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shuahoonie · 5 years

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you. [tom holland] - five.

PAIRING: tom holland x female!celebrity!reader

SUMMARY: ah, to be young and in love. it sounds great if only you and tom were actually dating out of pure love and not for the sheer reputation of your careers. it also should be great if you two actually got along, but life isn’t that easy.

WARNINGS: mostly swearing! sexual innuendos are present kids! a bit of fluff, a bit of angst. it’s haters to lovers / fake dating au so take that information as you wish! this is definitely a filler chapter tho.

WORD COUNT: 3761 words

SONG INSPO: hard times - paramore

A/N: hiya babes! sorry if i skipped a two weeks-worth of an update, got caught up from uni & my part-time job. been writing for uni a lot, and ngl yall kinda wanna cry! anyways, the amount of love i’ve received for this series is wild you guys!!! thank you so much for the kind words! i know i suck at replying but please know that i really appreciate it you guys and y’all make me feel soft and so loved 🥺 sorry again for the late update, hope this makes up for it!! enjoy part five & happy reading x 🥰💛

UPDATES EVERY SATURDAY 11 PM CST

gif credits: @thwip

You woke up by the sun beaming on your face. Already dreading the day, you pulled the covers over your head and buried yourself in the pile of pillows that were taking up most of the space on your bed. God, you were exhausted from yesterday.

See, yesterday- yesterday was a blur. Everything happened so fast. You and Tom were trending on Twitter for god-knows how many hours. Headlines about you two dating were plastered everywhere.

It made you roll your eyes. Do people care that much? And they do. People cared a lot about you two. People said that you two look great together, while a handful said you were in it for the clout. Technically, we both are.

So, now that you got the people’s attention, what’s next?

Well, for starters, they started tracking yours and Tom’s relationship from where and how it started. They wouldn’t find anything because you two aren’t really dating in the first place.

However, they did compilations of possible hints that you two were dating-or maybe was just getting to know each other. Luckily for you two, you followed each other on Instagram for quite a while now so you got that foundation to build up.

You liked some of his photos before, as did he. You actually found Tom quite adorable back then. The first time you saw him was when you saw Captain America: Civil War with your friends. You and your friends bonded over watching Marvel movies and once you saw Tom Holland as Peter Parker on screen, it was safe to say that you weren’t just crushing on Sebastian Stan anymore.

However, you did convince yourself that nothing trumps over your crush on Sebastian Stan. You also convinced yourself that you were crushing on Peter Parker-not Tom Holland. Peter Parker was sweet and kind, Tom Holland was not.

You pushed off the covers and finally pulled yourself out of bed. After doing your morning routine, you threw yourself into the couch with a coffee in hand while a toast on the other.

Today was your last day off before you went back to taping so you were expecting a pretty dull day today- that is until your phone kept on buzzing.

You looked at the caller ID before letting out a huge groan, “Zoë, Please for the love of God, it’s my day off.”

“Good morning to you too, Y/N.” Your manager said on the other line. “And I know it’s your day off, I just wanted to check up on you.”

You furrowed your brows. “That sounds oddly suspicious, what are you planning to do, Zoë?”

“Would you relax, Y/N? I was just asking if you have anything to do for your day off.” She replied.

“I’ll probably do a bit of grocery shopping later, but other than that I might bury myself in blankets and watch movies in the living room.” You answered and took a bite of your toast, frowning as you tried to swallow your sad and bland breakfast.

“Okay, that’s good to know-Oh, and I also wanted to tell you that your taping tomorrow has been moved for the next two days. Apparently, Alissa won’t be back till tomorrow.”

“Oh, thank god,” You sighed, relieved to hear that you have another day off. “Thanks for the heads up, Zo. I’ll see ‘ya soon.” You hung up the phone and finished the piece of toast.

You watched a few episodes of Brooklyn Nine-Nine before you gathered up the will to get yourself ready. After taking a well-deserved warm bath and doing your extensive skincare routine -watching videos about Koreans sharing their skincare routine on Youtube really got the best of you and your bank account- You put on a plain white shirt and paired it with your favourite pair of mom jeans.

As you grabbed your keys and your wallet, ready to bust out the door, you heard your phone ring.

“Are you home?”

“Yes, I am, Ronnie. Why are you asking?” You asked her.

“Cool. Can you open the door please?” She asked on the other line.

Confused, you opened your front door and sure enough, Veronica was standing in front of your apartment wearing her university sweatshirt and denim jeans.

“Oh thank god you’re ready, I had the most awful day at school. I just received my paper for my 400-level political science class and let’s just say that the mark I got, I haven’t done it in bed for a while now.” Veronica ranted off, taking her shoes off before placing her books on the coffee table.

It took you a solid minute before you just realized what she just said. “Ronnie, I don’t want to know about your sex life-” You said before you fixed your hair. “Or lack thereof.”

“I could really use some good fucking, ‘yannoe?”

“Jesus Christ, Ronnie-” You sighed as you handed her shoes back to her. “C’mon, I have to do some serious grocery shopping.”

“Okay, but I’m driving,” Ronnie said as she grabbed her car keys. “You’re a horrible driver.”

“Works for me,” You shrugged and locked the front door.

The travel to the grocery store was typical: you two belting One Direction songs the whole time. You and Veronica were strolling the yogurt aisle when she asked about your whole love life situation.

“Oi, I thought you and Tom weren’t dating?” She asked as she put an assorted pack of yogurt down the cart.

“I’m never going to eat that,” You pointed at the yogurt. “And we aren’t.”

“I will eat it whenever I stop by unannounced at your place,” Veronica argued. “Then what’s with that photo that I’ve seen with you two holding hands yesterday?”

You looked around, checking if there was anybody within-distance that could hear whatever you were about to say. “We’re not actually dating.” You murmured.

“Come again?” Veronica asked, completely lost.

“We’re just doing it for publicity.” You whispered loud enough for Ronnie to hear.

“I’m sorry, but how exactly did it escalate to that?” She asked, totally confused.

“Remember that stunt I pulled at the club the other day?”

“Yeah, you were all over the news.”

“That was the reason as to why it had to escalate to me and him dating.” You answered as you pushed the cart again.

“Yeah, no, I need a cup of coffee before we do this, I’m all caffeine-out,” Veronica said before she bid of herself off and went towards the Starbucks that was found near the entrance of the store.

You rolled your eyes playfully at your friend and carried on completing the least stressful adult task for you.

It was actually quite serene. You managed to finish your shopping without people noticing you-well, that’s a stretch. People did notice you. Most of them gave you an acknowledging nod followed by a small smile, some of them asked for a photo, and only a few just stared at you-which you didn’t mind.

You were paying for your things when Veronica appeared right beside you with a cup of coffee in hand. “What? Did the line at Starbucks reach the parking lot? What took you so long?”

“No, but a cute guy bought me a drink.” She beamed, taking a sip of her coffee.

You chuckled. “Good for you, Ronnie.”

“Y/N, girl, I swear- he has the most gorgeous eyes.” Ronnie carried on, the smile was stuck on her face. “Oh, he was so sweet.” She sighed happily.

You were happy for your friend since it’s not every day she meets someone that she’s completely enamoured with. However, she can express her liking for this guy while helping you load the grocery back in the cart. “Ronnie, that sounds great and all, but can you help me with the groceries so we can leave now?” You practically begged.

Veronica nodded and helped you load the groceries back in the cart, immediately speeding up the process. Taking too much time fixing your groceries at the till always gave you anxiety, especially when there’s a long queue behind you.

“Oh my god, Y/N,” Veronica gasped as you two were walking towards the parking lot.

“What? What happened? Are you okay?” You asked, completely baffled.

“I forgot to tell you that he has this amazing accent,” She sighed, making you roll your eyes.

“Ronnie, I swear to god I will fucking kill you.” You grumbled as Veronica opened the trunk of her car and started handing you the groceries for you to put in.

“I forgot to get his name though,” She mumbled. “which is a bummer because he was honestly a godsend.”

All you could do was roll your eyes as you were lost for words.

“Oh, quit rolling your eyes at me. Just because you have a boyfriend, doesn’t mean I don’t deserve to have one.” Ronnie pointed out.

“As if I actually have a boyfriend,” You countered, finishing up with the groceries.

“Whatever,” Veronica mumbled and shut off the trunk of her car. “I’ll just put this cart back and-”

“Hey, Veronica, was it?”

You and Veronica both turned your heads towards the person who just called Veronica’s name. As soon as she saw who the voice belonged to, it gave her extreme delight.

“Yes,” She beamed at the brunette with insanely blue eyes. “We talked earlier but I didn’t get your name.”

“Sorry ‘bout that. I had to take a phone call and when I got back, you weren’t there.” The guy explained. You took a good look at him. He seemed familiar but you couldn’t exactly put your finger on it.

“No, you’re okay! I had to go back to my friend here-which reminds me,” Veronica pulled you closer “This is my best friend, Y/N, Y/N, this is-”

“Harrison,” The guy smiled at you and extended his hand for you to shake. You politely shook his hand and after what seemed like an eternity, his eyes widened. “Wait, You’re Y/N L/N, right? From the Alchemist?”

You gave him a small nod, still trying to figure out who he is. “You’re also Tom’s girlfriend, I presume?” He asked a bit shyly.

“Great. I can’t believe I have to live with that label attached to my name now.” You thought to yourself.

You weren’t exactly sure if and how you were going to answer his question. Where are you with this stunt anyway? Are you and Tom supposed to be vocal about your relationship or were you two just blatant and left the people to figure out for themselves?

Harrison seemed to take notice of your hesitation in regard to the question. “It’s okay,” He says softly. “I know.”

“Pardon me?”

“I know the real deal about you and Tom.” He whispered.

There was a look of panic in Veronica’s eyes. “Yeah, that they’re totally in love.” She said defensively. You, however, seemed unbothered. You were also curious. You’ve seen Harrison before but you couldn’t point out where you’ve seen him.

“Harrison, you’re Tom’s best friend, yeah?” You asked him, starting to get a picture of how familiar he is.

Harrison nodded. “I wasn’t really expecting for our first meeting to be like this.” He chuckled.

“Eh, it’s alright,” You shrugged. “Much better for us to meet this way and in our own circumstance, considering your friend makes everything ten times more unbearable.”

Harrison let out a small laugh, “Tom’s not that bad once you get to know him.”

“Oh trust me, I know him plenty and so far, I’m not liking it.” You argued quite defensively. “Well, I’ll leave you two to chat for a bit as I put this cart back in its place.” You said as you gave Veronica a short look, in which she beamed at you in return.

You purposely took your time with returning the pushcart back in its rightful area. You fumbled with your phone for a bit, checking your Twitter only to find out that you’re still trending and people still have no idea what to feel about you and Tom’s relationship.

“Why did I pour my drink all over him again?” You asked yourself in frustration.

As you walked back towards Ronnie’s car, you saw your best friend and Harrison talk animatedly around each other with their smiles never leaving their faces.

The tad bitter side of you wondered if their mouths hurt from all that smiling, it also made you wonder if it’s even okay for a normal person to smile that much. However, the better part of you was glad that your best friend was happy. Veronica needed to be happy.

Soon after, they bid their goodbyes, not before exchanging phone numbers. Harrison gave you a friendly wave-goodbye before he walked towards his car.

As soon as you sat on the passenger seat of Ronnie’s car, you were already greeted by a huge smile on her face.

“Okay, don’t get mad-” Ronnie began.

You groaned. Knowing your best friend, you knew that she did something that will get you mad. “Ronnie, what did you do?”

“Okay, so I know that tonight was supposed to be our movie night but I just couldn’t help it! You know me through thick and thin, Y/N! You know how I do things impulsively around guys that I’m interested in. I’m like a mindless machine around them! I don’t even know why I’m talking this much when I usually have everything under control but Harrison-”

“Ronnie sweetie, breathe,” You said with your hands placed on top of her shoulders. “You are babbling and I need you to get straight to the point.”

Veronica took a deep breath before she said the words that almost made you want to smack the living daylights out of your friend. “I invited Harrison for dinner and I told him he can bring Tom too.”

“Could you stop?” Veronica threw the kitchen towel at you as you continued to glare at her. “You’re being childish, hon.”

“I am not being childish! You’re being childish.” You argued, crossing your arms.

Veronica just stared at you, her face seemingly screams that she’s absolutely done with you.

“Okay, so maybe I am being childish,” You admitted. “But you threw the towel at me so I’m not the only one here with an attitude.”

Veronica rolled her eyes as she finished setting up the table. You two were supposed to have pasta over dinner and have a Harry Potter movie marathon while eating junk food. Well, you two were still going to do it, except this time you’re joined by Harrison and Tom.

“This is the worst thing you’ve ever done to me,” You said dramatically.

“Y/N, hon, you’re exaggerating. I’m pretty sure this evening’s not going to be bad.” Ronnie commented.

Veronica left the kitchen and proceeded to the living room to check her makeup in the mirror that was propped over the wall. You followed her into the living room and threw yourself on the couch.

“Ronnie, why did you even invite them? Don’t you have classes tomorrow? Also, aren’t you supposed to be writing your paper for your social class?” You asked as you watched Ronnie retouch her makeup.

You were trying your best to cancel this dinner. You tried to reason with your best friend though because this is your house in the first place. However, she pulled the “This is my chance in getting myself a love life” card and she has moaned for years that she really wants to meet someone. You’d do anything for Veronica’s happiness. You’d also do anything to keep your best friend quiet about how she wants to date so bad.

“I already have my draft for that paper, just need to edit it,” Ronnie replied as she applied a coat of mascara. “Besides, I don’t have any classes on Mondays, you knew that.”

“Right,” you mumbled. “Still think this is a bad idea though. Things got so unbearable with Tom yesterday, I don’t think I’ll be able to handle another day with that guy ever again.”

After your whole lunch scene with Tom yesterday, it felt suffocating. It was unbearable. He was back with his usual snarky attitude and it drove you mad.

You learned one sure thing about your set-up though: He was only charming around other people, but if it’s just you two? He was a jerk.

Not even a minute later, the doorbell rang. You got up and checked who was at the door and sure enough, two familiar faces filled up the screen.

“Speaking of the devil,” You muttered before opening the door and was greeted by Harrison who gave you a hug.

“Thanks for having us over, Y/N” Harrison said as he pulled away from the short hug. He then proceeded to give Veronica one, and it was obvious that his intentions were solely focused on her anyway.

“Uh, yeah. No problem.” You said almost awkwardly as you gave Ronnie a look, who in turn mouthed a grateful ‘Thank you’.

You turned back to the door and saw that Tom standing there, a stoic look on his face. He looked like he came out of a photoshoot based on the clothes he was wearing: slouchy black button-ups and a pair of denim jeans. “Holland,” You greeted him as you opened the door a bit wider.

“Y/L/N,” He said as he gave you a once-over. “You look...” Tom seemed like he was really trying hard to think of a nice word to say.

“Don’t strain yourself,” You said as you rolled your eyes.

You were wearing an oversized band shirt -that was tied in a knot at the front- and paired it with high-waisted patterned pants. You and Ronnie shared a small argument on what you should wear for dinner.

She insisted that you should dress for your comfort while looking presentable and you argued that that is the outfit that gave you comfort.

You also argued that Ronnie and her guests should be glad that you weren’t wearing sweatpants like you anticipated before Ronnie invited people for dinner.

“Good because I wasn’t planning to,” Tom nagged, sending you into absolute overdrive.

As soon as he had his back turned on you, you resisted the urge of strangling him right then and there.

Unbeknownst to you and Tom, Veronica and Harrison caught the frustration painted on your face causing them to chuckle amongst themselves.

You and Tom had only known each other for two days at most, and yet you already had the most confusing relationship that existed in this world.

“If this carries throughout the evening, the world will know me not as Tom Holland’s girlfriend, but as the girl who killed him.” You muttered to Veronica as you passed by her.

“Relax, Y/N,” Veronica chuckled as she put a hand over your shoulder. “Dinner wouldn’t be that bad.”

Saying that dinner wouldn’t be that bad would be an understatement. Dinner was horrible.

Veronica and Harrison were pretty much occupied during the entire meal. They mostly had their attention to each other, which didn’t surprise you. Ronnie and Harrison were smitten for each other, it actually made you snort.

You and Tom, though, were a different case. You two were seated across each other and you two wouldn’t stop bickering.

It started when Tom accidentally kicked your foot underneath the table.

“Ouch!” You yelped. “Why did you kick me?!”

“It was an accident,” He said defensively.

“Psh, right” You scoffed. “Accident my ass.”

The “I accidentally kicked you underneath the table” carried on for the entire meal, with you and Tom exchanging kicks every few minutes.

You two also shared glares throughout the dinner.

“Why are you mad at me?!” Tom argued.

“Because you’re here!”

“Well, why did you invite me then?!”

“I didn’t! It was all her!” You hissed as you pointed at Veronica who was rather talking intimately with Harrison, and was also very much oblivious to the argument unveiling in front of her and Haz.

“God, why did I even think coming here was a good idea.” Tom moaned as he pinched the bridge of his nose, obviously annoyed.

It didn’t even end there, as you all moved from the kitchen and into the living room to start the Harry Potter marathon, you and Tom started bickering over a piece of furniture.

As Ronnie and Haz went to the loveseat sofa, you claimed the larger couch so you could lay down while watching the film and leaving Tom with nothing to sit on. You didn’t have much furniture considering you’re the only one who lives in this apartment.

“Scoot over, Y/N.” He said as he approached the couch you were laying on.

“You can sit at the ottoman.”

“And have nothing to rest my back on?”

“God, you are such a diva.” You grumbled. “Just sit on the floor then.” You replied as you pulled the faux fur blanket over you, keeping you warm and cozy.

“I don’t want to sit on the floor for hours,” Tom argued as he tried to pull you up from your position.

“Fine, I’ll get you the floor cushion.” You said in defeat.

“I want to sit on the couch, Y/N.”

“I am not moving, Holland. You can’t make me.” You said rather childishly.

“Fine,” Tom sighed and pulled the ottoman closer to the couch. He pulled up your feet and sat on the end of the couch as he propped his feet on top of the ottoman. He placed your feet on top of his lap, as you claimed you weren’t going to get up from your laying down position. “Then don’t move.” He dictated, leaving you to roll your eyes.

And as for the cherry on top, you had your manager nag you to post something about your evening. You didn’t even know that Veronica filmed a quick story for her Instagram until you received a message from Zoë saying: “A couple of fans that follow Ronnie saw her story. Share it on your Insta too, it adds foundation to our story.”

Ronnie’s Insta story showed the television playing Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s stone, and it panned to Harrison who was smiling softly at the camera and then, panned to you and Tom who were sharing the couch. You two were watching intently and from the looks of it, you looked like a very believable couple.

Your manager was right and that irked you. The devil works hard but Zoë works harder.

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universe-n-3276 · 4 years

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Carrying the Moon

Chapter 10

Notes: There is a little soft smut part at the beginning, but you can skip it. Also I wanted to thank you for all the suggestions I got for this chapter. They really helped my creative process. Thank you @cleocc who came up with the idea behind this. Lastly I wanted to tell you that all the love I’m getting from you guys is really making my days. I’m so grateful!

It was Sunday, the last day of the best weekend Robbe and Sander had spent in months. It was strange how those months apart had appeared so long to both of them, but now that they were together again, it seemed like not a day had passed. They hadn’t forgotten each other’s habits. How they liked to sleep, how much sugar they wanted in their coffee, who was the big spoon, who’s the little.

After putting Hero to sleep, they decided to take a bath, together, of course, because since their reunion on Friday night, they hadn’t been able to stay away from one another, not even for a few seconds. So, while Sander finished washing the dishes in the kitchen, Robbe started to run a bath. He filled the bathtub and made sure to put enough soap to form some bubbles. He took off his clothes and was about to slip into the water, when Sander walked in the bathroom and hugged him from behind, pressing his lips to his neck, making him shiver.

“Hi."

Robbe smiled, enjoying that soft contact. He tilted his head a little, and Sander took it as an invitation to continue what he had just started.

"Are you happy to see me or is there something in your pocket?"

Sander stifled a laugh against his boyfriend's skin.

"I don't have pockets."

They made love there, in the bathroom. Robbe was slightly bent forward while holding the sink with his hands. The sounds he was making, Sander thought he had never heard anything more beautiful, more arousing. They were his favorite thing in the world.

After that, they both got into the tub. Sander was sitting between Robbe's legs. His head resting on his boyfriend's shoulder, eyes closed, while Robbe played with his hair, kissing his face sweetly and delicately, in total contrast to what had happened a few minutes earlier. It was beautiful, comforting, familiar.

"How long it will take for him to start to see me as his parent?"

"I don't think he knows what a parent is."

"But he knows you are his papa."

"Because everyone keeps referring me as “papa” in front of him."

"Hmhm."

Sander knew Robbe would have started asking questions like that eventually, and he felt guilty for denying him his relationship with Hero for so long, but he was also sure that ultimately, those eight months, for Hero, had been meaningless, in the bigger picture.

"Look, I haven't read books about babies, but in my experience, I think he feels safer with me because I'm the one who spends more time with him. But I swear, I’ll do everything I can to make him feel safe with you as well. At that point, he will see you as his dad."

"So you're papa and I'm dad?"

“Yeah, of course. Come here."

He turned his face and pressed his lips to his boyfriend's, slipping a hand through his hair and cupping his head, to make him come closer. They kept going like that, kissing languidly for a while. Neither of them had yet made the slightest attempt to grab soap or shampoo to wash themselves, and the water was now starting to get cold.

"I have to go back to my flatshare tomorrow."

"Why?"

"Because I live there and I can’t go to classes wearing your clothes."

"I thought you wanted to do this parenting thing with me."

"I do."

"So stay. Move in with me here."

There were still so many things to discuss, and they both knew it, but they had made sure to put all the talks aside and take that weekend just to heal their relationship and love each other, without a single worry in their mind.

"And your mom?"

“My mom lives with her boyfriend and comes here when I need some help with Hero. It will be only the two of us and our little one, of course. Please say yes. There’s no rent to pay and my parents take care of the financial stuff since they didn’t want me to leave uni to look after the baby."

Sander knew how to make something sound good, but that proposal would have been tempting even if it was just him and Hero on the plate.

"I want to say yes."

"Look, baby, it won’t be easy as it was before, because dealing with Hero can be stressful, but I promise I will take care of him when you have to study, or you just don’t wanna him around. And there’s a spare room if you need your space. "

“I would never let you take care of him alone. We're in thins together now. Remember? "

“Yeah, I do. So is that a yes? "

"Yes."

Robbe managed to make his way into Hero and Sander's routine. It wasn't always easy, sometimes Hero would cry in the middle of the night when Robbe had to wake up early for a class in the morning. When he had to study for an exam, he felt guilty leaving Sander to take care of the baby alone, but, at the end of the day, the happiness he was feeling, outweighed those moments of despair. He started to think how stupid he had been, for letting all those months pass, before coming back to the love of his life and their son.

For once, Robbe didn't feel guilty about accepting the help of Sander's parents, and whenever he could call a babysitter for Hero, he felt very lucky.

Growing fond of Hero hadn't been difficult. After the first few days together, the joyful, warm, and radiant manners of the baby had managed to break through Robbe’s heart, who often found himself wishing he could be with his baby, when he had to be the whole day at university instead. He couldn't wait to go home and spend time together.

The chemistry with Sander came back automatically. From the first moment, it was like picking up exactly where they left off. Sander knew exactly how to read Robbe and it was mutual. It was like sharing emotions and thoughts. Robbe felt the need to give all of himself for their relationship and promised himself never to take the other for granted. Not after realizing how precious the way Sander loved him was.

It had been over a month since Robbe had moved in with Sander, and they had started their life together again. By now, he knew Hero, and that morning there was something wrong with him. He had lost the happiness that distinguished him, he was nervous and whiny.

"He doesn't want to eat, I even tried to give him a bottle of formula but he pushed that away too."

The two boys looked into each other's eyes, both were very worried. Sander took Hero from Robbe's arms and placed his cheek against his forehead.

“I think he has a fever. Can you take the baby thermometer?"

They took Hero's temperature and when they found out that it was indeed way above the norm, Sander started to panic.

