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bopbopstyles · 4 years

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BEHIND THE BAR

RATING: R/smut (sex, heavy alcohol use, lots of cursing, heavy banter)

WORD COUNT: 17.3k (she long and you may need to read on desktop)

CATEGORIES: bartender!y/n, fratboy!harry

a/n: the long awaited bartender!y/n fic has ARRIVED! thank you to my fabulous anons who dreamt up bartender!y/n and made me fall so in love with her and fratboy!harry’s dynamic that i had to write her. she is tattooed, sassy, and full of spunk and i ADORE her. if you need more of her and harry, check out the inspo tag which has all the discourse. concepts for these two are ALWAYS open. s/o to @harrystylescherry, @stellarboystyles, @harrysclementines, @havethetimeofyourstyles for beta reading and @bfharry for providing harry’s dad joke 😘

“Cheers, Birthday Princess,” you told him, and then you bumped your glass against his, before tipping it back. Harry slammed the glass down on the counter and shook his head as the alcohol coursed through his veins.

Then, he leaned forward on the bar, resting his elbows on the alcohol-covered surface. You tried to keep it clean, but there was no way to keep up with it all. “How about a birthday kiss, Madam Bartender?”

“In your dreams,” you answered, realizing what you had said only after the words left your mouth.

Harry smirked, a dimple poking out. “We’ve already talked about dreams, Y/N. You know you’re already in them, so no need to beg for it.”

Y/N is a bartender and Harry’s obsessed with her

pls reblog and share with your friends 💕

In hindsight, perhaps taking a job as a bartender at the campus bar as a freshman wasn’t your smartest idea. You had to spend most of your weekend nights behind the bar trying to hear orders from slurring frat boys ordering the cheapest beer on tap and got shit tips because apparently your classmates didn’t care about tipping their bartenders. But at the same time, it was a great way to always drink for free and make friends, both with the other bartenders and with students who frequented the bar, as well as the neighborhood regulars earlier in the evening.

The thing you loved most about it, though, was the power you held behind the bar. It was your space, space where you made the rules and could throw out any person who messed with you. Which, as a stunningly gorgeous 21-year-old girl serving alcohol at a popular bar, happened plenty. You and Mike, the bouncer who usually shared shifts with you, had a hand signal that you could give him whenever someone was causing problems, and he would happily come to the bar and throw out whatever obnoxious man was giving you trouble. You frequently considered that Mike actually enjoyed throwing people out of the bar.

It was a Saturday night, the busiest night of the week and nearing one AM. The bar was packed, bodies pushing past one another to get to the bar, girls drumming their fingers on the fake wood counter. Tendrils of your long black hair stuck to the back of your neck, the result of constantly being on the move from the moment the rush hit until the bar closed. A cropped black tank top stuck to your skin, the sliver of skin between the hem of the shirt and the top of your black skinny jeans not enough to keep your body cool. Your ponytail swung back and forth as you moved, winding around Matt, the other bartender tonight, with ease. The two of you usually shared shifts, both being students and having the same availability. Generally, he was a good guy, taking the drunk guys so you didn’t have to deal with them and always making sure people didn’t give you trouble. The one downside to Matt, though, was his frat brothers. They appeared every shift without fail, bringing with them chaos and an inordinate amount of drink orders. They loved to annoy you, asking you the contents of every fancy drink they could think of and asking about your love life.

Tonight, it seemed, was no different.

You noticed the minute they entered the bar, a collection of t-shirts, a couple of jerseys you despised, and a button down shirt or two, all of them talking and yelling at each other. “Matt, your fan club is here!” You called down the bar, and Matt laughed as he grabbed the vodka off the wall to make a drink for two girls that were staring at him with wide eyes.

You grabbed two shot glasses and the handle of tequila from where you’d left it below the bar. “Salt and limes?” You asked the girls who had ordered the shots. They were most definitely not twenty-one, but then again, serving underage college students was how the bar made any business. The girls nodded, and so after you had poured the shots, you grabbed the salt shaker and two cut limes, pressing the limes into the rim of the glasses and pushing all the items across the bar. One of the girls handed you her card and you heard the words “Keep it open!” over Taste by Tyga and Offset that was blaring in the bar. It was your playlist, one that you’d perfectly curated for the bar with input from the other bartenders, and you were pretty proud of it.

After swiping the girl’s card and adding it to the stack of open tabs, you whirled back around to take the next customer. The sight of his brown curly mop and gleaming green eyes made you sigh—it was Harry. He, frankly, was a bit obsessed with you, but he was Matt’s little so you let it slide. Also, Harry’s attention didn’t make your skin crawl, instead it made your belly clench and witty comebacks fall easily from your mouth. The two of you had settled into a consistently flirtatious banter and you didn’t mind it, frankly. Sometimes, it was the highlight of your night.

The first time you ever met Harry, you noticed him long before he finally spoke to you. He was sitting at a booth not too long after your shift started, so it wasn’t super busy yet. He had caught your eye because he wouldn’t stop staring at you and he had a weird bandana wrapped up in his hair. (Or was it even a bandana? Maybe a scarf? You couldn’t be sure.) It wasn’t the creepy kind of stare that made you call the bouncer over, but the kind that made you blush against your every attempt not to. When Matt came in, a bit late as usual, Harry beelined to the bar, sitting down in front of him.

“Y/N, this is Harry,” Matt had said, grabbing the bottle of Jack from the wall and pouring some in a glass, then adding Coke to it before pushing the glass towards Harry. “He’s my little.”

You leaned onto the bar, the surface still dry since it wasn’t packed yet. “I was waiting for you to say hi. Saw you staring for the past fifteen minutes.”

The blush that rose to Harry’s cheeks made you smile at him, and Matt chuckled. “Staring isn’t nice, H.”

“Wasn’t staring,” Harry mumbled. “Just watching you make drinks.”

Your eyebrows lifted. “Have you never seen a bartender before?”

“No, fuck,” he said to himself and you internally grinned at making him a bit embarrassed. He was easy to mess with, especially now that you had confirmed that he had, in fact, been watching you. “You’re just good at it.”

You looked to Matt. “He thinks I make good drinks,” you informed your co-worker. “What do you think, Harry? Am I better than your big?”

Harry could tell he had dug himself into a hole, his eyes sweeping between you and Matt. “I—I don’t know—maybe?” Matt’s eyes widened and Harry stumbled over his words, trying to correct course. “No, no, Matt’s better. Matt is definitely better.”

You leaned forward a bit more, inching closer to Harry. “Thought you said I was good at it?”

You could feel his eyes drift to where your cleavage was exposed from the deep-v of your black t-shirt. “You are.”

“So which one of us is better?”

“You.”

Matt groaned and you moved away, a triumphant grin on your face. “Not fair,” Matt said. “Harry’s got a crush on you, of course he’d say you’re better!”

Harry choked on his drink and you raised your eyebrows at him. “A crush, huh?”

“Shit,” Matt said. “I wasn’t supposed to say that.”

You bumped your hip against his. “It’s ok, Matty boy. I figured that out when he wouldn’t stop staring at me.”

Harry blushed and you moved away, tending to the other customers at the bar.

That night had begun the back-and-forth between you and Harry, a playful dynamic of flirtation and jokes that usually left you triumphant and Harry blushing at the bar. He kept showing up early and Matt would tell you things like “Oh, he’s just coming by to drop off my charger” or “He just wants to chat.” All of them were excuses for Harry to be in the bar with just you, Matt, and a couple of customers, him having your relatively undivided attention. He’d tell you terrible jokes and ask you questions about your classes or family, most of which you ignored. You never asked him questions back, just let him talk and you listened, although you pretended like you didn’t, because you didn’t want to encourage him.

The truth was, though, you didn’t mind him. You kind of looked forward to those conversations. When he got really drunk he was a bit more annoying, repeating your name until you finally paid attention to him, only for him to say nothing except “You’re cute” or something along those lines. He entertained you, at least, and that was more than could be said for most of the patrons.

Tonight, it seemed, was no different than usual. “Y/N!” He said, shoving himself between two people who had managed to snag one of the green vinyl covered bar stools. His hair was messy, perhaps a bit sweaty, and he was swearing a black t-shirt, a silver chain tucked under his shirt. You could immediately tell he was decently drunk already, based on the glassy expression in his eyes and the grin on his face. “Want to hear a joke?”

You wiped off the bar with the towel over your shoulder before answering him. “Sure.”

“What did the therapist say when a naked man wrapped in cling film went into their office?”

“I don’t know,” you answered, resting your hands on the bar and looking at him dead on. “What did they say?”

Harry was grinning at you, eyes twinkling with mischief. “Clearly I can see your nuts.”

You groaned and Harry just guffawed. “Harry, that was horrible.”

“You just have no sense of humor.”

“Says the guy making jokes like that,” you shot back. “Now, what do you want?”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a black leather wallet. “Five fireball shots.”

You had to take a second before replying because the thought of a fireball shot makes you want to vomit. The combination of the cinnamon flavor and the burn it sent down your throat was one you hated, but it seemed Harry enjoyed it. “Really, Harry? Fireball?”

“What? It’s good!”

You shook your head, but grabbed shot glasses, laying them out in a line on the bar. “You’re insane.” You turned, grabbed the bottle of Fireball, and then returned to him.

“Make it six,” he said, slashing you a smirk.

“If it’s for me I am not drinking it.”

“You’re no fun.”

“I’m plenty of fun,” you told him, cocking your hip. “And I have good taste in alcohol.”

“Y/N, please,” he begged, pouting slightly for you.

Sometimes he was such a child, you thought as you gave in, grabbing another shot glass. “Fine,” you told him. “But this is the only time.” He grinned at you, and you just poured the shots, drawing a line down the glasses with the alcohol.

He snagged one of the shot glasses and you took one at the end. “Cheers,” he said, lifting his shot, and you did the same, knocking the glasses together enough for a clink to ring out.

You tipped the shot back, letting the burn of the cinnamon whiskey fall down your throat. You swallowed, dropped the shot glass to the counter, and looked to Harry. He was grinning, his empty shot glass on the bar. “Satisfied?”

