He can nearly smell her perfume.

“She was really beautiful, Erwin.”

“Yeah, she was.”

Levi’s arms close around him protectively, a hand cupping the back of his skull.

In the spring, Erwin carries the box up the stairs. He takes out the things that are practical--the photos, the pieces of art, the journals. He puts those things away, in places where he can get to them. He hangs some of the photos in the living room, some paintings in the hallway. He leaves her clothes, folding them neatly and storing them in the back of the coat closet.

The scarf he keeps. He folds it into thirds and tucks it beneath his pillow.

When Erwin wakes up, her perfume is everywhere.

He slips out of bed, smooth as a fish in cold water. He dresses slowly, eyes fixed on the woods outside the window. The trees are budding. Their leaves will blossom soon, he thinks, green and uncomplicated. Infinite.

As he stoops to catch his reflection in his mirror, he wonders when his room got to be so small. He wonders at how much he’s grown.

Outside, Levi is waiting on the porch. His mouth is full of words, the kind that Erwin bends to hear.

The silver smoke from his cigarette disappears from between his fingers, drifting up into the endless blue sky.

#erwin smith #levi ackerman #eruri #eruri fic #attack on titan #snk #aot #my writing #my original work #fic repost

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atlascas · 4 years ago

Text

DEANCAS FIC REC

(last updated 7/1)

FINALLY. this is like. just a place for me to rec and write excessively abt the fics i've been reading lately. it won't be organized but it WILL be very earnest and i'll keep it updated as i find/remember more. also i have obnoxiously high standards when it comes to fic so these ARE the cream of the crop, if u will. the god tier. the s tier.

very loosely organized into "newer fic" and "classics." these are subjective categories. do what you will

✨ = new fic on the list

💖 = in my brain rent free!

CURRENTLY READING

these are the fics that i’m currently reading! may or may not get recced. usually i read the first couple paragraphs/lines and if i like the writing it gets bookmarked and put on this list.

lazarus needs a robe of scarlet thread by herrosesneverfall, 90k, canonverse au. dean starts getting stigmata. when i was getting back into spn there were a LOT of religious fics flying around bc that was the Hot Topic of Discussion. this was one of them

Three weeks ago, Dean woke up in a pine box. He thought dealing with the nightmares was going to be the most difficult part of his new life after Hell, but at least they were something he could understand. Something he could deal with. Something he deserved.

Then he began having agonizing visions of crucifixion. Wounds appeared on his body out of nowhere. Wounds that refused to heal and coated his skin with the sickly sweet smell of roses.

Stigmata are said to be the marks of saints, but Dean is not a saint and the wounds are only the beginning.

kingdom come by ahurston, 8.7k, coda to 15x18. cas gets to go home. im gathering all the s15 fix-its to my heart and holding them close

Cas wakes up on the coast of Maine. He makes his way home.

hunger by ellispark, 10.8k, s13 au. dean grieves cas, post s12 finale. perfect writing perfect awful heartwrenching characterization so far on dean’s end especially towards jack. nuanced emotional writing

Dean takes his meal and throws it away, plate and all. He's not hungry. How can he even begin to eat, knowing what he kept from Cas — what he kept from both of them?

They could have had something, and now all Dean has is this gaping, empty hole in his stomach, in his chest, and he has to learn to breathe and eat and move around it.

the law of equivalent exchange by awed_frog, 60.8k, canonverse. cas loving dean in all permutations of humanity, throughout time.

“And what’s the point of it?”

“Of love? There isn’t one. Loving is its own purpose.”

NEWER FIC

“newer” just means “i discovered it in 2020/2021 after coming back to spn fandom” so it very well could have been published before 2015 but really who’s checking. not me that’s for sure.

💖 so says the sword by komodobits, 85k, s4 au. cas guards the michael sword in the beautiful room. this is easily the MOST obvious rec on this entire list but it was the first fic i read when i got back into spn this year and jesus christ it set the bar sky fucking high. the way they create a coherent mythology out of the mess that is spn canon is incredible.

The briefing was simple: ‘Stand guard over the Michael Sword until the battle is ready to commence. Await further instructions.’

Castiel doesn’t mind working security duty; he was briefed shortly after the initial salvation of the Sword from the pit, and again before taking up his position. He knows what to do. However, it’s easy to forget that the green room isn’t real. Time moves differently there, the space ever-changing to make a prison of mountains, cathedrals, salt flats, orchards, and whatever Castiel was led to believe about Heaven’s greatest weapon—Dean Winchester is something entirely unexpected.

assimilation by komodobits, 5.6k, coda to 12x01. mary meets dean and cas and they go to find sam. such good character studies of all three of them. the best mary pov fic i’ve read

Mary always thought you were supposed to be able to tell. That you could just look at someone and know they were – you know. One of that sort. It’s not supposed to happen to her son.

cuckoo and nest by komodobits, 10k, ambiguously canonverse. dean and cas navigate relationship anxiety. cute, in character, and their relationship is realistic and the conflict well-written and emotionally nuanced and really really really good.

For a long time, Castiel thought that every earthly possession other than the immediately necessary was excess to requirement. But Dean – Dean who named his car, who keeps a photograph of his mother in his wallet, some thirty-plus years after her death, who still has the crumpled ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign with a sleeping pelican emblazoned on it from the Microtel outside of Roanoke where he first kissed Castiel, clumsy and unsure, under the unsteady fluorescence of an exhausted bathroom bulb – is sentimental.

It puzzles Castiel, where Dean draws the line between what is meaningful and what it is worthless.

