#'holy shit twenty matches already'

[tallykale]

booster's showing him the tinder profile he made for batman

[anethum-etcetera]

.

[bitchinbarzal]

Ooh ooh! #29 and #31 from the prompt lists with luke please! 🫶

lol this ended up a little longer sorry!

-

You were getting ready for the Devils annual awards night.

Your dress was obviously red along with your lipstick and you were putting the final touches to your hair. You could see Luke watching you from the bed.

You smiled softly at the view in the mirror of him staring at you.

You popped the last pin in your hair and turned to him

“Hey baby, do I look okay?”

He smiled “God just marry me already”

You froze, eyes wide and his matched “Oh shit, did I say that out loud?”

You laughed “Yeah babe”

“Sorry! Ah- yeah you look perfect. Shall we leave?” Holding out his hand for you to take.

The whole night his words played on your mind. While he liaised with sponsors and businessmen you couldn’t help but let your mind take you off into your thoughts.

Thoughts of a life together. You’d been dating since freshman year of college, you’d been beside him through everything.

You’d known each other before college and always had something there but it was never solidified until he got drafted, he called you told you he wasn’t sure he was good enough for this. You assured him he was the best he could be, calmed his nerves.

You were his first phone call when the cameras stopped rolling.

“What’s got you so deep in your thoughts?” Jack’s voice snapped you out of your trance. You smiled bashfully

“Just thinking about something Luke said to me earlier-“

“If he’s said something in a fight tell me, I’ll beat him up for you” you laughed.

“No, no! Not that he um- he told me he wants to marry me”

Jack’s eyes grew and for a moment you regretted mentioning it “Holy shit that’s great! I can’t believe he finally done it!”

“Finally?”

“Well yeah I mean that kids been in love with you for like ever. He asked Q the night he got drafted if he thought you could go the distance to Jersey from Michigan” Jack explained.

Your brows furrowed “But we weren’t together-“

“Which is why he stayed at Michigan for a second year, the organisation were willing to pay him whatever it took to get him out here in twenty-two but he didn’t want to risk ruining your relationship”

Your heart both swelled with love and dropped at the same time. Luke clearly loved you enough to sacrifice so much.

Jack added “All I’m saying is, we would love to have you as a sister y/n. You’re already part of the family you just need the name”

You smiled, silently thanking him then leaving him at the table and walking over to where Luke had just finished a conversation.

Your hand slid over his back and he tucked you in under his arm “Hey baby, you havin’ fun?”

“So much” you replied, leaning on his shoulder.

It was silent for a moment, enjoying each others company when you whispered “I’ll say yes by the way”

He looked down, confused “What?”

“If you ask me to marry you. I’ll say yes”

“Seriously?” “Seriously.”

“God, I love you”

[darklydeliciousdesires]

Edge of Seventeen - Chapter Two.

A huge thank you to all of those who have interacted with the first chapter of this, I appreciate you SO much!!

Previous chapters - One

Tag list - In the comments

Words - 3,253

Warnings - 18+ content throughout, minors DNI!

Song reference - Feed my Chaos by Lilith Czar - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uyMeaoD1p-c

‘Am I the victim?  Am I the criminal?  Am I the angel or diabolical?  The bullet or the gun?  What have I become?  Created in the pain of filth and dust 

Sex and energy  Turn your head off  Chasing reality  Feed my chaos  Bathed in holy light  Crown comes with a cost  Fuel me from the fight  Feed my chaos.’ 

Angel couldn’t stop listening to it, the original track by Heavenly Creature, entitled Feed my Chaos. They’d only been formed for three and a half months and already, they’d pooled their money together to record a few tracks, gotten themselves a few little shows, and were determined to make a name out there.  He admired Bella’s tenacity and zeal hugely, putting together all of the lyrics she’d been writing over the years and crafting actual songs, good songs, too, confessing to him that she was a hoarder of notebooks, always scribbling down something, never without paper and a pen to record inspiration whenever it hit her. 

Because of their conflicting schedules, Bella busy with college and his life between outlawing and scrap metal heaving keeping him busy, he hadn’t actually managed to see her again as yet, but they chatted regularly via text in the five days that followed their first meet. In fact, whenever Angel wasn’t busy with club duties, his phone appeared to be welded to his hand. 

‘Hey pretty girl. What you up to?’ 

Hearing her message alert, Bella reached for her nightstand to pick her phone up, squeaking with excitement when she saw it was from Angel.  

‘Just chilling at home, playing guitar, writing stuff. You?’ 

‘Hanging at the clubhouse before I hit the gym. You busy this afternoon?’  

‘Nope, I have a half day from college so I’m just gonna sit here with my guitar and stuff myself silly with bagels and cream cheese. Unless you had a more appealing alternative?’ 

Shit. Was that too forward? Was he merely asking what she was doing out of interest, and not leading anywhere with it? Could she unsend the message before he read it? Two little blue ticks next to the Whatsapp box revealed she couldn't, Bella cringing as she softly thudded her head against the top of her acoustic guitar.  

‘Wanna meet me for a few drinks?’  

Phew!  

‘Yeah, that’d be great. If I get on the train, I can probably be in Santo Padre by the time you’re done with the lifting of the heavy things.’ 

“Lifting of the heavy things,” he chuckled quietly, typing out another message.  

‘Alright. Do you know where West Point Social is? It’s a real cool bar, and they do great food too, if you wanted to stay for dinner?’ 

‘I don’t, but I have Google Maps, I’ll find it! Meet you there at say, 3:30pm?’ 

‘Cool, see you then.’  

Placing her guitar down, Bella rushed off her bed towards the large, heavy oak wardrobe in the corner of her room. Everything was vintage and nothing matched, but that was hers and her mother’s taste all over. “What the hell do I wear?” Flinging the door open, all of a panic, she raided the contents, considering a dress but then quickly vetoing that decision, landing on her skin-tight, light blue jeans and a simple cropped white top. She teamed them with her black stiletto heeled boots, her usual abundance of jewellery too, picking up one of her beloved heavy fringed bags, this one dark red and unloading all of her stuff into it before quickly touching up her makeup.  

The train took forty-five minutes to reach Santo Padre from her home of La Jolla, Bella barely making it after purchasing a ticket, running across the platform as fast as her feet would carry her, sliding in between the doors just as they were shutting with a grateful sigh. She would arrive at 2:57pm, looking on her phone and seeing that the bar was a twenty-minute walk from the station, which was doable.  

Her feet disagreed with her two thirds of the way through the walk, but the sight waiting for her at a table on the decking area outside the bar was more than worth it. Fuck. She’d almost forgotten how attractive he was. He was without his kutte, dressed simply in a white vest, dark grey shirt left open and a pair of dark blue jeans, heavy silver jewellery adorning his neck, fingers and wrists. When he saw her, he actually felt a wave of butterflies flutter through him. God, she was so gorgeous, every set of male eyes outside of the bar watching her as she walked, Angel feeling ten feet tall when she arrived with him, standing up to greet her with a hug and a quick kiss.  

“Damn,” he breathed, sitting down again. “You look smokin’!”  

Bella felt herself blush, her insides screaming with excitement. “Thanks. Looking pretty lush over there yourself, too.”  

“Lush? Is that a British-ism?” 

“Yeah, kind of. More Welsh than anything. I picked it up off one of my favourite TV shows, Gavin and Stacy. I doubt you’ll have heard of it,” she spoke, placing her bag down, giving her long hair a little ruffle.  

He looked completely nonplussed. “Nope, but maybe I’ll watch it with you sometime.” He sat back, shaking his head, barely able to believe his luck. She was so beautiful! It was making him a little crazy, truth be known. “So, what do you want to drink?” 

“A Coke, please.” 

He leaned forward, making a beckoning gesture with his finger. She reciprocated, leaning closer. “What do you really want to drink?” 

She bit her lip, grinning. “Malibu and Coke, please?” 

He winked, getting up. “I’ll be back.” He didn’t have any qualms about buying her alcohol, even if she was three years under the legal age limit. Besides, she easily passed for twenty-one. While he was inside, Bella took out her cigarettes, lighting up and looking out around the space. Southern California was, as one might imagine, completely different to her native Hammersmith. The vibe, the people, everything was in stark contrast, most of all the weather, London mostly dull and grey, save for the stifling summer months. She realised that after six months in San Diego, though, she knew nothing of hot weather prior to her move.  

“What’s that stuff like, then?” Angel spoke, arriving back and placing her drink down, Bella taking a grateful sip. She was parched after her walk. “I can’t say I’ve ever tried it.” He nodded towards her glass, Bella sliding it across the table to him.  

“Here, try a sip.”  

He picked it up, giving it a cautionary sniff. The face he made prompted her tiny snort laugh, sipping it back all the same. “Oh, Jesus in a fucking side car!”  

There it was again, her booming laugh. “Not a fan?” 

“It’s vile! It tastes like air freshener!” 

“And now many Magic Trees have you been chomping down on to be able to use those as your comparison?” She bobbed her tongue between her teeth playfully, Angel leaning forward in his seat, pointing at her. 

“No shaming my snack habits. They’re low carb.”  

She was in soft fits. “Low carb, all card?” 

“Exactly that,” he confirmed with a nod. “So, how was college?” 

“Boring!” she yelled, maybe a little too loudly. “We had to learn about the basis of chord progression, which is stupid since I know it already! I’ve been playing guitar since I was six!” She suddenly realised her statement came off as a little arrogant, continuing. “I mean, I don’t want to sound like a Johnny know-it-all, but I was just frustrated because I could have been using that time for something else, something brand new to me.” 

He reached for her hand, seeing the sudden worry in her face. “I understand, it’s like, you want to make the most of your time. You’re there to build on what you already know, not go over the same things. Maybe though, just see it as a chance to reminds yourself of those things again and keep them fresh?” She’d never looked at it like that before, and had to admit, he was right. She guessed her headstrong youth had a lot to do with it, Angel getting past his now at thirty-six. Already, she knew that would be a point of fascination about him, the fact he was likely a lot wiser than her in some ways.  

As they sat and chatted, Angel was fascinated by her, learning more about her homeland, the UK a place that by his own admission, he knew very little about at all.  

“I miss it there, I do,” she replied in answer to his question. “I mean, San Diego has everything London does, almost, but what I loved so much about London was the extremities of the cultural diversity. We have so many nationalities of people migrating, and they bring their culture of course, from food to music, it was just such an amazing scene. I always said I wanted to travel, though, so these are my first steps in making sure I don’t stay rooted, that I get out there and see the whole world.” 

“And you hope it’ll be your music that’ll make that happen for you?” he asked, taking another nacho from the huge plate they were sharing.  

“It will be, I’m certain of it. I’m not going to stop until I make something of myself, and music is going to be it.” He loved that about her, how confident she was. She had every reason to be. 

“Well, you damned sure got the talent,” he began, taking a swig of his beer when a particularly spicy piece of jalapeno began sizzling the back of his tongue. “Seriously, I can’t get enough of your music. I usually mostly listen to either old school hip hop or metal, but your stuff, I fucking love. Your voice, Jesus Christ, man! You even impressed Bish, and that ain’t easy to do. He’s very set in his ways over what he likes, but he was stunned when you started singing.” 

Her face was curious, wiping sour cream from her fingers with a napkin. “Who’s Bish?” 

“President of the MC, Bishop Losa,” Angel confirmed, Bella’s eyes widening a little.  

“Does he have a daughter called Hadleigh?”  

Angel nodded, pouring the remaining salsa over the nachos. He always ordered extra, because of the inevitable dry under chip situation. “He does! My beloved ass face!” 

Bella almost choked on her drink. “I know her! Well, I kind of know her, we move in the same circle. She’s dating a guy who’s friends with Ian, our drummer. Why’d you call her ass face?”  

“Because Hadleigh Losa is the biggest pranker on earth, she gets it right from her old man, and they prank on each other constantly. One night, she fell asleep at the club, and to get her back for emptying flour into his leaf blower, he drew an ass on her forehead with marker pen. She went fucking insane! Came off with rubbing alcohol, but I swear, I nearly broke a rib from laughing so hard!” 

“He sounds like a fun dad. I remember mine used to be the same. He’d play jokes in my mum all the time, particularly with an airhorn. He used to hide behind doors, under the bed, tables, and one time he even managed to wedge himself in the pantry. She said that was the only thing she didn’t miss after he died, the fact that at any given moment, she was five seconds from pissing her pants in fear at the threat of an airhorn being let off,” she detailed, remembering one time when he’d hid behind the curtains and gotten her, her mum throwing an entire bowl of popcorn in the air. Their old basset hound, Rufus had eaten well that night. “What was your dad like while you grew up?” 

“Stern,” Angel confirmed, thanking the passing waitress when she took their empty bottles and glasses away. “Mom was always the fun one. She was the sweetest woman, I swear. She was like you in so much that she lived and breathed music, so we listened to so much, from traditional Spanish stuff to Janis Joplin and Joan Jett, who she loved.” 

“Oh my god!” Bella cried, holding a hand to her chest. “Those women are two of my biggest idols!”  

“She even got to see Janis, you know. She snuck over the border and hitch hiked all the way up to Hollywood to watch her play at the Hollywood Bowl.”  

Bella’s eyes couldn’t have been more alight. “Bloody hell! Now that’s dedication. She sounds like she was such an incredible person, and you’ve only told me a little about her. I’m so sorry, about what happened to her.”  

Angel nodded, something sharp tingling in his chest. He missed her so much. “Thanks. I know you get it, though, that’s something we have in common, really missing one of our parents. So, tell me about your mom then, or mum, as you call her.” he teased.  

“She’s just terrific, she’s my best friend,” she began, scrunching her nose a little. “And I know that sounds really lame, but she is. She’s so chilled out, a real hippie type, and hugely clever. There literally isn’t a single thing she doesn’t know about plants, and her work is so fascinating, everything she researches in how plants can be used for differing purposes. She specialises in what’s known at phytochemistry.” 

“It sounds really complicated,” Angel confessed, sipping his beer.  

“Oh, it is. Half of what she tells me I’m just sitting there like, ‘what the bloody, buggery fuck, mum?’ over!” He laughed, loving her differing colloquialisms. He heard plenty more of them as they continued to talk, sharing stories from their lives, finding common grounds, detailing their differences, leaning so much about one another that the time flew by.  

It was a first date that went so well that by the time the sun had gone down, Bella had moved around to the other side of the table, sat across his lap, sharing kisses that probably bordered on much too steamy for a public place, but she didn’t care. Neither did he.  

“I hate to put a stop to this,” she sighed, her lips tingling. 

“Then don’t,” Angel interjected, his hand stroking her thigh.  

She laughed softly through her nose, leaning in to kiss him again. He was the best kisser she’d ever experienced, probably because he’d likely kissed hundreds more people than she had, or he was just naturally talented. Either way, she didn’t care. She couldn’t get enough. “I have to, though. My train leaves in forty minutes, and it’ll take me twenty to get back to the station.” 

He looked thoughtful for a moment. “How much later could you stay if I paid for your cab home?” 

Her mouth dropped open immediately. “Angel, that’s at least a sixty-dollar cab ride! I can’t ask you to do that!”  

His hand wandered up and down her back, leaning forward to kiss her cheek a few times. “You ain’t asking, I’m offering. How long?” 

Looking at the time on her phone, she worked it out. She didn’t have a curfew as such, her mum being quite relaxed, but she knew that in order to be fresh for college the next day, she should be home for about midnight. “Two hours?” 

“Done. Your sexy butt is staying exactly where it is,” he confirmed with a nod.  

“More than happy with this decision.” Her confirmation was delivered with the kind of kisses that made his pulse flip madly, Angel not able to remember a time when he’d been so attracted to someone. It wasn’t just that she was gorgeous either, it was her, all of her. She was smart, talented, funny, and so, so gentle and sweet. He was also revelling in the novelty that as a completely smoking hot eighteen-year-old, she could have any guy she wanted, and she’d seen him and thought ‘yep, that one.’ It wasn’t without its charm.  

The two hours passed much too quickly, Bella feeling a little sad pit in her stomach as the cab pulled up, standing in his arms, kissing him goodbye.  

“You might have to take me with you, because I totally don’t wanna let you go,” he confessed, actually poking out his bottom lip and looking utterly adorable, Bella returning such, making him melt completely. Oh, she was too cute!  

“I don’t want to leave you, either!” she exclaimed, quickly calling to the cab driver that she’d be a couple of minutes, the friendly man replying with ‘okay, darling’ before she turned back to the man she was very reluctant to let go of.  

“We could remedy this, you know,” he began. “I could give the driver my address instead, and you come stay at my place, blow off college tomorrow, or I’ll take you back there early in the morning, if you want?”  

“Erm...” she began, knowing the connotations. She shook her head. “I think I know exactly why you’re asking me back to your place, and it isn’t going to happen. Not this soon anyway.”  

He shrugged. “I can keep my hands to myself.” 

“Yeah, but maybe I can’t. I’m not easy, but with you, bloody hell. I could be, and I’m not screwing it all up by having sex with you right away,” she confessed, Angel respecting her decision. Albeit somewhat begrudgingly. He then realised, though, that such a stance made her very, very different to just about any other woman he’d encountered in recent years, all of them ready to jump into bed with him right away. God. It only made him like her more.  

“No worries, baby. You free this weekend? I’d love to see you again,” he asked, his fingers stroking her lower back in a way that made her tingle all over.  

“Not until Sunday, I’m afraid,” she lamented. “I have rehearsal on Friday night, then on Saturday I’m at work in the day, then on the evening we’re playing a little show at a bar not far from where I live, but yeah, Sunday daytime I can be all yours?” Ahh, yes. Sadly, Saturday daytime was out of bounds for her, Angel remembering her briefly detailing her job as a hair washing girl at a salon close to where she lived in La Jolla.  

“Then I’ll call you on Sunday morning to arrange something. Text me when you get home, alright?”  

She leaned in for another kiss, drinking him in, her heart fluttering madly. “Will do. Thanks for a great night.”  

Getting into the cab, she could barely wait for Sunday, grinning like an idiot for the entire duration of the ride home. He was the first guy in a long time who she really, really liked. In fact, she’d never felt like that before at all, she realised, replaying moments from their date in her head all the way home. 

She was smitten.   

As for Angel, he felt much the same, so much so that after discovering the name of the bar Heavenly Creature were playing at that coming Saturday, he planned to pay her a surprise visit.  

Bella almost felt her heart somersault out of her chest when after taking to the stage, she picked him out in the crowd. She realised then that he was just as into her as she was him, and that? That felt wonderful.  

[litgwritersroom]

Yesterday

S1 | Tim/MC | 5500+ words | @mrsbsmooth

After Love Island, Tim really has it all; the career; the money; any girl in the world he wants ... well, maybe except one. Not that he cares, he definitely doesn't care.

Tim pulled the BMW into the studio parking lot, and threw it in park the tiniest bit too early, drawing a grinding, crunching noise from the engine. 

“Whoops,” he muttered, as he grabbed his cap, scrambling out of the car. He left it parked slightly askew, knowing no one would trouble him about it. Not that he’d be bothered if they did.

His music switched from his car to his headphones, and he pulled them over his ears as he walked down the long, winding pathway and into the oversized glass building. He skipped through the samples he’d been sent, and yet again, nothing caught his interest.

None of the hooks were right. Or the pacing was off. Or the vibe… it just… it wasn’t… 

He sighed. He was only about twenty minutes late for the meeting. On time, really, considering how irregularly he even remembered they were on. 

But Talia probably wouldn’t mind. Probably. 

Talia had taken over as his manager when they left the villa, mostly because she knew the industry and Tim didn’t. And she was a very good manager. A great manager. Didn’t take shit from anyone. Didn’t seem to care if he was late for meetings with the studio execs. 

Except she’d been messaging him all morning.

Talia: Where the fuck are you holy shit

Talia: Get here NOW!!!!!!!

Talia: You are so fucked

Tim grimaced as he jogged up to the lift. 

Timye: mate im almost there chill out

He watched the three dots appear and disappear multiple times, as he walked towards the conference room he always met the execs in. Pushing open the glass door, head bowed down as his attention went back to his phone, he was already sprouting out an measly excuse to his lateness.

“Sorry, mates, had a bit of car trouble and I–”

He’d looked up and his heart sank into his stomach, catching sight of the jet black hair and poisoned stare that he’d hoped to never encounter again. 

Chelle.

“What’s she doing here?” He asked loudly to the room of people whose names he couldn’t be arsed to remember. 

Chelle rolled her eyes. “She just got signed to this label.”

Tim turned to the execs, his eyes finding the only one he remembered. “Nicky, you signed her? Seriously? Come on! I’m like, your biggest client!”

Nicky raised his eyebrow, frowning at Tim. “Well, we were going to discuss it at the last meeting… but you weren’t present.”

Tim frowned, taking his seat next to Talia. “I’m not happy about this.”

“Well,” Talia raised an eyebrow. “You’ll be a whole lot less happy once they tell you why you’re both in the same room right now.”

And boy, was she right. 

“Nope, not happening.” He shook his head. “Not a chance in hell.”

“Tim, you don’t exactly have a choice in the matter,” Nicky frowned. “You haven’t released any music in six months. You told us you’d have something done by February, and it’s March. We need a summer album release, and Chelle has assured us she can make it happen.”

“I can make it happen without her help.” Tim sneered, but Nicky just shook his head.

“Your reassurances won’t cut it anymore, we want something we can actually work with.”

Every fibre of his body was shaking with rage, yet the only sound that escaped him was a laugh. It was the sort of derisive sneer that could match one of Allegra’s, but he felt he’d outdone her with that one. 

“Typical,” he said, the word coming out with the unhinging of his jaw.

“What was that, Big T?” Chelle spat. Her fingernails drummed across the table at her impatience with him. Nothing new then. “If you’ve got something to say, why don’t you say it with your full chest, big man?”

He spun to look at her directly, finally looking her in the eye. The fire behind her brown iris matched the flames behind his own. “Fuck you, Chelle,” he said, barely managing to get it out through gritted teeth. “How’s that for saying it with my chest?

She replied with a short burst of humourless laughter, before cooing at him, “Aww, poor Tim. Is someone making you do work? Boohoo.” She leant forward in her chair towards him. “Let me play you a sad song on the world’s smallest violin.”

“Alright, that’s enough, you two,” Nicky intervened again. He was pointing between the pair of them like he was giving a stern talking to some naughty school kids. “You’re working together. That is final. Now grow up, and get to work. We expect to see some progress by the end of the week.”

Tim’s gaze was hot on Chelle’s and hers right back at him. He left the meeting in stony silence.

Tim was lying on his couch, feet on the coffee table that was strewn with ripped magazines and scrunched up beer cans from the night before, losing to Mason 3-0 in FIFA. The roll up was in the ashtray, smoky tendrils filling the room, mixing with the stale smell of the room.

“My fuckin’ controller’s acting up.”

“That’s the exact sort of bollocks a Toby would say.”

“Gretchen, stop trying to make ‘Toby’ happen,” Tim whined, not taking his eyes from the TV for a second, as he snapped back at Mason.

An intense encounter had them both too distracted to do anything more than purse their lips and mutter out some self encouragement.

He was mid play, eyes pinned to the telly, when the lift dinged. He ignored the noise, ignored the two steps of Talia’s heels entering the open living room, the sharp clang of those pinpoint heels unmistakable on his expensive and cold floor.

Hard to ignore though, was the piercing way his name ripped from her lips. “Tim.”

She sounded like his mum. Now wasn’t the time to take his eyes from the TV, so he kept on playing, replying back in the same tone. “Talia.”

He heard her sighing heavily and made no comment on it. “I came to check on you and ask about the samples Chelle sent you today?”

At the mention of her name, his brows furrowed and his stomach twisted into a knot. “Yeah, I got them.”

He offered nothing more. The silence lingered as Talia waited, only ending up disappointing herself as he stayed quiet.

“And did you listen to them?”

It bothered him that the clear frustration in her tone was so directly and responsibly at him, with him. The knot in his belly only doubled, cinching his own frustrations even tighter.

“Why would I?” He replied, his mind wandering further and further from the game. Mason just scored, assaulting the air with a jovial pump of his fist. Tim just scowled even harder. “Just tell her they’re shit and send them back.”

As the screen cut to black before showing a replay of Mason’s goal, Tim saw a flash of Talia’s own scowl being directed at the back of his head in the reflection of the telly.

It was followed by the storming of her heels on the hard flooring. Crossing the room to the TV, she heartlessly ripped the power cord out of the back of the Playstation, sternly maintaining her silence over Tim and Mason’s loud protests.

Mason was very much forgotten about as Talia rounded on Tim, finger wagging at him as she slowly and surely closed the distance between them. “You’re not a fucking soundcloud rapper any more, Tim. You have a record deal. And you need to put something on that record if you want to keep it.”

Mason waved over at Tim. “He’s a number one selling artist. Lad’s entitled to a break if he wants it -”

“He isn’t meant to be on a break right now, this is meant to be when he’s working on something like he promised!”

Shaking his head, Mason stood, cracking his knuckles. “Pfft, man, if Talia’s about to pitch a fit, I’m out.”

Talia glared at him, as Tim tried his best not to laugh. He reached out, slapping Mason’s hand as a farewell on Mason’s way to the lift. He turned to Talia, and sighed heavily, lamenting the silence he was about to break. 

“Ok, go ahead.”

“Don’t.” Talia said it with such heavy exhaustion, her eyes shutting alongside her weariness. She groaned in frustration, her eyes suddenly snapping open again as she continued, “Don’t fucking do that!”

“Do what?”

She threw her hands up around her head. “Every time I try to talk to you about it, you just make me feel like I’m lecturing you!”

“...But you are lecturing me.”

“You’re almost twenty-five, I shouldn’t fucking have to!” She pointed at him, the warning evident in her tone and bony finger. “I’m trying to fucking help you, Tim. You can’t just sit here and smoke your way to another number one!”

Tim looked away, and this time it wasn’t because he was pretending there was something more interesting. The knots in his stomach from earlier reached up to his chest, tightening beneath his ribs, squeezing him until he couldn’t breathe. But he could. He let out a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding, his jaw unclenched.

His eyes were drawn to his phone screen flashing with another new notification on the table. Like always, another came through, and another notification after another notification. Text after text after text after fucking text from those who couldn’t get enough of him now that he was famous.

That’s all anyone ever wanted from him these days. A slice of the high life, a sliver of fame that came with knowing him. Ever since the show, they had gotten only more obvious; as his fame reached peak after peak, it only attracted more of the buzzards. 

A cushion connected with his head, spearing him out of his slump. He blinked up at Talia as she demanded, “Pay attention to me!”

“I don’t wanna.” He sulked, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Well, then you should’ve hired someone you hated.”

“I did.” He teased, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye, making sure she laughed. She did, tackling him and armed with more cushions. She hit him with them until he felt his bad mood lifting, and started smacking her back. All of a sudden, Talia dropped her weapons and wrapped him in a bear hug.

He settled against Talia, resting his head on her arm. The moment was still, like a single drop of clarity. He sighed heartily, realising that out of everyone and everything in his life right now, the only thing he wouldn’t dream about changing was Talia. 

“Thanks for coming round, Tar,” he mumbled. “I’m sorry I’m a shit.”

Poking his chin with a finger, she spun his head so he had no choice but to look at her. “Talk to me, dude. This can’t just be about Chelle. This has been going on since before you saw her the other day. I hate to say it, but someone’s got to. You’ve been off your game for way longer than this.”

“Oi, I’m not off my game?” He frowned at her, a little offended. A part of him knew she had a point, but she didn’t have to say it out loud.

She quirked a brow up at him. “Oh yeah? Is that why you’re pretending her samples are going to be shit?”

He scowled. Her tone was much gentler as she prodded him with her next words. “Or is it ‘cause you know they’re probably amazing, and that means you have to acknowledge the problem is you?”

Tim sat up, his limbs stiff and his movements awkward. He stared ahead at the black TV screen, his reflection a mush of something only vaguely reflective of being a person. Of being him. His expression hardened and he looked away. “I don’t have a fucking problem. She’s the problem. Not me.”

Exasperatedly, Talia asked, “Have you written anything in the last six months? A single word?”

Tim got to his feet. He stalked away from Talia, his back to her, holding his body rigidly. 

“Fuck off.” It wasn’t rude necessarily, just the sort of dismissive banter Talia had probably come to expect from him. It was meant to say ‘stop’, it was meant to mean ‘you’re pushing too much’. But it meant more than that to her.

“No, you fuck off. I knew you were having trouble. I knew it. Just tell me what’s wrong!? I can probably help!”

“Just fucking leave it, Talia!” he yelled. “Just go. Go away.”

“No! Tim, you can’t just tell people to leave whenever the conversation gets hard!”

He whipped his head up to Talia. She did not just fucking say that. He raised his voice even louder. “Seriously, just get off my fucking case!”

He pulled his shoes on, and threw on a baseball cap, pulling it low over his face. All the while Talia was at his back, a single decibel shy of losing her shit completely. 

Tim just grabbed his keys, and walked out the door. Talia was the only person he had left who would tell him the truth. 

But right now, the truth fucking hurt. 

He got out on the second floor, making his way to the fire stairs at the end of the hallway, and pushed the door open. The staff always left the alarm off for him, so he wouldn’t have to face the paparazzi who constantly waited for him at the front of his building; eager to see which model or socialite or soprano was the most recent to grace the expensive linen sheets on his bed.

It was colder than he expected, though he supposed it was March. He pulled his hood up over his cap, covering as much of his face as he could, as he made his way around the back streets. 

