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danddymaro · 5 years ago

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Nameless Girl | Shizuo Heiwajima x Reader

I remember when I first watched Durarara years ago, I instantly liked Shizou. Such a sweet, misunderstood man.

‘ example’ = Italics in quotations are thoughts

example = Italics W/out are flashbacks

Wordcount:

Nameless Girl

She hadn’t expected to ever find herself filled with such excitement, much less having thought that it would come right to her,

But it did, and it started out like any other day...

“Yes,” she replied dully, “ I’m almost home dummy, stop worrying,” she said with a smile, trying to shake off her good friend’s worry. “I know it’s getting dark, but trust me the streets are packed,” (f/n) argued back, “So, nothing’s gonna happen,” she assured (best friend’s name.)

News of the Slasher set off worry, and her good friend was one of the many people set on protective overdrive,

“ Alright, Alright, I’ll message you when I get home, alright?” (f/n) said with a soft smile, shaking her head as she was still on the phone.

From the other line an exasperated voice continued to jabber, annoyed at the casual manner the young woman dismissed it with,

“-Ok, Ok Bye!” (f/n) laughed, hanging up. “I swear nothing will happen!” She added with assurance trying to play off the seriousness with her chuckle.

Because what were the odds she’d be attacked?

What were the odds something so extraordinary would happen to the ordinary?

She was ready to put her phone back in her jacket’s pocket when she suddenly fell back. Her cell, which had been in her right hand, practically flew from her loose grasp as she came down.

It then slid farther from her and onto the crowded street, making her eyes round widely,

“Oh shit!” she fretted, crawling towards the fallen, little technological piece with haste. Fortunately, she hadn’t taken long to react, scrambling off from her ass and crawling towards the cell before someone carelessly stomped on it.

Once her hand came in contact with the phone the young woman snatched it and clutched it close to her chest, almost afraid to take a moment to look down at it, knowing it could be cracked.

Yet again she cursed, hoping to high heaven that it was just fine, or that at the very least, it had a tiny, itsy bitsy scratch she could just ignore.

Standing up, she gave a quick heave before dashing her (e/c) eyes down to the cell, finding it to be safe from any nasty damage.

Not a single chip or crack was in sight making her cry out of utter joy,

“Yes!” she chirped, her face wiped off of any trace of negative emotion, instead, looking elated.

It had taken her months to pay it off, and she would have been heartbroken to know the small splurge she’d invested in hadn’t lasted even a year.

‘Luck is on my side!’ She cheered.

A low rumble of curses then brought her eyes forward, causing them to land onto a man who seemed to be in a similar position as she was,

‘Hold on,’ She thought to herself, feeling her blood run cold. ‘You've got to be kidding me,’ She inwardly cried.

As she had trailed her eyes up to him, her breath hitched, immediately recognizing him from the descriptions, and biting her tongue, she refrained from saying something stupid that could trigger him.

He was someone an everyday person would gossip of, but never have the nerve to face, not even in a wild dream...

‘Shizuo Heiwajima.’ She confirmed once taking a second look at his outfit.

It was the same Shizuo Heiwajima she’d been warned to stay away from. The same one that couldn’t control his rage, who terrorized the entire city with flying vending machines on a daily occurrence as well.

‘THAT Shizuo Heiwajima...’ She thought to herself visibly shrinking. ‘Lucky me’ She panned, taking back her earlier declaration of good fortune.

“I’m so sorry!” she squeaked, quickly bowing her head in apology, “ I should have watched where I was going!” she blubbered, “ I’m really sorry!” she rambled on before the man, sticking her head down with the utmost respect.

‘Please don’t kill me!’ She translated in her mind, hoping he understood the unspoken cry through her apology.

Watching with widened eyes, he stared down the young woman with a look of surprise worn on his face. His full attention was on her to such a degree that almost everything else became an afterthought. Heck, even the guy he’d been chasing down became irrelevant by then.

He had even forgotten why he had been so angry in the first place…

‘Some dumbass…’ He dumbly thought to himself, ‘It’s always some dumbass,’ He added, knowing it was true.

“That dumbass who’s probably gone by now,” he tisked to himself, slowly coming back to his senses, his shoulders dropping in defeat.

Taking notice of his rather passive, defeated behavior she stood up with returning confidence, her concern growing for him instead,

“Hey...I didn’t hurt you did I?” she asked with worry, taking a small step forward, a notable concern visible on her lovely face. However, it was clearly noted she was still cautious not to come too close, despite the placid kindness being directed at him.

‘I wasn't the one that just flew a couple of feet…’ He thought to himself as he shook his head.

He then stared stunned at her as he saw her hand open before him. Nervously, her hand stretched out to him and with graciousness he took it, soon standing at his full height and towering before her,

‘I guess I should just thank her,’ He thought to himself, intent on doing so, however, he found difficulty in doing so.

He opened his mouth to speak, letting nothing but a small croak escape his dry mouth. With pursed lips he continued to stare down at the female, not knowing how to push out the jumbled words from his mouth.

To his misfortune, his voice caught in his throat, and instead of being a normal human being with actual social skills, he turned, walking away stiffly.

That day, Shizuo Heiwajima cowered, leaving the dumbfounded cutie with confusion in regards to their first encounter.

“Wait...what was really him?” She said softly, murmuring to herself with wonder.

She lightly gnawed at her thumb’s already abused and previously chewed little nail, not sure what to really think of him.

‘ Rather odd, but not at all some monstrous freak, ’ she thought to herself. ‘...Kind of cute actually,’ she mused with a small, girlish giggle. “Kind of cute?” she said out loud to herself as she contemplated over her daring, little thought.

“More like handsome, kind of charming,” she corrected herself thinking back to the man and the little stain of pink that may or may not have been painted over his face.

‘But wasn’t he supposed to bash my face in?’ She wondered. ‘Beat me up?’ She added, confused, though grateful none were part of the aftermath of their collision.

Her thoughts were then halted when she heard a different voice, deep and masculine with a heavy hint of an accent clearly not native to Japan,

“ Come try Russian sushi, yes?” The man said, offering her a gigantic smile of welcome.

“Russian sushi?” she repeated back, confused, “Is there such a thing?” she muttered before she turned to the voice.

And In her vision was a very tall man, with dark skin and grey eyes peering down at her.

She jumped seeing such a gigantic man towering over her, but quickly calmed at seeing he was just offering her a piece of paper.

Gingerly she accepted it, her eyes skimming over it.

“Ah, Russian sushi, so Russian accent,” she confirmed with a nod.

“Yes, yes, come try, you will like!” He said as he began to push her towards his shop. “ It's fresh! it's good!” He insisted, not giving her room for denial.

She sweatdropped as she allowed herself to be pushed inside because she knew that even if she tried to oppose, she doubted he’d let her slip by without her giving his restaurant a try.

Staying was a decision she didn't regret because she did enjoy it there and if she could give it an 8/10, a rating she’d be more than willing to rethink once she came back later in the week.

Her life then went on as usual, with the same ol same ol, except for one, tiny, little detail,

‘Shizuo,’ She mused, wondering just what he’d been up to the last few weeks.

Nothing had changed in her life except for the fact that every now and then, far too often in her opinion, she thought of the blonde man. Sometimes it was unexpected, remembering him throughout the course of the uneventful weeks with fondness.

Other times, like the present time, she willingly thought of him, wanting to know if the rumors about him were true,

‘Does he always wear that suit, and nothing more?’ She pondered, truly curious.

It was a cold winter night and Ikebukuro looked beautiful, a lovely sight to behold. The gentle descension of snowfall was a pretty sight to witness as it covered everything in sight, painting the streets with pure white.

As the snow came dancing down from the sky and peppering the streets with teenie dots of white, she smiled happily, not at all in opposition to the chillier days to come.

It was the first snow day of many to come, and she looked forward to what days lay ahead, fully prepared to enjoy each and every one.

She liked snow, and of course, what was much more, the chilliness of the night.

Momentarily, (f/n) found herself stopping, gazing up at the snowfall with memorization as the rest of the crowd went along their night, almost as though nothing had changed.

Almost like the beautiful sight was something of the everyday,

‘I guess that's what city life is,’ she thought to herself, taking into consideration that in such a buzzing and packed city, people didn’t have time to just stand and stare at the sky as idly as she did.

They had places to go, people to be with...

And those who weren't in a rush to get home had already had enough of the season.

Her tongue peeked from her lips, sticking out straight in wait of a teenie, little dot or two to land on it. And it didn’t take long before she caught some, having them instantly melt onto her warm muscle.

“ ah...I really do love Ikebukuro.” She mumbled, keeping her nose lifted, staring up at the darkened sky with glazed eyes of astonishment. “It’s so lovely here,” she added, digging her gloved hands in her coat pockets as she began to walk forward mindlessly.

She didn’t have a real destination, nowhere she had to really be at the moment, so decided she wanted to see more of the busy city.

Maybe she’d find some new place to eat, a new place to shop...

Heck, even some new friends.

‘I should get to talking to more people,’ She mused, knowing that co-workers didn’t really count.

She did also have (best friend) But they were out of the city, a long way from each other, studying off elsewhere to work on their dream career.

‘Maybe I should have also gone...’ She thought to herself, ‘Maybe I should have just taken the risk...go off somewhere else.’ She thought dejected.

‘Thinking of taking risks...’ she added while her mind yet again drifted off to the strange man she had met a couple of weeks ago,

‘Shizuo, I wonder if I’ll ever see you again... I also wonder If It'd be such a bad idea to go and look for you...’ she continued while her mind went to the blonde male, well aware that she had gotten an innocent, little infatuation with him.

With a blue sigh, she pouted, ‘Figures I’d set myself on someone so

…unattainable.’

Her body then clashed with another and she fell back with a small yelp, startled by the collision.

“Ahh man,” she sighed, and she winced as she slowly rose her head up, looking up at the man standing before her. And as luck would have it had been the one person she had found herself thinking of just a little too much lately,

Shizuo Heiwajima...

‘ It’s him, ‘ she thought while her (e/c) colored eyes rounded, a smile rising.

The same blonde-haired, sunglass-wearing guy from before was right there and to her disappointment, he looked not all too different from the first time she'd encountered him.

With the colder weather, everyone had decided to switch out to burlier clothing, something to bring warmth, but Shizuo was the strange man out, wearing the same bartender suit as that previous night, having nothing at all to save him from the cold night.

He looked exactly as he did the last time they met, except now he was adorned with few bruises over his face, red little blotches staining his white button-up shirt as well.

He tisked, a sound of obvious annoyance, preparing himself to give whatever idiot that crashed into him a good scare, when he stopped dead in his tracks, staring at the person with widened eyes.

'No way,’ He thought while marveling at her.

it was the same girl that he ran into before, now sitting right in front of him, the same little, startled expression she had worn the first time being present.

‘Ah, damn…’ He thought to himself as he felt his mouth go dry, the little bit of saliva that he could gather up forcibly traveling down his throat as he tried to prep himself to say something, preferably something nice.

Something that wouldn't make her run off too quickly….

“Maybe this is how we’ll keep meeting, eh?” She said smiling, beating him, seeming to not think twice about starting a little conversation with him.

“You keep running into me,” she added, smiling with amusement, a hint of tease in her playful tone.

‘Does she even know who I am ?’ he wondered with a small huff.

“Yeah…” He responded, holding out his hand to her, one she took without hesitance.

Everything went by swimmingly until she frowned, pursing her lips together and sighing, seeming annoyed with something.

“ Oh... You shouldn't be walking around like that.” She Chided, shaking her head in disapproval and pointing towards him, more specifically his attire.

He looked down at his clothing and wondered just what the heck she was talking about, what bothering his choice of clothing did to her.

“It's so cold outside,” she said shaking her head at him. “....And you're wearing that,” she said in a knowing manner, a hand on her hip, fully judging him.

“ so ?” he responded, a bit roughly, raising his defenses up as she attacked his outfit, the same one his brother had so kindly given him.

“The so is that you’ll get sick,” she said in a ‘matter of fact’ fashion, her face showing worry, melting into sweet concern.

“ you don't know me,” he responded back, stuffing his hands in his pockets, glaring down at her, chewing on his tongue, knowing he was sounding like a complete asshole. He didn’t want to sound so sharp and dismissive, but she was making him nervous, the little woman making his heart grow erratic.

He’d been practicing small talk, little things he could say to her if he ever had the chance of running into her again, but as he found himself at the perfect moment to use his mirror exercises, he blanked.

“So?” She said copying in his earlier response, making his eyebrow twitch. “ I might not know you, but you can still get sick,” She elaborated.

‘Walking out in the cold like this,’ She thought with lightly pressed lips.

Didn’t anyone worry about the man?

Unwrapping the warm scarf around her neck she offered it to him with a gentle smile, “ Here,” she said to him. She held it out practically shoving it in his face, “ just take this,” she added softly.

To anyone else, the offer may have been easy to understand, but he seemed to not get the gist of what she was doing, staring quizzically at the held out piece of cloth.

Like before he said nothing and only stared down at her, the same face caught in between anger, frustration, and just a whole lot of other mixes of messy emotions he wasn’t well at controlling.

She gave him an exasperated smile and shook her head while seeming entertained by him, and he wondered if she smiled so much around everyone else.

Was she all giggles and smiles?

Was she always so cute?

“I can tell you're not the type of guy for hand me outs, especially from some stranger,” she giggled. “ nonetheless...take it please,” she added.

His eyes were unreadable to her as she couldn't see past the tinted frames, but if she had been able to peek past them she would have easily noticed that they were practically glowing with appreciation.

His hardened hazelnut orbs softened and glimmering with gratefulness he couldn't properly put into words because yet again his voice had died.

He inwardly cursed, belittling his stubborn mouth for not moving all while he berated himself for not being a normal human being.

And perhaps his behavior seemed strange to others, but to her it was endearing.

“Maybe next time we run into each other you can hand it back,” she told him, her heart fluttering at the idea.

She giggled against her will at the noticeable tinge of pink on his pale cheeks, because with such a serious face he looked adorable.

And once again, she wondered if this man, Shizuo Heiwajima was the same one the vicious rumors had made him out to be.

Was he really a violent man? Terrifying?

‘ Not likely...’ she thought.

She’d only met him twice, and each time it was pleasant to encounter.

He had the right to snap at her for bumping into him, but he didn’t. Instead, he stayed quiet, just shy enough to show off the sweet rosy color now present on his cheeks.

If anything, she concluded that he was just a bit more on the less social side, which she understood, being somewhat of an introvert herself.

“So just take it, It's fine !” she chirped with insistence. Giving him no escape by following up with a wave, dashing through the filled streets on her way home, grinning wildly, her heart happy and bouncing with each step.

“- Please take care of yourself! ” she advised him before running off into the crowd and eventually disappearing away through the mass of people.

She just wanted to go home now, push her face against a pillow and squeal, gush like a teen with a massive crush,

‘I can’t believe I ran into him again!

And I can’t believe I gave my scarf to him!’

It was only a matter of seconds before she vanished, not a strand of ( h/c) hair being left behind to trail after.

- Only then could he begin to function properly, finding his voice.

He then stared down at the piece of clothing and sighed, reluctantly wrapping it properly around his neck, his gloved hand momentarily stroking it, not being able to feel the material with his own hands, but from the way it tickled at the back of his neck, he could feel the softness, and even the warmth she left behind on it.

“At Least it's not flashy,” he muttered looking down at it.

It wasn't designed in any particular way that stood out, just a simple black color that seemed to be knitted wool.

if anyone were to see him wearing it they wouldn’t assume it belonged to anyone else but him.

But there was just one thing that was off...

A distinguishable scent invaded his senses, blocking out the rest of the city's mixed uniqueness, becoming the overpowering fragrance.

With his right hand, he pushed the material around his neck up slightly above his pointed nose, smothering it with the sweet smell.

‘ perfume.’ He figured, ‘ Her perfume...’

He stood motionless for a few seconds, lost in his thoughts, many of which were about the (h/c) woman, but he knew they had no true importance.

They were things like :

Did she knit the scarf herself? Or had she bought it?

Had a friend been thoughtful enough to give it to her?

Was it just perfume? Or was it the fabric softener she used?

Was it maybe body wash?

All he knew was that it was a sweet, little smell that surrounded him, making his mind grow jumbled with thoughts of the young woman, most of which included questions he had about her since he first saw her.

It made the already noticeable blush on his cheeks worsen, and he huffed in frustration.

His warm breath collided with the chilly air and made a large puff of white cloud form,

“Damn it …” he muttered, looking back to the direction (f/n) ran off to.

He should've thanked her...

He should have said something other than grunt like some wild boar...

He really should have...

‘I’m such an idiot,’ He thought to himself.

He regretted not doing so for the second time, proving he was nothing more than some unsociable buffoon not capable of even giving her a well deserved and good-natured thank you.

“Damn it !” he said louder, wanting to bash his head into a brick wall, maybe more than once… perhaps a good three or four times just to make sure he did a good job.

If he pushed everyone aside and sent their frail bodies flying as he dashed through... Would he then reach her..?

Would he somehow be able to find that sweet, little lady now that the full streets of Ikebukuro had swallowed her up? Or were their meetings only chance?

Two chances he had already blundered.

“It’d be my luck,” he grumbled, thinking about the possibility that this had been his one shot.

‘ What was her name?’ He wondered, inwardly cursing at the fact that in those two times, he hadn’t even bothered to ask for her name. She knew him very well, his name and his reputation, and yet she was a mystery to him.

A cute face without a name...

“She’s probably gone by now..” He said looking up at the darkened sky.

‘ She was pretty cute... ‘

So cute he thought about her again that night, not knowing he was on her mind with similar regrets.

......................

He took a low drag of his cigarette, the last of the death stick as he thought about her some more. By that point, nothing was able to give him ease as even his favorite brand of smoke was falling short.

He looked down at his watch's face, the hour hand finally changing before his eyes.

In his opposite hand, he held the black scarf, unintentionally squeezing it tight in his nervous hand.

Leaned against an open shop’s wall he waited for her to show up, having realized that it was around the time she usually passed by.

With another hour passing him, and an extra twenty-five minutes to add along to the waiting time, Shizuo sighed largely, his head hanging,

“ I look like an idiot, “ he muttered, his grip on the scarf tightening.

The hand where he wore his watch was also full, holding a small arrangement of flowers he had picked out, now being bent at their stems.

Pushing himself off from the building, he decided to go back home, having spent too much of his time waiting on someone that wouldn't show.

Someone he didn’t even know...

In all his frustrated disappointment he then caught the sight of (h/c) colored hair, the side profile of a familiar beauty walking right past him.

It was a desperate, daring move, but as she took a step forward his arm shot out, pressed against her midsection to hold her back, causing her to suddenly yelp.

“Hey just who-” Stopping midway through her rant she looked up at the blonde, her face instantly brightening, rid of all the trace of annoyance she had begun to show,

“Oh Shizuo!” she chirped, smiling brightly as though she’d just caught sight of an old friend.

“It’s really you!” She said with a small grin, not at all bothered by their proximity, nor his intimate hold on her, seeming somewhat disappointed when he let go, giving her the ability to properly face him,

“Here,” he said stiffly, shoving the crushed blossoms in her hands, and with Wide eyes, she gazed down at them,

‘He got me flowers,’ She mused, not able to hide the instant wash of giddiness that drowned her.

‘He got me flowers...’ She thought again as he walked alongside her, suggesting to walk her home, his justification being that there was a murder on the streets, one he’d protect her from.

��He’s walking me home...’ She added, her face glowing the entire time.

“Thank you for walking me home,” she said softly, speaking with notable appreciation, “And for the scarf,” she added. “ Oh… and the flowers, “ she continued on, still holding on to the ruined bouquet, holding them with both hands, caring for them as though they hadn’t been completely destroyed by his stupid strength already.

“Yeah…” he muttered, his face drawing away from her, but his eyes peering down to the small flowers, slowly trailing them up to the small, pretty smile she wore.

“Well...this is it,” She informed him, stopping at a small apartment complex, “Luckily for me, it's right at the front,” She told him, gesturing towards the small entranceway facing the street.

“Um...Shizuo?” She said softly, seeming shy at the little utter. She gestured him closer with her index finger, and surely he came down to her, thinking she had something else to say, but to his surprise she came up to him, softly pressing her lips over his cheek, her warm lips spreading heat through his entire face, going against the chilly air’s own caress.

Backing away from him she hid behind her door, peeking out at him, her pretty (e/c) eyes batting, “ Thank you Shizuo… thank you for being gentleman,” she told him, seconds before she closed the door on him, a soft click of the door properly closing up, followed by another as she placed the lock on it sounded.

Dumbly, he stood motionless, staring at the spot before him where she had stood. With his hand slowly raising up, his fingers grazed over the small spot she had kissed him.

He couldn't believe she had actually done it or even considered it.

Putting his hand in his pockets he then hung his head, realizing he hadn't asked her for her name yet again.

They’d actually talked, swapping little mindless stories, and he was even led to her home, yet still had no name.

“Unbelievable,” he muttered while he hung his head, however this time around, he wasn’t defeated.

He wore a small smile, still feeling the ghost of the sweet press to his cheek present over his flesh.

‘Well...there's always tomorrow,’ He thought to himself, chuckling to himself as he thought of all the little excuses he could make to talk to her, knowing that it probably wasn’t necessary for him to wait out her door, because eventually, they’d run into each other again,

‘I’ll get it right,’ He mused, his walk back home pleasant as he thought of all the ways he could try and make her smile.