“We should have known sooner. We have to take him to the hospital right away."

“Baby, calm down. I’ll call his doctor while you try to make him drink some water, okay?"

Sander took a deep breath and closed his eyes, trying to regain some of the rationality he had lost. Robbe knew that at times like that, he had to take the lead and give him a list of tasks to do so that he could focus on the present moment. He went into the kitchen, cuddling the baby, trying to carry out the instructions he had received from his boyfriend.

After a few minutes, Robbe joined them again and gently stroked Hero's back, who was leaning against Sander's chest, pouting with his eyes full of tears.

“The doctor said we should try to take him under the shower with one of us for at least 15 minutes. He said we should use lukewarm water, and added that he will probably cry and scream a lot."

"Shoot. Is that the only option?"

"Not really. We could give him paracetamol, but the doctor said we should try the shower first since he's so little."

Robbe kissed Sander's cheek and rested his forehead on his shoulder, wrapping his arms around his waist.

"It's gonna be fine, Sander."

"I hate this situation. I just want him to feel better."

“I know, baby. I’ll shower with him if it’s too much for you."

"No, I think he’d feel safer with me."

"Yeah, I was thinking the same."

"Okay, let's do it."

As the doctor told them, Hero started to scream as soon as he felt the first drops of water roll down on him. Sander kept his shirt on and Hero had his little romper on as well because Sander feared he would otherwise slip out of his hands. The child was crying, screaming, and struggling, so much more than the two boys had expected. It seemed they were torturing him, but they both knew that the hospital would be even more traumatic. Sander and Hero both looked in pain, and the baby kept trying to reach for Robbe every minute. When his boyfriend bowed his head, Robbe knew he was close to the tears.

"Baby, don't cry, it's for his best."

"I know but seeing him in this way just breaks my heart."

"Two more minutes and it’s over, c’mon."

He wanted to get in the shower and hug them both but they had a plan and according to it, he couldn’t get wet.

When the timer they set up warned them that the time was finally up, Robbe grabbed a big fluffy towel and took Hero from Sander’s arms, trying to comfort him, showering him with all the kisses.

Sander turned off the water and got rid of his soaked clothes, wrapping himself in his bathrobe.

"He's gonna hate me for the rest of his life."

"That’s not true, and you know it. At least now that he wants to stay with me, you can get some rest."

"Yeah, I definitely could use it."

Robbe took Hero into the nursery and kept cuddling him, whispering sweet words to him.

"You're such a brave boy. Let's dry you up and put on some clean pajamas, alright?"

The baby was so exhausted from screaming and crying so much in the shower, that he fell asleep while Robbe was dressing him. He sat down on the rocking chair that was in the nursery and kept holding him against his chest until Hero's breathing became more regular.

He did not know at what point he had fallen asleep, but when he reopened his eyes, the room was dark, and the only light in it, came from the small lightning bolt-shaped lamp that Sander had hung on the wall. He felt a hand caressing his cheek, realizing that his boyfriend was at his side and that he was whispering something.

"What?"

"I said hi, baby."

"Hi."

He smiled, and kissed Sander's lips, feeling so much calmer than before.

"I think he's better."

"Yeah, he woke up a couple of times, he took some milk with crumbled biscuits in it, and then fell asleep again."

"And his temperature?"

"It was back to normal so the shower worked."

"I'm so happy to hear it. Wanna switch?"

"No, that's okay. I love feeling him sleeping so peacefully on my chest."

"At least come to our bed, or you won't be able to stand up tomorrow."

Sander helped him to his feet and guided him to their room. Robbe felt so tired he barely understood what he was doing, so he was happy to be able to count on his boyfriend. Sander arranged some pillows so that Robbe could stay seated to keep Hero on his chest. Shortly after getting into the right position, he closed his eyes again and went back into a deep sleep.

When he regained consciousness, it was late morning, and the room was bathed in daylight again. He turned his face and saw his boyfriend's eyes staring at him, a stupid smile on his lips that didn't quite match the way he was feeling at that moment. Every inch of his skin hurt and his head was about to explode. He wondered if Hero had felt the same way.

"Good morning, beautiful."

"Hmm, I feel like shit."

"Ow. Let me just..."

Sander pressed his lips to his forehead, and Robbe fought the urge to push him away. When he was sick he just wanted to be left alone.

“Yeah. You're burning."

"Fuck. Everything hurts. Where's Hero? "

"He's in the other room with my mom, and he's great!"

"I'm happy to hear it. Now go away."

"Why? You're the worst patient."

"Shut up, you took a cold shower and I get a fever? I hate you."

He pulled the blanket over his head to hide and slid onto the mattress, curling up. Obviously, Sander didn’t let him go, in fact, he felt his boyfriend come closer and try to hug him as he could, leaving little kisses on the blanket.

"You're kissing my butt."

“You know I love it. And so do you!"

Robbe uncovered himself again, coming face to face with his boyfriend, giving him a death glare.

"I want to punch that stupid expression out off your face."

Sander laughed out loud and Robbe's head began to throb even more. He closed his eyes and remained silent, trying to calm down, when someone knocked on the door.

"Yes, come on in, mom."

Sander's mom walked into their room, holding Hero in her arms. He looked better, and Robbe was a little relieved. He had gotten sick, but at least it was worth it, and he would have done it again thousands of times, just to get the same outcome.

"Guys, guess who ate all his food?"

"Hi, Alice!"

"Hi, sweetheart!"

"Robbe’s a fever."

“Ow, no! Poor thing!"

Hero saw his dads and stretched out his little hands to reach them, but Alice kissed his cheek and smiled quietly.

"No, baby Hero, you can't go with them. Your daddy is sick."

"But I wanna hold him."

"You need some more rest, baby. Mom, can you help me make some soup for Robbe."

“Sure! Say nighty night to your daddy, Hero! "

Alice waved her hand to Robbe and Hero did the same. Sander gave his boyfriend a kiss on his forehead and the three of them left, so the boy was finally able to rest. Robbe closed his eyes, turning on his side. It was the first time that Hero got sick and there would be many more. When he saw the baby cry and suffer so much, he just wanted with all his heart to take his pain away and make him feel better. For the first time, perhaps, he understood what being a parent meant.

[previous] / [next]

#wtfock #sander driesen #robbe ijzermans #drijzermans #robbe x sander #rosander #sobbe #wtfam #wtfock fanfic #sobbe fanfic #carrying the moon #chapter 10

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harrys-oh-anna · 6 years

Text

Another Kind Of Birthday

Plot: You join Harry to celebrate his birthday in Tokyo. But his friend lets slip that Harry might has forgotten to tell you some important information.

Harry doesn’t understand how sad you really are back home. Without him.

Warnings: This FLUFF paired with ANGST. I JUST WISH THIS MAN A VERY HAPPY BIRTHDAY

“Hey! What are you doing?” he scoffed, bending down to grab it up from the hotel floor and placing it back into your bag only for you to throw it out again.

“Y/N! Stop it!” he tries it one again.

“I don’t want it. Keep it.”, you threw the yellow hoodie into Harry’s lap.

It was the first thing you put over your head when you arrived. It smelled like Harry and you loved how you drowned in it and Harry on the other hand loved how you looked in it. So he told you that you should keep it and you happily agreed, immediately stuffing it deep into your suitcase. But now you didn’t want to have it. You don’t want to bring anything back home that reminds you of this horrible trip back. It made you sick.

“Oh look, at least the fair lady can talk to me again.”

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

It’s been way too long since you have last seen Harry. Almost four weeks to be exactly and you yearned to see him. You missed his lazy hugs in the morning. His deep dimpled smile and how you could ramble on about every little thing that happened to you throughout the day.

This probably being the worst part. You are so used to reach out for Harry whenever something good or bad happens in your daily life. And now, with these tremendous time zones, it’s nearly impossible. Him being asleep when your awake and you going to bed when he arose.

Right now, Harry is in Tokyo, while you are at home in London. Harry is living his best life, while you must fulfil the daily tasks of a student.

Last year you were lucky enough to join Harry on his tour, but now you were in your last year of Uni, which means endless study sessions paired with endless essay writing.

You haven’t been away from Harry for such a long period for a while and it picked harder on you as you thought. At first you had the impression time flies by with how busy you were, but third week in it was not that easy anymore to be greeted with an empty bed after a long exhausting day. You were more than relieved that you would get to wake up next to your loved one again very soon.

This Friday is also Harry’s birthday and you were excited to join him in Tokyo for it. You loved this crazy city which is so different to what you are used you. And you were even happier that Harry would fly home with you on Sunday, finally being with you again. The whole package was way too good to be true.

The last week of your loneliness quickly flew by, as you got more and more excited every day. Calling Harry whenever possible to ask him what you should bring along and what he had planned for you two. And before you even knew it you found yourself on the plane to Tokyo.

The flight felt endlessly as you nervously tried to calm down and to sleep a bit, but as you finally wrapped your arms around Harry’s broad shoulders you couldn’t remember a day you ever felt more complete.

Back then you had no idea how terrible everything would play out. How devasted you would be and how many tears you would shred. Feeling even lonelier than before.

It all started on Saturday, you were still lying in bed with a deep sleeping Harry. He rested on his belly, his fringe hanging low in his eyes as slow puffs of air left his pink lips.

Last night you went out for his birthday party with his friends to sing some karaoke. Harry may have had three or five too many drinks, but you couldn’t care less. It was his birthday after all, he had every right and you loved to see him so carefree. Besides Harry isn’t known to be an affectionate drunk for nothing.

You dwelled in his fairy light touches and endless pecks. Oh god, did you miss them. Your heart bursting almost every time as Harry stumbled over to you with the microphone clapped close in his hands, singing an old cheesy love song, while pecking your face with little wet kisses.

He didn’t care that his friends called him soft and clingy, he had missed you at least as much as you missed him, and he wasn’t ready to share you with anyone. It was his birthday on top, wasn’t it?

So he made sure that he had your full attention. He knew that he doesn’t have to try that hard for it, since you were beaming at him all along. He did enjoy his own little show though.

The next morning you found yourself in his hotel room, tracing the tattoos on his arm to slowly wake him up of his drunken state. It didn’t work at first, his snoring only increasing but as you saw how his forehead crinkled and heard how he let out a low gruff of annoyance you couldn’t hold back a quiet chuckle.

“You are a real menace, you know that? Maybe I should have left you in that karaoke bar.” Harry’s raspy voice filled the silence as he joked, opening one of his eyes a bit to take a glimpse of you, a grin immediately spreading on his face.

“I’m pretty sure you wouldn’t have found the way back to the hotel without me” you mocked him, stroking his long hair out of his face so you had a better view of his green orbs.

“Stop the sass, birdie, it’s my birthday” Harry complained, catching your hand with his and bringing it close to his face to place a soft kiss on it.

“Actually your birthday were yesterday, today’s just an ordinary day like any other” you tried to annoy him further, but a squeal slipped out of your mouth as Harry turned around and pulled you underneath him, propping his body up on his forearms to hover above you.

“I think I need to look for a way to make you shut up, your only talking nonsense. It’s well known that my birthday not just lasts for a day but for a whole week,” a cocky grin adoring his features “And you know what that means. Endless wishes for me” he leans downwards, his lips almost touching yours.

“And now I wish for at least ten kisses” the cocky grin reappearing on his face as he finally closes the gap between your lips to kiss you deeply.

You didn’t know back then, that this cheerful banter would be gone soon. Oh, would you have cherished it, had you just known.

It was only a few hours later that you found your world shattered.

Harry and you were meant to meet up with Jeff and one of Harry’s new-found friends for lunch.

You weren’t really listening to what the others had to say. Some parts of the conversation were held in Japanese either way and you couldn’t understand a word.

You were totally lost into enjoying your sushi and just soaking Harry in, how his dimple appeared when one of the fellas joked or how he picked on his lip when he had to think something over and how his nose wrinkled a tiny little bit every time he tried to come up with a Japanese word that slipped his mind.

It wasn’t until the mention of your name that your attention was brought back to the actual conversation.

“Excuse me”, you apologised since you have missed the question that was direct towards you. Steve, a new friend of Harry had asked you.

“For how long have you planned to stay here? Harry seems even more happier since you’re here with us” you had to smile.

“We will be leaving tomorrow evening, I wish I could have spent more time here. Tokyo is incredible, I really do understand why Harry never really wants to leave this place” you answered, taking a glimpse of Harry who crossed his hands in his laps, looking down on them as he played with his thumbs. A frown appeared on your face as he avoided your eyes.

Somehow the whole carefree mood shifted suddenly. You didn’t understand why though. Did you say something wrong? You placed your hand ensuring on his thigh in hope to get him to place his hand above yours, softly running his thumb over your knuckles to calm you down. But you weren’t met with any familiar kind of reaction of him, as he still ignored you, his trousers seeming to be more interesting than what you had to say.

The uncomfortable mood didn’t reach to Harry’s friend though as he smiled and kept talking.

“Maybe we should get this lunch done then, so you and Harry can spend some more time together. Would be rude of us to steal your time with him, since it’s so limited. Have you already sorted out when you will visit him again? “

Visiting him again? Has Harry planned another trip to Tokyo? He hadn’t told you about it yet.

“No, we haven’t yet. I think we will enjoy London for a bit at first. Ben asked us to look after Ruby for a few days, I think she will keep Harry and me busy for a while” you beamed excitedly. You always loved how fondly Harry interacts with children and it made you think about how good of a dad Harry will be one day.

“Practising for parenthood then?” Jeff mocked both of you with a lop-sided grin.

You just shook your head, redness creeping up your cheek as you side eyed Harry furtive, who still didn’t show any sign of reaction to the conversation of the table. Was he angry with you?

“It’s such a shame that you have to fly home to study and couldn’t take the offer to stay here. I think the whole team would have loved to have you around for the next few weeks as well next to Harry. Steve stated popping an olive into his mouth, not knowing what he had just started.

Your mind went totally blank. You didn’t understand what he just had said. For the next two weeks next to Harry? He’s flying home with you tomorrow. He already booked the flights. And what offer?

“Sorry, but Harry has planned to record his songs in the studio in London. With Mitch, Sarah and Adam. Right?” you looked over to Harry, expecting him to agree with you and actually telling his friend that he messed things up. But Harry still hasn’t dared to look at you. His lips set in a straight line.

Your heart stop beating as you looked over to Jeff in full panic, who suddenly was way more interested in the napkin laying in front of him.

“Oh, I thought Harry had planned to stay for a bit longer in Tokyo, we actually wanted you to stay here as well, since he misses you a lot. I’m sorry.” Harry’s friend stumbled, finally understanding the chaos he caused.

Your hand slipped off Harry’s thigh, as you turned your body away from your boyfriend. The new tidings only slowly settling in your brain. What the heck did just happen?

You’re still confused about the conversation, heat creeping up your neck as Jeff hurriedly tries to find another subject to talk about. But you were way too caught up in your mind to hear a word that was said.

A few minutes later the tensed mood had disappeared, and everything was back to normal. At least for the men. Harry laughed out loud to the stupid jokes as if he still would fly home with you tomorrow while you were torn inside. You just wished for the lunch to be over. You felt sick.

You had missed Harry so bad all these weeks and knowing that you two won’t be separated again was the only thing that got you through the suffer. You won’t make it through other months without him, that was sure.

Tears started to dwell up in the corners of your eyes and as you were sure that you couldn’t keep them in anymore, you excused yourself to the toilet. Harry’s eyes followed you carefully through the crowd, his stare burning holes into your back. But you didn’t care.

Big tears fell down your cheeks as you watched yourself in the mirror. Your vibrant eyes from earlier were dull now and seemed empty. You felt hollow. How could Harry dare to not tell you that he had planned to stay longer. Why would he even want to? Didn’t he miss you at all? Because you missed him deeply.

Your tears only kept spilling. Realization and his unsaid words sinking in deeper and deeper. His silence was the worst part of it. You felt so stupid, so left out and embarrassed. You didn’t know what was going on in Harry’s mind, but you did know that you definitely couldn’t return back to the table you’ve just come from. Acting and lying as if everything was alright, when it clearly wasn’t.

You wiped away your tears as you took in a deep breath. Maybe you should just leave the restaurant and Harry behind. All you wanted to do was to cuddle yourself into the thick duvets of the hotel bed and cry yourself asleep like you did a few times before while Harry was gone.

You damned yourself for leaving your mobile phone on the desk but getting it now would only result in being asked what you’re up to and where you’re going. It probably would also only worsen the embarrassing feeling inside of you if you stormed off like a little child. You’re in a foreign city after all, which language you didn’t even understand. You wouldn’t risk getting lost just to prove your point. You weren’t that extra.

So you did the only right thing to do. Gathering yourself together and sitting it out until whenever Harry decides it’s time to leave.

The table went awfully quiet with your return, you didn’t dare to look up, but you could feel how everyone was watching you. Your cheeks turned a crimson red. They all knew that you had cried. Great.

You felt how Harry carefully tries to put his hand on your thigh, giving your knee a little squeeze as if to ask if everything was fine with you. His small gesture of care not having the calming effect on you as he hoped.

No not at all. It only made your sadness change into something else, but not into happiness, rather in total anger. How dared he? He doesn’t have the guts to tell you that he wants to spend more time in Tokyo and now he acts as if he doesn’t know what’s wrong? No, he crated this whole mess and the least thing you want is an insincere touch on your thigh. If he really cares that much about you, why isn’t he flying home with you then?

You scoffed as you slapped his cold hand off your thigh, not caring anymore if it caught the attention of the people around you. They knew all along that nothing was alright with you.

Harry on the other end felt a bit helpless with how to handle this situation as he bid the inner side of his cheek raw, deciding it was best to end the lunch and face his furious missus, before everything only gets worse. Oh had he known back that you both wouldn’t be reconciled with a few kisses and him promising to be back as soon as possible.

The cab ride back to hotel was filled with devasting silence. You didn’t want to look at Harry. You busied yourself with staring out of the window, soaking in the last few expressions of Tokyo before you would leave tomorrow. Alone.

You didn’t even wait for Harry to be done with paying and thanking the cab drive. You opened the door and just rushed into the hotel lobby, already stepping into the elevator, the doors closing before Harry could make it to them.

When Harry entered your suite, you already changed in your PJ’s packing the few belongings you had brought together. He just watched you. How you fiercely threw your things into your bag, not granting him one single view, not even an angered one.

Harry broke out of his frozen state as he saw how you pulled his yellow hoodie out of your bag in disgust.

“Hey! What are you doing?” he scoffed, bending down to grab it up from the hotel floor and placing it back into your bag only for you to throw it out again.

“Y/N! Stop it!” he tries it one again.

“I don’t want it. Keep it.”, you threw the yellow hoodie into Harry’s lap.

It was the first thing you put over your head when you arrived. It smelled like Harry and you loved how you drowned in it and Harry loved how you looked in it. So he told you that you should keep it and you happily agreed, immediately stuffing it deep into your suitcase. But now you didn’t want to have it. You don’t want to bring anything that reminds you of this horrible trip back home. It made you sick.

“Oh look, at least the fair lady can talk to me again.” Harry muttered underneath his breath, speaking just loud enough for you to hear the words.

“Excuse me?” you stood up, your hands resting on your hips. You couldn’t believe how bold he was.

“Yeah, you heard me right. How childish can you be? Not talking to me in front of everyone. Instead of just telling me what’s wrong.” Harry yelled back to you.

“Are you serious right now, Harry?” you laughed out in disbelieve.

“Yes, I am! Enlighten me!” Harry smiled deviously, he was well aware of the fact why you were so angry, but he couldn’t help himself.

“I can’t believe you Harry. Seriously, I don’t understand you at all. You promised me to fly back home with me tomorrow. You even told me that you booked your flight. And now I must learn through a friend of yours that you not just have decided to stay here for longer, but also decided for me that I don’t get to stay here with you. Do you have any idea how embarrassing this is for me?” you couldn’t help but raise your voice as tears started to dwell in your eyes. This was all too much for you.

“I wanted to tell you!” Harry blurted out, he knows that he isn’t handling the situation his best. Harry also knows that he did play you unfair and should ask for your forgiveness on his knees. But once again in his life, he was way too proud to admit it.

“When did you want to tell me?! When I’m sitting in the plane and it takes off with the seat next to me empty? You’re unbelievable” you just shook your head.

“No, of course not! Just tell me what you want me to say, Y/N. Just tell me, so I can say it and everything’s alright again” he mumbled, a hand running through his tousled hand. He was still exhausted from last night and he just wants to hold you close and cuddle a bit more, fighting with you really wasn’t on his agenda for his birthday.

Hell, of course he will jump on that damn plane with you tomorrow if it was that important, but you didn’t even give him a chance to make it up to you. If being without him is so devasting for you why didn’t you just tell him. He didn’t understand what the whole fuss was about.

“You don’t get it, do you? you ask him. You were confirmed in your assumption as you were met with an indeed puzzled looking Harry whose expression was so clueless and helpless.

“You really don’t get it.” You sat down on the bed in frustration, realization sinking in.

“This can’t be fixed with a simple sorry, Harry. Not this time. You always put yourself first and I can’t keep up with it anymore. I’m always the one who gets hurt and you come along and promise me some nothings and I say it’s alright because I do love you. But I don’t think you really do love me. If you loved me, then you wouldn’t hurt me all the time.” You took in a sharp breath as you looked up into Harry’s face for the first time since you started to pour your heart out.

His eyes widened with every word you have said. Your words ringing in his ears. This sounds bad, very bad.

“I need you, Harry. Especially right now. Everything is just too much and the only thing that got me through it all was you supporting me. And now I’m just hurting, I’m hurting so bad because I can’t keep living with sharing my boyfriend with the world. Sometimes Harry, I need you more than you think.”

“Y/N. Please.” He whispered, cutting through the silence that evolved the two of you, it already deemed him where this argument is meant to go.

“I can’t fly home asking myself when I will get to see your face again. If it’s in a month or three. I can’t. Maybe this whole thing with us is stupid.”, your heart broke more with every word that has slipped your mouth, hoping Harry would finally understand how bad you really were feeling. You heard how Harry let go of a deep breath he held in.

“No, it’s not. And you know that. You know I love you and you know I need you.” He whispered. “You didn’t even tell me that you feel that bad, you were always so chirpy on the phone when we talked. How am I supposed to know that you feel like shit back home?”

He walked closer to where you sat on the bed, sitting down on the floor in front of you.

“I’m sorry. Sometimes I’m too selfish, I know that. I’m just too proud to admit it. But I am. I hate being wrong, but I hate even more to see you sad.” He let the words of hurt and truth speak for him.

He’s never been a particular good talker. He poured his heart out into his songs, but today he had to. To make you understand that he never meant to hurt you. Never.

“I know a lot went wrong, but you need to tell me when something is bothering you. You always shut me out when your hurt and act as if nothing’s wrong. And it’s hard for me to see how you’re really feeling when I only get to hear your voice through a phone.” His ears were ringing from his own words and he felt a bit ashamed for how sensitive he was, but if it brings you back to him, it was worth it.

You nodded, you knew that you had a habit of shutting him out, not wanting to bother him with your worries when he was the one with the busy life.

Silence took over the both of you for a while, no one saying a word. You could hear the honking cars from outside. You played with your fingers and Harry picked his lip, like he always does when he’s nervous.

“What are we supposed do now?” you asked as you made up your mind. You loved Harry, with all of your heart and you know that Harry also loves you endlessly. In the end it would always be you two against the world and right now all you wanted was for Harry to hold you close and peck your tears away. To ensure you that you will be fine.

“Well, this isn’t how the weekend was supposed to work out. But it’s still my birthday weekend, and as you know all my wishes need to be fulfilled.” He looked up to you with a shy smile as you hugged your knees close to your chest, being grateful for his careful banter.

“And I do wish for a makeup kiss.” he opened his arms wide, inviting you to make yourself comfortable in them.

“And I also wish for you to sit next to me on our flight back home tomorrow.”

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

A/N: Omg! I hope you liked it! I wrote this so quickly, so please be gentle with me. It‘s finals season but I still had to do it!!!! Love you all!!