He missed home. He missed feeling like somewhere was home. Everyone knew him in Truro, so he couldn’t blend in there. Even here, in London, he couldn’t find peace. He couldn’t find a single place where he could just… exist. Just be. Be him.

Even now, as he walked down a side street of a city with 8 million people, he was getting sideways glances from waiters smoking cigarettes. Whispering to each other in a language he didn’t understand, but even so, he knew what they were saying. Because he heard the words every time. 

Something, something, something, “Big T.”

So he’d just pull his cap down lower, find a different side street to pace up and down, trying desperately just to get out of his own fucking way. 

The deadline was looming over him like a noose around his neck. 

He didn’t want to do it again. 

He didn’t want to be number one any more. 

He didn’t want to be bringing home models, spending every weekend at whatever party the record label deemed ‘insta-worthy’ enough for him to have to attend. Have his entire life curated for him. 

He didn’t even write his own fucking raps. He’d submit his lyrics, and they’d come back with ‘suggestions’ that shredded his words and replaced them with the marketable version. Sometimes, he’d get to pick a title. 

God, he was just so fucking tired of it.

His feet were the only thing he could focus on, as he nodded his head to the pounding rhythm of them hitting the pavement. He put his headphones on, and tried scrolling through the relentless list of new music he was supposed to be keeping up to date with. But he couldn’t even get through a single song. It was too much for him. 

It was all just so fucking fake. Like a pulse on a corpse, it was lifeless.

So he switched to the Beatles; the familiar melodies making him feel like he was back in Truro, on the bus, listening to the entire discography through a shared pair of earphones with… 

Fuck.

He leaned against the wall in the empty alleyway, lifting his face toward the little sunlight that managed to broker through the dull, grey clouds. Looking at those rays of sunshine, he swallowed hard, wishing he could bask in the glory of the sun’s efforts, but the clouds were too many, the grey had blackened the sky too much.

Talia was right. She always was. He hadn’t written anything in months.

He wasn’t sure he even knew how any more. The record label didn’t care about what he had to say anyway. They only cared about whether or not it would sell.

Tim looked back down at his phone, his eyes hovering over his email app, the four-figure notification counter making him want to throw it across the alleyway and smash it to pieces. 

But something made him tap the icon instead.

The very first name he saw sent his heart into his chest again. 

Michelle Masika

Subject: Sample.

His finger hovered over the attachment, but before he had a chance to press it, his phone rang. 

Chelle’s name and picture blared onto his screen, consuming everything, halting the never ending notifications and the incessant feeling of not doing enough in his stomach.

He wondered how she got his number. Was it someone at the record company, Talia, or had she been like him, and still had it saved all these years later?

He declined the call, and opened the contact record to look at the picture more closely. 

He must’ve forgotten to delete it when they broke up. It was them, in the early days. Wrapped in Christmas scarves and matching goofy woollen hats. He’d taken the picture right as they’d burst out laughing. 

It’d been a long time since someone had properly made him laugh. He used to. This photo showing up was almost spiteful, after everything they’d gone through. All the daggers she’d throw his way nowadays would never erase the look of love she held in the photographs.

His phone buzzed again in his hand, and her name flashed up once more. She knew he’d declined it. 

Tim rolled his eyes as he hit the green button. 

“What?” His voice was flat, empty, direct.

She scoffed. “God, you’re fucking rude.”

“What do you want, Chelle?”

“Come to the studio.”

“Why?”

“Just come, Tim,” she asked, exasperated, like she was pleading with a petulant child. She was softer as she said, “It’s worth it. Trust me.”

Earlier than he’d expected to, Tim pulled the BMW into the studio lot. He parked more slowly this time around, the amount of care in getting the spot perfect having absolutely nothing to do with the fact he was a little nervous to be in a room alone with her.

He walked down the dark corridor, doing his best not to engage with any of the staff. They busied on, making it clear that he really wasn’t all that special. Something he’d long since felt inside himself anyway. 

He pushed open the studio door to the booth he knew Chelle would be working in, and sat down at the table inside, content to mind his own business and hopeful that it would interrupt her work to fetch him.

Chelle bustled around at the panels. She held up a finger when he entered, telling him to wait. Tim rolled his eyes. After a few minutes, she pulled her headphones off and made her way over, sitting down at the table across from him.

But she said nothing. 

She just looked at him, and he looked blankly back at her. Eventually Chelle raised an eyebrow. 

“So if I know you, you haven’t listened to it out of spite.”

Tim just shrugged his shoulders. He glanced up, and found Chelle’s dark eyes studying him the same way they always had. 

But she said nothing. 

Chelle always had a way about her. A quietness. It’d always been one of the things he loved most about her when they were together. The way she’d just exist with him, while he closed his eyes and worked through whatever it was he was trying to figure out in his head. She’d slip her hand into his, and squeeze it tight, silently telling him she’d wait forever, until he was ready to talk. 

He’d never felt as safe as he had when he was with her. 

But the silence between them now just hurt. So he broke it. 

“You’re right. I didn’t.”

“What happened?” She asked, her voice soft, almost as if it was painful to see him like this. “I thought this was what you wanted?”

There was a long pause that was weighed down with gloom. He pictured the sky outside encasing that last drop of sun. “It’s not that simple.”

“Enlighten me then, Tim.” 

“Forget it,” he shrugged. “It’s fuckin’ dumb.”

Chelle folded her arms on the table in front of her. “I’m not going anywhere. Tell me. If you can’t tell Talia, you can’t tell your mates, tell me. Of everyone in the world, you know I’m the last person who’d speak to the media.”

Tim glared at her. “Whatever I thought I knew about you, I was wrong.”

He watched the faltering in her face as Chelle’s eyes dropped to the table, and a wave of guilt washed over him.

And the silence returned. 

They sat like that for a while, neither of them wanting to start, but silently begging the other not to let it go.

Tim heard her breath catch a few times, and he almost spoke, too. 

“You know why I did it,” she whispered. Her voice was quiet. Shaky, but determined. Again, he marvelled at the self-assurance that never wavered within her, the perfect mirror to the crumbled sense of his own self-worth.

Shaking his head, his lips were pursed in a thin line. “No. I still don’t,” he spat. “We fought, I woke up, and you were fucking gone. Just gone.”

Her breathing hitched, catching in her chest. 

She stared him down. “You know why.” 

Every word was punctuated with its own seething menace.

“Because you got cold feet,” he said, throwing the harsh words in a soft tone, letting them brew in derision.

“Tim, we were twenty-two.” Her brows knitted together, her mouth pulled into a grimace of some desperation. “Twenty-two is too young to get married.”

The air conditioning must have switched on, because the room suddenly felt icy. He pressed his nails into the palms of his hands, the mild pain of it a welcome distraction from the pain that he could taste at the back of his throat.

“It wasn’t too young for me,” he whispered.

It was just as raw as when she’d turned him down. The look of panic on her face. The fear. 

It still hurt. It hurt so much.

“We could’ve talked about it,” she said. “But you were so angry when I said it was too soon, and you just…”

“... Talked about it?” One half of his face screwed up as he met her gaze again. “You didn’t exactly make it easy for me to talk to you about it?”

She looked like she was about to cry. “I wasn’t the one screaming.”

“Chelle, you left.”

“You told me to.”

“You were supposed to stay.”

“You were supposed to come after me.”

The silence that fell was the loudest he’d ever heard. He was hanging on by a mere thought. 

“I didn’t know you wanted me to.”

His voice rattled like the front door had that morning; the very first thing he heard before his life slowly began falling apart. 

He could see it as if it was right in front of him. The door of their old place, with its cracked window pane and slightly-loose handle. But try as he might, he’d never be able to reach it; he’d never turn the handle and follow her out into the freezing morning. 

Because he never did. Never even thought to do it until now.

And it all felt so obvious. 

“I was so scared, Tim. You were just starting out, and the parties were starting to get more and more frequent, and I just… I was so scared. That you were just going to get sick of being tied down, and would want to go off and be–”

“--Be what? Be a fuckin’ celebrity?” 

The sudden volume of his voice surprised him almost as much as it surprised her. 

“I dunno, you went on fucking Love Island. People don’t generally go on that to keep a low profile, Big T.”

He clenched his fist, and gritted his teeth. 

“I didn’t go on the show to become a fucking celebrity. I wanted to be able to make music full time. The celebrity part of it is the part I fucking hate. The parties I go to, the people I hang out with, the music, the lyrics, none of it’s me. It’s all fake.”

“And I suppose the millions of dollars and endless stream of women is fake, too?” She spat.

The silence resumed, much more tense than before.

“Chelle, after you left, I lost every bit of motivation I had. I just did whatever they told me to do. I haven’t written anything worth releasing in years, Chelle. The stuff I release is completely made for me. This… the shit I’ve been doing? It’s not music. It’s a fuckin’ lie.”

He looked up at her, and saw something in her dark eyes that he hadn’t seen from anyone in a long, long time. 

Care.

And not just for sales. Not for what they could get from him. 

For him.

“I know.”

She took a deep breath, glancing down at her own hands. 

“I know you used to rap about cars and bitches for fun in the shower. But I also know that that wasn’t what you wrote when it actually came down to the wire. I remember being on the receiving end of your frantic phone calls before your phone died. The ones after your walks?”

Tim smiled a little. “Yeah, ‘cause I knew I wouldn’t be able to write it down fast enough before I forgot it.”

Chelle chuckled slightly. “And you made me put it on speaker, and we used the voice to text on my laptop to try and dictate it all?”

He couldn’t help but smile a little wider at that. “And it always ended up recording the words wrong, and we’d be up until 2am pissing ourselves laughing and trying to remember what it was supposed to say?”

Chelle’s eyes were big, sparkling with the passion that used to light up his entire universe. “Tim… that shit you used to write… it was fucking poetry. It was beautiful.”

Tim blew a raspberry, scoffing slightly. “Whatever.”

“Tim,” Chelle reached across the table for his hand, but he didn’t move to meet hers. She placed her hand on his forearm instead, squeezing it gently. “It’s why I’m here.”

He furrowed his brow at her. “What do you mean?”

“You’re everywhere, now. Every time I turn on the radio they’re playing your songs. Every time I turn on the TV it’s an interview with Big T, talking about your creative process and your inspirations. Every billboard, every conversation, every kid with their headphones on too loud… It’s your music. But not one fucking bar of it is you.”

His shoulders tensed defensively, 

“So, what, you’re just here to help me? The giant paycheck doesn’t appeal to you whatsoever?”

She raised her eyebrows. “They didn’t tell you?”

He furrowed his in return. “Tell me what?”

Chelle laughed. “I get paid a percentage. Nothing upfront. Me getting paid depends on how well your album does.”

Tim furrowed his brow in confusion. He couldn’t wrap his head around why the fuck she would do that. She hated him. She’d screamed it at him with her gaze the second he’d walked into the conference room. “So… wait. You want me to do all my own raps? And try and make it a number one?”

Chelle let her head drop to the table with a dramatic groan. “Tim, you are seriously not getting this. I don’t care if it’s a number one. I just want to watch an interview where you actually believe a single word of what you’re saying.”

And like that, the silence returned. The air conditioning sending a chill through his skin. It must’ve done for her, too, because she shivered. He sighed, and pulled his jacket off, handing it to her like he’d done a million times before. Chelle looked a little surprised, but she took it, slipping her arms into the sleeves and pulling it around her.

He tried to stare at literally anything else in the room except the sight of her in his jacket, knowing what it would do to his heart if he let himself look.

He blew another raspberry. “Alright. Fine. I’ll listen to your fuckin’ track.”

Chelle nervously stood, walking over to the sound board. She passed him a pair of headphones, and gently slipped her own on, but said absolutely nothing. The imaginary noose around his neck tightened as he slipped the headphones on. What if he couldn’t think of anything? What if even her music wasn’t enough? 

What if he really was completely fucking broken? 

As if sensing his anxiety, Chelle reached for his hand. 

And this time, he gave it to her. 

As his fingers brushed against hers, he was worried she’d be able to feel his heart racing through his palms. But the familiar weight of her hand in his flooded him with a reassuring wash of calm that lifted the world from his shoulders. 

How did she still have this effect on him?

A deep, low drum beat started. A slow, low-fi synth curled through his body, and every inch of his skin blazed with goosebumps. His lips parted slightly, as the deep melody started. There was something so familiar about it. He started humming along to the melody, trying to place it, and the words started forming in his head. 

Suddenly, I'm not half the man I used to be,

There's a shadow hanging over me,

Oh, yesterday came suddenly.

Why she had to go, I don’t know, she wouldn’t say.

I said something wrong now I long for Yesterday.

Tim turned to Chelle to comment on it, but stopped. 

She was biting the inside of her lip, nervously shuddering despite his thick jacket wrapped around her. And God, did she look beautiful in it.

Her dark eyes were looking up into his, a little glassy, almost as if the song meant as much to her as it did to him. The beautiful synth beat was filling him with something he hadn’t felt in years. 

Words.

But in that particular moment, there wasn’t a single one of them he wanted to use.

With the smallest movement, he turned his body to hers, and dropped her hand, curling it inside the warm fabric of his jacket, and around her waist. Chelle’s eyes fluttered closed as she tilted her head back.  

And he kissed her.

He kissed her for what felt like decades. Lifetimes. Whatever was longest. And it was freeing, like everything was falling back into place. Every muscle in his body relaxed as he melted into her, her body falling into his hands as he pulled her closer. The world was righting itself, jolted back onto its course. The feel of her waist under his hands. The warm flick of her tongue as she stroked her fingers through his hair. The way her lips felt on his, music pulsing through their ears, just like they did on the bus, back when everything was easy. Back when everything made sense. 

It had never occurred to him before that it wasn’t Truro that made him feel like this.

It was her.

As they broke apart, he pushed her headphones down to hang around her shoulders. She pulled his off as well, and he pressed another kiss to her lips. He rested his forehead on hers briefly, completely incapable of stopping the smile that was wrestling the corners of his cheeks. He took a step back, letting the smile win, as she threw her arms around his neck. 

“Baby, I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I never should’ve left. I–”

“--Shh,” he laughed, as he wrapped his arms around her waist, pressing his lips into her braids. 

He pulled back from her, kissing her once again, then turned and walked toward the recording booth. 

She shot him a confused, playful look, and he winked at her. 

“I reckon I’ve got something for this.”

Chelle broke out in a wide smile, dropping her eyes, as he stepped in to the booth. 

He had something alright. He had everything. The amount of words he had in that moment were almost overwhelming him. 

But he was pretty sure he wasn’t going to forget these ones.

[staceymcgillicuddy]

Day 23: Surprise

Happy holidays, everyone! Thanks to @hellcheerxmas for running such a fun event! This is the last day of ficlets, so a big hug to everyone who liked, reblogged, or read one of these along the way. If you want to read anything else from me, my AO3 is StaceyMcGill, and I post fairly regularly. (Or you can just follow my Tumblr.)

December 1993 Paris, France

“Can’t you un-cancel it?” Eddie says as Paul, their long-suffering manager, follows him down the corridor toward the stage door in the wake of his sour mood. 

The situation isn’t Paul’s fault. Not entirely. But it is Paul’s fault that Eddie’s in Paris, while his wife of four months is missing him in LA. The gig was a last-minute request—a charity concert for sick kids, which is noble enough, but they were only asked because a bigger band fell through. Ultimately, the show was a bomb because they’re not that big in Europe yet, and there’s nothing worse than a lousy set. 

Except, maybe, for finding out that he’s not actually headed home tonight, the twenty-first of December, and he’s stuck in this snow-encrusted hellscape for at least one more day? Yeah, that’s absolute balls, and Paul gets to bear the brunt of his irritation. 

“Everything’s booked,” Paul says. “C’mon, man, it’s not that bad. You’re still at the Ritz.” 

Eddie scoffs and shoves his hands into his pockets, already anticipating the bitter bite of cold air when he steps outside the venue. He wants a fucking cigarette, but he’s trying to quit, so he settles for snapping at Paul again. “Yeah, that’ll sound good. Sorry, Chrissy, but I might not make it home for Christmas.” 

“You’re not gonna miss—”

“Whatever, dude.” Eddie flips Paul the bird as he slides into the back of the waiting black car. “Fix it.” 

“Doing my best, boss,” Paul replies, and maybe Eddie feels fifteen percent bad about being a dick, but Paul had sworn up and down both sides of his fucking face that it was a one-and-done, in-and-out sort of gig that would set them up for a European tour next year, maybe. 

Eddie drums his fingers against his thigh as the bright lights of Paris pass by. City of light, city of romance, yadda yadda yadda. Not so much. He’s jet-lagged, cranky, hungry, and he should be on his way to the goddamn airport to get greeted by Chrissy at home, not pulling up to the Ritz and getting greeted by doormen. 

His sour mood hangs over him like a cloud as he takes the elevator to his floor, and he knows he needs to call home, but he doesn’t want to have that conversation, either. Maybe a couple of drinks first, so he won’t be cut quite so deep by the crushing disappointment in her tone when she tells him it’s “fine, Eddie, honestly,” because she will because she’s the fucking best. 

It comes as quite a surprise, then, when Eddie flips on the light in his room and discovers the ‘she’ in question reclining on his bed in a short black teddy with matching lace panties. The expression on her face is one of the cat who’s just gotten the cream, with a giggle to boot. 

“Holy shit,” he says. 

“Surprise,” she replies and sits up on her knees. 

“What the fuck…” 

“Christmas in Paris sounded so romantic, I couldn’t pass up the chance to join you.” She glances at the phone on the nightstand. “Paul says you’re in a mood.” 

Eddie’s brain is stuck somewhere in her cleavage, and he can only manage a dumbfounded, “Paul?” 

“Duh. Who do you think conspired with me to put all this together?” 

She holds out her arms. Eddie doesn’t waste a second before stepping into them. Kisses her sweetly and pushes her back so he can press the length of her against the length of him in that familiar, easy fashion. 

“You’re cold,” she declares, even as she unzips his coat.

“You’ll warm me up.”

(The next day, she makes him seek Paul out. Eddie does so grudgingly, but honestly, that’s just for show. Paul deserves the apology and a fat Christmas bonus, both of which Eddie is more than happy to give him.)

[anonymous-dentist]

A doctor who fic preview, in which Sapnap is at work and the birds are dead.

-

1. Pilot (lost)

Another parakeet is dead. This one was the last in its cage, leaving only one cage of shitty annoying little birds to pawn off to suckers wanting a pet for cheap and dirty. 

Sapnap sighs, looks at the clock, sighs again when he sees that it’s only eight in the morning, and trudges off to the back to get the broom and dustpan. 

This was not in the job description. 

-

Half past noon, George comes by with a cup of coffee and a bagel that Sapnap swipes as soon as it’s in reach. George rolls his eyes, but he doesn’t argue. 

Too much. 

“You are an animal,” he complains. 

Sapnap responds by opening his mouth, full of food, and jerking his head forward in George’s direction. George screeches and recoils, stumbling back a couple of steps into a shelf full of stale dry dog food. 

“What is wrong with you?” he demands, nose wrinkling in annoyance as Sapnap laughs. “You’re disgusting. I hate you.”

Sapnap shakes his head and covers his mouth with his hand with an eye roll. “Oh come off it. You’re a bitch.”

“And you’re an animal.”

“You already did that one, man, come up with better insults or get out of my store.”

For emphasis, Sapnap points over his shoulder and towards the front door. He smiles into his palm, and he knows George is smiling beneath his usual flat expression. 

“Your store?” George asks. He makes a show of looking around the store, eyes settling on the wall of framed pictures of Skeppy near the fish tanks. “Wow, when did that happen?”

Sapnap huffs out a laugh and crosses his arms. He leans back against the shelf opposite George with a grin that George actually matches. 

“Oh, you know,” Sapnap boasts. He makes a show of looking at the Skeppy wall. “The old man kicked it, so obviously I took charge. Obviously.”

“Oh my God, Skeppy died?”

“Fuck you!” 

Sapnap laughs and chucks a squeaky squirrel dog toy at George, who dodges it easily. 

And that’s when Sapnap hears from the back of the store, out of sight and thus out of mind to someone who only has half an hour left before his shift ends, “Holy shit, are these fucking birds dead?”

George gives Sapnap a Look. He knows the Look well. Disappointment, mostly, and a great deal of annoyance. Sapnap knows the Look. He’s lived with the Look for the past twenty-one years of his life. He knows the Look. 

“What?” Sapnap quietly asks. His eyes flick towards the aisle entrance, checking to see if anyone- say, an annoying customer- was looking for an employee. Sapnap is hiding, thank you very much. Fuck this. He does not get paid enough to actually deal with customers. 

“I thought you guys took care of this?” George asks, voice just as quiet. He’s here hiding for a reason, too. Namely: his shift is in half an hour, but he’s already in uniform and doesn’t want to get dragged into doing his job for once in his life. “Bad told me this was taken care of.”

Sapnap inwardly groans and externally drags his non-bageled hand down his face in annoyance. Fucking Bad. 

“Of course we didn’t take care of it!” Sapnap hisses. He glares up at the impassive, gum-ridden ceiling. “Literally how are we supposed to ‘take care of it’? We aren’t doctors!”

“You run a pet shop! Are you seriously telling me that you guys don’t know any- uh- animal doctors?”

“‘Animal doctors’?” Sapnap looks at George in disbelief. “What the hell is an animal doctor? It’s called a fucking veterinarian, idiot!”

George glares at Sapnap, who glares right back. “Oh, screw off, I’m not from here.”

“You’re from England! We speak the same language!”

“‘We speak the same language’, no? We literally don’t? I speak English, and you speak idiot.”

Sapnap growls under his breath. The only thing keeping him from smothering his best friend with a doggy bed is the horrifying threat of attracting a customer their way. Sapnap would rather die than do this job, and there’s no way that George of all people is going to risk that. 

“You,” Sapnap bites out. “are a moron. I hate you.”

For emphasis, he bites into his stolen bagel as angrily as possible. George looks impassive. 

Prick. 

Footsteps from the back of the store as the customer wanders around. Sapnap listens with bated breath, dreading the inevitable. George is just as frozen, fingers tapping nervously against his cup. 

He slowly takes a sip from it. Sapnap watches, and he wishes that he had chosen a better hiding spot than the fucking dog care aisle. 

And then there’s silence. 

There’s a lot of silence. 

Sapnap looks at George. George looks at Sapnap. They both look at the Skeppy wall and at the clock ticking away in the middle of a scattering of Skeppies. Fifteen minutes until Sapnap’s shift ends. It’s so close it hurts. 

Slowly, George lowers his coffee from his lips and licks them. 

“Well,” he says, voice barely a whisper, “I guess that’s that.”

Sapnap’s shoulders, tense, loosen slightly. He finishes off his bagel and nods, brushing the crumbs off of his fingers and onto his khakis. 

“Yeah,” he says. “I guess.”

“Hey, are either of you gonna do anything about the literal cage of dead birds back there?”

George jolts so hard he spills a bit of his coffee onto the floor. Sapnap doesn’t flinch, though. He just sighs, tired. Well. There goes that. 

With all the weight of a man two seconds away from committing murder, Sapnap turns around to fully face the customer at the entrance of the aisle. The usual tired spiel dies on his tongue when he gets a look at him. 

“Uh,” Sapnap intelligently says, “hi?”

His voice cracks, but he can’t even be too mad, because wow. 

“Oh, you have got to be kidding me,” George grumbles. 

Because wow. Just. Wow. 

The customer looks between them with a bored, flat expression. His bangs are falling into his face, and that may or not be a crime because Sapnap kiiiind of wants to see this guy’s entire face. Not an inch to be spared. Or a centimeter. Whatever the Europeans use, that. 

He’s beautiful, and it isn’t until he raises a hand to scratch the side of his face near a scar crossing his eye that Sapnap notices a shiny ring on his finger. His ring finger. For rings. 

Goddamnit. 

Snapped out of his reverie by sheer disappointment, Sapnap’s usual customer service scowl settles back on his face. He stands up straight and pretends he still doesn’t have bagel crumbs stuck in the stubble on his cheek. 

“Hi, welcome to P&B, what’s up?” he flatly asks. He can’t even be bothered to sound enthusiastic; he never can, and he never does. 

The customer rolls his eyes, and Sapnap pretends not to be fascinated by the motion. 

“Birds,” he says. He jerks his head towards the back and the birds. “They’re dead. What the fuck?”

Sapnap shrugs. “Don’t ask me. We’re getting a couple more in on Thursday, though, so you can come back then if you really want one.”

Somehow, the customer’s face falls even further. “Thursday.”

It isn’t a question, and yet Sapnap takes it as one. “Yep. Thursday. Sooooo….”

George snickers into his cup. Sapnap flips him off, not caring that he’s got a customer. What’s Bad gonna do fire him? 

“Look,” the customer sighs, glancing between George and Sapnap with a hint of… something in his eyes. What is it? “Let’s say your birds coming on Thursday die, too. What then?”

Sapnap shrugs. “I don’t work Thursday, so it’s not my problem.”

George, though, works Thursday. He works all day Thursday, actually, because he agreed to take Skeppy’s shift because he would do anything to see Sapnap’s dad smile, the absolute freak. 

The customer laughs, head thrown back just slightly, and Sapnap swears light shines down from the heavens upon him as he does so. But a second glance reveals, nope, it’s just the broken light above him flickering back on for the first time all day. 

“Okay, fine, I get it, you don’t care,” the customer giggles- fucking giggles. Smiling to himself, he walks up to Sapnap real close, right in Sapnap’s bubble, and looks up at him through his eyelashes. 

Sapnap swallows and looks down at him. There isn’t that much of a difference between them, not really, but somehow Sapnap feels like he’s miles high. 

“Oh, what the heck?” George murmurs. 

“Here,” says the customer. 

He smacks something right into Sapnap’s chest and steps back quickly, hands going to his pockets, ring going out of sight. 

Sapnap catches the card before it falls to the ground. He looks at it, slightly confused. Black cardstock, a phone number with an area code he doesn’t recognize written in gold ink. What the fuck?

“I know a guy,” the customer says. And, wow, that’s suspicious. “An… exterminator.”

He snorts, and, yeah, no, pretty face aside, Sapnap doesn't trust him. What the fuck? 

“Yeeeeeah,” Sapnap drawls. He slips the card into his back pocket, already planning on throwing it away as soon as this guy is gone. “Thanks.”

“Yeah,” George adds, sounding much more enthusiastic. Uh oh. “Thanks.”

Sapnap glances at him. George glances back, a smile in his eyes. Uh oh. 

And Sapnap plans on saying something else to the customer, probably something along the lines of, “Who is this guy and what do you mean he’s an exterminator and why did you give me his phone number?” or maybe, “Is that actually a wedding ring or what?” But, when he looks back at him, he’s met with thin air. The customer is gone. 

Sapnap blinks. “Hey. Where’d he go?”

“Don’t know, don’t care,” George says. 

Before Sapnap can protest, George is swooping in and swiping the card out of Sapnap’s pocket and inspecting it like an old-timey detective. He holds it up to his eye, then backs it away slowly. 

“What are you doing?” Sapnap asks. He shifts on the balls of his feet, torn between snatching the card back before George can call the number on it and leaving the safety of the dog supplies aisle to see where the fuck the hot creepy customer went. (Seriously, where did he go? Sapnap didn’t even hear footsteps!)

George’s eyebrows furrow. “What area code is ‘x’?” 

“Hell if I know. Also, give that back,” Sapnap snaps. He rips the card out of George’s hand and holds it close to his chest. “This is probably that guy’s drug dealer’s number.”

George does not look impressed. “Sapnap.”

“Or! Or it’s one of those virus numbers Bad told me about. Y’know, the ones where you call them and they steal your voice and upload it to, like, the government.”

“Sapnap, that isn’t real.”

“Yeah, but what if it is? What then? Huh? I do not want to deal with the government.”

George groans, “Sapnap, you aren’t going to deal with the government! The government doesn’t care about you!”

Not anymore, it doesn’t, and Sapnap knows that George knows that they can’t be sure of that. Any day now the government could knock down the pet store’s door and take Sapnap away, and Sapnap is not risking his chances at employee of the month over some guy’s so-called ‘exterminator’ friend. 

Sapnap crumples the card up and unceremoniously shoves it into his pocket next to his wallet. Out of sight, out of mind. That’s his personal philosophy. 

“Look,” he sighs, head ducking slightly as he withers under George’s gaze. “I just don’t wanna risk anything, okay? I like what I’ve got going on here.”

“No you don’t.”

“No I don’t. But we don’t know who that guy was or who his friend is, and I’d personally rather not invite a stranger to my dads’ store. Okay?”

George remains unconvinced, but he backs off enough to let Sapnap go when the clock turns one and his shift is over. 

(On his way out of the store, Sapnap lights up a cigarette and stomps his way past a bright red phone booth that he doesn’t notice. The man inside smiles and twists a ring around his finger, just waiting for the call.)