“Very.” Then he picked up the shots, holding them together in his two massive hands, his rings clinking against the glass. You watched him walk away, his shirt disappearing into the throng of people, and then your attention was caught by another patron, asking you for a Long Island iced tea that made you laugh once you had turned away from them.

The night passed with many empty bottles of vodka and gin, the drinks of choice for all the girls who came up to the bar, and you nearly ran out of Budweiser, since it was on tap and the cheapest beer. You were bopping your head along with your playlist, Piece Of Your Heart by MEDUZA ringing through the speakers. The electronic music was supposed to help keep your energy up, but it was three AM and you were beginning to tire, the whiskey and coke you made yourself doing little to keep you going.

People were starting to filter out of the bar, groups heading to get a late night snack or head home. You were thankful for it—if you could start cleaning before official close you would be happy, perhaps being able to get home sooner.

“Can I get another whiskey coke?” You turned and Harry was sitting in a barstool at the bar, right in front of you.

You nodded, grabbing a glass and the handle of whiskey. “Where’d all your friends go?”

“They left.” He drummed his fingers against the wood, the light of the bar catching on the silver of his rings. You were a bit fascinated by them, if you were being honest. Why he wore them, where they came from, what they meant. The same questions rang in your head in reference to the tattoos that littered his arms and peeked out from under his shirt.

“You didn’t go with?” You pushed his drink towards him and returned the jack to its spot on the wall.

He shook his head, taking a sip of the drink you made him. “I was going to wait for Matt.”

You raised your eyebrows and then nodded towards where Matt was leaning over the bar, talking to some girl whose drink had long since been emptied. “I think he’s already got someone waiting for him.”

Harry looked to where Matt was and then shrugged, before turning his gaze back to you. “Guess I’ll just hang out with you, then.”

“Oh really?” You took some empty glasses off the bar where people had left them and dropped them into the bucket under the bar to be taken back to get cleaned.

“You’re more interesting than him anyway.”

You laughed, grabbing an empty shot glass and putting it in the bucket. “And why is that?”

“You’re hot.” He didn’t even pause before he replied.

He licked across his bottom lip after he said it and you couldn’t help but watch the action. It wasn’t like you didn’t know Harry thought you were attractive—you did. It was just that he had never outright told you, or been quite this forward. Usually he was skating around the topic and now that he wasn’t you didn’t quite know what to say. So you said the first thing that popped into your head. “Have you been behind a bar?”

“Only at the house.”

“Your frat house does not count as a bar.”

“I don’t know about that.”

“It is not a bar, Harry.”

“Fine. Then no, I haven’t.”

You took a step away from him and waved your hand at the space. “Would you like to?”

This time, it was him raising his eyebrows at you. “What am I going to be doing?”

“I’ll teach you to make drinks.”

“I know how to make drinks,” he scoffed.

“Jungle juice doesn’t count.”

He huffed and then pushed away from the bar, standing to his full height. “You’re being mean,” he stated, but walked to the end of the bar and came around the side anyways. “It feels so different from back here.”

You turned, one hand on the bar and the other on your hip. “What do you mean?”

“Dunno. Feel…powerful, I guess.”

You nodded, knowing exactly what he meant. “So, Mr. Bartender, what do you want to make first?”

Harry considered his options, looking around the bar and taking in the options in front of him. He looked a bit overwhelmed, if you were honest. You glanced around, checking on how busy it was, and you were thankful that it was pretty much empty, so no one would probably be bothering you and Harry. “I’ve always wanted to make an Old Fashioned.”

“Can do,” you answered, grabbing the proper glass from the shelf, and a bottle of your favorite bourbon, setting both on the counter in front of you. “Do you know what’s in one?” He shook his head, a slight blush on his cheeks, and you smiled to yourself. He could be so goddamned cute sometimes. “It’s whiskey, bitters, and a bit of sugar. Do you know how to muddle?” He shook his head again, and you nodded, grabbing the rest of the supplies you would need.

You spread it out in front of you, popping a sugar cube in the old fashioned glass. “So this is the bitters we’re going to use,” you informed him, passing him the bottle of Angostura bitters. “Put two dashes of that in the glass over the sugar.”

“What the fuck is a ‘dash’?”

“A bit,” you told him. “Just do it.”

He did as you asked, tapping bitters into the glass. “Is that enough?”

You nodded, and then grabbed the soda gun and pressed the button for water, adding a bit to the glass. Then, you passed him the muddler, which got very little use at this bar. In fact, you hadn��t made an Old Fashioned in ages—it wasn’t exactly the drink of choice for most college-aged people. “Now, you’re going to muddle this—like mix them together, crushing the sugar.”

“Why does mixology have the weirdest terms?” He said under his breath and you snorted. He did as you said, listening to your instructions, crushing the sugar and mixing it with the bitters in the glass, the sugar dissolving in the glass.

“Good. Now you add the ice.”

You pulled back the top of the cooler that held the ice, and Harry grinned as he picked up some with the scooper and filled the glass with it. “Always wanted to do that.”

“And now you have.” You shut the top of the cooler and passed him the bourbon and a jigger. “An ounce and a half of bourbon,” you informed him.

He reached over and took the bottle and jigger, and his close proximity made you inhale. You could smell cologne, a bit of sweat from the party he was at earlier, and a trace of smoke as he moved. The scent had your spine straightening, your mind just as muddled as the contents of the glass. How did he smell so good? He was a college boy. Who gave him the right to be so goddamned attractive and smell this delicious? His long hair, the length not quite reaching his shoulders but close, swung slightly in your face as he pulled away, the tips of his curls brushing against your cheek. He was so close that if he turned his head, your lips would meet.

You tried not to think about that.

But he lingered close to you as he poured the bourbon in the jigger, your sides nearly touching, just half a step away from one another. If the music hadn’t been playing, you probably would’ve been able to hear him breathe and he could’ve heard your breath hitch when his bicep flexed as he held the bourbon. Your eyes trailed over the tattoos on his arms, dancing over the ship and the rose at his elbow, all the way down to the anchor at his wrist.

“Now you’re the one watching me.”

Your eyes snapped up to his, where he was looking at you, smirking. “Pour the shot in, Harry.”

He looked back to the jigger he was holding, and tipped it into the glass, the amber liquid dropping through the glass. You handed him the stirrer and he twirled it in the glass, before setting it back down on the bar. The sound of his rings hitting the glass sounded in your ears as he grasped the drink, bringing it to his lips.

His eyes were on yours as he tipped it back slightly, letting the alcohol pass between his lips. You tried not to focus on his Adam’s apple bobbing as he sipped. When he lowered the glass, his tongue darted out, wetting his bottom lip, and it made you tug your own into your mouth softly. Then you asked, “How is it?”

With his gaze trained on your mouth, he answered, “Delicious.”

“Y/N!” Your head bounced up to see Mike darting his head inside. “Time for close.”

You looked up at the clock on the wall and realized he was right—more time had passed than you realized. “Shit—yeah, sorry Mike. Matt,” you called down the bar to your co-worker who was very caught up in his flirtation. “Will you kick all of these people out for me?”

“Even me?” Harry asked and you roll your eyes at him.

“You can stay,” you told him and he gave you a smile, taking another sip of his drink. “As long as you help me clean up.”

While Matt kicked the remaining stragglers out, making sure the ones that are too drunk get in an Uber, you and Harry cleaned up. He helped you flip chairs on top of tables and pick up the glasses littered across surfaces, even in the bathroom. You filled the bin with the glasses and took them into the kitchen, filling the industrial dishwasher to the brim. He even took a rag and wiped down the tables, singing along to the Tame Impala you’d turned on and finishing off his Old Fashioned. You put the bitters away and the remnants of the drink he had made, and toss some lime rinds into the trash, wiping off the last bit of the bar.

“I’m going to head out,” Matt called to you from the door. He’s got his arm wrapped around the girl’s shoulders, a wide smile on both of their faces. “You good, H?”

Harry nodded. “Yeah, I’m going to walk Y/N home.”

This was news to you. “I drove,” you replied.

“Then can I snag a ride?” He asked, and you shrugged. It wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. Also, the idea of making him walk didn’t sound like a good idea, even though the frat house wasn’t too far from the bar.

“Sure.” You grabbed your purse and leather jacket from where you’d stashed them under the bar, and pulled them on. “C’mon, let’s go.”

You waved goodbye to Mike, who was left to lock up, and walked around back to where your car was parked. It was a must have for you, not wanting to walk home at four in the morning after a long night of working. Plus, you never drank much while you worked—all you had had was that disgusting Fireball shot earlier in the night and a whiskey coke throughout the evening. Harry followed behind you, his hands in his pockets as he walked, the faint light from the street lamp illuminating the sidewalk leading to the parking lot.

“It’s dark,” he said when you turned into the lot.

You unlocked your car and turned to look at him. “It’s four AM. Of course it’s dark.”

He moved towards the car, pulling open the passenger side door. “No, I just mean that it’s dark for you to be walking to your car alone.”

“Oh.” You tossed your purse into the backseat and slid into the driver’s side, flipping on the ignition. “Matt or Mike walk me to my car most nights.”

His long legs ended up a bit cramped in the passenger seat of your car and it made the corner of your mouth turn up. “Good,” is all he said before pulling on the seatbelt and clicking it. You reversed out of the spot, your phone automatically connecting to the Bluetooth as you flipped on your turn signal. “That’s the wrong way.”

You turned and looked at him. “Don’t you live at the house?”

He shook his head though. “No, I’ve got an apartment with some brothers on the West side of campus. Take a left here.”

You absorb this information and switch the turn signal. “Why don’t you live there? I thought most people did.”

“I like the privacy, I guess. When you live with all your brothers, they tend to know every bit of your business.” He was looking out the front windshield and you did the same, eyes on the dark streets in front of you. Being this close to him in the car had your body temperature spiking a bit, although you wouldn’t have admitted that to anyone. Harry was just the boy who flirted with you every chance he got and was Matt’s little. He was just someone to entertain you on slow nights or when you were stressed. Right?