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nbrook29 · 4 years ago

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love you to the moon and to saturn

This is part 4 of my Sander in NYC ‘verse. I posted it on ao3, but recently I’ve also been posting my fics on tumblr so here it is 😌

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Warnings: mild sexual content

* * *

Saturday, 10:00

His sleep was anxious, mind too preoccupied with stress to allow him to get a proper rest. The wake up was even worse as mere seconds after he blinked the sleep away from his tired eyes the memories of last night crept back in, flooding him with worry and making his brain replay the argument over and over again like a broken cassette. And then he checked his phone only to find a string of messages and missed calls, all from Sander, causing his stomach to twist with nerves at what they were going to say.

His abrupt leaving had been a dick move and if Sander was pissed, Robbe knew he couldn’t blame him. So he stalled, finger barely swiping at the screen as he was unsure whether to unlock it and face the consequences or maybe throw the phone back on his bedside table and bury himself under the covers to wait for his courage to come back and for his nerves to settle.

Heaving a sigh, he chose option number one because it was the only rational one.

He tapped Sander’s photo, holding his breath without even registering it.

Two seconds later he knew.

He didn’t need to worry.

Sunday 13:00

Robbe hides another smile into his glass at the thought of yesterday’s evening, trying to focus on what Marie is saying. She’s talking animatedly about a guy she met at her new internship, hearts almost flowing out of her eyes as she swoons on the wooden stool and sips her black coffee. She’s the kind of girl who falls in love quickly and falls out of love just as quick. Across from where he’s sitting, he sees Fien and Lucas rolling their eyes at her exaggerated lovesick sighes making him snort in his marshmallow latte.

“Weren’t you obsessed with that lanky guy from Starbucks last week? What happened to him?”

Marie shrugs, tossing her long brown hair back from her shoulders. “I decided he was too old for me.”

“Didn’t you say he was 21?” Robbe interjects with amusement, remembering their group messenger chat he caught up with this morning.

“Exactly!”

They all start bickering about the appropriate age difference in relationships, Robbe watching them as he munches happily on one of the soggy marshmallows he fished out from his cup, trying not to giggle at Lucas’ scandalized face at Marie calling 21 old. Robbe knows from the many stories Lucas has shared so far that his own boyfriend is a senior at college so his reaction is even more entertaining because of that.

It feels good to be around them again, Robbe thinks to himself. He’s been canceling on them way too often those last few weeks and he still feels guilty about it. They’re a fun bunch, their bantery dynamic established since day one when they all chose the middle row to sit in during their morning classes, and then promptly spent half of it bonding over the outrageous occurrence that was the absence of a coffee shop on the campus. Not long after, Robbe also discovered that apart from the passion for filmmaking, they all also like skateboarding. After that, the rest was history.

They were for sure a nice distraction from Robbe’s intrusive thoughts in the beginning of the semester. He lucked out, finding his group, his people, so early on in his college journey. But at some point even their goofiness and honest attempts at cheering him up weren’t enough. Not since the news from Sander came that he’s staying in New York until February and since the thing with Jens.

Now, observing them from over his half-drunk coffee, lips twitching at some of the more creative but still lowkey insults Marie and Lucas throw at each other, he realizes he has really missed them. They’re like siblings, the two of them, constantly bickering and teasing one another, but it’s all good-natured and amusing to watch.

“Oh my god, let it go, children, for the love of god,” Fien cuts in abruptly, before turning her big expectant eyes on Robbe, twirling a lock of her hair around her finger and adding innocently, “I’d finally like to hear about Sobbe’s makeup.”

Heat rushes to Robbe’s cheeks and he scratches at the back of his neck, bashful all of a sudden. She’s the number one fangirl of his relationship, he has learned recently, but in a cute way, not creepy like Aaron sometimes used to be with his invasive questions. She always moans about being forever single, pouting at Robbe for some fluffy snippets and claiming in faux-seriousness that he owes it to the world to share them with others for being lucky enough to have a fairytale-like love story.

Robbe has never disclosed to them how unfairytale-like some of the details are because it’s not his story to tell. But he really likes her so he always indulges her, usually after a bit of teasing. And, sue him, but he’s proud of his relationship and the fact that he of all people can call Sander his boyfriend, so even if he brags a little, he thinks he has good reasons for it.

(He’s still kinda smug when he thinks about the time when he showed the three of them a photo of Sander, a pleased little smile on his face at their reactions and playful threats of stealing him for themselves.)

“Oh yeah, I wanna know too,” Marie agrees excitedly, scooting her chair closer to him. “You’ve been all smiley ever since you came over here so I’m guessing that hottie of yours did something right,” she ends on a teasing note, her waggling eyebrows leaving Robbe no doubts she expects some saucy details.

“Oh my god, stop,” he groans as he hides his face in his hands, his friends giggling at his embarrassment. “It wasn’t like that! We just… finally talked things out.”

Saturday, 18:00 (flashback to last night)

Robbe’s been gnawing on his bottom lip relentlessly, completely unaware, to the point it’s a few bites away from drawing blood. He can’t help but feel nervous, the cursor hovering over the 'accept' button as he's rolling his eyes on himself internally, telling himself to stop making a bigger deal out of this that it needs to be. There is a bit of embarrassment clouding his logical reasoning to be honest, embarrassment about his overreaction last night.

Was it an overreaction? He's still not completely sure, but it's not like avoiding the situation is going to magically fix everything between them. Even though he'd really like that. It feels so awkward to be in this position. Robbe doesn't know what the protocol here is. They bicker, quite often even. Fight a little too, stomping off out of each other’s room grumpily but only over stupid stuff, nothing like this.

He's walking on an unknown ground just hoping he's not going to make things worse. He desperately needs their dynamic back because he's already over it.

Not being able to share the most mundane every day stuff with each other over texts to joke about it, rile the other up or just vent about something stupid like their coffees not being hot enough on a given rainy morning sucks.

So he takes a deep breath and clicks on the button before he works himself into a never-ending second-guessing.

When Sander says a soft hi and smiles at him with the usual warmth in his eyes, something akin to relief courses through him from head to toe.

He gives him his own tentative smile and a short hi, pushing himself higher against the pillows. Before Sander can say anything more, he lets go of what has been weighing down on him the entire day.

“I’m sorry,” he starts, contrite. “About yesterday. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have just logged off like that without explanation. And then ignore your messages,” he adds after a pause because that’s what he feels most guilty about. He knows he’d freak out if Sander just cut him off without giving him an opportunity to talk things out, would worry himself sick.

Sander looks conflicted, brows knitted together, like a part of him wants to reassure Robbe because it's in his nature, but the other part is genuinely hurt. Robbe doesn't want compassion. Not for that, because he knows he doesn’t deserve it. Causing Sander distress is the last thing he wants.

"Yeah, it did suck," he finally admits after a moment passes, and Robbe finds comfort in his honesty. It’s a good start. They won’t get anywhere with false niceties and pretending everything’s fine. Robbe tried pretending, yesterday and most of their calls before that, and it got them where they are now.

“I mean, I know you didn’t want to talk about your problems yesterday,” pausing, he scrunches up his nose a bit, “but maybe next time just don’t log off so abruptly so I know you’re okay?” his voice tilts on a hopeful note.

Robbe just nods, feeling shameful, hating that there’s not much more that he can do when he’s talking to him through his computer, and can’t exactly reach out to cuddle up to Sander’s side or kiss the underside of his jaw as a silent apology to then stay close for the rest of the evening as they heal together.

It’s frustrating and disheartening, but it affects them both the same amount and Robbe needs to remember that. Because the truth is, Sander didn’t exactly give him a legitimate reason to doubt him or to think he didn’t miss him. Those full of hurt eyes Sander gave him yesterday at the suggestion have been eating away at him all day.

Robbe just got swallowed by his own insecurities and let the little things that bothered him consume him all instead of, well. Communicating.

Sander was right yesterday. Of course he was.

He knows he has some more apologies to give.

“I’m also sorry for not telling you earlier how I felt,” he keeps pouring his heart out, “and for, you know, assuming you don’t miss me much, and-”

“Woah, hey,” Sander stops him before he can get himself deeper into the spiral. “Robbe, I fucked up too, don’t take it all on yourself.” He adjusts his laptop and Robbe can see his face clearer now, his eyes bloodshot and tired, a clear sign of a sleepless night, and the guilt clogs his throat even more now.

“I should have seen something wasn’t right.” When Robbe shakes his head and goes back to apologizing, Sander shoots him a pointed look that makes him shut up. “I should have, don’t deny it. You know, I took a long walk yesterday after you hung up, to clear my head, but also to get a perspective on our latest talks. And I felt so dumb for not realizing you were not doing okay.”

“Sander, I don’t expect you to read my mind,” Robbe tries to joke, but it falls flat even in his own ears. But he can’t bear those big regretful eyes on him. He doesn't deserve them.

“Baby, I’m sorry I haven’t been there for you the way you needed me to. Please tell me now? What’s been bothering you, hmm?”

Robbe scrubs his face trying to collect his thoughts, to find a concise way to get everything out of his chest, but he doesn’t know where to start.

“It may take a while.”

Sander makes a show of fluffing the pillow he placed against his back and getting himself more comfortable on his bed, sighing with contentment for a better effect.

“Look, I’m in my comfy clothes, got an energy drink on my nightstand, the computer battery is full and I told everyone I’m busy so they won’t nag me with anything. I’m all yours today.” He gives him an encouraging smile, fondness etched into every crevice of his face.

Robbe’s heart does a little skip at his words, Sander’s demeanor so comforting that he feels the last pieces of apprehension ebbing away, the need to vent overpowering the hesitation of showing his vulnerability.

“I think I just found myself overwhelmed with some things,” he admits quietly, picking at his nail, an absent-minded habit when he’s nervous, as he’s trying to find the right words. “A lot has changed in those last few months, almost all at once, and I kinda have trouble coping. And like,” he scoffs at himself, “I’m angry with myself ‘cause I should be enjoying most of it, being in college and majoring in something that I actually like, and it’s great, but I can’t help but focus on all the things that are different now, things that are not so great.”

Before continuing, he flicks his gaze to Sander for a second, only to then cast his eyes back to his lap. “The last two years with you were the happiest of my life, you know? After years of bullshit and constant misery and pretending to be somebody I wasn’t I-,” he sighs, bittersweet smile on his lips,”I finally found my person, you know?”

Sander mirrors his smile, but he’s frowning a little. “But you still have me,” he reminds him softly.

“I know, but it sucks when I can’t just, I don’t know, snuggle up you and forget about stuff. It’s all your fault, by the way, you’ve been too good to me and now I have withdrawal symptoms,” he pouts, and hears Sander chuckling on the other side of the screen.

“You have no idea how much I wish virtual hugs were a thing. And kisses, oh my god, kisses too. I’m so kiss-deprived. Once I finally get my hands on you, I won’t let you go for a week.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

For a short moment, Sander manages to bring a genuine smile on his face, but it quickly disappears when the reality sets back in. There are still almost four long months to get through. He watches Sander’s smile slipping off his face slowly and he knows they’re both thinking about it.

The boy sighs deeply. “You know, sometimes I feel like it was a mistake to-”

Robbe’s eyes snap to him. “No, no, no, don’t think that, it wasn’t a mistake. Please don’t feel guilty or something, that’s the last thing I want you to do,” he stresses. Sander still looks conflicted, and fuck, this is exactly what Robbe wanted to avoid.

“Hey, I’m serious. Look, you not being here is tough, but like I said, it’s just things piling up, changing. Shit like school work that has been piling up and me getting so stressed about the end-of-the-semester project because I still haven’t figured out the details. Plus people moving away, all of that makes it difficult for me to adjust. So don’t go thinking it’s because you’re the center of my universe or something,” he ends his rambling with a feigned-offended huff and Sander easily lets them slip into their usual banter.

“I’m not?! Wow, the things a guy finds out after being such a devoted and doting and loving boyfriend.” He wipes the imaginary tear, letting out a long-suffering sigh. “Such a menace, breaking my heart in half on this lovely Saturday afternoon.” He purses his lips in offence and Robbe is grateful for Sander’s attempt to lift the mood, trying to be upbeat.

He feels a tug in his chest thinking about how if Sander was here, he’d be tackling him to the nearest surface to shut him up with tickles and loud smooches and playful jabs in the sides and how they would make much more noise than necessary, acting like the rambunctious teens they are.

That’s going to have to wait too. But he discovers this thought doesn’t hurt as much as it would have yesterday because their conversation right now, this opportunity to vent and Sander’s texts last night, all of it makes him feel better, helps him see he’s not alone.

“I love you,” he blurts out all of a sudden, and it’s something he’s wanted to say since he read his heartfelt texts this morning that almost made him cry in relief.

Sander blinks a couple times, surprised, but then his previously playful face melts into such a fond look it makes Robbe blush like it was the first time he said it.

The I love you too comes right away, soft and quiet, like he’s telling a secret, and it’s heart-stoppingly precious.

To keep himself from drowning in fuzzy feelings, he shoots him a private little smile and steers the conversation back to his friends, telling him how it sucks that it’s they all now live away and how unexpectedly difficult it is to meet up. Robbe’s used to basically having everyone at arm-reach.

“We do video call, obviously, but you know, Milan is all loved up with Ralph in Amsterdam and not that keen on leaving their love nest and Zoe and Senne keep traveling between Genk and Ghent, which with Zoe’s coursework and internship is already a struggle. I don’t think they’re doing that well, actually,” he winces, remembering their last conversation.

If during freshman year somebody had told Robbe who his best friends were going to be, he’d looked at them as if they had grown two heads. Because for real, Jana’s new friend and her roommate? And school’s fuckboy?

But life’s funny like that sometimes. Moving into their apartment in his sophomore year has been one of the best decisions he’s ever made. His number one best decision is currently frowning at him from his dirty screen.

“Oh, that sucks. Do you think they’ll work it out?”

Robbe sighs deeply, propping his chin on the heel of his palm. “Senne has been thinking about finding a job in Genk so I hope so.”

Sander huffs a laugh suddenly, shaking his head. “Wow, I wish I was in his place and there were only 2 hours between us, instead of a whole ass ocean.”

“Yeah, I think once you’re back we’re gonna have a master's degree in that long distance bullshit,” Robbe smiles at him wistfully.

“Ugh, never again though. You’re not getting rid of me, it sucks without you, Robin.” He sounds so grumpy Robbe can’t help the short giggle that escapes him, but deep down he’s happy they both share that sentiment.

They’re staring at each other now, enjoying the moment before Sander shoots him a knowing look. “You haven’t mentioned Jens.”

That sobers him up enough for the fuzzy feelings to disappear from his stomach.

Jens. There’s not much to talk about really. And isn’t that a punch-in-a gut kind of truth considering it was his best friend? Isn’t it heartbreaking that Robbe didn’t even feel like fighting for that relationship and there’s a nagging voice in his head telling him that Jens didn’t either? Just a regular heated argument was enough to finally cut that last string, to put a stop to a friendship that had been hanging by a thread long before. Not that they had noticed.

He felt awful, afterwards. More alone than ever before. But deep down he knew it had only been a matter of time. He just wished Sander had been there to pick up the pieces.

“Sorry I didn’t tell you sooner,” Robbe winces, going back to apologizing once he translates his feelings to words the best he can, hoping he made Sander understand.

The boy pulls a face at him, eyes narrowed as he pretends to give him a stern look. “Enough with apologizing today, okay?” He waits until Robbe nods, albeit begrudgingly, because it’s in his second nature to keep saying sorry when he knows he messed up.

He nestles against his pillows to get more comfortable as he glances to the window, registering that sometime during their call it got completely dark outside, November days getting shorter still. He can feel tiredness starting to creep into his bones, the nervous anticipation before their call he had endured all day wearing him down significantly.

There are still some things he needs to get out of his chest and Sander coaxes them gently one by one, listening to him moaning and groaning about his school course load and how he thinks he’s not skilled enough to come up with interesting ideas and being quick to cut him off and reassure him when Robbe’s words get self-deprecating. He’s so attentive and so patient with him, not even an ounce of judgement in his eyes that Robbe feels the pressure and stress that have accumulated over the last few weeks finally letting go with each word he pours out.

When the conversation eventually steers to Robbe’s uni friends and he admits sheepishly that he kinda ghosted them lately, feeling too blue to go out and have fun, Sander interrupts him mid-sentence.

“You should reach out to them, tonight.”

At Robbe’s unsure look, he continues, “If they’re as cool as you made them out to be, I’m sure they’re gonna understand you needed some time to figure things out.”

He then proceeds to cover his ears and whistle, refusing to talk more until Robbe caves and shoots a text to the group chat, trying to keep it short, but explaining things along the way and making amends. Sander’s very pleased with his persuasion skills, beaming at him when Robbe reads him the replies he gets from Lucas, Marie and Fien, wearing a small smile himself as he rolls his eyes at Sander’s smug face.

Sander then asks about his mom and it’s so sweet because he always makes sure to ask, and Robbe falls for him even more each time he does. He’s a bit reluctant when Robbe tries to make him talk about his recent days, keeps saying this call is not about him, but he gives in before Robbe gets upset about it.

Watching his eyes light up with excitement when he talks about his classes works like a balm for Robbe’s yearning heart, Sander’s genuine happiness making his own struggles worth it. It’s a nice reminder that he’s there to make his dreams come true and that it’s everything Robbe has wished for him.

When Sander talks about shenanigans with his friends, Robbe recalls the TikTok video he watched some days ago.

“Nice Michael Jackson moves, by the way,” he comments, trying to sound innocent, but it ends up coming out a little coyishly as he bites at his finger to hide his smirk.

Confusion clouds Sander’s face but only for a second. Then, his lips stretch in a wide grin and he looks very pleased with the confession. “Have you been stalking me, Robin?”

Robbe shrugs, a picture of innocence as he keeps peeking at him from under his lashes. “I might’ve seen a video or two. They’re all so thirsty for you in the comments though,” he adds, putting a note of faux-jealousy in his voice. He quickly noticed that Sander’s new uni friend is semi-popular on the app so his videos always get a fair share of comments. Ever since Sander appeared in them, the hoard of the guy’s fans has been declaring their love for Robbe’s boyfriend under every video. They mostly make him laugh, but sometimes he’ll roll his eyes at some of the raunchier ones, possessiveness that he didn’t know he had activating in his brain.

He waits for Sander’s cocky comment, but to his utter delight, he blushes deep red and scoffs.

“Shut up, it’s so embarrassing,” hiding his face in his hands, he adds, “All of my friends have been teasing me about it constantly.”

“Aww, poor you, being fawned over must be such a hardship, how do you cope?”

“Oh I don’t know, smartass, you can tell me from experience ‘cause I saw those comments under your old vlogs.”

Robbe huffs a laugh. “They were nowhere near as detailed as yours!”

“What can I say, I’m irresistible,” Sander quips back and yeah, there he is, Robbe’s favorite (cocky) dork. “If I’d known you’re my TikTok fan, I’d have sent you those videos right away so you wouldn’t have to waste your time searching for them."

Robbe sighs. “They are a nice window to your life there,” he replies offhandedly, not even registering the implied double meaning to his words, but the immediate change in Sander’s amused expression makes him aware of the slip.

Fuck.

“So you noticed. That I’ve been texting you less.”

Robbe drops his gaze, pulling the cover further up his body, feeling awkward again. He doesn’t want to make a big deal out of this.

Sander shifts on his bed, scratching at his head. “I felt like I was too much, you know? I wanted to share every silly thing with you, but then, well, it was something Josh said that I should,” he waves vaguely trying to find the right words, “cut back on my ‘running commentary’ ‘cause it’s probably annoying.”

“Tell Josh he’s stupid,” Robbe cuts in with a huff, grumpily beating his pillow into submission to make it more comfortable.

The corners of Sander’s mouth twitch at his comment, but his face remains sheepish. “I think he was mostly joking, but it got stuck in my mind and made me question every message. In the end, I didn’t send like half of them,” he explains softly, voice colored with poorly hidden self-consciousness. “I didn’t want to give you the impression I don't have time for you, I’m sorry.”

And, fuck. They’re both idiots.

Sander’s brows shoot up when Robbe bursts into giggles out of the blue, clearly surprised with the reaction. But at this point, it feels like the only proper thing to do.

“So basically we could have avoided this whole bullshit if we just talk about all this sooner,” he groans at the realization, burying half on his face in his pillow to hide his heated face because he’s a little embarrassed he blew things out of proportion.

There’s a visible relief on Sander’s face too, eyes crinkling as he regards him with a dopey grin, and Robbe knows.

They’re gonna be fine.

“Here I thought we were masters of communication,” Sander sighs with a faux-disappointment, leaning back to smile at the ceiling. “Fuck, no more of assuming shit, what do you think?”

And that sounds like something Robbe can get behind one hundred percent, more than ready to leave their misunderstandings in the past and just do better. So he nods, chin digging into his collarbone uncomfortably with the position he’s lying in, but it doesn’t matter, he’s too preoccupied with staring at his happy face and swimming in his fuzzy feelings.

“Prepare yourself for an onslaught of photos and messages, I’m not messing around,” Sander warns, smiling at Robbe’s soft okay. “You know, just a few days ago I ended up at Pebble Beach, it was cold as all fucks, but the view was just,” he imitates an explosion over his head and Robbe giggles at his childlike enthusiasm. Then, Sander’s face softens and becomes a little sad. “That place is so romantic that it made me feel like shit without you there,” he sighs, and Robbe can relate. “I’ll take you there one day.”