[heretherebedork]

i really finished the episode and then ran straight to your blog like a kid running home after getting bullied bc i Knew there's only one spot on tumblr to find a logical reaction to that dumpster fire <3

i mean. where?????? to begin francis????????

do i want to be bitingly mean about kinn's awful fucking decisions this entire episode (nvm the rest of the show)??? do i want to tear apart the entire nonsense spectacle of what they did with these plot twists???? do i want to physically scratch someone's face for the shitshow with the mom???? i mean what year are we in what genre is this what's going on??? where's the bad editing to match the awful plot choices???? i've lived through indian tv serials and i would rather rewatch the worst of those than ever have to do this to myself again

that entire scene with porsche's mom reveal was so disgusting i literally couldn't stop saying 'ew' everytime kinn did/said anything. how do i send them a fucking fruit basket for crafting the world's most insufferable character. i know you're always making fun of how he can't do anything wrong but holy shit. like holy shit dude why did they do that

and WHY did porsche accept the fucking position as the minor family mafia head???? why on god's green earth did they make such a huge deal out of porsche's dream of a beachside bar when it was going to be sidelined this hard??? why is their mom literally a paper doll who can't even speak and looks the same as twenty years ago????

on a less angry note: why did they give us rich, deep, vibrant vegaspete scenes only to put them in bright hospital lighting and make them candy-sweet????? i'm not complaining (much), vegaspete basically got me through the second half of this show but god. God

i'm so sorry to walk in here and just rant but holy shit we all saw that right? like im not hallucinating? that really happened?

anw thank u for being so vocal abt your true feelings for the show i need to start a support group before my blood pressure hits the roof

–🌻

I will never, ever, be able to forgive the scene with the reveal of Porsche's mom. Ever. That scene is burned into my soul with pure anger at the handling of that. I mean, fuck, seriously? That's just the... what a damn nightmare. What horror. I really, really wish that Porsche had shot Korn earlier in the episode.

Imagine if that reveal had happened with Korn already shot by Porsche. Everyone thinks he's dead. Porsche thinks he killed him and then it's revealed that he's not just not dead, but he's also been hiding his mother and let Porsche spend his entire childhood being abused and in poverty?

Also, like, why did Korn allow Porsche and Chay to end up in so much debt and in danger of losing their home at any point?

I refuse to think about any of the things that happened, honestly. Like... it was just beyond me. Entirely beyond me.

Glad to be vocal. Glad to speak up, even if I stopped tagging things. Glad to be a comfort to people who have realized that the show just... wasn't what we hoped.

But also yeah we got some VP cotton candy. I'll take it over nothing but it was not what I wanted.

Much love to you anon. Go watch something better for a few hours, we'll both feel better.

[strititty]

it’s stridercest week yall!!! for day one (firsts) i’m posting a lil prequel ficlet for my transfem davecest fic. it’s slightly less fluffy, slightly more addressing the ‘what’s the deal with bro (spoilers: he still ain’t good) and why does dave live with D’, and i’ll probably make a much bigger more polished fic of it at some point but you know. for now! here you go.

==>

The first night after your uncle snatches you up is a whirlwind of too many feelings for one human being to deal with. Like, you’re ice cold, aight, you’re absolutely frigid, but a guy gets whisked away somewhere like this? Shoved into a bedroom that doesn’t belong to you, listening to half a conversation on the other side of the door? It’s sudden, not like Cal to the face or a fresh set of bruises--sudden like a shock to the system, dunked in freezing water with no way out.

“What else was I supposed to do? I couldn’t just leave him there.”

You sit with your back against the door, listening to his voice echo up the hall while you stare down at your arm. The cast is red underneath the masterpiece of black sharpie scribbles featuring characters you co-opted from the uncle currently trying to keep a private conversation. Bro used to be so good about not leaving marks. Just enough hurt to drive home the point and not an inch more. 

There’s a nervous, slightly unhinged laugh. “Could have sent him to Roxanne. She’s the one who noticed, and she’s got his sister. They’re fuckin’ twins, Rose, they should be together. Hell, they’re named after us. Totally inseparable.”

The idea of facing Rose - your Rose, not the aunt you were only loosely aware you had - makes your blood boil. Anger? Embarrassment? Shame?

“No, I know she’s got a problem--Christ, woman, give me a break. Of course I want to keep him. He’s my nephew.”

She ratted you out. 

“I just don’t wanna fuck him up more than he already is, alright? I’m doing bad enough with Hal and Dirk and work. Might as well slap a sign on my forehead that says not suitable for children or some shit. Hide your kids, hide your wife.” 

You kind of wanted her to.

Your uncle’s quiet for a long time, except for little sounds of acknowledgement. Uh-huh. Okay. Yeah, I know. Yeah. Softer, softer still, winding down until you can’t hear him at all and you’re only looking at your ragged nails.

The call must end, or maybe you fall asleep, or maybe you lose time - which is fucking weird, because you can guess time down to the minute - but you jolt up at the sound of a tap-tap-tap just behind you.

That’s what people call knocking, huh. 

“Dave?” asks your uncle, and you hop to your feet right quick.

“Yo, whaddup,” you say, cool as you please. 

He cracks open the door and it’s a little like looking yourself in the face, if you were also twenty years older and dressed in a rumpled suit with no shoes. This is the least put together you’ve ever seen him, not that that’s saying much, because you’d met him maybe once when you were five or six. Him and Bro had what you in the business call a ripsnorting blowout of a cage match and Bro got his nose broken.

It’s the first and only time you saw him bleed, and you don’t even remember what it was about. You, probably, or maybe money. Kids and money are where it’s at in the world of conflict.

“Gonna order some food--whatcha want? There’s this good Chinese place that’ll deliver past the paps, or about a hundred pizza joints, or Dirk’s favorite sushi place, or Hal’s favorite sushi place, which are two different places, for the record, cuz those two won’t agree on anything. Have to order from both on sushi nights just to keep them from tearing each other’s throats out.”

“Holy shit, Cain instinct,” you say. 

Your uncle snorts. “Yeah, they got it bad. You’ll see when they get back from Rose’s--uh, y’know. Roxy’s place. Your aunt Rose, your cousin Roxy. Pretty insane that I got you when they weren’t here. They’re gonna be all over you when they show up, sorry in advance.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m used to being covered in bitches,” you say, and your uncle snorts. There’s some force behind it that makes you feel warm with his approval, if in fact this is approval. The smile he flashes suggests that it might be.

“I should scold you for that, but I ain’t gonna. Just don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

[tabletopwhumper]

Whumptober Day 3: Impaled

Might write a follow up to this. Haven't decided yet. TW for blood and car accident type of situation. And, as always, profanity abound.

"First point is in 50, then the next is off Carlston's rubble," Johnny calls over the comms as dozens of vehicles speed away from the starting line. "Split like we planned and come back on the freeway."

"Watch out for Juko," Ali growls back from her own vehicle, cutting a hard turn and narrowly avoiding an orc with an attitude problem. "His guys were acting pretty shifty earlier. I think he's got shenanigans planned, and he isn't patient." She makes the next left past an abandoned warehouse and guns it through the intersection.

"Yeah, I thought so too."

Leaderboards pop up from the first checkpoint. John and Ali aren't at the top yet, but 22nd and 25th isn't a bad start from the 50 cars that left the gate. Besides, they're playing the long game. First part of the race would be pure power, something the couple knows they can't match the corporate sponsored teams for. But after the third point things get technical. Skill will overtake speed, and that's what they're counting on.

"HIROSHI KANEDA IS IN THE LEAD! THE TEAM FROM MITSUNARA GLOBAL HAVE THE EDGE!"

The freeway is coming on fast, just as the "eliminated" board comes up. Ten racers have already been incapacitated, their vehicles unable to continue. Then fifteen. Twenty. Several from the leaderboards. Something is happening... either someone is making a huge and dangerous move, or…

"Shit, shit, SHIT TAKE THE OFF-RAMP!" Johnny shouts as he hits the e-brake and pulls a drift off the road, dust and debris flying as he switches to off-road mode. "THE OVERPASS IS COLLAPSING!"

"Which one?"  Ali is just behind, eyes towards the horizon as smoke and fire begin to spread.

"ALL OF EM!"  

The ground rumbles as she veers off into the same makeshift dirt road that John had carved.

"Holy motherfucker..!" An explosion rocks behind them. Thirty cars out of the race. "Is the checkpoint clear?"

"Jesus fucking... yeah, should be, it's away from the freeway. Can't you see it?"

"Having NavSat problems." She glances at the error lights.  "I think it's a loose wire." Her voice drops to an aggravated snarl that the comms still manage to pick up. "Even though I checked them a hundred mother fucking times."

Johnny grimaces as his wheels skid across rubble. "That can't be right, we just installed that!"  

"I KNOW."  Ali slams her fist into the dashboard, turning one of the lights green.

"Ah, there we..."

The sudden cut to static sends a lead weight into his gut.  "Ali?"  He flips through the AR info tabs... all silent, save one:

CRITICAL DAMAGE, SYSTEM DOWN, CALLING DOCWAGON.

There’s no race. Not anymore, not for him. Johnny quickly switches off and opts out of all feeds, instead switching the beacon system to primary as he reaches across to engage the in-car first aid kit. Sweat creeps down his brow and the back of his neck, worst case scenarios swimming to the forefront of his mind. It doesn't help that his AR feed is awash with warnings of “CRITICAL DAMAGE” as he speeds back the way he came trying to zero in on Alison's signal. 

Following the navigation system becomes more difficult as he gets closer, the road obscured by varying sizes of debris until he reaches an impassable expense. Blasted sections of highway litter the path in a twisted tableau of concrete and rebar that make his stomach twist. She’s somewhere in all that… But the source of the signal is close and he's not about to stop. Grabbing the medkit, Johnny sprints across the treacherous landscape as his heart hammers in his chest. There. Across a field of debris, downed wires, devil rats, and puddles of runoff he can make out what's left of Ali's Westwind. And within he can make out the slightest hint of activity from her bio monitor. His muscles burn. There's a frantic fear in his chest for what he will find but he doesn't dare stop; DocWagon is still minutes away.

He can see before reaching her door that the windshield is gone and what's left of the driver side window is a web of shattered plasti-glass held together by a layer of paper thin bulletproof mesh. For a moment he's not sure he can open the mangled door on his own… but it falls open with a bang to reveal what he's so desperate to find.

Johnny’s heart is in his throat as something cold drops down his spine. Because for the first time the reality is worse than what his imagination has conjured. He doesn't want this, doesn't want to focus on the outline in the driver's seat, choosing instead to take in the crumpled dash. Part of the roof is missing on the passenger side. Shattered remnants of the windshield are everywhere…

Focus, dammit!!

The state of the car makes him all the more fearful to examine the girl he loves. But the vitals scrolling across his feed from her bio monitor scare him more and looking down at her… Ali's legs are crushed beneath the mangled mess of the dash, blood pooling freely down the side of the seat from a wound in her middle. A gash across her forehead has painted her face in a crimson mask. But Johnny falters at the sight of a stray piece of rebar jutting out from the right side of her chest, pinning her to the seat.

For several seconds he hovers, unsure of where to start… until a high alert from the monitor brings his eyes back to the display. Her vitals are dropping and the severity of her injuries breaks over him like an icy torrent. 

She'll be gone before DocWagon can get here.

“C’mon Ali… come on…” Johnny pleads as he uses the knife in his belt to cut away enough of her jacket to get a trauma patch secured, her vitals jumping in response. He knows it'll make healing harder in the long run, but at least there's a chance that there will be a long run.

The gash in her head doesn't look as bad as the blood coating her face suggests. Reaching back for the MedKit, he fishes around for what he needs before turning his attention back to his girl… and is surprised to find her eyes open. “Hey!” he chokes out, startled. “Ali? Can you hear me?” She blinks slowly, as if just waking up from a long nap, before her brows knit together in confusion. 

“What happened?” she croaks, her voice low, breaths labored. Johnny can see that her pupils are blown wide as she struggles to focus.

“Your car got caught in the demolitions that went off on the freeway.” John clears the blood from her face and applies a layer of ClotShot to the gash in her forehead. “DocWagons coming so just don’t move, okay?”

“Not… going any…place,” she whispers around wet rattling breaths and it’s with a new sort of fear that he can see red coating her lips. 

Fuck.

Johnny’s eyes move to the rebar and he quickly decides that is something he’s not equipped to handle. Moving further down he lifts the sticky crimson painted jacket… and nearly chokes. The gash in her stomach is deep. Too deep. Chunks of gore fill the space and there’s so much blood… 

“Th-at… good, huh?”

Fuck, poker face slipped. Focus, dammit! I’ve gotta keep her calm…

He bites back his fear and grins for her. “Naw, just a little scrape. I’ve seen you walk off worse.” Ali half coughs, half chuckles… but the result is a splatter of crimson down her chin and her vitals spiking dangerously. Reaching into the MedKit for a pack of BioMesh, Johnny stretches the porous surface across her stomach wound. The nanotech instantly bonds to the flesh and he activates the automated MedKit. A few clicks and beeps later the diagnostic software finishes- catastrophic damage, seek immediate medical assistance- and begins dispensing medication through the BioMesh. 

He meets her gaze again and finds that her eyes are glassy. “Lo-ve… you…” Ali chokes out. “If I… d-don’t-”

“Hey, no, none of that.” He glances down as the fear in his gut twists. Two minutes until DocWagon shows. If they show, his doubts whisper. It’s fucking Remond. They might not even bother. “I love you too. Help is coming, just gotta stick it out for two more minutes.” 

"N-not… sure… it's u-up… to me."

A strangled sort of laugh pulls from his throat. “You tellin me you-” but whatever joke he has in mind is lost as he watches her eyelids droop… “Hey, nonono!” Johnny cradles her head in his hands, gently bringing her gaze back to him. “Eyes on me. Keep lookin at me Ali-Cat.” She does… except that her eyes are distant and unfocused between them. 

"Sorry…" she breathes out. "H-hurts… C-can’t-” she chokes, coughing out more crimson. The biomonitor shrieks in protest as she stiffens around the rebar in her chest and Johnny grinds his teeth against his own helplessness as the girl he loves struggles to breathe. The fit passes, but leaves her clouded gaze wandering aimlessly. “J… Jo-hn?”

“I’m here. I’m right here baby.”

“C-an’t…” Her voice drops to a breathy whisper. “Ca-n’t… se-e…” One blood painted hand gropes blindly and he grabs it with both of his, pressing her crimson painted fingers to his lips as tears finally break free.

“I’m right here sweetheart just… just stay with me, okay?” But she doesn’t offer a reply as her eyes continue to drift, unseeing. Johnny slumps forward as despair grips him. Broken glass digs into his knees as he rests his head against Ali’s shoulder. “Just stay with me,” he pleads again.

Another alert from the biomonitor and he knows she’s fading.

“Stay with me.”

[lilacwiine]

open to anyone, based on the post in the source: i want a “i flirted with you on tinder because i was bored and somehow i got stuck saying yes to going out on a date with you and i had every intention of sabotaging it, so i went looking like i just rolled out of bed but holy shit you’re actually really cute and sweet i feel like an idiot???” plot

when flossie turned up to the bar they were already twenty minutes late but they’d at least had the sense to shoot their date a text to let them know. that evening she intended to play the roll of a walking red flag. that meant having hair was a little unkempt and the blacks of her shirt and jeans not matching. heading towards who they assumed to be their date after quickly pulling up their profile, the smile on their lips dropped. “...you’re cuter than your pictures,” she muttered, almost a little offended sounding. having only come out to kill a few hours of their evening, they weren’t anticipating their date would be hot. 

[bonniebird]

Lip x Reader

Requested by Anon​

Masterpost

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Halloween Event

It took you two days to realise that the Gallaghers didn’t do Halloween. Which to you, was horror in itself. You’d invited each one to trick or treat with you and Liam. While Fiona had just thanked you for agreeing to take him. Everyone else turned you down.

Armed with a spare twenty bucks, you took Liam with you to the local dollar store and bought as much as you could. Picked up your own decorations and dragged it all back to the Gallagher home. A note on the table from Debbie told you everyone had gone out and you’d need to stay with Liam. Which was perfect. The two of you managed to get up all the decorations and add candies to the huge bowl you’d found under the sink. When Micky showed up looking for Ian he’d given you a funny look but agreed to put the largest and heaviest decoration up on the door before hustling off to find Ian. Debbie got home and seemed to like the decorations. Though you could hear the tone of her voice that told you she was just being nice. She waved you off when you had gotten Liam ready and went off to meet V and Kev with their kids.

“Can someone explain why it looks like the Texas Chainsaw Massacre has been nailed to our door?” Lip asked as he came home. He’d been working all day and, having swung by the shop for supplies, was planning to take full advantage of teh cheap candy and meal deals available, to have a horror movie night with Ian and Carl. 

“(Y/N). The whole place was done. Even the bedrooms and I think maybe the attic.” Debbie told him. He sighed and glanced around, seeing she was right. He groaned when he opened the fridge, which was full of party snacks in all sorts of Halloween shaped sizes.

“Holy shit. They really went all out didn’t they.” Lip muttered as he checked the freezer and found a giant chocolate skull which said keep frozen and smash me. I have a surprise inside in green writing on the box.

“Yeah. They’re out with Liam trick or treating. They’ve been gone for hours. Carl said that they tried to bribe him to go.” Debbie laughed as she thought back on it. The door opened before they could talk more and you came in with Mickey, Ian was carrying a sleeping Liam. You and Mickey had two massive bags of candy in each hand.

“What did you do to rob a store?” Lip asked when he walked in. He stopped when he saw your costume, which was matching Liam’s and started to laugh.

“Hey! Are you laughing at my costume. It was what Liam wanted me to go as!” You said, now in an irritable huff. Lip stopped laughing though he and Ian shared a look over your shoulder.

“Do you want to stick around for the movies. We always do a scary movie night. Fiona probably won't mind if you crash here. She found a bag of your stuff from back when you stayed last so…” Lip asked. Micky made kissy noises at him and you shrugged.

“Sure. but you don’t get any of my candy unless you apologise for making fun of my costume.” As you spoke Ian carried Liam upstairs to put him to bed and Micky went to the door to give out candy as some people knocked. Lip laughed and took a seat on the sofa. 

“You’re going to eat all of that on your own?” He pointed to the pile of candy that was probably almost as high as Liam.

“Um. Yes. I mean, I promised Carl some but we had a deal going so… you know. Also I said I’d keep some aside for Fiona.” You muttered as Debbie came in with drinks for everyone. 

“You made a deal with Carl?” Lip asked quickly, leaning back into the sofa and trying to look as casual as he could as he asked. You chuckled a little and thanked Debbie for your drink.

“Oh you know… the kind of deal that Carl’s into.” You said quickly. Debbie laughed, knowing full well that you’d promised Carl half your candy as long as he didn’t eat any of the Halloween food you’d been saving for the movie night, that Ian had already invited you to. But Lip didn’t know that. You hopped up to help Debbie start prepping the food and soon Fiona flew through the house. She looked grateful when you handed her a plate.

“So what deal… Did you have with Carl?” Lip asked.

“Ah… the deal… about the candy and the thing… thing?” Fiona asked, quickly joining you in Debbie at making Lip squirm. V and Fiona had a good mind that if Lip got to mess around with your feelings it was only fair they helped you do the same right back. As long as no one was seriously hurt.

“What… what thing, thing?” Lip asked quickly as you handed him a plate of food. Debbie bellowed through the house that dinner was ready and everyone filed into the kitchen to grab a plate then sit around the TV.

“I didn’t eat any of your food so you owe me half your candy.” Carl said as he walked through the kitchen from upstairs and Lip let out a quiet sigh.

“That’s it. That’s your deal.” Lip said with a laugh. Fiona teased him a little as she left the room to join the others.

“Yeah. What did you think our deal was?” You teased and Lip rolled his eyes.

“I dunno. Oh by the way. Nice costume. I’m sorry I made fun of it earlier.” Lip said with a grin as he waited for you to fix yourself a plate.

“You know I see straight through you Gallagher… you just want my candy. But, apology accepted.” You smiled as you left him in the kitchen. He grabbed a fork while muttering to himself.

“Oh, I totally am.” 

[helliontherapscallion]

(Y/n) and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Week: Thursday (Part 2)

Monday     Tuesday     Wednesday     Thursday (Part 1)     Friday     Saturday     Sunday

Spotify Playlist (collaborative)

Warnings: panic attacks, swearing, puking, concussions, mentions of injuries/bullying, homophobia

Word count: 5,138

After school, you were sitting on the couch as you furiously typed on your keyboard at an extremely fast pace. You were on a roll with these essays, they were probably going to be finished by the time you had to go back to the school to get on the bus with the team. You figured that you could even finish Annie’s essay and get started on Sammy’s US history presentation on the sociopolitical climate of the United States in the mid twentieth century to today. However, instead of covering a variety of topics like the rubric requested you to do, you were only going to talk about the significant events that happened to the LGBT+ community starting with Stonewall and going to Obergefell v. Hodges. You were also going to go in depth about how even if there are more opportunities available and more laws set in place to protect for LGBT+ people in the present then there were in past, members of the LGBT+ community still suffer heavy discrimination in the workplace and in the public. With receipts of course, the assignment required a minimum of three pictures per slide, and the group chat was a perfect source.

After that was done, you would email Sammy’s teacher (you had her last year for US history and you knew that she had a son in the grade below you currently transitioning from female to male) that you were the one that did her project and send screenshots of Sammy calling you slurs. Luckily for you, you had receipts of her being transphobic in the past that you could also send. Everything was effortlessly falling into place for you today. 

As you were typing, the front door swung open and two overly excited fifth graders ran into the house and up the stairs. A tired Schlatt followed them. “I will never know how the hell Phil keeps up with them.” 

“I dunno, maybe because he’s already raised three kids before.”

You watched as your uncle jumped and whipped his head over towards you, his hand clutching his chest. He lightly glared at you, “christ kid don’t do that, you nearly gave me a heart attack.”

You smirked at him before turning back to your laptop to continue typing the essay. You were almost done with the conclusion paragraph on Annie’s essay and you wanted to get to Sammy’s presentation as fast as possible. As you were typing, you felt a warm air fan across your neck and your uncle’s voice right next to your ear, “whatcha typin?”

You lept off the couch and almost fell into the coffee table before steadying yourself and deadpanning at Schlatt. “I was typing an essay before you interrupted me.”

He snorted, “it looked like you were on a roll, just thought I’d see what my beloved niece was writing. Can I read it?” 

Your eyes lit up as an excited grin split your cheeks, “yeah, but lemme catch you up real quick. Adrian, Sammy, and Annie got mad at me a few days ago and wanted me to do some homework for them as a sort of payment. But after they pulled that little stunt in the lunchroom yesterday, they decided to be little bitches to me and call me slurs. So naturally, I decided to change the essay prompt into an in depth analysis about discrimination LGBT people face from their peers on the daily. My english teacher’s really against homophobia and the project’s worth twenty five percent of our overall grade, so it’s perfect.”

While you were rambling on and on about your detailed plot for revenge, Schlatt couldn’t help but be proud of the person you’d become. A major part of him was impressed that you came up with a detailed plan so quickly, that meant that his cunning nature was rubbing off on you and that made him ecstatic. Sure you mentioning not being straight was new to him, but he was prepared to accept you for whatever you identified as. He didn’t care how people identified, he just cared if they were good people. And his niece was one of the best kids he knew. He’d let your slip up slide for now until you felt comfortable enough to properly come out to him. 

“That an amazing plan, fuckin brilliant. Though, you could do more.”

That piqued your interest, “I’m listening.”

“Do you have any blackmail?”

Your eyes glinted with sudden understanding, “why yes I do, uncle dearest. I just so happen to have thousands of texts from them talking shit about each other and basically the entire school. And them being incredibly racist. They would be destroyed if that came out.” 

“Two things. One, never call me that again. Two, perfect. Keep it as leverage if they try to do something. You don’t pull out all the good cards in the first round, you wait for the right moment to strike so you can win. You need to constantly defend yourself against other players and anticipate their every move. If you leak everything right now, you won’t have anything to use against them if they have something up their sleeve you didn’t know about. Patience is key in things like this.”

You absorbed every single word that came out of his mouth like it was the holy gospel. Although he was your uncle and you loved him with all your heart, but he was a sly bastard when he wanted to be. He knew his way around fighting and manipulating people just right, so you were incredibly happy that you were on his good side and he absolutely adored you. Though questionable and morally gray, he was giving you advice because he cared about you and you’d be an idiot to not heed his advice. 

“That’s genius, Uncle Schlatt. What would I do without you?”

“You’d get along just fine without me, you would’ve gotten there eventually. You’re smart. I’m just givin you a little push in the right direction.”

“I honestly would’ve never thought about waiting, I was so dead set on getting revenge that I would’ve just leaked everything all at once. I want them to feel how I felt when they were around me. I-” you paused. Would this make you the same as them? You’d be screwing up all their grades, Adrian’s job, and Sammy’s athletic career. You came to the chilling realization that you’d be the same as them. You’d be as manipulative as they were. “...Uncle Schlatt, would that make me the same as them?”

“Fuck no! You’re always gonna be better than them no matter what. When they’re at their best, you’re always gonna be a whole lot better than them. They deserve what’s happening to them, it sounds like they put you through so much shit the past few years. I actually think you could do a whole lot worse to them if you’re willing to put more work in, but it’s your plan and if you think that what you’re doing is too much,” he darkly chuckled, “you wouldn’t like my idea.”

“You’re right, they deserve everything I have planned for them. God, I don’t know what I was thinking, ‘would that make me the same as them,’” you mocked what you said earlier, “what a load of shit. Anyways, thanks Uncle Schlatt. I’m gonna get back to writing this. They’re due tomorrow and I wanna finish as much as I can before I have to go.”

“Alright, whaddya want for dinner? Phil’s gonna be like thirty minutes late from work so I’m cookin tonight.”

Oh no. No, no, no, no. That man can barley cook boxed mac n cheese, let alone anything else. He’d burn down the house if you left him alone in the kitchen with the stove. “On second thought, why don’t I help you with dinner? We can make some chicken alfredo.”

“Awe, you’d rather hang out with me than finish your homework? Ya really do love me. C’mon let’s start.”

The process of making dinner was… interesting. Multiple times, Schlatt almost spilled boiling water on himself and he even managed to burn the pasta while it was in the water. How he even managed to do that you’d never find out, you had your back turned cutting up vegetables and herbs at the time. That was when you subtly started to take over in the kitchen, giving him smaller tasks while you handled everything else. You felt bad for Tubbo, his father can’t cook for shit. 

By time you finished, about an hour passed and Philza had come home and changed out of his work clothes. The two adults sat at the table discussing something that you didn’t pay attention to while your brothers and cousin were in the living room waiting for you to finish dinner. Finally, you set the table and it was time to eat. 

Because you couldn’t have many fatty foods before any matches or practices, you had made a separate plate for yourself that only had plain pasta, chicken, and broccoli. You were surprised with how well it turned out, you were following an iffy recipe you found on the first link Google brought up. 

After dinner, you went upstairs to put your uniform on and pack a little bag full of things you might need: a small blanket, some snacks, a water bottle, and a portable charger. Oh, and fuzzy socks and a pair of crocs. You could never go wrong with fuzzy socks and crocs. Feeling a vibration in your pocket, you pulled out your phone.

Hales : )

(Y/n), I’m omw to your house

Gonna give you a ride to the school

(Y/n)

Hales you don’t have to give me a ride, I can drive

Hales : )

Don’t care

Omw, be there in like 7 mins

You swiped out of yours and her conversation and opened up the family group chat

(Y/n)

I don’t need a ride to the school, Haley’s giving me one

She’s gonna give me a ride home too

Dadza

Alright, thank her for me

Tell her I said good luck too!

Uncle Schlatty Patty

Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do

Dadza

(Y/n), do everything he wouldn’t do

Uncle Schlatty Patty

Fuck you I’m a good influence

Dadza

You’re really not

Wilby

^^^^

Technology Sword

^

Uncle Schlatty Patty

Fuck all of you 

You heard Haley’s car pull into the driveway and dashed out of your room with your bag. Just as you put your hand on the doorknob, a hand stopped you.

“Coat.”

You grumbled as you reached past Philza to grab your coat. After you slipped it on, you were pulled into a hug. “You’re gonna do great out there. I know you’re gonna win this, we’ll be watching in the stands.”

“Damn right she’s gonna do good, she’s my niece after all.”

Schlatt pulled you away from your father’s hug and tried to ruffle your hair before you swatted away his hand, “don’t. You have no idea how long it took me to get a perfect ponytail. I have an ungodly amount of hairspray and bobby pins in my hair right now.”

“Fine. You’re gonna kick their asses tonight.”

Tommy and Tubbo pushed past Schlatt and both tackled you into a hug making you stumble slightly back. 

“Kick their asses good (y/n)!” Tommy cheered, making you crack up before one stern glance from Philza completely stopped you. “Tommy, don’t say that. (Y/n), not funny.”

“Alright, Haley’s waiting for me. I gotta go, love you guys!” As you turned to walk through the door, you could hear your family following you and shouting “good luck”. You felt heat creep up on your cheeks as Haley rolled down her window and wove at your family with the biggest grin on her face. 

“Thank you! We’re gonna take home the gold for sure!”

You hopped in her car as she rolled up the window and chuckled. “I love your family, they’re always so full of energy. It’s refreshing to see compared to how boring my family is.”

You glanced at your entire family gathered on the front porch. Tommy and Tubbo were practically vibrating with excitement, Wilbur and Techno calmly smiled and wove at you, Philza was grinning widely at you as you saw his mouth forming words that you couldn’t hear or read, and Schlatt was grinning cheekily at you. You raised your hand to wave at them as they vanished from view when Haley pulled out of your driveway. You smiled softly, “I love em too.”

The car ride was relatively quick with the same soft indie pop music floating from the speakers and an easy going conversation with Haley about the match tonight. You both thought that you could beat the other team if everyone focused 100% and played exactly like you guys did in practices. If everyone did that, you would be unstoppable. 