#harry styles imagines #HAPPY BIRTHDAY HARRYYYYYY #Harry Styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #one direction imagines

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voidheichou · 6 years

Text

Stress Relief - A Stydia Fic

A/N: I started writing this when I was in the middle of my second year of university. The struggles that Lydia is going through in this fic was essentially what I was facing at the time - deadline after deadline, and no motivation to do the work. Obviously my only way to cope with the overwhelming work load was to procrastinate by writing about the overwhelming work load, hence this was born. I became too busy with uni however, and didn’t actually get round to finishing it until now, 9 months later, where I’m now procrastinating my final year work load. I hope you enjoy it!

Also, if you want to read my other Stydia fic which is set after 6A, feel free to do so here :)

Summary: Lydia is having a hard time keeping up with the demands of her college course. Naturally, her worries are calmed when her supportive boyfriend Stiles shows up to look after her.

Warnings: University life, stress, me portraying how much I need a Stiles in my life through this fic.

Words: 2479

It had been a long week.

The college life wasn’t easy for any student, and Lydia Martin wasn’t exempt from that. Despite having an IQ higher than 170 and being one of the smartest girls of her generation, Lydia wasn’t coping well with the stressors that currently consumed her. She had 3 assignments due in soon, 2 of which involved her carrying out entire experiments. That wasn’t all either. She was worried about Kira, not having heard from her since she went back to the skinwalkers more than a year ago, and she was starting to miss Beacon Hills. No matter how much she adored her housemates, dealing with filthy communal areas and loud noises at stupid times weren’t what Lydia would call ideal. It’s funny, dealing with the supernatural felt easier than this. She was currently sitting on the magnolia couch in the living room of her student house, attempting to concentrate. Her legs were crossed on the sofa, laptop placed on top of her, an organised mess of papers flourishing around her. A blank word document was open in front of her, the black cursor daring Lydia to make the first move to just write something, damn it. The girl who would once rise to any challenge was defeated however, and backed down with a sigh. She kept her laptop in place, but pushed her head back, hoping to find some inspiration for her work from the patterns on her ceiling. She ran the fingers of her left hand through her strawberry blonde hair. What was usually combed to perfection was now unruly and greasy, splayed out for miles it seemed. She was in dire need of a shower and a haircut, but time never seemed to be on her side for either of those things these days. Her 15 year old self would cringe at the sight of her now. She counterbalanced that last thought with the understanding that her problems back then were minimal in comparison to now. This lead Lydia to question why she was arguing with herself in the first place. It wasn’t productive or useful; if anything she was just procrastinating. When did her life turn into this? She huffed once more and glanced down to a blank screen, indicating that she spent more time zoning out than actually working. She woke up her laptop hastily, refusing to notice the hideous sight of her reflection on the screen. Her barely comprehensible thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the front door unlocking. Even though Lydia couldn’t concentrate, she hoped that whoever had just entered wouldn’t try to distract her. Moving away from her laptop to do anything else would be the worst decision right now. It was one thing to try and work but get nowhere; it was another to avoid the task all together. Her moment of worry ceased when she heard the sound of unique footsteps coming through the hallway. Lydia was comforted by the rhythm of footsteps that she had grown so accustomed to hearing. They were loud, but not harsh, heavy but not threatening. A warmth spread through the girl when the footsteps increased in volume, the special heat spreading through her once his figure came into her line of sight. She watched him for a second, noticing that he hadn’t yet seen her, probably expecting her to be in her bedroom. Before he got too far past the living room door, Lydia started to speak up, notifying him of her whereabouts. “Looking for me?” Stiles flailed at the unexpected voice, in a way that was so uniquely Stiles. Lydia was convinced that her boyfriend could have all the training in the world instilled into him by the FBI, CIA and the NSA: that still wouldn’t stop him from being so... expressive in his reactions. She laughed at his behaviour, loving that he could make her happy even during her most stressful times. “Lyds, you gotta give a guy some warning before you do that. You scared the crap out of me!” His tone was displeased, almost hostile, but his smile gave him away. Lydia smiled back and moved some of the mess around her to make space for Stiles. The brunette walked towards his girlfriend, closing the gap between the two of them. He swiftly kissed his girlfriend’s forehead, moving to sit to her left straight after. “Well, you didn’t tell me you were coming over, so shouldn’t I be the one getting a warning?” Lydia gave an inquiring look towards Stiles, the accusation just an excuse to admire his moles up close. The agent in training simply shook his head, smiling softly to himself before speaking gently. “Where’s your phone, Lydia?” The question startled the strawberry blonde a little, making her wonder why she hadn’t heard it ring in a while. She may not have the same mindset as her 15 year old self, but she was still just as popular as back then. Rummaging through the physical manifestation of her thoughts, her search through the stack of papers came up empty. Furrowing her brows, she turned back to Stiles, answering his question softly. “I must have left it upstairs, why? Is something wrong?” Stiles shook his head, mentally scolding himself for always thinking the worst. When he had asked his girlfriend if he could come over nearly an hour ago, he was expecting her to reply quickly like she usually does. He hadn’t seen her in a few days due to FBI training, and she never takes long to answer his calls or texts. When she hadn’t answered however, his mind created the worst scenarios that she could possibly be in, supernatural or otherwise. It was that thought process that made him decide to show up at her house anyway. It was clear that everything they’d gone through together still impacted Stiles, despite leaving that life behind in high school two years ago. He was guessing that if Lydia was concerned over not seeing one text, she was impacted in the same way.

Stiles sighed, trying not to dwell on the events that once consumed his life. Answering Lydia’s question, he replied “Don’t worry, nothing’s wrong. I just messaged you to see if you’re home so I could come over, and, well, you didn’t answer... so I came over anyway.”

His explanation was logical, but Lydia could clearly sense that Stiles was nervous. His speech was laced with hesitation, and while she was used to her boyfriend speaking with his entire body, Lydia also noticed that Stiles’ hand gestures were more rapid than usual. Picking up on his nonverbal cues, she decided to press him further. Leaving her right hand on her laptop to keep it steady, she reached out for his forearm with her left hand, playing with the hair poking out of his white shirt sleeve gently. With a head tilt and a playful smile on her lips, she spoke softly. “Not that I don’t love you being around and making the effort to see me, but is there a particular reason as to why you’re here?”

Her tone was curious, inquisitive even, but Stiles knew from the way her eyes pierced his soul that she’d be able to tell if he hid anything. He wasn’t even ashamed at his reason for turning up to his girlfriends house. He was however worried that she wouldn’t want him there. They may have been dating for a couple of years by now, and he’d never admit to this if anyone asked, but Lydia still scared Stiles at times. This was especially true when it came to her education, since she usually wanted to be left alone until she was done with an assignment. Having dealt with his own struggles through his last few years at college, he didn’t blame his girlfriend for her tendency to snap at those closest to her during times of stress. He just didn’t want to be on the receiving end of it today.

He started playing back with the hand that was on his arm, interlinking their fingers while he replied. “It’s just that I missed you, and I know you’re gonna say that it’s only been a few days since we saw each other last, but I’m stressed and exhausted, Lyds, I know you are too. So my last seminar for the day was cancelled and the first thing I thought of doing with my free hour was checking up on you. I know you’re trying to work though and you prefer to be alone, so I can leave if you want me to.” Stiles glanced down at their linked hands, worried that Lydia would instruct him to do just that. The strawberry blonde was smitten though; if her heart was beating any louder then Scott would be able to hear it from across the country in Beacon Hills. She understood why he was nervous now, but she would never distance herself from him on purpose, especially after the wild hunt. She lifted their still linked hands up closer to her, then kissed her boyfriends hand softly. There was a bruise surrounding the knuckle on his middle finger, and she remembered his animated story of how this weeks combat training was rough. She kissed around the rough spot once more, then glanced up at her boyfriend, a tiny smile etched onto his face from her actions.

“Stiles, you’re so sweet. If it was anyone else who had come to see me I would have asked exactly that, but not you. Never you.” Lydia couldn’t help the smile that formed on her face as she looked at Stiles. She would always appreciate the way he treated her, and she wanted him to know how much she cared for him in return. Breaking their eye contact, Lydia noticed the carrier bag at her boyfriends feet. “What’s in the bag? Is that your way of checking up on me?” She asked, squeezing his hand as she did so.

Stiles glanced down, remembering the items he’d bought before driving over to Lydia’s place. “Yeah I guess… well I just kind of assumed, you know, based on your previous habits around assignment deadlines, that eating isn’t a high priority of yours right now, so you probably haven’t eaten anything in a while.” Now that the thought had crossed her mind, Lydia couldn’t recall when her last meal was, or even the last time she had a snack. This coincidentally led her stomach to growl ferociously, making Stiles chuckle before he continued on. “That’s exactly why I thought I could make something for you.” His eyes were wide, excitement coursing through his veins as he explained his little plan.

That was another thing Lydia loved about the young man sitting next to her. He was full of ideas. No matter how terrible they could be sometimes, his enthusiasm towards them made the possible frustration of following through with them well worth it.

“You do realise that making beans on toast doesn’t count as cooking, right?” Stiles rolled his eyes at Lydia’s quip, not even denying the fact that his skills in the kitchen were poor. “Yes, thanks for that, I’m well aware. Luckily for you though I thought we could have something a bit more edible that even I can’t mess up.” Releasing his hand from Lydia’s, Stiles reached into the plastic bag, bringing out a thin, square cardboard box. “What better way is there to de-stress than spending time with your boyfriend eating oven pizza?”

Lydia laughed once she saw the packaging, partially because of how much her boyfriend struggled to pull it out of the box, but also because of the way he was wiggling his eyebrows at his idea. “Well who am i to argue with that?” She paused, still smiling but she chose to speak in a more serious tone. “Seriously though, thank you. I don’t just mean for the food but the fact that you wanted to check on me with your spare time, and that you knew what kind of state I’d be in but you came anyway. It means a lot to me, more than I can put into words. I love you.” She reached up and kissed Stiles’ cheek before sitting back and continuing on. “Besides, I could probably do with some pizza and company from you, considering I’m not making any headway so far with this.” She pointed to her laptop as she finished her sentence, the black screen emphasising her lack of progress with the assignment due at the end of next week. Lydia sighed, rolling her eyes at how she couldn’t get away from her reflection this time.

Before her thoughts could manifest into self-hatred over how she looked and felt in general, Stiles held her hand once more. He was always pulling her back from the darkness without even realising it. She turned to him as he began speaking softly to her, maintaining eye contact throughout. “First of all, I love you too, you don’t need to thank me, I’m always going to look out for you, and I know you’d do the same for me. Secondly, how about you take a break for a while. I know that’s probably the last thing you feel like doing, especially if you haven’t done much work, but maybe it will help. I can put this pizza in the oven and some popcorn in the microwave, and then we can talk through what you’re struggling with while we eat and maybe watch something. How does that sound?”

It’s funny, Lydia thought. Back in high school she was the one to constantly render Stiles speechless. At some point during their relationship however, the tables had turned. Now Lydia was the one who was at a loss for words, just from little, effortless things that Stiles says and does. It was something which she hadn’t experienced with her previous boyfriends, and she was once again reminded of how much she appreciated him. With a bright smile and a nod of her head, she replied back with “that sounds great. We’re not watching Star Wars, though.” She laughed at his groan and little pout, knowing that he wasn’t seriously upset over her lack of interest in the franchise.

Lydia knew that she’d basically just agreed to being distracted from her work, something she didn’t want to happen in the first place. In that moment however, she couldn’t care less, because she was with Stiles, and he made her happy. He’d go through her assignments with her eventually, and together they’d sort through what was being asked of her, until she was no longer wound up by the tasks. Until then, she didn’t mind spending some quality time with the person who was essentially her anchor. Maybe avoiding her work for a little longer wouldn’t be that bad after all.

#stydia #stydia fic #stydia fanfiction #stiles x lydia #stiles stilinski x lydia martin #stydia fluff #stiles stilinski imagine #lydia martin imagine #teen wolf #teen wolf imagine #teen wolf fanfic #mieczyslaw stilinski #dylan o'brien #holland roden #dylan o'brien imagine #My writing

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bazypitchandsimonsnow · 6 years

Text

Into the Woods

Rating: T

Genre: Fluff

Word count: 6246

Summary: Simon is so done with his roommate's shit. Little does he know he's about to find out why Baz is being weird. Based on "Baz is a secret theatre nerd with glasses and a man bun” request.

Read on AO3

AN: I'm alive! And exhausted because work is a nightmare. Seriously, having a full time job sucks ass. But, WAYWARD SON!!!! I'M SO EXCITED!!!!! Excited and scared, but mostly excited. 2020 can't come soon enough holy shit. Anywho, hope you enjoy this little romp :D

——————————————-

Simon

“What the fuck happened to you?”

I glare at Penny as best as I can with my tired eyes. “What the fuck do you think?”

“He was pacing in your bathroom?”

I sink into the uncomfortable lecture hall bench with a sigh. “Yes, came back late then kept me up until midnight, muttering and humming to himself, again. What the fuck is he doing that requires so much talking and movement. And why does it have to be in the fucking bathroom?!”

Penny shrugs, something usually only I do. “I don’t know, Si.”

“I bet he’s summoning the Devil.”

“Simon, for the last time, he’s an arsehole, not an evil wizard.”

“You don’t have to live with him.”

Penelope sighs and keeps typing on her laptop. I assume my occasional lecture position of arms on desk and head pillowed on arms. One advantage of uni is that professors don’t give a single shit if you sleep through their classes. I know I’m probably wasting my education, but I need sleep. Because of fucking Baz.

“Good morning, Snow.” Ugh, I hate his smooth, perfect voice. I grunt in reply. “Still not a fan of speaking, hm?”

“Fuck off, Baz,” I grumble, “it’s your fault I’m like this.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he says, completely calm as usual.

I growl, because I hate words enough when I’m awake. And I refuse to use them with him.

He doesn’t answer, the bastard, just walks off. I watch from just over my arm as he sits a few rows in front. He’s easy to spot, what with the tight green t-shirt and stupid man bun. Well, it’s not totally stupid on him. Somehow everything looks good on him. He could wear a garbage bag and still look great. Stupid good looking arsehole.

I doze on and off through the whole psych lecture. It’s not that interesting anyway. And when I wake up, Baz is right in my line of vision, and I keep looking at him. How he re-adjusts his hair every once in awhile. How he spins a pencil between his long fingers. How he lifts his glasses up and down as he looks at the screen then takes notes. Why does he have to be such a good upstanding student and make the rest of us look bad? It’s so bloody infuriating.

I breathe a sigh of relief when the lecture is over. I’m done classes, but Baz has another lecture. I can go back to my room and get a good rest.

“Hey, Si,” Penelope says as I’m gathering my things. “Still wanna study for that English exam together?”

Shit, I promised her we’d study yesterday. Guess my nap will have to wait. “Yeah sure, Pen. Not sure how much help I’ll be. I’m not exactly good at English.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll whip you into shape.” She grabs my arm, and I willingly go.

“Yeah, sure, that’s possible,” I chuckle. We head out the door, but I sneak a look behind me. Baz is talking to a group of people. Huh, that’s weird. Baz and I have been roommates for over a year, and I’ve only ever seen him hang with the same two guys, a freckled redhead and his cousin (I think.) Those two are both standing there now, but for some reason there are a bunch of other people standing around too. Who have big smiles and even bigger gestures. Does Baz have friends now? Huh, he has been out more often. Guess they don’t mind that he’s an annoyingly smart arsehole, or that he looks better than all of them.

“C’mon, Si!”

Penny tugs harder, and I rip my gaze away from Baz. I’ll think about him later.

———————————————-

The only good thing about the student centre is that the chairs are comfy. I’m pretty sure the university invested all their furniture budget into cushy armchairs. I’m certainly not complaining. Especially today, when I could sink into the comfy leather forever.

“And what were the main themes of Fahrenheit 451?” Penny asks.

“Uhhh...” I don’t open my eyes. They feel too heavy. “Books are better than people?”

“I would personally yes, but our prof would disagree. Try again.”

“Blargh.”

“Blargh?” she chuckles. “Simon, are you making up words again?”

“Yes,” I grunt, “because I’m frustrated and tired and probably going to fail all my exams.”

Penny sighs, long and heavy. “You’re not going to fail.”

“You say that because you’re trying to make me feel better because you love me,” I spit out before thinking. I’m tired and have less of a filter than usual.

She scoffs, but in an endearing way. I’m not sure how she does that. “Yes, I love you, Simon, which means I’d never lie to you. You. Are. Not. Going. To. Fail.”

I sigh, because I know she’s right. Penny actually, really believes in me. I’m glad to have her in my life. “Thanks, Pen.”

“You’re welcome. Now, just tell me one theme, please?”

I tilt my head back over the chair, closing my eyes as I try to remember what our monotone prof said. “Uh, censorship?”

“Yes! See? I told you you’d get it.”

“Thank you, Penny,” I murmur, then curl into the armchair. “Now I’m going to sleep for a thousand years.”

Penny sighs exasperatedly, but it’s still loving. “Very well. Want a mint aero bar from the vending machine?”

“Mm, yes please.” I rummage around for my wallet in my back pocket, and pull out (what I hope is) a five pound note. Penny snatches it. I hope she gives me the change.

As I’m sinking into the comfy chair, finally relaxing after hours of discomfort, something gets dropped on my head. I frown and pick up the chocolate bar. I hear Penny sit in the opposite chair.

“Hey,” she says through a mouthful of candy, “look at this.”

“Don’t wanna,” I grumble.

“Simon, open your bloody eyes.”

“Ugh, fine.” I blink my eyes open. Penny is holding a big poster. It’s covered in trees and says "Into the Woods" in fancy letters. Then it lists the school theatre and dates next week. Wait... “Pen, did you steal that off the student events board?!”

“Not important. But look! This is an awesome musical, and the drama club is doing it soon. Maybe we could go see it.”

I twist my lips together. “Hm, I don’t know...”

“C’mon, Si, we’ve both been stressed out. We need to do something fun.”

“And musical theatre performed by probably off key uni students is fun?”

She gives me a deadpan look. “Do we have enough money to do anything better?”

I let out a long sigh. “No, we don’t.”

“Exactly. Now, wanna go see some shitty musical theatre?”

I twist my lips again, fiddling with my chocolate wrapper. “I’ll think about it, Pen. I need to study more if I’m going to pass psych.”

Penelope nods in acknowledgement. “Okay, I get it. The show is next week so we’ve still got time. Now,” she flips her binder open again, “tell me the role of Clarisse in regards to Guy’s character development.”

“Ugh,” I groan, “gimme a minute.”

I put Into the Woods in the back of my mind, and once again try to remember what the fuck our professor said. It’s an annoyingly difficult task.

———————————————-

When I get back to my dorm, Baz isn’t there, again. Man, he’s really been out a lot lately. More than before.

Last year, when he wasn’t in class, he was always in the room. Either reading on his bed or working at his desk. I tried to avoid him as much as possible, because everytime I disturbed him he would glare or make some passive aggressive sarcastic comment. It became clear he didn’t like my presence. So I learned to stay out of his way, but I guess that hasn’t really been a problem lately. And...it’s weird. It’s weird him not being here.

I take a long shower, revelling in the fact that Baz won’t bang on the door and demand I not use all the hot water. After, I curl up in bed, Netflix blaring in my headphones. It’s what I need to wind down after studying. Eventually, I let myself drift off to the sounds of Brooklyn 99.

But I’m woken up again when the door swings open. I grunt but don’t open my eyes. I just listen as Baz softly shuts it, pads around the room, then enters the bathroom. Ugh, fucking hell. He’s pacing and muttering and humming again, and even though he’s quiet, it’s annoying as fuck. I turn up my volume but it’s no use. Just knowing he’s there keeps me up. His presence just overwhelms my brain all the time.

When his footsteps get louder, I know he’s back in the main room. I pull off my headphones and glare at his back.

“Can you not?” I growl.

Baz freezes, head snapping up and shoulders tensing. Guess he thought I was asleep. “Can you be more specific?”

“It’s fucking great that you’re out having fun with your friends, but your late night entrances and obsessive pacing is keeping me up. Some of us aren’t vampires and can’t stay up all night.”

“Sorry my schedule is inconvenient for you, Snow.” His voice is so neutral I can’t tell if he’s mocking me or not.

"Oh fuck off, you prick."

"Incredibly creative insults there."

Ugh, he's so quick tongued. I can't fight him usually, and certainly not when I'm so tired. I opt for grunting and rolling over. Baz quickly goes back into the bathroom to change. (Prudish prick won’t change in front of me.) God, I’m so exhausted. Not just physically, but mentally and emotionally too. Maybe I do need a break. Something fun...

I grab my phone from where it’s sitting on the floor and send a quick text.

Simon: heyyyy y’know i think i’m down for the musical i do need a break

Penny’s reply is instantaneous. (She was probably browsing Tumblr late at night again.)

Penny: Awesome! I’ll get us tickets for the last show on Friday.

Simon: sweet :) gonna go to bed night pen

Penny: Night, Si.

I power down the phone and restart Netflix again. Baz is already in bed, his black hair fanned out against the white pillowcase. Yeah, I need a distraction. Anything to keep me from thinking about school and exhaustion. As well as the stupid, annoyingly pretty guy sleeping no more than three metres away from me.

———————————————-

“What took you so long?!”

I ran up to Penny panting, completely doubled over. Christ, my lungs are fucking burning. “Sorry...couldn’t find...phone...bus...was late...so so sorry.”

“It’s fine, Si, let’s just get in there. Curtain is in three minutes.”

She takes my sleeve and drags me inside. She’s stomping, so I know she’s really pissed. I move to hold her hand tightly, squeezing it. “I’m really sorry, Pen.”

Penny keeps stomping, but sighs and squeezes back. “I know. Let’s just get in there.”

I let out a small sigh, because I know we’re still okay.

We rush into the theatre, jittering at the ticket booth and snatching up programs as we run past the poor student volunteer. Penny quickly finds us two seats in a not that shitty place. Surprisingly, the theatre is quite packed. Huh. I wouldn’t expect this many people for a student production.

“We made it,” Penny sighs.

“Yeah,” I reply. “So much for stress free evening.”

She chuckles, almost sardonically. “Yeah, unfortunately agreed. Now shush, curtain’s coming up.”

The whole theatre gets dark, and orchestra music swells. I lean back in my chair. The curtain rises to reveal (what I think at least) is a minimal set with people on it. A few tree silhouettes in the back, a raised platform, a fake fireplace, fake counter, and a fake cow next to a stool. Everything is just so fake. Penny said I had to “suspend my disbelief”. It’s hard to pretend with such little there. This is why I like TV and movies.

All the people on stage are wearing sort of fairy tale clothes. They start singing about what they wish for. To go to a party, for a cow to have milk, and to have a baby. Christ, is this whole thing just about people wanting things? Musicals are fucking weird.

I sort of half zone out, picking up on bits and pieces of the show and dozing off. Baz has been coming back later and later all week and waking me up each time he opens the door. The theatre is dark, so it’s hard to stay awake. I fall asleep at the scene with Rapunzel and the witch, but start to stir again when Jack’s mom throws the magic beans on the ground (ha, idiot.) But since this play jumps around more than a rabbit on a sugar rush, suddenly the Baker’s Wife is walking around in the woods with the cow as Cinderella runs past. She’s running from the ball again and hides behind the Wife. A trumpet goes off as someone gallops ridiculously on stage-

Wait, is that...

“Baz!?”

Three people shush me, but I ignore them, because Baz fucking Pitch is on stage right now, hamming it up with everyone else. He’s wearing a silly outfit that reminds me of a Disney prince, with a white jacket and a red sashs and gloves. His hair is slicked back with gel, emphasizing his stark widow’s peak more than usual. He’s not wearing his glasses either. Huh. I’ve never seen him without them. He looks...good. Well, he looks good with them too, but this is just a different sort of good.

I don’t pay attention to the scene, not even listening to what they’re saying. I’m just focusing on Baz and his amazingly ridiculous appearance. Oh my god he looks so stupid, trotting his feet and flicking his hands like he’s holding reins. When he’s offstage I lean over to Penny, who’s jaw is also on the ground.