“Take a left at the light,” he said, breaking you out of your trance. You flicked on your turn signal and eased into the turn lane, swinging your car onto a side street. “I’m having a birthday party next weekend at the house if you want to come,” he suddenly said.

Your eyes bounced to Harry, who wasn’t looking at you, his palms resting on his knees. You could sense the tension in his body—was he nervous? Did you make him nervous? “Is it your 21st?”

He quirked a smile at that. “How’d you know?”

“Well, you’re a junior. I just assumed.” Matt also might’ve mentioned it once or twice, but you didn’t tell Harry that.

A blush crept across his cheeks. “I—uh—it’s on Saturday at nine. We’re hitting the bars after, but the thing at the house is just going to be brothers and drinks and some music. Pretty low-key, I think.”

“I’ve got work,” you told him. “But I’ll try and stop by before my shift. I’m not supposed to be there until ten.”

He nodded quickly and you tried not to think about the fact that Matt was never going to let you live this down. What were you even doing, saying yes to Harry? You weren’t even interested in him. He was just a boy to flirt with, someone who told you bad jokes and ordered Fireball shots. “It’s right up here,” he said, pointing to a house off to the right.

You slowed the car in front of a one-story bungalow, a couple of cars in the driveway and lawn chairs on the front lawn. “You live in a house?”

“Somehow it was actually cheaper,” he explained, unbuckling his seatbelt. “Plus, kind of nice not having people complaining about the noise.”

The area was definitely still on campus, but you didn’t know anyone who lived over here. “Are your neighbors all students too?”

He nodded. “Some other brothers have a place a couple houses down, there’s a house of Pi Phis over there. But yeah, it’s all students. On game days it’s a fucking mess.”

You put the car in park, and turned off the ignition. “I can imagine.” Harry didn’t make any moves to get out of the car, just sitting there staring at the dashboard of your old Toyota, his hands fidgeting on his thighs. “Harry?”

“Fuck,” he exhaled, catching his bottom lip in his teeth. “I...” Then he glanced over at you, and under the dim streetlamp you could see the expression in his eyes. It’s one you knew well. It’s the look he gave you when you wore your favorite lace bodysuit that was conservative enough to wear out, or when you gave him just as flirtatious of a comeback as the one he served you.

Then, all of a sudden he was moving towards you, his hand curving around the back of your neck and pulling you towards him. It was awkward, the seatbelt holding back your shoulder, but it didn’t stop you from leaning towards him, meeting him halfway. His lips tasted like bourbon and bitters, a trace of Fireball when you nibbled on his bottom lip that was just tucked between his teeth. He was sweet with an edge of fire, and when he tilted his chin slightly to change the angle, rotating his head just enough to kiss you deeper, you knew you were fucked.

For so long, you had been trying to keep him at a distance. Just let him exist as a flirtation, nothing more than that. You’d ignored the thoughts that blazed through your mind when you were drunk with your friends and saw him at a party, his lips on some girl, and you wondered what they would taste like on yours. Now that he was kissing you and you knew what they tasted like, there was no way you would be able to forget.

Especially the way his fingers threaded through your hair, his rings cool against your warm scalp. How he tugged on your lip with his teeth and you let out a soft whine, pulling him closer by the neck of his shirt. The fact that it was nearing four thirty in the morning and you were in your car making out, your seatbelt still on, didn’t seem to matter. The exhaustion that had been all-consuming earlier was gone, your body rushing with adrenaline from the feeling of his mouth tucked against yours, his hands on your skin and the way his lips searched for yours when you pulled away for air.

“I should go home,” you said, breathing heavily as you moved back into your seat.

Harry was looking at you intensely, his lips slick from your saliva, his cheeks flushed from kissing you. His hands still lingered on your neck and hip, and you weren’t ready for him to let go. However, you needed sleep, otherwise the rest of the day was not going to be pretty. You had a paper due on Tuesday you had to write and if that didn’t happen this afternoon after you slept you were fucked. “Yeah,” he finally answered, pulling away. “It’s late.” He shuffled in the seat, turning to push open the door. “Get home safe, okay?”

You nodded, and with one lingering look at you, Harry slid out of the car and shut the door behind him. Under the dim lights you watched him walk to his front door, pulling open the screen door and unlocking it. Once he was inside, you finally turned back on your car and put it in drive, peeling away from the curb without a glance back.

On Tuesday, you were knee-deep in edits for your paper when your phone screen lit up with a text. Despite the fact that you told yourself you would be ignoring any notifications that flashed across your screen, you were intrigued by this message because it was from a number you didn’t recognize. So you leaned back in the uncomfortable wooden chair you were sitting in (chosen to make sure you stayed awake) and grabbed your phone.

The sight of the message made you choke on air.

Hey, Y/N, this is Harry. Matt gave me your number, I hope that’s ok?

That was it. The whole message. What the fuck were you supposed to do with that? “Fuck,” you muttered to yourself, because now you couldn’t ignore it. You had your read receipts on, something you turned on one time when you were breaking up with an ex and wanted him to know that you were ignoring his messages on purpose, and never turned off. So now Harry knew you had read his message.

So you typed back, hey! what’s up?

The typing dots appeared and you had the sudden urge to throw your phone halfway across the room as you waited for his reply. But you didn’t, because Harry’s text popped through before you could take any actions to make it seem as though you weren’t staring at your phone waiting for his text.

Just wanted to say thanks for the ride home on Saturday. Then, in a separate message, Also, the invite for my birthday party still stands, but no pressure.

You nibbled on the edge of your thumb nail, your other thumb poised over the screen as you considered what to reply. You decided on coy. i'll see how it goes :) you wrote out, and then thumbs up reacted to his thank you text.

Looking forward to it is what he replied with, and that felt like the end of the conversation, so you locked your phone, turned it on Do Not Disturb, and tried to re-focus on the paper open on your computer screen.

It took everything in your body not to check your phone a couple more times, just to see if he’d kept the conversation going. You had no idea what to say to him—he was the one who texted you in the first place. It seemed like his job to keep the conversation going, not yours. So you let the conversation linger, not even saving his number in your phone.

When Saturday rolled around, you considered for a long time whether or not you were going to go to Harry’s birthday party. Matt had texted you too, combining the text with a notice that he wasn’t working that night and Lucy was covering his shift, which meant you were going to be doing all the heavy lifting. Lucy was a freshman, new to bartending, and most definitely was hired so she would be ready to replace you when you graduated next year. The fact that Matt texted you told you that Harry must really want you to come, even if it was just for a bit.

So you turned on your getting ready playlist and grabbed your favorite bodysuit—it was long sleeved and high necked with a mesh leopard print, meaning that when you wore your black bralette underneath it, it would show through. It was enough to get eyes on you (you could neither confirm nor deny if you specifically meant Harry’s eyes), but not too much that you felt completely exposed, thanks to the long sleeves. You grabbed your black jeans, even though in an ideal world you would’ve chosen your leather skirt instead, but the last thing you wanted was alcohol stuck to your legs all night or some asshole seeing up your skirt when you bent over for ice.

You kept your makeup simple, but in line with the outfit—a light smokey eye, eyeliner, and a tinge of a deep red to your lips. Rhea, your roommate, let you use her dry shampoo, so you sprayed it at your roots, giving your day-old hair some revival. With a pair of gold hoops and a pep talk, you were ready, your phone and wallet slipped into the pocket of your trusty leather jacket.

You had never been to a frat house when you couldn’t hear the music pounding from outside. But as you walked up the grassy front lawn to the KDR house, it seemed quiet—all the lights on, even. You rapped on the door twice, running your hand through your hair as you waited for the door to open. When it did, a guy was standing there who you were pretty sure you recognized from the bar—he was close with Matt and Harry, you thought.

“You’re the bartender, Y/N!” He said, pointing at you with his index finger, lifting it from the red solo cup he held in his hand.

“I am,” you replied. “Harry and Matt invited me.”

“Yeah, I know,” he said, and you tried not to read into that too much. “Come on in, I’m Caleb, Harry’s little.” And that, you realized, was why he was always hanging out with Harry and Matt. You followed Caleb down the hall, which had composite photos on the wall going back to the 70s and 80s. It was weird being inside the house with all the lights on, because you could actually see everything for the first time. You saw what was usually a coat room and discovered it was actually a study of sorts, bookshelves with textbooks and random course books lining the shelves and a couple of old leather chairs in the corner that you usually stashed your jacket on.

He turned into the long living room and kitchen, which was where most of the parties happened in their house, and you were met by a pong table and a collection of boys, many of whom you recognized from the bar. Your eyes scanned over the group, and you found that you were, unsurprisingly, one of four girls in attendance. The others were next to brothers, an arm slung around their shoulders. You found Matt and Harry easily in the crowd, Matt saying something to Harry with his palm pressed to Harry’s chest, his other hand gripping a can of Natty Light. How he could drink such watered down piss while being a bartender you didn’t know and you quickly decided you would be ragging on him for it the next time you worked together.

“Bartender girl!” One of the guys called out, and that made Harry and Matt’s heads immediately swivel towards where you were standing. The discomfort that had been lingering was suddenly there in full force. You hated being the center of attention, something most people never expected since you thrived at the bar. The key part of being a bartender, though, was you had the bar between you and the patrons. It was a safety net, something that gave you power and confidence. Without it, though, you felt naked in a situation like this.

The sight of a tiara on Harry’s head, though, immediately made you feel more at ease. The words Birthday Princess were printed on the tiara in bright pink writing, and the sight of it resting in Harry’s hair brought a smile to your face.

Matt immediately broke into a grin and widened his arms, which you rolled your eyes at. “Y/N! You made it!”

You walked over to him, having nothing else to do, but didn’t give him a hug. “Barely. I can’t stay long—I’m supposed to be there at 10 so Lucy doesn’t kill someone with her heavy handed pouring.”

He chuckled, and then gave Harry a clap on the back. “I’m going to go check on the beer. Have fun, H.”

It left you and Harry alone—or as alone as you could be in a crowded room. Your eyes roamed his body, the black silky shirt drawing in your eyes, white stitching that spelled out his last name on the chest, the way it was unbuttoned low. It was the first time you’d been able to see his tattoos—the edges of what seemed to be wings on his collarbones that you wanted to see the rest of, and a silver chain with a cross hanging on it lying on his chest. You could feel his eyes on you too, and steeled yourself under his gaze, trying to remain confident as you stood in front of him.