Luckily for you and Haley, you were the first ones in line to board the bus so you two got the back seat with Zara and Jazzy sitting across from you guys. The hour long bus ride passed quickly and lively with you four passing around your phone and playing some mad libs, you were sure that by the end of the last game you four were laughing and crying. Sometime in the middle of the trip, you noticed that Haley would start to lean on your shoulder and continuously glance at you as she laughed. You desperately wanted to believe that it was because she liked you, but she was straight and she was your best friend. She was probably trying to make sure you were having a good time. 

When the team had gotten to the opposing school and left the locker room to stretch in the gym, you could hear your family start to scream your and Haley’s names from the front row next to you, Tommy and Tubbo being the loudest amongst them with Philza trying to get them to quiet down so you could focus. You felt your cheeks heat up as you smiled at them and Haley wove enthusiastically back at them. Zara was laughing at you two. Stretching went by in a flash and before you knew it, you were on the court facing the opposing team. 

The first match was won by the opposing team by five points. The second match stretched on and on until it was won by your team narrowly by two points. The team was going to have to shape up in the third match if you guys wanted a chance at winning, the opposing team was good. Before the third match started, Coach Williams called for a time out so you guys could talk about strategy. Before Haley could go back onto the court, you pulled her aside.

“Hales, we need to do what we practiced. The other team won’t be expecting it at all, I’ve been setting you up this entire game. They’re never going to expect you setting me up for a spike.”

“When are we going to do it though? We need a better plan.”

“I’m sure the opportunity will come and both of us will recognize it. We just can’t do it too early in the game though, that’ll ruin their surprise.”

“(Y/n), I hope you know what you’re doing.”

“When do I not Hales? We gotta get gold this year.”

The third round went by with both teams constantly swapping places until you both were tied fifteen to fifteen. You saw the ball flying towards Haley, giving her the perfect opportunity to set you up for a spike.  “HALEY NOW!” 

You watched as her face hardened in determination as she pretended like she was going to spike it by jumping high in the air and stretching her arms back, making the opposing front row players all gather in front of her. Much to their surprise, she launched it towards you as you leaped up and went for the kill. The stinging of the ball hit by your wrist and the smack sound the ball made when it slammed onto the open gym floor was something you’d never forget as the crowd around you went wild over the unexpected play. You could hear the high pitched screaming of Tommy and Tubbo over everybody else. Glancing at them over your shoulder, you saw them jumping up and down on the gym floor and looking at you with awe filled eyes and gaping mouths. The rest of your family looked at you with similar expressions, their cheers echoing in your mind. Winking at them, you turned back to your team and went straight to Haley. Clapping a hand on her shoulder, you pulled her into a quick hug, yelling over the raving of the crowd. “HALEY WE NAILED THAT!” 

“HOLY SHIT I DID NOT THINK THAT WAS ACTUALLY GONNA WORK!”

“You have such little faith in your setter! You wound me Hales.”

“Well, I would have more faith in you if you weren’t chaotic on the court, sweetheart.”

You felt yourself surge in happiness at the nickname, but you couldn’t afford to focus too much on it. Your team only needed one more point to win best in the state and go to nationals. It would be the first time in your team’s history if you reached national level, and you’d be damned if you were the one to screw it up for them. 

The last rotation went on for a while, each team fighting tooth and nail for the state championship title with clashing determination. You tried your best to block every hit and try to set Haley up for a spike, and you were successful for the most part, only missing a few blocks. You saw the setter adjacent to you set the spiker up for a spike and jumped up in time to try to block it, your arms stretched upwards and your palms out. Only, the ball didn’t hit your hands. It collided painfully with your nose, ricocheted off your face with a thwack and sailed over to the other side of the court. Your head whipped back as your body followed suit and flew backwards onto the floor. Without giving you any time to react, your head bounced back and cracked against the polished hardwood floor of the gym. Everything went black. 

“...(y……”

“..(y/n)......”

“(Y/n).”

You faintly heard someone calling someone’s name over the continuous ringing noise. Was it your name? It felt right, so it had to be your name. You peeled your eyes open to see a blurry figure hovering over you. It was swirled with tans, browns, and backs. After a while of the figure repeating your name, it slowly became more recognizable, albeit appearing twice in your vision. It took you a while to figure out who this was before your muddled brain recognized Haley.

“Hales! There’s two o’ya. Twice as beautiful babe…” You slurred out as you attempted to smile at her.

“Oh thank god, PLEASE WE NEED A DOCTOR SHE HIT HER HEAD!” Her usually angelic voice gritted against your brain like sandpaper making you cringe as pain exploded in your head.

“God babe you’re so loud, why’s so bright? I-wha's goin on?” You blearily tried to move your head to look around only to be stopped by a pair of large hands on each side of your head gently holding it in place. You moved your laggy eyes around to look at the figure. He was a blonde man with blue eyes and a hint of stubble on his chin. His eyebrows were knitted together and he looked… he looked… your brain worked to figure out why he looked how he looked. Who was he?

“Please don’t move hun.” His muffled voice was baritone. You squinted at him trying to figure out who this man was.

“Who th f-fuck… why?”

“I’m your dad hun. Do-do you not recognize me?” You made a noise in the back of your throat as your stuffy brain finally put a name to the face.

“Dad- wha’s goin on? I’on feel so good…”

“Shh, I know, I know. Just stop moving and talking. Everything’s fine. I’m here. You’re okay.”

“Mmk… Dad, where are we? I’ont know- you’re so quiet.”

“Stop moving so much. You’re on the floor in a gym. You just won your team the state championship. Now stop talking please.”

Huh. So that’s why everybody seemed to appear from above you. You strained your eyes to look around you, but you could only see your dad’s face hovering above you. “Shit I- who’s aroun’ me? Where’s Hales?”

“I’m right here sweetheart. I got the doctor, Mr. Minecraft.”

Your dad’s face moved away from your vision so fast that it made your head spin and your stomach twist. Another face appeared above you that you once again didn’t recognize.

“I’m Doctor Martin, can you tell me your first and last name?”

“Uh, (y/n) Minecraft?”

“Good, what month are we in right now?”

“Nov-November?”

“Close, it’s late October. Can you tell me who this,” he pointed to your dad, “is?”

“S’my dad Phillip.”

“That’s your dad Philza.”

The questioning stopped as he suddenly shined a blinding light into your sensitive eyes. You hissed as you tried to move your head away from the offending light only to be held in place by your dad’s hands. Your head spun as you moved too quickly and a wave of nausea hit you, making you groan and move your arm to cover your eyes. Your hand was stopped by something warm and soft wrapping around it and holding it tightly. Everything was so overwhelmingly and painfully bright and loud. You wanted to make it stop. 

“Mr. Minecraft, your daughter appears to have a concussion. I don’t have the tools on hand to determine the severity of it, but it’s worrying that her pupils are asymmetrical, she’s delirious, and has slight memory loss. I understand you live about an hour away from here, and it’s alright for you to take her to a hospital closer to your house. Make sure you keep her alert.”

Your delirious mind only registered about half of what came out of the doctor’s mouth. You mumbled gibberish as you once again opened your eyes to look around. You were only briefly able to crane your neck to the left. Several figures large and small were standing behind your dad. Your family, your mind supplemented. Slowly, your mind was starting to recognize your surroundings even if there was currently double of everything and everything was blurry.

“I’m going to help you stand up. Do ya think you can do that?”

“Yeah Dad.” You lifted your upper body off from the ground with a gentle hand on your back helping you sit up. Fighting the wave of nausea that slapped you in the face, you reached up to rub at your eyes. A hand once again stopped you. You peeked your eyelids open and lightly glared at whomever stopped you. “Hales you’re lucky you’re so cute I woulda slapped you. I like holdin but you’re bein annoying. Stop.” You attempted to make your voice sound firm, but the words that came out of your mouth were slightly slurred.

She was silent as she helped her dad haul you to your feet. Once on your feet, you saw the room spin and felt yourself start to sway slightly. An arm wrapped itself around your shoulders and pulled you close to them so that your weight was supported. They were a little taller than you were making it easy to lean on them. 

“...Can you walk?” A deep, monotone voice rumbled the chest of the person you were leaning against. 

“Mhm. ‘M not weak.” Though your limbs felt like they were made of molasses, you placed one foot in front of the other slowly. The person moved alongside you, “you’re doing so good, keep going.” That sparked familiarity in you as you stopped in your tracks and tried to look up at the person you were leaning against making the person tighten their arm around your shoulders when you almost fell over.

“Tech?”

“Yeah, it’s Technoblade. Just focus on walking. You’re almost out of the gym.”

When you realized that you were out of the gym, you sighed in relief. It was so much quieter and darker. Though it was still relatively bright, it was better than the gym. 

“S’better.”

“When we get her to the car we can give her some sunglasses or something if it’s still too bright for her.”

“Wilbs-”

“Focus on walking.”

You huffed in irritation, “don’ tell me what to do bitch.”

You felt Techno’s body jolt slightly as he chuckled, making your head throb at the sudden movement. “Just walk.”

When you walked outside, you shivered as you felt the cool air nip at your exposed skin. Right, you were in your volleyball uniform. “I’ll go pull the car around, you guys stay with her.” 

You saw a tall brunet start to walk away from you. Uncle Splat? Uncle Schmat? Whatever his name was, you were sure he was your uncle. You tried to snuggle closer to Techno, craving warmth but never being satisfied. Where was your uncle? 

After a while, you saw a car moving towards you and blinding light pointed right at you making you cringe away and groan. Techno started to slowly walk towards the car. “C’mon (y/n), you’re almost there. When you’re in the car you can relax.”

“Tommy, Tubbo, and Techno, you’re in the back row. Schlatt can drive and Wil, you’re taking the passenger seat. I’ll stay with her in the middle row so she can have some room to lay down.” Tommy and Tubbo were with you? Why weren’t they talking, they usually were very vocal.

“Tom, Tubbs didja like the game?”

They didn’t say anything as they climbed into the car. Did they not hear you? 

“They’re just… tired (y/n).” Your dad’s voice reassured you as he took Techno’s place holding you up. 

“I wanna nap. ‘M so tired.”

“You can’t sleep yet. We gotta get you to a doctor first.”

“Mm. Makes sense.”

“Let’s get you in the car hun.”

As he helped you climb into the car, you felt an overwhelming wave of nausea wash over you making you lose your balance and almost faceplant into the cloth seats. You felt yourself being gently, yet urgently taken out of the car and led to grass as you felt your esophagus shorten. Something burning made its way up your throat and spewed into the grass. You felt someone rubbing your back as you puked up your dinner. 

When you were done, you reached up with a shaking hand to wipe your mouth. “You feelin better? Think you can get back into the car or do you need to sit down for a bit?”

“Car.”

After some difficulty, you were successfully in the middle row of the car laying down with your head on Philza’s lap. Soon enough, your shoes were taken off and a blanket was draped over you. 

“(Y/n), what do you remember?”

You scrunched up your face as you squinted at Philza’s face. “I remember playing volleyball with Hales. She’s so pretty, she’s straight though. I remember the other team hitting the ball, me jumping, then nothin. Wha’ happened?”

You watched as Philza winced, “well, you got everything right so far. You got hit in the face with the ball so you fell and hit your head on the floor. You were passed out for a minute before you woke up. It was a pretty nasty fall, we’re going to the hospital now. How’re ya feelin?”

“Head hurts, ‘m seein two of everything, an I can’t think.”

“Do you know what a concussion is?” You nodded in his lap slightly, “you probably have one.”

After a while of talking, you were slowly starting to come to your senses and your speech was clearing up, but your head was still too stuffy to think about what you were saying before you said it. You didn’t have a filter.

“Do you wanna tell us about your week so far? Do you remember most of it?”

“Mhm, it was shit. On Monday I had a panic attack and Adrian, Sammy, and Annie were being bitches to me all day. They fucked up my back. On Tuesday, they got mad at me for ditching them and they had me do their homework, had another panic attack, and Haley told me that someone took pictures of our boobs ‘n stuff and they were gonna leak it to the school if Haley didn’t stop hanging out with me. Haley and I almost kissed, but she’s straight. Pulled an all nighter and Wednesday I accidentally came out to Tech and Wil and had another panic attack. Annie, Adrian, and Sammy took more pictures of me through my window, Annie outed me to the entire school and slapped me. Another panic attack, skipped the last two classes and felt like shit the entire practice. Today Adrian and Sammy told me to kill myself and I had another panic attack. ’S about it.”

As you were going through your week, the hand that was previously gently stroking your hair had frozen as the car was enveloped in a tense silence. Luckily, Tommy and Tubbo were passed out in the back seat so they didn’t hear how bad your week was. Everyone awake knew that you had a few bad days this week, but they didn’t know the full extent of it. You watched as Philza’s expression had turned downright murderous, but you didn’t really care. You were busy talking about your week.

For the rest of the car ride, Philza asked you simple questions like what your favorite color was, your favorite animal, basically your favorite everything. Eventually, the car pulled into the hospital parking lot and Philza helped you get out of the car. “Schlatt, can you take the boys home so they can get some rest? I’ll stay with her.” 

“Yeah, I’m on it. Don’t cause too much trouble (y/n), we all know you can raise hell.” He watched you for a reaction, but when you didn’t react, he coughed. “Well, I’ll see ya later kid. Good luck.”

The car drove off leaving you and Philza at the front of the emergency room building. “It’s gonna be a long night (y/n).”

“I gotta finish Annie’s essay and Sammy’s presentation though.”

“No you don’t, I’ll email your teachers.”

You two checked in with the front desk before moving to sit on the uncomfortable chairs. It was going to be a long night. You were so tired.

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[sweetaesuga]

in your eyes | m

pairing: jungkook x female reader!

genre: smut, fluff, angst, college au, fratboy jk! ex-fuckboy jk! bookworm reader! friends to lovers!

warnings: language, insecurity, drinking, dom jungkook! fingering in public, exhibitionism, female masturbation, grinding, oral (m), dirty talk, light choking, degrading (slut/whore), squirting, creampie, unprotected sex (both are clean but stay safe), bathroom sex, riding, pinning.

word count: 10.6k+

synopsis: jungkook always sees you like the only girl in the world, and you just see him as a fuckboy. OR jungkook just wants a chance🥺

↳ a/n: first time i ever write a fic or smut please enjoy🤧 

You were only sixteen when you met him. He stepped into the classroom in all dark baggy clothes in an uneasy walk. At first glance you would of thought he was a timid person. Wrong, under all of that bullshit you see an egoistic and self-assured asshole that you're somehow happy to call your friend. You even learned that it was facade. Jungkook was a boy with a good heart who always remained loyal to all of his friends.

Jungkook just turned seventeen when he met you, noticing you straight away when you had a nice sense of fashion. You always had on an accessory that matched with the color of your shirt or jeans. You also always wore a bit of bright colors in your outfits. The bright unique makeup is what caught his attention too. He was proud to call you his friend.

When you both happily entered the same college along with your best friend Hayoon, everything changed. He began hanging out with a new group of friends, they were all older than them and deeply influenced him. He joined a fraternity then and began spending less time with you. He only came over to study or celebrate your birthday. His busyness merely reminded you how he preferred to spend his time hooking up with random girls every week rather than play board games with you or rant to him about your new book you were reading.

You don't exactly remember when he started but you do remember all the girls that talked about how amazing he was in bed which solely added more uncertainty on you. You even walked in on him and a freshman girl going at it in one of the sorority’s room at a party you were both attending.

The memory of when he started crushing on you was foggy to you but he always remembered it in a flash. It was when he had a taekwondo match, where circumstantially Jungkook's girlfriend, who wasn't really his girlfriend, at the time couldn't make it. His hopes were put down by the thought of someone not supporting him, since he always tried his best with his own cheerleader being there.

In the middle of the match, his eyes scanned the bleachers, wishing for someone to be there. His wishes were granted as he saw you there. Standing awkwardly, you gave him a little wave with a smile. His chest heaved in glee, sending you a quick smile before he returned to his match.

The sound of you screaming his name when he won, put a enormous smile on his face. Jungkook watched you run down the bleachers, apologizing to all the people you were bumping through. You leaped into his arms easily.

Your next words to him were a blur since Jungkook was too focused on just having you in his arms. He was grinning happily at you, hair sticking to his forehead. His heart heaved with warmth as you hugged him tightly.

He was twenty-one and you were twenty when he realized he had a crush on you.

You were seventeen when you realized you liked him.

But you were nineteen when you realized you would never be good enough for him.

"He then had the audacity to ask me if I slept with anyone else! The nerve of that guy," you felt like your ear was going to bleed out just by listening to your best friend blabber about her ex-boyfriend.

"Why don't you just stop talking to him? I don't know...block his number or something?" you suggested, very uninterested in this conversation about her ex-boyfriend contacting her. She could simply just block him out her life and be done with him. 

You stared at the worn out rubber of the tip of your black converse. She popped the gum in her mouth, the sound became annoying to you. Hayoon squinted her eyes at you, trying to find something to say to argue back to you. She instead changed the subject. "Where were you on Saturday?"

"Studying like the rest of the students here," you moved to rest your weight onto your right leg. "I just can't seem to understand how finals are coming up and some people are out here partying? The library was packed when I got there."

"Yeah well I wouldn't know because I didn't go," she grinned at you. "Instead I went to a party because I'm not a loser like you!" Hayoon giggled to herself and you rolled your eyes. "Also," she popped the gum loudly. "Jungkook was asking for you. Calling for his dream girl. . .or something like that—I don't know can't remember—too drunk you know?"

Your ears perked up to that. "Really?" you tucked a piece of hair behind your ear that got in the way and leaned forward. "Did you remember why he was looking for me?"

Hayoon grinned again. "Even if I do know why would you care? Don't you hate him or something?" she smiled evilly and threw her head back.

You froze and leaned back to your seat. You know what she was trying to do and it was never going to happen.

You were never going to give Jeon Jungkook a chance.

Jungkook stumbled into the library, eyes searching for you immediately. There was nearly a crowd of students that were preparing for finals. "Hey have you guys seen Y/N?" he asked a study group. A girl in your class answered him, telling him that you were somewhere by the windows.

Of course you were, he thought to himself. You would be seated at your usual spot. He walked over to the windows and spotted you straight away. Watching your figure become closer as he walked further, he took the sandwich out of his bag. "Hey Y/N!" you already knew that voice. You looked up at Jungkook. As usual he looked drop-dead gorgeous. He wore his usual dark baggy outfit, a black cargo jogger and a much darker hoodie with some black combat boots. He was showing off his helix piercing and his fresh new haircut.

"Nice haircut," you referred to his undercut and the fact that he was showing forehead. "Seems like you spent a lot of time on it."

"Yeah! Just for you," he smiled, his cheeks being pushed up. You let out a heavy sigh, clearly not in the mood for his flirtatiousness. "Got you a sandwich, by the way," he laid it in front of you.

You let out a small smile and took it from him, trying not to show how your mouth got watery so quickly. "Thanks, you didn't have to though," he shook his head.

"I don't want you starving to death," he sat down next to you, shoulder pressing against yours. "What are you studying for?" his nose nuzzled your ear. You rolled your eyes and shoved him away, ignoring the goosebumps his warm breath caused.

"Just getting my notes ready. Wanna highlight or color code it but feel like it's going to fuck up everything. Also don't wanna be those fucking girls that always have to make their fucking notes pretty. Also, do I look tired?" he studied your face for any features that made you seem exhausted. "I was up till two in morning watching these two Indian guys build a pool."

His eyes lit up. "Oh my god, I come across from those too."

"I know they came up all over my fucking Youtube recommendations. I got sucked into binge watching them. It makes me feel fucking lazy to be honest, the amount of fucking water they carry back and forth. I wouldn’t be able to do that.”

Jungkook snickered and made a note of how much you swore. "I need to make a swear jar for you. You swear too much."

"Not even," you laughed back at him and nudged his shoulder. "I'm just a little frustrated and stressed right now," his gaze dropped on the purple pins in your hair, holding each side of your hair. "I called my mom and she said to not stress over this, but you know how I get," you frowned and turned to him. He finally took in your appearance. Your bright purple eyeshadow with purple gems adorning the top of it. You wore a purple flare pants and a white long sleeved, deep v-line crop top. His eyes dropped down to your cleavage, trying to see if you had a bra on.

"Holy shit Y/N!" the students around him shushed him. He burned up and muttered a sorry to them, you giggled at how embarrassed he looked. "You look amazing. What's the special occasion?"

"Nothing," you shook your head, a smile still on your face. "Can't I dress up once in awhile?" Jungkook raised an eyebrow at you, knowing that you normally only wear outfits like this when they’re new or it’s the first week of school. "Okay," you dragged your word out. "I got this outfit last week and really wanted to use it today. It's cute right?"

"Yeah, really cute," he toyed with your hair pins, messing up your hair.

Neglecting his comment, you carried on. "I even got up in early in the morning to do my makeup. If I'm gonna show up wearing a new outfit, I might as well have a cute ass face to go with it," you frowned when you remembered something. "And I realized I don't have different color hair pins, they're all purple so thank fuck the fucking pants are purple."

"Well I think you look very cute, Y/N. Boop!" he poked your nose gently. You swatted his hand away, warning him to stop but all you're given is a large bunny smile. "Come on, eat your sandwich. I didn't just come all the way over here searching for you just to talk to you."

"Actually you did bitch."

"Oof, swear jar," he rested his palm out in front you. You took a bite out of the sandwich, placing a quarter on his palm. "No a dollar, Y/N."

"No! What the fuck—wait!" he held out his palm again. "That's not fucki—hold up, you can't just say a dollar," you whined and grabbed your bag. "I don't have money growing out of my ass."

"I don't know that yet. I'm gonna have to check to make sure," you threw a dollar at him. He laughed and picked it up.

"I know your kind," you spatted at him and tossed the other two dollars at him which he easily caught. "Wanna drain my f-freaking bank account."

"Oh come on, I want you to be my sugar mama," he jested, leaning forward to give you a huge smug.

"Sucks to be you actually. I'm looking to be a sugar baby, not a sugar mama," you glanced over your shoulder towards him. His laugh echoed and you watched as students gave him a dirty look from how loud it was.

"Of course. You're the brokest bitch in the city no one actually wants you to be their sugar mama," you gasped at his words.

"Am not!"

"Are so!" you both laughed at each other. His hand searched for yours underneath the table. He must've noticed how tensed up you had gotten when he found it, managing to wrap your smaller fingers into his. "I've been meaning to talk to you by the way."

You groaned, knowing where this will be going. "Jungkook, stop I'm not in the mood," you caught a quick glimpse of the time. "Look, I have to go, my bus will be coming soon." You don't let him mention anything else. Bolting out of the library, you leave a crestfallen Jungkook behind.

He shook his head and took the half eaten sandwich you also left behind. He trailed behind you, backpack threatening to fall down his arm. You proceeded to walk to the bus stop, Jungkook just close behind. "Didn't see you at the party on Saturday?" the voice came from behind you. You opt to ignore it but by the sound of his voice it was easy to tell that he has been dying to ask this question. When you didn't answer him, he tried again. "Seriously where were you on Saturday?"

You sunk down on the bench. "None of your business."

"Well, I was kind of worried about you. I thought you were going to be there so that's why I came," he took a seat right besides you. "Once I saw you weren't there, I left."

"I was at the library studying for finals," you weren't sure why you were telling him this.  After his little confession your heart felt weird. If you hadn't told him though, he probably would've guessed it. Still, he needed confirmation.

"What? Why didn't you tell me? We could’ve studied together!" he complained, nudging his shoulder with yours.

"Jungkook stop, I know what you're doing," you glared at him, wanting to get away. He frowned and reached over to hold you. "I already told you no," you hissed, disregarding the way his eyes appeared sunken at your response.

"Why not? I already told you, I'm not messing around anymore. I genuinely want to settle down with someone," he stared into your eyes with such intensity you felt like your brain was going to explode. Your ears took in his words slowly. "I want to be with you."

"Jungkook, please—"

"Come on, one date. I swear to god I've changed," he ranted. He's always been very keen on having a chance with you, but with all those girls that he used to take home you felt otherwise. You would listen to the girls on how good Jungkook was. How good he looked at night in the dark moonlight. How he would manhandle them in random places. How his muscles would appear every time he flexed them. How those hips of his were a miracle. You would be lying to yourself if you said you didn't ever want to see him that way too.

"I'm flattered, I really am—I just really don't want to be with someone like you. I'm sorry," you apologized, brushing a piece of hair behind your ear.

He blinked then squinted his eyes at you. "What do you mean someone like me?" He sounded somewhat offended at your words.

"You used to fuck around!" you fumed and threw your hands up. The bus was coming down the road towards the two of you. "I don't like that."

"Why not?" He's way too stubborn to let you go, you forgot.

"Because...I just don't okay? Lets leave it there," you stood up and walked over to the bus once it opened its doors. He followed close behind. Before you can enter your dollar into the machine, he does it for you.

The bus driver smiled at him while you glared at him. You walked to the back of the bus, smiling to all the other passengers but secretly upset. Jungkook still followed you like a lost puppy. You slid down in the seat. Your left arm feeling the side of the bus once you properly sat down. "Here, I'll pay you back," you hold out the dollar bill but he sat still in his seat.

"Well shit, sugar mama not right now," You sighed and put it back in your bag. You heard him snort.

"Come on, tell me why you won't give me a chance and I'll leave you alone," he offered. He held your eyes for a moment before you let out a breath of air and looked away.

If he’ll leave you alone, then you must have to say why you won’t grant him a chance with you, a chance for him to become your boyfriend.

"I'm too insecure for you," he opened his mouth but you shushed him. "I'm not...how do I put this? I'm not like them?" you questioned and glanced over at him. He had a look of worry washed all over his face. "The girls that you were with are those who are all popular, party all day, and are very attractive. They all do casual sex, and I don't want be that type of person, I want something serious. Like you have dated Soojin! She's really pretty, makes me gay even," you chuckled at yourself. "That's not the point though. If I'm with you, all I could ever think about is the girls you were with and how different I am from them. I just can't be with someone when all I'll ever think about are my insecurities with them. So how could I possibly ever be good enough for you?" you don't look at him after that.

He sighed and gripped your small hand into his. You almost cringed when you remembered how sweaty your hands were. "That's why I'm after you though. You're not like them. I wanted a change. You are good enough, you'll always be good enough for me. Hell, I feel like I’m not good enough for you. And I really don't care if you're any of that other stuff. I still want to have a shot with you." you don't realize how long you both were holding eye contact. The two of you don't look away from each other however. You don’t even comprehend how close you two have gotten. He reached over to push back a strand of your hair behind your ear. Your breath hitched.

"I don't know Jungkook, I'm just really unsure," you admitted and leaned back in your seat to create some distance between you two. "My mind isn't clear right now but I highly doubt I would want to give you a chance."

"Really? You don't want me?" he bit his lip and glanced over at you. "How can I change your mind?" you stopped functioning when he reached over to press up against your thigh. His fingers travelled over to your inner thigh. He kept rubbing circles around there for a few minutes, hand drawing closer each time. Your cheeks grew crimson once you wrapped your mind around on how wet you become so quickly, and he barely even touched you what an embarrassment.

You were only getting aroused quickly because of how long your dry spell was. You haven’t being touched in so long that you craved it so much, no matter who it was with.

"What are you doing?" you hated how you felt so hot under his eyes at the moment. He brushed you aside until you repeated your question again.

"Nothing," his lips curved upwards. He faced forward, ignoring the fact that his hand was practically between your legs.

"Jungkook, stop that!" you hissed and whacked his hand away. He withdrew his hand from your inner thigh but still kept it at the top of your thigh. His thumb gently tracing circles into your skin.

"Bet you're fucking wet under that," he commented. You caught his stare, watching his eyes fixed on your cleavage. A smile forms across his face when he takes notice of how you're rubbing your thighs together. "Don't be scared, I'll go easy on you. You wearing those pink panties that I love on you?"

You knew what he was referring to. Leaving your laundry on your bed wasn't a good idea especially when an excited Jungkook was coming over to watch a new episode of You, but he didn't give you time to pick it up so your baby pink lace underwear was out on the sheets. "Shut up. I'm not going to let you do shit," you furiously crossed your arms over your chest. His eyes flickered back down to your breasts that were shoved up into a tighter position.

"Really? You say that but you're on the verge of asking me to touch you. I know it, Y/N," you bit your lip hard to avoid saying something. You heard him laugh. "It's okay, no one will notice, if you're a good slut and keep your mouth shut." Your eyes widened at his words.

You’ve never been called a degrading name in bed. With the two boyfriends you’ve been with, they always called you loving names that had gotten boring quick as well as their vanilla sex. Yet somehow it stirred you up at the thought of being called a slut, especially Jungkook calling you that.

But it was almost like a completely different Jungkook had surfaced. You knew he was some sort of sex god but didn't expect him to have such a dirty mouth. You decided to test the waters. A little fun wouldn’t hurt.

You spread your legs a little wider, inviting him to get closer. He stared into your eyes as you stared down at his hand. "Unbutton your pants," he demanded. Your eyes expanded even more at his words. You were just thinking of getting him eager not to do something here.

You looked around to see if anyone could see or hear you two but they were all facing forward and minding their own business. Your hands went to unbutton your pants, pushing your zipper down. "Open your legs," you did as you were told. "Wider, wider," your right leg rested on top of his muscular thigh. "You wet enough?" he asked, reaching down to your core. You shivered when his hand entered your underwear. He sinks his two fingers in and you whined. He took his fingers out, gazing on the glistening wetness on it.