“You’re gonna take me to New York?” Robbe asks, doubt lacing his voice as he cocks his brow which makes Sander scoff in indignance.

“Hell yeah! You don’t believe me? What do you think I’m doing here everyday? I’m scouting the best places for dates, finding the best skateparks and checking out all the museums so I can be the perfect guide for you!” Sander throws his hands, a duh expression on his face, but there’s a wide smile brewing on his lips letting Robbe know he’s not really offended or anything. And, honestly, Robbe just melts with his words.

“I can’t wait, baby,” he sighs dreamily, rubbing his cheek against his pillow as he gazes at him with what he’s sure is the softest look.

Sander narrows his eyes playfully from above the can of Redbull he’s been sipping on. “Don’t ever doubt I’m gonna go out of my way to impress you.”

Robbe blows him a kiss that morphs into a huge yawn, eyelids growing heavy, forcing him to blink repeatedly to stay away which prompts Sander to tease him a little about boring him, but it quickly dies out and he’s just looking at him fondly.

“You should go to sleep.” He ignores Robbe’s melodic neeees, giving him a stern look that was probably supposed to be intimidating, but he looks too amused to keep it up. Once Robbe gets his promise they will see each other tomorrow, Sander sends him several virtual kisses and goodnights before logging off.

Robbe falls asleep with Sander’s beaming face flowing through his mind.

The sleep that comes is unsurprisingly the calmest he’s had in weeks.

Sunday, 18:00

Sander: And?

Robbe: And what?

Sander: Was I right?

Robbe: About?

Sander: About your friends

Robbe: Kinda

Sander: So it means I was 😎

Robbe: :):):) yes

Sander: Thank you sander

Robbe: Thank you sander

Sander: See, you're so precious everybody's in love with you and forgive you in seconds

Robbe: 🙄

Robbe: Precious srsly?

Sander: So precious 🥰

Robbe: Omg

Sander: Haha

Robbe: We're good 😊

Robbe: But I don't think they are in love with me 😂

Sander: They better not be 🤨 I'll fight them all! 🗡💀🧟🤺

Robbe: Dork ❤

Robbe: I think they a little bit in love with u though 🤔

Robbe: They've been babbling all afternoon about how cute you are 🙄

Robbe: A g a i n *yawn*

Sander: They have good taste 🤷♂️

Robbe: Nah they just don't know your annoying habits so that's why

Sander: 😮 I don't have any how dare you badmouthing me like that

Robbe: 🥴

Robbe: You never wash your coffee cups right away so they lay around

Robbe: You always tickle me when you want sth

Robbe: You're full of corny jokes

Robbe: You eat my fries when I don't look

Robbe: You hog the covers

Robbe: And I still remember that Wednesday when you ate my last bag of chips 💔

Sander: Okay first of all

Sander: Wow

Sander: Don't hold back 🥺

Sander: Second of all

Sander: I THOUGHT THOSE CHIPS WERE MILAN'S I TOLD YOU!!!

Robbe: That's what they all say 💔

Sander: You're unfair, I thought I made up for that lil mistake 🍆

Robbe: Well you did 🙈 but I still remember 😝

Sander: Also you love my jokes

Sander: They're awesome 🤧

Robbe: I'm just messing around 😘😘

Sander: 🥰

Robbe: But I swear to god if I have to listen one more time to Marie waxing lyricals about your 'perfect moles' I'm gonna 🤮

Sander: What haha 😂

Robbe: I mean they are but like

Robbe: Chill girl he's not your man 🤨

Sander: That's right cause I'm your man 😏

Robbe: And don't you forget that

Thursday, 3:48

Soft knuckles brush his skin, body arching into the touch that turns his muscles into jelly and sends liquid fire rushing through him. He’s overheated in the best way possible, seeking out Sander’s tongue, but the boy denies him access, smirk well in place as he pulls back, green eyes cloudy from lust. He’s staring at him like he wants to eat him whole and Robbe almost whimpers, bones melting and lids closing when Sander takes the tender flesh of his neck between his teeth and bites at it ever so gently, but just enough to make Robbe see stars.

He sighs as he feels a ghost of touch on his nipple, Sander leaving a trail of kisses down his sternum as he’s moving so teasingly slow to his final destination, and he doesn’t even hesitate, spreading his legs wider around Sander’s hips in a blatant invitation, blushing hot pink when Sander sends him a fox-like grin, mouthing at his inner thigh.

The details get fuzzy for a few seconds, Robbe blinking rapidly to get his surroundings and finding himself on top of Sander, and there’s an inkling at the back of his brain telling him something’s messed up about the logistics here. He decides to ignore it, focusing back on the moment and Sander’s glistening, kiss-swollen lips, on his eyes transfixed on the place where they’re connected, and he leans down, his tongue sweeping over his Sander’s bottom lip before he starts pressing soft, spit-slick kisses into his mouth. He pushes Sander’s hands up over his head and intertwines their fingers, arching his back as he takes over, the rush of pleasure almost overwhelming him.

“Ohmygod, Sander,” Robbe breathes into his mouth. His hands are trailing all over Sander’s chest and stomach now, squeezing and rubbing almost like he’s his personal plaything.

It’s not long before Sander’s warm hands draw him back towards his chest, lips ghosting along Robbe’s, teasing, always teasing, but not granting permission to properly meet, making Robbe impatient and whine in desperation only for Sander to grin wickedly at him. He feels nails dragging along his spine, leaving goosebumps in their wake, stopping at his cheeks, massaging them to his heart content while Robbe can only pant, rocking back and forth and biting his bottom lip to keep from coming.

He’s an oversensitive, blissed out mess, trying to keep his eyes open to take a mental snapshot of Sander’s lust-blown pupils as they watch each other, Sander fucking him slowly and punching the prettiest sounds out of Robbe’s mouth.

Hips stuttering, he drops back down on his elbows to crash his lips against Sander’s, feeling his body tensing he’s so close and-

Eyes shot wide open, blinking harshly against the darkness of the room. His first instinct is to reach out to the other side of the bed, snuggle closer to the source of heat lying next to him, but his brain catches up with his hands quickly and he stops himself mid-reach, groaning as he flops back on the bed, disappointed. He kicks his covers down grumpily, letting cold air hit his overheated skin, frustrated and too awake to go to sleep now.

Fuck.

Thursday, 13:08

*photo attached*

Sander: Good morning x

Robbe: Heeyy sleepyhead 😘

Robbe: You look cute

Sander: I had very interesting dreams last night

Robbe: Oh yeah?

Sander: Yeah I'm still affected by them 😏

Robbe: Stop it I'm at a coffee shop with the guys!

Sander: I'll have to tell you about it tonight then 😈

Robbe: Can't wait 😘

Sander: Today at 16 my time right?

Robbe: Yep :)

Robbe: You know

Sander: Hmm?

Robbe: I might have some of those dreams too last night

Sander: 🥵🥵🥵

Sander: Do tell

Robbe: 🙈

Sander: Now I’m super intrigued 😈

Robbe: How about I tell you tonight

Robbe: With details

Robbe: Lots of them

Sander: Tonight can't come fast enough 😩

Sander: Looks like I will though 😏

Robbe: Omg you're such a dork 😂

Sander: Did it get u hot

Robbe: No wtf 😂

Sander: ☹🥺

Sander: Kay

Sander: I have to get up now

Sander: I'm late 🙄

Sander: Robin it's raining I don't wanna go out 😩

Robbe: Haha get your pretty ass out of bed and go be a good student!

Sander: Ugh fine 🙄

Sander: I love you ❤

Robbe: ❤

Sander: Hey no, not an emoji, tell me you love me ☹

Robbe: Haha

Sander: Come on

Robbe: 🤐

Sander: Robbe

Robbe: Gotta go 😌

Sander: Okay then 😔💔

Robbe: I love you too idiot ❤❤❤💯

Sander: Yesss 🥰

Sander: Hey that's my emoji 😏 so you like it after all

Robbe: 😂 go to class!!!

Sander: I'm going I'm going

Friday, 19:00

Robbe checks his phone for time again, not wanting to be late for his call with Sander, but there’s still about half an hour until he should get going. It’s been a pleasant evening and a while ago he would have never called any time of the day spent with his father ‘pleasant’, but there he is. Enjoying his dinner not only with him but also with his girlfriend of six months that he met in July when the first attempts to salvage the relationship with his dad have been made.

And it’s all because of Sander. The fact that he’s even here speaks volumes about his skill of persuasion. If it hadn’t been for his boyfriend, Robbe would have continued to stew in his own juices and ignored his dad.

“How is Sander doing? New York is a jungle.”

Robbe huffs a laugh. “He’s good, he fits in well in the city vibe. But, um, he needs to stay a bit longer, till February actually ‘cause the school postponed the art show.”

He goes for another bite, frown on his face at the mere reminder of the change of plans.

“You probably hate it, huh?” his father questions.

His only response is to throw him a duuuh look, making his dad snort.

“You should visit him.”

Robbe looks up from over his spaghetti, expecting to see his dad laughing or winking at him, but both him and Margaux are looking at him with unsuspecting smiles, like the suggestion is the most obvious thing in the world.

He exhales a short dad in a laugh, glancing at them back and forth. “I don’t have a spare several thousand euros lying around waiting to be spent on a trip to New York,” he explains, slight exasperation in his voice.

“Oh I don’t think you’d need that much, Robbe,” Margaux smiles at him as she puts away her fork and reaches for her phone. “A few months ago I was actually backpacking with my friend through the East Coast and, wait, let me check, I have everything saved on my AirBnB account.”

Robbe gets back to his dinner as she scrolls on her phone, trying to squish the building hope in his chest away because even if it’s cheaper than he thinks, there’s still no way he can afford it; his equipment and books for school have eaten all of his savings.

“There it is! Look,” she scoots her chair closer to him, his dad peeking at the phone from the other side. “We stayed in Brooklyn for 98$ a day for a double bed, in Bedford to be exact and the conditions were really nice, plus the train station was close by. I’m sure you could find something half as cheap since it’s just you and the room can be tiny, just to sleep really.”

“That’s a reasonable price, I think,” his dad joins in, and then proceeds to ask her questions about her other expenditures while in the city and the flight prices, debating whether it’s better to drive to Frankfurt and take a direct flight from there or maybe decide on a layover flight from Brussels.

They are so into the planning and discussing the best options that they both jump slightly when Robbe speaks again, clearly forgetting he’s sitting right next to them, a picture of confusion.

“Guys, guys, wait. It doesn’t matter if it’s 1500 euros, or even 1000 euros because that’s still a 1000 euros more than I have to spend on a trip anywhere.”

His dad is so enthralled into checking different flights that he barely raises his head from above his phone, replying offhandedly, “I’ll pay for it.”

And, okay, no. Robbe gapes at him like he grew two heads, spluttering, because hell no.

“No way, I won’t take your money, dad.”

His vehement tone finally makes his father properly regard him and he sighs after a second. “Robbe, please don’t treat it as an attempt to buy you or your feelings.”

Straight to the point, his dad, always has been. It definitely is one the reasons for his refusal, but it’s not only that.

Robbe takes a deep breath to calm down. “Look, dad, it’s still lots of money. I can’t-”

“I’m many things, but irresponsible with money I’m definitely not. So if I say that I can pay for it, it means that I can afford it and it won’t affect me.” He gives him a pointed look. Before Robbe can argue again, he continues. “We can treat it as your Christmas gift. And next year’s birthday gift. And last two Christmases gifts as well.”

Robbe thinks about the packages he received from his father those holidays, and how he sent them back without even opening. Then, it definitely felt like buying his affection.

“You’ve been doing good at school, got into the university you wanted, you’ve been more responsible those last few years that I could’ve ever asked from you. Then you worked during the summer because you were adamant about paying for school stuff yourself. I think you earn it, Robbe. If you don’t want to go for other reasons, then that’s fine, but if it’s just about the money, please let me give you this.”

��New York is the kind of place everyone should visit at least one,” Margaux says gently. She has a warm smile that immediately made Robbe like her, despite really trying not to for obvious reasons. “And I think Sander would love for you to come visit too.”

Robbe has been torn before she spoke, but the mention of Sander reminds him of their videocall a while back, Sander telling him about places he was going to show him one day, being his guide and taking him to his favorite spots in the city. He can see it all vividly now when the opportunity is at his fingertips, can’t stop the excitement filling his body at the thought of seeing Sander before that dreadful February, even though he’s still now sure what to do.

While he’s been lost in his thoughts, trying to come to some conclusion, Margaux has been typing away at her phone. “Dates around Christmas are very expensive, but what would you say about, let’s say, December 8th? Til December 17th?”

Robbe wouldn’t even consider Christmas because there’s no way he would leave his mom alone for the holidays, but… the dates Margaux offered seem kinda perfect. His main project is due on December 4th so he wouldn’t have to worry about that and it’d be fine if he missed classes for those several days. Completely unaware, he finds himself making plans in his head before he even made a decision to accept his father’s money, but when his eyes snap to his dad’s, the small smile he gives him lets him know he already knows Robbe’s answer.

December 7th, 22:00

His excitement has been uncontainable the entire day, making him so giddy he had to cancel his regular call with Sander because his boyfriend would figure him out in seconds. And that’s the last thing he wants.

He’s still in shock that he somehow managed to keep it from him, planning a surprise in his head ever since he agreed to his dad’s help and working extra hard at uni to afford missing those 8 days of school. There’s apparently been one close call when Younes almost spilled the beans to Sander during their Zoom, but thank god for Yasmina who managed to effortlessly salvage the secret, improvising and coming up with an easy lie, leaving him unsuspicious of any ploy going on.

And Robbe just. He just can’t wait. He’s been counting hours since last week, his lips yearning to be kissed by his favorite person, body pining for touch and caress.

Lost in the dreams of their reunion, Robbe’s startled by a ping from his phone, lips stretching in a wide smile when he sees a notification from Sander’s instagram. He opens it, curious, melting when he’s greeted with a graffiti sign saying ENKEL LIEFDE, Sander’s style easily recognizable to him. Underneath, there’s a heart and his own handle and that shit never fails to make Robbe heart stutter. There’s a DM from Sander waiting for him as well, the same photo, but Sander’s caption says The High Line needed its own version of my love declaration for you, but unfortunately I couldn’t find enough space for a redo of your gorgeous face Robin :( So I did this :) You like it?

He replies with a bunch of red hearts, likes the post and adds another heart in a comment because there’s never too many of those. Then he flops back on his bed, a smile glued to his face.

Nineteen hours.

#wtfock

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permanentcrossfics · 6 years ago

Text

Blurred Lines: The Night They Met // h.s.

“Getting shy on me?” he asked. “Bit of an exhibitionist? Need twenty-one thousand and nine-hundred-and-ninety-nine other people around to get cheeky?”

“Do you?”

Eyes lined with his amusement, he shook his head. “No. Prefer they not be there, actually, so this is better.”

Dinner was the last thing on your mind, then.

“What are you doing after this?” you asked.

“Anything I want.”

Nothing to lose, right?

“Do you want to see my hotel room?”

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The last time you’d seen him, he’d been in his proper place and you in yours. A mere hour and a half ago, he’d been sweating through his shirt and your bones had been vibrating with the heavy, insistent thud of the bass and drums, caught in a sea of hundreds who were simple drops in the bucket of thousands.

One fish in the sea, but he’d smirked when you smiled and his eyes kept drifting back that way, occasionally mouthing things you couldn’t decipher but that heated you through to your core from the look in his eyes. Two could play that game, though, and you laughed more than once, wondering if you’d imagined the bashful flush.

When he’d left the stage, he’d thrown an extra wave in your direction, and with the adrenaline wearing off, you’d barely lifted your hand in return.

Now, there you were at a hole in the wall burger joint blocks away from the venue but on the way to the hotel you’d gotten for the night. Some 90s grunge was forcing itself through a staticky sound system, and you were swaying along with the employee behind the counter as he put your order together. When the bell on the door jingled, you didn’t bother to stop — it was late, you were riding a musical high, and if they wanted a burger that badly, they wouldn’t mind.

The quiet laugh followed by, “Hello,” in a voice much raspier and subdued than when you’d heard it last but that you’d recognize anywhere.

Spinning, your breath caught in your throat. Vans on his feet, blue jeans, and a hoodie with the hood pulled up over his head and hands hidden in the pocket at the front, he blinked owlishly.

“Hi.” It came out in a squeak and he chuckled warmly.

“Didn’t know anyone else knew about this place.”

“How do you know about it?” you asked once your throat unstuck.

“Been coming here for years whenever I swing back around.”

“They’re good,” you said and he nodded, still grinning. “Not sharing with anyone?”

“Some secrets have t’stay hidden, don’t they?” he asked with a grin.

What a painfully simple and awkward conversation when you’d both just finished mouthing lyrics about dripping on his feet and getting caught between his teeth at each other.

“You won’t tell anyone I’m here, will you?” He was still smiling, but caution and a pea were buried deep in his eyes in the lines around his eyes.

“I won’t tell anyone anything,” you murmured.

His shoulders relaxed some. “You from here?” he asked and you nodded once. “That’s nice — get to sleep in your own bed tonight.”

“I got a hotel for the night,” you said. “My place is all the way… it was just easier, and I thought why not?”

“Treat yourself,” he said slowly and you nodded again.

“Exactly.”

You both stood there, the sizzling of the grill behind you overwhelming the faint Buddy Holly song struggling to get through the beat up speakers.

“So, where’s your hotel?” he asked.

Your face must have reflected the shock you felt because his entire expression changed and he stuttered out, “I mean, like, for it to be so close to… to make you get a room instead of just going home?”

“Just a few blocks north,” you said. “Small, But better than waiting for the subway or fighting traffic.”

“Yeah, I can see that.”

He rocked back and forth from heel to toe and you scratched your elbow absentmindedly. “Yeah.”

You should say something, but your first thought was to ask him about his hotel, and you bit your tongue against that, thankfully thinking better of it.

“So—“

“It was—“

He laughed and flicked his hand your way.

“It was….” You swallowed the lump in your throat. A whole five minutes and you hadn’t managed to lose your breath until now. “The show was great, it— it was really….”

Both cheeks dimpled and the apples of his cheeks turned pink. “Glad you enjoyed it,” he said. “Looked like y’did.”

Your turn to burn hot from head to toe and his smirk turned smarmy, but in a way you didn’t hate.

“Same could be said for you.” Because hadn’t you seen the look in his eyes? The way he’d licked his lips, like he’d wanted to eat you? The glow about him that positively oozed sex? He was softer now bundled in his street clothes, but that same sexual energy radiated off him and made you almost woozy. Were you imagining it? Faint from hunger and the adrenaline crash? Probably.

“Order up!”

You turned, inhaling sharply and dazedly reaching for the money you’d tucked into your the pocket on the back of your phone case, but a firm and gentle hand on your elbow stopped you.

“I’ve got it.”

“What?”

Before you could process it, Harry slipped a card to the cashier who took it and ran it in the blink of an eye.

“No, no, you didn’t—“

“It’s nothing,” he said over the hum of the receipt printing. “Little thank you for coming.”

He signed the slip of paper and took his card back before passing the tinfoil-wrapped burger to you.

“Thank you,” you said. “Thank you so— you really didn’t have to—“

“Don’t mention it.” He tucked his wallet in his front pocket.

“Aren’t you getting something?”

He squinted at the letterboard menu. “S’pose that’s why I came here, yeah….”

You stepped aside for him to place his order — lightly salted fries as opposed to chips, which sounded very out of place in his mouth — and gnawed your lower lip.

“I guess I should get back to my hotel.”

“Yeah?” He pulled the good off his head and ruffled his hair. It was a little damp — clearly he’d showered since the show — and wildly unstyled. “I was thinking of staying here.” He jerked his head at one of the two rickety tables set up with four chairs. “Quiet and all, innit?”

You looked at the table and nodded. “Guess so….”

“Order up!”

“I’ll let you have your food,” you said. “I’d want to be alone right about now, too.”

“Do you?”

“Do I what?”

He popped the top off the cardboard container full of fries. “Do you want to be alone right now?”

He took a bite off the end of one and chewed slowly. Staring him in the eyes was nothing like that peaceful or overwhelming feeling people talked and tittered about — if anything it was like looking down the end of a rifle and feeling frozen in place, sure your life was about to end in the blink of an eye.

“I don’t… know….”

He nodded towards the table again and strode past you. It wasn’t until your ass hit the chair and you slowly turned all the way in without him looking startled that you realized yes, he’d invited you to eat with him.

“In town long?” You paused unwrapping your burger. “No telling.”

His laugh turned into a cough and he cleared his throat. “Couple o’days,” he said. “I try to when I can, especially if I’ve got friends somewhere.”

“That’s got to be nice.” You pulled a piece of burger off and popped it in your mouth.

“Can be.” He pushed his fries towards you and waved his hand over them.

“Sure?”

He nodded and you pulled two out like matchsticks. They were hot in the middle, nearly choking you in your haste to swallow, and he chuckled.

“Easy there….”

“That doesn’t usually happen.”

He smirked. “Yeah?”

Was he…? Bold from delirium, you asked, “Are you making a French fry sexual?”

“No,” he said. “Are you?”

His grin widened and every blood vessel in your body burst right open. Looking him in the eyes, you took a pointed bite out of them and he snorted.

“Getting shy on me?” he asked. “Bit of an exhibitionist? Need twenty-one thousand and nine-hundred-and-ninety-nine other people around to get cheeky?”