“Nice tiara,” you said, breaking the silence.

He blushed, reflexively reaching up to touch it. “I was hoping you didn’t notice.”

“It’s literally a bright pink tiara on your head, Harry, how could I not notice?”

“Matt and Caleb made me wear it. My other little, Tyler, bought it and insisted.”

“Can’t let the family down?” You said, the corners of his lips lifting.

“Guess not.” A silence fell between you again and you busied yourself by investigating the space you were in. The worn couches on the wall, a massive dining table with alcohol covering it, dishes in the sink and a stack of red solo cups on the counter. It seemed like exactly what you would expect from a fraternity house, even if there wasn’t a party going on. Finally, he cleared his throat and thickly asked you, “Want to play pong?”

You blinked, not expecting the question, but shrugged. “Sure.”

“I’ll drink any you don’t want to,” he said.

“Why? Think I’m not any good?”

“No—I just—you drove, right?” He was stumbling over his words and it made you give him a small smile. You decided to be a bit of a tease, and brushed your fingers over the stitches on his shirt, just to mess with his brain a bit.

“I did,” you answered. “But I don’t think I’ll be drinking too much.”

His eyes widened a tad and you watched as he swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing. “Let’s see your skills, then,” he finally said and you followed him over the table, where they were setting up for another round. He set down his cup on the side of the table and you fiddled with the cups, making the lines straighter. “Ready?” He asked you, his body shifting closer to yours. There was just a hair of space between your hips and you sucked in a breath before nodding.

You hadn’t thought this through, you quickly realized, because pong meant that there was barely any space between the two of you, and he kept brushing against your back and arm as he moved around. When he passed you the ball his fingers touched yours and your eyes would flit to his, only to find his green irises looking right back. The scent of his cologne and the alcohol on his breath wrapped around you when he laughed close to your ear, the contact of his skin on yours when he gave you a high five and lightly gripped your hand for just a beat too long sent shivers down your spine. When he picked up a cup to drink from it, you watched as his lips—the ones you had kissed exactly a week ago—wrapped around the rim and the beer slid down his throat. You were actively trying not to think about kissing down the column of his neck as you looked back to your cups on the other side of the table.

“Can I get gentlemen’s?” You asked and next to you, Harry nodded, agreeing with your decision to re-rack. The guys playing you quickly reshuffled your cups and you dropped the beer-covered ball into a cup of water to your right. When you picked up the ball and rolled it between your fingers, you decided to tease Harry a bit more, because it was your favorite pastime. You offered the ball to him, clasped between your thumb and forefinger, and looked him dead in the eyes. “Blow on it for good luck?”

His eyes widened, but then a cocky grin drifted across his cheeks. He leaned in and blew softly on the white pong ball, his pupils dark and focused on yours. Then, at a volume only you could hear, he whispered, “Sure you don’t want me to blow something else?”

Rather than give him the satisfaction of knowing he had your pulse stuttering, you licked your lips and replied with, “Let’s see if you’re so cocky when I’m on my knees.” You turned back to the cups and with ease, you threw the ball as it sank into a cup. You peeked a glance up at Harry, only to find him already staring at you, blinking in rapid succession. “Your turn, Styles.” You grabbed the other ball and pressed it to the stitching on his chest and his lips quirked up, snatching the ball from your grasp.

“Kiss for good luck?” Your eyebrows lifted at his words and he was smiling at you, a cocky gaze fixed on you.

“In your dreams,” you answered with an eye roll.

“Oh, baby, you’re already in them,” he whispered as he tossed the ball. It hit the rim of your one remaining cup before falling in perfectly.

His words rang loudly in your ears as Harry raised his arms above his head in success, ignoring the words he just had said to you. You, however, couldn’t say the same. They were running through your head on a loop. He dreamt about you? You wanted to know more, wanted to know every bit of his dreams, what they looked like and what you did in them.

At the sound of your name you blinked, pushing yourself out of your daydreams. “Yeah?”

It was Harry, his palm resting on your lower back and burning the skin with his touch. “It’s almost ten.”

“Fuck,” you breathed out, pulling your phone from your jacket. “I—shit I have to go. Sorry.”

He shook his head. “S’fine. I’ll walk you to the door.”

You waved goodbye to your opponents and some of the other boys you had been introduced to. Harry’s hand left your body as you both walked, and you couldn’t help but be disappointed. “Happy Birthday, by the way,” you said as you turned into the hallway, the chatter of the boys over the music fading a bit.

Harry dug his hands into his pockets and smiled at you. “Thank you. And thanks for coming. It—it was nice, having you here.”

The softness in his tone was in direct conflict with the banter at the pong table, but you didn’t mind. You kind of liked that the two of you had this duality, the ability to go each direction. “I had fun.” You pulled your car keys out of your pocket and turned the knob on the door. “I’ll have a birthday Fireball shot waiting with your name on it, Birthday Princess.”

That made his smile turn into a grin, his dimples popping out as you stepped across the threshold and onto the front porch. “Looking forward to it, love.”

As you walked away, you tried not to let his term of endearment fill your every thought, but it was hard, especially when you looked back and he was standing in the doorway, watching you walk to your car. You exhaled and opened the driver’s side door, realizing that you had dug yourself into quite the mess with this boy.

You had been watching the door out of the corner of your eye all night, waiting for Harry and all of his friends to arrive. Lucy had noticed and pestered you about it, but you hadn’t given in. You didn’t feel like the entire bar staff knowing your personal business—Matt was plenty. You busied yourself by serving patrons, making an absurd number of vodka tonics (which you despised, but you had found freshman girls preferred them to gin, for some reason) and opening bottle after bottle of beer.

You were humming along to Broken Clocks by SZA when the door opened and your name was called over the bar, Matt’s voice booming in the space. “Y/N, I need a shot for the birthday boy!” Harry was standing next to him, Matt’s arm thrown over his shoulder, a grin on his face.

You turned and quickly queued In Da Club by 50 Cent, before grabbing the bottle of Fireball off the shelf. When you turned back to the bar, Harry was standing in front of you, the Birthday Princess tiara unfortunately absent. “Where’s your crown, Birthday Princess?” You asked, pouring the dark liquid into a shot glass for him.

“It’s a tiara, Y/N,” he corrected, snatching the shot. “And Caleb accidentally broke it.” You could tell by the twinkle in his eyes and the color in his cheeks that he was more than a few drinks in, no doubt doing shots with the rest of the party before hitting the bars.

“Good to know,” you answered, and just because he was so goddamned cute, you grabbed another shot glass and poured yourself a shot of Fireball.

“Takin’ a shot with me?”

“It’s your birthday, isn’t it?”

Harry was about to say something when the music changed and he let out a cheer, Matt and Caleb and another boy, who you assumed was Tyler, pounded on the bar on either side of him. Then, they began to sing and you could help but guffaw.

“Go, go, go, go go, go, go, shawty/It's your birthday/We gon' party like it's yo birthday/We gon' sip Bacardi like it's your birthday/And you know we don't give a fuck/It's not your birthday!” They sang, and you couldn’t help but join in at the end.

“Shots, shots, shots!” Matt cheered, and Harry lifted his shot glass, raising his eyebrow at you.

“In your dreams,” you answered, realizing what you had said only after the words left your mouth.

Harry smirked, a dimple poking out. “We’ve already talked about dreams, Y/N. You know you’re already in them, so no need to beg for it.”

You rolled your eyes at him and pushed lightly on his cheek, a pout settling onto his lips. “Shut up, Styles.”

“Meanie,” he said, moving back to rest normally against the bar. “You have to be nice to the birthday boy, didn’t you hear?”

“Not if he’s a prick,” you informed him, resting your hands on the lip of the bar and locking your elbows, leaning slightly forward. “Now, do you guys want anything else, or are you just going to annoy me all night?”

“Four whiskey cokes,” Matt told you. “And make ‘em strong.”

Throughout the night, their group achieved higher and higher levels of drunkenness. They started singing a Cheetah Girls song in their corner booth, much to your enjoyment, and Matt got on the table, something Mike only allowed because he was an employee, and made the entire bar sing Harry Birthday to Harry. When Mamma Mia came on, Tyler—who you were increasingly discovering was pure chaos in a body, perhaps even more chaotic than Harry and Matt combined—tried to start a conga line through the bar. Not only was he stopped by Mike, but also by the sheer number of people packed into the space.

Meanwhile, you were left behind the bar, fielding drink requests and racking up students’ credit cards with drinks they probably would forget ordering in the morning. You even had one Beer Baptism, an exciting element of the night, when some hockey player informed you he has drank every beer on tap, meaning he had achieved his Beer Baptism status. Harry and Matt lost their shit in the corner when you announced it and rang the bell over the bar, before grabbing two full pints of the hockey player’s requested beer of choice—Budweiser, for some fucking reason—and poured it over his head.

After three, the bar had started to empty out, but the four musketeers in the corner were still going strong. Harry kept coming up to you and asking for a shot of this or such and such drink, and even requested to make an Old Fashioned behind the bar again. You told him he was too drunk to make it right, but next time he could. Every time he came up he offered some sexual innuendo or bad joke, a lingering touch on your hand when you passed him his drink, or a wink that left u scowling at him. He even unbuttoned his shirt a few more buttons so by the time it was just him and his lineage in the corner, it was barely even on him. The whole idea of “No shoes, no shirt, no service” was quickly becoming a possible line you could use, especially when he kicked his feet up on the table and Caleb was trying to grab at his boots and pull them off, much to your amusement.

At 3:45, there were no patrons left except for the booth full of boys, so you had Lucy start cleaning up while you grabbed a beer—your first drink of the night other than the shot you did with Harry—and walked over to the boys. Harry was on the end, since he kept on coming and going from the booth, his knees spread wide and one arm slung over the back of the seat. At the sight of you approaching, he straightened up and set his drink down on the table.