“What the hell is Baz doing here?!” I whisper.

“I...have no idea,” she replies very hushed. It’s the first time I’ve heard her admit she doesn’t know something.

The play continues, but I’m paying attention even less. I just keep waiting for Baz to show up again. I’m so jittery. My leg is shaking at lightspeed. Penny kicks my foot in an attempt to stop me but it doesn’t help. The only thing that makes it stop is seeing Baz gallop ridiculously on stage, along with Rapunzel’s Prince.

“Ah, there you are, good brother. Father and I had wondered where you had gone,” he says to Baz.

“I have been looking all night for her,” Baz replies. His voice is like it always is, smooth and commanding. Like he was born to tell people what to do. Usually I find it annoying, but right now it works. He is supposed to be a prince.

The two princes commiserate over their mutual impossible loves. They're both idiots.

“Rapunzel, Rapunzel! What kind of name is that? You jest! I have never heard of such a thing,” Baz laughs out.

Rapunzel’s Prince snorts. “I speak the truth. She is as true as your maiden. A maiden running from a prince? None would run from us.”

“Yet,” Baz sighs, “she has.”

Then he starts singing, and my brain short circuits.

Holy shit. Baz is singing. And he’s singing well. His voice is a solid, smooth baritone. It reverberates through the theatre perfectly. I’m totally transfixed. Since when could Baz sing so incredibly?!

“Agony!” He belts. “Beyond power of speech. When the one thing you want, is the only thing out of your reach.”

Holy. Shit.

I don’t realise how much I’m gaping until Penny pushes up my hanging lower jaw back up. The whole song is quite ridiculous, and Baz sings it perfectly. He looks properly agonized through it. I didn’t know he could be so expressive. He’s, just, amazing.

The songs ends, and Baz exits. I don’t pay attention, what with my mind still spinning. So, Baz, my arsehole geeky roommate, can act, and sing, and looks weirdly amazing in a stupid prince costume. Okay, that’s a lot of new info to process.

Before I know it, the lights come back on, and Penny is tugging on my sleeve.

“Simon?”

I look up at her bewildered. “What?”

“C’mon, get up, I want to stretch my legs, and we can get some snacks. I bet you’re hungry.”

“Oh, uh, yeah, that’d be great.”

I follow behind her with my hands in my hoodie pockets. While Penny goes to the snack bar, I sit on a bench. Something stabs me in my pocket. I pull out the crumpled program. Wait, Penny mentioned this week the actors have bios in the program. I furiously flip through it.

I find Baz’s picture almost immediately. It’s black and white and a bit blurry but I can still make out his face. He looks normal in it. Tight shirt, glasses falling down his nose, hair tied up. But here, he's smiling slightly. Wow, I’ve never seen him look anything other than bored or annoyed. It’s weird, but also nice. I look down at the bio.

Baz Grimm-Pitch - Cinderella’s Prince A witty English literature major with a salt and vinegar crisp addiction plays Cinderella’s arrogant love. In his spare time, Baz plays the violin, studies the development of the English language, and competes in a recreational football league. “Into the Woods” is his first dramatic production.

I chuckle under my breath. Baz really is such a nerd. Even though I already know most of this, it’s kinda...cute? I’m not sure if that’s the right word but it feels right. The little blurb is just makes him sound so adorable. I can almost forget he’s an arsehole.

“Si, you want a cookie?”

I snap my head up to glare at a smirking Penny. She waves the chocolate chip cookie tauntingly. I snatch it from her hand, making sure to glare at her while I take a huge bite. She sits down next to me and looks over at the program.

“Huh,” she says, “at least they got a good photo of Basilton.”

“Yeah,” I reply quietly. “Still can’t believe he’s in this.”

“Me neither. I thought he was just a quiet academic like me.”

“Same, but...he’s actually really good.”

“I hate to give him a victory, but yeah, he is. He’ll probably be good in the second act too.”

I whip my head around to her, eyes wide. “Second act?! I thought the story was wrapped up!”

Penny shakes her head, swishing her curls. “Nope. There’s another part. It’s just as long.”

I look at my phone clock. “We’ve already been here for an hour and a half!”

She takes a bite of her cookie and smiles around the mouthful. “Yup. Welcome to musical theatre, Si.”

I groan and slump forward. The program is still in my hand, and still on Baz’s picture. Well...if Baz has got more songs, maybe I won’t mind staying.

———————————————-

So the second act, from what I can tell, pretty much destroys all the happy endings of the first act. Wow, okay, that’s not depressing at all. Everybody either gets squished by a giant or just generally fucks up. What a pleasant play.

Baz comes back on a few times. First, he and the other prince sing another version of the previous song. It’s the same tune and the same idea, but they’re singing about different impossible women. I chuckle. So Baz’s character is a total bastard. Kind of makes him seem like less of an arsehole by comparison.

Later, as everything in the story continues to fall apart, Baz runs into the Baker’s Wife. After one short conservation, the lights go pink, and the music gets slow. Baz starts approaching her with a smirk.

“Anything can happen in the woods,” he sings. “May I kiss you?”

My eyes pop out. Well, that’s forward. Far more forward than Baz probably really is. I know it’s just the play, but Baz looks so strong and handsome, that I believe him. And, is it wrong that I sort of wish it was real? That Baz would actually be that well, sexy? God, did I just call Baz sexy?!

Baz does kiss her, and it’s so intense that I blush. The Wife walks away from him, but he grabs her again and twirls her into his arms. Together, they glide across the wooden stage, occasionally kissing more. He spins her in and out, leading her around, all while singing a sleezy but beautiful song to seduce her.

“Foolishness can happen in the woods,” he croons. “Once again, please...let your hesitations be hushed. Any moment, big or small, is a moment after all. Seize the moment, skies may fall any moment.”

They kiss again, and I can’t believe how passionate it is. How passionate Baz is. It’s strange and wonderful to watch. All too soon, the Wife is pulling away and the kiss ends. But my brain is still swirling while Baz sings again.

“Right and wrong don't matter in the woods, only feelings. Let us meet the moment unblushed. Life is often so unpleasant. You must know that, as a peasant. Best to take a moment present. As a present, for the moment.”

With Baz’s last line, they walk off stage. I’m still blushing, and very confused by my own feelings.

Soon enough, the play ends. Baz’s character leaves Cinderella and marries Sleeping Beauty. (Wow, what a bastard.) But after all that misery, everyone atill alive is alright, I guess. The actors line up and bow. Everyone starts applauding. Oh shit. I quickly join. All the cast members smile brightly as they bow. And when Baz steps up, he’s no exception. Christ, he actually looks amazing when he smiles. It fits his face far better than a scowl or a thin flat line.

I’ve been learning a lot of new things about Baz tonight.

The cast leaves and the curtain falls. Lights turn back on. People start shuffling out. I’m still a bit dumbfounded to move though. I just saw Baz in a musical, where he sang and danced and kissed perfectly. He was fucking incredible. And I should let him know.

As we’re walking out the door, I turn to one of the ticket takers. “Hey, where are the actors coming out?”

“They should be in the alley to the left soon.”

“Awesome, thanks.”

On the sidewalk, I tug on Penny’s hand. “You can head home, Pen. I’m gonna stick around for a bit.”

Penny gives me a curious look, but just shrugs. “Alright then. See you, Si.”

“See you.”

She saunters off with a spring in her step. I watch her, wondering if I should run after and not do this. But I stay still. Fuck, what am I doing?

The actors trickle out one by one. I notice Baz’s friend and his cousin, but they run off before I can ask them where Baz is. The crowd thins until I’m the only one left, standing there like an idiot. Maybe I missed him. Maybe I should just go-

“Blasted dead mobile,” a familiar voice grumbles.

My head snaps up just in time to see Baz stop in his tracks. He looks like a deer in the headlights, grey eyes wide behind his spectacles. He’s back to his usual style of t-shirt and glasses and manbun. Back to the Baz I know. His mouth hangs open in complete and utter shock.

“Hey,” I say as casually as possible.

“Snow,” he replies shakily, a slight redness appearing on his cheeks. “What are you doing here?”

"I, just saw the show. The one you were in. Obviously. And I just wanted to find you and say you're uh, you were really good."

He visibly gulps, fiddling with his knapsack strap. “Thank you. I...didn’t realise you were a musical theatre fan.”

I chuckle and rub the back of my neck. “I’m not, not really. Penny convinced me to come. I didn’t expect to see you here either. Especially on stage. How the Hell did that happen?”

Baz sighs with both exasperation and what seems like a little happiness, maybe. “Well, if you must know, my cousin was the one who originally decided to audition and I helped him with his lines. I said he was shite, and he bet me I couldn’t audition better. I’m very competitive, so I made a real effort to do well. Then I got in. I was going to turn it down, but Dev convinced me to try. It’s been, weirdly fun. I like performing. And I made new friends. Turns out there’s more to life than studying.”

“Huh,” I chuckle, “that’s pretty neat. So all that pacing and humming in the washroom was you rehearsing your lines?”

“Oh, yeah. I didn’t want you to know because it felt embarrassing. Sorry about that.”

I blink rapidly. Holy shit, I’m legitimately in shock. Baz Pitch just apologized to me. Wow. Tonight has been bizzare. “I-It’s okay. I get it now. Honestly, I just thought you were keeping me up on purpose because you hate me.” I try to laugh that last part off with a nervous chuckle.

Baz looks at the ground, shuffling his feet. I’ve seen Baz cold before, detached and pulled in and what not. But this is different. He looks...nervous. When he speaks, his words are shaky and quiet. “I don’t, you know. Hate you. I never have.”

My world tilts sideways. I nearly stumble backwards from the shock of his words. I look for any sign of deceit and find none. All I see is the anxious sort-of-teenager confessing something apparently really hard to say.

“Oh,” I stutter out. “You...you don’t?”

“No,” he says. “I just, I make arsehole comments when I’m nervous. Especially to those who...make me nervous.”

Huh? What the hell does he mean? “I, make you nervous?”

“Yes. You have almost since we met.”

I’m still confused. I take a moment to study Baz. His pulled in body language, his knapsack fiddling, his downcast eyes, his increasingly obvious blush-

Oh. Oh.

“Oh,” I squeak. Baz sighs in an annoyed way. That probably wasn’t the response he wanted.

“Yeah,“ he grumbles. “Oh.”

Crap I don’t know what to say. I end up blurting out the first thing that comes to my dumb head. “So is that stereotype about guys in theatre being gay true?”

Baz head lifts up to better glare at me. His eyes are like stormy grey daggers. “No, obviously not. It’s a stereotype for a reason.”

Shit shit, I’m so bad at this. I run a hand through my tangled hair. “Right, right, sorry. I make dumb comments when I’m nervous.” I sigh and look right at him, eyes fixed despite my fear. “I guess what I’m trying to ask to in my stupid way is, are you gay? Just, want to make sure I'm not misinterpreting. I do that a lot.”

Baz’s face softens. No more steely glare, just neutral, save for his slightly pulled in lips. “Yes,” he says like he has to force the words out. “Yes, I am.” He gulps, fiddling with his strap like mad. “Are you?”

I shrug, because truthfully the only honest gesture. “Sorta, I guess. At least part of me must be, considering how much I like looking at you.”

He inhales sharply, and the blush starts creeping down his long neck. “Oh. That’s...not something I was aware of.”

“Honestly?” I chuckle, pulling at my hair again. “Me neither. I mean, I’m always looking at you, but I never thought about why too much. It wasn’t until the show that I realised how much I like to stare at you. Um, sorry if that’s creepy.”

“No,” he replies very quickly. “no, it’s uh, it’s actually fine.”

He’s blushing very hard. Shit, am I blushing too? It certainly feels like it. “Oh. Okay.”

We look at each other in silence for a long moment. I’m not sure what to say, and obviously neither does he. We’re just two idiots standing on a driveway. I feel my stomach rumble. Oh man, I’m a hungry idiot.

“So,” I say, rocking on my heels, “do you have anywhere to be?”

Baz shakes his head. “No, not really. I’m supposed to go to the wrap party but fuck that. I was just going to go home to the dorm.”

“Well, in that case, uh, you wanna go get something to eat? There’s a 24 hour diner near our dorm building.”

He looks at me curiously, studying me like a specimen. “Are you asking me as your roommate, a fan of my performance, or...something else?”

I chew my bottom lip. Cautiously, I step forward and and brush my fingers on the back of his hand. He doesn’t pull away, so I hold it loosely. “Something else, preferably.”

Baz looks at me with wide, open eyes, filled to the brim with worry. “Snow, you do remember that we're roommates, right? If whatever, this is doesn't work out, we're still going to have to live with each other for months. That would not be pleasant. And hell, Snow, you barely know me, really. Is this really worth the risk?”

My grip on his hand tightens. He still doesn’t pull away. “Y-Yeah, of course I know this could all blow up in our faces. But, Baz, I really want to try. Like, you currently occupy like 90% of my thoughts. And sure most of them were negative, because I thought were a prick.” He frowns at that. It’s actually adorable. “But now, I’d really like to find out what you’re like when you’re not a prick. So I think it’s worth the risk.” I take a deep breath, making sure to look at Baz right in the eye. “Do you?”

I can see the gears turning in his big head. I’ve seen it a hundred times in class when we have to solve a problem. It’s even more fascinating up close. How his lips shift, his eyes darting back in forth. He doesn’t let go of my hand the whole time though. I catch the moment his face relaxes though, when he makes his decision.

“Yes,” he says quietly, “I think it’s worth the risk too.”

We both grin at the same time. Fuck I never knew before tonight that seeing his smile could make me so happy. I think I want to see it a lot more.

“Well, c’mon then.” I tug on his arm, and we start walking. “I’m hungry.”

“When are you not hungry, Snow?”

I scoff. “I thought you were only a prick when you were nervous.”

“I’m about to go on a date with my roommate who I’ve been hopelessly pining after for over a year. So excuse me, but I’m very nervous.”

Wow, my whole face must look like a tomato right now. Looking over, I see that Baz is in the exact same state. Either this is going to be incredible or a complete disaster. I’m seriously hoping for the first one.

“Don’t be,” I say as kindly as I can, “it’s just a date. We’ll see how this goes and go with it, alright?”

Half his mouth pulls up in a lazy smile. I like him relaxed like this. “Okay. I can live with that.”

I grin. I can’t stop grinning tonight. “Awesome. Now, important first date question.” He looks at me curiously and somewhat afraid. “Where the hell did you learn to sing so well?”

Baz lets out a breathy laugh. “Playing the violin all your life gives you surprisingly good pitch. It only took a few sessions with the pianist to get the songs okay. Not that they were easy. Apparently Sondheim is never easy.”

“That’s amazing.” He examines me for any sign of mocking, but he won’t find anything. I genuinely thinks it’s really cool.

“Thank you. I'm glad you enjoyed it.”

“Could I get a repeat performance?”

“No.” I pout as much as I can, bottom lip pushed very far out. Baz stays strong for a few more seconds, then sighs. “Maybe some other time.”

I smile again. “Awesome. Next question, what was it like getting into those tight prince pants?”

“I am not dignifying that question with an answer.”

“Oh c’mon! I’m just wondering.”

“And wondering you shall stay.”

I make a “pbblt” sound with my lips. “Fine, spoilsport. How about you tell me what the production was like? Penny says plays are all drama behind the scene too.”

“Fucking hell it was a nightmare! Dev, Niall, the Witch, and Cinderella were great, but generally actors are self absorbed idiots. First day, Rapunzel came in hungover and spilled her entire coffee on my shirt. Baker's wife was the the world's worst diva. And don’t get me started on the Wolf. He tried to bang every girl in the cast, and a couple of the guys too.”

He goes on like that as we walk down the dimly lit street hand in hand. I interject a bit of commentary here and there, but I just let him talk. He’s fun to listen to. I like his sarcastic, sharp humour. Especially when it’s not directed at me.

I think I like him. A lot.

———————————————-

“No no, I’m serious!” I say far too loud, considering the time and that we’re walking down the hall of our dorm building. “Jamie is gonna kill Cersei. It’s inevitable.”

“He’s already left King’s Landing though,” Baz replies cooly.

“Yeah, but he can come back.”

“I suppose. But I think he’s going to be too busy with the White Walkers to deal with his crazy twin sister.”

“Good point. Maybe it’ll be the finale, when Dany finally storms King’s Landing.”

“Ugh, she needs to do that already. It’s been eight seasons!”

“They’re keeping us in suspense.”

I groan and lean back against the dorm room door. “I know. It’s fucking torture.” I sigh looking at the brown piece of wood. It feels so massive right now. “So, we’re here.”

“I noticed.” Baz stands in front of me, with only a few feet between us.

“First date protocol says I’m supposed to walk you to the door. But we’ve got the same door, so...”

“Yes, I’m not quite sure what to do either.”

We stare at each other. I study his face, like I have been doing all night. I spent most of our meal staring at him as he talked. I can finally admit to myself that I like to do that, and now I can also say I like his laugh, his smile, and the way he talks about his passions. I just keep seeing him in a new light. Everything feels different and new and scary. I love it.

“So,” I say quietly, “did you have fun?”

Baz smiles softly. “Yes, I did.”

“Would you, be persuaded to do this again?

“Is that your way of asking me out for a second date, Snow?”

I shrug up to my pink tinged ears. “Yeah, I guess it is.”

“Then yes. I would like to do this again.”

I nod rapidly, far too nervous for my own good. “Okay, cool, awesome, sounds good. Do we...just go to bed now?”

Baz shrugs slightly. “I suppose so.”

We immediately go back to staring. But my gaze drifts downwards, to his thin lips that are currently pressed together. I still remember that stage kiss. I know that was all fake, but I wonder what the real thing would be like that. I wonder if that passion translate to real life. To me.

“Simon...” Baz whispers. He’s somehow gotten closer. And my breath hitches, because he’s looking at my mouth too.

Fuck it.

I grab the front of his shirt and kiss him hard.

Baz gasps against my mouth, but very quickly sinks into it. His lips slide with mine perfectly. He presses one hand to my neck and buries the other in my hair. I groan and slide mine across his back. Christ, he’s so fucking fit. I want to tear his shirt off and feel all these muscles directly on my finger.

“Kissing on the first date, Snow?” Baz whispers playfully in one of the few moments we aren’t liplocked. “Scandalous.”

“Oh, fuck you,” I grumble, holding his hips tighter.

After a few more kisses, he pulls away with a small grin. My knees buckle at the devilish glint in his grey eyes. He looks just as sexy as he did on stage. “Well,” he drawls, “if you insist.”

For the second time tonight, my brain completely short circuits.

This is so new and scary, yet, I’m so fucking excited. I suppose it’s going to be an adventure. Into the unknown. Into the woods, I suppose.

I kiss him again, clenching my fist in his hair so hard his man bun falls apart, curtaining our faces in black strands. He pushes a hand under my shirt to feel up my stomach. I fumble with the keycard and get the blasted door open, then pull Baz in by the back of his neck. The door closes, and the rest of the night is a blissful whirlwind.

Hooray for musical theatre.

———————————————- AN: "Blargh" is copyright Theo the Fanfic Writer and anyone who steals it will be sued. /s ;)

So yeah, musicals! "Into the Woods" is my favourite musical of all time and I think Baz would be a perfect Cinderella's Prince. Also I've always thought Baz would be an incredible singer. Simon would be floored lol. Sorry if this is a little rough tbh. Hard to describe someone watching a musical haha. I struggled writing it but, I had fun in the end. I love writing Simon the Oblivious Pining Idiot. Requests are still open and I will get to them between being dead from work. Hope you enjoyed this :)

#carry on #snowbaz #simon snow #baz pitch #penelope bunce #musical #fluff #into the woods #making out #mysnowbazfic #long post

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imaginebeatles · 7 years

Text

Art and Obligation | Chapter 23

Pairing: John/Paul, Paul/Jane

Rating: Nc-17 (PG-13, for this chapter)

Set in: 1820s (au)

Summary: John Lennon works as the apprentice of a well-known portraitist and is tasked to do the picture of the young Mr. Paul McCartney. He is the son of Jim McCartney, a wealthy and powerful landowner, and has the reputation of an arrogant, spoilt brat with a pretty face, who has a way of wrapping anyone around his finger. But soon John finds that things are not as straightforward as they may seem.

Disclaimer: I do not own The Beatles and this is fictional. I do not make money off this.

Author’s note: After far too long, here it is finally is: Chapter 23 of Art and Obligation. I seriously hope I can manage to start posting more than just once a month soon because this is getting ridiculous. At least the chapters are getting longer, so I hope that makes up for something at least.

On a positive note, I only have two weeks of uni left before the Christmas holiday starts, so hopefully the extra time will help me get more done. And at least here I actually have Christmas vacation (back at home, we still get homework and stuff and we often need to do a research project and collect data during the holidays, which is just not fair if you ask me).

Also, I have something special planned for Christmas, so get excited for that. The next thing I’ll write will be the next chapter of Poetry Nights and after that’s posted, I’ll continue this again. Let’s hope it won’t take another 2 months... Seriously, I am sorry... Thanks so much for the support.

I have also been thinking of only posting on AO3 and only posting a link to there on tumblr. Let me know what your thoughts are on that. It would just make everything a lot easier for me... I’ll probably have all the links to the chapters and fics ect. on here (like in my fanfiction page right now, which I really ought to update...), but not the actual text. Yeah, let me know.

Oh and just as a side note: I do not condone hitting your children as a way of discipline.

Winter had arrived in Liverpool, making the grand old manor house feel cold and drafty as the piercing wind rushed over the sandstone blocks, forcing its way inside through little cracks and crannies in the window frames along with the icy rain that crystallised at night when the temperature dropped to close to zero, creating intricate little patterns on the cool glass which could be seen in the early mornings with the sunrise before they melted away. It was particularly cold for late November and the weather seemed to have dropped on the city without warning. The McCartney household staff had been reduced by half due to people falling ill, catching colds and fevers, and committing them to their beds. George’s wife Pattie had fallen ill as well, and George had worried endlessly about her and the fate of their unborn baby until Paul had been forced to send him home to look after her. His father had been none too happy with this decision, but Paul had not for a moment regretted it, glad to have at least bettered someone’s life, especially now his own was in such a dire state.

The fireplace in his bedroom was roaring constantly, keeping the room warm and pleasant despite the bad condition of the age-old windows, which didn’t seem to do much for keeping the cold out, and for once Paul was glad his room was situated above the kitchens below, the heat from the stoves travelling up every evening and warming his bed. All in all, Paul considered his bedroom to be one of the more pleasant rooms during these rough winter months and Martha seemed to agree, laying ever curled up on the rug Paul had laid out for her by the fire, snoring contently and refusing to move. She had never been one for cold dreary weather like this and was more than happy to curl up in bed with Paul at the end of each day to share body warmth. It was one of the few positives the winter weather brought with it.

While Martha lay fast asleep by the fire, occasionally letting out tiny barks and growls as she dreamt, her body jerking and twitching in that way that would usually have Paul watching her with an adoring, yet slightly worried, smile, Paul sat behind his desk, pen in hand and a multitude of tiny white papers in front of him, waiting to be written on. Next to him lay an extensive list of names and addresses, all of which needed to be specified on each of the little cards as Paul wrote the same combination of words over and over again until his hand began to complain. The task proved dull and tedious, and the fact that every word he wrote onto the clean white paper in his neat and practised hand, was a harsh reminder of the ever looming inevitability of his upcoming marriage, made the whole ordeal a tiring and highly stressful endeavor. But, as with many things in his life, he had no other choice but to do as told, his father having given him till the end of the weekend to finish them. The list of names, however, appeared never-ending, as did the stack of cards.

Two weeks had gone by since John had met with his father to discuss the portrait and Paul’s marriage. According to him, Jim had given him another six weeks to finish the portrait, which at this point meant they only had another four weeks left together, their last meeting being scheduled just two days before the ball for which Paul was currently writing invitations. The convenience of this timing left Paul with little doubt in his mind that his father intended to reveal the portrait during the ball, marking it the perfect celebratory end to Paul’s life as a bachelor.