💖 one white lie by komodobits, 11k, au. cas panics when trying to ask dean out and has to fake being a jehovah’s witness. it’s adorable and hilarious and it’s been ages since i actually got butterflies at a kiss in a fic but this did it. it did it. it felt like someone swaddled my soul in a cashmere blanket and kissed me on the forehead

Castiel takes a deep breath and rings the doorbell. He doesn’t need to run through what he’s going to say – he’s already planned and edited and rehearsed it a thousand times. He is going to ask Dean Winchester out to dinner. If it’s not too forward, he’ll say, perfectly charming. You see, I’ve seen you around the neighbourhood and you always seem so earnest and I’d really like to get to know you bette— The door swings open, and Castiel panics.

He intends to excuse himself. He means to apologise and come back some other time. However, in a moment of blind fear, what comes out of his mouth instead are the words, “Could you spare a moment for Jesus Christ?”

a crash course in someone else’s history by annie d (scaramouche), 11.5k, set during s6. cas comes to as his s4 self without any memories of the past two years and has to figure out what the fuck is going on. it’s kind of like so says the sword. you’ll know it when you get to it.

Castiel is captured inside a trapping circle of holy oil set by Dean and Sam Winchester. The brothers call him "Cas", claiming that he has amnesia and that he is obligated to help them take down Crowley to atone for his betrayal of them. It's the strangest story Castiel's ever heard, and one he doesn't have time for because he's only just raised Dean from Hell and has work to get back to.

💖 cas and dean’s adventures in gardening by ahurston, 19k, post-canon au. a series featuring dean and cas living in the bunker, human. cas is very into plants. i read this yesterday actually and it made me smile SO much it’s just so lovely and sweet. i’m also a sucker for any fic where cas has a garden. he deserves a fucking garden okay

In this post-God world, everything is different. A little quieter, a little softer. Cas grows a garden, Dean cooks, and they take care of each other.

tall grass by aeli_kindara, 57k, post-s12. dean and cas live in the bunker on their own, and cas grows a garden. i did say i love fics where cas has a garden. plus domesticity, plus some good case fic, PLUS dean and cas’ relationship is so gentle and good

“I think we should have a garden,” Cas says.

Dean looks up from his beer. He hasn’t had that much to drink, but Cas still has a vague look of unreality about him, a splash of living color that doesn’t fit in the bunker’s echoing stillness. Dean didn’t hear him coming. A lot of the time, Cas is so unobtrusive it feels like Dean has the bunker to himself, with Sam away.

Dean shakes his head to clear it. “A — garden?” he repeats.

in a week by renrub, 2.3k, post 15x18. cas is in the empty. dean saves him. this is genuinely the best “dean pulls cas out of the empty” fic i’ve read so far like conceptually this entire thing just fucks. when cas is cycling through the barn scene. god. SO well written

Castiel is outside a barn covered in sigils. He frowns. This isn’t right. This has never been something he repented for.

i won’t even wish for snow by annie d (scaramouche), 5.6k, college au. cas goes to the winchesters’ for christmas. honestly scaramouche fics belong in the classics section bc she’s like an og deancas writer but whatever. mistletoe! banter! good in-character au! this fic’s got it all

It’s the third year that Castiel’s spending Christmas with his best friend’s family, and he expects it to be much like the previous two. Then mistletoe happens.

convenient husbands by annie d (scaramouche), 39k, canonverse au. cas is a phoenix, dean is a hunter. they get married and have a sick psychic bond. unexpectedly fluffy considering how the fic starts and i love the banter so much and dean/cas’ relationship gets fleshed out and organically developed it’s very cute

"It's only temporary, right?" Dean says. "Just until you're healed up, and then we'll never have to see each other again. So what do you say, Castiel, do you want to marry me or not?"

cinderwings by bendingsignpost, 181k, cinderella au. cas goes to a masquerade ball to save his people from an eternity trapped in a void. he meets prince dean. i can’t tell u how much this fic drew me in - thru good worldbuilding, but mostly thru cas’ social awkwardness. like it works PERFECTLY to his advantage in this fic and reading how expertly he manipulates social situations w/o any fucking idea what he’s doing is both hilarious and inspiring

Under the cover of a masquerade ball, Castiel has five nights to recover the key to his people's freedom. The world has changed greatly in the six centuries since their banishment into the void, but the task isn't impossible. Unfortunately for Castiel, this is going to involve talking to people - especially the Knight Prince who has taken an interest in Castiel and his "costume" wings.

as the crow flies by bendingsignpost, 3.4k, au. dean and cas go on a roadtrip. cas has wings! it’s so dreamlike and meandering and the slowburn is so good. honestly it reminds me of stevebucky/stevesam post tws era roadtrip fics if ur hip LMAO

Cross country road trips with Cas are the best.

long-term relationship by bendingsignpost, 2.7k, au. dean and cas have a Serious Conversation about their relationship.

Castiel says, budging over to make room for Dean on the couch, “I thought we should have a serious talk about our relationship.”

Reflexively, Dean laughs.

Castiel does not.

“Uh, Cas... you know we’re not dating, right?”

all this and heaven too by ftmsteverogers, 7k, ambiguously canonverse. dean is trans. dean and cas are fucking and lowkey hiding it from sam. perfect character study PERFECT trans dean fic it’s so fucking well-written

“Hey,” Dean said. “I’m not ashamed of you, okay?”

Cas raised skeptical eyes to meet his.

“I mean it,” Dean insisted.

“I understand you mean it,” Cas said. “But I don’t think it’s any better if you’re only ashamed of yourself.”