“Hey,” he said, drawing out the Y as you slid in next to him, his arm falling easily around your shoulders.

“Hello,” you answered, nudging his knee with yours. “You’re man spreading all over my booth, Styles.”

Tyler snorted and Harry shifted, pulling his knees in closer together. “Didn’t know it was your booth.”

“I work here, you know.”

“I noticed,” he answered, tongue running over his lip as he looked at you. “I like this top you’ve got on.”

You sipped on your beer before replying, “It’s a bodysuit, actually.”

“So I’ve got a genuine question,” Matt said, leaning in towards you from across the table. “How do you pee with that on?”

“It’s got snaps on the crotch.” For some reason Tyler and Caleb blush at the word crotch and it makes you smile internally. “Can be a bitch to take on and off, though.”

“Huh.” Matt leaned his cheek on his palm. “I never fully understood the appeal.”

“Well,” you said, placing your beer on the table. “They tuck into pants and skirts so there’s smooth lines. But also it kind of feels like you’re wearing lingerie.”

That had all the boys blushing, including Harry, who said, “So that’s like lingerie to you?”

You glanced down at the lace long-sleeved bodysuit you wore and shrugged. “Guess so.”

“I always thought lingerie involved less material, not full on sleeves.”

You mulled this over, and decided to push his buttons a bit more. “So is a babydoll not considered lingerie to you?”

His eyebrows scrunched up and if you were being honest, the expression was positively adorable. You wondered if it was the face he gave when he couldn’t figure out a math problem or was looking at IKEA instructions. “The fuck’s a babydoll?”

“Other than a pet name?” You threw back and Harry quirked a smile. “It’s like a…sexy nightgown, I guess you could say.”

“Sexy nightgown.” Harry stated, mulling over the thought in his head, and you watched as he brushed a hand through his hair, considering the concept. “And that would have more material than what you’re wearing right now?”

You shrugged and took another sip of your beer. “Arguably.”

“Then yeah, I guess that’s still considered lingerie. A sexy nightgown, huh?” He blew out a breath of air and looked to the boys across the booth from you. “Damn, the girls I’ve been seeing have been holding out on me.”

The boys laughed, but you wanted Harry’s attention back on you. Maybe it was the close proximity of his body or the smell of his cologne that overwhelmed your senses, or the way you could see the butterfly tattoo on his abdomen and the low rise of his incredibly tight skinny jeans, but you wanted him. Badly.

So you reached down and placed a hand on his thigh, high enough to make his breath catch but not too high where you were actually touching him. Just close enough to make him consider the prospect. “You’ve been picking the wrong girls, then,” you said, the words low in your chest and Harry’s eyes were on you in an instant. Immediately there was movement on the other side of the booth, Tyler, Caleb and Matt sliding out one by one. “Leaving, boys?”

Matt nodded. “H?”

Harry’s eyes hadn’t left your face and the weight of his gaze had your heart pumping a mile a minute. “I think I’m going to stay.”

His fingers moved from the booth seat next to him to cover your hand that rested on his thigh, slowly inching it up his pant leg. “I’ll take him home,” you said, glancing back to Matt. “I’ll let you know when he’s home, okay?”

Matt gave Harry another look, and then nodded, obviously trusting you to take care of his friend. “Let me know if you need anything.” With that, he turned away, waving to Lucy and giving Mike a slap on the back on his way out.

Your attention turned back to Harry, who had somehow slid closer to you on the seat. “What was all that talk about lingerie, hmm?” He asked, the hand that rested next to your shoulder moving to rub the top of your arm, heat surging through your veins at his touch. “You always chew me out for sayin’ shit to you, and then you go and say that. In front of my friends, no less.”

You drummed your fingers on his inner thigh and caught the way he swallowed thickly at the feeling. “I wanted to see what you’d say, I guess.”

“And?”

“I now know you’ve never seen a babydoll. Or nearly enough lingerie.”

He sucked in a breath and then leaned his head down, his lips brushing against your earlobe. “Is that your way of asking me if I’d like to see your collection?”

Your heartbeat was thudding in your ears as he grazed your hair with his nose, eyes fluttering shut at the feeling. He had your insides moving in circles like they were on a merry-go-round, consumed in nothing but him. Slowly, you lifted your leg closest to his so it hooked over his knee, tugging yourself closer to him. “Perhaps.”

Under the low lights of the bar, the green of his eyes twinkled at you, your coyness making him grab at your knee, kneading his thumb into your skin over your jeans. “You told Matt you’d take me home.”

“I did.”

“What’s the likelihood we could change the destination on that ride home?”

Your hand moved from his thigh to his torso, skittering over his shirt and tucking against his exposed skin, his butterfly tattoo flexing under your touch. “I could be convinced. What did you have in mind?”

“Your place,” he said, hand squeezing your knee tightly when you scratched his skin softly. “Fuck, Y/N.”

“You’re drunk,” you told him simply.

With a combination of tenderness and need that had you desperate for him, he nudged your temple with his nose and said, “I won’t be in the morning.”

“Is that right?” The feeling of his breath in your ear made you grab at his side, pulling at his skin with your hand, wanting just to feel him in some way. You were sober and yet he had you feeling drunk, drunk on need and desire. “Then come on, Birthday Princess.”

The wood of your front door slammed against your back the second you shut the door behind you, Harry’s body pinning you to the door. His hands tugged on your hips and your hands were in his hair and the sounds falling from your mouth were positively sinful. The way he pulled on your bottom lip and sucked on it, making you press up into his body, hands tugging at his shirt, how his hands fell to your ass and squeezed, you squeaking into his mouth. How he lifted one of your legs and hooked it around his hips, allowing your centers to meet, and he shakily exhaled. It was consuming, kissing Harry, trying to keep track of what he was doing and then finally giving up and just losing yourself in him, in the way he touched you and made your entire body erupt in flames.

“Jump,” he said, pulling at your other thigh and you did so immediately, not even wasting a beat before hooking your ankles around his hips and letting him grind into you.

You let out a wanton moan at the feeling of the friction from your jeans meeting and rubbing into you, and from the way his breath caught, you knew he was just as affected as you were. His necklace swung on its chain as he pulled away and sucked a line of kisses down your neck, just as you had thought about doing to him earlier. When he prodded at your pulse point with his teeth and then licked over the spot you tugged on his hair, his name a broken whimper on your lips.

Hands met skin, both of you needing more and more. You pushed at his shirt, the predominantly unbuttoned garment falling easily from his shoulders and pooling at his elbows. The fresh skin served as an opportunity, and you took it, bending your head and licking across his collarbones, his head tipping back at the feeling. You sucked a mark onto the protruding bone, right over the wing of one of his swallows, and blew on it when you were done, Harry hissing above you.

From the way his fingers were digging into your jeans and you were panting in his hold, you knew that if you didn’t slow things down they were going to get out of hand—and quickly. So you lightly pushed at his shoulders, his gaze bouncing up to your eyes. “We should stop,” you mumbled, sucking in air finally. “Just—just sleep for now. Yeah?”

“‘m feeling more sober now,” he said, diving back into your neck, but you pulled on his hair, hauling him away.

“I had to literally help you walk to my car.”

He pouted at you. “That was a weak moment.”

But you shook your head at him, having none of it. “I want you at full capacity,” you told him, and his jaw dropped slightly, just enough to part his lips and you to press a finger into the space. His teeth tugged on your nail and finger pad, eyes on yours. “Want you fully sober so I can see what I’ve been waiting for.” Then you dropped your finger from his lips and ran it along his jawline, watching his eyes try to take in every one of your motions. “Plus, I want you to be able to remember my lingerie collection when I model it for you.”

When Harry groaned, it was deep and unrestrained, a demand from the most feral part of him. His head dropped to your chest and you pushed through his locks, his panting breath on your skin through your bodysuit. “I’m not gonna be able to sleep with that image running through my head.”

You rested your hands on his shoulders and pressed down on them so you could unhook your ankles and drop to the floor. “I think you’ll manage. Now, c’mon, let’s get ready for bed.”

His fingers threaded through yours as you pulled him through your apartment, thankful Rhea was spending the night at her boyfriend’s so she wouldn’t be awoken from the giggles that left your mouth when Harry tripped over your shoes and the corner of your bookcase in the living room. You led him to your bedroom and left the door open, walking over to your dresser, kicking off your booties on your way. “Are you going to take this off?” His fingers graced over the top of your shoulder and you inhaled sharply.

“Yes.” You unhooked your hoop earrings and dropped them into your jewelry box. “Is that a problem?”

“Slightly,” he answered, fingers trailing down your arm. “I was hoping to do that myself.”

You turned around so he was facing you, eyes blown out in desire and cheeks flushed from the copious amounts of alcohol he had consumed that night. “Then do it.”

His tongue darted out quickly, licking the center of his lips, and then he smiled at you, a boyish look of delight. “Is this my birthday gift?” Fingers brushed the top of your jeans and you nodded. “Goddamn, aren’t I lucky.” He popped the button and drew your zipper down, eyes fluttering to yours to make sure you were okay as he moved his hands to your hips, pushing the material down. “Holy fuck,” he suddenly breathed out and you glanced down.

The tattoo on your left hip had caught his attention, his palm resting just above where it started, his eyes trained on the ink on your skin. “What? You’ve got plenty of them.”

A chuckle left his mouth, and then he just shook his head. “You keep on surprising me.” His fingers crept down your skin, brushing against the chrysanthemums that covered from where your bodysuit sat on the rise of your hips to a bit down your thigh. “Does it mean anything?”

You nodded slowly. “It was my grandmother’s favorite flower.”

He must have noticed your word choice, because he quietly said, “I’m sorry,” before bending down and kissing over your tattoo. You inhaled sharply and watched as he tugged your jeans the rest of the way down your legs. Once you’d stepped out of them, he rose back to full height. “Can I take this thing off?” He asked, pulling softly on the hem of your bodysuit.

“Yes.”

“Snaps, hmm?” He ducked his head and you widened your legs enough for him to be able to tuck his hand between your legs. The pads of his fingers brushed over your clit and you couldn’t help the whimper that felt from your lips, the sound of it making Harry smile. “I can feel you.” He pressed lightly to your center through the two layers of material and you gripped the dresser you were leaning against.