"Dirty fucking slut," he murmured and dig his fingers back into you. You gripped his wrist harshly but encouraged him to add more fingers. He complied and proceeded to finger you in the back of the bus. "Never thought I would finger the girl of my dreams in the back of the bus," he chuckled as he heard you calling out his name. "You gotta be quiet if you don't wanna get caught." he teased softly. He pounded his fingers into you faster. His eyes laying upon your furrowed eyebrows and bitten lip. You began to nudge into his fingers, meeting him halfway with the movement of your hips. Your grip on his wrist tightened as he touched your clit with the tip of his finger. He snorted and proceeded to move against you, ignoring his hardness that was forming in his pants. You threw your head back and stared up at the ceiling. You bit your lip hard, almost drawing blood.

Jungkook clutched your knee, forcing you to open wider. You raked over the passengers in the seat, who are still unaware of you getting fingered at the back of the bus. You moaned into his hoodie. You let go of his wrist to hold his bicep. He looked down at you. He reached over to cup your face, bringing your lips to meet his. You’re taken back a little but nonetheless you open your mouth to tempt him to slid his mouth in. He fulfilled your craving. The two of you looked like random teenagers making out in the back but what they couldn't see was his fingers stuck up your wet core.

"Jesus fucking Christ," you said under your breath, pulling away from his redden lips. His fingers pounded brutally into you. He showed no sign of slowing down.

"You make a fucking noise and I swear to god I will take you on this bus full of people. I don't give a fuck, Y/N," your pussy quenched around him at that. Your wetness glimmered on his fingers.

"Oh my god, Jungkook, oh my god," you moaned against his neck. Hiding your face from him, you picked up the pace of your hips. "Uh—fuck, holy shit do that again," you referred to him touching your clit. He does that again. "Oh fuck," you whimpered when you felt an uneasy feeling building up within you. "I'm gonna fucking cum."

"Yeah? That fucking early? I knew your little pussy wouldn't be able to take it," Jungkook's lips formed a smirk. "And this is just with my fingers babe. Bet you can't handle my dick," you ignored him. You sobbed into his neck and leaned up to kiss him in efforts to silence your moans, cumming hard all over his fingers. It takes two minutes before you released Jungkook from the kiss. He drew his hand away from your skirt and made sure you were holding eye contact with him when he cleaned his fingers with his tongue.

You gulped. Reality finally hit you. You had let Jungkook finger you in the back of the bus. 

You pushed back against your seat and looked around to see if anyone was looking. Everyone on the bus was still unaware and you felt like you can breathe again. "Holy shit I can not believe we just did that," you brushed your hair back, somewhat disappointed at yourself for not stopping him.

Jungkook's smile surfaced. "I can't believe you just let me do that. Wanna return the favor?" he asks jokingly but watched your face to see if you were willing to suck him off. His hopes are put down when a frown appeared on your face and he could tell you wouldn't feel comfortable with that. "Joking babe."

"Don't call me that, please," you stressed. "This was a mistake, seriously don't ever speak of this with any of your friends. We're not going to speak of it either."

"I wasn't even going to," he muttered and looked away. "Funny how it's a mistake, Y/N, when you were over here telling me to keep going."

You fanned yourself, flapping your hand back and forth in front of your face. Jungkook looked at the layer of sweat near your hairline that glistened under the sunlight. "Stop, it was in the heat of the moment. It seriously was a mistake," he opened his mouth but you carried on. "Especially in the back of the bus, oh god, I'm really disappointed in myself," you zipped up your flare pants, not minding that your underwear is sticking to you.

"And I'm really disappointed in you too, for not giving me a chance," Jungkook said with knitted eyebrows. You sit away from him, making sure there was a good amount of space between the two of you. "Oh are you just going to ignore me now?" he isn't given a response, your tongue knotted together in your mouth. "So that's how it's gonna be now?"

You gathered your bag. The bus curving towards the upcoming bus stop. "This is my stop," you disclosed. He captured your forearm which quickly caught your attention.

"Don't be like this, Y/N." You shrug him off and walked out of the bus, leaving Jungkook and his gloomy thoughts behind.

"Shut up, stop playing with me!" Hayoon exclaimed, her eyes glimmered with interest as you filled her in on the day before. "You did not let Jungkook finger you on the back of the bus," she laughed out loud at her sentence, still not believing the words coming out of your mouth. You groaned and sunk your head back down on the table. "I mean gross, but hey, you're catching dick."

"I'm not catching dick, and stop saying it's gross it makes me even more disappointed in myself."

"I just don't understand how you can tell him you don't want him and tell him the reasons why and then let him finger you at the back of the bus?!" your face scrunched up at her words. "I seriously don't get it Y/N. It's like you're provoking the guy that's going after you and that's pretty fucked up. Play with his dick, not his emotions, oh wait—”

"I told him no multiple times."

"Then why the fuck would you let him finger you in the back of a bus?" Hayoon rubbed her temple before munching on a fry. "I think you do have a crush on him, you just don't want to date him because of all the girls he’s been with.”

You let her words settle in your mind for a moment, not even realizing that she held your hand in hers. "But baby, that's called the past. It's the least thing you got to worry about since you already know it. Take a risk, go out with him. He's ready to be in a serious relationship with you, he's been telling me this since Friday."

You sighed, lips forming a pout. "I don't know."

"Well make up your mind quick cause' he's coming this way," her words are rushed as she glanced over at Jungkook, who's heading over your way.

"What?!" you're just about to turn your head his direction when Hayoon grabbed your jaw.

"What are you doing you stupid bitch?! Don't look—okay, pretend like I'm not here, pretend like I'm not here!" she turned away from you and placed her earbuds in her ears.

"Wait does my hair look good?!" you caught her by the arm before she can leave.

"For who?"

You snapped her head towards Jungkook, who's already smiling at you. His black cap floated over his eyes as he dug his fingers into the pockets of his jogger pants. You coughed when you perceived that you were checking him out. "Um, no one. Just wanted to see if it's messy," you don't know why but your cheeks burned so hard, maybe at the fact that you know it is messy.

His hand came in contact with your head before he moved a strand of your hair that looked out of place before pushing your baby hairs down. You swatted his hands away, ignoring how your warm ears were tingling. "There, it's not that messy anymore. I brought something."

He sat down besides you. You eyes fluttered over to Hayoon. She spread a smirk out on her lips. While Jungkook continued finding the item he wanted to show you, something along the words that it was a jar. Her fist comes up besides her mouth, opening it slightly. Your cheeks become crimson when she began to push her left fist towards her mouth while her tongue kept knocking into her right cheek.

"Here," Jungkook placed a jar in front of you, the bright glittery letters mocking you. Swear Jar, it read at the front. "Every time you cuss, it's more money to my bank account."

Your lips loop downwards into a frown. Your eyebrows furrowed together in the progress. "Not fair, I told you I didn't want to be a sugar mama."

"Fine, this is both of our swear jar."

"Deal."

"Okay, now that that's out of the way, we can talk about yesterday," he put the glittery jar, he decorated last night for you, back in his backpack. A sudden weight pressed down on your shoulders at the thought of him bringing up what happened yesterday.

"Jesus Christ, what do you carry in there?" Hayoon added unintentionally and you're thankful for that. As much as she wanted to know about the encounter between the two of you, she also wanted to know what Jungkook carried in that big bag of his.

"Dildos."

"Wait, deadass?" she jumped up in her seat. I snorted at her, earning a glare. Jungkook's lips formed a line, specifying that he was joking. "Well fuck, it just looks like it's gonna break your back. Dude you know what that reminds me of?" she asked you. Your mind doesn't come across anything so you shook your head. "The Rosie girl? She was giving dildos out at this campus cause' she wanted to, quote, fight absurdity with absurdity. All over Twitter. Wish I could be there to get one."

Jungkook's eyes crinkled up as he laughed at her. The sound ringing through your ears, only to devaste you even more. "Can we talk about yesterday?" he leaned over and whispered to you.

You swore you felt his lips brushing against your ear. It stirred up your brain. "What about yesterday?" your hands started shaking and you hoped he didn't see how anxious you have become.

Luck wasn't on your side today however, his upcoming question boosting your anxiety even more. "Why are your hands shaking so much?" he grasped his bigger hand in yours.

You are quick to take it out of his. "We agreed that we wouldn't talk about what happened yesterday. It was a mistake I didn't—"

"No, you agreed that we wouldn't talk about it," his voice raised slightly to get your attention. Your mouth snapped shut. "We need to talk about it. How the fuck can you be playing with my feelings like this?" Hayoon whistled, mentally seeing eye to eye with Jungkook. "I want to have a chance with you, a shot at us. You give me all these mixed signals and then when I try to make a move on you, all of the sudden you act like a bitch Y/N."

"Well what do you want me to say? That I fucking like you back too?" you challenged and stood up from your chair. The students around you turned their heads over to you, watching the scene in front of them unfold. "How the fuck am I even playing with your feelings? I said I wanted to just be friends! I'm sorry that you're misinterpreted our friendship but that's not my problem!" you wished you could've shut your mouth but all you could see was red. Perhaps you were letting go of all the rage you’ve ever resented over him for the past months.

For ditching you to attend parties or being with other girls. For not always being there for you.

"What the fuck do you mean that's not my problem?!" he mimicked you, staring up at you. "You let me finger you and you expect me to believe that you just wanna be friends? Are you even listening to yourself?! You felt something back there."

Hayoon stepped in, walking over to the two of you. "Okay, I think you guys should just shut up," your eyes wandered around the room, where everyone was watching your interaction.

"Whatever," Jungkook's chair scraped the floor harshly as he pushed it back. He dug into his backpack before placing the jar in front of you. "You can keep that and this," he put down a package full of glittery hair pins, all different colors. Your heart wrenched as you watched him walk away, sullen. His steps are quick so he can take the attention off of him.

You turned the jar and saw that the top had words on it. Splattered in messy pink glitter, Sugar Mama's Swear Jar :D.

Jungkook was avoiding you. You could tell because he stopped coming after school to study with you, which was okay at first until you found yourself yearning for him.

It was stupid, really. After all that debate on how you two should just stay friends, you can't just tell him how much you miss him. That'll make you seem like an ass.

And trust me that's the last thing you want.

Your day was going bad, your professor yelled at you for not paying attention and put you in the spot, embarrassing you in front of the class. You were okay until a girl gave you a look of pity and you had a breakdown in the bathroom right after.

When you went to go meet up with Hayoon, it'll only got worse. She cancelled on you after forcing you to wait for her for thirty minutes. Just as you're leaving a group of middle schoolers thought it would be funny to step on a ketchup packet and let splatter everywhere, resulting in the back of your white top covered in dots of ketchup.

You swore you almost hit the kid who came up with it, even thought about running him over when you saw that the stains were everywhere and even in your hair.

After showering and getting the ketchup out of your hair, you went to work that ensued in you coming home with mascara practically running down your eyes, that were ready to pour out tears if something else happened to you, due to you wrongly mixing up orders and getting yelled out by a customer.

Now here you were, sitting on the living room floor with wet hair after taking another shower which mainly just involved you sitting on the tile floor and crying. You ate the Chinese takeout you have gotten during the way, ignoring the way people were staring at you, with sympathy.

It was the last thing you needed. Maybe karma was coming to get you for saying those things to Jungkook. But at this point all you wanted was some reassurance, a shoulder to cry on, someone to be there for you.

Jungkook.

You couldn't sleep. No matter how hard you tried you just couldn't. Hell, you even closed your eyes for a solid thirty minutes yet you were not able to drift off into slumber. Maybe it had to due with the weather? It was freezing, if you stepped a foot outside you would become an ice sculpture in an instant.

Or maybe, the most logical one compared to all the others, was Jungkook fingering you on the bus. You can't seem to get that scene off your mind. Your brain kept drifting over on how stunning he appeared, his dark eyes staring straight at yours as he watched your mouth form an O shape. He only ever broke eye contact when he snuck a look of how his fingers vanished into your pants.

Then your mind would stumble onto the memory of you yelling at him, telling him how his feelings for you were not your fault. You despised yourself at that moment. You sighed and laid back into your pillow, staring up into the ceiling. "I can't believe I am even having these types of thoughts," you slowly opened your legs while shutting your eyes. As long as you don't think about him, it'll be okay.

But you do. Sliding off your underwear, the first thing you thought about was Jungkook. His bunny smile rested on his face. You opened your eyes to get him off your mind and closed them again. You let out a gentle moan when you feel how wet you are.

He came back again. This time he settled right besides you on the bed. His hand is shoved between your legs. You moaned when he buried his head in your neck and kissed your skin there. "You like that, princess?"

You frowned immediately, he didn't call you any pet names. From what you can remember, he called you a degrading name.

"You like that dirty slut?" you mewled at him. He moved his fingers ceaselessly inside of you whilst breathing down your neck.

The sound of a zipper being undone makes your eyes crack open. You took a glimpse of Jungkook, his hand disappearing inside his jeans that displayed his muscular thighs.

You whined at him and he hovered on top of you. Your breathing got heavier as his cock sprung out of his jeans. "Oh god," you moaned as he slid himself inside of you so effortlessly. Your hands moved quicker inside of you. Feeling your wetness spill out of you and onto the mattress underneath you, you imagined him pounding into you. Your hands clamped on his long hair with your legs in the air as his hips furiously snapping into you.

It doesn't take you long to cum, given the fact at Jungkook's pace it seemed like he wasn't going to stop. He disappeared, leaving you sweaty and tired on the bed with your fingers stuck inside you. "Holy shit, I can not believe I just did that.

Recalling your words that were thrown at Jungkook, a heavy weight on your shoulder returned heavier as ever, reminding you how you practically lost your shot with him.

Shame on you for not giving Jeon Jungkook a chance.

"I think I was too harsh on him."

"You think? Don't lie to me bitch, you know you were fucking harsh on him," Hayoon stood in the middle of your room, scanning your closet for a dress she can wear to a party.

It was almost three days since your argument with Jungkook in front of everyone. You expected to make up with him on Thursday but Jungkook avoided you like you were the plague. He didn't text you for any notes he needed to borrow, nor did he usually come to study with you or leave you a sandwich. You never realized how apart of your life he became, especially when he didn't sit next to you for one of your shared classes. Instead, he chose to sit next to Taehyung, his best friend. It was Friday now and to be quite honest, you missed him.

"Don't trip about it. He could be at the party tonight, getting over you and possibly getting himself a girlfriend so you don't have to worry about him pinning over you. Now what the fuck should I wear?"

You didn't like the sound of that. Jungkook possibly finding another girl. Your consciousness settled back in your mind. How can you even say shit like that? You rejected him, you have no right to tell him not to move on. You sighed to yourself and laid back into the bed. "Maybe I shouldn't go. I don't wanna see him."

"I don't wanna see him." she dragged the straps of your orange dress up her figure. "Shut up because on Wednesday you kept asking why he wouldn't talk to you, like bitch I wouldn't talk to you either with that shit you pulled back there."

"Why not?"

"You're not serious right?" she turned back to you. She raised her eyebrow, challenging you. You groaned and followed her out of the room when she didn't receive an answer. "That's what I thought," you heard her under her breath.

"Not gonna lie, I think I'm gonna break my ankle with these bitches," you pointed down at your high heels, slowing down. You stopped to fix them. Hayoon carried on walking to her car, leaving you behind.

"You wanted to wear them. Now get in," she honked her horn. You hissed at her, reminding her that the neighbors are going to complain. "Don't give a fuck, get in loser we're going to party!" she honked her horn longer.

You ran to her car when you realized she wasn't going to stop. "You need the swear jar, you stupid bitch."

"Not even," before you could say something back, her music blasts through the car. She screamed out the lyrics, encouraging you to join along. "In your eyes! You lie but I don't let it define you—oh define you!"

"You sound like a dying cat."

"I tried to find—fuck you then."

Along the way you started to wonder how she even got her driver's license. Hayoon almost went on the sidewalk when she was tried to park which forced you to get out of the car and direct her.

"Keep going, keep going."

"Fuck, bitch you sure? I don't want another ticket for being on the red line," her head stuck out to make sure she wasn't going to hit the car behind her.

"Yes I'm sure—okay stop!" Hayoon shuts off the engine, stumbling out of the car. She laughed to herself before walking up to the fraternity house with you. "Okay, I forgot what it was like coming here."

The first smell that filled your nostrils was vomit. You glanced down towards the ground and saw a distraught girl on the front lawn throwing up while her friend rubbed her back. Hayoon advised you not to look, to give the poor girl some pity. Reluctantly, you entered the house with a clumsy walk. Hayoon noticed and suggested that you go have a drink. You at first declined but once your eyes scanned the room and landed on Jungkook leaning against a wall with a redhead clinging onto him. You made your way to the open kitchen. Unknown to you, jealousy boiled in your stomach.

So that's how you end up on your first shot of a tequila with a cup of vodka already resting in your liver. You weren't drunk, still you were not far from being tipsy. Conscious enough to see that Jungkook's eyes were on you while you downed the shot. Eyes focused on your throat as you swallowed. He exhaled, watching you pull out your phone and tap away. The red head girl right besides him, tried calling his name out to hook his attention. He brushed her off, muttering something to her that he didn't sleep around anymore.

His frustration grew even more when he saw you wandering over to the middle of the room where sweaty bodies were grinding on each other. Your flimsy black silky dress was not doing him justice either, seeing how tight it was on your figure. It showed off your curves well; he hated how good you looked. There was a big opening in the back that stopped near your hips. Should be a crime to look that good, he thought to himself while trying to keep his eyes on you.

Your hips swayed to the music blasting throughout the house. You opened your eyes, landing on Jungkook immediately. His eyes devouring you as he took a sip of his beer, eyes locked on your hips. You tried not to look at him again but still wondered what was going in that mind of his. You raised your hands up in the air, dress threatening to rise up.

Your curiosity got the best of you. Squinting one eye open to take a peek of Jungkook but you failed to locate him.

A gasp left your mouth as someone pressed their front on your back, rubbing their crotch on your ass. A whiff of the sweet scented Victoria Secret perfume gave the identity away. You tilted your head so that it laid on his chest. Confirming your thought, Jungkook stared down at you with dark eyes. His arm muffled around your waist to press you further into his chest. He felt his body go ease when he saw your lips bunch up into a smile. Your hips rocked from side to side on him. Jungkook held his hand on your waist, encouraging you to continue. You willingly do so arms flinging on his neck as you dragged yourself down his chest. His growing bulge poked your ass as you grind yourself on him. Your head laid back on him. Jungkook leaned down to meet your lips. His mouth entwined with yours, lip gloss rubbing off onto his mouth. You moaned into his mouth and sensed that his hand was harshly holding one of your ass cheeks.

"You wanna go upstairs?" He was somewhat taken back at your suggestion but agreed nonetheless. With his fingers keeping a firm grip on yours, the two of you went upstairs.

He guided you towards the room, which all winded up preoccupied due to freshman trying to lose their virginities. You cringed when you come face to face with someone's bare ass pushing against the lanky girl. Jungkook pushed you into the bathroom, telling a man to fuck off when he tried getting in.

"Hey," you glanced up from the floor onto Jungkook's eyes. He offered you a small awkward smile, warming your heart as if he wasn't rubbing his dick on your ass a few minutes ago.

"Hi," your voice sounded very small and Jungkook wanted to reach out and reassure you that he only came up to you to apologize, not to have you grind on him in the middle of the room. "I'm sorry," you began, eyes fixed to the ground. "Everything I said on that day was really fucked up. I care about your feelings. I care about you and I was giving you mixed signals and it's not okay."

"I'll be fine," his hand held your arm, rubbing it slightly. "It's okay if you don't return my feelings, I'll get over it—"

"But that's the thing I don't want you to get over it."

Jungkook blinked once, twice, and then another third time. Trying to comprehend your words while also trying to figure out what he was going to say was hard.

Your glossy lips moved. "I'm really willing to give you a chance and I'm so sorry for being such a cunt about it. I just—I needed some realization to understand my feelings. Truth is I've had a crush on you, but every time I saw you with these girls I always told myself I'm not good enough for you and that I'll never be. I’m also mad at the fact that you’re barely realizing your feelings towards me just now.”

He doesn't say anything which doesn't help your anxious state at the moment. Your gut scolded you, reminding you that you probably lost your chance and now you look like an idiot to him right now, confessing your feelings.

Jungkook sighed before embracing you. You stand still in shock from his sudden movements but chose to hug him back. His chin dropped down onto your head. "You're good enough for me, Y/N. You always have been and I'm sorry that it took me all these years for me to realize that."

"I couldn't stop thinking of you and all the shit I said. I'm really sorry from the bottom of my heart," you admitted.

His bulge pushed against you and your cheeks flushed warm. Jungkook didn't say anything but bent down to kiss you. His lips moved roughly against yours. Your fingers coming up towards his hair to run through them. His hands digging harshly into your ass, possibly leaving small bruises behind but you're unbothered by it.

You pulled away, enough to stare up at his eyes. "I seriously couldn't stop thinking about you. I fucking masturbated to you, just by thinking of the bus shit," you confessed, watching his face lit up in surprise.

"Yeah? What was going on in that head of yours?" he encouraged you. You giggled at him, his thigh coming between your thighs.

"Your fingers in my pussy," your cheeks burned pink as he coaxed you to go on. "Your big dick pounding in me."

The look on his face is priceless but it just stayed there for a mere second as Jungkook recollected himself. He couldn't believe what was coming out of your mouth, never in a million years would he ever imagine you of all people saying this. The warmth travelled towards his crotch as he hardened at your words. His friend of seven years, his crush for almost two years was here in front of him, revealing that she touched herself to the thought of him. A blissful comfort spread all over his body.

"Don't you want that to happen?" he didn't even realize how close you were, he was too caught up in his thoughts. "You don't want to fuck my brains out?"

Your thighs closed around his thick ones. You reached up to kiss his neck, pecking his soft skin. Jungkook grunted as you left open mouth kisses behind, gripping his hand and directing it near your hips.

"I can't do it here," Jungkook whispered to you once he grasped the circumstances. In a fraternity bathroom with people out there that can possibly hear you two? Jungkook would never allow himself to touch you here the first time you two have sex. You whined against him, rubbing your crotch on his thigh. "Shit, seriously Y/N? You're making this hard for me."

"What your dick? Why? I don't care where we do it. I just—I need it to happen—come on Jungkook fuck me," if your mind wasn't clouded by lust you would been very disappointed at yourself for what you were saying, but you could care less. He closed his eyes and tilted his head towards the ceiling. He was fighting with himself.

The only sound in the bathroom was the loud heavy bass music playing and the two of you heavily breathing. "Do you want me to go find another guy out there that can do the job for you or what?" you tried riling him up and it worked cause Jungkook was staring at you with dark hooded eyes. "Cause' I could walk out there and take any guy home with me do you want that?" you both know deep down you wouldn’t be able to do that. You’re too shy.

Jungkook came across as if something possessed him suddenly. His hair falling over his eyes slightly. His tongue came out of his mouth to moisten his lips. "Get on your fucking knees," Jungkook snapped, a hand going back to get tangled in your hair. You dropped down to the ground. "I wanna see your pretty tits," you pulled down the straps of your dress and got rid of your strapless bra, throwing it aside. "Well aren't you a desperate cock sucking whore?" you whined at him with your dress bunched up around your waist. "What don't tell me you like being called that?" he chuckled. Your cheeks flushed in humiliation.

You reached over to unzip his jeans. He merely let out a chuckle, extremely satisfied with your avidity. As you rolled down his boxers, his hand wrapped around your hair. "Look up at me, whore," your eyes jerked up to him. "Open your mouth," you gulped at the size, wondering if it was even going to fit in your poor mouth. He teased, rubbing the head of his cock on your lips when you did. Your jaw ached as you tried opening as wide as you can to please him. You looked up at him as he slid his cock in your mouth. He groaned, loving the warmth and wetness of your mouth surrounding him. He maintained the eye contact between you two whilst he carried on shoving his dick in your throat. You moaned and moved back once it hit your throat. But before you can, he gripped the back of your hair firmly and thrusted his hips forward. You gagged around him, tears brewing and ready to burst out. You extended your hands out to his thighs. He held your head in place, his cock shoving down your throat at an animalistic speed. "What a good little slut," he eventually praised you. "Letting me fuck her throat hard and shit," you shut your eyes.

You regret doing so. Feeling a tug to your hair, your eyes snap open and look up. "You get praised like a good bitch once and you think you can be a bad girl? I don't think so, whore," he stared straight into your eyes with his dark orbs devouring you. Your drool slithering down your chin. You peer up at him with desperation written all over your face. Your fingers glided down to your dress. You kept your gaze on him when your fingers entered your pussy, feeling how wet you are. "Are you seriously touching yourself?" he sounded thrilled at the idea. Jungkook stopped moving for a second, allowing you to suck on the head of his cock. He watched mascara run down your cheeks, feeling some sort of ego boost that he was making you look this way.

You nodded frantically, moving your fingers faster. You sucked him harder, your jaw throbbing as you attempted to deep throat him. He forced your head deeper so that your nose was touching his pubic hair. "I didn't give you permission, disobedient slut. You got three seconds to finish," he finished with a sullen laugh, knowing you weren't. "One, two–" Jungkook watched your eyes become watery as you hopelessly tried to get yourself to cum in just three seconds. "—three, take your fingers out whore."

You obeyed and showed him your fingers, glittering under the bathroom light, even though on the inside you were begging to be touched again. You thought of going against him. Jungkook let a cackle escape from his mouth. "Fuck, you're so fucking wet I bet you're fucking leaking out onto the floor."

You mewled, bobbing your head up and down. Releasing his cock out of your mouth with a lewd pop, you batted your eyelashes up at him. "I'm so fucking wet for you," he flashed you a quick grin, obviously content with your answer. He brought your fingers up to his mouth, sucking them off while maintaining eye contact with you. His tongue swirled around your finger as you repeat the same motion on his cock. He released your finger.

"You can use your hands," you pull away right after he said that. You pumped him rapidly, your hand moving back and forth. Your ears took in his grunts, feeling some pride for causing him to make those noises. He almost came when he felt your warm, wet mouth around one of his balls.

"I want you to cum on my tits." he agreed, staring down at you. Tension builds within his stomach as he groaned out loud. You gaped at him when his cum shoots towards your neck, aiming towards your breasts.

Jungkook's breathing became heavier as he came back down from his blissful state that he was in. He grew hard in a instant when he saw how fucked you looked. Your mascara running down your eyes, leaving a trail of black ink behind. Your hair was tangled together into a mess due to him gripping it so tightly. With saliva dripping down your red swollen smeared lips, his eyes drifted further down. The straps of the dress you were wearing were rolled out into your stomach, exhibiting your perky breasts that are smeared with his cum.

"You look like a fucked whore," he smiled at you with satisfaction resting in his mind.

You giggled at him, tucking your hair behind your ear. "Yeah, not just for you," you gazed up at him, a small smile on your lips.

He helped you get off the floor. His facial expression is now serious, indicating that he wasn't happy with your answer. Jungkook's fingers tapped the cold surface of the sink, indicating to sit down on it. You do so, opening your legs slowly.

He watched, eyes strictly locked in between your legs. "Who are you so wet for?" he asked.

You snorted and shrugged which only grew him more frustrated.

Jungkook growled and flipped you over. He bended you over the bathroom sink and bore his eyes into you by the mirror. "You wanna keep acting like a slut, you're might as well be fucked like one," you silently squealed in excitement. Jungkook lifted your dress up in one go. He pulled your underwear down, making you step out of them. "Put your leg on the counter," he commanded and you do as you're told. Lifting your right leg on the counter while the other one remained on the ground. You heard him frantically pull down his jeans. You gasped when you feel the tip on your entrance. He reached over for the condom on the counter.

"No!" you exclaimed. Jungkook stopped and looked down at your worriedly, wondering if you wanted to stop now. You gulped, feeling your cheeks burned in embarrassment. "Don't use one please." you whined. "I want to feel you raw."

You heard Jungkook chuckle from behind you. He felt like he was on cloud nine, he was fucking thriving. "Yeah? My fucking slut wants me to do her raw?" he started pushing himself. You held your breath as your walls allowed him to enter, tightening around his big shaft. His cock rimmed inside of you

"Y-yeah," you manage to choke out, staring at him through the mirror. He maintained eye contact to where your bodies connected, watching his cock sink into you as he held your hips in place. 

"Has any other guy fucked you raw, slut?" Jungkook brought his hand around your throat. You sensed that you could orgasm right there. You shook your head as he finally is inside of you fully. "What was that? Use your words, come on you're a big girl," he gripped your inner right thigh with so much strength, he could break it off if he tried. I mean those biceps.

"N-no only you. Just for you," he grinned at that.

"Good," you let out a loud moan when he started finally moving. His hips rutted into yours at an animalistic speed. He stared at you through the mirror, watching how your mouth opens and your breasts jiggle. He pressed your throat a little harder. "Bet no guy ever made you feel this way."

"Only you, Jungkook! Only you!" you manage to breath out. Your knuckles are almost white by how hard you're holding onto the counter. He lowers himself so his face is near your ear.

"Yeah? Look at you, telling me how I'll never have you yet you're over here drooling over my dick. Fucking whore." you whined harder as he breathed down your neck. You feel yourself began getting more wetter at his words. "Imagine what your family and friends will say when they find out you're letting me fuck you in the ass in a dirty bathroom at a frat party."