He shook his head at the thought. He didn’t want to be this negative about the whole affair, knowing it wasn’t fair to Jane, who had already been forced into this uncomfortable position, which she did not deserve. She deserved more than a husband who did not love her with a family that did everything to regulate his behaviour and make sure he did not step outside the lines drawn out for him since the day of his birth and which had only gotten more restrictive at the first signs of his “unfortunate fault” as his father called it. She didn’t deserve any of it and Paul figured the least he could do was to make it as pleasant and “happy” for her as possible, not just the marriage but the engagement as well. He did love her, even if his love lacked some of the most essential aspects required in marriage.

He feared, however, he wasn’t doing enough.

Although the wedding itself would not be until late February, his father was set on making their engagement known as soon as possible and as open and public as he could manage without risking the danger of less perfect aspects of their relationship - especially in terms of his son - seeping through the cracks. The timing of the ball however, it being less than four weeks away, left the guests with little time to prepare for it and to make the necessary arrangements if they had any other engagements. His concerns about this had been met with a dismissive gesture of a hand and his father’s reassurance that if people had other obligations on the evening of December 20th, they would cancel them. Paul had to admit he was most likely right.

His hand, however, would have been eternally grateful for some extra time to write the invitations. It was covered in ink, and his fingers hurt whenever he tried to stretch them, having grown accustomed to the constant crutching hold he had on the pen. More than once he had needed to stop for a moment due to cramps and his eyes had grown tired from the constant, intense focus on every sentence, word and letter he all but drew onto the spotless white paper cards, every single drop of ink needing to be absolutely perfect and nothing less. Two days he had been working on them, and he only had this afternoon and evening left to finish them. The end seemed nowhere near yet.

Sighing, he finished another card and carefully put it on the stack with the others and crossed the last name starting with “O” off the list, before taking a new card, which, he saw, glancing at the list of names, would be made out to the Peterson family. He didn’t know why his father insisted on his writing every invitation personally; he didn’t even know the Peterson family! Still, he dipped his pen into the inkwell and wrote their names in a neat and steady hand, minding every angle and curve and doing them exactly how he had been taught.

He jumped in his seat as he felt a hand on his shoulder, having been too focused on his writing to have heard anybody come in. The movement caused his hand to slip on the paper, and a thick black line of ink now stretched across the whole of the card, rendering it unsalvageable. Paul cursed under his breath and turned to see who had caused him to make this horrid mistake. More work was the last thing he needed right now.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Paul. I thought you heard me come in.” It was Jane. She was standing beside him, holding a cup of tea which Paul hoped was for him. He could do with one. Though annoyed, he forced himself to smile and shook his head.

“No, it’s okay, Jane. I wasn’t happy with it, anyway,” he lied, but Jane looked unconvinced. Still, she didn’t say anything about it and instead put the cup of tea down on the desk in front of him. A biscuit lay beside it on the saucer.

“I brought you some tea. I thought you could use it. You’ve been up here for hours. So long, in fact, I’ve had to resort to your dear brother for company. He’s good enough company, although I would have preferred yours, of course.”

“I’m sorry, Jane.”

“Don’t be. You’ve been busy enough as it is without having to look after me as well. How are the invitations coming along?” she asked, perching herself on the edge of his desk as she picked up the stack of written cards and began flipping through them. Paul sighed, exhausted, and rested his head in his hand as he placed his elbow on the desk and watched her, following the movements of her eyes and fingers as she read all the names, her eyes occasionally coming up to look at him. He was glad she’d come up to see him, appreciating the distraction she offered. The way she was handling the cards was somewhat unnerving, however, making him worry she’d ruin one by accident somehow - either by tearing it or dropping it or smudging the ink with her fingers - and make him have to rewrite it. He didn’t ask her to put them down, though, secretly wanting her to.

She didn’t.

“Briefly said? Slowly. In case you were hoping for a longer answer: I’ve started on the invitations for the people whose names start with ‘p’ just now, and I am convinced my hand had developed a mind of his own and is plotting against me now, hoping to overthrow its master and stop him from writing anything more ever again.”

Jane gave him an empathetic look in return as she finished flipping through the cards and gently pushed them back into a neat little stack, which she placed back on the desk. “If you need any help...” she suggested, reaching over to pick up the list of addresses and her eyes widened as she saw the length of it. “It’s hardly seems possible for you to write all of them!”

“Darling, I agree, but you know my father insists I write them all myself and I wouldn’t put it past him to inspect them after I’ve finished them. I’m going to be the head of the household soon - my household - and this is what I’m going to have to do from now on. It’s only good manners.”

“As if anyone is going to notice…” Jane remarked, mumbling, and Paul grimaced at the numerous times he had said those exact same words himself to his father whenever he made him help writing the invitations. “For practise” he would say, and Paul had always been met with the same basic explanation whenever he would question the need for it. It was an explanation he gave Jane now too, and he hated himself for it.

“Good manners often go unnoticed. It’s the point of them.”

Jane scoffed.

“Paul,” she said, reaching out to cup her fiance’s cheek in her hand, gently turning his head to make him look at her, “this isn’t you.”

“I don’t have a choice.”

“We always have a choice. You don’t have to be like your father.”

Paul shook his head and turned back to job at hand, picking up a blank card from the pile and dipping his pen into the ink again before starting over, writing “Dear Mr and Mrs Peterson” in neat cursive letters at the top of the page. It didn’t look quite as perfect as the original, but it would have to do.

“Did you talk to John about it, yet?” Jane asked. She had gotten up and was now sitting on the sofa by the fire, her arm stretched out to pet Martha, who leaned into her touch and gave her wrist a lazy lick out of thanks, eager for some attention as she lay dozing. The sight of her, sitting comfortably on his sofa, in her light blue dress, her copper hair tied up loosely on her head, petting his dog as they spoke, was both beautiful and terrifying as Paul realised that was going to be his life from February onward. In a little more than a year with the added image of a baby in her arms. He had to look away.

“Talk about what?” he asked and he could practically feel the disappointed look on her face as she looked at him, both knowing Paul had understood her perfectly.

“The ball. And what it is on the occasion of?” she said as if she was speaking to someone exceptionally stupid. Paul hummed, shaking his head.

“No. Not yet.”

“Paul-”

“I’ll tell him!”

“When?”

“Soon.”

“You said that two weeks ago. Paul… he has the right to know. You don’t have much longer. What else are you going to do? Break it off on the day itself?” Jane said and Paul sighed as he put his pen back down, sliding the card away from him so he would not accidentally ruin it, and turned to look at Jane again.

“It’s not that easy, Jane. You don’t-” cutting himself off, Paul took a deep breath to calm himself before continuing. “What benefit does knowing have? It only distracts you to know.”

“You know that isn’t true, Paul! And you had a fixed end date before this, didn’t you? Our wedding? Or did you plan on continuing it after that as well?” Jane asked and Paul sighed as he took his head in his hand, feeling a headache coming up.

“I wouldn’t do that, Jane. It would put him in too much danger. Not to mention it wouldn’t be fair to you. I know I have to tell him, but…” It wasn’t the same. Jane didn’t understand that, but how could she when he barely understood it himself. And knowing did distract. It distracted him! He’d prefer not knowing if he had a choice; to continue without knowing until one day it would be over.

“You don’t want to hurt him, do you?”

“Jane-”

“I know it’s hard, Paul…” she whispered, ignoring his faint attempts to contradict her and catching his eye. Her voice was soft and gentle and for a moment they merely looked at each other, sharing the same air. Paul was reminded of all the times he had been with John like this: close, touching, breathing in each other’s air, feeling the other’s warmth. He knew something ought to happen, but he felt nothing. He wanted to pull away, but before he had had the chance to, Jane had leaned in and kissed him.

Her lips were soft, her movements careful, as if trying not to spook him, and her breath tasted sweet on his tongue, like caramel, but with a hint of bitterness from the tea she had been drinking downstairs. Her hands were still holding his, and although there was nothing about it that was bad , it didn’t feel good either, and it made Paul want to cry. He pulled away, shaking his head.

“I’m sorry…” he said, forcing his eyes closed as he let his head hang in disappointment, fighting back the sudden urge to cry. It wouldn't help. It wouldn’t solve anything. Nothing could solve anything. Jane, God bless her, could not solve anything. “I’m sorry.”

“No… No, Paul… I’m sorry,” Jane whispered in return, shuffling even closer to him, and thus causing Paul to jerk away from her, needing space, needing to get away. He was surprised at his own reaction, the intensity of it. Never had he really minded his attraction towards the wrong sex. Never had he been bothered by his lack of attraction to women. Never had he felt disgusted by himself. But now… he did mind, he was bothered, and he was disgusted... “Paul.. it’s fine. It’s okay. I know.”

“I- I can’t, Jane. I just can’t!”

“I know. I know,” Jane repeated, as she began to retreat from him. Her warmth was the first thing that vanished, but unlike what he had thought, this didn’t make Paul feel any better either. He wanted to reach out for her, pull her to him, kiss her and hold her and hug her and feel. Feel something. Anything! But he was frozen in place, knowing that wasn’t going to help either. Nothing would. It would only hurt him. But maybe that was what he deserved. Was this his punishment? “You know you’re going to have to eventually? You and I, I mean,” Jane said, her voice suddenly a lot colder and Paul nodded frantically.

“Yes… I- I will. I just… I need time.” You’ve had 22 years already. Jane didn’t say it, but Paul could hear her think it, and he didn’t even blame her for it. She was right. He was a failure and a coward who couldn’t even kiss his future wife without dissolving into a whimpering mess. His father was right. There was something wrong with him. He was a disgrace to the family and if anyone was ever to find out… He swallowed thickly, not even daring to continue that thought. He was a weak and filthy disgrace and God hated him. His father hated him.

Jane was retreating. Paul could feel her move away from him, staring at him, a mixture of empathy and misunderstanding in her gaze. Jane - sweet, gentle, kind-hearted Jane - she could never be angry with him or disgusted like she had every right to be. She ought to loath him, fault him for tricking her into this life of love-less marriage, constant adultery, and unhappiness. Paul would have preferred her to despise him, to hate him, be disgusted by him like everyone else. He didn’t deserve her.

He didn’t deserve John.

“I don’t understand you, Paul,” Jane said finally, her voice quiet but angry, causing Paul to look up at her, wide-eyed, guilty, ashamed. “I try… Fuck, I try … But sometimes… I just can’t.”

“Jane, I do love you,” Paul said, though he didn’t know why. Jane shook her head.

“No, you don’t. Not in the way you love him,” she said and Paul swallowed thickly at that. He didn’t love John. He wanted to tell her, but something kept him from forming the words. After a small pause she added, “You know, I almost began to understand you. But the fact that you cannot even admit how much you love that man… not just to me, but to yourself… that’s what baffles me most.”

“Jane…” Paul tried, but she shook her head.

“I need a moment, Paul. I can’t- It’s not just about you, this marriage. It’s not just about you…” she said and with that, she turned around and left, leaving Paul, broken and guilty, behind.

She came back late that evening. Paul had been asleep for over three hours when he was awoken by the sound of his bedroom door opening.

“Paul?”

Groaning, he rubbed the sleep from his eyes as he pushed himself up onto his elbow, turning his head towards the half-open door. It was too dark in the room to see, and Martha growled impatiently beside him as she too raised her head, ready to protect her owner if needed and Paul gently petted her to let her know it was alright.

“Paul? Are you awake?” Jane’s voice came again and Paul sat up even more as he recognised her. He growled something unintelligible back at her, his voice was still too thick with sleep for him to produce anything more than some grumbles. Clearing his throat, he tried again.

“Jane? What are you doing here?” His voice was still barely more than some low growling, but at least he seemed to have made himself audible. Martha jumped off the bed to investigate, her paws clattering on the wooden floor as she snuffled her way over to the door, finally pausing as she reached Jane. When she didn’t bark, Paul knew for certain it was her.

“Can I come in?” she asked and Paul frowned, finding it difficult to comprehend words at the moment, his mind still fuzzy from sleep. Eventually, as the words began to make sense to him, he nodded and growled an affirmative response, though he was not any less confused. Jane hadn’t spoken to him all day after she had left. What was she doing here now?

He could hear the door close in the dark and he shuffled over to make room on the bed, leaning across to his bedside table to light a candle. Before he could, though, Jane stopped him.

“I like it dark,” she whispered as the bed dipped, her voice closer than Paul had expected it to be, and he complied. They sat on the bed together for a while in silence, a wide gap between them, both afraid to speak, and Paul wondered what she was doing here.

“I just…” Jane started after a good couple of minutes, and Paul could hear her taking a deep breath beside him to steady her trembling voice. “I’m sorry. For what I said.”

“No. You were right. I-”

“No, Paul,” Jane interrupted him, and Paul fell silent at the intensity of her voice, having heard it like that only a handful of times before and never directed at him. She took another deep breath. “I shouldn’t have said what I’ve said. It was unfair. It’s just… sometimes it’s hard for me, to think about the fact that my future husband doesn’t only not love me, but does not find me attractive in the slightest - and no, don’t say you do love me, because that’s not the kind of love I’m talking about. But whatever I’m dealing with… I can’t blame you. Neither of us wanted this.”

Paul hummed at that, not sure what else there was to say. Jane, however, wasn’t yet finished.

“What I mean to say, I guess, is that it frustrated me, to see you so caught up in another person, another man, and when you didn’t react positively to me… I just… I’m sorry. You don’t disgust me and I’m sorry if I gave you that impression. I know this is difficult for you and if you need time, then I understand that.”

It remained silent between them after that. For a moment there was no need for words, just silence, and Paul smiled as Jane moved to curl up around him, laying her head on in his bare chest.

“If anyone were to find us like this,” Paul could not help but point out, “I bet they’d be thrilled.” Jane chuckled at that and nodded, before softly sighing, rubbing her head in his chest.

“I’ve been thinking...” she started, pausing to think about the best way to phrase this. Paul looked at her curiously. “If you wish to take a - well, I suppose ‘mistress’ wouldn’t be the correct term in this case, but you know what I mean - I would not mind.” She raised her head to look at him, eyes gentle and Paul stared at her for a moment, before shaking his head.

“Jane, I don’t-”

“I mean it, Paul. I wouldn’t be opposed to it, both of us taking a lover.”

Paul didn’t say anything in reply to that, not knowing what to say or think and simply laid his arms around her with a sigh. Jane, however, looked serious.

“At least think about it,” she said, running her hands over the naked skin of his chest in a comforting gesture, and Paul nodded. He knew Jane meant well suggesting they would both find their sexual gratification elsewhere, but to Paul it felt like another sign of defeat, another sign something was wrong with him, for the idea of Jane spending the nights with another man didn’t hurt his pride as much as he knew it should. If anything, he felt relieved, and if that wasn’t sickening, he did not know what was.

Paul let his head rest on John’s naked thigh for a moment to catch his breath and smiled as he felt John’s fingers running through his hair, gently combing through it as he whispered soft words of encouragement under his breath, as if afraid he would stop. To appease him, Paul tightened his hold on him and angled his head up to press a light kiss to the underside of the reddened tip, drawing a moan from the man above him that made him chuckle, finding it rather adorable.

It was still early in the afternoon, and they were lying in John’s bed, clothes strewn around the room from the haste and eagerness with which they had rid each other of their clothing, aching to have the other naked now they had a rare moment alone, the house being deserted except for the two of them. Once they had tumbled into bed, however, their haste had melted away and had made room for slow, languid kisses, lingering touches, and deep, low moans as they had explored each other, movements unhurried, taking their time to just be for once.

The idea to make their two-hour session, a three-hour one had been John’s, and despite Paul’s initial reluctance to it, fearing it would draw suspicions, he now declared the man a genius, enjoying the time they now had to explore and to feel and enjoy without a sense of hurry. He revelled the warm touch of the other man against his naked skin; the puffs of hot breaths that mingled with his own when they kissed or stared into each other’s eyes, their lips inches apart; the slight chill of the room against his heated body; the way the sheets rustled against his skin as they moved together; the way John held him; caressed him; smiled at him; whispered and moaned and gasped and muttered his name.

He had taken his time with John, kissing and caressing him all over, needing to feel he was still there with him, physical, tangible, his . He had worked him open slowly, dragging it out, bringing John to the brink before pulling him away again, had spent what felt like ages inside of him - though it had only been twenty minutes, twenty-five at the most - moving slowly, letting John feel every inch of him, thrusts smooth and direct, but too gentle, too soft and too slow to tip him over the edge, merely bringing him there again, until finally, Paul had come inside of him, leaving John unsatisfied on the bed. Before he had had the opportunity to complain, however, Paul had made himself comfortable between his legs and gingerly sucked the head of his cock into his mouth, and there it had been till now. He still found himself relishing in having John beneath him like this: beautiful, nonresistant and yielding to his every will as long as he wouldn’t stop touching him.

To make it even better, all this was his to enjoy without the incessant nagging of the voice in his head, which he had been hearing since he had first realised his interest in boys at the young age of eleven, telling him to be careful, to be aware, to not make the wrong move and to hurry up before they would be caught. He preferred this, wished it could always be like this, and it hurt to think they could only have this now, with the end so near-at-hand. It was unfair and Paul would stay here forever if he could. If only…

He hummed contently as John’s fingers began massaging his scalp, and peppered kisses all over John’s inner thigh in return as he stroked him, occasionally licking at the salty skin, enjoying the taste of him and savouring it, knowing some day soon it would be the last time he would have the other man like this and wanting to appreciate every second they had together. Turning his wrist, he changed the angle of his strokes and let his fingers dance rhythmically over the length as he glanced up at the other man through his lashes, wanting to see what he was doing to the other man.

John looked stunning as he lay there, eyes half-open, dark with lust and arousal as he stared down at him, taking in the sight as he groaned, voice deep and thick as his orgasm drew near after what must seem like an eternity. This time Paul would give it to him, and he could see John knew it too. His thighs tensed as he wrapped his legs firmer around Paul, refusing to let him go until he had finished what he had started. Not that Paul would have pulled away if he had had the chance; he would never be that cruel.

He caressed him, letting him know he was there for him, that he had him, that he could let go, and raised his head to take John back into his mouth, wrapping his lips around the head and sliding them all the way down to the base as his tongue worked at the thick vein that ran along the underside of the shaft, licking and pushing and massaging as John let out a prolonged whine in response, his hips inching desperately off the bed. Repressing a smirk, Paul continued to hollow out his cheeks and started sucking, drinking him down as he moved his head up and down, pleasing John in the exact way he knew he would find the most satisfying.

John was getting there. It was easy enough to see: John’s cock lay throbbing on his tongue, his legs were shaking, his bottom lip was caught between his teeth, and his fingers tightened their hold on Paul’s hair, letting him know all he needed to know. He could read John like a book, knew exactly what he needed, what he wanted most, and Paul was more than happy to give it to him. So, holding his gaze, he opened his throat and went down, causing John to tremble under him.

“Paul…” he muttered, his eyes briefly falling close before they snapped open again, landing right onto Paul’s, watching him with hungry eyes as Paul devoured him, his left hand coming up to fondle his balls, applying just the right amount of pressure he knew would get John there. Sure enough, the man’s eyes fluttered close again, another breathless moan escaping his lips, and his eyebrows creased in concentration as he thrusted up to meet Paul’s movements, his hand tangling in the sheets beneath him while his other pulled at Paul’s hair, bringing him even closer and keeping him there, refusing to let go.

He was a mere inch away from orgasming. Paul would only have to apply the exact right amount of pressure with his hand, suck just hard enough, or simply hum and John would come. Just one more deliberate, well-timed suck... and that was exactly what Paul gave him: a suck, a hum and a squeeze, all at once, only to cough as his lover came with a cry and a hot spurt of cum shot out of his member and down Paul’s throat.

Keeping his eyes open and breathing through his nose in order to keep himself from gagging, he swallowed it. He held John as far down his throat as he could manage as he let him shoot rope after rope into him, swallowing it all as he let out a moan himself at the warm, familiar taste. Once John had finished, he pulled off with a plop, made quick work to lick him clean, chuckling at the occasional jerks John’s body made from overstimulation, and moved back up to lay beside him, where he was met with a long, lazy kiss.

“Call me a genius again,” John asked as they broke apart and Paul laughed as he rolled over, grabbing a shirt from the floor and slipping it on, feeling chilly, the winter cold having invaded John’s room as well. He didn’t bother buttoning it, though, and simply let it hang from his frame as he laid down on the bed with John, turning to him with a good-humoured grin.

“I don’t think so, love. You might begin to believe it if I do,” he said, rolling over onto his side to face him, his legs resting against John’s. He wished he had something to smoke, feeling the familiar itch in his throat, but they had nothing at hand. Instead he simply lay there for a while, looking down at where his legs lay tangled with John’s, chuckling drunkenly as he noticed his legs weren’t only longer than John’s, but more hairy as well, John’s legs being smooth with only a few light hairs covering them. They appeared almost hairless and Paul liked them that way, liked how soft they felt to the touch.

Smiling at the thought, he glanced up to see John was looking at their intertwined legs as well, but instead of a smile, a frown lay on his face. He looked lost in thought, and Paul wondered what he was thinking of that could have caused such a serious frown. He had seen that particular expression on him more and more during their last meetings, and Paul had often caught him staring at him as well, to which John responded by quickly averting his eyes.

John tended to stare, always had, even during their very first meeting, and Paul doubted the man was even aware of it most of the time, but neither of them had ever minded, and never had John looked away when Paul had caught him doing so, choosing to respond with a smile instead. But now, he only looked embarrassed.

Generally, Paul was used to people staring at him, from awe or something more negative, it didn’t matter, and he had learned to be flattered either way. It was a sign of status, of power, of influence. His mother and father had always told him that when he had complained about it. “Your pretty face will only benefit you in that respect, Paul. You’d better look after it,” he remembered his mother telling him when he had been about five years old and had become fed up with people - especially girls and older women - fawning over him. He had taken that advice at heart and since then he had used his looks to get what he wanted, not just from those girls or those women with their cheek pinching, but his parents as well, something he had had difficulty with when his mother had passed away.

But with John, it was different. John looked at him in admiration, with a look of tenderness rather than one of fear and respect. Or at least, that is how it had been. But when he caught him staring now, he saw something else in there, something he had a hard time figuring out. He wanted to ask what he was thinking, hoping it might explain why he was acting strange, but already he knew what John would say, so he didn’t.

A strange and sudden feeling overcame him as he lay there a moment longer, the thoughtless haze of sex fading as he lay thinking, wondering, while staring at John and listening to his heavy breathing as he caught his breath. He felt odd, and he wasn’t sure if it was a feeling of happiness or sadness. It was like a combination of both, a strange kind of melancholy he found hard to place. Somewhere he felt happy - he recognised it in the way his lips would curl despite himself when he touched John, or noticed the little marks he had left behind on his pale skin - but yet something felt wrong - off. Something was nagging at him, and Paul could not put it aside. Mostly because he knew exactly what it was.

It was the same feeling he had felt that day with Jane, but to a lesser extend. He could hear her voice in his mind, talking to him, reminding him of what he still had to discuss with John. He didn’t want to though, and that only made the feeling worse. He had to regain control over the situation; he had lost it in Paris when John had first persuaded him to continue their affair back home in England, despite Paul’s better knowledge of how dangerous that was, that it was a mere prolonging of the inevitable. He could say he had lost it long before that, on the evening when he had gotten drunk and first kissed him, or even when he had invited John to come to Paris with him in the first place, or even when he had allowed himself to be caught with the stable boy - he had already forgotten his name - and the more Paul thought about it, the more he wondered if he had ever had any kind of control over any of his affairs. And now Jane had suggested they could have separate lovers! Going along with that was asking for trouble.

He did know, though, that if he was going to have an affair during his marriage, it couldn’t be with John. He had let himself get too caught up with him, and although he wasn’t certain what it was about the man that made him have such a strong influence on him, he knew it was dangerous. He had to end it, regain control, be the son and heir his father wanted him to be, the husband Jane needed and deserved. But he didn’t want to. Something was stopping him. It didn’t make any sense.

Even so… he had to.

“Paul? Is everything alright?”

A moment passed before Paul registered the words. They sounded far away, and once Paul had understood the meaning of them, the usually simple question seemed impossible to answer. He focussed his eyes on John and forced a smile.