💖 the love story of the runner up by margo_kim, 4.7k, ambiguously canonverse. cas tries dating other men. bear with me here. this is an outside pov fic from an oc named miguel who is WONDERFULLY characterized and very endearing like i find outsider/oc pov to be on Thin Fucking Ice bc it always ends up as fandom/author self-insert but miguel is his OWN MAN. he gets his own lil arc and everything. dean and cas are concentrated perfectly crystallized versions of themselves and the little glimpses we get of them are amazing. ALSO i wrote like 9k of an spn vent fic (basically the same premise but w an oc named marcus) back in like. freshman yr of hs. so when i first opened this fic i was like what the fuck someone’s been in my google docs. very weird experience 10/10 regardless

“So you saw a white man in a trench coat pop out in an alley,” Paul says, “and you thought, what, ‘I want to see where this is going’?”

“If you get hung up on details like that,” Miguel says, “it will take a very long time to get through this story.”

For a very weird era in his life, Miguel dates an angel who is in love with another man.

sunshine by northernsparrow, 8k, set during s13. dean and cas have a long conversation about their Profound Bond. the description left me off-balance (it really. really truly says “dean is straight in this fic” like okay bro WEIRD hill to die on) but it pulled through w the relationship study and reassurance and snuggles. a sweet fic

One-shot with a single conversation between Dean and Castiel, set in a late-S13-ish world. Gabriel, Cas, Sam & Dean are all living in the bunker together, Gabe's been cracking certain jokes, Sam's found a certain book, Cas is injured and isn’t healing... and it's all making Dean wonder if his angel friend might have some sort of a "bond" with... somebody? Whatever that means.

Maybe it's time for a talk.

💖 still life by catchclaw, 16.5k, post-s8. cas, newly human, goes to live on his own for a while. he and dean maintain a relationship thru the phone. this is LITERALLY the only first person fic i fucking respect okay like i was skeptical! i really was! but the pov is PERFECT and also my man kevin tran is in this fic and i love him and miss him very much. oh and cas going off to explore humanity on his own..............perfect arc. very much in character we love that for him

Dean'd always thought that falling in love was a capital letter kind of thing, an Important Event you carved into the calendar of your life and never, ever forgot. But with he and Cas, it wasn't that simple.

it’s mostly cowardice, and bad timing by ferritin4, 1.6k, pre-canon. actually this one is just a dean study it’s not deancas but i spent an entire night looking for it and i need someone else to read it too. dean is smart!!! SAY THAT

Dean gets his GED.

a list of reasons the bunker shouldn’t get a sofa by lizbobjones, 5.6k, set during s12. sam and dean and mary and cas haul a sofa back to the bunker. cute domesticity and fluff

Let me count the ways that this is a terrible idea.

no kingdom to come by domesticadventures, 16.8k, canonverse. dean and cas deal with being stuck in quarantine in different ways. this is the one and only quarantine fic i’ve read and it’s really good lmao. dean and cas’ relationship is so organic and tentative in this one

“We should fuck,” Dean says.

Cas looks up from where he sits on his bed, hair still damp from the shower, frowning as he places a finger on the page of his book to mark where he left off.

There are a million things Cas could say here; Dean has rehearsed them. After lunch, his restlessness had given way to a vague panic, a dread that matched his every step and crept along with him from room to room. Eventually, he had returned to his bedroom and spent the rest of the afternoon pacing back and forth, playing out all the possible scenarios. When Cas asks him Why? or Are you being serious? or when he sighs and says, in that way he has, Dean, he knows exactly what he’s going to do. He’s going to shrug casually, like he isn’t invested in the answer, like he isn’t desperate for an outlet, and say, Why not? He’s going to raise an eyebrow and say, What, are you not interested? He’s going to crowd into Cas’ personal space, he’s going to shove himself right up in there and whisper Cas against his ear.

Instead, Cas says, carefully, “Okay.”

till the juice runs by deathbanjo, 8.4k, canonverse. it’s like dean’s being cursed to have bad hookups with men. SUCH a funny fic and the deancas tension is so simple and sweet and GOOD. plus cas is so enjoyably characterized here he’s so human and worn in and experienced in his own unique way. perfect use of rowena too

Apparently whoever drew up the venn diagram of Dean’s sex life decided the circle labelled ‘good sex’ and the one labelled ‘sex with men’ should be kept far apart.

turn of the year by kototyph, 3.9k, canonverse au. sam and dean get stuck out in the middle of nowhere on the winter solstice. what i wouldn’t give for a full 80k of this verse actually. also i went on a kototyph binge after reading shut up put your money where your mouth is and they have a SOLID spn repertoire

Fifteen minutes later, Dean gets back in the car with empty hands and ice in his fucking eyebrows. “Get the map out,” he says through chattering teeth, sticking numb fingers under his arms.

Sam holds up the battered 1995 Rand MacNally they keep in the side pocket, turned to a page of uninterrupted green. “We’re going to die,” he announces.

💖 bullets in the gun by kototyph, 4.9k, canonverse au. cas is a cop (i know. still) who gets kidnapped by dean in an unfortunate turn of events. GOD this fic is SO FUNNY. cas’ canny and strategic escape attempts render him a very active VERY funny pov character plus the hate attraction to dean is PERFECTLY WRITTEN VERY BELIEVABLE. dean’s kindness also shines thru even as he literally holds cas hostage like!!!! PERFECT characterization. both of them are so LIKABLE here. if you read anything on this list read this

“Sorry, sweetheart, but I’m going to need to borrow your car.”

as you will by kototyph, 1.8k, victorian au. cas endures a proposal mishap. it’s cute it’s funny it’s sweet!

"No?" Castiel echoes, dumbly.

and if i was looking too? by kototyph, 2.6k, au. cas is undercover where dean works. this fic is just so cute like. bird angels.................