You shut your eyes, your pussy swallowing him back in. His hand squeezed your throat a little tighter. "Fucking slut," he snapped his hips at you. You moaned out loud, shamelessly. "On the dance floor dancing like one."

"Because I am one," he chuckled at that, fingers coming up to pinch your nipple.

"Yeah? Who do you belong to? Whose slut are you?" the grip on your throat tightened, not enough to block your airway however. Jungkook kept his eye on you through the mirror, your lips molding into an oval shape. His palm came down to meet one of your asscheeks. You jumped forward, Jungkook pulling you back onto his cock. He stopped moving to lock eyes with you through the mirror, his lips hovering over your ear. "When I ask you a question, I expect a fucking answer," you tried to move your hips a bit but he caught you before you can. "Now," his voice deepened. "Whose slut are you?"

"Your slut! I'm your slut! Jungkook, please—"

"Yeah? Scream when I fuck you so that everyone knows who your pussy belongs to," his hips rammed into you again. You swore you can feel him fucking into your cervix. You let a loud moan break free from your mouth, his hot breath fanned your ear.

A roaring pounding on the door snapped his head away. You whimpered and become aware that his pace was reducing as his attention was now on the other man trying to get in. Jungkook yelled out words that sounded fuzzy to your ears considering all you could hear is your heartbeat.

"No, no, Jungkook don't stop," you pleaded with him, twisting yourself to look at his lust filled eyes. "I'm almost there please!"

You almost screamed at him when he pulled out. He sat on the toilet lid, tapping his thighs that were spread out in front of him. "Ride me," he demanded. You're somehow quick on your wobbly legs, getting on top of him. You grasped his swollen red cock, lining it up with your entrance before sinking down.

Jungkook's hand went towards your hip to support you while the other one went further down to touch your swollen clit. His mouth came near your ear as you cried out his name. "If you don't come in the next minute, you're not cumming tonight, got it slut?" you panted but nonetheless nodded frantically.

And with that Jungkook sat back, watching you fuck yourself on his cock, you were basically using him as a toy and Jungkook loved that. The desperation look on your face was amusing and Jungkook stored in in his memories.

"Oh shit! Fuck I'm almost there," his palm travelled further down to rub your ass.

"Time's almost up," he wasn't actually keeping track but your determination to cum on such a short amount of time was adorable to him. Your thighs smacked his, bouncing on his cock faster. Jungkook's finger carried on rubbing against your clit, his eyes trailing down from your face to your bouncing breasts.

Your eyes rolled back as you heaved up. Your mouth opened wide, feeling your orgasm wash over you. Jungkook heard his name leave your mouth, panting. He almost came when he felt something warm soak into his jeans. Looking down, he became aware of what just happened.

"Fucking dirty slut," he hissed and allowed you to relax your head on his shoulder as your whole weight sunk down on him. His ears took in your sniffles. "Look what you did, squirted all over me slut."

Your cheeks burned in humiliation, nuzzling your nose into his shoulder.

You gasped when he lifted his hips up to meet yours. You cried out to him to stop but Jungkook's quick to silence you with his fingers stuffed in your mouth. Your tears threatened to spill. "You're so tight, fuck! Need to fuck you more, whore,"

It doesn't take long for him to sprout into you, judging the way you tightened around him and how fucked your face look when he looked down to meet your eyes. With his cum coating your walls, he slid out of you. A bit of cum came out and dropped down to his black pants leaving a white stain behind.

You attempted to stand out on your own but failed due to you not being able to feel your legs for a second. Luckily, Jungkook is there to help you. He bent down to help you put on your underwear.

"Are you on birth control?" he asked while zipping up his pants. You checked your face in the mirror, noticing the hickeys all over your neck and the mascara smothered down your cheeks.

You turned to look at him, pulling your dress down."Are you really asking me after we just had sex? Where's my bra by the way?" your face is met with your bra when he flung it at you.

He laughed, watching you put it on. "Yeah, seriously though are you?"

"Why? If I'm going to be your sugar mama I might as well be your baby mama." Jungkook looked stricken and you snickered, bringing your hand up to hide your mouth. "I'm joking," you wiped your face with some wet wipes you found in the drawers.

"Not funny, was ready to fucking make a run for it."

It was your turn to look stricken as Jungkook laughed. You frowned and slapped his chest.

It goes quiet, the loud bass music now coming back to fill your ears instead of Jungkook's moans. He stood awkwardly near the corner while you threw away the wipes you used to remove your makeup. Running your fingers through your hair, you turned towards him.

"So, does this mean that you're going to give me a chance?" the man in front of you standing like an anime character asked, as if he wasn't calling you degrading names a few minutes ago.

You smiled at him and lunged forward to kiss him. "Yes, I'll give you a chance Jungkook."

↳ in your heart; drabble collection

[mellowswriting]

2, 3, & 48 with the least expected choice: JAVI BB! 😭 Please I just starve for domestic!Javi a lot

Second Chance 

pairing || Javier Peña x F!Reader

summary ||  Javier comes back to the U.S after taking down Escobar to find you - and what he finds changes his life forever.

word count || 4,824

warnings || angst with a happy ending, soft dad Javi, allusions to sex

a/n || This was so interesting to write, because Javier as a dad??? Yes please! Also because I’m so used to writing mainly fluff that angst can get a little tricky for me. Thank you for this little writing challenge, anon!

Main Masterlist  |  Join the taglist!

Two years. It had been nearly two years since Javier had seen you - correction, since he had watched you walk out with tears in your eyes and did nothing to stop you like a fool. It was one of his biggest regrets, and that was saying something coming from a man whose job required him to make hard and fast decisions that often left people dead. All he could do was hope and fucking pray that you wouldn’t slam the door in his face.

Even if he did deserve it.

A drive that typically would’ve taken only an hour from the airport took nearly double that, Javier’s hands shaking and stomach turning the entire time. He should’ve done this sooner, should’ve followed you out that door or hopped onto a plane and met you back in the States. Nothing felt right without you, the world around him slightly distorted by your absence. An absence that was entirely his fault.

He shouldn’t have snapped at you. All you had wanted from him was the promise that he would try to play it safer. It was a simple reassurance that he could have given you if he hadn’t been such a moron and snapped at you that if you couldn’t handle the realities of his job, you had no business sticking around. You were scared, worried for him after one of his harebrained plans nearly got his head blown off.

And all Javier had done was make you feel stupid for caring about him. It didn’t help that he did nothing to try to fix it the next day; he was embarrassed, ashamed of his immaturity. And you left because of it. He hated himself for it. He would only hate himself more if he didn’t go to you now that he had taken down Escobar. Better late than never, right? He was back in the states and could’ve gone anywhere, done anything, especially now that he was so well known for his hard work in Colombia. Instead, he used that new status to find out where you ended up and scribbled your address onto a crumpled piece of paper.

It was a nice house. The kind he always hoped you would get, picturesque with the neatly trimmed front yard and picket fence. The sun had just risen enough to tint the sky by the time he pulled up and killed the engine, his millionth cigarette of the day perched between his fingers. You were home. Tiny movements that he could see from the windows and the car parked in your driveway told him that much.

The love of his life was right there. Less than twenty yards away, practically nothing separating the two of you after so long. That realization had Javier finally shoving the car door open and stepping out - and damn near getting himself run over in the process. In his haste, his excitement, he didn’t even glance around himself enough to see the car approaching and… pulling into your driveway?

A spike of fear shot through him. Please, fuck, don’t let that be a man. Don’t let that be some man who is going to walk through the door and kiss your cheek as you welcome him home from work and…

No. A woman, brunette. Launching herself out of the car and practically skipping up to the door. She didn’t bother knocking, just walked right in and closed the door behind her. Something familiar about her tickled the back of Javier’s brain, the hazy memory of a polaroid of her next to you wearing matching goofy grins. Ah, your sister. Amelia, if he remembered correctly.

Javier hesitated at her appearance. He didn’t want to interrupt something. God knows you were already going to be pissed enough at him. So he leaned against his door and puffed on that cigarette like it was his only lifeline, ready to wait for however long it took.

Just his luck that he wouldn’t have to wait long. The door reopened not fifteen minutes later and the two of you both appeared on the porch and holy fuck, Javier’s heart was ready to fly out of his chest just at the sight of your smile as you chatted with your sister. He watched, enraptured, that damn cigarette damn near falling from his lips, his heart leaping at the way your head tilted back with a big laugh. God, he missed that sound.

You turned and poked your head back into the doorway and called something that he couldn’t hear, pausing before rolling your eyes and walking back inside. You appeared again a second later with -

A kid? Propped on your hip with your arm propped under them with ease.

Javier’s heart dropped. Of course. He should’ve known that someone would have scooped you up the second you returned home. If he hadn’t have been such a fucking idiot, that could have been him building a home with you and fuck, he had to leave. He needed to get in his car and fucking go before you -

“Javier?”

It had been so long since he heard you say his name. Even when it was layered with surprise, his name never sounded better than when it was falling from your lips. Javier froze with his hand on the handle. He could hear your sister’s ill attempt at whispering, the harshness of “Wait, the Javier? The one that -” that you cut off before she could finish.

Javier turned, his heart flying in his chest, and started walking up to the gate. The shake in his hands was undeniable when he lifted the latch. Your mouth hung open, chest rising and falling rapidly with your almost frantic breathing, the little girl perched on your hip seeming confused. She was yours, that much was obvious. Her nose, her lips - that little girl was your daughter.

Something in you snapped back into place, your mouth closed and a fake smile quickly replaced it as you turned your softening gaze to your little girl. “Okay, you have fun with Aunt Amelia, okay? Mommy loves you.”

Javier watched the exchange with a heavy heart, watched as your daughter gave you the tiniest kiss on your cheek with a small ‘pop’ of her lips, watched as your sister took her and gave him a wide berth as she went to strap her into the carseat in her car. The moment she was out of your sight, the warmth from your eyes fell away and regarded him with something colder, something angry and sad.

“What the hell are you doing here?” You asked.

“It’s done.” He mumbled, his fists clenching at his sides. “All of the bullshit with Escobar, it’s over.”

“Yeah, I know.” You scoffed at the surprised look he gave you. “What, you think I didn’t keep track of you after I left? Just because I wasn’t around doesn’t mean I stopped caring about whether you lived or died. That doesn’t answer my question.”

“I never should have let you leave. I… I shouldn’t have driven you away to begin with.” Shame flooded him for the millionth time at the flash of hurt in your eyes before you looked away from him, your eyes falling to the ground. “The kid… uh, congratulations I mean. I didn’t know you started a family, I never would’ve shown up like this. I’m not a homewrecker.”

“The kid?” You repeated, your voice incredulous, and Javier cringed. Yeah, not the most eloquent way to put it, but he was never good with words.

“Yeah, uh, she’s a cute kid. You and your… husband or whatever, you got lucky.” Every word that fell from his lips, he regretted. They were true, sure, but holy hell did it sound so awkward coming from him.

“The kid.” You scoffed again, a sound he hadn’t realized he missed so much. You finally locked eyes with him, somehow even more guarded than before. “She’s yours.”

Javier blinked. The words didn’t compute, his brain falling blank at the very thought that he… no, no fucking way. He took a half step back, his mouth falling open. He watched you watch him, watched the way your eyes studied his every movement. Air rushed in and out of his chest rapidly, black spots blinked at the edges of his vision, and suddenly his ass was hitting the hard stone of your porch.

He barely heard the rough, concerned way you said “Shit, Javi!”, barely noticed you disappear from his side. No, he couldn’t believe it, couldn’t accept that. There was no way in hell that his stupid fucking mistake deprived him of this, of his family. Of watching you bring his child into the world and watching her grow, teaching her how to walk on unsteady feet and picking her up when she cried. Of you teaching him how to gently pull her pretty brown hair into the little sprigs of pigtails, just like she wore when he caught a glance of her before she was whisked away.

The cold, wet feeling of a cloth dragging across his forehead made his eyes refocus and there you were. Your eyes, once cold and hesitant now tinged with concern as you gently drug a washcloth down each of his cheeks, trying to pull him out of his panicked state. You were murmuring something to him, something he couldn’t hear over the blood rushing in his ears. Javier’s hand grasped at yours, pressing it against his cheek tightly.

“Name.” He rasped. “What’s her name?”

You paused, a small smile perking up the corners of your lips. “Elianna. We call her Ellie.”

Ellie.

Javier had a daughter.

“I have a daughter?” Javier needed to hear you say it again.

“You have a daughter.” You nodded and pulled your hand away from his cheek, much to Javier’s disappointment. He missed your touch. You patted him hard on the shoulder before hauling him up. “Come on, we have a lot to talk about. Might as well do it on the couch where it’s comfortable.”

The inside of your home was just as picturesque as the outside, but in a completely different way. Colorful toys were strewn about the living room, a few soft baby blankets crumpled on the couch. It was comfortable, lived-in. Happy. Javier sat heavily on the couch, mind almost on autopilot as he gently touched the blanket next to him, his fingers barely grazing the fabric like he was worried his touch would somehow taint it.

You handed him a cold bottle of water that he accepted graciously and sipped as you sat next to him, a foot-wide war zone of space between you that felt like a stab to his heart. If only he hadn’t fucked everything up. You would be curled up right against him, your head on his chest as the two of you watched the little girl you created together babble over her toys.

“Tell me about her?” Javier asked tentatively, his voice uncharacteristically small.

“What do you want to know?” The hesitance in your voice made him feel even worse.

“Anything. Everything.”

And you did. Javier watched and listened, enraptured as you gushed about little Ellie. At nearly fifteen months old, she was damn near running and constantly getting into everything. She was curious and bright and laughed like she couldn’t breathe when you would roll around on the floor and play with her. Just the sight of the happiness and light in your eyes when you retold the first time you heard her say ‘mama’ made pride swell in his chest.

The intense urge to have her here with him pulled at him, but he knew better than to ask. You were already indulging him by bringing him into your home and answering his questions. Hell, he was lucky you told him to begin with. He could feel the intensity of your gaze on his face as he tried to absorb all of the information that was dumped on him. Silence filled the living room when you trailed off, a few heavy moments where he didn’t know what to say.

“I know you have questions, Javier.” You said, your words slow and deliberate. Clipped, like you were terrified he was going to disappear once again.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Javier whispered.

“Well, I didn’t know I was pregnant when I left.” You began with a sigh. “I thought that the nausea and the missed period were from stress, because god knows I was wrecked. I found out a few weeks after I got back to the U.S and… I just didn’t see the point to tell you.”

“Didn’t see the point? Of telling me you were having my child?” His voice rose with his anger, his frustration and he watched as those walls slammed down, your vulnerability hardening in less than a second. He took a deep breath before continuing, trying his damnedest to soften his voice. “Do you really think so little of me?”

“Are you kidding me, Javier? You had just told me to leave. Was I supposed to think it would change anything?” You deflated into the cushions slightly and the sight of the exhaustion and pain in your eyes made some of his anger fall away. You rubbed a hand down your face. “Was I supposed to hop back on a plane back to Colombia? Put myself and my baby in danger? Or maybe I should have just called you. ‘Hey, Javier, I know you just told me to get out of your life, but surprise! I’m carrying your child!’ How would that have gone over?”

“But after? How could you not…” Javier choked up, unable to finish his sentence. You were right, he knew that. But he was grieving the loss of everything he had missed out on. He couldn’t blame you, not really. It was an impossible situation.

“I wanted to. There were these moments that… it took everything in me not to call you and beg you to come to me like some pathetic little…” You trailed off with a shake of your head, your voice cracking. “But I couldn’t. The closer you got to catching Escobar, I just… I couldn’t pull you away from the fight when you were so close to winning. The past few weeks, though? God, I almost called you at least a dozen times. The second I heard about it, I wanted you here, but I was so… so scared, Javi.”

And there it was. Javier’s heart snapped in half. He broke your heart and you managed to still prioritize his career, his fight against Escobar, while you brought his child into the world and shouldered that responsibility on your own. He cleared his throat harshly and squeezed his eyes shut, desperately trying to hold back those traitorous tears that threatened to fall.

“You don’t have to be scared. If you’ll have me, I swear to god, you will never do this alone again.” Javier whispered, his eyes still closed. Debilitating fear kept him from looking at you, afraid to see the rejection on your face. “I want to be here, I want this. I want my family.”

“Do you mean that?” Your voice trembled with disbelief.

“Of course I do, hermosa.” He insisted. “Please, give me the chance to show you.”

The small, relieved sigh that came from you made something tight ease in his chest and Javier hesitantly brought you into his arms. You relaxed into his side with your head propped on his shoulder, the both of you taking refuge in the familiarity of the touch that was missed for so long. He felt you look up at him and met your eyes, hoping you could see his sincerity. Words had a tendency to fail him but he still had his actions. He absentmindedly licked his lips before asking, “Can I kiss you?”

You smiled at him, a small smile that was still a bit sad, but a smile nonetheless, and nodded. “I've missed your kisses. I missed you.”

“I missed you, too.” He confessed and finally kissed you. After two years, Javier felt the softness of your lips against his and finally felt like he was home.

----------

Javier’s knee bounced rapidly as he sat on your couch hours later, his nerves bounding untethered and desperate for any outlet. Just on the outside on the porch, you had stepped out to greet Amelia, who had brought Ellie home.

His daughter was on the other side of the door and he was about to meet her, for real this time. Excitement and fear warred with each other, neither able to win out over the other in their rising volume. Excitement at getting to hold her, maybe even make her smile. Fear over the possibility of hurting her or being too rough - he didn’t have much experience with babies, after all.

The door pushed open and he heard you call his name softly. “Can you grab these bags for me?”

He was on his feet in an instant, glad to be of help and already jumping at the chance to start proving himself to be a good father. A mess of brown curls poked out from the baby blanket you had draped over your chest where Ellie was apparently still fast asleep, distracting him slightly as he grabbed the bags from Amelia. She… did not look too happy to see him. The hardness in her glare told him something that didn’t need to be vocalized: if he hurt you or Elllie, his body would never be found.

Javier nodded slightly at her. He couldn’t blame your sister. If he were in her position, there wasn’t a doubt in his mind that he would be breaking noses. At your request, he set the bags on the kitchen table before walking back to you - and the sight of you swaying in the middle of the living room with Ellie knocked out against you, your cheek propped against the top of her head, took his breath away. The smile you gave him brought him closer, his hand settling on Ellie’s back softly as he pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“Do you want to hold her?”

It took a moment of maneuvering, but the second you settled Ellie against him chest-to-chest, his entire world came into focus. Her cheek pressed against his chest just so, making her mouth form the tiniest little ‘o’ that he had ever seen. She was so calm, sleeping so deeply, and Javier couldn’t fucking believe his luck. How could he have had any part in creating something so perfect?

He had to sit down. He didn’t trust himself to hold her with unskilled hands while standing. She harrumphed slightly when he eased down onto the couch, but other than that, his little girl stayed off in her dreamworld, content and safe in her father’s arms for the first time.

“Just be careful not to touch the bottoms of her feet even a little bit, it wakes her up every time. She’s just like you with that.” You said, your voice lowered as you sat next to him much closer than before. He preened under the idea that any part of him was reflected in Ellie, even something so small and silly.

“She’s so warm. Is that normal?” Javi asked. He hoped she didn’t have a fever, he knew that a fever could really hurt a baby even with his limited knowledge. You reached out to gently feel her forehead and cheek, smiling after a moment.

“No, she's just a little furnace.” You settled against the back of the couch with a content smile. God, this just felt so right. Having you so close and smiling, having his daughter asleep and safe against him. He could feel the pieces snapping together, could feel himself becoming whole. “Yet another thing she has in common with you.”

“What else?” Javier whispered, desperate to hear everything.

“Hmm, let’s see. You have the same grumpy face.” You laugh when he glanced up at you, his eyebrows ticked together and lips pursed slightly. “Mhmm, that’s the one. Plus she hates carrots. Acts like I’ve personally offended her if I even offer them.”

“That’s because carrots are fucking disgusting.” Javi grumbles goodnaturedly as he gently rubs Ellie’s back. She’s so small, such a tiny, delicate little creature, and he can’t believe it. Any of it. You let him in after everything, took him in and introduced him to an entirely new world of possibility, one where if he was smart and did right by his two little ladies, he would get the life he always dreamed of.

Your fingers brushed an errant lock of hair from his face and Javi sighed, his eyes falling closed as he leaned into the soft touch that he missed so much. He hummed happily, practically purring like a pleased cat, when your fingers buried further in his hair and massaged over his scalp. Heaven. He was in heaven.

A gentle stirring against his chest made Javier glance down at Ellie and that first glimpse of her big brown eyes only confirmed what he already felt deep in his soul - this little girl was his everything. It was the most basic, simple thing he had ever felt, no question to be had about any of it.

Ellie wiggled against him, trying to get herself upright, and Javier immediately held her under her arms to sit her on his thigh. She looked inquisitively up at him from his lap, glancing over at you to confirm that you were nearby before staring at him as if he was the most interesting thing he has ever seen. Her little hand reached up to tug at his mustache, giving him a toothy grin at the way he laughed.

There were tears in his eyes and he couldn’t even deny them, couldn’t pretend they weren’t there. Javier could see them mirrored in your eyes as you watched Ellie stand in her father’s lap and try to balance herself with her hands on his shoulders.

You cleared your throat. “She’s about to start bouncing.”

“What? Whoa!” Javier exclaimed at the sudden feeling of what seemed like Ellie falling in his lap, his hands rushing for a firmer grip only for her to pop right back up and do it all over again. All three of you cracked up, your melodic laughter mixing with Ellie’s high giggling in the most beautiful way.

That night Javier got to cut up his daughter's food and help spoon bites into her mouth, sat at the table with Ellie and the love of his life, eating dinner like a family. He could picture this for the rest of his life. Eating breakfast and dinner together. Kissing the both of you goodbye in the morning and returning to his daughter running down the hall to wrap him in a hug. Chasing Ellie around a park and helping her down slides and pushing her on the swings.

This was his second chance, and he was going to do it right. God help him, he was not going to miss out on anything else. So when he saw the hesitance in your eyes that night after putting Ellie to bed, Javier settled himself on the couch with nothing but a gentle kiss to your forehead. There was no reason to push you. He wanted you to be comfortable, he owed you that much.

A week went by like that. Javier would rise in the morning to the sounds of you coming downstairs with Ellie on your hip and stretch, realigning his spine and pulling the tension from his sore back. He offered small pieces of affection and grinned every time they were accepted - a small peck on the lips here, his arm raised for you to curl closer on the couch there. Little Elianna was all too happy to join in on those little couch cuddle sessions, too, clambering into his lap or yours and snuggling close.

It seemed like the more Ellie warmed up to him, the more you did as well. Javi caught those small smiles when you watched him help ease his little girl to sleep for a nap. The more he proved himself to be a good father, the more comfortable you were letting him in, and it felt like progress. You laughed openly at his stupid jokes, reached out for him for affection of your own volition - kisses over coffee, holding hands as he pushed Ellie in the stroller - and it felt so good.

Javier fluffed up a pillow before tossing it against the arm of the couch, but before he could collapse his exhausted body into the cushions, he felt your hand curl around his bicep. The look in your eyes was almost afraid and worry clenched his stomach, but before he could spiral, you pulled him close and leaned up to kiss him.

A surprised sound hummed against your lips but Javi quickly regained himself to kiss you back. There was something softer about the way your lips pressed against his, something that had been absent from the quick, nearly chaste kisses you shared since he returned. This time you parted your lips and licked along the curve of his bottom lip, your hand coming up to press against his jaw and pull him even closer.

“You aren’t sleeping on that couch anymore.” You whispered against his lips.

“Oh, thank fuck.” Javi grumbled as he pressed even closer and kissed you again and again, slowly guiding you back to your bedroom.

He woke up the next morning with his bare chest against your back, his face buried in your hair, and he didn’t think life could get any better. His arms tightened around you as he gently rubbed up and down your side, the soft touch easing you out of sleep. The way you groaned made him smile; it was a sound he missed, even if it though was grumpy. You rolled over in his embrace and wrapped your arms around his neck to drag him over you, smiling sleepily at him before kissing him.

“My thighs are fucking aching, Javier.” You grumbled against him as you pressed a line of kisses along his jaw and down his neck.

He shivered at the feeling of your lips against his sensitive skin. “Mm, yeah, and you love it.”

You giggled in that way that made his stomach flip. “Fair enough.”

The door pushed open suddenly, almost hard enough to crack against the wall, and Ellie appeared on your side of the bed, her arms raised as she waited impatiently to be picked up. Javier happily pulled her up onto the bed. Scratch his earlier assumption - now his life couldn’t get any better. He watched Ellie jump and tumble around the sheets with happy squeals and that’s when he heard it. At first, he thought maybe he was hearing things until he saw the way your mouth fell open into a big grin, your eyes flitting back and forth between father and daughter.

“Papaaaa!” Ellie called out, her hands opening and closing rapidly, reaching for him from the other side of the bed. She kept saying it, repeating the two syllables over and over until it all bled into one long call for her dad.

Javier pulled her into his arms and squished her to his chest tightly, his eyes on you as his heart fluttered high in his chest. He couldn’t find the words, his voice choked out by his overwhelming love for the little family he had. He watched as you shuffled forward to kneel next to him and kiss the top of Ellie’s head, then his lips, pride shimmering in your eyes.

“Marry me.” Javier said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Your jaw dropped. “Javi… you don’t have to do this. I - I don’t want you to feel obligated.”

“Are you kidding me? I want to grow old with you, have kids with you, even have a fucking white picket fence.” It was as if the faucet was turned on and there was no stopping the words he so desperately wanted to say. “None of this is out of obligation, hermosa. I want you to be my wife.”

“Yes.” There were tears in your eyes as you listened to the words you had longed to hear for far too long. “Yes, I’ll marry you.”

Javier surged forward and kissed you again, and in that bed with the precious little girl the two of you created together and the promise of being yours forever, he knew he was right where he belonged.

{Taglist}

@iamburdened @everyhowlmarksthedead @jenrebloggingfics @xserenax-13 @silverstarsandsuns @luminescentlily @peterpstuff @leonieb @lazybeeches @withasideofmeg @freeshavocadoooo @chattychell @ew-erin @viktorialukowski @cjbtw @agentshortstacc @a-skov @himbotroy

[outofsstyles]

a/n: This is by far THE MOST requested fic I’ve ever had and (a year later) it’s finally here!! First of all, sorry that it took me so long but when I first wrote Wildest Dreams I never intended on it having a follow up, but the amount of love I got from it was so overwhelming that I decided to put this together for you all :) I’m not gonna lie, I’m a bit nervous about it, considering the amount of requests I’ve had the past year, I know there’s gonna be a lot of expectations and I wanted to do something a bit different so it’s not too predictable lol. So yeah, as always, feedback is very much welcomed!! If you enjoy please reblog it to support my writing, it would mean the world to me <3

word count: 13.7k

warnings: none!

concept: It’s Evan’s birthday and he decides to do something a bit different.

Wildest Dreams: read part 1 here :)

                                               ~*~ ~*~  ~*~

In the last two steps, you have to use your leg to support the box as it starts to slowly slip down your fingers. This serves as a reminder to start exercising again now that the midterm is over — meaning that you should finally give in to Nia’s pleas to join her in the free week of Pilates classes she got when signing in at the gym, “Exercising is one of the best ways to relieve stress!” She would argue, to which you’d simply reply with something along the lines of: “So does binging another trashy reality tv show!”

Thankfully, no one seems to notice your struggle, sparing you the embarrassment of listening to their teases due to your difficulty in carrying one of the smallest boxes of the bunch. Nate barely glances at you once you finally reach the car to hand him the box, only shooting the longest smile you’ve ever seen coming from him—which somehow still manages to be probably the quickest when compared to any other regular person. His girlfriend, who stands with hands on her hips, entirely held his attention. Nia’s purple strands of hair poke out of her half-bun in every direction and her bottom lip has found its permanent spot between her teeth as her eyes fixate on the vehicle in front of her, barely blinking.

“Everything alright, Ni?” You prompt, trying to even your breathing. “Forgot something? There’s still time to check.”

“It’s not that.” She mumbles, shaking her head to break out of her thoughts. “My keyboard doesn’t fit.” Nia nods at the instrument lying on top of the car’s ceiling.

“Oh,” You say, frowning your lips as you take in her stressed figure. Clearing your throat, you attempt to blurt out a joke, “Maybe it’s a sign you shouldn’t move it and stay right here in our little flat with creaky doors.”

She breathes out a sharp laugh, finally looking at you as she drops her arms. “Don’t start.” She warns, “You promised; no crying today.”

“Don’t worry, I’m good at holding back the tears.” You give her a soft smile, pulling her smaller frame into a hug. The sudden reality of your best friend and roommate leaving you hitting you at once. “Gonna miss you, Ni.”

You feel her sigh into your shoulder, arms circling around your middle. “I’ll be ten minutes away.”

“Not the same.”

“I know.”

The two of you sway in silence for a moment, and you watch from over her shoulder as Nate attempts to awkwardly pick up the keyboard, almost dropping it on the sidewalk in the process. He grunts, the instrument tilting in his arms, and you giggle as you hear Nia sigh once more. Tightening your arms around her, you release each other as she turns to check on her boyfriend who holds the instrument as you would a newborn — except this one is half his size and hard as a wood plank.

He glances between the both of you, helpless. “Uh, where does this go?”

“You can put it with the other big boxes upstairs, babe. We’ll take them Sunday.” Nia says, moving to close the trunk. She looks back at him, calling back in a sing-like voice before he disappears inside, “Thank you!”