“Yeah. I’m fine,” he said, though his tone carried a weight with it that undid everything he had just said. The smile felt painful and fake on his lips, and slowly it faltered. A lump formed in his throat as John reached out and laid a comforting hand on his naked thigh, and with a sigh, he gave in. John would not like this, and Paul doubted he would even understand, but he had to tell him. He had to regain control.

“There is a ball coming up. In a little more than three weeks from now,” he said, deciding to start out easy. It gave him a little more time to think about how he was going to let John know he would need to end their affair two months early without hurting him too much. He wondered, rather unwillingly, if John had hoped their affair would have continued even after his marriage, or whether he had even thought that far ahead at all. Maybe he simply took it day by day and didn’t think about how it would end or when or why. He found it hard to imagine John either way and didn’t know which one would be preferable, knowing John would react badly regardless. “My father’s organising it. Family, friends, acquaintances, complete strangers… they are all going to be there. I’ve been writing invitations for it all weekend.”

“I thought you liked dancing and social gatherings and things like that?”

“I do. Ot at least, as long as my family isn’t there and I can be free enough to dance with whomever I please.” He caught John smiling bashfully at that, and Paul knew he was thinking about the dance he had taken him to in Paris, which in turn made his chest tingle at the knowledge John knew he was talking about him specifically.

Those days seemed long ago, a distant memory Paul couldn’t even be certain had truly happened, and he often wondered if he hadn’t dreamt it all up. But seeing John, smiling and looking at him like that, he knew it had happened, and he could almost feel the press of John’s body against his own as they danced, the firmness with which John had held him, and how easily he had let Paul guide him. He hadn’t been much of a dancer compared to other people Paul had danced with - both men and women - and yet there was something about the other man that made Paul want to dance with him rather than anyone else.

“Besides,” Paul continued, swallowing thickly as he pushed the memories away, not wanting to think of that now, every thought of John and him together making it even harder for him to say what he needed to say, “my father expects me to be there with Jane… as… a couple. An engaged one.” Paul wanted to clarify what he meant exactly, but before he could, John had already spoken.

“I see..” he said, even though Paul highly doubted that he did. “And you’d rather be dancing with someone… closer to your interests than her?”

There are many things I’d prefer doing with someone closer to my interests than her, Paul thought, but only nodded.

“Maybe,” John continued, a mischievous little smirk on his lips as rolled over and curled his hand around Paul’s hip, pulling him closer as he began to move on top of him, letting one of his legs fall between Paul’s, “maybe I should come too, then?” Paul blinked up at him in surprise, failing to understand what he meant.

“You? Come too?”

“Yes! Maybe I could come to the ball as well and make it a little more interesting for you. We could… oh, I don’t know! Sneak off somewhere, perhaps, dance in secret like we did in Paris, steal some food and hide under the table to eat it, make fun of people’s silly dresses and suits, drink ourselves into a stupor, I could… make the whole evening more pleasant.” John wiggled his eyebrows suggestively as he said that last, making it more than clear what he meant exactly and Paul almost gasped at the mere suggestion of it. John had completely misunderstood what he had meant!

“You’re not serious!”

“Well, maybe I am,” John replied with a wink, but Paul could only stare at him. “Might be fun. And it will keep you happy during the whole affair.”

“Are you insane?! We could get into some serious trouble! Not to mention it’d be highly inappropriate, whisking me away from my own party like that. People expect me to be there. The ball, it-”

“You will be! But in between you talking to all those boring people and dancing with your beloved future wife,” John reached out to take Paul’s hand and pressed his lips against the back of his fingers, before kissing his way up to the man’s bare arm as he looked up at Paul with a heated gaze that caused a warm feeling to spread from Paul’s stomach to his groin, “I can make sure you’ll enjoy the evening in many different ways.”

“By dancing with me and stealing food?” Paul asked, voice tight, and John grinned at him as he finally reached his shoulder, pulling Paul’s arm around his waist and guiding his hand to his arse.

“Amongst other things,” he said in a suggestive tone of voice that would usually have Paul melting in his arms. Before Paul could object and explain what he had meant exactly, John had leaned down and captured his lips in a soft and teasing kiss, deliberately keeping it chaste yet with a hint of sexual passion that never failed to leave Paul wanting more. He found himself moaning against John, his fingers subconsciously squeezing John’s arse as he relaxed against him, pulling him closer despite himself.

He shouldn’t be doing this. It was clear John had not understood what the purpose of the ball was and why it was being thrown at all. But then again, did it truly matter? In the end, John knowing the function of the ball would not change anything, and maybe it would be better not to tell him, to just enjoy their last weeks without having to worry about those things, to just enjoy and be with each other, like now. Knowing would do nothing but distract from what was truly important.

“We could sneak off,” John continued, pressing Paul down into the mattress as he climbed on top of him, legs on either side as he straddled him, causing Paul to let out a heated moan as he sat in his lap.

“We could find an empty room somewhere, somewhere secret,” John whispered, his voice low and hoarse, as if he had been held balancing on the edge for hours, and Paul let out another moan as John leaned in and kissed the side of his mouth. His lips were soft and firm, and Paul’s eyes fluttered close for a moment as John’s lips trailed down to his jaw, sucking on it. “Somewhere no one will bother us...”

His fingers, persuasive little things, moved up over Paul’s arms and chest, gently rubbing his nipples whenever he passed one, making Paul hotter and hotter as he let John do what he wanted, letting out the occasional gasp whenever John did something that felt especially good.

“I can make you feel better,” he continued, his voice barely a whisper, sending shivers down Paul’s spine, “I could suck you off, or eat you out, right there and then, with so many people just a few rooms away, wondering where you are. And you’d be with me, hard, wanting, whispering my name, grunting it while you bend me over a table or push me against the wall or a bookcase or onto the piano and fuck me, take me hard, because you need me.” His mouth was only inches from Paul’s ear as he whispered to him, his hot, damp breath ghosting over Paul’s skin, and the younger man gasped in pleasure as John closed his lips around it. He sucked and nibbled lightly as he rocked his hips down into Paul, letting Paul’s half-hard dick slide between his firm, round arse cheeks, and pulling another heated growl from his parted lips.

“John-” Paul tried, his hands coming up to push at the man’s shoulders, but he found little motivation to pull through with it, liking what John was doing to him too much. John felt so good against him, warm, firm, soft, yet hard in the right places, and although Paul had only just come and still felt exhausted, he was miraculously growing hard again.

“I know you’d like that. And the afterwards you go back and dance with your pretty lady and talk to all those boring posh people, and no one would know just what you’ve done to me, and why I wince whenever I sit down, so I remain standing, and you’d know why. You’d know it was your fault. You’d know how much I like it and how I would let you do it all again. You’d only have to say so...”

“John, it’s not…” Paul tried once more, but couldn’t bring himself to say it, his word cutting off in a pained groan. John paused his movements as his words reached his ears and pulled back to look Paul in the eye, a frown on his face, seeming completely out of place on his otherwise flushed and aroused expression. “The ball… it’s-”

“It’s what?”

“It’s just…”

“Come on, Paul. You know I’m joking. I’m sorry if that makes you uncomfortable. I just thought it’d be nice for you to have some mental support if you’re that nervous about it. I know it can’t be easy having to put up that mask all the time, the lying, pretending to be the happiest couple in the world… I just thought it might be nice if I were there with you. You don’t have to fuck me against the wall in some deserted room, if you don’t want to.”

Paul smiled at that, but felt something tugging at his heart, painful and unforgiving. It was sweet how much John cared, that he would doubt Paul wouldn’t be into that - he was, though he wasn’t sure if he would actually want to do it, the chances of being caught too high for him to want to risk it. But there was something inside of him that kept him from saying what he needed to say, that made him doubt whether he should even say it at all.

What difference would it make if John knew? The final end result would be the same: they would finish off the portrait and either end it there, or John would come to the ball and they would end it after that. Paul didn’t know when he had decided to accept John’s proposal to come to the ball. It would be too dangerous and could only end in disaster. But it would be nice to have him there, have him as support, some kind of safe haven Paul could run to if it got too much.

However, he doubted John would be willing to come if he knew what the ball was for, and that afterwards their relationship would be over and they would never see each other again. It did not seem fair. Perhaps John would want to end their relationship right now if he knew they needed to end it once the portrait was finished. Perhaps John would see it as a waste of time, and would want to focus on finishing the actual thing he had been asked to do the last few week insteads.

Frankly, Paul had more to lose than to gain if he were to tell John the truth. If it were to end in a fight, it didn’t matter, did it? Because they would never see each other again. It was like it had been with his mother’s death: knowing what was going to happen would only take away from joy and happiness they had now. It would ruin it, leave a sour taste in his mouth, and although it would hurt in the end, it would’ve have hurt regardless.

“No, I… I’d like you to be there,” he heard himself saying, glancing up at John with a self-satisfied smirk as he stared into his eyes. “It might be fun to see how far you’re willing to go to live up to your promises. As long as you make sure you look handsome and well-dressed, of course. My father will kill me for inviting you otherwise.”

“I think I might have invited myself, but don’t worry, I’ll make sure to look pretty and worthy of an upper-class gentleman like yourself,” John said, fluttering his eyelashes and Paul smiled at that, trying to ignore the sudden feeling of nausea in his stomach.

“I can’t wait,” he said, and John chuckled as he leaned in and pressed their lips together again.

“Want to enjoy the remaining one hour and twenty minutes together before you’re going to have to leave and I’m going to have to sneak off to finish your portrait in secret?” John suggested, muttering it against Paul’s mouth and Paul eagerly nodded, his fingers tangling themselves into John’s sweaty locks and keeping him close, needing his touch and kisses, to have him with him now he still could. He was here with John and they were going to enjoy the last few weeks they had together. It would be worth it. John was worth it.

Paul paced nervously back and forth in front of the door to his father’s office, hands clutched behind his back, gathering courage as he felt like he was eight years old again. His heart felt as if it was stuck in his throat, making breathing difficult and whenever he swallowed, he got the extreme urge to throw up. He had never liked having to speak to his father in this way, whether it was from his own initiative or because his father had called him to him. Although the man was very different outside his office, inside Paul always felt he was under constant scrutiny and attack, making an actual amicable conversation with him all but impossible, which is why Paul would always try to talk to him outside of it if he could manage. Today, though, he had no choice.

Since he had been young, his mother had told him not to disturb his father unless it was absolutely necessary, because he was such a busy man, and while he now knew she had only told him that to stop him from running into his father’s office during important meetings to show him a drawing he had made or to insist he’d listen to something he had learned on the piano or hear him recite a poem he had learned from the top of his head or something similarly silly, the fear of disturbing his father had never quite gone.

As he had gotten older, and as a result had gotten into a lot more trouble, going to his father’s office more often than not resulted in marks on the palms of his hands or a sore arse depending on his father’s choice of punishment for that day, and soon Paul had started to avoid the room as much as possible. At first, Paul had been able to charm his way out of most of them, but once his mother had passed away, the spankings had gotten worse and more frequent.

He still felt those same old nerves whenever he stood in front of the door - not that his father had stopped his punishments with him, like he had with Michael, though one hard slap would now usually suffice - the memory of those rare but painful spankings coming back to him. His father wasn’t a cruel man, but he believed a disciplinary spanking or hit when he was pushed to such measures. Paul doubted he’d have any reason for such measures now, though, as he doubted he’d be punished for inviting someone to his own ball. The chance, however, was there, especially if his father were to find out about the true nature of his relationship to John. That could not happen.

Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to relax and knocked on the door. His father wasn’t busy. Mike had told him that himself. He would be fine.

“Yes?” James McCartney’s harsh voice came through the door, and Paul swallowed thickly.

“It’s me, Paul. Can I come in for a moment? There is something I have to discuss with you.”

It remained silent for a moment behind the door, and Paul could hear some light stumbling and cursing as he pressed his ear against the door, trying to listen for any indication of his father’s mood. He had to hastily take a step back as the door suddenly opened and his father appeared in the doorway. Paul tried to keep a straight face as he looked up at him, trying to look casual, and although his father narrowed his eyes at him for a moment and it seemed for a moment he would make a comment about the rudeness of listening in on people, he then stepped aside and beckoned Paul to come in.

“I’m sorry I snapped at you. I thought you were Garrow. He's been bothering me all afternoon. Something about chewed up curtains or something similarly unimportant. Now, what is it you want to discuss?” he asked as he moved to sit behind his desk again with a sigh, and Paul bit his tongue to repress his nerves as he went inside and closed the door behind him, hoping it hadn’t been Martha who had ruined the curtains. Mr Garrow already did not like her, claiming she made his life and job as butler ten times harder. Paul had tried disciplining her, but in all honestly, he would not mind if he was talking about those awful curtains in the dining room. He would be glad to see them gone.

Unsure whether his father wanted him to sit down or not, he remained lingering in the back of the room near the door, not wanting to intrude or do anything that would give cause to his father to be annoyed with him. He needed him as unassuming as possible if he didn’t want his father to be suspicious about his motivations for inviting John.

“Well, I er… went to see Mr Lennon-” Paul started, but his father immediately interrupted him, barking at him to take a seat.

“Don’t just stand there. You’re my son, for God’s sake, not an employee,” Jim said and Paul blinked at him a few times in surprise, before he hastily did as told. Once he had taken his seat, his father motioned him to continue.

“Right… Well, I went to see Mr Lennon earlier today,” he repeated, fighting the smile that was daring to creep up onto his lips at the mere mention of him and what he had done to him after he had invited himself to the ball - the man had an impressive imagination even Paul could learn from, “and I erm… I thought it would be polite to invite him to the ball, to show some gratitude for his hard work on my portrait.”

His father looked at him in surprise, his head cocked to the side, and Paul forced a careful smile, repressing the urge to say any more, knowing it was best to make it seem as normal and self-explanatory as possible. He had spent his entire way home thinking of a good reason for why he would have invited John to the ball, fearing his father would otherwise suspect something, and this was the best he had managed to come up with. It wasn’t the best lie, even a weak one when thought about for too long, but there was only so much he could work with in this case and he hoped his father would buy into it, against all odds and expectations.

It already was a miracle his father didn’t insist on someone accompanying him to his meetings with John in the first place, seeing as he was a handsome young lad of a similar age as himself, and Paul didn’t want to give him any reasons to start doing that now, as it would make for a greatly unsatisfying end to their affair. He crossed his legs and sat up a bit more, taking on a more confident pose as he looked his father directly in the eye, but with the meekness and respect his father expected to see in him.

“You invited Mr Lennon to show him your gratitude for the portrait?” his father repeated and Paul nodded as he kept his eyes on him, knowing one wrong move, look or word would mean the end of this, and worse, the end of his relationship with John.

“I thought it would be the appropriate and courteous thing to do, considering the high quality he’s delivering, while only being an apprentice. Not to mention we asked him to finish the portrait an entire month early, to which he agreed without so much as a word of objection. He’s been most polite and accommodating and so I thought it would be suitable to thank him for that,” he said with more confidence than he felt, and Jim hummed as he sat back in his seat, looking at his son with narrowed eyes as he studied him.

“Is that so?”

“You always taught me it was important to be thankful and polite. Besides, I er… I thought you would have the portrait displayed somewhere perhaps, alongside your own, and… well… it would be fitting for the artist to be there when it's first admired, don’t you think? It’s important to give him some recognition for his efforts. It would help his career as well. I thought it would be the least we could do for him.”

“And you think inviting him would be fitting? It’s not just any ball, after all.”

“He and I have become good acquaintances during the weeks we have spent together. He would not be out of place,” Paul readily replied, and immediately wished he could take those words back and rephrase that sentence, fearing his father would see through him. Fortunately he only hummed again and folded his hands in his lap as he nodded, thinking. Paul swallowed thickly, but refrained from looking away. “What I mean to say is-”

“I know what you mean to say, Paul,” his father interrupted him and Paul fell silent immediately, a cold shiver running up his spine, fearing what he father thought, his mind spinning as he tried to think of anything that might save him at the last moment.

For a moment, Jim remained silent, but then a small smile broke on his lips, and he sat up with a proud shimmer in his eyes. “I have to admit, that was very thoughtful of you to do, to think about him. Yes… Yes, let him come, why don’t you! He seems like a nice enough young man when I met him. Just… make sure he dresses and acts properly. I don’t want anyone disturbing the evening. It is one for celebration after all! We don’t want want one person’s presence to leave a sour taste.”

“Yes! Thank you, father,” Paul said, with slightly too much enthusiasm than what might have been appropriate, but his father didn’t comment on it. “I’ll make sure of that, I promise.”

“I don’t doubt it, son,” Jim said, smiling and Paul felt his chest expand with pride as he father regarded him like that. He hadn’t seen that look in his eye for a long time. He could hardly remember when. Surely it had to be before his mother had passed away… “Now, write him a formal invitation and let him bring his young lady if he has one. Do you know if he has a young lady, Paul?”

“No, it er… it never came up in conversation,” Paul said, checking himself to keep his cheeks from flushing. His father hummed, though Paul could not discern if it was a positive or negative hum.

“Well, either way, he can bring someone if he likes. Now, Paul, I have some other business to attend to before dinner. If you please...” Jim said motioning towards the door and Paul nodded as he got up and hastily made his way out of the room, eager to get out, excitement rushing through his body. Before he could close the door behind him, however, his father called him back.

“Oh, and Paul?” he asked, and Paul winced softly before turned to face him. “I am proud of you. It seems you have picked up more of my advice and lessons than I had thought. Your Mum… she would have been proud too.”

“Thank you,” Paul said, smile faltering slightly and his heart thumping in his chest as he said it. He nodded at him and hurried out of the room as his father turned back to the stack of papers on his desk, giving him leave to go with a wave of his hand.

As soon as the door was closed, Paul collapsed against it, groaning softly to himself, feeling his heart creep its way back up, as if trying to crawl out of his throat. His dad had been proud of him… It had been the first time he had said that in years, and the reason why was a lie - a lie that could have him be disowned if his father would find out.

He was a terrible son.

#fanfiction #beatles fanfiction #beatles slash #The Beatles #McLennon #mclennon fanfiction #johnxpaul #john #paul #R #au #Art and Obligation

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joonsgalaxy · 7 years

Text

The Dark Side of the Moon

Part: 1 2 3 Pairing: Yoongi x reader Genre: romance, fluff, angst, soulmate AU, besfriend!Yoongi Word count: 8 k Summary: You’re destined to be with one particular man for the rest of your life, but what happens when your trust in fate crumbles, when the doubts slowly float to the surface of your mind and when your heart starts longing for another man? You can try to ignore all of that, but it’s still there, just like the dark side of the moon.

You spot him at one of the tables in your favourite cafe. He's immersed in his phone, thumbing the screen, with his bottom lip caught between his teeth. His hand rises to brush hair from his face and he finally notices you, when you're a few feet away from the mentioned table.

'Hello,' you greet him, quickly adding, 'Sorry for the wait, I had to discuss some things with my professor.'

'Oh, it's okay,' he assures you as you hang your backpack on the chair and sit down across from him. 'I'll go order, what do you want?'

You're quite exhausted and hungry so a cup of coffee and a cupcake should be just right. He nods before standing up and walking to the counter.

There are lots of about the ancient methods of finding your soulmate. Stories that you’ve heard since your childhood. Men and women would go to the local gifted people who were said to be really wise and all-knowing, who were trusted deeply and who, most importantly, were making some kind of indicators-necklaces or bracelets (you don’t really know which stories to believe)-that would help to indicate your soulmate once you meet them, or to finally realize that a person you already knew is your soulmate. Admittedly, those stories fascinate you and sometimes you wish it would still be like that, because, well, it’s different now.

When you turn a certain age you must take a test with maybe a million questions and tasks. Do you plan ahead? Do you get easily irritated? What irritates you the most? What are you looking for in your future partner? Do you eat meat? How many hours of sleep do you usually get? What is your goal in this life? Do you keep many secrets? Basically every question that you can think of that lets you to get to know a person. All of your answers go to a huge data base that sorts everything out and searches for a person the most compatible to you, living in the same district. You don’t exactly know how the system itself functions, but it was created by a bunch of respectable scientists so it must be legit, right? They say it works every time—soulmates meet, fall in love. And, quite frankly, you have no proof of them being wrong; every couple that you know gets along really well, agreeing on pretty much every decision that they make, growing together spiritually and mentally, never having quarrels with each other or anything like that. You’ve heard some stories, though. And like every other story you can’t be sure if it’s true or just false rumours that people like to spread around. You heard about some people running away from their fate, not obeying this world’s norms. It is said that a few couples in your city got separated and nobody knows where they are now, since they probably had to leave because of all the stares, negative murmurs from the people around them, because that kind of atypical behaviour is not acceptable at all.

‘That’s not true,’ your mother always dismisses those stories, ‘And if it is—they’ve made a huge mistake by leaving their soulmate like that. I’m sure they’re really unhappy right now.’

‘Careless people like them will ruin this world one day,’ your father says.

You don’t dare to question it further, because it all sounds quite scary to you; and talking about it always seems to sadden you, because you feel sorry for the people that for some puzzling reason didn’t get to experience that strong undying love for their soulmate. You wholeheartedly trust your fate and you’re convinced it will work out for you. The beautiful love between your parents gives you hope. They met each other through their mutual friends way before they had to take the test. They’ve said countless times that they were in love with each other even before they got the results and found out that they were supposed to spend the rest of their lives together. They never acted on their feelings before the results, though, because, obviously, that would be inappropriate and not smart. The results are like some sort of validation, a green light, a confirmation that a beautiful relationship is about to begin.

‘It happens sometimes,’ they’d say, ‘A heart recognizes the right person early on and all you have to do is wait for the right time.’

You would listen fondly to them talking about their love as if it was the most beautiful tale in the world, and you couldn’t wait to create your own. Daydreaming about it was a thing you used to do as a child, wondering if you already met the person you could call your soulmate one day, imagining how they’d look like, how their voice would sound when shouting honey, I’m home to you after a long day at work. Hell, you even had your future house built in your mind, with a pool, a garden full of trees and everything.

Yet, as you got older, you convinced yourself to get these thoughts out of your head and focus on the present, focus on school, friends, hobbies and whatnot, just like the other kids your age. It’ll happen when it’s supposed to happen, you told yourself.

However, you’d be lying if you said you weren’t nervous on the test day. As much as it was exciting, it was nerve wrecking as well. Doing the test meant your name would be inserted to the system the moment you finish it, and being in the system meant you can get a letter with the name of your soulmate any day after that.

So here you are now, sitting in a cafe with your soulmate on a nice day in the middle of May, finishing your coffee and the cupcake, which was probably the best cupcake you've ever tasted (most likely because you were so hungry), when your phone vibrates against the table. It lets you know you received a message from your friend Min Yoongi. He asks you if you have time to meet him today, and after some thinking you tell Jaehoon you have some work to do for school and that you'll meet him during the weekend.

‘Sure,’ he says, ‘I actually have something planned for us.’

‘Oh?’ You raise your eyebrows.

‘Yeah, I’ve been wanting to go to that place for a while now and I thought we could go there together.’

‘Cool,’ you answer, not bothering to ask where the mentioned place is, ‘See you then on Saturday?’ You ask, pushing to your feet and grabbing your backpack.

‘Yes,’ he stands up too, ‘Saturday is good for me.’

After hugging him you leave him there to finish his tea.

The day you got the envelope with his name inside of it was the first day of your school year at the university, two months after filling out the test. You didn’t recognize his name nor the other information about him that was printed in the letter. He went to a different school than you, lived 20 miles away from you and you probably hadn’t seen him anywhere until the 17th of September – the day you both had some free time to meet for the first time.

When you arrive at the park he's already sitting on a bench, the one you both call our bench because hands down it's the best spot in the park; you find the view of the maple trees, a few paths and a pond so comforting. He's leaning forward, with his elbows on his knees, a leather jacket in his hands. You notice he's wearing those new white sneakers that you advised him to buy, black jeans and white t-shirt. He turns to your direction and when your eyes meet he lifts his hand to wave.

‘Hey!’ He greets you and you plop onto the bench next to him, ‘Did you come here right after classes?’ Clearly, he noticed your backpack full of notebooks that you carried not only to the cafe but now to the park too.