“Do you?”

Eyes lined with his amusement, he shook his head. “No. Prefer they not be there, actually, so this is better.”

Dinner was the last thing on your mind, then.

“What are you doing after this?” you asked.

“Anything I want.”

Nothing to lose, right?

“Do you want to see my hotel room?”

Chairs scraped with ugly, squeaky clunks and you both wrapped your food before heading to the door. His hand landed on the pushbar just next to yours and his back pressed against you before the bells clanged above your head and you stumbled through the door.

“This way,” you told him outside.

The song went walk don’t run, but you didn’t think either of your feet touched the ground with how fast each of you barreled down the street. “This way,” you said again, pushing him by the shoulders to direct him to turn a corner. He spun, slightly discombobulated, but fell in step with you in the next moment. The night clerk greeted you sunnily and you did your best to return it while fumbling in your pocket for your room key as he hit the elevator button.

“What floor?”

“Seven.”

“Seven, seven, seven…” he muttered, swinging inside the elevator when the doors slid back and jamming his thumb into the button.

You were grateful when a mother and her children got on with you and hit the tenth floor. Being trapped in an elevator with him alone might make you combust on the spot and you’d like to do that in a more controlled environment. As it was, you could feel the heat radiating off him and the softest wave of each breath on the shell of your ear, and you gulped as you watched each floor light up.

Ding.

The entire floor was empty and your footsteps thundered on the carpeted hallway until you both came to a stop in front of your door. You waved the keycard over the lock and the light turned green with a click and you led the way inside, depositing your useless meal on the countertop just inside. He tapped the light on and you blinked, eyes adjusting.

“S’nice,” he said of the simple room with the queen-sized bed that took up most of the floor space.

“It does the job.”

Even dressed down in a 2 star hotel he looked out of place. This had to be a hallucination — you’d gone out and had one too many drinks and you’d wake up in the morning with your head in the toilet.

Harry places his fries on the counter and shuffled forward. “C’mere for a moment,” he murmured. “F’you don’t mind.”

Mind? This was what you’d come here for, wasn’t it? An awkward laugh, a duck of the head, and a cupping of your face later and his mouth was on yours, warm and not shy at all.

“Wait,” you whispered against his mouth. You draped your arms over his shoulders and locked them loosely over his back before kissing him again. Better kiss him right, otherwise it was as good as not kissing him at all.

They weren't rushed or hurried, and at some point the tension in your neck relaxed and it became fun. He was a good kisser — assertive but not overbearing, and he picked up leads and ran with them before you had to nudge him. One of his hands slid down your neck and skimmed your breast before settling on your waste, and you smiled against his mouth, suppressing a shudder and arching your back.

“Lemme get this off…” he said. He let go of you and gripped his hoodie before tugging it up his torso. His T-shirt rose up and you caught a flash of a smattering of hair between two faded black ferns and the bottom of a butterfly. Different — way different — than seeing it through a shirt or on a screen. His hair stood on end when he got it off and threw it on the ground and you popped the button open on your jeans before unzipping them and shimmying them down your legs.

“Haven’t done this in awhile,” he breathed, eyes locked on your thighs. You quirked an eyebrow.

“Sex?” One word, three letters, and you nearly burst out laughing at the reality of the situation smacking you in the face because three hours ago you’d been jammed on a floor and now he was in your room. “Or a one night stand?”

Harry shrugged. “Both, if I’m honest.”

“I won’t hold it against you,” you teased and he snorted under his breath.

“Thanks for that.”

You smiled and his hands found your waist again to draw you in and, bolder, you clapped your hands to his smooth shaven face and sighed. Warm and soft but gently and increasingly insistent -- he wanted to kiss you as much as you wanted to kiss him. Your fingers twitched on his face and you hazily considered your next move before releasing his face and pressing your wide, open hand over the front of his jeans.

“Oh,” he groaned gutturally and pushed against you as you palmed and stroked his cock and balls through the denim. Even through the fabric you could feel how heavy he was, and your thighs ached at the prospect of getting spread by him. “Oh, God….” Harry broke away and pressed his forehead to yours, breath hot against your mouth. “You know you don’t have to, right?” he asked. “Know I bought y’dinner, but--”

“A burger?” You laughed and he groaned when you rubbed up and down.

“Just checking.”

He kissed you again and you slowly sat on the bed, hands slipping into the waistband of his jeans. Eyes wide, you looked up at him when you slipped the button through the hole and unzipped them before you leaned in and kissed just above his navel. He set his hand on the back of your head and you kissed again and again as you eased his jeans down his hips. His legs were warm to the touch and he groaned under his breath.

“Can I?”

“Yeah,” he said, the single word echoing in his throat. With his permission, you pulled on the elastic digging into his skin and you gulped when his cock dropped free. Halfway there and deepening in color, you licked your lips as you wrapped your hand around it and sucked the end gently into your mouth.

“Oh, sh-shit!”

You increased your suction slightly and cradled the underside of his head on your tongue, moaning when you slid down and opened your mouth wider. Each bob of your head and stroke of your tongue made him pulse between your tight lips. He wasn’t anywhere near your throat, but with your hand on his balls, it seemed he didn’t have to be. You could spend the night like this — sucking on his cock with his hand on your head and yours on his balls. Or maybe you could get your mouth on those, too, because from the sounds he was making already, that would make him lose it.

It was an unpleasant shock when he pulled himself out of your mouth, but your whine died on the tip of your tongue when he bent and caught you behind the knees to push you up the bed. You squeaked and he chuckled once as he shed his jeans and underwear.

“There are condoms in that tin there.” You nodded at the counter above the mini fridge where your abandoned dinners were and he glanced at you before doubling back to pluck a round tin from the peanuts and M&Ms in the mini bar. He turned it over in his hands before picking at the plastic band shrink wrapped around it.

“Fuckin’....”

You pulled your tanktop over your head and by the time it was off you his brow was furrowed five times over.

“They fucking childproof these things,” he muttered.

“Probably a good thing.” You rolled onto your knees and crawled to the edge of the bed, arm outstretched, and he did a double take. “Give me that.”

“I can do it,” he said even as you claimed it by the tips of your fingers. You pulled the tab and smirked when the plastic gave way. “I could’ve done that,” he said. Your smirk widened into a grin and you giggled when he took it out of your hands and pushed you back, following after you. His body was long, lean, and warm beside yours as he kissed you again, cock pressed into your hip and hand unabashedly stroking and palming your stomach and breasts over your bra. The cross dangling from his neck and brushing your skin had probably seen a lot of sins worse than this one.

“Oh…” you moaned between kisses, lifting your head each time he broke away even slightly. You dug your fingers into his bicep and the muscles flexed under your touch before he kissed down your jaw slowly, breath hot on your skin.

“Y’looked so good,” he mumbled. “All fuckin’ night… just wanted to talk to you….”

Your eyes rolled up in your head and he plucked one of your bra straps down your shoulder before slipping his fingers underneath one of the cups. He circled and pinched your nipple, back arching and hips squirming as your thighs fell open. “Harry….”

He groaned in answer and you gulped, faint from the reality of saying his name in a room just the two of you instead of one all by yourself or an arena of 22,000. “Harry,” you sighed again just before he pulled the cup down and latched onto your nipple with firm, eager lips, breath warm on your breast. “Oh--” Gulping, you dropped your hand to the back of his head and twisted your fingers in his hair, chest rising and falling slowly. He pulled strongly with quiet, reverent moans, and he pulled your strap the rest of the way before sliding his hand underneath your back and fumbling with the clasp. The hooks popped free and he tugged as you squirmed to shimmy it off you entirely, pressing his face between your breasts with a deep, rumbling sound.

“Wanna open your legs f’me?”

You nodded, bending your knees to butterfly them open at his request, and goosebumps pricked your skin when he kneaded the inside of your thigh. He kissed between your breasts repeatedly, and you took slow, deep breaths as he stroked you -- already wet but getting more so with each touch until you were throbbing and squirming, more than your knees open for him. Your orgasm was so gentle despite its depth it was almost a surprise. All you could do was tremble breathlessly and sink into the mattress to retreat from his fingers, and you stayed perfectly still when he pushed away from you, biting your lip when you heard the condom packet crinkle. He tapped the inside of your knee, then, and you opened your legs wider so he could slot between your thighs.

“Y’good?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Sure?”

His hair hung over his forehead in long, loose sweaty strands, and his lips were even ruddier than his cheeks. His necklace rested in the hollow of your throat and you blinked hazily. “Yes,” you whispered again.

No turning back now. Not because you couldn’t, because he would — even without knowing him, you knew that — but because you didn’t want to. The line between fan and familiar had blurred, permanently.

“Deep breath.” His head pressed against you and you dug your fingers into the backs of his shoulders. “Deep breath, deep breath, deep breath—“

Your mouth fell open in a silent gasp and you sucked in slowly, vision blurring just before you closed your eyes. It felt endless — more from the thickness than the length, and your toes curled from the pinch when he pushed through a spasm. “Oh God!” you wheezed and he laughed under his breath.

“Not quite,” he said against your chin. “Almost… oh,” he groaned and you squeezed your eyes when he bottomed out inside you, hips snug between yours and pelvis pressed flat. He shuddered on top of you and shifted to lie chest-to-chest, one hand smoothing over your hairline. “Ok,” he mumbled. “Ok… alright, deep… deep breath again….”

His first proper thrust punched a wheezy cry from you through your stomach and the second time had your fingers slipping against his skin as you mouthed his name soundlessly. By his third when he’d fallen into a rhythm punctuated with his own grunts and sighs, your ears were ringing and your muscles had gone lax. It wasn’t wild or crazy, but it was close and animalistic with fingernails digging in miniature versions of the crescent moon marks teeth impressed on jaws and shoulders.

“Feels s’fuckin’....” Harry spluttered. “Christ….”

You pulled your legs higher around his hips and he laughed in breathless delight. “Oh, yeah, that’s it.” The words ran together but a thrill went through you from the praise and you locked your ankles, digging your heels into his ass to stabilize them.

“Good?”

“Yes!” he hissed nearly immediately. “Yes, yes, y-yes….”

He thrust sharply, reaching deep, and you twisted underneath him. “Ah!”

Harry smashed his mouth to your temple. “S’a pretty sound,” he said. “S’a pretty… so fucking….”

A low, keening sound echoed in your throat when he did it again, skin slapping yours, and the mattress thudded against the headboard in time with his thrusts. Peppered whispers of, “You feel good,” and, “Fuck, listen t’us,” were absorbed through your skin and left you reeling more than any drug ever could. You were making him feel good — he was sweating, swearing, struggling for to breathe because of you! Because of the way you rocked and lifted your hips to meet his thrusts while clutching him as close as possible. He was on top of you and literally inside of you, but still something was missing. Something….

The first big, undeniable pull behind your navel was like a lightbulb and you groaned when it happened again. “Oh, God…” you groaned. “M’gonna cum,” you moaned your agony as he ground down against you. “M’gonna cum, I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna… gonna…!” Your foot cramped when your toes curled for the second time that night, but the searing orgasm overwhelmed it and you choked over his shoulder, abdomen clenching and head spinning. “Fuck!” you called. He covered your mouth with his, then, and you moaned, lungs burning from how aggressively he kissed you.

“Roll over,” he said when he broke away. “Come on….”

Dazed and confused, you turned onto your stomach with his help when he pulled out of you and he propped you up so your ass was high in the air.

“Is this ok?” He brushed his thumbs gently over the inside of your cheeks. “You ok like this?”

You nodded into the mattress and he rubbed his open hands over your ass.

“Right.” His head brushed your entrance again and you whimpered when he pushed inside, swifter and more fully all at once this time. “Oh, God, there it is,” he groaned, and you sucked in a deep breath when he tightened his grip on your ass and thrust to the hilt. “Jesus!”

He was splitting you open -- wide open -- without restraint, and you fisted your hands in the pillow, mouth dropped in awe. “Ungh…!”

“Ok?” he asked again, balls deep with every thrust, and you swallowed once, twice, tongue dry and throat tight.

“Yes!” you managed at last. “Yes, yes, please -- ah!” His hand came down with a crack against one cheek and you smothered your moan into the pillow, shuddering from head to toe and cunt pulsing around his cock as he rubbed the sting out. Ok? You couldn’t remember the last time you’d been fucked like this -- like the other person knew what they were doing and you didn’t have to focus on the basics. This was fun. He’d already made you cum twice, and he was assertive -- confident in every request and direction for how to go from best to better. All you had to do was quite literally lie there and push back against him. Even the slightest move from you had him groaning anew. “I wanna cum,” you mumbled into the cotton sheets, wincing when his thrust caught you off guard. “I want… wanna….”

“You want to cum again?” He grunted and you let out a pitchy sigh, nodding. “Again?” Harry’s chest brushed your back and one arm slanted over your lower back while his opposite hand reached around between your legs.

“Oh, fuck.” Your face screwed up when his fingers found your clit and stroked, slipping over the sensitive nerves. “Oh, fuck! Harry… Harry!”

You nearly pulled off him with the way your body jerked and you let out a long, low cry as your orgasm contracted deep inside of you.

“Asked for it, didn’t you?” His next thrust left you empty with his cock between your legs instead and you gasped. “Shit!” He pushed inside you again. “Got me falling outta you, don’t you?” Pelvis close to your ass, he picked up his speed. It was different this time -- not as controlled or even skilled -- and his breath fell fast and hard on your back. “C’mon… come… gotta--”

He pressed his teeth against your shoulder blade and his cock twitched inside you repeatedly at the same time as a guttural groan rumbled against your skin. You didn’t know he was finished until he pulled out and patted your backside lightly before dropping to the side. Your breathless, delirious laughs mingled and when he tugged your elbow you gave way, limbs turning into jelly as you fell into his quiet, smacking kisses.

***

The sun reflecting off the building across the street was absolutely blinding, and you couldn’t for the life of you figure out why you hadn’t pulled the blackout curtains shut before bed last night.

“Good morning.”

Oh. Yeah.

Cracking your eyes open, you felt like you should feel like you’d been run over by a truck, but instead you felt like you’d been plowed into, and with good reason, too. Wrappers littered the nightstand -- two from the hotel’s kit and two more from the box the man lying next to you with one leg sticking out from underneath the blanket had run out for. It had to have been sometime around three in the morning when he’d stuffed his legs back into his jeans and pulled his shirt on, swearing about how, “S’gotta be a pharmacy open somewhere.”

You nodded, draping your arm over your face, tongue stiff when you uttered your whispery response. “Morning.” Smacking your lips, you sighed. Even thinking about moving made your sore body ache and twinge.

“Should probably get--”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah….”

You rubbed your eyes. “I have to check out.”

The bed shifted beside you and you dropped your arm. Harry squinted at the clock radio on your side of the bed. “S’only a little after nine.”

“Still.” You pushed up on your elbows, wincing, before leaning back against the headboard, keeping the sheet high around your chest. “People are probably looking for you.”

He snorted softly. “Probably.” Harry flopped back down on the bed before twisting and grappling for the phone.

“What are you doing?”

He held it high above him, eyes nearly crossed trying to make out the symbols on the push-buttons. “Breakfast. Y’hungry?” You held your breath and when you didn’t answer he looked at you. “You want anything?”

“You don’t have to,” you said.

“Know I don’t,” he said. “But I didn’t let you finish your dinner and we had a long night.”

Your whole body felt like it’d been dipped in fire and you closed your eyes as he pressed a button at last and held the phone to his ear to make a breakfast order. When he hung up you exhaled slowly.

“I’ll pay for it,” he said.

“You don’t have to,” you repeated and he snorted softly, rubbing his eyes.

“So, what are you up to today?” he asked.

“Checking out and going home.”

“Yeah?” His hand dropped to his chest just underneath his necklace. “Home sounds nice.”

Silence hung between you, and you were just about to excuse yourself to the bathroom before he said, “I’m in town for another two days.”

“Oh.”

If you looked closely enough, you could see his lashes grazing the tops of his cheeks.

“F’you’re ever free….”

“Oh.” Was he really…? “Yeah. I mean, if you’re free.”

Harry nodded and dug his fingers into his hair, clearing his throat. “Sure.” His eyes popped open and their clarity caught you off guard. “What time is checkout?”

“Eleven or twelve.”

“Food’s here in half an hour,” he said.

You stared at each other for exactly four seconds before you slid down the headboard, digging around in the sheets for the abandoned box, and he rolled towards you. Apparently the definition of a one night stand was a little blurry, too.

#harry smut #harry styles smut #harry blurb #harry fic #harry one shot #harry styles blurb #harry styles fic #harry styles one shot #blurred liens #blurred lines prequel #blurred lines: the night they met #permanentcross #original writing

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mandadoration · 5 years ago

Text

hound - vii.

summary: You head to Canto Bight to gather more information about a bounty of yours when you’re ambushed and drugged. Your relationship with Mando is ever confusing.

word count: 3, 200

pairing: mandalorian x mandalorian!reader

Warnings: non-consensual drug use, swearing, sexually suggestive content, canon-typical violence

a/n: I know I said I wouldn’t update this until next week... But are you complaining? If you follow this story on AO3, you will see that I predict that there will be 14 chapters total!

chapters: i | ii | iii | iv | v | vi | vii

Read this on AO3

You vaguely remember Mando saying that Canto Bight was nice this time of year, back when you were bleeding all over the floor of the Razor Crest and half delirious. As you fly in, the bright lights of the city almost make your head hurt. You’ve been here once a long time ago, you remember, for an emergency landing that had cost you an arm and a leg just so that you could leave your rented ship overnight.

It’s a bit of a rough landing about a mile or so away from the city, landing somewhere in an unlit, grassy area, scaring some fathiers away. You head to the back to suit up, Mando trailing after you.

“We’re looking for someone by the name of Desdre,” he informs. “He was a part of the same intergalactic gang as the bounty. He says he’ll tell us where Jahjon is in exchange for our word that we won’t turn him in.” You tilt your head. It seems suspicious that he was willing to give such precious information in return for safety. There’s no doubt the same thought has crossed his mind.

“Will we?” you ask. Mando scoffs and slings his rifle over his shoulder and tucks ammo away.

“We’ll see,” he says curtly, and leaves the ship. You tuck in a few more medshots into your vambrace and check the fuel for your flamethrower and follow him like a shadow.

You don’t feel underdressed, exactly, but in the glitz and glamour of the glitter and expensive fabrics, you and Mando stick out like a sore thumb with your scratched up beskar and arsenal. If Mando is affected by the stares and whispers that follow you, he doesn’t show it. He goes through the alleyways and backstreets of Canto Bight, past the drugged-out spice users and teens using deathsticks, past the couples and trios and straight up orgies on the streets. You’re not quite sure where he’s going, but you stick close to him, warily watching the rooftops. Eventually, he stops at an ornate wooden door, and knocks three times.

“Who is it?” a singsongy voice calls out. The door swings open to reveal a very scantily dressed man, gold paint rimming his dark eyes, face flushed from drinking and eyes red from spice. He pushes his curly hair up and out of his face, the bangles on his wrist jingling, eyeing you and Mando up and down hungrily. “Oh hello there,” he purrs, and practically lounges against the doorframe. “Mandalorians? What brings you here to my humble abode?” You shift your eyes away from his searching gaze to look beyond him and into the room. Moans and giggles drift into the open air. Did Mando just bring you to drug den?

“We’re looking for Desdre,” Mando answers. “Urgent business.” The man raises a carefully plucked eyebrow and squints his eyes.

“Like what?” he questions. There are hickies and bruises lining his throat.

“None of your business, that’s for sure,” Mando says, and you think that the man is about to refuse you entry, but his face breaks into a charming smile and motions for you two to come in.

“Be my guest,” he drawls. He doesn’t move from his position, and forces you and Mando to brush past him, and you grit your teeth as you feel hands feel you up. Judging by the sudden tense shoulders, the same has happened to Mando. The man’s voice leans in close and you do your best to try not flinch from the sudden wave of perfume and musk. His grip on your wrist is hot. “If you and your friend ever decide to come back, not on business, just ask for Pretre, hm?” he whispers, voice low and wanton. You quickly pull yourself away from him, ignoring how he laughs, and follow Mando to the back. “I’ve always wanted to fuck a Mando!” his voice calls out after you.

The further back into the room you go, the less clothes there are, and the more blissed out the people look. Eventually, you come to an area of the room blocked off by velveteen curtains. You push through it, and wince.

You didn’t think that people wore those gold metal bikinis willingly.

Still, it’s better than nothing, and your gaze settles on a man, sitting in the center of the pile of blankets and soft pillows, covered by a thin robe, pulling his face from the neck of an attractive Twi’lek whose hands are tangled in his dark hair, and grinning when he sees you and Mando. A few men and women peel themselves off of the floor to prowl around you. It’s hazy in here from smoke and stifling from all the bodies. The lights from outside are barely trickling in, heavy curtains on every window, and your eyes strain to adjust.

“Desdre,” Mando says. You scowl under your helmet as you grab the wrist of someone who was feeling up your leg.

“Mando!” Desdre crows. He flourishes his arm out. “Come sit! You and your friend- please, relax.” Neither of you move, and Desdre at least has the decency to look a little sheepish. “Well, can I offer you something to drink? Some spice? Or a girl?” he offers, waggling his eyebrows.

“We’re not here to waste time,” Mando says. Desdre sighs and gets up, soothing the girls that whine and ruffling the hair of a boy that kisses his calf as he moves to stand in front of you and Mando, pipe dangling in his fingers.