You lean back against the car, a playful pout plumping your bottom lip. “Am I only seeing you again on Sunday, then?”

“Nope, I’ll pick you up for Evan’s birthday — did you forget about it already?”

You have. “Of course not. It’s on — tomorrow.”

“Is it tomorrow?” Nia gasps, eyes widening. “Holy shit, tomorrow’s Friday.”

You nod slowly, just as shocked as she is about how quickly the past couple of weeks have flown by. Between piles of book reports and stress-tear-stained essays during midterms week, you also had to find some time to help Nia with packing boxes while searching for a new roommate for yourself. If you managed a five-hour sleep on these past days, that would have been a well-rested night. So you can’t really blame yourself for forgetting about Evan’s birthday when Nia herself had it slipping through her mind.

“This is an emergency,” Nia says, eyes focusing on a point beyond you and, you feel like, if you listen close enough, you can hear the engines inside her head working. “I’ll have come here earlier so you can help me with my outfit.”

You chuckle. “What even is the theme this year?”

“He didn’t tell me,” Nia says in a huff. “But, on the bright side, I don’t think this year he’ll do anything too crazy — he was too busy these last couple months with that short film I told you about, remember?”

“Evan doing something low key? That’s a first.” You raise your eyebrows, skeptical.

“I mean, I don’t know. I’m just guessing.” Nia shrugs, picking at her nails. “I’m only saying because he mentioned once he was only inviting, like, twenty people.”

Now, this is a surprise. “I’m glad I made the cut, then.”

It’s not a secret to anyone who’s ever had any kind of interaction with Evan that he’s fond of the dramatics of life — his bright-colored outfits with mismatching patterns being the first example that comes to mind — and that reflects as well in his events. Especially when it comes to his birthday.

To be fair, you’ve only actually been to two birthday parties of his so far — considering the invitation usually finds you because he’s close to Nia and sees you as some sort of extension of her. Nevertheless, they were both impactful enough that left a clear impression of how much he enjoys celebrating himself. Last year in particular you remember quite well. It was what he called “Evaney” themed; being a mix of himself and his favorite artist: Britney Spears. And, while you and Nia showed up as one of at least fifteen different variations of the Baby One More Time schoolgirl outfit, Evan pulled a perfect match of the Oops! I Did It Again red bodysuit that he got one of his fashion student friends to tailor for him, as well as freshly dyed beach blonde hair to suit it. He even went as far as photoshopping pictures of himself on Britney’s body and had them printed on posters hung on every single room of the house. There were even custom-made cups and napkins with them — two of them that Nia stole at the end of the party still sit somewhere in your kitchen to this day.

Another particular thing you remember quite clearly was that there were enough people crowded in his living room to fill up your entire apartment, as you recall. And that’s about how a typical event at his home is like — even on his friendsmas dinner there were much more than just twenty people eating turkey out of disposable hot pink plates. So, Nia’s information leaves you wondering what he could have in mind for tomorrow with such a limited list of people.

Before you can voice your wonders to her, though, Nate pushes through the entrance door again. You can tell he, much like you minutes ago, is trying to cover his heavy breathing. “I left it on top of those big boxes with a bunch of books in ‘em.”

“Brilliant! Thank you, baby.” Nia grins, wrapping an arm around his middle. “By the way, we just remembered Evan’s birthday’s tomorrow.”

“Is it tomorrow already?” Nate asks, and you hold back a giggle at the way his face scrunches in discontent. He hates going to Evan’s to a point that’s nearly comical. “Fuck’s sake.”

“And I think I’ll come here early so we can get ready together.” Nia nods towards you.

Nate grunts. “Do I have to go this time?” 

“Of course, darling.” She rises to her tiptoes to pinch his cheek, to which he brushes it off.

Nate looks at you, and you only send him a tight smile in solidarity. The two of you share similar experiences with Evan, considering the only reason either of you even gets invited is that because you’re close to Nia, and she’s close to Evan. Although you like Evan, even if you’re not that close with him, you can still put on your social mask for a couple of hours and have fun at his parties. Nate, on the other hand, is likely the least sociable person you’ve ever met, and it’s obvious how uncomfortable he gets every time. 

Nia seems to sense how tense he gets as well, because she steps in front of her boyfriend, finding his eyes with her doe-like ones. “I mean, if you don’t want to, then you don’t have to.”

He sighs, “Of course I’ll go with you.” He looks up at you. “Maybe this time we can actually count how many faces of his we can see from the couch.”

This time you don’t hold back a giggle. “I have a feeling we’ll have an easier time this year.”

“Hope so.” Nate taps on Nia’s back. "Let's go, then? Is everything you need in the trunk?”

“Yup.” She answers, circling the car and opening the door to the passenger’s side. Before entering, she gives you one last look. “Do you want me to bring anything for you tomorrow?”

“I’m good.”

“‘kay!” She enters, closing the door behind her in a click and leaning over Nate to wave at you from his window. “See you tomorrow! Don’t cry too hard tonight!”

“I won’t!” You wave back.

Watching as the car pulls back, before driving away and disappearing around the corner, there’s a light breeze that raises goosebumps on the exposed skin of your arms. You cross them under your chest, leaning back into the wall of your building, not quite ready to go back to your empty home yet. The seconds blend into minutes and you stand there The promise you made to Nia not even a minute ago already pooling in your eye, knowing you wouldn’t be able to keep it anyway, you let it tickle its way down your cheek.

A rougher gust of wind hits you and, this time, you turn to go inside.

                                              ~*~ ~*~  ~*~

The days are still not long enough so that the sun can shine proudly at seven in the afternoon, but as spring just about rounds the corner there’s still a golden glow as the rays provide one last warmth before disappearing on the horizon. And that’s how the sky greets you once you step out of your building to make your way towards Evan’s house for his birthday.

As planned, Nia arrived at yours with plenty of time so the two of you could help each other get ready, a bag filled with clothes she’s just taken to Nate’s yesterday under her arm for you to help her choose. “I’m thinking something monochromatic tonight.” She said as she walked in, making you jump in your spot on the couch as you didn’t hear her using the spare key. “I’m just not sure what color.” 

She ended up choosing red. There was an old box of red hair dye you found lost inside the bathroom cabinet after Nia left — along with two different brands of shaving cream, although those belonging to Nate — and, after presenting it to her, she decided to go all for it, taking it as a sign. Nate showed up just about an hour after his girlfriend, still in his work attire and barely batting an eye at Nia’s new hair color as she blew dried it. The only comment leaving his mouth being, “You look like a tomato,” before kissing her forehead and excusing himself for a nap while the two of you finished getting ready.

What neither of you realized was that Nia’s last-minute decision took more time than you predicted, giving you barely enough time to get dressed. To her, that wasn’t exactly an inconvenience considering she had an outfit ready to match any color she wanted — in this case, was a red-dyed denim two-piece. and a matching jacket that ended up discarded after she noticed it covered her newest shoulder tattoo (though you tried to argue she could just have Nate carry it so she could wear it considering she eventually would get cold at some point). To you, however, was more of a stressful task, seeing you hadn’t taken in mind to think of an outfit beforehand. So you ended up just going with the safest option that didn’t give you a lot of room to overthink, choosing to finish your makeup on the way so Evan wouldn’t have any of your heads on a plate for being late.

You’ve found that applying mascara on a moving vehicle is not the easiest task, as Nia holds your elbow to help you keep steady while talking nonstop with the driver about a topic you stopped paying any mind to about ten minutes ago.

“I’m loving our black and red moment, by the way.” She turns to you, loosening her hold as you finish the last coat. “You look like one of those hot businesswomen with your teenage daughter who likes to dress like an animated character.”

You laugh at her comparison, only now noticing the discrepancy between both your outfits. Without even realizing it, you also ended up going for the monochromatic look. Except unlike Nia’s, yours completely lacks any color. “That’s actually the best comparison you could make.”

“I know — You can take a left right here — Here, I have lip gloss.” Nia fetches a small tube from her jacket (that she ended up taking, after all), presenting it to you.

“Do you not have lipstick?”

“Are you not planning on smudging it later?” Nia wiggles her eyebrows, teasing. The hint behind her words makes you roll your eyes, snatching the lip gloss from her hand without bothering to give her an answer. There was about a month or so, just before winter rolled around, that Nia felt as if she had a mission to get you with someone. You suspect, knowing too well how her mind works, that she must’ve felt some sort of guilt for what happened during her film project last year. It was clear that her attempts came from a place of good heart, but this doesn’t mean that it made them any less annoying. However, after her plans to move in with Nate became more concrete, her cupid persona seemed to have disappeared, or so you’d thought. But now that there’s nothing else filling her mind anymore, it looks like she’s back at it, and you can’t help but snort. “What? I’m just saying-”

“You say a lot of things, most of them are incorrect.” You say, “I’m not smudging anything tonight. Not on a party with twenty people, for fuck’s sake.”

“Don’t say that before — right there! The big house on the corner!” Nia leans over the console, signaling to the driver where to park. It’s so sudden that you notice how he jumps just slightly from his seat, chuckling to yourself at how Nate snaps his eyes at her. 

The front of Evan’s Victorian home is unusually quiet once you step out onto the sidewalk. So much so that, if it weren’t for the lined cars parked along the street and filling his driveway, you would’ve thought you’d typed in the wrong address. 

The discrepancy is clear to you when compared to other gatherings Evan hosts in his house, but especially for his birthday. Last year, you could hear Toxic blasting from his place from the moment you turned on his street, and a small crowd gathered on his front yard — most of which you recall being comprised of people plastered out of their minds, particularly one semi-naked man who was using one lamppost as a strip pole while swinging a stuffed snake

That’s more or less the standard one could expect when invited to a party at Evan’s. So, to find the street as silent as any regular day is, to an understanding, odd. 

“Are you sure it’s the right date?” You ask as the metal creak of the front gate mends with gushes of wind whistling through the air.

“Yup,” Nia says simply, walking in front of you. “You can hear the music inside, shush.”

You come quiet, listening in, and, surely, you can hear the faint keys of a piano coming from the other side of the stone walls, but it only brings up more questions to your head than answers. Evan seems like the last person on Earth who would listen to classical music. Deciding not to voice your question this time, you follow short behind Nia, kicking some loose stones on the gravel path leading to the front door.

There’s no need for more than a single knock for it to open almost immediately, revealing a lace-clad Evan downing the last bits of his wine. Without the barrier you can hear the music more clearly, the keys of the piano meshing in a peculiar way, not like anything you’ve ever heard in a classical song— at least not ten years ago when you tried to learn piano for a year before giving up.

“Look at my favorite people!” Evan says with his purple-stained lips, pulling Nia for a hug with the arm that’s not holding the door open while pointing at a spot behind her. “Did you greet Jonathan when you passed him? It’s his birthday as well.”

He points to a spot where a gnome statue sits in the dry grass, face painted in clown makeup. Nate’s voice comes from behind you, “Christ.” 

“Nate!” Evan chirps, going straight for the man standing with a sharp smile and throwing his arms around him. “You know you’re my favorite grumpy, right?”

Nate only taps on the shorter man’s back, quickly moving to Nia’s side as soon as he’s free from the embrace. With that, Evan turns to you, hands finding your elbows as he takes you in, “And what have you been up to, bug? It's been ages.”

“You know… Books and… Stuff.” You chuckle, brushing it off. “Happy birthday, E.”

“Thank you!” He claps his hands together. “Now, c’mon, let’s get all of you started.”

Following him inside, you’re met with a glittery box standing right next to the entrance; rolls of tape seal it shut, and a hand-sized hole has been cut on top of the lid. You try to peek at what could be inside, but strings of colorful crepe paper are stuck to the hole, making it harder to know its contents.

Evan picks up the box, holding it to his side. “So, I need each of you to grab a piece of paper inside the box. There will be a number in it but for now just hold on, drink, and chat while waiting for further instructions.” His voice lowers at the end to give his words more of a mystery behind them.

Nate tenses in front of you and you have to keep yourself from chuckling at his desperate gaze moving from the box to his girlfriend as he moves uncomfortably on his feet. Nia, however, only gives him a pat on his back, barely looking at her boyfriend as she does a little dance in excitement. “Oh, this feels fun.” She says, quickly reaching her hand inside the box and retrieving a piece of paper. “Mysterious, but fun. What do you have in mind, sir?”

“Nothing too crazy this year, darling, you can relax — We’re all too tired.” He moves the box towards Nate, who reluctantly reaches inside. “Just something to mesh people together that won’t give me too much of a headache to clean tomorrow.”

“Smart.” You say, peeking at the box as it’s presented to you before reaching for a paper inside, quickly reading the number eight written on it before folding the piece between your fingers.

“Nice! As always, drinks in the kitchen. We’re starting in ten minutes!” Evan claps, hushing the three of you further inside.

Surprisingly, this time around there are no posters of his face in sight as you follow Nia and Nate to the kitchen. There’s a mild mash of voices coming from the living room — where the sound of the piano is the loudest, and you wonder if he got an actual piano or if it’s just a Bluetooth speaker —, but it’s not nearly as loud as you’re used to from past times. The lighting has been lowered to a buttery yellow; you realize once you enter the kitchen that feels too bright to your eyes in contrast to the hallway.

“Is there any alcohol?” You wonder out loud, and Nia glances at you with her eyebrows shot towards her hairline. “What? I’m just asking ‘cause everyone is unusually quiet.”

“There’s wine and — what are these guys right here?” She picks up one out of four plastic jars sitting on the kitchen island, reading the label stuck to it out loud, “Strawberry Mary — ooh, this looks fun.”

You reach for the other three to check their contents, but all have names similar to the one Nia now fills her cup with — fruity, yet mysterious: Lana Banana, Jenny Berry Mix, and Pineapple Suzan. “Did he come up with these?” You chuckle, reaching for the berry mix.

“It was probably Adam,” Nia says, and you frown. “That bartender guy? The one with the pet snakes.”

“Oh, yeah. I know him.”

The room comes quiet as you serve yourself, and only after you glance up you realize a tension lingering in the air. Nate stands awkwardly in a corner, eyes fixed on Nia as he moves his head around subtly. Glancing between the two of them, you notice how their expressions change as they keep their eyes locked, not a single word being uttered out loud. To you, it almost feels as if they are reading each other’s minds, and the heat of their silent argument becoming clear once Nate huffs, shaking his head. 

Nia clears her throat, seemingly uncomfortable, shooting you a knowing look. It’s only when she gives you a toothless smile that you realize the silent question behind it. “Uhm, I’m going to check if there are any sweets outside.”

Beelining towards the doorway, you quickly make your way out of the room. The hallway is empty and, from where you stand awkwardly in the middle of it, you can tell Evan’s left his spot by the front door, meaning he’s likely gone to the living room where the rest of the guests are. You can hear them chatting, although like you previously pointed, the voices are much more controlled than what you’re used to, and that makes you oddly flustered by the thought of walking in alone. 

Considering the limited amount of invitations this year, the chances of you knowing anyone are slim and, to add to your sudden nervousness, most of the people from Evan’s closest circle of friends are — like himself — inexplicably intimidating. This is mostly because it feels like this unspoken competition that everyone has settled with each other, to subtly brag about your success whilst simultaneously pretending to be impressed about the other’s accomplishments. And for you specifically, considering you’re not part of this artist clique that they lock themselves into, it feels particularly tiresome to be part of those interactions. 

So, you opt to wait for Nia, pretending to admire one peculiar painting hanging on a wall opposite to where the doorway leading to the living room stands. Every so often, you catch yourself glancing over your shoulder one way or the other, either towards the kitchen to check if your friends are joining you, or to the doorway where the rest of the guests are in. At one point, the voices get louder, joining in a laugh before tangling together in a mess of noise you can’t make sense of. It’s after a minute that you hear footsteps coming from the living room, making you freeze on your spot, carefully turning your back to whoever’s about to catch you avoiding the party, and focusing on the piece you’ve been staring at for the past five minutes.

The painting you first thought was just random strokes of earth tones abstractly put together you now realize it’s a man and it doesn’t take you more than a second or two to recognize Evan’s side profile in a peach shade. Your hand claps on top of your mouth as you fight the urge to laugh. The sound comes out muffled, but it stops as you hear the footsteps falter as they turn into the hallway. Keeping you back to them, you listen as the wooden floor creaks as whoever was approaching makes their way back. You peek to catch sight of who it might be, but all you make out is the shadow of mustard corduroys turning the corner.

As if on cue, Nia and Nate finally appear from the kitchen, thankfully neither appearing to be sour after the talk in the kitchen. 

“Finally.” You say, still feeling giggly from your finding. “Nate, you have to check this-”

“Okay! Let’s start, then. Do we have everyone in the living room?” Evan’s voice interrupts you as he calls out. Nia guides you along with her to the living room. And, as soon as the three of you enter, Evan nods at you, before continuing, “Now that all the bunnies are trapped, we shall begin!” He laughs, clapping his hands together before motioning vaguely to everyone. “Before I explain what I have planned, I want to pair you all. So, I’ll call out the numbers that each of you picked when you arrived, so everyone can find their pair.”

You frown, confuse yet curious about what Evan’s up to as he calls out the numbers. Now that you stop to glance around the room, you note how there are more people than you’d expected. It’s still not nearly as many as previous parties of his, but it still feels like the room is nicely filled, maybe just a dozen people above twenty. And amongst them, there’s quite a few you recognize as they pair up together — like Georgia, the first one to be called, whom you spent a good half of the New Year’s party with, or Taylor, who gets paired with Nia (you remember him particularly from a film festival that Nia had been part of — he produced and directed a short film comparing the second wave of feminism to the wildlife in the Amazon Rainforest, and Nia couldn’t stop complaining about how bad it was for the entire week after). 

It’s when Evan jokes with someone on the other side of the room, however, that you see him.

He’s tucked in a corner, right next to the bookshelves, arms crossed under his chest in a way that makes his tattoos pop out of his biceps, something you notice even standing on the opposite end of the room. His smile is subtle as he watches the scene in front of him, but it’s still enough for a dimple to poke at one side of his face -- it’s barely there, but you’ve seen it up close enough times that you notice those details. His hand holds a drink, but you pay no mind to it because what calls your attention is the mustard corduroy hugging his hips, the same one you watched run from you not only five minutes ago.

He laughs, and you avert your eyes, mouth still hung open. You wonder if anyone will notice if you leave.

But, as though he could read your mind, Evan calls the number written on that sits crumbled inside the pocket of your jacket. “Where are my number eights?”

You step forward and, like a magnet, your eyes glue on Harry as he raises his hand. 

Shaking your head in disbelief, you have to fight against an urge to shut your eyes tightly as the regret of having left your room at all tonight becomes almost overwhelming. All you expected for the night was to forget about book reports and endless essays piled up on your computer, to relax, maybe drink a bit more than you should while watching Evan’s friends dancing with a taxidermy beaver or something of sorts (that was on his friendsmas party two years ago). Instead, here you are on what feels like the first day of class dynamic your teacher has imposed to make everyone interact with each other. And, suddenly, the long pages of (insert boring book) don’t seem that bad right now.

And to make matters worse (because the universe just likes to add a little more spice to your tragedies) of all people standing in this living room you just had to be paired with the one with whom you had a fling-like relationship six months ago.

It’s awkward before he even approaches you, the tension making you fidget in your spot anxiously, barely being able to shoot a tight smile his way. 

The last time you saw Harry was through the rearview mirror of a car, standing on the sidewalk like an abandoned puppy with his tail between his legs. Though you admit you let your dramatics take away when you turned away from him to leave, the feeling behind it was genuine. You were upset. He had led you on, after all, made you think he wanted to have something more just to ignore you for months and, later, appear with a redhead under his arms and call her his girlfriend. So, yes, it wasn’t the best note to leave on.

But despite how you left the last encounter, the spark of nervousness that shoots through your stomachs right now doesn’t come exactly because of his presence, but more so for the awkward nature of this encounter. At the time it happened, you avoided any activity that had the slight possibility of seeing him again like the plague. You were hurt, and you were mad — though the second part was more directed at yourself than at him. But that was six months ago. After all, as much as you felt enchanted by him and as much as those two weeks you spent together were nice, that’s all that it was: two weeks. Yes, you were sad and, yes, maybe you shed a tear or two while watching Love, Rosie with Nia afterward, but that passed as quickly as it came.

That is, until now.

“Your hair is shorter” This Is all you blurt out when he stands in front of you again.

“It is, yeah.” Harry runs his hand through his hair. The strands that last time you saw him, curled around his jawline, now peek just under his earlobe. “Did it myself, actually.”

“Really?” You take a big gulp from your drink, gaze going anywhere but meeting his own. “Found yourself another talent.”

“Another?” You can hear the smirk in his voice.

“I mean, besides acting.” You grin, holding the cup to your lips and sparing him a glance. “Suppose after your debut you’ve gotten yourself busy with casting calls”

“Of course” Harry laughs. Now that you’re closer you have a better look at his dimples as they pop out, as well as the constellation of freckles hugging his nose, and the mole right under his lips. You avert your eyes again. “I’m set to be the next Bond, in fact”

“Oh, wow.” You raise your brows, grinning at the brim of your cup. “I can see it.”

He turns to you, “Can you?” You peek at him. "Why is that?”

This is exactly what you were afraid of all those months ago after last seeing him. The entire reason you ran from any possibility of seeing him again afterward. You can still remember clearly how much of a flirt he is, even when he doesn’t mean to be. It’s not a secret that Harry’s a charming man. His words are like honey, and when he uses them just right, you know is enough to have you melting. And it doesn’t help how well you seem to click together. Even now, you still feel it by your impulse to flirt back, to look him in the eye, and get just close enough to feel the scent of his cologne. Do all that just to turn away in the last second. Tease him the same way he did you. But you don’t do any of that, of course, because you’re as petty as you are bitter. So, instead, you click your tongue. “Don’t get too comfortable, Harry, bet your girlfriend wouldn’t be happy about that.”

He chuckles. “What girlfriend?”

This time you turn fully at him, brows shooting up not in defiance, but surprise. “Yikes.” You say before you’re able to hold back.

“Yikes.” Harry still holds a smile when he repeats it, head falling as he lets out a — nervous? — laugh.

A question pops into your head. One that lingered in your mind for a good while now, but comes back a bit louder now that you have the information that his relationship was short-lasted after all. It’s a short one, but one that requires a long answer, you suppose. What happened? You think. But you don’t dare to voice it, you don’t want to have this conversation with him. Whatever the explanation is, it’s not going to change anything. So you just avert your gaze back to Evan, who now calls for everyone’s attention again.

“I know you’re all dying to know what this is all about. So, I’m going to explain it all.” And with that introduction, Evan dives into a monologue you only pay half mind to. It’s hard for you to focus on the words rapidly leaving his mouth as you can feel Harry glancing at you every so often from the corner of your eye. You listen in to Evan describing himself as a feisty kid and mention his love for drama, and then you feel the ghost of Harry’s arm bumping against yours as he sways on his feet. You try to pay attention to the story being told of the events leading up to this birthday party, and then you have to hold yourself back from meeting Harry’s eyes once you feel them at the side of your face once again. He makes a comment under his breath that you don’t quite catch, and you’re about to question him before Evan’s voice comes in an even higher pitch. “I wanted tonight to be exactly that: chaotic. I didn’t want anything to quite make sense, and I didn’t want to think much, if I’m honest, last year of film school is taking a big chunk of my functioning neurons and m’dad’s whiskey collection is taking the rest of them.”

There’s a collective laugh that takes place and, once again, Harry’s eyes peeking at you. “Everyone can relax, it’s not one of those murder mystery parties, as I’ve heard some people guess — for fuck’s sake as if I have the time and patience to plan something like that.” He says with a sip directly from a wine bottle you just now realize he’s been holding. “It’s a scavenger hunt, you have a partner and an envelope with clues. Each pair will find something related to moi and after it’s all done, we’ll eat burgers and talk about me for the rest of the night.” 

“Sounds easy enough.” Harry mumbles.

Evan claps his free hand on his wrist, hushing everyone. “So off you go, c’mon! I’ll be hungry in an hour.”

“This is gonna be…” You start. “Interesting.”

“Interesting is a great word to describe it.”

“Well, let’s try to do this as quickly as possible, then.” 

 The side of his lips quirks up. “On a rush?”

“This is not exactly a comfortable position to be. I think you get it.” You say, fidgeting on your feet. You wait for a second for him to say something so you can start the activity, but he doesn’t and you realize there’s a piece missing. “Do you have an envelope?”

Harry nods, reaching for his pocket where the envelope sits folded in half. He swiftly opens it, taking out a card.

 “Well?” You prompt, “Read us the first clue, Bond.”

There’s a smile that Harry fights against at the nickname and you’re not sure due to the dim light, but you think there’s a hint of a rosy tone on the apple of his cheeks. “An activity that grows lives and ruins manicures.” He reads out loud, pausing for a moment before laughing to himself. “I know this one.”

“Grows lives?” You frown. “As in, a pregnancy?”

Harry shakes his head, leading the way towards the corridor. “As in, gardening.”

“That’s a very weird way to put it.” You say, following him. “Does he garden?”

He walks into the kitchen, greeting two people you don’t recognize who are searching for something — their clue, you assume — inside the cabinets. “No, but his sister does. There’s a greenhouse in the back.”

You simply hum in response, muttering a quick thank you as he opens the door for you that leads to the back garden. The greenhouse is not unfamiliar to you from the outside, there have been a good amount of summer gatherings in his back garden for you to know of its existence. But you’ve thought nothing more about it. If you’re honest, you never really paid much attention to it. If anything, you assumed he used it as storage at most, never taking Evan as someone who enjoyed gardening. Though now you know you were right, you've also learned that his sister lives with him and you wonder why he’s never mentioned it before.

The curiosity inside of you wants to question Harry about it, to ask him what else he knows you don’t. When you think about it, there’s a lot you want to ask him about. Not just regarding Evan, but also regarding him. You wonder what he’s been up in the past six months if he ended up adopting the kitten he’d told you about back when you were still filming or if he read any of the book recommendations you wrote on his notes app one particular night the two of you chatted for longer than the moon could hold itself up in the sky. The part of you that begs for you to say something on the short walk is so strong you have to physically bite your tongue to be able to hold back.

You don’t have to hold for long, however, as Harry takes it upon himself to say, “So,” He starts, clearing his throat, “How- uh- how are you doing?”

Somehow, his words click something inside of your mind. They remind you of why you shouldn’t let that curious part of you win. The sole purpose of it not falling for his charm. You shake your head, “We’re not doing this.”

“Doing what?” He frowns, his steps faltering for a second.

“Small talk.” You answer, focused on your goal. “We’ll just solve this thing as quickly as possible so I can go back home and finish my Euphoria marathon.”

“Right.” Harry nods once, and you can’t help but notice the way his lips quirk down, the frown not leaving his face. You can’t lie and say it doesn’t make your stomach drop the slightest bit to see you’ve upset him, but you have to remind yourself how much he’s upset you, too. 

It’s protecting yourself, you think. After tonight, you don’t have to see him ever again.

Inside the greenhouse, you’re greeted with a mix of scents you’re not prepared for before stepping in. The space is compact, with a single corridor narrowed with garden beds on each side. Dozens of branches and leaves tickle you as you walk in, most of them belonging to different flowers that, despite the chilly weather that still lingers outside, are already blooming. It’s a blend of colors, bright reds, and ocean blues, soft purple petals kissing pink and yellow ones. 

“We should look for gloves.” Harry’s voice startles you, chuckling as you jump a bit.

“Huh?” 

“Gloves.” He says. “I think whatever we’re looking for has to do with the gloves, ‘cause he mentioned manicure.”

“That makes sense.” You look around. Many gardening tools are piling under the tables that hold the garden beds; watering cans and empty pots. You look between bags of fertilizer and drawers filled with shovels. There’s so much stuff to look through that, at one point, you sit back on your calves, glancing around, lost.

You hear Harry leafing through as you’re doing, feeling his legs brushing against your back as he passes by and you stop, watching him from your spot on the floor. He’s got a concentrated look on his face, bottom lip worried between his teeth as he scans through the walls before he opens another drawer. That’s when his gaze falls, catching yours. You quickly turn away, pretending to go through another pile of empty pots and blocking the sound of a chuckle coming from his spot.

For a moment, the only sound in the room is the clicking of ceramics and the opening and closing of wooden drawers. That is until you hear from Harry, “A-ha!”

You look up again, seeing him move to the back where few pairs of gloves hang on the wall — so obvious yet still hidden between raincoats and summer hats. “Right under our noses.” You say, getting up.

Harry searches inside the gloves, tongue trapped between his teeth. “Bingo!” He says, pulling out two tiny bottles from inside one pair.

“What is it?”

“Liquor.” He grins, peeking at you from under his lashes before ripping a piece of paper attached to it. “It says ‘one for each, now get to clue number two.’” He holds up one bottle, offering it to you, to which you take it. “It’s chocolate flavored.”

“Of course it would be a drinking game.” You open it, feeling the artificial chocolate scent braid with the alcohol. “Christ.”

“Don’t smell it, or it’ll be worse,” Harry says, downing his with one quick tilt of his head. “‘S not that bad, actually.”

You mimic his action, letting the drink swiftly burn its way down your throat. Unlike Harry, you can’t help but scrunch your nose at the taste. “You’re a fucking liar.”

Harry only giggles in response, taking the empty bottle from you and placing it back inside the gloves, along with his own. 

And then again, silence. You turn to the flowers to find some comfort.