‘I was at uni longer than usual, but no, I met with Jaehoon before coming here.’

He gasps dramatically, which makes you roll your eyes. ‘Did I interrupt your date? I didn’t mean to’, he pouts.

‘Stop it,’ you chuckle.

The thing is, you don’t refer the hanging outs with Jaehoon as dates, because it sure doesn’t feel like they are, at least yet, and Yoongi is well aware of that. That’s why he teases you about it and that’s why you really want to slap that cheeky smile off his face right now.

‘Speaking of which,’ you begin, ‘Did you meet her today?’

‘Yup,’ he says.

‘So? How was she?’ You asked, impatient. Yoongi got his letter a few days before you but since his soulmate was out of country doing some volunteering work they communicated only through the internet. He was finally supposed to meet her today and you’re certain he was nervous about it, though he never showed it. The fact she was volunteering for so long made you wonder how she’s the right fit for him, but maybe that’s the whole point – maybe she’s the one who can bring out Yoongi’s soft and loving side of him that he barely shows to anyone, although he certainly has one, you think.

‘She’s cute,’ he shrugs.

‘Cuter than meee?’ you look up at him with puppy eyes and he snorts turning his gaze away.

‘Not annoying as you, that’s for sure,’ he states nonchalantly.

‘What? I’m not annoying!’ You exclaim, indignant.

He turns to you again and says calmly, ‘Yes, you are.’

‘Am not. If anyone’s annoying here, that’s you, my friend.’

He chuckles softly. ‘Anyway, wanna feed the ducks?’

Yeah, right. You’re not going to let him change the subject just yet.

‘Wait! I need to know at least something about her. After all, you’re going to spend the rest of your lives together.’

He frowns at that, ‘I only just met her.’

‘Well, she’s your soulmate.’

‘I know, it’s just… I don’t know,’ Yoongi shrugs, his gaze focused down at his feet. ‘It’s kind of weird meeting a person for the first time, already knowing you’re destined to be together.’

‘Hm, I think it’s romantic.’

He scoffs. ‘Well, if you really wanna know – it was awkward, really fucking awkward.’

‘Oh. I mean, I’m sure you’ll get past that. Y’know, once you’re in love.’

He turns to you again, brow raised in a way that looks almost mocking. ‘Are you in love?’

You avert your gaze, and your thoughts. ‘Did you bring any bread?’ You casually ask.

‘What? Oh, yeah, I did.’

Grateful that he’s not questioning you anymore, you push to your feet. ‘Okay, I’m sure they’re hungry!’

You don’t bother waiting for him; you stroll to the pond while he grabs the piece of bread from where it was sitting beside him the whole time and follows you behind.

To be honest, it’s such a simple view—some maple trees, a pond reflecting them and the sky—but if someone asked you, you’d say it’s postcard worthy. The light wind ruffles your hair by running its ghostly fingers through it and you have to brush them off your face to find the ducks quickly coming your way. Yoongi rips the bread apart and extends his hand with a piece of it towards you.

‘You know, we shouldn’t be feeding them anymore,’ you tell him grasping the piece of bread, ‘Since it’s already late spring and they can find food for themselves.’

‘But look how happy they are.’

You spend about fifteen minutes chatting, ripping the bread into tiny pieces and tossing them to the ducks until the wind feels quite chilly against your skin, and Yoongi walks you home as usual, demanding to carry your backpack and you let him, realizing how tense the muscles of your shoulders are, not only from carrying the full backpack but also from stressing about the upcoming exams.

Yoongi transferred to your high school a few years ago, for he moved with his parents to the same street you’ve been living your whole life in. He was one grade above you; you first noticed him at the photography club after classes. You barely talked to each other. Just polite hellos and goodbyes and a few sentences regarding photography stuff were exchanged casually between you two. This changed during one afternoon after classes. His shy question of going home? surprised you, but he seemed like a truly nice person so you didn’t mind him walking home with you. Next thing you knew you were walking home with him quite often, whenever your classes ended at the same time; you were doing photography projects together, too, hanging out with him at coffee shops and his house or yours, helping each other out with homework.

On Saturday at 1 pm you step into the bus behind Jaehoon. He buys two tickets for you two before sauntering to the seats situated almost at the back of the bus.

‘Is here alright?’ He questions gesturing to the seats. You nod and he motions you to take a seat near the window.

As the sun beams through the windows you stare at the buildings so familiar to you —the bakery which you thought would be out of business by now, because the quality of the baked goods was lower than average and the prices were higher than they should have been; your kindergarten and then the supermarket just before the sign that lets you know you’re crossing the border line of your city.

The view of the buildings are replaced with fields and forests and you rest your elbow beneath the window, placing your cheek in your palm, shifting your body to sit as comfortably as possible.

There’s a fly on the window, wandering around on its tiny feet. Does it know where it got itself into? Does it know where the bus is going? Just a few seconds, just a wrong turn and it ended up here, away from home, lost and alone, without any luggage or a map. Will it find a way out, when the bus stops? Will it just die he-

‘___,’ Jaehoon pokes your arm and asks softly, ‘Do you hear me?’

You lift your head to face him, ‘Um, I’m sorry, what did you say?’

‘Well, I was just asking you about your exams.’

‘Oh.’

‘How many of them do you have?’

‘Five,’ you sigh.

‘Ugh, that sucks.’

‘Tell me about it.’

‘Well I hope I can help you get your mind of off that, just for a day at least.’

He does help you, more or less. You stroll around the amusement park that you’ve visited a few times when you were a kid, except now it’s abandoned and looks nothing like it used to. It still looks pretty cool, though. The old buildings and insane rides standing as if they could still be used for fun, but the lack of people and gleeful screams made the mood rather creepy, reminding you of those apocalypse movies. You take some pictures, you talk about school and friends, books and movies, and then you come back to the bus station.

It’s around 5 o’clock, when you both step out of the bus.

‘Ahh,’ he stretches his muscles. ‘It was fun, right?’

‘Yeah,’ you smile, fixing bag on your shoulder, ‘It was.’

He looks around attentively and spots a car, which, you suppose, is waiting for him. ‘I have to go somewhere. You’ll come back on your own, right?’

‘Sure.’

He wraps his arms around you, hugging you goodbye.

You don’t love him.

He looks into your eyes and says, ‘Text me when you get home.’

You nod and smile at him, ‘I will.’

He turns around and rushes across the street where his—you’re guessing—friend is waiting in a car.

You take a bus home.

You don’t love him.

It’s been already 8 months of you getting to know him and… nothing. You keep telling yourself to be patient – not every couple fall for each other at the first sight, but…

His smile has the same effect on you as a smile of any stranger. And oh how mad you are at yourself of thinking like that but if you’re being honest you just can’t help it. You are more than well aware that he doesn’t make your heart flutter.

You should feel something when you get a text from him, you should feel your heart swell when he compliments you, you should have felt something when he reached out his hand to gently place it over yours just a few days ago at the café.

He’s your soulmate.

But you don’t love him.

You tell yourself that everyone has a different story and that’s okay, because the ending is the same – it’s a happy ending.

So, you wait. It’s all you have and it’s all you can do for now.

‘Oh hey, you’re back.’

You’re greeted by your father sprawled on one of the couches in the living room, your mother and younger sister sitting comfortably on the other, all of their eyes focused on the TV.

‘How did it go? Did you have fun?’ Your mother asks curiously.

‘Yeah, it was alright,’ you shrug and plop onto the sofa right beside her.

‘Are you tired? Hungry?’ She questions softly and whether it’s because of how close she is or it’s because you never really paid attention to it but you notice now how her age is reflecting on her skinny body. You can see some wrinkles, some white hairs that she probably missed whilst dyeing her own hair, and her eyes aren’t as bright as they used to be.

‘Just thirsty,’ you answer.

‘I’ll get you some water,’ she says, already leaping to her feet.

‘I can get it myself,’ you remind her kindly.

‘It’s okay, I was about to go to the kitchen anyway.’

There’s some kind of show about healthy food or something on the TV. You hear your sister sigh beside you on the couch, ‘I’m so jealous of you.’

That only makes you furrow your eyebrows at her, ‘Jealous? Of what exactly?’

Those fucking exams that makes me want to run away to some kind of a desert island? Or maybe –

‘Of finally knowing your soulmate,’ she says dreamily.

Oh, the man that has you wondering what’s wrong with you if you can’t figure out how to fall in love with him.

‘There’s nothing to be jealous of, really.’

‘Are you joking?’ She exclaims in disbelief, ‘It’s so exciting, and wonderful and just ah, I can’t wait till I meet mine,’ she grins and she actually looks cute. You used to be like that, too, when you were 14.

Your father chuckles, ‘You still got some time until that, my dear, you should focus on other things for now.’

‘Ugh,’ she frowns at your father’s words, ‘That’s exactly what ___ did, and,’ she shakes her head in what looks like disappointment, ‘Look at her now—so serious and grumpy all the time, even after meeting Jaehoon.’

There is some truth in her words. But you’re not sure if being grumpy has to do with focusing on other things than your soulmate, or the fact that all the dreams you had as a kid doesn’t seem to be coming true.

Your mother comes back to the living room and hands you a glass filled with water.

‘Ugh, I just want to be in love,’ your sister mumbles getting up from the couch.

You plop onto your bed and for a moment, just for a brief moment, you feel at ease. Your muscles relax into the soft sheets and your pillow drinks all of your worries from the farthest corners of your mind.

But it doesn’t take long for them to come back. They sneak up on you, and that overwhelming sensation settles itself softly, suffocatingly over you like a heavy fog.

Jaehoon. All you can think about is Jaehoon. However, not in a way your parents, your sister or you would like you to think about him. You’re not thinking about how fun the trip was or how much you’re looking forward to seeing him again. No. Lately, you’ve been wondering how he is feeling about you, how he sees you and what is on his mind when you’re together. Will he ever be able to love you? Or maybe he’s already in love with you? How do you find out that kind of thing? Both of you act like friends, and, while it’s not bad (you like him, he’s not boring and sometimes he really has some interesting and clever things to say) how is this relationship different from any other that you’ve ever had? It isn’t. And that’s making you worry.

All of these thoughts make your head hurt and the only thing that could help to clear your mind seems to be going for a walk. You swipe the screen of your phone to unlock it and stare at it for a few moments before shaking your head and locking the phone again. Yoongi’s busy, you think to yourself. He’s probably with his soulmate right now, most likely with her.

Either way, there’s no need to disturb him with your problems. Not that you can actually talk to him about it anyway.

You can stroll the city by your own, and probably that might be even better.

A t-shirt, black jeans and a pair of sneakers should be good. A hoodie in your hand and your phone in your pocket. You don’t even take your earphones; the songs of birds might just be enough to calm you.

You walk and walk and walk. Not really paying attention to directions or places, or anything at all. Your mind is a mess and you only hope that the fresh air around you would clear it out. But, honestly, when was it able to do that?

You need a distraction and you know just the guy who is basically always able to distract you.

Nobody’s going to get hurt by you asking him what he’s up to, right? And so you text him.

8.02 pm To Yoongi: are you busy?

8.03 pm From Yoongi: no, why?

8.03 pm To Yoongi: wanna go for a walk?

8.04 pm From Yoongi: sure

You immediately send him your location so he wouldn’t go towards your house like per usual.

And after a while you recognize the boy with a pair of black sweatpants, a hoodie and a snapback on his head walking towards you on the sidewalk, and when he notices you, a hand rises to gently wave at you. The gesture immediately earns a grin from you. A few steps forward and you hear a curious what where you doing here?

'Just strolling the streets,' you answer with a shrug.

'Weren't you on some kind of trip with Jaehoon today?' He questions as you both head toward the same direction.

'I was.'

'Sooo, why are you strolling the streets alone?'

'Well, I'm back now,’ You point out the obvious. ‘Can't I just walk around my neighbourhood if I want to?' You can hear the irritation in your own voice and you wish you could take that back, because, the thing is, you really don't ever walk around alone, it's just not your thing and the direction you came from isn't really your neighbourhood and usually you would think twice about going through those tiny questionable streets there. So of course he knows that something might be up.

'Okay, yeah, you certainly can, but…' he trails off, then his voice goes low but soft and sort of soothing, 'Did something happen?'

Did something happen? Not really. Maybe that's the whole point.

'No,' you gather yourself up and manage a casual smile, 'Everything's fine.'

He doesn't question you more about it and even if you’re feeling appreciative, a part of you wishes he would. A part of you wants to talk to him, to tell him about how lost you feel and how everything you were waiting for and everything that you believed in is now crashing down and breaking into pieces, just like that huge vase made of glass that you accidentally pushed from the counter when you were eight.

But you keep it all to yourself.

As you keep strolling side by side, he tells you about his dog choking on a bone and how scary it actually was to see him struggle like that. He mentions he got some inspiration to write music again, which is cool, because he’ll finally be able to show his professor he’s worthy of being at this course, although, you’re certain he doesn’t need any professor telling him what to do or what worth his music has, he’s just that good at creating music (at least judging from the melodies he’s composed and gifted to you on your birthday).

He also tells you the release date of a movie that you are so excited about. ‘It’s two weeks after your final exam, right? We should go see it,' he suggests, 'It would be like a celebration after your exams, y’know,' He softly laughs and you do the same in reply.

As the sun gets closer and closer to the horizon you two get closer to your house and you know it will soon come into the view.

He clears his throat, ‘So, you're sure you don't want to stay at my house tomorrow night?’

That reminds you—your family is going out of city, but you have exams and you have to feed your cat and of course you're staying home alone.

‘Yeah, I'm pretty sure,’ you nod. It'll be actually the first time of you staying home alone for the whole night. You've stayed a few times at Yoongi's before in high school, but you're an adult now and you'll surely manage.

‘But what if something happens?’ He questions.

'Um, and what could possibly happen that I couldn't handle?’

‘I dunno, an intruder comes to your house?’ He shrugs, his voice casual as though he didn’t just mention one of your biggest fears. The thought alone makes your skin crawl. But Yoongi hasn’t finished yet, he continues with the possibilities. ‘Or you trip over that step in your house like always, and crack your head open and there's nobody to take care of you, like take you to the hospital and stuff.’

His words make you stop in your tracks and you hold your hand up at him, 'Oh my god, can you stop that?' Because all of that doesn't help you to stay calm about staying home alone, like, at all.

He just chuckles glancing at you, 'I'm sorry, ___, but that really could happen.’

You sigh shaking your head, 'Ugh, just shut up, please.’

He starts walking again, ‘Anyway, just let me know if you need anything, yeah?’

You snort at that, ‘I'm sure I'll be just fine.’

‘Yeah, I know you'll be fine,’ he smiles teasingly.

‘Go to hell, Min Yoongi,’ you retort.

‘Already there,’ he admits, shrugging and before you can wonder what he meant by that, he looks around briefly and sighs, 'Isn't this nice? The weather.'

‘Ah, yeah, I guess so.’

It is actually quite nice. The weather.

The few sounds that can be heard are made by cars that are passing by from time to time (the street you live in is one of those streets where you can see more kids with their bikes than cars), the shuffling of the trees and the soft tapping of shoes against the sidewalk. Yours and Yoongi's. Oh how you wish you could stroll the streets just for another hour or two, but—

‘Here we are,’ he observes as you reach the narrow path that snakes to your front door, ‘Don't die tomorrow,’ he laughs, and you groan.

‘I won't,’ you reassure through gritted teeth, ‘And, by the way, I’ll probably be studying the whole night anyway.’

‘Oh, right,’ he nods thoughtfully. ‘Good luck with that.’

He focuses his gaze behind you at the car that's coming your way and it's bright lights illuminate his fair skin and he looks… charming. Eventually he squints his eyes because why the fuck they are using high beams.

With his head low so his snapback can shield him from the brightness he waits until the car goes by past you two.

‘Okay,’ says Yoongi as he returns his eyes on yours. ‘I'll go now.’

‘Okay,’ you answer him, noticing him slipping his hands into the pockets of his sweats. The way he’s just standing there and grinning at you makes you question, ‘What?’

He answers with a shake of his head and a nothing. He sighs, ‘Bye.’

‘Bye,’ you echo him, still a little confused.

‘Bye,’ he repeats, making you chuckle.

You motion with your hand towards the end of the street where his house is like two minutes away, ‘Byeee,’ you drawl.

He lets out a low laugh and begins his way backwards glancing at his feet and then at you again.

You feel a nice warmth spreading across your cheeks, and your smile probably looks really silly right now. You feel somewhat flustered as Yoongi turns around, and did he notice that?

Not that you would care, anyway.

He leaves you standing there with this peculiar feeling in your belly that you merely pay attention to. He helped you to take your mind off things that bothered you and that's what's important, you realize as you walk towards your house.

You gulp the last sip of coffee from your mug and your eyes roam around the desk that you're seated behind. Books, notebooks, pens are scattered across it, and you sigh checking the time on the clock that hangs on the wall above your bed. It's already seven minutes after midnight but the coffee might keep you up for another two hours or so and that time can be spent sufficiently by studying. So you stretch your tense muscles, exhale deeply and prepare mentally to keep on studying.

Just as you start writing down some notes you hear thunder. A fucking thunder, and you're home alone. Absolutely perfect.

It didn't come as a huge surprise, though, as the clouds were looking exceptionally threatening since around eight o'clock this evening.

The dark blue and grey and slightly pink clouds can actually be freaking beautiful and the lightening cutting through them just adds some magic to that admirable view, but, the thing is, it's midnight and you're home alone. The lightening which illuminates your room to the fullest every twenty seconds and the loud rumble that comes after that is fucking terrifying.

You could try, of course, to keep on writing notes and reading the stuff from your notebooks that you wrote during classes, but as you feel your heart thumping rapidly against its cage you just feel it is time to forget the studying and get under the sheets and pray to whatever gods people all over the world believe in that it would end soon.

Good thing you're already in your comfy pyjamas so all you have to do is reach the wall a few steps away, switch off the light, flinch when the whole room gets illuminated by the lightening and run to your bed as the sound of thunder makes your whole body tense up.

The silky soft sheets give you as much comfort as they possibly can in this kind of situation as your heart keeps pounding like crazy. At this point it seems the thunderstorm is at its peak and you wonder what could you possibly have done so horrible to the mother nature that made her so angry. Why is she shouting and growling at you like that, causing your whole house to quake?

You nearly jump out of your bed at the sharp and high pitched sound followed by another one that you recognize as the tone of the notifications of your phone. Then and only then do you realize you left your phone hidden somewhere under those books on your desk.

Awesome, just awesome.

You groan in frustration, but it's probably just some random notifications that are definitely not worth of you getting out your bed and stroll across your room in the dark (the room is not that dark, actually; and the darkness would mean the forgiveness of the mother nature, but her angry eyes keep on flashing, so, no, you don't want to get out of the sheets and come face to face with her).

You would leave the phone buried under those notebooks and what not, at least until the storm ends, but there's just one thought that keeps on coming back—it might be your parents or your sister checking up on you and you surely don't want to hear their complaints about you not answering them . So, unfortunately, you have to roll out of your bed, hurry to the desk, dig for the phone and scurry back to curl up again in your safe and cosy bed. So you do just that and when you're calmed down enough to think properly, you unlock your phone under the sheets only to see Yoongi's name on the screen.

12:49 am From Yoongi: Yoi okay?

12:49 am From Yoongi: You*

You'd giggle at his concern if only you weren't so damn petrified. You try to think of what to text him back for a while. You do not want to confess that you're not okay, of course.

12:54 am To Yoongi: I'm fine

It takes a few flashes of lightening for you to get another message.

12:55 am From Yoongi: Did you lock the doors and everything?

Damn it.

Okay, okay, calm down. Your parents probably locked the front door when they left. Of course, they did—you had to unlock the doors to take the trash out an hour or so after they left the house, but... did you lock the door when you stepped inside? As hard as you try to remember yourself locking that damn door, you can't. And the thought of being home alone at night with the front door unlocked has your heart sinking.

You groan realizing there's no other way to be sure you're safe than to physically go and check the door. Another rumbling of thunder reaches your eardrums as you quickly type in another text message. Your finger lingers for a few moments before pressing send.

12:58 am To Yoongi: Are you busy? Can I call you?

You sit up on your bed waiting for his answer, but for your surprise he doesn't even bother texting you to call him —he's calling you.

‘Hey,’ you breath out once you have your phone pressed to your ear.

‘Hey, what's up?’ he asks, voice seemingly tinged with worry.

‘Um, I was just studying, y'know,’ you begin as calmly as you can manage, ‘And I, uh, I got tired and I'm just resting now,’ he doesn't need to know that you wanted to call him just because you'd feel braver to go check the door having him on the phone.

Yoongi hums as if encouraging you to continue, expecting to hear a sincere reason of you wanting to talk to him. You won’t let him know that, instead, you ask, ‘Anyway, what are you up to?’

You get up from your bed and start your way across the room towards the hallway. You need to reach the staircase.

‘Well, I was trying to finish this beat that I’m working on, but I heard the thunder even with my headphones on—

‘Oh, really?’ You murmur, feigning slight surprise, as you peek your head through the opened door and look around the hallway as if to make sure you're really home alone.

‘Yeah, I thought of you. I mean you're scared of thunder, right?’ You listen to his husky voice that is even lower now than usual because of how long he was working on that beat, late at night, not talking, ‘And you're alone so I thought I would check up on you.’

You walk down the stairs. You can do this. Just a few meters separate you and the front door. But your heart keeps thumping against your chest and another loud thunder makes you shudder and hold your breath.

‘You said you’re fine. Are you, though?’

You inhale and try to sound as casual as possible, ‘Yeah, yeah, I'm totally fine,’ You say as you finally raise your hand to the handle of the front door, and you sigh in relief when you’re convinced it’s locked, ‘Everything’s just fi- oh my, fuck!’ You gasp when another thunder causes your house to shake, you can't help the reaction—the rumbling is so loud and horrifying.

A chuckle trickles through your phone, ‘Yeah, I thought so.’

‘Don't make fun of me, Min Yoongi,’ you mutter bitterly.

‘I’m not,’ he exclaims, then adds in a smaller voice, ‘Well, maybe a little.’

You groan at that and then slowly stroll around the house, tentatively peeking into the rooms to check if all of the windows are closed. He stays silent for a while so you lower your phone to see if the call has ended but it hasn’t and, ‘Yoongi?’ you murmur when the phone is back to your ear.

‘Do you want me to come over?’ He questions and you stop in your tracks, ‘We could watch a movie or, I don't know, we could do anything, really. Till the storm stops?’

You contemplate for a few moments. Studying got interrupted by the thunder and you highly doubt you’re going to continue that, and having another person—your best friend—in your house sounds like a good idea right now, when your legs feel shaky and weak because of the fear.

‘Okay,’ you agree in a soft tone.

‘Okay?’ You can hear he's slightly surprised.

‘Yeah, I mean I'm kinda hungry, so I can prepare us some instant noodles, if you’d like.’

‘Sounds good to me,’ answers Yoongi. He tells you he'll be there in five.

As soon as you're done preparing the noodles, that same sound from earlier lets you know you got a message.

01:12 am From Yoongi: Almost there.

Clearly, he doesn’t want to startle you with the doorbell. He’s always so considerate. Well, most of the time. Sometimes he’s a ridiculously annoying little shit.

You let him in and lock the door after he’s inside. He carefully hangs his umbrella on the hook.

‘Cute pyjamas,’ he grins at you, standing in the hallway. He’s wearing the same sweats from yesterday and a sweater with long-ass sleeves. The boy looks rather adorable.

‘Thanks,’ you let out a laugh, turning on your heel to walk to the kitchen. Yoongi follows behind.

‘Here you go,’ you slide the noodles to his side of the table when you both are seated in front of each other.

His thanks is followed by your ugh, shit caused by yet another heavy rumbling.

He giggles, and you frown, ‘Fuck you.’

‘Tsk tsk tsk,’ he shakes his head, ‘I dropped everything I was doing to come here to help you through this thunderstorm, and that's how you treat me?’

‘Hey, I prepared you noodles,’ you tilt your head toward the cup in front of him.