You hadn’t been this wet, this in need of someone in such an all consuming way, in ages. Most people would have probably been embarrassed, but you just nodded, affirming his statement. Yes, you were wet, and yes it was all for him.

In a flourish, he gripped your bodysuit where the snaps laid and pulled, the sound of the fastenings coming undone cascading through your silent room. “Convenient,” he muttered to himself. Then, his hands pushed the mesh fabric up, revealing your black lace thong and the stretch of your bare stomach. “You know,” he said, squeezing at the curve of your torso, “I quite liked this thing. All that mesh. Could see your bra all night and it drove me fucking crazy just having to watch and not be able to touch you.”

When he pushed it above your breasts, revealing your lacy bralette, you lifted your arms and let him pull it over your head, the fabric falling to the ground. “Well, now you can,” you informed him.

The gaze he fixed you made your skin tingle. Without another beat, his hands were on your breasts, fingers brushing across your skin and then dipping into the material. With your breasts exposed, he whispered your name, forgotten on his tongue when he leaned in and fastened his lips to your nipple, the skin hardening immediately from the wetness on his tongue.

Curses left your mouth in a string, hands tugging on his hair as he prodded at your skin. He didn’t linger there though, seeming to be too focused on the greater task, because he lifted his head from your chest after a minute or so. And then his hands were at your back, unhooking your bralette and pulling it from your body, revealing your nearly fully naked body to him. His thumbs brushed over the solar system tattooed on your ribcage and you shuddered at the feeling.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous,” he mumbled, eyes taking you in. “Good god.”

The heat that rushed to your cheeks you couldn’t stop, so instead you distracted yourself with teasing him. “Take your shirt off.” His eyebrows raised, but he followed your directions, unbuttoning the final button and pulling the material off of his shoulders. As he was about to drop it to the ground you stopped him, taking the fabric in your hands. He watched in fascination as you pulled it over your shoulders, buttoned the middle two buttons, and then looked up at him. The shirt covered most of your ass, the tops of your thighs and your tattoo exposed.

“Like my shirt, huh?”

You nodded, and then decided it was your turn to touch his skin. Your hands criss-crossed across his exposed chest, brushing across the marks you had left and down, tracing his nipples until they pebbled, and then down to the laurels on his pelvis, barely peeking out from the top of his jeans. Then, you popped the button on his jeans, and when he didn’t stop you, you pushed them down his legs, struggling a bit with how tight they were, but succeeding finally. He was left in nothing but his briefs, a lion tattoo on his thigh exposed to your eyes and some small ink on his knees you thought was cute. You wondered how drunk he was when he did it, but decided not to ask.

“What happened to getting ready for bed?” He asked, hands running up and down your arms.

“We’re dressed for bed, aren’t we?” You turned around though, and led him out of your room and down the hall to where the bathroom was. “Go ahead—I’m going to get us some water. Use anything you want, except my toothbrush. There’s spares under the sink.”

You left him to his own devices and made your way through your apartment, grabbing two glasses and filling them with water, tucking a bottle of ibuprofen under your arm. He would need it in the morning. After leaving them on your bedside table, you headed for the bathroom where the door was open, Harry brushing his teeth at the sink. You slid in next to him and he moved to the side, allowing you to grab your face wash and splash water on your face, swiping the liquid in circles over your skin. After your moisturizer and eye cream, you started brushing your teeth, trying not to focus on how Harry was just leaning against the wall watching you.

“You good over there?” You asked, spitting into the sink and rinsing off your toothbrush before dropping it into the jar on the sink that held them.

He nodded. “This is going to sound weird,” he said, “but I feel…comfortable with you. Like this kind of shit,” he gestured to the bathroom, “I’ve never done this.”

“Brushed your teeth?”

“No,” he grumbled, grabbing for your hips. “I don’t usually get ready for bed when I spend the night with girls.”

You tried not to read into that statement, to wonder if you were some normal hookup or something more. Instead, you leaned in and pecked his lips, before tugging him out of the bathroom and towards your room. “Water’s on the table,” you told him, shutting the door behind you as you stepped inside. “And some ibuprofen, if you want it.”

He walked over to the opposite side of the bed and gulped down the water, tossing some of the medicine on his tongue and finishing off the water. “Thanks.”

“Of course,” you answered, and then pulled back the covers on your bed. You settled in between the sheets, and watched as Harry slid in beside you, obviously trying to gauge what you wanted. Once he was comfortable, you shuffled towards him, and without thinking too much into it, you rested your head on his chest. He immediately brought his arm around your body, holding you close to him. “Night,” you mumbled.

“Night, Y/N.” His voice was gravelly from exhaustion and alcohol, and you shut your eyes, falling asleep to the rise and fall of his chest.

You blinked, eyelids heavy from exhaustion, as you woke up. Sunlight was streaming in your curtains, which despite being blackout curtains, could do little to hold back at the sun in the morning. As you gathered your senses, you realized that the other side of your bed was empty. Picking up your head, you took inventory of the room—Harry’s boots on the floor, your clothes haphazardly tossed in your laundry basket, your phone charging on your bedside table and a full water glass sitting there.

You had finished yours last night, if you remembered correctly. But you shrugged and grabbed the water, chugging it as you unplugged your phone and checked the time. It was noon, which was the normal time you woke up after a shift, meaning you’d had somewhere between seven and eight hours of sleep. You could’ve slept for hours, but what was more urgent than a couple more hours of sleep was where Harry had run off to. Slowly you pulled yourself up, Harry’s shirt still adorning your body, and walked out of your room and into the hallway, where the smell of coffee hit your nose immediately.

“Morning sleepyhead,” Harry said when you walked into the open plan kitchen and living room. He was sitting at the bar that divided the room in half, a cup of coffee in his hand and a bottle of Pedialyte on the counter next to him. “I’m glad you found the water. I was getting pretty close to waking you up.”

“Thanks for that,” you said, raising the glass to him. You meandered past him into the kitchen, where you grabbed a coffee cup—this one was from a National Park you’d visited the summer before with your family—and filled it with coffee. “How long have you been up?”

“Two hours,” he answered. “I have a hard time sleeping after a big night out.”

“Pedialyte?” You asked, nodding to the bottle on the counter.

He grimaced and set down his cup. “Yeah. I went out and got it while you were asleep.”

Sun was streaming in the white curtains in the living room, casting the whole apartment in a bright mid-day glow. Harry was in just his jeans, no shirt, and you couldn’t help but wonder what he had worn out. “Did you wear that out?”

He glanced down at himself. “Yeah. Stole one of your big sweatshirts, too.”

“Did you now?” You shifted away from the counter, rounding the counter so you stood in front of him. “Which one?”

Green eyes followed your hand as it landed on his knee, moving it away from the other one to create space. When you took a step forward, you could hear his breath hitch and gave him a coy smile, your free hand sliding up his thigh. “Your green one. Said Obsession on it, or something—it was the only one that fit me.”

You chuckled softly. “It’s my ex’s.”

He huffed. “S’mine, now.”

“Is it now?” You asked, setting your cup on the counter next to Harry’s. “Planning on taking over for him?”

“As an ex?”

You shook your head, hands drifting up his torso. “As the guy who gets to wear my clothes.” You tried not to think about what those words meant, what you were asking him, because your mind was too wrapped up in him to even be thinking about your intent.

“Happily.” His hands finally landed on your waist, ring-clad fingers pressing into the skin covered by his shirt. “You know, you look good in this.” Fingers slipped under the material of his shirt, the white Styles on the chest stretching over your breast as you breathed.

“It’s black,” you told him, trying to keep your breathing even. “Everyone would look in it.”

“Hmm,” he hummed, kneading your sides. “Dunno about that.”

Both your hands and Harry’s explored each other’s skin, taking inventory of every rise and fall, roll of skin, the places that made each other gasp just a bit. It felt good, being this intimate with someone just like this, nothing but one another’s hands. “Then what’s so special about me wearing it?”

Palms cupped your breasts, squeezing delicately, his full forearms tucked underneath the fabric of his shirt. “That you’re the one in it,” he murmured, voice dropping an octave. “You, wearing my shirt, my last name on your chest.” He blew out a breath and you tweaked one of his nipples in reply. “Fuck, Y/N, you’re a dream.”

“How about we move this to my bedroom,” you said, slipping your hands up to his shoulders. “And I finally show you my lingerie collection?” You didn’t have to ask him twice. He was standing, your hand in his, and pulling you in the direction of your room immediately, a giggle leaving your lips at the sudden movement. “Somebody’s eager.”

“You’ve been talking about this lingerie for like twelve hours, love,” he said, shutting your door behind you. “I fuckin’ dreamed about it.”

You pulled out of his grasp and he fell down to your bed, where the sheets were twisted from sleep. His messy long hair and shirtless torso drew in your gaze, the way he leaned against your pillows, watching you. “Did you now?” You turned to your dresser and pulled out your top drawer, where your lingerie lived. “Close your eyes,” you told him, peeking back at where he laid.

Once he followed your instructions, grumbling about missing out on half the show, you pulled out your first item—a dark blue babydoll, lace appliqué covering the skirt and a bow nestled between the molded cups, a matching g-string that you slid over your hips. You fluffed your hair, suddenly wishing you had had the forethought to wash your face before you took on this endeavor.

“Open,” you told Harry, and turned in his direction.

“Holy fuck,” he said in one breath, sitting up immediately, as if a jolt of electricity had ripped through his body. “Is this a babydoll?”

“Good memory,” you replied, leaning against your dresser. You didn’t know what to do with your body other than just stand there and let his eyes trail over you. “Thoughts?”

“How would you feel about never wearing clothes again?” He asked, gnawing at his lip. “Just that.”

You blushed, and picked at the hem of it. “I think I might get cold.”

“I’ll give you a jacket.”