“Always business, Mando, and no play,” he complains in a lilting accent. “Who’s your friend?” He trails a finger up your armor before tapping it a couple of times. “Another Mandalorian?” He takes a deep drag from his pipe and blows sickly sweet smoke in your face. Although your helmet filters out most of it, the smell still makes your head ring.

“Yes.”

“Hm, interesting,” he hums. He stares intensely at you.

“Jahjon. You said know where he is?” Mando asks. Desdre nods, and goes back to join his harem, leaning back languidly as they crawl over him again. He teasingly smacks the rear of someone you can’t quite see.

“I do, my friend,” he says. “But remember what I asked for? My safety guaranteed for information.” At that, more people slip in the room past the dividing curtains. You count in your head. There’s seven people in here now, all looking at you like you’re their next meal.

“You have our word,” Mando says, but Desdre clicks his tongue and shakes his head.

“I need to hear it from both of you,” he orders, his piercing gaze looking straight at you. You clench your jaw, and you want to smack the smug grin from his face. “I’ve heard about you, you know? The Dog? Loyal to your master and hunting together. I’ve heard you’re ruthless in the field.” All the heads in the room have turned to look at you in unison, and you would’ve found it unsettling if there wasn’t a cold weight settling in your stomach. “Especially how that poor Gran came back in pieces, body mangled like he’d been bashed in.” He’s playing you, you know it, and you shouldn’t let it affect you, but your temper is uncharacteristically short. “Your bite really is worse than your bark, huh? I wonder what you’re like in bed. If you fuck as brutally as you kill.”

“We don’t have time for this,” Mando finally says frustratedly. He steps forward. “If you won’t help us--”

“You have my word,” you grit out, interrupting Mando. You hate this. You hate how you’ve become notorious and people have started assuming, more bold and daring, pushing your buttons and bending you, expecting you to break. You hate that people have started twisting the facts about you to make you more vicious, more blood-thirsty and unforgiving when that’s not anywhere remotely close to the truth. You don’t know how it’s come to this. You haven’t really even done anything remotely interesting. As far as you’re concerned, you’re nobody. A Mandalore without a clan who doesn’t even know why there are people so curious about you. You think the world is against you, using your moment of weakness where your nightmares have been gnawing at you to try and knock you down, degrading you down to a feral animal. You want to prove them wrong. You’ve bled for Mando to know you're human, and you really don’t want to bleed again.

“And so she speaks,” Desdre says, looking pleasantly surprised, and Mando glances at you. “Mando finally took the muzzle off you?”

But you decide to play the part of that mangy mutt, and bare your teeth.

You don't know what it is that made you do it, what possessed you to make such a rash decision, but you pull the blaster from your holster and point it at Desdre.

“Jahjon. Where is he?” you demand, voice low and dangerous. The people flocking on either side of Desdre scramble away.

“Dog,” Mando hisses. “Put that down.” You ignore him and stalk closer, your blaster still carefully trained. Desdre doesn’t even look fazed. He looks at you curiously. Your heart is pounding in your ears. Something’s wrong. Your limbs feel too heavy and the room is spinning. It’s too bright in here, even in low-light.

“Answer me,” you bark. Your grip wavers, and Desdre smiles.

“I don’t know.”

“What?”

Mando walks up to stand close to you and tries to pull your arm back, but you wrench it out his grip, and accidentally fire into the ceiling.

The room descends into chaos.

Desdre stumbles back, and his little harem get up, looking alert, drawing their own weapons, and as more people flood into the room, surrounding you, you know what this is.

Desdre never had the intentions to tell you anything.

And this was an ambush.

You fire your blaster a few more times, hitting Desdre in the leg and another shot going through the chest of a half-naked humanoid that you can barely make out from your blurred vision before it’s knocked out of your hand. You lash out, your fist catching the jaw of some other poor soul, sending them flying back and taking two more down with them. Your vambrace shoots out a medshot, knocking the Twi’lek he was kissing before out, and your grappling line tangles around their ankle. Yanking on it, another harem girl stumbles over them.

A staff knocks you over the head, increasing the ringing that’s building up in your ears. You whip around to see Mando shoot them with his own blaster, their body falling limp at your feet. He’s got blood smeared on his chestplate as he fights around the small room. It’s too cramped and too risky to use his amban rifle, but overall, most of the attackers are already dead or knocked out, too drugged up and sluggish to take down two Mandalorians. A tap on your shoulder distracts you. You turn around, fists raised, but a sharp pain twinges in your neck. It’s Pretre, and the gold paint in around his eyes sparkles as you raise a hand and pull out a syringe. Your chest feels tight as you drop it. It shatters on the ground, red liquid seeping out and soaking into the carpet.

“I forgot that your helmet filters,” he says. Pretre’s voice sounds slow and deep as the room starts to tilt. “I was wondering why it took so long for this to happen. Luckily I had this. My brother is too incompetent. Ah, well, hindsight, you know?” A smile plays on his lips, and you wonder why you hadn’t seen the resemblance before. A wave of pleasure rides over you, but then it starts dragging you down, making your eyelids heavy.

“You… what?” you ask stupidly. Your tongue feels heavy in your mouth and fire is dancing across your skin. “What did you…?” Everything’s muffled. He puts a hand on your chest and gives the gentlest of pushes, but it topples you over as you collapse on the ground. He stands over you, a pitying smile on his face, showing the barest of white teeth. You vaguely register Mando’s voice calling out to you, but it’s cut off and there’s more blaster fire.

“I do hope I didn’t give you too much,” Pretre sighs. He bends down and crouches next to you, running a single finger down the length of your helmet, dragging a finger across your neck, nails digging in. “Oh dear. Maybe just a smidge too much… Just ride it out, and you’ll be fine.” He hooks a finger under your helmet, and you cry out weakly, but you’re arms are too heavy and your mind is too light to stop him. Just as he finds the button to release your helmet, something catches his attention. His head snaps up and he pulls away. “Next time,” he promises, “and my offer still stands.” He leaves you on the floor, and your vision is swimming, the ceiling and tapestries on the wall swirling together as you feel sweat dripping down your neck. Whatever Pretre put in you was making you burn up and feel sickly. You hear panting next to your ear. You turn your head--

-- and there’s a strill snarling in your face.

You reel back, away from its dripping jowls as it pads closer to you. It bays at your sudden reaction, and more hounds appear, surrounding you as you gasp in shallow breaths and scramble away, tripping over bodies and pillows in your effort to get away. They follow you, eyes red and glowing as they bare their sharp teeth at you. Their claws are tearing up the carpet underneath them. The strills come closer and closer, but your back is already up against the wall, and your blaster is too far out of your reach. The one in the front, the biggest and angriest of the pack, goes right to your face, nose touching your helmet, and you close your eyes and curl into yourself as howling echoes in your ears.

“Dog!”

Your head snaps up. The hounds are gone, and Mando is hovering over you. He holds out your blaster for you to take.

“We have to go,” he says, out of breath as he looks around. “That stupid kid who met us at the door- he took Desdre and left. We have to leave before more come.” You stare at him blankly. Where had the dogs gone? When you look, the carpet in front of you is intact and whole, and there’s no slobber. You slowly reach up to take the blaster, holding it in your hand. You pull yourself up, head swiveling as the howling picks up again.

“Did you hear that?” you choke out. You wave the blaster wildly as you spin to try and find the source.

“Hey, calm down--” You jerk back as his hand rests on your shoulder. His voice is loud and booming in your ears. Spots dance in your vision as Mando grabs your hand and tugs you along, through the curtains, through the now-empty room, and into the alley ways of Canto Bight. The lights are bright and sends piercing pains up your head as you stumble along.

“Mando,” you gasp out. It’s getting harder and harder to keep your feet under you. You think you hear dogs running behind you, but every glance back comes up empty.

“What?” he grunts, pulling you into another winding backstreet. Bile rises up in your throat with each yank.

“Mando,” you call out again. There are phantom hands against your throat and you can’t breathe. “Mando.” He finally stops and pulls you into an alcove.

“What? What’s wrong?” he hisses, and then he takes in you heaving shoulders, your choked out pleas, and hold your head in his hands. He calls your name, your real name, soft and pleading, and that’s when it peaks.

You faintly register how your eyes roll to the back of your head and you collapse like a puppet with its strings cut, Mando just barely managing to catch you before you can hit your head. But his hands add on to your discomfort as it feels like there are thousands upon thousands of hand pulling, tugging, and scratching you, around your throat and holding your arms and legs down. A panic swells in you and you struggle to get away and push the hands off you. It’s smothering, the suffocation in your lungs and your head making you dizzy. It feels like they’re trying to pry your helmet off, but as you go through the streets of Canto Bight, jostling in someone’s arms, you realize it feels like they’re trying to rip your head from your shoulders and tear you limb from limb.

You think you hear screaming, and as more and more things come into focus, you realize it’s you. You shoot up from your cot, gasping and Mando shushes you and calms you down. You flail around, trying to make sense of things.

You can breath, finally, as the recycled air of the Razor Crest buzzes over you. And you realize it’s light outside.

“How long--”

“Just a day,” Mando answers, and he sounds exhausted. You wonder if he stayed up to make sure you were okay. “What happened?”

“Drugged,” you say. “I… I don’t know what it was.”

“You were freaking out,” he starts, “horribly. You were screaming and trying to claw your own skin off, talking about dogs and strills.” He eyes you warily, taking in your hunched stance and bouncing knees. “You wanna talk about it?”

And although you know you should, that those hallucinations are fresh and feels as real as memories, the words die in your throat as you clam up. “I can’t,” you admit. “I’m sorry, it’s not that I don’t trust you, I just--” Mando abruptly stands up.

“It’s fine,” he says, but his tone is short and you can tell he’s irritated. “I’ve located the last of the bounties. We’ll be there in a few hours.” He leaves to go back up the cockpit and you tamp down the urge to bang your head against the wall. The emotional stalemate is driving you up the wall. You can’t understand why Mando is upset you can’t confide in him when he himself is the most closed off person you’ve ever met. If anything, you’ve given him more than he has. After a moment, you go meet up with him.

You see a red liquid shimmering in a vial in his pocket. He follows your gaze to see what you’re staring at, and he pulls it out and hands it to you. “Mnemiotic drug,” he says. “Imps used it all the time. That’s what they gave you. Modified, but the base is the same. Hallucinations, raised body temperature, heightened aggression, increased sensitivity. Brain damage in extreme cases.”

“What happened to Pretre and Desdre?” you ask him. He doesn’t need to describe the effects if you’ve lived through them.

“They got what they deserved,” he says, and leaves it at that.

Hound Tag List: @knockbeforeyouspeak @gothtechie @killtherandomness

#mandalorian reader #mandalorian x reader #mandalorian x you #din djarin x reader #din djarin reader #mando reader #my writing #fic: hound #the mandalorian #mandalorian #din djarin

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sadstonewrites · 5 years ago

Text

Fractured Psyche Chapter 6

Chapter 6 is up! Slowly but surely making sure everything gets posted on here just in case :)

Pairings: Piotr Rasputin (Colossus) x OC

Rated M

Lane woke to the feeling of their gurney moving, looking up from their slumber to see one of the henchmen clad in a hazmat suit. That was different. There was a group of them - one pushing the gurney, one pushing her IV stand alongside, and another taking notes on a clipboard, all in white hazmat suits. That was very different; Lane was small, and usually had only one guard as an escort from various torture rooms and back again. Lane’s eyes adjusted to the surroundings - no bag over their eyes this time, either - it was still lights out.

“Hey, where are we going?” No answer. “Hey!”

“Lane?” Wade’s sleepy voice called out from somewhere closer. They must have been going past his section out into the lab. “Whatshgoingon?”

“Wade!” Lane yelled back, struggling against the bonds on their wrists. “Wade what’s happening?” They twisted their head as far backwards as it would go, desperately trying to find him, as if just seeing him would end the nightmare. “Where are you?”

“Lane?” He was awake now, more desperate. “Lane!” There was a sound like he was struggling against his own bonds, rocking back and forth on his gurney. A loud crash. “Fuck!”

His gurney had fallen outside of the medical blinds, and for the first time, their eyes met. He looked haggard and pale, eyes rimmed red and his face unshaved and gaunt. Had the situation been different, they might have made a joke about it - how he had always sounded so cheerful but really looked like shit. How they both did; Lane doubted that they looked much better.

“Wade!” Lane was screaming now, struggling harder, biting at the hands that descended upon them to try and push them back onto the gurney. They were being pushed further into the bowels of The Workshop, passing more screened rooms and patients who were no doubt being awakened by the commotion

“Somebody!” Lane screamed, quickly exhausting the hope that anyone would be in any condition to help. A hand descended onto their mouth and another fell onto their shoulder. There was a cold swab and a sharp prick on their neck, a sedative no doubt. Everything began to swim sideways. The last thing Lane could make out was a distant voice yelling their name.

_________

“I was really hoping we’d do that with less excitement. God knows that’s the last thing Wilson needs.”

Lane groaned and rolled over onto their stomach. Rolled. Their eyes shot open. No gurney, no straps. No nothing. The room was cushioned - a padded cell - and roughly bigger than a closet. They stood on wobbly legs, it had been a long time since they stood on their own without being hauled away by a guard. Lane could reach out and almost touch the walls on all sides while standing in the middle of the room. No visible door, no vents, no windows. A single light on the ceiling far beyond their reach. The only thing of interest was a single square tile in the middle of the floor, made of a dark metal that was a stark contrast against the cushioned room.

“You like your new accomodations? Built specially for you, just big enough to be cozy. Have to say, I’m quite jealous.”

Ajax. Lane looked around for the source of his smug voice, finding nothing and imagining that there was a speaker hidden somewhere in the room. There had to be a camera as well, something they were watching with. Their fingernails skidded off the surface of the cushions, unable to even manage a rip in the fabric.

“Oh, you’re going to love this. The piece de resistance.”

There was a smooth sound like a sliding door, and the metal tile in the floor opened up. A platform raised itself up from the depths of who knew where, and Lane found themself face to face with...rocks? Several small pebbles, craggy and silver, shiny under the harsh fluorescent lights.

“Go ahead, they won’t bite.”

Lane swallowed, noting that their mouth tasted almost metallic and their tongue was swollen, and reached for one of the rocks. It was smooth in their hand, they squeezed it in their fist and it was solid, passing it back to the other hand and doing the same. Nothing out of the ordinary. Cold and smooth. Kind of nice to have something from the outside world, actually.

“What am I supposed to do with this? Bash my brains out with it?”

There was a chuckle from somewhere, and Lane wanted nothing more than to throw the rock in Ajax’s face, wherever he was.

“Nothing so barbaric. Those are asteroids from the same belt of cosmic radiation where Richards and his crew had their little accident. Now, they were barely protected by their spaceship, but you’re getting the full dose, little girl.”

Fuck. Lane dropped the rock and it skidded onto the metal platform, jostling the others and sending them around the room. Several hit their feet and they kicked them to the corner, wiping their hands on the grimy medical gown as if it was possible to wipe off the radiation.

“Oh, god. Oh, fuck.” Lane muttered, backing themself into the farthest corner of the cell (which, admittedly, wasn’t far) and hunkering down into a tight ball. How could they have been so stupid? How much radiation had they absorbed already? “Fuck. Shit. Balls. Fuck!”

“Here’s what’s going to happen - we’re going to take bets on what will kill you first, the radiation poisoning or dehydration. You start to show signs of activating a mutation, we let you out. If we remember you.”

“No bathroom or sink or anything?” Lane called out, looking around their surroundings and realizing there was none.

Silence.

“What about food?”

Silence.

“Hello?”

Up above, the light flickered and went out. No lights. No sound except for their own breathing. Nothing except for the rocks that would inevitably kill them.

____________________

It had been three days since they were first shoved inside this prison, but that was assuming that lights out actually coordinated to the passing of days. In reality, Lane had no idea how long they had been in the hole. Radiation poisoning was already taking hold of their body - a pounding headache and spells of nausea that made the room spin, vomiting up nothing but blood and saliva. That did little to help with the dehydration and hunger that gnawed at their stomach. Hair had begun to fall out in clumps that drifted on the floor like tumbleweeds.

Lane leaned over and dry heaved, spitting up bile and blood into the corner they had designated as the bathroom. The rocks had been hastily shoved into another corner but Lane doubted that did anything to lessen the exposure. They spat at them and hobbled into the clean corner of the room they had dubbed ‘bed’.

“Stupid rocks.”

Most concerning to Lane were the burns. Deep red blisters on their hands and several on their feet where the asteroids had made direct contact. They pulsed and itched deep underneath the skin; Lane suspected that was part of the torture, the urge not to scratch and risk infection. It was getting harder to stay conscious longer than a few minutes at a time, and they had taken to poking at the painful spots in order to keep awake.

“Three hundred bottles of beer on the wall, three hundred bottles of beer…” Lane half sing-songed half sighed, scratching at their scalp and coming back with a handful of fine hair. “Take one down, pass it around, three hundred and one bottles of beer on the wall.”

The lights went out and Lane closed their eyes. They missed Wade. Was he still alive? Was anyone out there still alive? Everyone outside could have been dead for all they knew; Ajax had been radio silent since the initial move-in, and it was getting to the point where Lane would’ve been happy to hear even his condescending voice. Or Angel’s low growl. Or...anyone.

Lane wasn’t sure how long they had been asleep when the pain reached its peak and roused them from whatever. They couldn’t do anything except roll over onto their side and wait for it to pass, their insides cramping. Bile rising to their lips. This will pass, this will pass. Except it didn’t pass, it crescendoed. Lane grit their teeth, body on fire and every pulse of their heart sending a new wave of electric pain across their nerves. They couldn’t scream, throat raw from vomiting up stomach acid and blood, and clenching their fists only made it worse.

“Oh, God,” they moaned, backing up into the corner and trying to stand. The blisters on their hands and feet had split, warm fluid spilling onto the floor as they thrashed on the floor.

Several things happened in quick succession. One - Lane looked down at the weeping blisters on their hands and made out a swirling, black mass just underneath the upper layer of raw skin. It moved and pushed like it was alive, pulsating and writhing, trying to escape from underneath their skin. Worse than that, it seemed to almost glow . Two - from high up above, a gas had begun to filter in from an invisible vent hidden in the layers of kevlar and foam that padded the cell. Three - Lane fell to the floor in a heap of limbs and went still.

#stone writings #stonetag #celestial steel #fractured psyche #marvel fanfiction #colossus marvel #colossus x oc #nonbinary oc

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castlevania-afterdark-imagines · 6 years ago

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Can I have some Alucard/Sypha sex hcs?

Fuck yeah Alucard/Sypha!

Much like his mother left his father completely in awe of her will and determination, Alucard would spend every waking moment simply watching Sypha pave her own roads to what she wants if she didn’t get so flustered by said staring and threaten to burn his hair off if he doesn’t quit it.

The first time they get physical Alucard is surprised by how reluctant Sypha is to undress for him. His beauty is a bit unearthly, and while usually never unsettled by her slight figure and battle scars it’s hard not to compare herself. After Alucard gives her a very flat look and gestures at the gigantic scar that spans his entire chest she relents with a sigh and lets him remove her layers. Things go swimmingly after that.

He loves to take his time with her, using just a little bit of his inhuman strength to pin her when he’s teasing her. Despite all of her feisty talk between whimpers about using magic to force him to get on with it she loves how careful he is with her, making her feel delicate and safe in his arms.

Their favorite position is with her seated in his lap where she can control the pace while they both have access to touching each other all over. He loves to hear her squeal with delight when he grabs handfuls of her ass, grinning at her when she returns the favor by dragging her nails over his shoulders and grinding down with her hips.

While Alucard doesn’t strictly need blood to survive they both get a kick out of him nibbling along her neck, leaving little scratches on her skin, and occasionally biting down just as she’s about to cum. He swears he can taste electricity in her veins, her voice ringing in his ears as she tremors on his cock.

The cooldown is just as sweet, barely needing to move much as they just pant and hold each other tight, their breaths rustling each other’s hair. They’ll stay like this until Alucard is nearly soft, or until she’s riled him up again and he tips her over to lie on her back for round two.

There’s other times where Sypha takes the lead, when Alucard gets too caught up in his own head over the tragedy of what happened to his home, his family. She braids his hair to soothe him, turning it into a convenient handle for later. To keep him pliant in her hands as she worships him.

She kisses him slowly, stroking his cheekbones with her thumbs as he slowly encircles her thin frame in his arms. Fluttering gasps escape him when she nibbles at his ear, causing him to bite his lip and squeeze her tighter. He’s mumbling things about having not done enough, not been there when he should’ve been, sleeping too long when the country was being torn to pieces. Each self deprecating remark is kissed away as she assures him he did everything he could, it’s over, and now they have time to heal.

Her lithe fingers can take him apart as they trace over his chest, leaving him breathless and wanting, mind a fog of need for her touch, her praise, her. She never leaves him long enough for him to beg, taking him into her warmth and smothering him in more kisses when he cries out.

Afterwards they hold each other for hours, not saying anything, just tracing each other’s features and giving gentle pecks anywhere they can reach. Alucard is always a little bashful after she sees him like that, but she is patient and stays with him until he perks up. She knows he’s back to normal when she can trail her fingers dangerously close to the ticklish part on his waist and he’ll grab her wrist, giving her a playful growl before lunging at her throat and pretending to gnaw on it.