A family of tulips glances back at you, their petals in a full red, it’s the kind of beauty you’re scared to ruin if you touch, so you just rest your hand on the wood. “They’re beautiful.” You only notice you say it out loud when Harry hums back in agreement.

“They are.” He says quietly but somehow feels loud by how close he is. “Tulips are my favorites.”

You stop, brows raising incredulously at him. “No, they’re not.”

“What?”

Cursing the universe for playing with you like this, you can’t help but laugh at the situation. “It’s just- they’re my favorites, too.” You look at him. “My nan used to plant them when I was little.”

“That’s sweet.” He says, smiling and you nod. “The red ones represent true love.” He points. “And the purple ones represent royalty.”

You blink at him. “Do you just look up tulip facts in your free time?”

Harry laughs. “Yeah, basically.” He looks down at you, and you can’t help but notice how the greenery around brings out the shade of his eyes. “I worked at a flower shop for a tick.”

“Really?”

He nods. “For eight months. My favorite part was writing on the store board every morning.” His face lights up as he recalls his experience. “I used to write silly stuff like, ‘one day I’d like to meet tulips.’ The old ladies loved it.”

You shake your head, breathing out a laugh. “You’re dangerous.”

“Dangerous? Why’s that?”

Because you’re sweet, you want to answer, because when I think I won’t get charmed by you again, you hit me with tulip puns. Your lip finds its spot between your teeth, you’d be damned to give him the satisfaction of hearing you tell him that, so, instead, you shrug. “Because.” You can tell he wants to dig more by the way his lip twitch up, teasing a smile, but you just nod towards the door before turning away from him and heading out. 

There’s a distinct change of temperature when you step outside, and it’s only when you do that you notice the greenhouse was heated. Thankfully, the night is not too windy as it would get a week or two ago when winter was still insisting on making itself present, but it’s still chilly so that it makes you hug your jacket closer to your body. Harry also notices the difference, as you hear him wince as he steps out from behind you — unlike you, he’s not wearing anything to protect his arms from the cold, which only makes it harder for you to not ogle the tattoos hugging his skin.

“So, what’s next?” You prompt.

Harry reaches for the card again, taking it from its spot on his pocket before reading the second clue. “‘Not feeling too creative to write this one, it’s on the third tree on oak.’”

“I mean, at least we don’t have to think too much on this one.” You say, “Oak Street is the one to the left, right?”

“Yeah.” Harry sighs. “Can’t believe he’s making us go out on the streets.”

You start to make your way back towards the house. “Too tired for a stroll?”

“‘S cold,” Harry says, scrunching his nose. “Here, there’s a side gate.”

He guides you through a gravel path to where the black gate stands, hidden between bushes and branches. Strings of fern hug the bricked fence and the surrounding grass is high enough that it tickles your calves through your tights, making you believe this path has probably been left unused for at least a couple of months now. This information brings out an extra worry for you, as you take a better look at it, noticing how the gate is closed shut to the fence.“Is it open?” You wonder out loud.

“Shit, I don’t think it is.” Harry huffs under his breath. “But, I mean, we could easily jump it.”

You stop, turning to glance at him as the suggestion leaves his lips. He stands there, hands on his hips, examining the gate, tongue poking out as he frowns. After a second, he meets your eyes. “What? It’s not that tall.”

“I suppose.” You say, looking back at the fence that ends just below your shoulder length. It would be easy enough for you to climb it with a boost, however, “I’m wearing a dress.”

“Oh,” Harry scratches the back of his neck. “Let’s just go inside-” He turns back.

“Wait,” You stop him, not sure if it’s the slight amount of alcohol in your system already making you more adventurous, you train your gaze at the gate, analyzing it again, before looking back at him. Squinting your eyes, “You have to close your eyes.”

He laughs, “Are you sure?”

“It’s not that high.” You shrug. “But I need your help.”

“Of course.” He moves next to the brick wall, kneeling before it and nodding towards you. “C’mon, step up.”

Hesitantly, you glance at his thigh stretching his trousers, a sudden wave of insecurity hitting you. “Are you sure you can lift me?”

Harry simply puts his hand out in a silent request for you to hold. “Of course.”

“No peeking.”

He shuts his eyes tightly, chin meeting his chest as he looks down. And then you take his hand, feeling his fingers lock in a firm hold as he helps you use him for support. You hesitate again before using his thigh as a step, “Wait, I’m gonna ruin your trousers.” You worry, but Harry only shakes his head, still keeping it facing the ground, the strands of his hair falling above his eyes in a makeshift blindfold. When he doesn't feel you stepping in still, he encourages you with a squeeze in your hand. 

You attempt to do as quickly as possible with your dress clinging to your legs, tightening your hold to Harry’s hand to step on his thigh. Once you let it go, you can still feel it lingering behind your back as you use your arms to boost yourself up the wall, sitting on it for a moment before jumping to the other side with a huff.

“Can I open them?” You hear Harry’s voice calls from the other side, and you smile, nodding even though he can’t see it.

“Yes!”

And then his face appears as he stands up in a jump, grinning at you. “See? Easy Peasy.”

“I feel like a teen sneaking out.” You say, and you instantly give another meaning to your words as Harry boosts himself up. This time, you certainly don’t hold yourself back from staring at the way his muscles flex at the movement, the tattoos on his arms stretching, and his shirt rolling up. He makes it look so easy, so effortless, barely taking five seconds until he’s jumping in front of you.

“That was fun.” He puffs, patting his trousers lightly.

“So, how are we finding the tree?” You ask, taking a quick glance to where his hands brush on the fabric of his trousers. “Should we read the clue again?”

“I know which one he’s talking about,” Harry says, nodding to the left before beginning his stride in that direction. You follow him, trusting his words as the two of you turn the corner where Evan’s house is located. 

The street in question is much calmer than the one you were just in, with no cars coming or going from the residences — that stand much closer to one another, you notice, giving the whole street more of a narrow feeling to it --, which is not exactly odd, but certainly is a contrast with the main street that Evan’s home faces, that one being more lively with people either coming home or leaving it to enjoy their Friday night. The sudden lack of background noise makes the walk to your destination a tad awkward, as none of you make an effort to strike a conversation. Instead, you resort to silently observing the surrounding area as you walk alongside Harry, noticing how the trees here bend over the sidewalk, their naked branches slowly but surely growing back the leaves they lost months ago — it makes you wonder how beautiful this must look during the peak of springtime, their full branches blending together, making a ceiling of flowers.

“Here.” Harry stops abruptly, making you almost bump into his shoulder, as you were too busy with the scenery you’ve made in your own head. “‘S this one.”

“I thought it said the third one.” You frown, looking back and noticing the way you’ve passed way more than just three.

“This one is the third.” He says, motioning to a small birdhouse stuck to its trunk with a number ‘3’ painted to the front in blue. “It’s a bit of an inside joke,” Harry chuckles to himself. “Now I get why the bastard wanted me to have this card.”

You look closer at the tree, trying to see if there’s something attached to it besides the birdhouse, but there’s nothing. Before you can question it, Harry opens the front of the tiny house, retrieving two tiny bottles from inside of it, similar to the ones you found in the greenhouse.  “Oh, no.” You say, laughing. “Did he just put liquor inside a stranger’s birdhouse?”

Harry shakes his head, “This is not a stranger’s birdhouse.”

“Huh?” You frown, glancing back to the house where you stand in front of, its front completely dark, showing that no one must be at home. You point to it over your shoulder. “Do you know who lives here?”

“Yeah,” He starts, offering you one bottle. “I do.”

Your brows shoot up in surprise, glancing back and forth from the house to the man standing in front of you, an amusing grin growing on his face. “You live here?” You ask, “This is your birdhouse?”

“It is, yeah. In fact, I was the one who built it.” He gives the birdhouse a small pat.

You can’t help but let your mouth hang open for a second. “That’s-” You pause, not sure which word to use. Impressive? Amazing? Hot? “That’s nice.”

Harry smiles, and the two of you stand there for a moment, admiring his work in silence. You suck your bottom lip in, keeping yourself from inquiring further. 

Being presented with how little you know about Harry only peaks at your curiosity at what had happened last year in your brief experience with him. When you were with him it felt as if you’d known him for months rather than weeks, but looking back at it now, you wonder if your infatuation fooled you into thinking the two of you were close. Maybe that’s why you were so upset at the premiere after all because all that did was prove to you how much you didn’t know him at all. No matter how many sleepless nights you spent together sharing bits of your lives, it wasn’t enough for you to get to know him.

It’s only when a car turns into the street that you break away from your thoughts, looking up at him and clearing your throat. “We should take this back to Evan’s.” You say. “I’m not sure how it would look from an outsider’s point of view to see us downing these tiny bottles in the middle of the street.”

“You’re right,” Harry says. “Should we read the last clue while we’re at it?”

“Sure, yeah.”

He reaches for the card inside his pocket, presenting it to you. “You do the honors this time.”

You take the card, brushing your thumb over the words before stopping for a second to read them out loud, “You’ll find your prize behind the words of buried legends.” You snort. “That’s so corny.”

“Words of buried legends,” Harry repeats, letting out a hum. “Bet he was feeling quite poetic when he wrote this one.”

“Maybe because it has to do with poems.” You peek at him, a slight raise to your eyebrow. “‘Words of buried legends’? like dead poets and stuff?” Upon reading it again to make sure, you mumble, “He really made this card especially for you, huh?”

“Makes sense.” Harry agrees before nudging you playfully with his arm. “Look at you with your literary mind!”

“Could’ve used some better wording but I’ll let it pass.” You giggle, shrugging as you hand him back the card. As you do so, you notice there’s something written on the other side. “What’s in the back?”

Harry’s brows meet. “Huh?”

“In the back of the card, something’s written on it.” You nod towards his hand as he’s about to pocket the card again. 

Harry turns it around, reading it with a chuckle. “Ice breakers.”

“You gotta be fucking kidding me.” Your mouth drops open in amusement. “Well? Go on, then. Break the ice.”

Harry makes a show of clearing his throat before reading the question as an announcement, “What celebrity do you think you could pull on your best day?”

“Is this the actual question?” You squint your eyes at him and he turns the card to allow you to read it as well. Surely, the same question reads right on top of it and, as you take a glance at the ones below it, they’re not that much better. You shake your head, “God, I have no idea.”

“I know mine.”

“You didn’t give a single thought on that one.” You say. “This should be good.”

“Jennifer Aniston.”

“Jennifer Aniston?” You stop on your tracks, raising your brows at him. “You know she was married to Brad Pitt, right?”

“Ouch.” Harry makes the theatrics of putting a hand on his heart, head falling dramatically to the side. “Right where it hurts.”

“I’m not saying you’re bad-looking, but he’s Brad Pitt.” You emphasize with a laugh, pushing him playfully as you keep walking. “Like he is the male beauty standard. Personified.”

The front of Evan’s feels more vivid than it was when you first walked in hours ago, the lights inside seeming lighter and the curtains having been pulled back, showing people wandering around on the inside. You walk past another pair crouched in front of the bushes that line next to the front gate that creaks as you open it.

Harry rolls his eyes. “Sure, let’s hear yours, then, sweetheart.”

“Ew, don’t ever call me that again.” Your nose scrunches and your face grows hot, but you attempt to shake it off, stopping to think of the question. “Huh, on my best day? I think… I don’t know, maybe Drake?”

“Oh, no!” Harry’s hands cover his face as he shakes his head into them. “I feel like that’s the most basic answer anyone could ever give to this question.”

You gasp. “Did you just call me basic?”

Harry holds the front door open for you and, before he’s able to give you an answer, you bump right into Nia. She instantly blurts out your name, as if she’s been expecting you to appear. “I’ve been looking for you!” She says, sparing Harry a glance over your shoulder before pulling you slightly to the side. “Do you think we could talk for a second?”

“Sure.” You hold out the word, looking at Harry before focusing on your friend again. “Did something happen?”

“No, no, nothing happened. Just—” Nia starts, locking your arms as she guides you back outside, pulling you to a corner a few steps away from the front door. “How are you? How's it going?”

“I’m fine. Why?” Your brows knit together at her interference and you wonder if it has anything to do with her conversation with Nate.

“I’m talking about-” She looks over her shoulder, clearly checking if anyone is listening in. Even after making sure that there’s no one there, she still lowers her voice. “When I saw he was your pair, I wanted to rescue you right away, but fucking Taylor pulled me with him and I didn’t get the chance.”

Oh. “Oh.”

“Is it too awkward?” She keeps her inquiry, holding your hand close to her chest. “We could ask them to switch so we can do the rest together, I’m sure Evan’s too plastered to notice.”

“Nia, I-” You smile as you come to realize that she pulled you aside just to check if you’re uncomfortable, having witnessed first-hand your whines and cries over Harry last year. “It’s okay, really. It’s not that bad, surprisingly.”

“Really?” Nia blinks, taken aback. “I- What happened?”

“Nothing.” You reassure her with a squeeze on her hand. “We’re just chatting, it’s not that awkward.”

“Okay.” She nods and nods, before falling serious again. “But if anything happens you just have to scream for me and I’ll be right there, okay?”

“Okay.” You say, pulling her for a brief hug. “Thanks, Ni.”

The two of you return inside just as Taylor brings up his brother’s hair sculpture collection that’s being exhibited at a local gallery — a subject you already have been the victim of hearing for about an hour during New Year’s and, by Harry’s face, he seems as helpless as you did back then. Nia doesn’t waste a second before pulling her pair away, “Let’s go, pal, those clues won’t solve themselves,” she shoots you a look over her shoulder, pushing Taylor towards the living room and you chuckle.

“He really is one of a kind, that man,” Harry says with a sigh before meeting your gaze. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, just lady talk.” You brush aside. “Let’s find those poets, shall we?”

“We shall.” Harry smiles, looking around for a second before guiding you down the hallway, turning just before entering the kitchen where a staircase. This is a way that — like the greenhouse — you’ve never been to. Still, Harry navigates so casually as if it were his own home and, to some degree, you suppose it is. You follow him up the first flight of steps, stopping just before turning into the next one where a door you never really noticed before stands. Harry rests his hand on the handle, turning to you before saying, “There’s an office hidden right here.”

You watch as he opens it, motioning for you to walk in first. And, indeed, the inside of it is an office, just a bit smaller than the living room on the opposite side of the house. Two bookcases that go from the floor to the ceiling mostly covered the wall, only leaving a single space in the middle for a dark wooden cabinet. In front of it, an L-shaped desk takes up the middle of the room, most of it is filled with files and paper stacks, as well as two computers lying asleep. For a moment, you just stand by the doorway, admiring this room you’ve never known of its existence, your eyes quickly sweeping through the bookshelves completely packed with dark cover books of all sorts. “Do you think this is where it could be?”

“Probably, yeah.” Harry nods, turning on the lights. “I don’t know where else he could have any poetry hidden.”

You move towards one bookshelf, the one closest to the door, reaching to brush your finger through the spines perfectly lined. “But look at the size of these, we’ll take forever to find anything in here.”

“Those big ones are mostly law books, I think,” Harry says, opening cabinets at the other side of the room, right next to where a white couch stands. He turns to look at you, “His sister’s a lawyer, this is her office.” Harry says, “But Evan’s got a corner right here where he keeps some of his stuff— like books of sorts. It’s the only place I could think of.”

You hum, not knowing exactly what to respond to this information.

“You can go through the ones on that side, it could be there as well.” Harry nods towards a cabinet right next to the door where you came from, and you nod.

The first two cabinets are of no luck, both being mostly filled with boxes full of children’s books and old toys — some of them mixed with more stacks of paper, but those, instead of having long texts, have drawings of all kinds from what you could gather in a glance, from child-like scribbles to actual sketches. You can hear Harry going through drawers on the other side of the room and, upon closing another empty cabinet, you peek at him, watching his broad back flexing under his shirt as he moves around. Averting your eyes as swiftly as you looked, it’s still enough to bring warmth to your cheeks.

Finally, you open the cabinet at the very bottom of the shelf. On the top, there are piles of DVDs, most being different variations of Barbie movies, but, right at the bottom, you find books. You don’t stop to check their genre at first, simply moving them away until you stumble upon a small box, the top of it marked with the word ‘prize’. “Found it!” You call back, taking the box away from the pile before setting the books back in place again. “Under Rupi Kaur? Correct me if I’m wrong, but I’m pretty sure she’s very alive.”

“Don’t tell Evan that,” Harry says as he crouches next to you, taking the box from your hands. Inside, there are, as expected, two tiny bottles like the ones you found before but, what calls both your attention, is a small bag of sweets lying in the middle. Harry takes it, “Oh, those are nice.”

He hands it to you and you open it, quickly shoving a jelly candy into your mouth before nodding. “Yeah.”

“So…” Harry starts, peeking over his shoulder, “Do you want to go back there?”

You glance at him, his eyes hovering above yours, lips twitching up just barely. “Uh… Maybe not right now.” You answer, “Unless you feel like sharing our Jellies with other people.”

Harry only laughs, shaking his head as he sits back and you do so too, right next to him. He reaches for his pocket, presenting another tiny bottle, the one you found inside his birdhouse, “We still got these.” 

“Right!” You fetch your own out of the pocket of your jacket.

Harry opens his, holding it up towards you. “Cheers.”

“Cheers.” You say, mimicking him.

Both of you down your drinks, the liquid tasting bitter, like medicine on your tongue, the only reminder of alcohol being the burn as it slides down your throat. You rest your head back on the cabinet behind you as the two of you fall into silence once more. A part of your mind is already beginning to swim around the space inside your head, and you decide to not take the last drink just yet, laying it next to your leg. Though you’ve only had the equivalent of two shots, you realize the long break you’ve had from drinking for the past couple of months -- which wasn’t exactly an intentional choice, but more like the result of your lack of free time -- is showing itself to have been enough to make you more of a lightweight. 

And even though the night so far has been strikingly surprising in terms of how comfortable you felt being around Harry again, it doesn’t mean the questions you’ve been carrying since last year have gotten any quieter. They’ve only gotten louder. More persistent, even. The curiosity you feel to know what happened is almost suffocating now. And you’d be damned if you let a drunken mind stop you from having this conversation.

You glance at him from the corner of your eyes, only watching the back of his head bobbing along with the music -- still the piano -- that comes faintly from behind the closed door. Your lips part, feeling the question form right at the tip of your tongue, but not knowing how to voice the words. Will it be awkward? You think so, but what if it ruins the night? Tonight, that’s been so oddly refreshing. A night that only served to remind you how you became so infatuated with him in the first place.

But you know you won’t be able to let go of this ich inside your head unless you bring it up. And you want to, you do, but as you take too long to think of the right way to do so, Harry decides to break the silence, murmuring next to you, “That’s a good one.”

Your brows knit together, trying to make out any trace of familiarity within the song that’s playing, but you don't find any, which only leaves you even more confused.  “Do you like classical?”

“Love,” Harry says simply, his eyes closed as he moves his head with the piano keys. “Especially this one. One of the greatest works from one of the greatest contemporary composers: Billie Eilish.”

Your lips fall open, “Shut up. Is she playing this?”

Harry laughs, a full one, that brings a grin to poke at your lips. “I mean, as far as I’m aware, no. It’s a version of her song — listen in.” He points to his ear, nodding with the melody as he sings along, “So you’re a tough guy, like it really rough guy.”

You shake your head incredulously, “Of course he’s playing classical versions of pop songs!” 

“Did you really think Evan had a taste for Chopin or Debussy?” Harry asks both dimples poking on his cheeks.

“I think at this point I’d believe anything you tell me about him.”

Both of you laugh, the air surrounding you light and warm, before falling quiet again. This time, however, you simply stare at each other for a beat. You watch his eyes, with their almost hypnotizing jade shade, glancing between your own. He rolls his lip between his teeth, nibbling at it. This is the closest you’ve been to him all night, and the details on his face only feel like a reminder of your doubts. Like the nostalgia you feel with a bittersweet memory.

“Should we-“ You stop, the words falling from your lips before you can think about them. “Should we talk about the elephant in the room?”

You half expect Harry to frown, to play dumb, and question you the meaning behind your words. For a second, you even expect him to shake his head, to get up and leave the room. And, for some reason, you kinda want him to do so. To finally break the mask of the nice, sweet guy he’s been putting on all night and allow himself to play the role of cold prick you put him on for the past months. 

But he doesn’t do it. He only gives you a short smile. “I was thinking about how to bring it up.” Harry’s gaze falls to his lap for a beat as he scratches his nose. “We should, yeah.”

You nod, more to yourself than to him. This is it. The moment to ask what you’ve been waiting for for six months now. You decide not to think much anymore, allowing the question to roll freely, “I don’t really know how to word this better but- pardon my French- what the fuck happened?”

Harry chuckles, but not an amused one. It’s more of a dry, nervous laugh. “How cliche is it if I tell you I was really fucking stupid?”

“Pretty cliche.” You say, “But also pretty true, I suppose.”

“I’m sorry for that.” He looks up, eyes meeting yours again, his own softening upon seeing you. “I really am.”

“Thank you for apologizing.” You smile a little, “But I think I deserve an explanation.”

“You do.” He speaks quietly before clearing his throat. For a second, he doesn’t say anything else, just takes a sharp breath, focusing on his fingers that play with the hem of his trousers. “I- Uhm- I know this might come as a surprise, but I’m not very good at letting people down.”

“A bit, I guess.” You try to humor, but your tone doesn’t show it. You sound quiet, hurt.

He peeks up at you, and continues, “Jess- the girl you met at the premiere- she’s lovely and all, but- how do I say this- we were never really supposed to be together.” Harry sighs, “I didn’t like her like that.”

You frown, “Then, why did you?”

“A couple of months before we met- before Evan even mentioned the film project to me, one of my mates kept insisting that I should meet his sister.” He pauses, “That was Jess.”

“I figured.”

Harry nods, “As I said, she’s a lovely girl, really nice, but we just- didn’t click like that, you know?” You hum in agreement, ignoring a small twist in your stomach when he repeats the endearment term. “But I guess she really wanted to try it, and, for months, I just kept pushing and pushing, cause I thought maybe with time I could bring myself to feel the same way.” And then again, another humorless laugh, “But- spoiler alert- I couldn’t and I should’ve just told her that.”

Your mouth hangs open for a beat before you decide against saying anything. It’s clear as you watch him explain that the entire situation for him felt more complicated than you’d ever considered. Not once did you think about the possibility of him being caught in a twist of his own decisions, and not once did you regard his feelings with the whole situation. In your bubble of gloominess, all you could think of was how he played you and used you for a bit before moving on to the next girl that fell for his sweet talk. 

Looking at him now, however, his head low and brows set on a permanent crease, lips frowning down, you can feel the internal conflict pooling out of his pores. You’re not sure if it’s exactly a look of remorse that he gives you, but it sure seems close to it.

Harry huffs in what feels like frustration as he keeps recalling the events, “But all my mates kept taking the piss, pushing me to ask her out and then, in the middle of it, I met you.” He finally smiles a bit, and you have to look down to hide the warmth that spreads on your cheeks, “And we-uh-” He shrugs, “I mean, we clicked, didn’t we?”

“I think so.” You say, just above a whisper.

“I think so, too,” Harry says, holding your gaze with his own. “And when I was with you I let myself forget about that, forget about the pressure to be with someone else, I guess.” His lips fall again, eyes meeting his lap, “But when we came back, there wasn’t much running away from it anymore. The night we got back I met that friend of mine and, I’m not sure if he said anything to Jess, but she asked me out.”

“And you said yes.”

“I said yes.” He repeats, shaking his head, “I shouldn’t have, but I said yes.”

“So you just dated her? Even if you didn’t like her like that?” You say, trying to understand his thought process. Even if his words tug at your heartstrings -- which you try to not think about right now -- you still can’t help but feel a bit for the other girl.

“I thought I could- I don’t know, I thought with time maybe I could-” He stumbles around with his speech, before finally letting out a sigh, “I don’t know what was going through my head, to be honest. I was a prick.”

“At least you can admit to it.”

“I was a prick to both of you.” 

You fall quiet, hoping he takes your silence as an agreement. When he doesn’t offer anything else, you speak up again, “Did it work, though?” He frowns, and you clarify, “Letting time force feelings into you?”

“I found very quickly how hard it is to develop feelings for someone when there’s someone else on your mind.” He says, and you bite back a smile that wants to spread on your lips.

“It’s very easy to say that now.”

“I know.” He agrees, “And I wish I could’ve realized that earlier, before even bringing you into this mess.” Harry reaches for your wrist, which lies on top of your lap, giving it a gentle squeeze. “For that I really am sorry.”

“I know you are.” You reassure, turning your hand to find his, squeezing it back. “And what happened to Jess?”

“She was rightfully upset when I told her.” His thumb brushes against your knuckles, moving the rings on your fingers around just slightly, and it’s almost enough to distract you from his voice. “We broke up a day after the premiere.”

“Ouch.”

“But it’s fine now, she’s got a boyfriend now who actually cares for her the way she deserves,” Harry says.

“That’s nice to hear, at least.”

“It is, yeah.”

You look down at your hands locked in your lap, squeezing his one more time before letting it go with a sigh.  “You really made a big mess, huh?”

He chuckles, a guilty smile poking on his face, “I did.”

You nod, finally reaching for the tiny bottle left forgotten next to you, opening it. This time you only take a sip, but it’s still enough to end half of the liquid inside. You click your tongue, “I’m glad we talked, though.” You look up at Harry again, who’s already watching you, giving a small tap on his thigh. “It’s nice to have closure, you know? To give it a conclusion and wrap with a nice little bow.”

Harry rolls his lip inside his mouth, “Is this a conclusion, then?”

You raise your brows, “Is it not?”

“I guess it could be.” He shrugs one shoulder, leaning closer to you just barely, eyes trained in yours. “But I’m hoping that, after today, maybe we could start over?”

You laugh, scrunching your nose at him as you shake your head. “Not a start over, no.” You poke his side, “You’re not getting away that easy.”

“You’re right.” He says, still not budging as he frowns his lips. “But I wish it didn’t have to be an ending as well.”

“Is that so?”

Harry nods, you can tell his eyes hold a shyness that wasn’t here a minute ago, but at the same time -- as paradoxically as it seems -- there’s a boldness as well, one you’re more familiar with. “Maybe we could chat again. This time with fewer ice breaker cards and more bags of sweets.”

You smile, rubbing your chin as you pretend to ponder about his suggestion. “That does sound very promising.”

“I really do think we clicked.” He drops his playful tone as if wanting to make sure you feel the sincerity behind his words. “Wasn’t just saying it.”

“I know.” You say, “And I think so, too.”

His smirk grows, and he doesn’t offer anything else to say, but you can tell he’s holding something back. With the silence, you suddenly become too aware of the way your arms brush together, and how his knee bumps against yours. You notice how his eyes fall a bit from yours, so quickly you could’ve imagined it, but you choose to not think so. If you lean forward, you know he will too, but you don’t want to give him the satisfaction. You’re not letting yourself make the first move.

Surely, you’re aware these thoughts are a direct result of the alcohol sweeping through your mind, testing how much of your pride you’re willing to ignore. There’s no questioning of the wall that you built all those months ago after walking out of this very house with this very man on your tail blurring out apologies. It still stands, tall and strong, and you're not letting sweet words mixed with a drink or two pull it down. Not that easily. But at this moment, looking at his stupidly beautiful face with his stupidly beautiful eyes so close to you, you feel like maybe you could peek through a window, or open up a door — just a creek, just to have a sample of what it would feel like if you were to pull it down.

“Do you want to go back?” Harry asks again, this time more quietly, this time his question has a different implication than it did before.

You're quick to shake your head, voice quiet, “Not yet.”

The corner of his lips quirk up and you raise your brows, silently daring him to ask what he’s been holding. You see his hand moving from the corner of your eyes, but you don’t break your gaze from his, not even when you feel his fingertips moving so gently against your cheekbone, brushing your hair away from your face. Harry leans closer, again just barely, and again, you stay still, only smiling softly in encouragement. Now, you’re stuck in your own silent conversation; both seeking the same thing but not making the move to achieve it -- either for pride or apprehension. 

“I’d really like to kiss you right now,” Harry whispers finally, eyes moving down again, this time slowly, making sure that his intentions are clear.

“Do it, then.” You tease.

Harry breathes out a laugh, his hand caressing its way down to your jaw. He rubs his thumb against your cheek, a feathery touch, taking another second to look at you before pulling you in. Your eyes fall closed, as you focus on your senses, and allow yourself to peek from that window, or creek that door open just a bit, to have just this moment to remember when you first got lost in his touch. 

First, it’s the warmth of his breath tickling your cupid bow, making your hold your own breath in anticipation. Then, the tip of his nose, gentle against your own, and you can’t help but lean in a bit more when you feel the ghost of his lips on yours. But he pulls back, just so slightly, hoping to have you reach for him again. Except you don’t, knowing what he’s trying to do.

“Uh-uh,” you shake your head, pulling back just a bit to look him in the eye. “You don’t get to tease me.”

Harry huffs out a laugh, “That’s fair.”

This time, there’s no teasing. Still, he goes in just as slowly as he did the first time around, curving his lips around your bottom one so softly it almost makes you lean in again. His kiss is cloud-like in a way that makes you a bit dizzy and when he presses his lips harder, you have to refrain from letting out a dreamy sigh -- still too stubborn to give him the satisfaction. It’s when you feel the tip of his tongue poking out to lick at your bottom lip in a silent request, that you pull away completely.

It’s your turn to smirk now, licking your lips before announcing, “I think we should go back now.”