“How kind.” You turned around and when he whined, you turned just your head to him. “There’s more sets to show you, you know. Close those eyes, mister.” He did as you asked and you pulled off the lingerie, lovingly folding it back into your dresser. Your fingers ran over the lace in front of you, trying to decide which one of your, admittedly many, sets you wanted to show him next. Finally, you settled on a pink lace set that was essentially see-through. You’d never worn it before—it was one of your newer purchases, one you’d chosen after a successful test grade.

You pulled up the panties and hooked the bra behind your back, sliding the straps up your arms until they settled comfortably on the dip of your shoulders. Then, you turned and at the sight of Harry sitting there, patiently waiting, you decided to reward him a bit. You walked towards him, and when you reached his form, you settled your hands on his shoulders. The touch made his eyes flutter open, and the second he saw your body his eyes widened. “Wow,” was all he could say as he studied the material covering your skin.

“What do you think?” The more his eyes lingered on you, the more you loved how you burned under his gaze.

He licked his lips and reached out, thumbing across the top of the lace thong you wore. “How is this one even better?”

You tilted your head to the side and pressed closer to him, his palms falling down your sides as you stepped between his knees. “You’re the first person to see this one.”

“Really?” He seemed like a kid in a candy store after being told he could buy whatever he wanted. “I’m honored.” You pulled away from his grasp and he groaned, snatching your hips back between his hands. “Where are you going?”

“I’ve got more to show you,” you informed him, pulling his hands off of you. “Patience, Styles.”

“Baby,” he rasped, the pet name falling from his mouth with ease, and you wondered if you would ever forget how it sounded. “I don’t know if I can survive much more.”

Your eyes fell to his pants, where you could see his hard-on, the outline of his dick straining against the tight denim. “Somebody’s desperate.”

“Tease,” he shot back. “I’m serious, though. I’ll let you finish later.”

You considered his proposal, but ended up pulling away. “One more. It’ll be worth it, I promise.”

He groaned, but nodded, shutting his eyes obediently as you moved away from him. At your dresser, you found the set you were looking for, a dark green set. The bra was a balconette cut, lace appliqué covering the cups and running up the straps. You pulled on the suspender belt that matched, the straps dangling down your legs as you put on the thong next. Then, you grabbed a pair of black stockings and clipped them to the bottom of the suspenders. You fluffed your hair a bit and then turned back around.

“Open,” you instructed and when Harry’s eyes opened the moan that left his mouth ran down your spine like fire.

“Fuck.” The word was all he could say, his jaw literally dropping at the sight of you standing there. “Come here.” You didn’t move, though, wanting to hear him beg for you. This set had your confidence soaring through the roof, the combination of the material on your skin and Harry’s gaze making you want to see what you could make him do for you. “Please,” he finally said, shifting towards you.

So you walked over to him, slowly, keeping your shoulders back so the bra strained across your chest. When you reached him you placed a hand on his bare chest, pressing him slightly back so he rested on his hands, eyes staring up at you as you rested a knee on either side of his thighs, sitting down on his lap. “Worth the wait?”

His hands immediately moved, settling on your hips, sliding over the green lace. “You’re going to kill me,” he rasped, words rough in his throat. The sight of his pupils blown out in desire, chest rising and falling under your palm as he took in your body in this set made you grasp the back of his neck and pull his lips towards yours.

The two of you met in a blaze of fire, need flowing between you as he tugged you closer, your center brushing over the denim of his jeans. When you whimpered he suckled on your lip and you pulled at the roots of his hair, needing to hear him groan into your mouth. You wanted to hear every one of his sounds, to take inventory of him and store it away for later when he wasn’t right there in front of you. Lips met and parted, slotting together with ease as you both surged towards one another, begging for more.

His hands were covering every inch of you, pulling and grabbing and scratching at your skin, somehow bringing you closer and closer to him. When you began to rock against his jeans he let out a hiss, pulling your hips down onto his even more. Then his head dipped, nudging up your chin as he found your neck, nibbling and biting at your skin before licking along his marks, leaving you a whining mess in his lap. You were cradling his head, not wanting it to end, just to make him continue and continue and continue.

Now that you had him, you realized how long you had been waiting for this, even if you pretended like you weren’t. You had wanted him since the first time he made a bad joke and told you you looked beautiful, when he responded with a quick remark, countering your sass with plenty of his own. He met you tit for tat, ebbing and flowing with you like waves on a beach.

Your fingers wound around his cross necklace and tugged, just enough to get his lips to leave your skin and look up at you. “Tryin’ to get my attention?” He teased, squeezing at your waist, tight enough that he would probably leave marks but you didn’t mind. In fact, you looked forward to inspecting each inch of your body and seeing what he had left behind.

“Your jeans,” you mumbled. “I want them off.”

He chuckled lightly. “Now who’s the desperate one?”

“Shut up,” you said and he just smiled at you, his dimples poking out.

“Go on, then.” He watched as you slid back on his thighs and popped the button on his jeans, before getting up so you could pull them all the way off. Once they were on the ground, you moved towards him, but he stopped you. “Lay down for me, love,” he said, eyes trailing down your body as you stood in front of him.

You didn’t bother with sass, just falling to the twisted sheets and looking at him as he crawled towards you. His fingers found the clips of your suspenders, and you nodded at him, giving him silent permission to begin to undress you. When he released the stockings and began to pull them down, he kissed every inch of your revealed skin, creating a line down your calf that had your breath coming out in pants. “Harry,” you said, the last syllable of his name trailing off as he did the same thing to your other leg.

“Yes?” He asked, eyes popping up to you. His hair was a mess from your hands and you loved it—the sight of him with wide eyes and puffy dark pink lips, color in his cheeks and marks on his chest from your nails. When you didn’t respond, unable to even create words as he slipped his hands up your body and tugged down the suspender belt that sat at your waist, he said, “You’re going to have to speak up if you’ve got something to say, baby.”

That pet name. It was going to be the death of you and you had no idea why. Maybe because of the emotions swirling in your chest as you looked down at him, the way you wanted to simultaneously lie in his arms for hours and jump his bones, but also just hold his hand and hear him talk to you. Perhaps it was the fact that no one had ever called you that like he did, with desire and passion laced in the word, a tenderness and an edge to it that made you weak in the knees. “I need you,” you finally uttered.

“Do you now,” he responded, leaning forward on his knees so he hovered over you. “Can you be more specific?” Impatient, you grabbed his hand and pressed his fingers to your center, where you had soaked through your thong long ago. A low groan fell from his chest at the feeling of your wetness, and he peeked up at you from where he was touching you. “You’re soaked through,” he said in awe, brushing against your center and making your back arch up. “Fuck, Y/N. Is this for me? Did I get you like this?”

“Yes,” you drawled, pushing down onto his finger. Your mind was spinning, eyes fluttering shut and just losing yourself in the feeling of finally having contact where you needed him most. “Please,” you begged finally, rocking against him with your hips, chasing more.

Harry moved without pause, pulling your underwear down your legs and running his finger between your folds. The feeling of his touch on your warm flesh had you squirming, his name mixed in with curses as he rubbed softly in a circle. “That feel good?” He asked and you could feel his eyes traveling over your body even though your eyes were squeezed shut from the feeling. When he brushed his index finger against your hole which was dripping for him, you gasped, hips jutting down against him so the tip of his finger brushed inside of you. “God, you’re so wet,” he mumbled, almost to himself.

Then, he dipped a finger inside of you and you cried out, desperate and needy for him, unable to contain the sounds falling your lips as he built up a momentum, curling his finger inside of you and hitting your sweet spot. “Another,” you said, eyes finally opening so you could see him.

And the sight didn’t disappoint. His eyes were on your center, watching his finger move in and out of you, and you could see the outline of his bulge in his briefs, a small wet spot where his tip was. The fact that he was leaking while fingering you somehow just added to your pleasure. He added a second finger and pressed them deep inside of you, the cool metal of his rings brushing against your entrance and making you buck up against his fingers. You were squirming on the bed, unable to stay still because he was building an orgasm inside of you like no one else ever had. You could feel your belly tightening and your high was rising, sweat beads forming at the back of your neck.

When he rubbed on your front wall you let out a helpless cry. He had found the spot that made you go insane and you could tell he was happy, a smile stretching across his face. “I’m close,” you panted.

“What do you need?” His words were low and they just made you want him more.

“Your mouth.” The words were broken, but he seemed to understand because he shifted immediately, falling to his stomach between your legs and pulling you towards him. He decided to go harder, because he slammed his fingers into you at a brutal pace and matched it by licking at your nub, sucking and pulling at the sensitive skin. His tongue was sin against your skin, circling your clit and making you cry out. You dug your fingers into his hair and tugged at the strands, his name tumbling from your lips in a beg and a whine and a prayer all in one.

It didn’t take long before you were coming, the feeling rushing up without you even realizing, your back arching and hips bucking against his fingers and mouth. He lapped at you through it, eyes open and watching your orgasm, the shudder that left your mouth and how you fell into the mattress when you came down. When he pulled his fingers from you, you hissed, and he just kissed your pelvic bone, before sitting back on his heels and dipping his fingers into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the digits that were covered in your juices.

“Get over here,” you demanded, hooking your foot around his hips and pulling him towards you.

He clamored over you, his lips finding yours once again, and you sighed into the kiss, pulling his mouth closer to you. You needed him like you had never needed anyone else, a feeling that took over your body and ran your mind. When his head dipped and he tugged on your earlobe you whined. “Can I have you,” he asked into your skin. “Please? I waited and I just…fuck, I can’t wait anymore.”

“Yes,” you told him, hands falling to his waist and pushing down his briefs. “Condoms are in my bedside table.”

His head bounced up at that and he reached over, wrenching open the drawer and searching blindly for a packet. When his fingers found one he moved back over you, the foil falling next to your head. Then, he pushed his briefs the rest of the way down his legs, letting the material fall to the floor with the rest of your clothes. Next was your bra, his hands moving to your back and deftly unhooking it, pulling the lace from your skin. “Beautiful,” he hummed, nestling his face between your breasts.

You chuckled, brushing his hair back. “I swear, boys and boobs,” you said.

“Hey,” he replied, picking up his head. “Don’t make me out to be some horny teenager.”

“Aren’t you?” You teased, picking up the condom between your fingers.