- Mod Soviet

#mod soviet #m/f #adrian tepes #sypha belnades #Anonymous #imagines #Castlevania

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equalstrashflavoredtrash · 7 years ago

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Carpenter’s Daughter - 1

a/n: finally finished up an idea i started long ago...

@beautifulramblingbrains @ariwolf14 @titty-teetee @peaky-yamyam @whenimaunicorn @sweetvengeancee @ivarinleatherpants @ivartheboneme @hvitserksgirl [[if you want to be tagged for vikings stuff in the future, leave a reply]]

warnings: some nudity, nothing smutty

FF.net // Ao3 // Masterlist

Ivar X OFC // Vikings

word count: 1,804

“Slave!” The barking voice broke her reverie, bringing her back to the reality of her situation; bound to the mast of a heathen ship returning north. “What are you looking at?” The man’s use of her language was crude and broken, but his question was still understood. He sat on the bench in front of her, shirtless and rowing in sync with the other men who lined both the port and starboard walls of the vessel.

“The boat,” she replied, her voice cracking from the combination of dehydration and overexposure to the salty air of the North Sea. “I wonder how it was made.”

The man studied her for a moment, considering her response. “Admiring our great war ship, hm?” he teased before twisting his head, his long auburn braids falling from his shoulder, fanning across his back as he lifted one hand from the oar without breaking stroke. He brought his fingers to his lips and he whistled, calling to a man at the head of the ship. Catching his attention, he beckoned him over with a wave.

Though not quite as broad chested as the others, the approaching man towered over every man on board, most of whom already seemed as tall as trees to her. She immediately noticed his piercing blue eyes rimmed with kohl, two lines extending out to either of his temples and the apples of his cheeks.

The rower spoke in their native language to the newcomer, smirking as he nodded towards the small slave that sat below him. She tried to reel back, bumping her head to the wooden mast as the giant sank to a crouch, getting uncomfortably close to her face.

“You like my boat?” he asked with a smile. She was so surprised by the high pitch of his voice she lost her own and meekly gave an affirmative shake of her head. Though he seemed to know more of her language than the first man, he still spoke with a thick accent, “And what do you know about boats?”

Timidly, she cleared her throat, trying to gather some semblance of a voice. “My father was a carpenter. He taught me.” His brow pinched with confusion, eyes narrowing before abruptly pivoting to face the other.

Most of what he said was gibberish to her ears, but she did catch him mimicking the word carpenter. The man at the oar shrugged with a raised brow and shake of his head, giving a response even she could understand. “What does that mean? Carpenter?” the decorated man asked, returning to his previous position, still unnervingly close.

Her eyes flooded with worry, confused by his quarry. She gnawed on her lip, carefully contemplating a response for fear of punishment should he not like her answer. None of the men on board treated the captured women with a light hand, even when they were pleased or in a joyous mood.

With a hard swallow she managed to dredge up enough saliva to wet her tongue and speak, “He-- My father, he worked with wood.” She paused to twist her hand, the raw fibers of the rope biting at her wrists as she rapped her knuckles against the mast. His bright blue eyes flicked to her fist as his own raised to scratch at his beard, humming to himself. “He made objects. Chairs, tables, benches, trunks, barrels.”

“And he taught you his craft?” His eyebrow quirked as his fingers stayed buried in his facial hair.

She nodded, bashful again under his appraising look. “Some, but he died--,” she cut herself off, eyes pulling away from her interrogator to the rest of the crew, remembering she was in the company of ruthless murders who had taken her father’s life and left her home in ashes. If she had any more tears left to cry, they would have been coating her cheeks a new.

Gently the man reached forward, guiding her to face him with a single finger on her chin. Her lip trembled as she met his gaze. “What is your name?”

“Sibley,” she mumbled, barely audible above the slap of the waves against the hull of the ship and the chorus of grunts from the rowing men. He drew away, shifting to stand up.

“Sibley,” he repeated, testing the pronunciation before placing a hand on his chest and replying, “I am Floki.”

At the time, Sibley cared nothing about the man or his name. This came to change after the boat docked and she learned Floki was to be her master.

It was her understanding that she was now a slave, captured and brought to a foreign land to labor. But from the moment she stepped across the threshold into Floki’s cabin she was never treated as such. Helga welcomed Sibley with open arms, treating her more as a daughter than a servant.

Still, she did have to work, and it was alongside Floki and his ships. Having Sibley take over the menial tasks such as planning and shaping the boards, Floki was given more time to focus on the details of his projects. He often commented that they made a good team, praising her as she quickly picked up techniques his other students had struggled with.

Though Sibley mourned the loss of her father and her previous life, she slowly grew comfortable in her new world. She eventually started to pick up the language from listening to Floki tell great stories about his Gods as they trudged through the underbrush of the forest, searching for the perfect tree.

The only constant from her former life felt to be the moon. As the phases waxed and waned night after night, marking the passage of time, Sibley was able to forgive and came to love Floki as she loved her deceased father, learning at his knee just as she had before.

Her surrogate parents were not the only ones whose interests and affections she had captured. Sibley hadn’t been living under their roof for very long when she first met Prince Ivar.

Floki told as many stories about Ragnar as he did the Gods. Sibley couldn't help but grin, watching how he would wave his arms around wildly, recounting past battles while she and Helga sat, enrapt with every word. It was no secret that Floki could command a crowd like none other when he began telling tales and Sibley wanted nothing more than to sit at his feet and listen to every single thing he knew.

“I would love to meet Ragnar,” she exclaimed, still exhilarated by the energy of Floki’s last story about how his dear friend feigned his death to gain entrance to the Frankish court. The air seemed to go cold in an instant as his jovial expression dropped. Sibley’s eyes flicked to Helga, who sat across the fire shooting her a tense but worried expression.

Sibley panicked, she had assumed that Ragnar was not dead. Floki spoke of him as if he had seen friend earlier that day, but upon their reactions It quickly became apparent that was not the case.

“I’m sorry,” she stammered, clutching her hands to her chest, worried she had made a terrible error. “I did not mean--” Sibley was cut off by Floki’s palm gentle patting her knee.

“Ragnar is not dead,” he began with a sigh. “But we do not know where he is.” Floki spoke clearly, but in a hush tone, staring into the flames of the fire before them.

Floki’s icy blue eyes gazed beyond the burning embers, removed from the moment and contemplating something deeper than Sibley could understand, when Helga cleared her throat. “You may meet his sons yet,” she offered with a smile, “They all live in Kattegat with their mother.”

Helga suggested that one evening the three of them would go to a feast in the great hall, where Sibley could meet all of the sons of Ragnar formally, but it seemed someone one above them intended to cut that plan short.

It was a beautiful warm day. Helga had headed to the market after Floki took off into the woods to mutter to himself, leaving the young slave alone. The sun was blazing, causing her to sweat underneath her woolen dress as she tidied the cabin. It seemed every few minutes the glint of sun off of the waves would catch her eye, drawing her attention away from her present task and towards the water of the fjord.

Once she had finished going over everything inside the abode for the third time, Sibley finally sighed to herself and gave into the beckoning call of the waves. Comfortable in her solitude, she tugged her dress up over her head, and tossed it to the side so it landed on one of the chairs before hurrying to the water.

Though Sibley did not know how to swim she felt no worry. The ground under the water, having such a gradual decline, she easily found a depth she was comfortable in. Splashing around, she enjoyed herself and the refreshing water, wetting her hair before twisting it atop her head. She waded through the calm water, drifting through the shallows, between the smaller sailing vessels anchored to moors, until her skin turned pruney.

Climbing up the beach towards the cabin, Sibley hummed to herself, comfortably nude in the midday sun. The cabin door creaked as she opened it and a voice spoke out, “It’s not polite to keep a cripple wait--” The boy sitting at the table interrupted himself as he looked up, surprised to find not his mentor as he expected but a beautiful--and very naked--girl. He couldn’t help it as his eyes slowly drifted down her body, taking in every curve and dimple he could find.

Sibley stood, frozen in front of the stranger. At first all she could register was how attractive he was, the way his sharp cheekbones contrasted with his soft lips that hung half open in surprise. She was drawn in by his wide, blue eyes as he appraised her before she remembered exactly what he was studying.

Gritting her teeth, she dove forward, grabbing at her discarded dress that was draped over the back of the chair he was in. She gave a hard yank, freeing the bottom hem of the skirt from underneath the stranger, pulling hard enough to jostle him from his seat. With a grunt he landed on the hard, wooden floor.

Facing away from him, she fretted with the garment, scrambling to pull it back on. Once she felt decent, she turned around, ready to face the intruder and scream at him. The second she opened her mouth, the front door swung open and Floki crossed the threshold.

“Ah!,” he sighed, taking in the sight of the pair before him. “Sibley, I see you’ve met Ivar.”

i hope you enjoyed! please let me know what you think!!

#ivar the boneless #ivar x ofc #ivar imagine #ivars heathen army #vikings #vikings history channel

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ftwd-nicky · 8 years ago

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Confessions at Sea

Pairing: Nick Clark x Reader

Author: @ftwd-nicky

Words: 2977

Author’s Note: So, I saw a gif on here of Nick and totally told myself to write something on it and now we’re here! This is my first fic for the FTWD fandom and I hope everyone enjoys it! Thanks to my babe @lovelydob for proofreading this for me. :)

People started getting sick the week before the outbreak and it’s been almost two weeks since everything went to hell. The infected began to outnumber us, making the survival rate become slimmer, especially since we don’t even know how to kill them, not yet anyway. When I had first encountered the undead, I was alone in my house.

There had been a crash somewhere in my house and I placed my phone on my bed, leaning out my door to listen in case I had just imagined it. I jumped when I had heard the noise again, silently closing the door, running over to my phone. My hands shook as I picked it up, dialing Nick, my best friend’s, number. I groaned after I realized that the phones aren’t working, running a hand through my hair.

“W-What do I do?” I asked myself, pacing in my bedroom, taking deep breaths. I went over to my closet, searching through it until I found my lucky baseball bat, gripping it tightly. I opened my bedroom door, tiptoeing towards the living room, glancing side to side before continuing towards the kitchen. My eyebrows furrowed together as I heard raspy growling, seeing a shadow stumble around the area in front of me.

I inched closer, gasping at the Mr. Jones who began trudging towards me. “M-Mr. Jones…” I muttered, stepping back, tripping over the coffee table as he growled at me, landing on top of me, and I place my bat at his throat, attempting to push him off of me as I screamed for help.

I heard my front door being kicked open, hearing Nick yell my name as I glanced over at him, seeing him in raggedy old clothes that he probably stole. Nick kicked the man off me, grabbing my bat and bashes his head until he stopped moving. I breathed heavily, leaning against my elbows as my heartbeat sped up, not knowing what the hell had just happened.

Nick threw the bat down, running over to me, tripping in the process as he kneeled beside me, his hands on my face. “Oh my god. Are you okay?” He asked and I placed one of my hands on his, nodding my head as I sat up.

“W-What the hell was that?” I whispered, glancing up at Nick, tears threatening to spill from my eyes. “I-I mean i-it was Mr. Jones, but…” I trailed off, starting to breath heavier, feeling my throat close up. Nick’s eyes were searching mine, a worried expression on his face as he caressed my cheek.

“Y/N… hey, it’s okay. He’s dead.” He muttered, leaning his forehead against mine.

And here I am, on this damn yacht with Nick, Maddie, Alicia, Travis, Chris, Daniel, Ofelia, and Strand who is the owner of this vessel. My mind always goes back to the day I encountered Mr. Jones in my kitchen, trying to eat my face, because of Nick. I’ve always been very fond of Nick, ever since I had first met him about three years ago. We would always hang out before he became a heroin addict then he just disappeared from my life, but I had already fallen for him at that point and it became so much more difficult to see the person you’re potentially in love with throw away his life for drugs.

I was snapped out of my thoughts when I felt a hand on my lower back, making me glance behind me, seeing Nick smiling lightly at me. “You okay?” He asked and I nodded my head, pressing my lips together as I looked back out at the ocean.

“Yeah, just thinking about stuff.” I muttered, leaning into him slightly, glad to finally have some time alone with him. “I’m just glad you’re okay. I began to lose my mind when the military had taken you and when you were locked in the corridor with all those infected, I seriously thought that there was a slight chance that I would lose you.” I whispered, glancing up at him and the two of us walked towards the couch that was embedded in the boat.

“I’m fine, alright? I’m not going to leave you that easily.” Nick mentions, tucking a piece of hair behind my ear, grinning down at me. I smiled softly, crossing my arms as the breeze picked up, making me shiver. What a great time not to wear a bra. I thought to myself sarcastically, leaning against Nick’s chest as his arms wrap around my body.

“I don’t think I’ll be able to live without you, Nick.” I mumbled as both of us lay on the couch, looking up at the sky as my chest was pressed against his side, hoping that he couldn’t feel my hardened nipples.

“I wouldn’t want to live in a world without you.” He muttered, his thumb rubbing the back of my hand that rested on his chest. “And I know I’ve been a real dickhead the past year and a half with the drugs. I’m so sorry I had abandoned you.” Nick whispers, glancing down at me as I look up to him, my heart swelling.

“It’s okay. You’re here now.” I told him, laying my head against his chest.

“You know, you’re pretty brave to not being wearing a bra around these people.” Nick said out loud, my cheeks flushing as I hid my face in his chest, arching my back a little so my breasts aren’t pressed up against him. “You don’t have to be embarrassed. I personally don’t mind.” He chuckled and I playfully glared at him, hitting his chest lightly.

I shook my head, a grin on my lips as I crossed my arms, heading towards my room. “Thanks a lot Nick!” I yelled behind me, my cheeks becoming warm as I passed everyone on the way to the stairs.

There was a knock on my door after I put a bra on and I quickly slipped on one of Nick’s shirts, opening the door seeing Alicia on the other side. She waltzed into the room and I closed the door behind her, glancing back as she sat down on the bed. “So, what’s going on between you and my brother?” She asked and I furrowed my eyebrows, my heart picking up a bit.

“Um, w-what do you mean? We’re best friends, Alicia.” I muttered, sitting in one of the chairs across from her, fidgeting with my fingers.

“Bullshit. Y/N I’ve known you for almost four years. I know how you feel about my brother.” She tilted her head to the side, crossing her arms over her chest. “So, are you going to tell him how you feel?” Alicia asked and I sighed, running a hand through my hair, shaking my head no.

“No, god no. I-There’s no way that he’d feel the same way about me.” I whispered, rubbing my forehead with my fingertips.

“You don’t-” Alicia was cut off by a quick knock on my door before it opens, Nick appearing on the opposite side.

“Oh, I didn’t know you had company.” Nick muttered, scratching his neck before quickly leaving the room. Alicia and I looked at each other, a confused expression on both of our faces.

“What was that about?” I asked and she shrugged, walking out of the room. I followed closely behind her, heading up towards the deck where everyone was. “What’s going on?” I asked as they were taking out the smaller speedboat from it’s storage space.

“There’s luggage on the shore and Daniel, Chris, and I are going to go get some clothes and other supplies.” Nick mentioned, his eyes trailing down my body. “Wanna come?” He asked and I nodded my head as he held his hand out towards me. I grasped his hand as I got onto the small boat, sitting down. Nick sat down next to me, his hand resting on the small of my back as Daniel started driving the boat towards the shore.

“Are there any infected?” I asked Nick and he shook his head, rubbing my back. I gnawed on my lip as land came quickly, draping the strap of the bag over my shoulder, stepping into the water, heading towards a couple suitcases.

“Alright, make sure you guys stay in sight of me.” Daniel reassured and I nodded my head.

We spent at least ten minutes on this beach searching through countless of suitcases, finding some cute clothes for Alicia, Ofelia, and I. Nick kneeled down in front of me, smiling at me as I tossed him a pilot’s shirt. He gave me a cheeky wink while buttoning it up. I blushed, shaking my head as I continued searching through the pile of clothes.

“How do I look?” Nick asked and I looked up, eyes widening at how good he looked in it. I swallowed thickly, nodding my head as I stayed quiet. He raised his eyebrows, waiting for an answer as my lips parted.

“Y-You look great.” I whispered, smiling at him as he grinned, smoothing out the shirt. He walked off and I let out a huff of breath, closing my eyes for a few seconds. Jesus Christ, Nick. He’s killing me. A gunshot had snapped me out of my thoughts, looking around as I watched Daniel and some stranger ran down the hill, a large group of infected behind them. My breath hitched, freezing up a bit as I shoved as much stuff I could into the bag before zipping it up. Chris ran in from a different direction, heading towards the smaller boat as I did the same. I looked around for Nick, not seeing him and I yell out his name, throwing my bag into the boat before running into a direction.

The infected had be slowly trudging a few feet away from us, Daniel and the stranger running past me as I continued to yell for Nick. I turned around quickly, tripping over a suitcase and I fall onto the sand, one of the undead falling on top of me, trying to bite my face. I began to breath heavily, looking around for something sharp, but find nothing. I was about to call out for help when a knife had been lodged into the person’s brain, killing them instantly. I let out a sigh of relief, looking to my left to see Nick, doing the same. I gasp, sitting up quickly as he was covered in blood, ruining the top of his pilot shirt.

“Ni-Nick…” I stuttered, sitting on my knees in front of him, placing my hands on his bloody cheeks as his rested on my hips.

“I’m okay, I’m okay.” He muttered, leaning his forehead against mine. “C’mon, we have to go.” Nick mentioned, taking my hand in his, leading me back towards the boat, both of us getting into it as Daniel drove off towards some raft. I didn’t care where we were going, as long as Nick was okay. Once we finally got back to the Abigail, Nick led me away from the group as they argued about the new people.

We got to my room, Nick locking the door behind me as I sat down on the bed. “You should probably shower.” I mentioned and he nodded his head, heading into the bathroom, turning the water on.

“I’ll be quick, alright? Then I need to talk to you about something.” He mentions and I nod my head, giving him a small smile.

I wipe the blood off my hands and forehead, throwing the stained towel into the corner as I sighed, wondering what he wanted to talk to me about. I heard the water shut off, my foot tapping on the floor as I became more nervous. Nick walked back out, his hair damp as he sported an out of date striped shirt and a pair of khaki’s. I stood up, rubbing my sweaty hands against my jeans, standing in front of him.

“What were you thinking? Back at the beach?” He asked me, glancing down at me as my lips moved, but no sound coming out of it.

“U-Uh, I was looking for you…” I whispered, glancing down at the ground, my heart pounding against my chest.

Nick sighed, running his hands through his hair before placing one of his hands against my cheek. “Please… don’t ever do something like that again, okay?” He asked and I nodded my head, looking up at him, his eyes staring into mine. “I would go more insane than I already am if something had happened to you.”

His thumb stroked my cheekbone, making my cheeks warm up slightly. “I’m so in love with you.” I blurted out, eyes widening, covering my mouth with my hand. “I-I…” I started but Nick cut me off by leaning down, connecting our lips together.

I let out a surprised gasp, one of Nick’s hands wrapping around my waist as my eyes fluttered shut, moving my lips against his. My hand rested in the crook of his neck, tilting my head to the side as I let out a deep breath through my nose. Tingles had flowed throughout my body as Nick deepened the kiss, his mouth opening a bit. Our tongues had connected a one point, dragging my lips against his as his other hand had wrapped around my throat lightly.

Nick pulled away from me, his hand still on my neck as he stared down at me, his lips brushing against mine softly. “I’m in love with you as well. Have been for a while.” He whispered, pushing me backwards a bit, the back of my knees hitting the bed, falling back onto it. Nick hovered over me, pressing his lips onto mine again, his hand moving from my throat, moving down my body. His hand pushed up his shirt that I was wearing, his fingertips lightly trailing up my bare side. I shuddered, moaning lightly as his thumb dipped under my bra, squeezing my tit lightly.

I sat up, Nick’s eyes watching me as I slipped my t-shirt off, throwing it to the floor. His eyes glanced down at my chest before looking back up at me through his lashes. Nick leaned down, pressing a few wet kisses to my collarbone, trailing down towards my breasts. His hand reached behind me, unclipping my bra with one hand as I pushed it off, tossing it somewhere else. Nick pushed me back onto the mattress, nibbling on my soft skin before enclosing his lips around my nipple.

I yelped after feeling his teeth graze my hardened nub, gripping the sheets underneath me as I arched my back. “N-Nick…” I moaned, feeling my panties pooling with arousal. His lips left my nipple, moving towards my other one as he gave it the same attention.

“God, you have no idea how much it turns me on to hear you moan my name.” He mentioned before latching his lips to my nub. I licked my lips, tilting my head back, taking my bottom lip in between my teeth. I heard him growl lowly before trailing his lips down my stomach, ready to pull my pants off when a loud knock on the door snaps us from our daze.

I sat up quickly, glancing between Nick and the door as he got up, tossing me his shirt before heading to the door. I quickly slipped it over my head when he opened it, seeing Alicia on the other side.

“You guys mind keeping it down a bit?” She asked and I blushed, looking away as I could feel the embarrassment rush over me.

“Sorry, Alicia. Didn't think she'd be so loud.” Nick joked, glancing back at me. I groaned, shoving my face into my hands, shaking my head.

“Stop! Both of you!” I laughed, running my fingers through my hair. Alicia looked between the two of us, eyes wide.

“Oh shit, wait. I was just kidding.” She muttered and I groaned even louder, getting off the bed, walking past both Nick and Alicia. “Are you guys finally together?” I heard her ask as I jogged up the stairs, not hearing Nick’s answer.