There are some things Castiel hasn't told Dean, and there are some things he doesn't need to.

the most important thing by northernsparrow, 94.5k, s10 au. amnesiac cas raising claire until he comes across someone familiar. claire is so well characterized here i really loved her arc thruout this fic. she just wants her dad back and u can’t even blame her the author rlly does an amazing job creating realistic and heartbreaking motivations for her. oh and dean and cas (esp cas characterization!) are sweet in this but honestly the highlight IS claire for me

Jimmy Novak remembers nothing of the last six years. Reunited with his troubled daughter Claire, he's struggling to raise her on his own. The most important thing is to make Claire happy. But why does he keep having these dreams of wings, and of two men in a black car? (Canon-divergent from S10E11, when we first met Claire again and Dean was still struggling with the Mark of Cain. Takes places several months later).

there’s only one sure thing that i know by blinkiesays, 20.3k, post-s5. dean goes to help cas out in ohio and they end up building a home together. i love the writing it’s rlly funny and sweet.

Dean doesn't even get halfway through explaining before Bobby starts laughing. When he lets himself think about it for more than five seconds, Dean can almost see Bobby's point: he's faced down demons, witches, vampires, werewolves, ghosts, angels, and Satan himself and now he's been defeated by the God damn Midwest.

💖 to an angel, love and worship are the same thing by geminisage, 10.3k, post s15 fix it. dean grieves cas - and then cas gets brought back back from the empty. i didn’t have this in my bookmarks so i MISSED it the first time around on this list but this was another one of the fics i came back to spn fandom to. it’s so fucking unique?? it actually reads like spn like i think fic tends to soften dean/cas up and makes them more emotional + emotionally intelligent than is ever shown in the show. here the dialogue/characterization adheres RIGOROUSLY to their communication in canon in that dean’s not overtly emotional, and cas is very reserved. they have to negotiate their relationship exactly like they would in the show. it’s all clipped conversation and anger and hurt and (warning btw) LOTS of internalized homophobia on dean’s end but it’s SO worth it. dean navigating his [GESTURES VAGUELY] everything is compellingly written, emotionally true, and PERFECTLY characterized. cas characterization also amazing like u rlly feel the quiet devoted bittersweet love. ok this was long clearly it’s a good fic go read it now

Just as Dean knew they would, the weeks do stretch into months, and then into a year. Grief never gets easier, Dean knows from experience, but you do get better at it. After all, you can get used to anything.

the violin house by teh_helenables, 8.5k, post-s5. dean and cas build a home after stull. so slow and lovely and sweet and gentle. i need to put this here so that i don’t forget it tbh. it’s very much dean as a war wife cas as the husband away on the front

The Apple Pie Life is a slow process, but Dean and Cas are getting there—until Cas is called for battle and Dean is forced to wait.

💖 muscle memory by komodobits, 18.9k, au. amnesiac cas wakes up three years in the future with dean in his kitchen. komodobits DOES NOT FUCKING MISS!!! i CRIED at the end of this i had NO INTENTION OF CRYING the rest of the fic isn’t even SAD i just had to sit there at the end of it w tears dribbling down my face. INSANE work of art

Dear Castiel,

Hello – it’s Castiel. This must all seem very confusing, and I’m sorry for that. Dean says to tell you that this isn’t some kind of ‘time-travel stunt’, although I’m sure that won’t be your first thought. I know it wasn’t mine. I’ve told Dean to leave now, as this is my notebook and I want everything in it to come from me – or rather, from you. I know you think it's the fifteenth of January, 2010, but it isn't. At the time of my writing this, the date is the fourth of October, 2013. Dean Winchester is your boyfriend of a year and a half, and you no longer work at the library, and in early 2010 you were hit by a car and hospitalised. I’m sorry.

a.k.a the 50 First Dates Dean/Cas AU where Castiel wakes up on a day just like any other, except that three years have passed without his knowing, and Dean Winchester is in the kitchen wanting to marry him.

don’t forget the experience points by annie d (scaramouche), 10.8k, au. cas is sam’s work friend, and he and dean get to know each other. genuinely an adorable fic. i adore cas’ characterization in this it’s snarky AND awkward AND confident in a way that i absolutely believe he would be if he had 30 yrs of human life under his belt

It's because Dean was an awesome brother than he took such an interest in Sam's new friend. No, really. What happened afterwards was mostly an accident.

actus fidei by manic_intent, 5.6k, canonverse au. dean’s a priest, cas is still his angel. i was HOOKED from the description alone like That’s Everything I Love in One Sentence. Cool!!!!!!!!!!!!

On the very first time that Castiel manifests in front of Father Dean Winchester, he gets as far as "Rejoice, for you are blessed-" before Dean shoots him with a salt-loaded shotgun.

not with a bang but a yelp by strange_estrangement, 1.4k, canonverse. team free will leave yelp reviews. this isn’t d/c actually it’s just a crack-ish fic but the formatting is cool and the references are SO funny and so well done

What happens when you visit dozens and dozens of motels every year? You leave Yelp reviews.

the courtship of combat by bendingsignpost, 18.2k, medieval a/b/o au. cas is politically coerced into fighting in a courtship melee for prince dean's hand, and he teams up with two unexpected allies to do it. I KNOW HOW THE ABO THING SOUNDS but i swear it's done well - it's by bendingsignpost so ofc he puts his own spin on the premise. im absurdly into it. PLUS jack is in it!!!!!!! it's technically an unfinished series but the first part is so good just on its own

When pressed upon to mate for a political alliance, Commander Castiel dares to refuse his king. As “I do not wish to mate at all” is clearly the wrong thing to say, Castiel takes the other path and lies. “You must know my affections lie elsewhere, my king.”

King Michael studies Castiel’s face long and hard. Then, with a nod, he snaps his fingers, pointing to Castiel. “The Winchester omega.”

“Yes,” Castiel says with no real recollection of who that is.