Yoongi narrows his eyes at you as if thinking whether he should counter you with another argument. ‘You're lucky I'm hungry,’ he eventually mumbles and grasps his chopsticks.

‘So how’s the studying going?’ he asks halfway through the meal.

‘It’s going okay. How’s your dog doing?’

‘He’s fine. No more bones for him, though. That’s for sure.’

You both giggle, and when you’re done eating you suggest watching a movie.

You run upstairs to your room to get the laptop and when you go down he’s already comfortably sitting on the couch, watching you enter the living room and place the laptop on the table in front of him.

‘What should we watch?’ You ask making yourself comfy on the couch next to him, tucking your feet beneath your thighs.

‘Some kind of comedy?’

And so you find some kind of comedy and let it play, leaning back into the couch.

The thunderstorm hasn’t calmed down yet, and the flinching is like a habit of yours at this point. You fail to avoid muttering fuck or shit here and there, too.

Just a few minutes pass, and you feel the weight on the couch beside you shift; you hear Yoongi’s low and almost bored come here. He holds out his arm for you.

Knowing how much you feel calmer and safer just by having him around you, you can’t help but wonder what it would feel like to be even closer to him, to be in his arms and to feel his body warmth. You wince. Where did those thoughts come from?

The shake of your head is almost imperceptible.

‘I don’t bite.’

The way his arm is spread out just for you seems so welcoming, so you give in, moving closer to him and he lets his arm fall around your waist, making you snuggle into the comfort that his warm body is providing you.

A loud rumbling snaps you out of your slumber and as you blink tiredly, still pressed into Yoongi and subconsciously hugging his body, you feel his other hand, that isn’t on your waist, stroke your head, gently caressing your scalp. The way you're leaning into him allows you to feel his steady breathing, his chest rising and falling evenly, going up and down. With that kind of tranquillity and warmth, with the sounds of the movie still playing in the background and the storm letting itself to be known by the constant music it’s playing on your windows, it all feels so… right.

You tilt your head up to glance at Yoongi, making him draw his attention from screen of the laptop to you. His fingers tenderly brush a strand of your hair from your face as you blink at him. He keeps his hand on your cheek, stroking it affectionately with his thumb as his eyes are locked with yours. The ghost of a smile flickers on Yoongi's lips, and you mirror him by letting a smile twitch the corners of your own.

And his gaze falls. To your lips.

The look in his eyes changes just like that, he suddenly looks somewhat serious and you can’t quite figure out his expression or mood. Only when his eyes travel back to yours, you notice the spark in his dark orbs, and the rush of warmth takes over your body.

You've seen it before.

The sparks are spine-tingling and awfully compelling.

‘So, you're finally eighteen,’ he’d said that night.

You smiled, ‘Yup, finally.’

‘You still look like a child, though,’ he dead-panned.

‘I do not,’ you disagreed indignantly.

He laughed as a few of your friends from school argued about something insignificant a few meters away from you two. Apparently one of them didn’t want to go to the food place you usually go to, and the other two were insisting to go there because it’s her day today, so you let them figure it out between them. The truth is, you couldn’t care less were to eat, but according to your friends you’re just saying that; it has to be perfect.

‘How do you feel?’ He wondered, ‘Do you feel different?’

‘Not really. Should I be feeling different?’

He shrugged. ‘Do you understand more about the world now?’ He just seemed to really like teasing you.

‘Oh yeah, all the secrets of the world that are revealed when you turn eighteen has been unveiled to me.’

He chuckled, ‘Speaking of birthdays, check the pocket,’ He nodded towards the jacket you were wearing.

‘There's nothing there,’ you observed, checking every corner of the right pocket, ‘It's empty.’

‘It is? Check the other one then.’

You found something familiar in the left one, ‘Your phone?’

‘No, wait, there's nothing more?’ He reached forward and checked the pockets himself, then frowned.

‘What are you looking for?’

He didn’t answer, just unzipped the jacket and flung it open, ‘Ugh, where did I put that thing…’ he murmured checking the inside pocket, too.

‘What thing?’

‘Oh, here it is,’ he sighed in relief.

‘What is?’ You kept on insisting.

‘Give me your hand,’ he said, holding something tightly in his fist. You held your hand out and he put his other palm under it as if giving it some support. His skin was cold.

‘Do you want your jacket back?’ You asked.

He looked at you baffled while placing his fist onto your palm.

‘Your hands are really cold,’ you explained.

‘Don't worry about it,’ he dismissed and let the thing fall to your palm by opening his.

You looked down at it, ‘A USB?’

‘As you can see,’ he gently moved his fingers to make your hand form a ball with the flash drive inside.

‘Is there something in it?’ You wondered. He kept his hands on your fist.

‘You'll see,’ he grinned.

‘Hey, don't be weird, tell me.’

‘Your hand is warm.’

‘I told you you're cold, you should—

‘Let's keep them that way,’ he jerked his hands away, only to grab the zipper again but pulling it upwards this time, one of his hands coming towards your chin and tilting it up.

‘You’re gonna freeze to death,’ you stated.

‘You look good in my jacket.’

‘Oh do I?’

‘Mm-hmm,’ he nodded with a pleased tilt to his lips.

‘We’re going to McDonalds,’ one of your friends shouted. ‘You guys coming?’

‘We’ll be right behind you,’ Yoongi shouted back. ‘Anyway,’ he turned to you, ‘Since you don’t like receiving dying flowers, or any other gifts for that matter, this is, um,’ he glanced at your hand with the USB, ‘Well, you’ll see.’

‘You’re such a cliffhanger, Min Yoongi.’

His lips curved upwards and he reached to pull you into a hug. ‘Happy birthday,’ he murmured, and when he pulled back slightly, his hands still remaining on your waist and his face mere centimetres away from yours, he let you see those sparks in his eyes.

And perhaps it was always there, but you had to get close enough in order to be able to notice it.

‘Guys!’

You lift your head up slowly as his gaze entrances you, and if you paid attention you might have felt the way his hand moved a little bit further from your cheek, towards your ear as if trying to lure you in even more.

It doesn’t even last a few seconds before the thunder roars and distracts you fully, startling you. It slaps you back to reality, to the reality where every single thing that you were thinking and doing just now truly isn’t appropriate.

So you straighten yourself, looking away, and Yoongi drops his hand from your face as you feel your heart hammering even in your eardrums, and you’re not certain what exactly caused it—the thunder or your friend Yoongi. Maybe both.

He lets his other hand linger on the small of your back for a few fleeting moments as you shift on the couch, before it falls completely and he rests it on his thigh.

You clear your throat, ‘How much of the movie did I miss?’

‘Uh…’ He sniffs almost inaudibly and rubs at his nose, ‘I think you zoned out like ten minutes ago.’

part 2

#min yoongi #bts #kwriterskollection #bangtan #yoongi fluff #yoongi angst #bts soulmate au #bestfriend yoongi #bts fanfiction #yoongi soulmate au #kyut-tea #fanfic #tdsotm

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coffee-for-himchan · 7 years

Text

Get Some Rest (Zelo x reader)

Requested by: a sweet anon

Word count: 4 k+

Genre/warnings: fluffy fluff ❤

Summary: University’s been a lot of trouble recently, and instead of spending quality time with Junhong, which is what you wanted to do every given minute, you were forced to focus on a ton of assignments and work, and him bugging you half the time, talking you into ditching a few lectures and not completing a few tasks in order to spend time with him, wasn’t helping at all. But despite all of the mentioned, Junhong somehow managed to be your only escape from the ordinary as well, as he was able to help you out, take your mind off of the stress and make you relax a bit by just being by your side when you needed him the most.

“C'moooon, come here, (Y/N),” Junhong called from the couch, and you looked over at him. He was laying on his side and watching what seemed to be the third movie in a row already. The snacks had long been gone and so was your desire to stay awake, but you couldn’t simply leave all of this uni work that has been piling up recently and do as you pleased. You’d just started taking classes again not too long ago, and even though this was only the start of a long semester, you already felt a little on the edge. You’d apparently taken on too many classes, or rather taken the classes that required an extra big amount of effort, and being more or less a perfectionist, you had to do everything on a very good level. Nothing could be missed and everything had to be done properly, or so you thought as you sat in an armchair in the living, completing assignments for what seemed to be an eternity already. Every now and then you would glance over at Junhong and sigh a little. Oh, how much you wanted to join him on that couch, be gently wrapped up in his long arms and cuddled up. Only a few more tasks, and you could be there. You looked down at the assignment and shifted a bit in the chair, immediately catching Junhong’s attention. He smirked as he saw your silent debates, and, putting on his cutest tone, called again. “(Y/N), don’t you think that’s enough for today? C'mon, skip an assignment or two and come watch movies with me,” you looked at him, conflicted between wanting to slap him and wanting to obey immediately. You got up, but instead of walking over to him and sinking into his embrace, you gathered up all your books and things and headed to the kitchen. “Hey, I’m here and not there if you didn’t notice!!” Junhong called, sitting up just to see where you were going. “I’m aware, but I have to get all of this done first, and, by the looks of it, that’s not going to be anytime soon. I can’t just skip an assignment or two, Junhong. My whole future depends on how well I’m going to do at university, and I don’t think you quite understand,” you told him, feeling like you were talking a little too harsh, but at the same time were getting your true feelings out there. Even though you could’t see him, you exactly knew the face he was pulling, which was a mixture of regret because he upset you and disappointment because you just left him alone in the living room. You sat in the kitchen for another few hours, not being able to fully concentrate on your work because of what you’d told Junhong earlier. God, you really hoped he didn’t take offense on that statement, as you really didn’t mean it that way. It’s just that Junhong never experienced university life, as his musical career kicked off at a very young age, and often he wasn’t aware of how important doing well in all of your classes was to you. He thought that you could skip doing a thing or two and that it would go unnoticed, and that you could skip a few lectures to keep him company when he had free time. You appreciated it when he saw how tired and stressed you were, and when he helped you with it, putting you to bed when you really needed it and just giving emotional support when you felt like you were failing, you loved his presence to the maximum. What you hated though was him sometimes bugging you to ditch so you both could hang out, or him trying to talk you into not doing assignments. Like today. You were minding you own business, comfortably sitting all curled-up in the chair and studying when he came into the living room with a wide grin on his face, saying “oh, don’t worry, I won’t disturb you, I’ll just watch movies a little.” You knew what he was up to from the first second, so you told him to leave if he’d planned on bugging you, but he refused, saying he’d stay anyways, no matter what you told him. His presence in the room was both, pleasant and irritating. He’d stretch out and yawn every now and then, knowing he’d catch your attention while doing so, and with tiny film commentary and little remarks about how you were doing too much and needed to rest, he kept bugging you and distracting you from getting anything done properly. Your body was in need for comfort, and his embrace was where you felt the most comfortable, but instead you sat in that armchair, curling up even more and muttering under your breath as you tried to focus on work. This wasn’t a one time scenario, as it happened every so often, and every single time you would end up going to the kitchen to finish what you had started. The pen fell out of your hand. You felt your arms that you were resting your chin on slowly giving out, and they fell on the table with a silent thud, your head falling on top of them right after. “Just a minute..” you told yourself, knowing immediately that what you just said was a blunt lie. After what seemed like a minute (but was probably at least ten times as much), right when you had already almost fallen asleep, two familiar arms wrapped around you, lifting you up from your chair and getting a hold of you bridal-style. “Junhong-ah.. I’m.. I’m not done yet..” you told him while yawning, realizing it’s been more than a minute already and that you couldn’t fall asleep just yet. “Yes, you are. Just for the day. Get some rest so you can continue tomorrow,” he cooed somewhere close to your ear, and this time you knew he was right. You wouldn’t be able to do anything anyways in the state you were in, so, for the first time this evening, you obeyed, letting your body relax and snuggling closer to him as he carried you out of the kitchen. He made sure to hold your limp body tightly, and admired your strong will that never let you leave a task half-finished as he carried you to the bedroom, setting you gently down on the bed, moving the blankets off first. Good thing you were already in your pajama shorts and a tank top, as you already knew you’d crash out right after all the studying. “I’ll be back in a bit,” Junhong told you, wrapping you up in a blanket and leaving to get ready for bed to the bathroom. He thought you’d already fallen asleep as he climbed into bed, but was surprised to find you still barely awake, snuggling up to his side and wrapping an arm around him once he had fully laid down. “Babe, get some rest now, please,” he told you while chuckling, and you mumbled words of agreement into his chest, knowing more than well he probably didn’t understand any of them anyways as they came out muffled. Falling asleep while being held by Junhong was never a hard thing to do, especially in the exhausted state you were in, so it took you just minutes to let sleep fully take over you. The loosening of your grip around his frame and your steady breathing that he could feel on his chest made Junhong realize you were finally asleep, and he laid there for a little longer, thinking of ways how he could make your everyday life slightly easier, or at least more enjoyable. The next morning you woke up to the loud sound of a frying pan falling in the kitchen and hitting the floor with an obnoxiously loud and ear piercing thud. You instantly laughed out loud as you remembered the many times this had already happened, and heard Junhong cursing quietly while you ran to the kitchen. “Mornin’ sunshiiineee!” you laughed out loud, not slowing down your pace and running right into Junhong, wrapping your arms tightly around him. The moment he saw you run through the kitchen door, his slight anger and irritation from knocking down the pan washed away instantly, and as you embraced him, he instantly lifted you up and spun you around a few times. “Junhong-ah!!” you cried out, feeling a little dizzy and as happy as ever, and he laughed as well, seeing how good your mood was today. There were days when you just woke up feeling great, wanting to shower everyone and everything with love, but instead of “everyone” it usually turned out to be “Junhong”, and he didn’t mind it at all. “How about I make breakfast?” you asked as he put you down, and pinched his cheek. “I guess that would be better.. Hey, stop that!” he brushed your hand off his cheek and blushed a bit. “But you have such a cute baby face, c'mon, I just can’t resist,” you tried to pinch his cheek again, but he wouldn’t allow it, so instead you unwrapped yourself from his grip and went to see how much disaster in the kitchen Junhong had already managed to cause in the morning. You made a quick note to self to never leave him alone in the kitchen, as he wasn’t that good at cooking, or at not accidentally burning the house down. “You can’t just do that, you know, that’s embarrassing. I’m a grown man and a tuff guy, there’s nothing cute about me,” you tried to contain your laughter as you saw him following each and single one of your steps like a lost puppy and trying to wrap his arms around you at every given opportunity, craving some more attention and affection in the morning. “Last time I saw a tuff guy he didn’t look like his nickname was Squishy. And he didn’t look like he liked being called “sunshine” by his girl first thing in the morning,” you chuckled as you stopped at the counter to pour the two of you some tea. It was just a few seconds before Junhong’s arms were around you again, his head resting on yours. "Oh, what do you know about tuff guys? We do like getting called “sunshine”, but that’s a secret, don’t tell anybody,” he teased lovingly. “Okay, tuff guy Sunshine, take the mugs and go sit down at the table. And don’t cause any more destruction on your way,” you felt him moving as his arms slowly disconnected from your body, leaving you to regret your decision to send him away for a little. Soon breakfast was done, and you were sitting at the table, continuing the morning banter with some jokes and casual talking. You glanced over at the clock and sighed, knowing lectures would start soon enough. Junhong had to be places in a few hours as well, and it would be another boring day filled with university work and not being able to properly hang out with your boyfriend because you had to study. Junhong did the washing up and re-joined you at the table, as there was still one thing left to do before you both could head off to go your separate ways for the whole day. A thing you always did every single Wednesday, without exception. It’s quite funny, actually, as this was the thing that brought you two together in the first place. One of the classes that you were taking was Korean, and you struggled with it at times, as it was a hard language to learn. Junhong, of course, knew Korean more than just well, but struggled with English at times, which was the language you knew perfectly and the language he really wanted to learn. You made it a rule to help each other with learning those languages, and that included Junhong helping you out with some of your uni assignments every Wednesday morning. Your everyday conversations would be in a mix of English and Korean, as you both knew the two languages just well enough to get your points across to each other in a weird mixture of sentences that consisted of both, as they could start in one language and end in the other. Junhong originally wanted to hang out with you because of this weird manner of communication you both had picked up already in the very first few weeks of knowing each other, and he didn’t quite plan on falling head over heels for you, but eventually did at some point.

You both were laughing at you not being able to pronounce a few words correctly, and it kind of clicked at that moment. He saw your bright smile, and the way your whole body moved while you were laughing to the maximum. Suddenly, he caught himself wanting to see it again and again, and he melted a little on the inside every time he saw that he was the reason behind your smiles. Suddenly everything about you felt just right for him, and he couldn’t tear his eyes off of you. Your height looked so aesthetically pleasing to him, as he could imagine you being the little spoon way too vividly, and he felt like your waist was just the perfect size for him to rest his big hands on. Your sense of humor was just the right one, and so was the amount of worry and care you always gave him. Your intelligence managed to amaze him every time, and your passion for the things you loved doing was something he could compare his passion for music with. Your skin suddenly seemed so soft, and your touch so pleasant, while your eyes seemed so bright and your lips so kissable. It took him a very short amount of time to realize he wanted you badly, and just a slightly longer amount of time to finally get you to be his. He caught himself thinking about that realization he had long ago every time you both sat down to study, and he always smiled ear-to-ear.

“Junhong-ah, please stop grinning and start helping me. We sadly don’t have a lot of time,” he heard your voice snap him back to reality, and he slid a little closer to you, loosely putting an arm around you and focusing on the assignment you had to complete.

You loved Junhong on Wednesday mornings just a tad bit more than usually, as he was the biggest help and support you had. He didn’t hurry you, and he didn’t laugh or scold you when you got something wrong. He didn’t tell you all the right answers immediately, and he only pointed out all of your mistakes when you had gotten your whole point across, not stopping you mid-sentence and letting you finish it first so he could correct you later on. That was your favorite time of your work week, as it actually brought you pleasure and you were always in a good mood afterwards, feeling accomplished that you learned something more. All because of Junhong. God, you loved him so much.

The day flew by surprisingly fast, and as you were back home, you realized you could take it a little easier today, as you’d done a lot of your uni work yesterday already and could allow yourself to do a little less today.

Junhong came home a few hours later, and you’d just managed to wrap it all up and were lying on your stomach on the couch, you legs crossed and lifted up, making a perfect 90 degrees angle as you were channel surfing.

“Tell me you’re free tonight,” you were so caught up in choosing what to watch that you didn’t notice him sneaking up to you, and when you felt his cold fingers on your skin and his voice a little too close your ear, you jumped a little. Junhong’s laughter filled the room, and you slapped him playfully.

“Ow, what was that for?” he rubbed his arm where you had punched him as he sat on the edge of the couch.

“For sneaking up. Next time I’m gonna hit harder, just warning ya,” you said as your turned your full attention back to the television.

“I’ll understand if you just want to stay in and watch television or something tonight, but the weather is so lovely out there, I’d like to take you for a walk instead,” Junhong looked at you as you turned your head, considering the idea.

“To be honest I’d really love to do that, but if I fall asleep somewhere midways you’ll have to carry me back home, ya know,” you told him right as a yawn escaped your mouth, and he chuckled.

“Baby, if you want to I can just carry you for the whole walk, you know that, right?” he told you and you still couldn’t believe that you were still blushing every time he called you “babe” or “baby”.

“Stop being all cheesy and simply wait for me here ‘till I get dressed,” you told him, smiling as you got up and made your way to the bedroom. It took you a short amount of time to get ready, and as you made your way back to the living room, you saw that Junhong had laid down on the couch, facing the ceiling with eyes closed and fingers fiddling around.

“Revenge,” you thought as you sneaked up to him and jumped, landing right on top of him, with your legs on either side of his torso and your hands on his chest.

“Oh my god, stop screaming, it’s just me,” you teased him as you heard his little surprised yelp and the even smaller scream that followed. He smirked up at you.

“You know, I could just slap you now like you slapped me, but I’m a nice person, so I won’t do that,” he said. His hands slowly made their way to your things, and a wave of hotness went through you as he found the perfect position to hold onto them, squeezing your flesh a little.

With a quick, swift move, Junhong was in sitting position, with one hand still on your thigh and the other one tightly wrapped around you, holding you in place. You hadn’t noticed how one of your hands reached up to tangle in his hair, with the other one still being on his chest, holding onto his shirt and waiting for what will follow. The way he bit his lip sent your heart off racing, and you prayed he didn’t notice his effect on you.

“So you're one of the nice type of tuff guys, yeah?” you teased, suddenly realizing how close he was and how hungry his stare that was directed at your lips looked like. You blushed slightly, and were about to turn your head away, but Junhong managed to catch you mid-movement, stopping your head from moving as he gently pressed his nose to the side of your nose and turned your head back to it’s original position. There was less to no distance now as he hadn’t leaned back after the last move, and that made you tug on his shirt a little harder.

“Come and find out,” he told you before pressing his lips against yours in a more bold fashion that you’d expected. Junhong was usually more up for the sweet and soft type of kisses, but every so often something inside of him would snap, and he would come up to you and start kissing you in such a bold and shameless way you could barely stand.

“Junhong-ah,” you whined just to be shut up by another kiss immediately. The sound of your voice that indicated he had hit your weakest spot, and the way your body melted into his drove him to the edge, and his fingers dug deeper into your thigh, leaving fingerprints as his tongue tried to break into your mouth just to mess you up a little more. He didn’t have to try hard though as you simply let it happen, feeling his dominance over you the second his tongue slipped into your mouth. Your hand that was previously tugging on the collar of his shirt loosened it’s grip, and you let it trail up all the way to his neck, feeling his neck veins slightly pulsing underneath your touch.

After a while he slowed down, his kisses becoming sweet and loving instead or hungry again, his tight grip slowly loosening. He wrapped it up nicely with a few last pecks, and leaned back a bit, admiring you as you tried to gather yourself back together and catch your breath. Junhong sure liked the effect he had on you.

“Hmmm,” you let out, sending shivers down his spine. A smile formed on your lips as an idea popped up in your mind.

“Don’t tell me that’s it, Squishy,” you opened your eyes and almost laughed out loud at how his facial expression shifted at the word “Squishy”.

“Oh, c’mon! You’re calling me Squishy after all of this?! Not fair,” he acted a little hurt as he turned his head to face the opposite direction, but melted a little on the inside when he heard your chuckle.

“Hey, Squishy?” you asked and poked his cheek, clearly amused by how your teasing was as effective as ever. He didn’t respond, but you knew his offense was fake, so you simply continued.

“I love you,” you waited ‘till he turned his head back to face you, adding “.... Squishy.”

“Love you too, you endless tease,” he admitted while smiling, and with a swift move got both of you up from the couch, taking a hold of your hand and leading you to the entrance door.

The chill evening air seemed to work wonders, as you were able to walk alongside Junhong for hours and not feel the effects of never ending sleep-deprivation and stress. You simply enjoyed yourselves, you heartfelt but meaningless talks in the weird combo of English and Korean disappearing somewhere in the wind that Junhong was oh so thankful for, because it made you look so gorgeous when it went through your hair and tangled a few of it’s strands together. He was the reason behind your smiles, and he loved it. He loved how your hand fit in his, and he loved how you’d shift from holding hands with him to holding onto his arm every so often. Junhong looked at you and smiled, knowing he was able to take your mind off of your stressful everyday life at least for a little bit.

“Hey, you know what?” he questioned sometime while walking, getting a questioning hum from you in reply.

“We’re going on a little field trip this weekend, and you can’t cancel or deny,” he said, smiling a little and looking into the distance, “I know you think that I don’t always take your studying seriously, and I’m sorry if I ever make it seem that way. I absolutely admire the amount of effort you put into it, and I’m sorry for distracting you and teasing you about it sometimes. But I still stick to the fact that you need some time off, so let me take you out of town for a bit, just to enjoy some peace and solitude.”

“Sounds good,” you simply replied, tightening your grip around his arm and smiling, continuing to walk in silence until your quiet talks started filling up the empty streets again.

It must be hard for all of those girls who didn’t have a Choi Junhong in their lives, you were certain, but since you had one, you made sure you made him feel just as loved and comfortable as possible. He always tried to give you the whole world, but deserved the whole world himself.

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