I smiled at our group of people who were conversing at the table, heading out onto the deck of the boat, sitting against the wall, watching the water. Are we together? I asked myself, playing with the ends of my hair as I heard Nick’s faint voice calling my name. I heard footsteps coming down the small set of stairs, Nick jumping off of them, smiling down at me.

“There you are.” He grinned, sitting down next to me. Nick reached across, grabbing my hand in his as he intertwined our fingers. “I know we really didn't get to talking about it because of um, what happened, but would you… would you want to go out with me in this crazy apocalypse world?” He asked and my heart leaped from my chest, smiling widely at him.

“Of course I will, Nick.” I whispered, leaning my head against the surface as he grinned even wider, showing off those lovely pearly whites of his. He placed his hand on the side of my face, bringing them closer together as he pressed his lips to mine softly. My fingers gripped his shirt, kissing him back as I put all the love and passion I've had for him into it.

Once we pulled away I smiled, keeping my eyes shut for a few more seconds as I felt him place a small kiss to my forehead. “I love you.” He whispered. “I don't want you out of my sight. I can't lose you now that I've gotten you.” Nick muttered, pressing one last kiss to the side of my head as I leaned it against his shoulder, squeezing his hand, looking out at the ocean.

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tobiologist · 8 years ago

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swipe right (if you like me)

Keith/Lance // met on tinder!au // 8.1k+ // sfw // part 3/?

Summary: “I’m doin’ it. Lance giggles under his breath and drags the cat meme picture to the right side of his screen.

But this, friends, is why one shouldn’t tempt fate over Tinder.“

or: Lance finds the most unlikely match on Tinder and (might) gain a boyfriend in the process

Lance

In the twenty-one years Lance has been alive on this beautiful Earth, he hasn’t had a near death experience.

Sure, he got into trouble back in high school—usually dragging poor Hunk along for the ride, dooming them both to detention—but never anything that would’ve gotten him killed. Lance didn’t have a death wish, thank you very much.

But Lance is certain, wavering in the entryway to his apartment, he dies for a few seconds.

>> READ THE REST ON AO3 <<

The words are out of his mouth before he can stop them, and Keith… maybe Keith dies a little, too. He has yet to respond and stays motionless, blue-violet eyes wide and lips parted. Could corpses change their facial expression? Lance supposed it was possible. He isn’t an expert on the matter, but picturing Keith as a zombie, a character straight out of The Walking Dead, sends a nervous shiver down his spine.

“Uh,” is Keith’s first and totally diligent response.

Lance flounders. How am I supposed to work with that?

“Yep,” he squeaks.

Nailed it.

But Keith carries on. “Date...” He speaks slowly, as if getting a feeling for that one single syllable.

“Yeah, like the fruit.”

“I thought you killed fruit?”

That’s it. Lance is almost definitely having a near death experience right now. If it were anyone else, Lance would think Keith were messing with him. Except for the ever present fact this is Keith he’s dealing with. It’s the nerves talking— it has to be. They’re both nervous, and Keith is probably a little disgusted because ew, no, Lance is only a friend.

“I made! There’s some—pineapple on the pizza,” Lance eventually says and hates the slight break in his voice. What the fuck is he doing? Did he suddenly forget the entire English language?

Keith shakes his head, a few bangs working their way free of his hairband, and turns toward the kitchen. “You made pineapple pizza for a—“

Date, Keith, that’s the word you’re looking for.

“Listen, it’s Hunk’s recipe so your taste buds are about to be taken on an all-expense-paid trip to Heaven. Or, you know, paradise if you don’t believe in Heaven or whatever. Some people don’t. I knew this guy one time who—“

“Lance.”

“—didn’t, but I don’t really care, like you can believe whatever you want. I was raised in a Catholic family, but I’m not sure if I—“

“Slow. Down,” Keith intones. There’s a hard yank on Lance’s arm that nearly sends him toppling right into Keith’s chest. “You’re the one who sprung this on me. If anything, I should be freaking out.”

“Me? Freaking out?” Lance snorts but let's Keith drag him to the living room. He made sure to set the table earlier in preparation for any unanticipated snags in his plan. The red Fiestaware plates were gifts from Hunk’s parents that the two kept reserved for ‘special occasions.’ Lance even made sure to set out silverware, regardless of whether they needed to use it.

“Flowers,” Keith breathes, coming to a grinding halt a few feet away from the table. “Those are flowers.”

“Tulips.” Lance winces as Keith’s grip on his forearm tightens.

“You’re not…. Joking. This isn’t a joke.”

Okay, so, not exactly the reaction Lance had expected—or hoped for. Pidge swore up and down that Lance had a chance, but now, with Keith shuffling awkwardly around the table without taking a seat, Lance isn’t so sure. A small selfish part of him, the part most terrified by the prospect of rejection, wants to take back everything he’s said since Keith came through the door.

“Please, just—can you sit down? The pacing is making me anxious,” Lance pleads. “Also, would you mind letting go of my arm? If you squeeze any harder, you might actually break something.”

Keith jerks his hand away. Embarrassment colors his cheeks, and Keith stutters out something unintelligible before pulling out a chair and sitting. He sets his gloved hands on either side of his plate and leers at the vase of tulips situated in the center of the table.

“Right, I’m gonna go grab the—time for pizza!” Lance practically sprints to the kitchen, thankful for the space the bar puts between them.

Lance sidles up to the oven. The culinary masterpiece rests there, completely oblivious to the emotional turmoil its chef is currently suffering through. Lance has to hand it to Hunk, he knows how to cook. Half the pizza is covered in tiny pineapple and ham chunks, as well as sliced green peppers. Meanwhile, the other half—Lance’s half—has pieces of chicken and banana peppers because, “Pineapple doesn’t belong anywhere near my pizza.”

(Hunk, of course, attributed Lance’s bitterness toward pineapple pizza on his rocky relationship with all fruit.)

Shredded mozzarella cheese is sprinkled over the entirety of the pizza. The sauce is a mixture of marinara and buffalo sauce Hunk managed to hook Lance on before they even lived together. Thankfully, it went well with both sets of toppings so Lance didn’t have to make further adjustments to the recipe.

Thanks to Hunk’s help, it looked delicious. And somehow befitting of a ‘first date’ for Keith and Lance.

Lance slams both hands down on the counter on either side of the oven and leans over, using it for support. His heart beats a wild staccato inside his chest. Lance fixes his attention on the pizza and tries to imagine how happy Keith will be when he tries a bite.

Remember, you’re not going to fuck this up, Lance reminds himself. He remains in that position, though, for a minute or two, making sure to regain his composure before presenting his beautiful dinner to Keith.

Once his heart calms down enough to let him function like a normal human being, Lance scoops up the pizza and walks into the living room. Keith is still in a heated staring contest with the centerpiece. He could have easily seen Lance when he worked in the kitchen, but chances are he hadn’t budged an inch since claiming his spot. Which, really, is for the best.

“I present to you,” Lance announces, flourishing the pizza in an arc before setting it in the available space next to the vase. “A culinary tour de force, a culmination of genius, a work of art.” To his relief, he avoids any mishaps like, say, tipping over a vase of cold water and fresh flowers into Keith’s lap.

Keith manages to his divert his gaze from the brilliant red petals of the tulips. His eyes fall on the plate and widen. Lance can’t help but smirk. He’ll count it as his first little victory for the night, especially considering it may be his only victory.

Grinning, Lance pulls a pizza cutter from behind his back. He makes a grand show of slicing their meal into pieces. At one point, he lets his eyes wander to Keith and instantly regrets it. The asshole is smiling—and he’s definitely not looking at the pizza.

Play it cool, Lance, play it cool.

Once the pizza is cleanly cut into eight slices, Lance dishes out a piece to each of them. Unfortunately, he’s out of distractions. Now that dinner has been served, now that they’re both seated at the table, Lance can’t run. Oh, and he really wishes he could. There’s no doubt about that.

Time to face the music.

Keith

The reality of his situation has yet to sink in.

Maybe… maybe he’s finally losing his mind? Or maybe this is a dream? Keith is half-expecting Pidge to hop out from underneath the table, throw confetti at him, and then scream “wake up!” at the top of her lungs. It wouldn’t be the first time it’s happened to him before.

But, the more time passes without Pidge or Shiro materializing out of thin air, the more Keith begins to think everything is real.

Keith Kogane has actually been tricked into going on a date with Lance McClain.

He keeps getting stuck on the whole ‘Lance wanting to date him’ aspect of the situation. Which, okay, makes little to no sense because Lance is Lance and Keith is Keith. But there’s a homemade pizza in front of him and a vase of flowers and—holy fuck, this is genuinely supposed to be a date.

And clearly not spur-of-the-moment either.

“The pizza—“ Keith’s words catch in his throat, and Lance beams expectantly, knees drumming a nervous beat against the underside of the table. “The pizza looks good.”

“Oh, uh, thanks.” Lance grins. His eyes flit to Keith’s plate. “You should take a bite. You know, before the chef does. To make sure he didn’t fuck up the recipe.”

Keith doesn’t think he’s ever seen Lance act quite this anxious. He’s seen pre-test Lance who can hardly sit in one place for five minutes at a time without looking like he’s about to collapse. He’s seen Lance during a suspenseful movie, gnawing on his lip, only to apply numerous layers of lip balm shortly after. He’s even seen bashful Lance once or twice, when a professor pulled Lance to the side to congratulate him on his class performance.

This Lance, however, is different.

You’re the one who planned this, Keith wants to say, but knows it would come out sounding nastier than intended. Shiro constantly nags him about tact and thinking before he speaks. The number one way to fuck up a first date? Embarrass the guy who made the arrangements.

He takes a small bite of his pizza and a pleased noise slips out, unbidden. It tastes… it tastes pretty damn good. The sweetness of the pineapple and spiciness of the buffalo sauce create a satisfying contrast that leaves Keith feeling warm inside. A hopeful glint flashes in Lance’s eyes as he watches Keith chew.

“Good?”

“Very,” Keith admits, after he swallows. “Hunk’s recipe?”

“Yeah, but I…” Lance scratches the back of his neck, averting his gaze. “I’m the one who made it.”

Obviously. Keith bites his tongue. “Thanks.”

“I’ve never tried to make it before so I was really worried it would turn out gross.”

Keith hates having to do this, but he needs to know. “Hey, uh. Lance?”

“Yeah?” Pizza slice inches from his mouth, Lance jolts. A banana pepper falls, and he groans. “It’s not even a fruit…”

“Is this—are we really? On a date right now?”

God, it sounds stupid when Keith puts it like that. And he feels even worse when Lance doesn’t answer right away. He gawks, blinking slowly, as if he’s the one who doesn’t understand what’s going on. Before offering a response, Lance turns his attention to the unused napkin next to his plate.

“Would it upset you if I said that it was?” Lance wonders, fingers smoothing along the edge of his plate.

“I don’t know.” Lies, Keith, lies. “I haven’t thought about it.” More lies.

“Oh, okay. I guess that’s fair.”

“Yeah…”

“Well,” Lance starts, huffing out a strained laugh that tugs at Keith’s chest in the worst of ways. “It doesn’t have to be a date if you don’t want it to be. Two dudes can have dinner like this in a totally platonic manner. As, um. As just friends.”

This has to be what it feels like to kick a puppy. Keith has never—and would never, what the fuck kind of monster would?—done so before but right now, he sure as hell feels like he has. All nervous ticks have ceased, and Lance appears to pale, lips drawing into a thin line. Lance’s stammered reassurances are almost drowned out by weak excuses for laughter.

In the beginning, when Keith first met Lance, this act might have fooled him. But not anymore.

At this point, the sight is enough to make Keith queasy. Even more so, knowing there are many nights he’s lied awake, fantasizing about what it’d be like to date Lance. To do stupid shit like holding hands and cuddling on the couch while watching old sci-fi movies and going on drives together and everything cringingly terrible Keith has always detested about couples.

“No!” Keith cries.

He and Lance both jump. Keith hadn’t meant for the outburst and can already feel his cheeks reddening.

“No?” Lance squeaks “’No’ what?”

“No to the… fuck.”

“Oh my God, Keith, I wasn’t offering that—“

“Why do I even—I’m trying to put together an answer over here! Just give me a second to… to organize my thoughts,” Keith begs. His cheeks are likely a vibrant shade of scarlet at the mention of sex with Lance, of all fucking things. “This is a lot to process at once.”

Color steadily returns to Lance’s features, and he sinks back into his chair, looking far more content with himself. He goes from ‘kicked puppy’ to something oddly reminiscent of a lazy cat lounging it in its favorite spot on the sofa.

“I gotcha, buddy,” Lance drawls, “I didn’t want to spring this on you but…”

“Yeah, actually, why didn’t you just ask me out like a normal person?”

“Well, I tried. A few times.”

“Wait. What?” Keith wants to sink into the floor. “How did—When?”

“The first time, we were at my place watching The Last Starfighter, and I tried to invite you over for a study date. Which you didn’t want because—“

“Yeah, I know,” Keith interjects quickly. The memory of him, admitting he couldn’t be in the same room as Lance and focus on schoolwork, remains fresh in his mind. Too fresh. “What about the other times?”

“Okay, well, the second time,” Lance hums, “we were at lunch, and I asked if you wanted to go to the arcade. You said Pidge wanted to go and that you didn’t want to leave her out. Which I totally understood because I know how serious Pidge is about the money she makes there.”

“Shit.” Keith wants to curl up in a ball and die. “Please don’t tell me you tried again?”

“Oh, but I did. The last time, we were walking down to the bus stop, and I wondered if there were any movies you wanted to catch in theaters—“

“I hate everything.“

“—and you said you would rather watch something back at my place, like we usually do. But Hunk was having Shay over for the weekend so I didn’t want things to be weird. I would rather us be alone in the apartment for an actual date.”

“I’m so sorry,” Keith blurts. “I had no idea.”

“That’s okay. I kinda figured as much.” Lance takes a huge bite of his pizza. As he munches, his face scrunches and his gaze finally falls on Keith. “That’s why I resorted to this. I talked to Hunk and Pidge, and they seemed to think it wasn’t the worst idea in the world.”

“It isn’t, I swear. I just—“ Keith swallows down the lump in his throat and wills himself to ask what’s really on his mind. “When you saw me on Tinder. Why… why did you swipe right?”

Lance

There are some questions that seriously are the worst to try and answer.

Some, as he’s learned from engineering, are better described using equations and diagrams, potentially an experiment. Some require an explanation spanning over several hours. Some can’t be properly expressed in words. And some offer an answer people won’t like.

The answer to Keith’s question feels like it qualifies as all of the above.

Lance catches himself before he drops his slice of pizza. Of all the fucking things Keith could’ve possibly asked, it had to be that.

“I, uh. This water went right through me, weird,” Lance blabs. By some stroke of luck, he manages to push his chair out and bolt to the other room without causing any major disasters. No spilled drinks or dropped food or, God forbid, a pulled tablecloth. “Be right back.”

The hallway to his room feels longer than usual. Lance throws open his door and rushes to the bathroom, attempting to shut himself in without causing too much of a racket. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Lance chants and perches on the toilet. The lid is cool to the touch, even through his jeans.

There’s only one thing to do in this kind of situation: text Hunk.

Lance digs into his pocket and pulls out his phone. Hunk’s name sits near the top of his inbox, sandwiched between Pidge and his mom. Lance has him saved under “Hunkuna Matata” after they watched Lion King together and promptly decided Timon and Pumba were obviously modeled after them.

Lance: HOUSTON WE HAVE A PROBLEM

Hunkana Matata: PLEASE TELL ME THIS DOESN’T HAVE TO DO WITH THE DATE

BECAUSE

I S2G

Lance: heh well ya see

maybe?

Hunkana Matata: I’m afraid to ask but what happened?

Lance: he asked why I swiped right on him. he asked WHY hunk

Hunkana Matata: Okay?? So just tell him you saw him in class and thought he was cute

Lance: AKSJFKSJFKS

but that’s embarrassing af

Hunkana Matata: It’s that or you tell him the truth

Lance: okay but define The Truth…

Hunkana Matata: Well. You swiped right because you thought it would be crazy if the two of you matched but also thought Keith was pretty attractive

Lance: N O

especially not that first part uh

Hunkana Matata: You have to tell him something. Just go do it!! I’m sure he won’t care if he feels the same way about you

Lance shifts in place. The thought draws goosebumps on his skin. Keith, actually liking him back. Lance. It’s the most absurd concept in the world because the more Lance talks to Keith, the more he realizes Keith deserves better than a guy like him. A guy who spent the last couple years dating a girl who almost stole his car right from under his nose and moved on to having a handful of random strangers stay over after parties. Sure, he only legitimately slept with one of those strangers but still…

Suddenly, his phone buzzes, as if Hunk just read his mind.

Hunkana Matata: And no, none of that “Keith deserves better than me” crap

‘Hunk Can Read Minds Theory’ confirmed.

Lance: hunk…. dude……

Hunkana Matata: GET BACK OUT THERE

POOR KEITH IS PROBABLY HAVING HEART PALPITATIONS

Lance: FINE but if this goes south

remember that I told you so

Lance locks his phone and stuffs it back in his pocket. His eyes slide shut, vision going dark. He works to steady his breathing and thinks about Keith, cute as fuck and sitting alone at their dinner table, wondering why Lance was taking so long to take a piss. Dammit.

Summoning up his last bit of courage, Lance stands and makes his way down the hall, back to the table. As he approaches, he notices Keith also has his phone out. The second he spots Lance coming, though, he stows it away, leering at the table guiltily. Probably Pidge, his mind helpfully supplies.

Unless it’s Shiro, in which case… Lance’s fear increases tenfold. That man could do some damage if he really wanted. Lance would make for a nice human punching bag.

“So,” Lance drawls, reclaiming his seat. “I have an answer.”

“You found the answer in the bathroom?”

Forced laughter spills over Lance’s lips as he drops into his seat. The wooden surface is less comfortable than he remembers.

“No, no. It wasn’t. I just needed some… advice.”

Across the table, Keith fidgets, like a skittish animal seconds away from bolting to safety. He offers Lance the weary beginnings of a smile. His fingers hover over the pizza, as if he’s uncertain whether he should take another bite.

“You can tell me the truth, Lance,” Keith deadpans. The straightforwardness sends a chill down Lance’s spine. “There’s no need to sugarcoat things for me.”

“I don’t understand...”

“If you swiped right on a dare or because you thought it’d be funny, I get that. It isn’t the first time I’ve had someone do that.” There’s a resignation in his voice that feels heavy in the relative silence of the room. “Just be honest.”

“I didn’t! I swear I didn’t. Okay?”

“But—”

“I wouldn’t do that to you!”

“Lance…”

“You want the truth? Alright, here it is.” Lance’s mouth is running away from him, and, fuck, does he hate word vomit. “I kept seeing you in class and in pictures with Pidge and always thought you were kinda attractive. And then I was on Tinder, minding my own business, and there you were. Browsing the local dudes, just like I was. Which was a pleasant surprise because I always got this ‘bad boy who all the ladies want’ vibe from you.

“And… I don’t know what hit me, but I was a little tipsy, you seemed even cuter than I recalled, and I just…” Lance shrugs, nearing the end of his burst of confidence. “Thought why the hell not?”

Keith hadn’t said a single word during Lance’s explanation. As a matter of fact, Lance isn’t sure he’s still breathing. His eyes appear glazed over, mouth agape, and forehead creased. Confusion etched into every facet of his expression, Keith is practically a statue.

Which does absolutely nothing for Lance’s dwindling self-confidence.

Lance can feel his heart sinking. The butterflies in his stomach beat their wings in a desperate effort to stay alive, but Lance knows they won’t last much longer. He wipes his sweaty palms on his pants and licks his lips, cautiously eying Keith.

“So what about you, huh?” Lance prompts. He winces at the audible strain in his voice. “Why did you swipe right on someone like me?”

Keith’s mouth opens and closes, uselessly, for a few seconds before actual words come tumbling out. “Someone like you?”

“Yeah, you know. The dude who parties on the weekends and has, in the past, messed around with countless strangers? Usually at said parties?” Lance scoffs. “And the dude who works at a fast food place during the week because his scholarships aren’t enough to support his sorry ass.”

“There’s nothing wrong with working to pay off school,” Keith settles on. He speaks so quietly, almost shyly, which is uncharacteristic enough to set Lance’s nerves on edge. Well, even more on edge. “If I didn’t have my scholarships, I’d be doing the same.”

“Well, yeah. That’s because you’re a genius.”

“I’m definitely not a genius. Pidge, sure. But not me.”

“Will you at least admit you’re smart? Smarter than me?”

Keith bristles. “I thought you were always trying to prove you were the smarter of the two of us?”

Embarrassment floods Lance, and he leans forward, gesturing at Keith. “You’re avoiding the question!”

“You’re the one who—“

“Why me? Why would you pick a loser like me?” Lance pauses, worrying at his lip, before giving Keith a taste of his own medicine. “Just be honest.”

Keith

Keith is going to be sick.

He hoped this would never come up in conversation. For the past couple weeks, he busted his ass avoiding the topics of Tinder and dating. And yet here he is, confronted with the hideous beast itself, at the worst possible moment.

Why did he pick Lance?

Why pick the boy who captured and held his attention? Why pick the boy with the blinding smile and vibrant eyes? Why pick the boy who excelled at everything Keith struggled with, like the cliché ‘other half of his whole’? Why pick the boy who piqued Keith’s interest just by being himself? Just by existing in the same space as Keith?