The ruse of an unavailable omega works well enough, right up until that omega is no longer unavailable. Then, with what seems to be his entire nation cheering him on toward victory, Castiel must enter the melee to win his mate. Backed by allies, training, and his own natural talents, the only question is how well he can contrive to fail.

four letter word for intercourse by bendingsignpost, 194.7k, au. dean calls a sex hotline. OH BOY solid characterization excellent plot/premise like bendingsignpost is so good at turning absurd premises into realistic, believable fiction. also sex hotline fic is usually a BIG turn-off bc of the power dynamics/one-sidedness of a relationship based on sex work but. BUT. bendingsignpost does it well! it’s not weird at ALL i started reading and was immediately reassured abt its intentions and its plot direction

As a grease monkey turned college freshman, Dean's constantly three seconds away from being stressed out of his mind. It hardly helps that he's finally figuring out his sexuality in his thirties.

What might help with that stress is a little phone number (and a big credit card bill). If he can't figure out how to be bisexual in person, he can at least give it a go over the phone, right?

(It's probably a bad idea, but he really can't help himself.)

the tunnel of love by xylodemon, 21.4k, post-canon. case fic! dean and cas have to kiss on a loveboat to solve a case >:)

"We might," Cas starts slowly, pausing like he's choosing his words. "We might have to kiss."

Dean just stares at him.

when you have a future. by firebog, 17.6k, post-s8. dean and sam and cas learning to be human post-apocalypse. reminds me of robotmango’s writing! it’s kind of eccentric and very very sweet and funny.

Sam closes Hell. Castiel closes Heaven. The heroes save the day. There's no Heaven or Hell waiting to cause the next big disaster. There's no more end of the world. There's only a squirmy feeling in his chest that feels a lot like freedom. So, now what?

(Things I promise you in this fic: dog poetry, rabbits, and fluff)

six inch heels by alitneroon, 2.3k, canonverse. dean does drag! excellent fucking character study. prose is fantastic

Dean does drag on a whim, and ends up in way over his head.

sharing is caring by gateskeeper, 2.5k, canonverse. five times dean and cas shared something and one time they didn’t. look. sometimes u just need some saccharine tropey fluff. it’s VERY well written

Sam knows that Dean and Cas have shared a lot together, but ever since Cas became human permanently, it seems like they've been sharing a lot more.

Or: five times Dean and Cas shared something special and one time Dean refused to.

💖 empty spaces by schmerzerling, 60k, au. dean has to take care of his dying father, and takes up running to cope. that’s just the beginning. HEAVY trigger warnings for ED (specifically anorexia) and suicidal thoughts. there is a happy ending, but dean has to fight to make it there. god. okay. this is a dark fic. it’s also one of the most well-characterized fics i’ve ever read. dean’s spiral is excruciatingly accurate and written with the kind of wry compassion that comes from either extensive research or extensive experience. it’s also completely immersed in dean’s perspective - dean’s relationship w his dad, dean’s relationship w food scarcity, etc. it’s incredible. it’s kinda scary. it’s deeply sad. cas is explicitly autistic and it’s ALSO incredibly accurate and loving, and makes cas so true to his canon self. ugh. and i burst into TEARS at some of the accompanying art, which is so sparse and lonely and beautiful. 100/10 experience one of the best fics i’ve read this year

Dean is fine. The way he sees it, things are simple. He had a house and a family and food in his stomach, and now he doesn't. And yeah, that's a downer, but he's not going to let that stop him from being fine, because he's in control of the situation. He definitely doesn't need anyone to save him. And it's not like the weird guy with the nice butt from down the road is the knight-in-shining-armor type, anyway.

broken road by thegeminisage, 109.6k, 14x13 au. dean makes a wish and gets more than he bargained for. a lot of “john comes back” fics are kinda short on nuance, which this author has talked about a lot - and oh MAN does this fic deliver on nuance. john’s abuse is absolutely present, but his pov makes him a complex character instead of a flat caricature for dean to reject. and the way this fic resolves really makes it clear that the priority is dean’s emotional well-being over all else!!! this isn’t about dean taking the path fandom thinks he should take w his abuser (killing john, punching john in the face, etc), this is abt dean coming to terms w his abuse and finding his own emotionally satisfying way of resolving it. also dean and cas are in an established relationship and it’s very slow and sweet.

A 14.13 Lebanon rewrite. When Dean uses a wish-granting pearl to try and kill the archangel Michael before he can escape the cage in Dean's head, they instead wind up with a newly-resurrected John Winchester.

It's been more than a decade since John died, and a lot has changed: Mary is alive, Sam and Dean have what passes for a proper home in the Men of Letters Bunker, and they're living with angels. John doesn't know angels are real, he doesn't know about the fragile new relationship between Dean and Castiel, and most of all, he doesn't know that Dean said yes to Michael, or that Dean's plan to defeat Michael would send him to a fate worse than death.

Now Dean must contend with both his father asking questions he can't answer, and his loved ones learning about the darker truths of his childhood, all while constantly battling the archangel trapped inside him. But Dean coming to terms with his history may be the difference between this being the beginning of a journey—or the end.

home is not a place by imogenbynight, 6.8k, post-s11. human cas struggles with belonging, and dean struggles with their relationship. this reads a lot like komodobits’ cuckoo and nest, but it’s its own sweet little thing. they watch movies!!! very cute

In which Dean is the oblivious one for a change.

love: a retrospective by xylodemon, 40.7k, post-s12. dean tries to deal w cas’ absence after s12 and reflects on their relationship thru the years. this was written before s13 aired, so - no spoilers - but jack plays a different role than he ends up playing in canon. it’s kinda fun seeing ppl’s theories pre-s13 tbh. makes me VERY glad that they took jack in the direction they did in show. anyway this is THEE definitive “they’ve been fucking all along” fic

Pretending Cas is just his friend has been the only thing keeping Dean's head on straight for years. He never realized how much doing that depended on him making himself scarce in the morning ─ not until Cas came back and moved into the bunker.