“Why did I swipe right on you?” Keith repeats, making sure he didn’t mishear Lance.

“Yeah, you massive nerd. I don’t exactly seem like the kind of person you would go for.” Lance flourishes his hand, and Keith catches a glimpse of faintly trembling fingers. “And what would a proper first date be without this lovely discussion?”

“So you usually talk about this with your dates?”

Lance looks mildly terrified. “I don’t… I’ve only ever dated two people before.”

What?

“There was a girl in high school. Super pretty and popular. We dated for a couple months, but she ended up leaving me for a football player. Probably because he was hotter and more popular than me. Oh, and because a lot of the other people on the swim team didn’t like her. Whenever she would meet me after swim practice, they groaned—just loud enough so that she could hear it.” Lance chuckles as he reminisces. “She was something else.

“And then there was Nyma. I met her in college my freshman year, when I was still going through a bit of a, well. A ‘phase,’ as Hunk likes to call it. We dated for a few months, too, until she tried to… steal my car.”

“She—wait, she tried to steal your car?”

“Eh, it was no big deal. She was going through a rough patch, financially, and was worried they’d kick her out of school,” Lance explains. “But it’s honestly fine now. She even comes to some of our parties.”

Keith squints. “Which one is she?”

“Tall, blonde, looks like she could be a supermodel? She likes to wear her hair in pigtails and totally carries them off?”

The description sounds vaguely familiar to Keith. He swears he remembers seeing a girl like that, tucked in the middle of five people wedged on the couch. If Keith is thinking of the right person, she certainly is pretty. A spark of jealousy jolts through his body.

“Yeah, I think I saw her,” Keith says, “Never would’ve pegged her for a thief.”

“Listen, like I said, it’s a long story. She’s not a bad person. She and Rolo have been through some tough shit, and—“ Lance jolts to a stop. His jaw drops, eyes bugging out of his skull. He reminds Keith of a cartoon character. “You changed the subject again!”

“Uh, no I didn’t. You’re the one who brought up your exes.”

“Okay, but that’s after you asked me about my dating history!”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” Keith snorts.

Lance groans and slumps back in his seat. “This is crazy. We keep talking in circles.”

We do that a lot, Keith muses. And I’m fucked up because I kind of enjoy it.

“Lance, I…” Keith drops his head. He zeroes in on an abnormally large pineapple chunk nestled along the crust of his pizza slice. This has gone on for long enough; Lance gave him an answer, after all. “I swiped right on your profile because I—“

Dun, dun, dun, dada dada dun.

Of fucking course that’s Keith’s phone. ‘The Imperial March’ blares through the apartment like some kind of bad omen. Lance glances between Keith’s wide-eyed stare and his lap, where his phone continues to ring.

“Pidge,” Keith blurts and angrily digs around in his pocket. He clambers to his feet and darts out of the room, ducking into the hallway. Lance watches silently, a smug little grin tugging at his lips. There’s a hint of something there, too, that Keith tries to ignore, fringing on disappointment.

Keith presses the phone to his ear and snarls into the receiver. “This better be good, Pidge.”

“Depends on your definition of ‘good,’ I guess,” she sighs back. “I just wanted to check in on you since you hadn’t answered any of my texts. And since Lance already had his freak out, I figured it was about time for yours.”

“What?” Keith yelps, trying to process this new information. “Lance was freaking out?”

“Duh, have you met the guy? Lance isn’t the smooth operator he makes himself out to be. Hunk told me he managed to calm him down, though.”

Suddenly, Lance’s bathroom epiphany makes a lot of sense. “Did you know he was going to spring this—“ the word gets lodged in his throat “—date on me?”

“Listen, dude, I’m just an innocent bystander in all of this.” Pidge heaves an even bigger sigh. “If you want… Hunk and I are, like, a block away. At the library. We can drop in—“

“Please, oh my God.” Part of him doesn’t want a single person to interrupt this peculiar… whatever it is going on between him and Lance. But another part, a much larger part, can’t imagine being alone with Lance in such an intimate setting for any longer.

“Alright, fine, fine. We’ll be there in a couple minutes. But you owe me big time. Lance is totally gonna kill us for this.”

Before Keith can ask what the fuck that’s supposed to mean, Pidge hangs up. The silence on the other end of the line feels overbearing, stifling. This somehow feels like the wrong decision. He should have told Pidge he’s fine and can handle this thing with Lance all on his own.

It would’ve been a lie but…

Keith slaps his cheeks, trying to force every ounce of fear out of his body. He can do this. Keith is an adult—sort of?—and, dammit, he can deal with one measly date. He’ll handle the ‘colossal crush’ issue later. Once it stops feeling like the apartment is going to eat him alive.

Stowing his phone away, Keith slinks back into the room. Lance sits in the same spot and, as Keith enters, he smiles. His cheeks are filled with what Keith can only imagine is pizza. He pushes back his chair and moves toward Keith’s seat, pulling it out for him. Tomato sauce covers the area around his mouth in little smears, shifting as the lower half of his face shapes into an apprehensive grin.

“Who was that?“

“Uh—”

And, just like that, the glass of water perched at the edge of the table tumbles over. Right into Keith’s lap.

“Oh my God,” Lance cries, jumping into action. His older sibling instincts kick in and, in seconds, he’s there with every napkin he can find. “I’m so, so sorry. Of course this would happen.”

Keith lifts his arms and gapes as Lance proceeds to dab at the mess on his lap. “It’s fine.”

“No, it isn’t. Ugh, why am I like this?”

“Lance—”

“Hold on, I’ll grab you some pants,” Lance wheezes. “And… oh yeah, you’ll probably need a shirt, too.”

Keith has yet to say a single word. He watches in dumbfounded silence as Lance runs to his room. “Good job. This is how you get all the ladies and gents,” Lance mutters as he comes bustling back, clutching a pair of grey sweats and red t-shirt against his chest.

“Uh, thanks,” Keith manages.

“Yeah, dude, no problem. I’m the klutz who had to go and spill water in your lap on our first fucking date, wow, Lance.” He slaps his hands to his cheeks and tugs down, looking utterly crestfallen. “I really am sorry. The glass was there but I didn’t see it and then I guess I just—”

A loud knock sounds from the direction of the doorway and both boys freeze. Lance flashes Keith a horrified glance before straightening up. “I’ll, uh. Get that? And you can go change?”

Keith jerks his head in a quick nod. His legs refuse to work, sneakers rooted to the ground, and he can only watch as Lance makes his way to the door. Pidge, the dirty little liar. She was almost definitely headed to Lance’s apartment when they were on the phone earlier; she planned to bail Keith out from the very beginning.

And yet… Keith feels like a ‘thank you’ is in order.

“Pidge?” Lance screeches, confirming Keith’s suspicions. The subsequent sound of her laughter is enough to force him into action. Keith quickly heads to the nearest private space— Lance’s bedroom because life is cruel— and sheds his damp clothes. As expected, Lance’s sweatpants scuff the ground rather than the top of his shoes. The shirt fits, for the most part, although it hangs a bit looser on his frame than Lance’s.

Keith checks his reflection in the mirror. It could look worse. And, on the bright side, wearing Lance’s clothes is a lot like being embraced by the boy himself. Every inch of Keith’s skin buzzes with contentment. Coconut and aftershave, a hint of suntan lotion, every scent combining into something distinctly Lance.

If this is the consequence of a spilled drink, Keith is tempted to leave an entire pitcher of water precariously close to the edge of the table next time.

...Next time.

Keith whines and rests his forehead on the spotless surface of Lance’s full-length mirror. Lips smushed against the surface, he grumbles, “What the hell is wrong with me?”

Lance

“Well, this isn’t exactly how I expected things to go,” Lance murmurs.

He sinks deeper into the plastic seat and lifts his arms above his head, cradling the back of his skull in the wide splay of his palms. Lights dance across his body in quick splashes of purples, pinks, and oranges. They do nothing to brighten his mood, though, as he surveys the mostly empty bowling alley.

I went overboard, Lance decides with a huff. We had something good going, and I had to go and fuck it up with my stupid emotions.

“Aw, c’mon, dude,” Hunk says, slumping into the seat next to Lance. “Lighten up! Pidge and I are just trying to help you out.”

“Did you do it because of my—“

“Meltdown?”

“Okay, ‘meltdown’ is a little excessive. You’re blowing things way out of proportion, buddy. I was just… concerned. And didn’t know how to answer a difficult question. Which, by the way, I was totally unprepared for. Who knew Keith would ask about that? You? Me? Pidge?” Lance waggles his finger at Hunk. “No, no, and no. So, I mean, you would’ve reacted the same way I did.”

“Uh huh…” Hunk snorts and gestures at Keith. “Did you ask him the same thing?”

Keith stands at the ready, bowling ball in hand, staring down the pins at the end of the lane as if they’ve become his mortal nemesis. The tiny fringe of dark hair pulled back into a ponytail, as well as Lance’s somewhat oversized clothing, serve as unwelcome distractions; Lance physically forces his attention elsewhere.

“Yeah…”

“And?”

“And nothing,” Lance sighs. “He never got the chance to finish because some asshole called him.”

Keith guffaws loudly, offering the scoreboard a disgusted grimace. Pidge sidles up next to him and mutters something Lance can’t quite make out from where he’s sitting. Whatever it is, Keith growls her name and playfully shoves her toward the ball rack. Pink colors his cheeks, and a powerful swell of affection engulfs Lance. What a dork.

“You’ll get another chance,” Hunk assures him. “But I think this is probably for the best. From what Pidge told me, it’s best to take things slow, when it comes to Keith.”

Lance leans forward, mindlessly watching Pidge. God, he hates when Hunk is right. Which is pretty much all the time because it’s Hunk, for fuck’s sake.

“I know, I know.”

“He’ll open up to you eventually.” Hunk lightly elbows Lance in the side. “And think of it this way! He must like you or he would’ve walked right back out the door when you told him it was a date.”

“You’re not wrong, I guess,” Lance mumbles.

“Did he enjoy the pizza?”

“I think so.”

“And did he seem like he was having a fun time? You know, being there with just you?”

A brief image presents itself to Lance. Of Keith, as Lance sliced the pizza, observing his every move with the softest of smiles gracing his lips. Keith seemed to enjoy Lance’s company. Maybe it really was just too much for him to deal with all at once. Maybe…

Well, Lance will keep that hopeful observation to himself for now.

“He felt bad about all the times he didn’t pick up on me asking him out,” Lance answers instead. He turns to Hunk, met with the furrowed brow and slack jaw he expected. But before Hunk can push for more information, Pidge calls for Lance to take his turn.

Lance throws a quick wink Hunk’s way and steps up to grab his ball. The glimmering black surface takes on a more purple hue in this lighting. Lance slips his fingers into their respective holes and assumes his usual starting position. He nearly falters as he takes his approach.

The strength of Keith’s gaze is staggering. Lance feels like he’s caught in the pull of a tractor beam from one of his beloved science fiction series. A burst of excitement hits Lance, and he lowers his arm, using the fluttery, charged feeling to his advantage. His body coils and then releases, ball rolling and rolling down the lane, toward the pins. It connects with a solid and familiar myriad of hollow clunks.

“Strike!” the scoreboard declares, and Lance releases a victorious hoot.

Before he turns to gloat, a thought strikes him. I want Keith to be proud of me.

And what the fuck is that? Lance shoves that nonsense deep into the recesses of his mind and swivels on his heel. To his delight, the three of his friends sit squished together. Lance bends at the knees, smirks devilishly, and fires a finger gun gesture their way.

He practically melts when Keith—stupid, stupid Keith—claps. A couple other groups in the alley stop what they’re doing and look toward their lane. It isn’t long before they laugh good-naturedly and return to playing. Meanwhile, Pidge and Hunk stare at Keith like he’s lost his fucking mind. Which Lance, heart stuttering in his chest, is also starting to suspect.

When neither Pidge nor Hunk joins in, Keith gradually stops, hands stilling. His entire body deflates, and Lance swears he deflates along with him. Only the cheery pop music playing from the speakers overhead can be heard. “Oh,” Keith breathes.

“Dude…” Lance starts, edging closer to Keith. “Did you, Keith ‘Mullet McGee’ Kogane… really just clap… for me?”

Keith narrows his eyes, mouth opening and then snapping shut. He clears his throat and turns his attention to the floor, glaring at the linoleum. And, suddenly, the intro to ‘Let’s Hear It for the Boy’ echoes throughout the room.

Lance isn’t sure what overtakes him, but the music resounds in his bones and, as he’s done many times before to Hunk and Pidge, he starts singing. His mom used to blast this music in the car when she took Lance and his siblings to school in the morning before heading to work. She’d roll down the window, just a hair, and sing along as if the lyrics were woven into her DNA. Lance always thought she had the most beautiful voice. “Your mother was given a very special gift,” his dad used to say.

Of course, nothing was quite as beautiful as the way she sung the enchanting boleros she had grown up with. His youngest sister and a couple of his cousins sung in their local choirs. A distant relative even made an appearance on Broadway, if Lance remembered correctly.

Lance has lived with music his entire life.

There’s a chance he’ll look back on this moment and regret it. But for now? Might as well let the Cheesy Romantic inside of him take over for a bit.

“My baby, he don’t talk sweet,” Lance croons, swaying his hips teasingly from side to side. “He ain’t got much to say but he loves me.”

Keith is redder than his Converse, and it’s incredible.

“Loves me, loves me. I know that he loves me anyway.” Lance is close enough now to feel the brush of Keith’s knees against his own. Out of the corner of his eye, he glimpses Pidge and Hunk. Pidge is doubled over, shaking with quiet snickers, and Hunk sways from side-to-side to the beat of the music.

“And maybe he don’t dress fine—“ Lance scoffs and mouths ‘it’s the mullet’ as he bends and snags Keith’s hand, dragging him to his feet”—but I don’t really mind. Because every time he pulls me near, I just want to cheer...”

Lance pulls Keith against him, wrapping an arm securely around the other boy’s waist. It’s a lot like serenading a plank, what with the way Keith remains stiff and unyielding in his embrace. But a really fucking cute plank.

“Let’s hear it for the boy! Let’s give the boy a hand,” Lance belts out. And, to his surprise, he isn’t the only one shouting along to the chorus. Pidge and Hunk try between bouts of laughter. Several of the strangers in neighboring lanes have joined in, none as loud or enthusiastically as Lance. “Let’s hear it for my baby! You know you gotta understand. Oh, maybe he’s no Romeo, but he’s my loving one-man show.”

There’s a break in the singing, and Keith seizes the opportunity to try and talk over the music. “What are you doing?”

“Being terrible,” Lance explains briefly, but the song continues. “My baby may not be rich, he’s watchin’ every dime. But he loves me, loves me, loves me.”

Keith buries his face in the crook of Lance’s neck. In an instant, Lance’s mind goes blank and every memorized lyric escapes him. “This is insane, Lance. Everyone’s watching,” Keith hisses.

“This is what the kids these days call ‘serenading.’” Lance foregoes the next few lines of the song. “The cool kids, at least.”

“Is this how you woo all of your dates?”

Lance hums, considering. “This is actually a first for me. I don’t think any of the times I’ve sung to family members count.”

“You never sang to any of your exes?”

“Negatory, my dude. Unless Hunk and Pidge count as exes, which I know they don’t.”

There’s a slight lull in their conversation before Keith responds haltingly. “I’m sorry about ruining our first date.”

First date. The two words circle around inside Lance’s skull, swirling and twirling to the rhythm of the music. Keith considers this trainwreck of a night to be their first date.

“You didn’t ruin it,” Lance urges. “If anything, I’m the one who ruined it by not telling you it was going to be a date in the first place.”

“No, I… I liked it. I really did, okay?”

The butterflies in Lance’s stomach return with a vengeance. “Okay.”

“Even though you spilled water in my lap…”

“Oh God, don’t remind me,” Lance whines.

“And you had to call Hunk to save you from a meltdown,” Keith teases, tone light and flirtatious, with just enough seriousness for it to still feel in-character.

“Meltdown, huh? I’m starting to wonder if you and Hunk are working together. Plotting my untimely demise, right? Is it because you had to wear my ugly ass sweatpants? Not that they look bad on you.”

Not at all, Lance silently appraises. Seeing Keith in his ratty old sweatpants, the pair worn by his high school swim team, causes Lance’s heart to do flip flops in his chest. He easily pictures his fingers sliding under the waistband, over the subtle curve of Keith’s hips until the thick fabric slides down, pooling around his ankles.

“No, I like the sweatpants actually,” Keith replies frankly.

“You can keep them.” The words feel like they’re punched out of Lance. He can hardly trust himself to speak right now, but his traitorous mouth doesn’t seem to get the memo. “I don’t need them.”

“Oh.”

“Unless that’s... Too weird?”

“Are you sure you don’t mind?”

“I probably have, like, ten pairs of sweatpants, dude, of course not.” Lance softens his voice. “I want you to have them.”

“Oh, um. Cool. Thanks.” There are a few more seconds of tense silence. “Can we just… I know you’ll probably hate me for this, but can we take things slow?”

Lance instinctively clenches his fingers in the fabric of Keith’s shirt— his shirt. “Of course I don’t mind, you dork. And, contrary to popular belief, I don’t hate you.”

“So…”

“Yeah, I can slow my roll. We’ll work up to… boyfriends.” Boyfriends, holy fuck, were he and Keith actually going to be boyfriends? “As long as that’s something you still want?”

Keith’s nose softly brushes the column of Lance’s neck. “I do.”

A tiny noise, something akin to a laugh, trickles from between Keith’s lips, and then he goes silent. The warmth of his breath tickles Lance’s skin, spurring him to keep singing along. Lance lowers his voice to a whisper in hopes that only Keith can hear him.

“Let’s hear it for my man, let’s hear it for my man,” Lance rasps, adjusting his grip on Keith to pull him completely flush against his body. “Let’s hear it for the boy… Let’s hear it my baby…”

They stay like that, Lance singing and Keith allowing Lance to guide them in lazy circles, until the song comes to an end. For the rest of the evening, the air around the two of them loses its tension. A casual arm around the shoulder or waist, an exchange of banter much like during class—each interaction happens naturally. Lance carefully toes the line between platonic and ‘something more’ for the remainder of the evening. But not once does he seem to make Keith uncomfortable.

And, boy, if that isn’t a step in the right direction.

At around 10 o’clock, Hunk finally pulls himself away from the ball rack and calls it quits for the night. Their group huddles together and, yet again, Keith and Lance fall into step beside each other, fingers brushing with every swing of their arms.

“Oh, shit,” Keith groans, right before they reach the exit. “I think I left my phone in the bathroom. I’ll meet you guys outside.”

Lance moves as if to follow, and Keith scoffs. “You don’t have to come, Lance. It’ll only be a couple seconds.”

The strangest sensation washes over Lance. An urge to trail behind Keith and protect him. From what, though? The secret bowling alley boogey man? Chill out, dude, he silently chides himself. There’s nothing to worry about.

And, although there likely isn’t, Lance hovers in the doorway for a few extra seconds, fixated on the back of Keith’s head as he takes off.

Keith

Of all the things for him to misplace, his phone? Really? Wasn’t that some sort of physical impossibility for a guy his age?

Keith checks the plastic seats in their lane first, just to be safe, but there are no cell phones to be seen. Retracing his steps, Keith goes back to his original plan: a trip to the bathroom.

The door falls open easily under his weight. Keith immediately seeks out the familiar black case, eyes scanning over the sink countertops, urinals, stalls, and—oh.

Poised in the center of the bathroom is the kind of man suited to the cover of Men’s Vogue. Long strands of silvery white hair, possibly platinum blond, hang around his face in a dazzling curtain. His facial features are well-sculpted, from his cheekbones, to the bridge of his nose, down to the jut of his chin. He regards Keith critically through deep set amber eyes.

“I’m sorry, but would this happen to be yours?” The stranger retrieves Keith’s phone from his pocket. “It was resting on top of the soap dispenser.”

There’s a hint of an accent to his voice, but Keith can’t seem to place where from. His speech patterns are also a bit more formal than Keith is used to. Combined with the man’s striking appearance, Keith has to take a minute to gather himself. “I, uh. Yeah, that’s mine.”

“Ah yes, I figured as much.” Stretching his hand out toward Keith, the strange man smiles and cocks his head to the side. “You are clearly a man on a mission. I am pleased that I could be of service, Mister…?”

“Mister? Who—oh my God.” Keith feels like the world’s biggest idiot. “Kogane. You can just call me ‘Keith,’ though.”

“Keith Kogane… What a lovely name.”

Voice like honey, saccharine and heavy with the promise of decadence, the man utters Keith’s name reverently. His gaze sweeps over Keith, swaddled in Lance’s clothes, before coming to rest on his flustered expression. “I am quite sorry. It seems that you are in a rush. If we had more time, I would certainly offer you my number.”

Holy shit, is this guy hitting on me? Keith chuckles nervously. “That’s alright. But thanks for holding onto my phone. I really appreciate it.”

“The pleasure is all mine,” the stranger practically purrs. “I am Lotor, by the way. I did not want to depart without exchanging names.”

“Right, Lotor. It’s been nice, but I have to catch up with my friends before they strand me here.”

“If that were the case, I would be all too happy to offer you a ride?”

Fuck.

“No, no, it’s okay. Thanks for the offer.”

Keith tucks his phone in its rightful place and darts for the exit. As he leaves, he can almost swear he hears a sinister sounding laugh from behind him. But Keith isn’t concerned.

Male model or not, Lotor is far from a threat.

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