✨💖 if it all fell to pieces tomorrow by spocklee, 37k, post-s15 fix-it. cas gets broken out of the empty - and he immediately makes a break for it. new fave fix-it!!!! the writing is so understated and so straightforward - SO in character for cas tbh - that every single emotional beat feels like a PUNCH. and there are so many amazing character moments it made my chest seize the fuck up!!!!! perfect characterization perfect relationship moments perfect cas/jack parenting moments. the yearning over the phone is OFF THE CHARTS and spocklee makes the most of that tension!!!! PLUS old canon characters get to make fun appearances!!!!! i cannot recommend this shit enough

After the Empty, Cas has to spend some time alone. Orpheus tries to convince Eurydice over the phone that it’s okay to turn around now.

✨ before and after breakfast by spocklee, 10.5k, post-canon. dean and sam and cas tackle a monster of the week case with unexpected consequences. perfect pov perfect relationship moments SUCH GOOD TENSION. again this writing style just lets the tension dial up to 1000% every word is meaningful and it makes my chest hurt!!! spocklee SHOULD have blown up during the spn renaissance and i STAND by that

The monster of the week is a ghost who hates meat, alcohol, and feeling yourself. Guess who it is during the commercials.

CLASSICS

isn't it cool how every person has diff fics they consider "classics?" anyway these are required fucking reading. if u've been around these will prob be old news.

💖 asunder by rageprufrock, 23k, au. dean and cas go to sam's wedding. i reread this once a year like a religious ritual.

Wherefore they are no more twain, but one flesh. What therefore God hath joined together, let not man put asunder. (Matthew 19:6)

💖 the girlfriend experience by rageprufrock, 15k, set during s5. dean teaches cas how to be human. mostly the sex part. literally the gold fucking standard of s4-5 era deancas fic and for deancas fic in general, personally

While it's not like Dean hasn't had a couple of truly regrettable hit-and-runs in his sexual history, this is probably the saddest fucking thing that has ever happened to him.

okay, cupid. by orange_crushed, 4.5k, au. dean tries to sign up for an ok cupid profile and has a revelation. as soon as i put this entry down i realized this entire fic rec was an exercise in futility, because if i could i'd literally just rec everything orange_crushed/robotmango has ever written. still one of THEE best authors in this fandom. go read all her fics. i’ll put the highlights here

"The dating thing?" Dean frowns. "Online dating is for weirdos. Robots. Dudes hanging out in their basements."

"You hang out in your basement."

"I have an air hockey table down there,” Dean says, icily.

💖 pwp: pie without plot by orange_crushed and majorenglishesquire, 82k, post-s8. sam and dean and cas quit hunting for a little bit to open a bakery. this is my comfort fic. i love it so so much.

he is in the kitchen with flour on his hands and an apron and there is flour on his forehead and cas leans across the counter and wipes it off with his thumb and dean says "thank you" and cas says "you’re welcome" very seriously and later dean makes apple turnovers and he only ruins them a little and sam realizes it’s not a real hunt like four days into it and he lets dean stay undercover for like a week and a half or longer maybe way longer because he is such a good everything

💖 la cucina by orange_crushed, 4k, post-s8. dean gets into cooking for a newly human cas. it's so gentle and loving and kind and makes me tear up every time. YES food is a comfort item and expression of love for dean. no i don't want to talk about it

Dean turns around and Castiel is picking through the jars, turning them over carefully to read the labels, totally engrossed. Dean watches him.

"Is there," Dean says, "uh, anything in there you like?" Castiel looks up at him and then back at the apples, sitting in a basket on the counter in their golden skins, ripe and pretty. Castiel smiles up at Dean.

"I don’t know yet," he says.

today, your barista verse by orange_crushed, 13.6k, coffeeshop au. a series of short sweet lovely fics where cas is a barista and dean is a smitten customer. literally the only coffeeshop au i respect

"Is that-"

"My number," says Dean, because he's a fucking champion, he's cool, he's collected, he's Captain Smooth of the USS Smoothtania, that's right. He is definitely not leaning against the counter for moral support. Cas doesn't looked seduced or impressed, though. He does not look like a dude who just met Captain Smooth and wants to ride the loveboat. He looks puzzled.

fata morgana. by orange_crushed, 6.6k, post-s9. dean is the king of hell. bela and cas team up to find him. bela pov. yeah you fucking heard that right BELA POV. BELA AND CAS!!!!!!!!!! makes me lose my mind i love everyone in this stupid desolate fucking hell wasteland.

The endless asphalt and broken road, the empty land and piles of human garbage, the unwanted ends of life, the cracked toys and broken screens and burning cars and gravel. Dean Winchester is the king of hell.

"Oh," says Bela.

That changes certain things.

💖 gran fury. by orange_crushed, 5k, pacific rim au. sam and cas pair up in a last ditch mission to save the world. permanently damaged me at age 15 and i've never recovered. major fucking angst warning.

They sit in silence and Castiel passes him the bottle. There’s not much left to say. Sam takes a gulp and it burns going down, like the cheap shit it is. He holds the bottle up against the light. He can see the Fury through it, distorted like a funhouse mirror. She’s a tomb but Sam loves her. Loves everything that’s left.

"To the end of the world," he says.

"To the end of the world," says Castiel.

💖 shut up (put your money where your mouth is) by kototyph, 24k, au. dean and cas get drunk married in vegas. dean renovates cas' house. this fic is SO MUCH BETTER than i remembered/expected and the entire series is fucking adorable go read it RIGHT now

Dean's done some pretty stupid things, but getting drunk-hitched in Vegas to a colleague he barely knows might just take the cake. His surprise husband, Castiel, is a little weird but likable despite that, and Dean figures they’ll go back to Boston, get a quiet annulment, and go their separate ways. Six weeks later, he’s still married to one of the strangest, most genuine and definitely most dangerously lov-- likable guys he's ever known. Dean doesn't know why or really even how it’s happening, but it’s getting harder and harder to remember that he has divorce papers to file.

not part of the plan by annie d (scaramouche), 338k, arranged marriage au. cas is slated to marry a noble from the winchester house. things spiral out of control. if you’re looking for an extensive well-developed political au, this is fucking it. i love reading about political machinations so this was FASCINATING to me.

Castiel's spent most of his adult life keeping his head down and staying out of trouble. This is a deliberate choice on his part, because as a cousin of the King, he'd rather stay unimportant and forgotten. This changes abruptly when King Michael decides that he has a better use for Castiel: he is to be wed to a noble member of the neighboring Republic, as part of an agreement between their two nations.

Castiel knows he has to obey, but that doesn't mean he won't rebel in what small ways he can. Unexpectedly, his actions end up having far-reaching consequences.

💖 all things shining by askance and standbyme, 142k, au. sam and dean and cas go on a hunt that's not really a hunt, and against all odds good things happen. it's beautifully written and has scenes that literally make my heart leap out of my chest with joy and awe it's just WONDERFUL it's a wonderful fic. incredible mythology too omg i found that the authors actually created the myth the entire story is based on - like they don’t pull a random one from history, they made one up THEMSELVES. they even self-published it on amazon if ur curious

Something in the world is waking up.

It isn’t long before it’s brought to the attention of the Winchesters and Castiel: miracles are spreading across the country, the paranormal seems to be shrinking back on itself—and it all has something to do with the missing prayer book of a traveling preacher who died over a century ago.

Dean is convinced it’s all the lead-up to another Apocalypse; Sam and Castiel aren’t so sure. Regardless, it sends them out on a less-than-typical road-trip, following the Mississippi and remnants of a very old story that seems increasingly to call to them. And along the way the trio learn much more about themselves—and the consequences and origins of love—than they’d ever have anticipated.

💖 broadway musical by griftings, 12.4k, crack. romcom where cas is supposed to play matchmaker to dean and jo and well. you know. it actually made me cackle out loud when i read it again so you know it's still good. absolutely one of the funniest fics i’ve read

This is the day that marked the Holy and Blessed Union of Dean Winchester and Jo Harvelle.

The merging of prominent bloodlines is always a grand occurrence, but breeding pedigree hunter families like Winchester and Harvelle is something to be rejoiced. It is also something to be meticulously planned, which thankfully the Host is very good at.

Or, the romantic comedy where Dean Winchester and Jo Harvelle are destined to get married, Castiel is given the task of playing matchmaker and fails terribly, the entire Heavenly Host becomes a sitcom audience, God warns against male pregnancy, and Jimmy Novak is incredibly unimpressed with angels in general.

the five people you meet in heaven by chevrolangels, 22k, ambiguously canonverse. dean dies and goes to heaven and meets five people from his life. NOT a post-finale fic but still horrifically sad. i remember sobbing hysterically when i first read this so

Heaven is white.

Well. Isn’t that fucking stereotypical.

Dean isn’t really sure how he got here. Or even why he’s here. And hell, for all the times the Winchesters have died, he thinks he ought to know the drill by now. But what he doesn’t know is when most folks go, they find something different.

There’s a system God put in place. That when you’re gone (for good), there are a couple things you gotta do first. There are five people waiting for you.

They are the five people you meet in heaven.

any port in a storm by microcomets, 53k, post-s8. dean and cas go on a haunted cruise for a case. you know what happens next. also the art is by anobviousaside and it's gorgeous

The angels have fallen, leaving Castiel graceless and Dean with, well, more of other people’s problems. When a string of couples goes missing on the east coast, Dean and Cas decide to investigate—and find themselves trapped and hunted on a couples’ counseling cruise. Although battling monsters at sea is dangerous enough, sorting through emotional baggage proves to be far more deadly. (And, in which Cas embarks to find his missing grace and Dean is put out. Not necessarily in that order.)

a turn of the earth by microcomets, 95k, pre-canon au. cas is on the run from the empty and crash lands in dean's life. at one point he punches john in the face. a fucking beautifully written character study of pre-canon dean, honestly.

Dean’s your typical half-orphaned, monster-killing 22-year-old until a trenchcoated stranger crashes into his back windshield one September night, claiming he’s an angel that knows him from the future and that he’s on the run.

Frigging fantastic.

(Or, in which Castiel gets stuck in Dean’s timeline preseries and Dean kind of hates it—until he doesn’t.)

unfinished duet by microcomets, 5.8k, canonverse. sam observes dean and cas throughout the years. i remember this breaking my heart back in 2013!

Sam watches Dean and Cas over the years and notices a few things. (Or, Dean and Cas unscripted.)

💖 ergative/absolutive by glassedplanets, 8k, college au. dean and cas are best friends who meet in an astronomy class. i'm never not thinking about this fic it's so sweet and the friends to lovers is so soft and believable

He really shouldn’t be thinking thoughts like this about his best friend who literally just broke up with his girlfriend, but he knows he’ll blame it on sleepiness in the morning. He always does.

a certain light by flightagain, 24k, au. cas works at the gas n sip. dean is a customer. this author’s writing style is so lonely and heavy but it’s very lovely

Castiel works at the Gas-n-Sip. There are half-price nachos and flickering lights, there are office-workers and werewolves stopping by for snacks. Dean is a frequent customer, and his office might be haunted.

the one thing you can’t lose by majorenglishesquire, 5k, ambiguously canonverse. dean can pull cas around and it’s adorable. character study-ish. very sweet.

You know what I like a lot? The thought that Dean can just tug Cas anywhere at any time and Cas, who can lift tons without effort, who can demolish things with the light of his grace, who has battled and gone to war, has defended and broken, will just let Dean do it.

brother lover by twentysomething, 4k, set during s4/s5. dean’s jealous of sam and cas’ budding relationship. this fic is so tropey but it does it well and it’s funny as fuck

However- and it doesn't happen a lot- they have to invoke 'I saw her first.’

his fucking kids by 8sword, 3k, canonverse au. dean and cas raise claire and emma together. yes, claire novak. yes, emma of 7x13 spice girls fame. this was the first kidfic i read for spn i think. obvs written before jack or claire actually came back into the picture but it was the TEMPLATE of kidfic for me for ages

Jesus, the school should just have a parking spot labeled, “Reserved for the Novak-Winchesters,” because Dean’s getting sick of having to cruise around the parking lot looking for a spot every time he gets a call from the principal about Emma.

💖 what has eight tentacles and isn’t allowed to eat pie? by annie d (scaramouche), 16k, post s8. dean gets turned into an octopus. another fic that was SO MUCH BETTER than i remembered i fucking love when that happens. it isn’t even about dean being an OCTOPUS like NO. NOT EVEN. it’s ACTUALLY about the bunker and building a home and a community and a family and about PHYSICAL COMFORT and you can actually feel the world expanding at the end of this fic like a gusty sigh of relief it’s SO WONDERFUL. kevin is in this fic. ellie is too and i had to look her up but THIS is her!!!! danay garcia u were too hot to stay on this show but i love you and miss u

Dean watched an anime porn about this once, but real life turns out to be way less interesting.

Or, the one where Dean gets turned into an octopus.

💖 a beginner’s guide to communing with the dead by suspiciousflashlight, 77k, canonverse au. dean is a cop who summons a powerful entity to help him solve a cold case. oh my god i can’t believe i didn’t put this on here i love this one so much. the writing bowls me over it’s so confident in its worldbuilding like you’re IMMEDIATELY plunged into dean’s pov (FLAWLESSLY executed throughout the fic btw) and you just learn about the world as you go!! and it’s such a fascinating world!!! i love the magic i love the typical bureaucratic red tape procedures i love normalizing the supernatural. i ESPECIALLY love monsters as normal people in a society. at one point there’s this exchange

“Monsters,” says Cas finally. “Beyond the Wall there are monsters.” “You mean, like, vampires and djinn and stuff?” Cas shakes his head. “Those aren’t monsters, those are just people.”

those lines have stayed with me for years. i think about them every time i rewatch an episode of spn.

Maybe it's the little girl whose disappearance turned into a murder, and whose murder turned into a cold case, and who has now apparently decided to move in with him. Maybe it's the unacceptable hole left in his life when his dumb best friend and partner in (the prevention of) crime decided to go and get himself killed. Maybe it's his brother, whose high-profile career and fantastic girlfriend and first-child-on-the-way are steadily leaving Dean in the dust. Pick one. Pick all of them. The why doesn't matter so much as the what, and the what is this: Dean is pretty sure he's going completely, certifiably insane. Sure, he hasn't started wearing all his clothes inside out, and he still showers on a regular basis (anyways, that's not crazy, just a little eccentric); but there's no getting around the fact that he just threw away his life, his career, and his reputation by dragging out his mom's old necromancy book and summoning a Class A Forbidden Entity to his attic. A cranky one, too. With horrendous bed-head.

dean’s list by almaasi, 3k, canonverse. dean makes a list. short and sweet. i read this so much in 2015 that it literally got engraved into my brain line by line and rereading it caused synapses to fire that havent felt anything in years

Dean writes out a list of men he would go gay for. Sam has a suggestion to make.

💖 the path of fireflies by museaway, 63.7k, post-s8. dean and cas open a charming bed and breakfast in vermont. no, literally. another CLASSIC. i think about the food in this fic all the time...........maple bacon baked french toast......the cinnamon rolls.....it literally sounds so good

After his humanity is restored, Dean wakes up in bed with Castiel, a wedding ring, and no memory of the past twelve years.

long nights in cold months by pyrebi, 2.3k, au. dean’s an insomniac and cas works at walmart. i forgot i had this fic ALSO basically memorized. holy shit. pineapple in the fruit aisle.....................anyway it’s short and sweet and the “plot” resolves in such a satisfying way

When you're an insomniac, you get used to the "what the hell are you doing up, man?" look. Dean just hopes the guy who's stocking the shelves will stop giving it to him long enough to help him find some damn pineapple.

incredibly single & ready to mingle by imogenbynight, 3.6k, au. dean and cas meet on facebook. short cute au!!!!!!

Sam uses Facebook like the social media junkie he is. He's befriended literally every person he's ever had a conversation with since he got an account, which means that approximately—Dean checks—eight hours ago, he shared this horrible photo with something in the vicinity of nine hundred people. The caption below the picture reads “incredibly single & ready to mingle ;)” and roughly half of them have liked it.

Dean has never been so embarrassed in his life.

💖 unknown quantities by xylodemon, 8.5k, post-s8. after a post-case tryst, dean has to figure out his and cas’ relationship. human cas fics hold a special place in my heart. funny AND good dean pov AND a misunderstanding that i actually think works!!!!!

No one ever tells Dean anything.

(or: Dean Winchester and the not-relationship crisis of 2014)

#spn fic #spn #dean x cas #this is horrifically long actually.

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