“No.” He took the packet and ripped it open with his teeth. “I’m twenty-one, baby.” Then, he rolled the condom down his length and you watched, absorbing his fully naked body for the first time. The cut of the muscles under his skin, the way his tattoos stretched across his torso, the full length of him that you decided you wanted in your mouth after.

He brushed his tip against your slit and you whined unabashedly, rocking towards him. “H,” you mumbled, “please.” That was all he needed, because without another pause he was pressing into you, bottoming out in one go. You let out an unrestrained moan, grappling at his shoulders as he sunk onto his elbows, his face hovering above yours. As he pulled out and pushed back in, a groan from his lips filling the space between you, you watched his face. The way his eyebrows pulled together and he bent his head, resting his forehead against your collarbone as he found his rhythm.

Once he did, it was heaven. His sweaty skin meeting yours as he drove into you at a brutal pace, but one that felt fucking incredible. Your ankles hooked around his hips and held him close inside of you, and you tugged on his necklace to pull his lips to yours, needing the softness of his tongue inside your mouth again. Your hands twisted in his hair, yanking on his strands when he pushed in particularly hard, and he groaned. He liked his hair being pulled, you discovered, and you decided to keep at it, threading your hands through his locks and pulling whenever he hit that spongy spot that made you see stars.

“Like that,” you rasped when he latched his lips to your neck, most definitely leaving a mark on your skin. “Yes, H, just like that. Fuck, you’re so deep.” Your words were a mess, just a stream of consciousness, but he didn’t seem to mind. Instead, he slammed into you harder and pulled your leg higher, tugging it so that your foot rested over his shoulder and your hamstrings stretched. And when he pushed back in, you scrambled at his back, drawing harsh lines down his skin at the feeling of him reaching a new depth.

“Feel so good,” he mumbled, words broken as they spilled from his lips. “Y/N, god, so good.” His hands fisted in the sheets and you dug your nails into his shoulders when he swiveled his hips slightly, brushing every inch of you. When you squeezed him, his head tipped back, exposing his neck and you leaned up, ignoring the burn in your hamstring, and licked up his throat. He rasped your name as you pulled at the skin at the juncture of his shoulder and neck, making a mark of your own for him to enjoy later.

You fell back down and slipped your leg from its spot on his shoulder, and pulled him close to you, wanting to kiss him again. His lips seemed to be your new obsession, wanting nothing more than to be touching them constantly. He didn’t seem to have a problem with it, slotting your lips between his and kissing you fiercely as he pistoned in and out of you.

There were going to be bruises on your inner thighs, you were sure of it. You would be feeling the impact of his hips on your thighs for days, every time you sat down the muscles would ache and you would remember this—him moving in and out of you and panting in your ear, mumbling about how good you felt around him, how gorgeous you were, how much he loved fucking you. The prospect of feeling him for days was one you looked forward to.

When he gave a particularly deep thrust you moved up on the sheets, grabbing hold of his neck to hold yourself steady, and he moaned. You peeked down at him and as he moved back in, you asked, “Did you like that?”

“Yeah,” he replied, a broken confirmation. “Again, please.”

You’d never really done this before, so you decided to be careful with him, just a bit of pressure using your fingers. With four fingers on one side of his neck and your thumb on the other, halfway down his neck, you pressed down on his skin when he drove back into you and his eyes fluttered shut at the feeling. The heel of your palm rested on the hollow of his neck as your fingers squeezed on either side of his neck, watching in rapture as he fucked into you harder and leaned into your touch. Slowly, you loosened and then tightened your grip, changing it up to make sure he was getting enough air.

“Is that good?” You asked, trying to focus as he drove harshly into you, the sound of his hips slapping your skin filling the room. He bobbed his head and pressed into your palm, so you squeezed your fingers again, wanting to give him what he asked for.

“I’m close,” he said, voice husky.

“Me too,” you answered, kicking your heels higher around his waist and pressing up into him so he reached even deeper inside of you. You could feel that same high building inside of you, an intensity waiting on the brink as he pressed into you, your fingers pressing into his throat again and again.

Then he pulled away slightly, rising up so his arms were fully extended and you couldn’t quite choke him anymore, so your hand fell to his bicep, squeezing at his skin as he somehow moved both faster and deeper inside of you. His hands dug into the sheets and he drove in and out of you at a pace unmatched, your head falling back to the mattress. You were panting, eyes glued to the sight of his necklace swinging back and forth as he moved, the tension in his muscles and the sheen of sweat covering his skin. He was utterly, breathtakingly beautiful.

You couldn’t take it anymore, and reached down between you two, rubbing your fingers over your clit because you were just seconds from the edge and you needed it. Harry’s eyes took in the sight in awe, and his jaw dropped slightly, a curse ripping through his throat as you clenched around him and threw back your head, a deep moan falling through the air. You were squirming underneath him, Harry’s hands having to hold onto your torso to keep you steady as he thrusted into you, finishing himself off as you came, tightening around him. His name left your lips in a beg and he picked up your hand, bringing it back to his throat.

With a tight squeeze, your fingers wrapped around his throat like before, he bucked into you once more and then was practically growling as he emptied himself into the condom, body shaking against you. You unwrapped your hand from his neck and ran your fingers through his hair, before pulling him down to your chest, wanting him close as he pulled out of you. “Holy shit,” he mumbled into your shoulder, and you laughed softly.

“You ever had someone choke you before?” You asked, brushing your fingers up and down his spine as he settled.

“No,” he said, his lips puckering against your throat, light kisses to your skin. “Kind of liked it, though.”

“Kind of?” You squeezed his butt cheek in jest, and he squeaked against you, making you fully laugh, body rumbling against him. “You literally picked up my hand and put it there.”

He tucked his face deeper into your neck and you could tell he was embarrassed. “Okay fine, I really liked it.”

You hummed and pressed a kiss to his shoulder. “I did too. It was my first time doing that.”

“Yeah?” He picked up his head and propped it up on his palm, looking at you. “Was it okay?”

Pushing back the hair from his forehead, you nodded. “I thought it was really hot.”

A smile quirked up on his lips. “You mean you think I’m really hot.”

You whacked his shoulder and he feigned pain, jaw dropping slightly. “Stop fishing for compliments.” He rolled his eyes at you, but moved off of your body, sitting on the edge of the bed and pulling off the condom, tying the end and tossing it in the trash. Red marks covered his back from your nails and you ran your hand over them, watching as he shivered from the sensitivity. “If anyone sees your back they’re going to think you got fucking mauled by a bear.”

He turned his head and raised his eyebrow at you. “A bear, huh? I thought it was just this really hot girl.”

“Good to know you think I’m hot too.” He laughed and turned fully around, crawling back into bed with you.

The sheets were sweaty but you didn’t mind, you just wanted to be close to him. He laid down on his back and pulled you in, your leg draping over his and your breasts pushing up against his side. Your head rested on his shoulder and you let out a breath, relaxing into his hold.

After you’d been lying there for a few minutes, he cleared his throat and you looked up at him. “You know,” he said, “I don’t know if this was obvious, but I really like you.”

His ring-clad fingers trailed up your back, drawing circles against your skin. You considered his words, rolling them over in your head, and considered your own feelings. Where did you stand? You knew you liked him based on how you felt around him, this just constant desire to have his hands on you. The way you could joke around with him and the banter between you made you feel at ease, a kind of comfort with him that you hadn’t found with anyone else. He was gorgeous and kind and a bit of an idiot, but you found it endearing. You also, admittedly, loved how obsessed he was with you. “I like you too,” you replied, turning your head so you could fully look at him, your chin resting on his chest.

He looked down at you, sliding his forearm under his head. “Yeah?”

“Mhm,” you hummed, kissing the skin nearest to you. “Really like you, even.”

“Well thank god,” he said, pinching your skin slightly. “It would’ve been really awkward if you didn’t.”

“Why is that?”

He smiled at you. “I might’ve introduced myself as your boyfriend to your doorman.”

You rolled your eyes at him and pushed up, moving so you could hover over him fully, hands on either side of his head. “Does this mean I have to go to all of your formals and shit with you?”

“Obviously,” he replied, pushing a strand of your hair behind your ear. “And my drinks at 260 are going to be free.” You huffed at his request for you to make all his drinks at the bar you worked at to be free, but Harry was having none of it. “Come on, baby, I’ll come to every one of your shifts.”

“Fine,” you answered, sliding your knees up his sides so you could sit squarely over the laurels on his pelvis. “But you have to bring me a snack.”

“Oh,” he said, quirking up his lips in a smirk, “baby I’m a full meal.” You swatted at his chest and he laughed, grabbing your hand and pressing a kiss to your palm, before tugging you back into him. You fell into him with ease, unable to hold up any walls to him anymore. Somehow, he had busted through each one of them and you didn’t want to rebuild them. Having him wrapped up in your heart was perfectly fine with you, you thought to yourself when he kissed the top of your head and asked if you wanted pancakes.

Yeah, you decided, you could get used to this.

fill my inbox with your favorite moments, lines, things you’re having ~feels~ about, or other concepts you’re dreaming up for bartender!y/n!!!!

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kanene-yaaay · 3 years

Text

Tickle me, princey

Kanene’s note: This fic is basically: Virgil is a bratty Lee, Roman is a competitive Ler and none of them are going down without a fight xDD.

Warnings, fun facts, random things and stuff:

* Lee!Virgil and Ler!Roman (Kind of. Because there is almost no tickles here, just teasing). Human AU.

* Hmmm… This is a Tickle-Fanfic! If you don’t like this kind of stuff, please look for another blog, there are plenty of amazing art in this site!! ‘u’).

* This have about 2.500 words of Roman and Virgil just being teasy beans. ‘w’)b.

* PLEASE CHECK THIS AMAZING ART! IT’S INCREDIBLEE! <33

* Sorry for any spelling, pontuation and grammar mistakes! I didn’t proofread that one very well, so I will probably be correcting a few things later. Any advice is always very, very welcome!

* A versão em português brasileiro irá ser escrita, ainda. Eu espero! Thankys for reading, my lollipops! Do something crazy today, take a good rest, be kind (especially with yourself) and drink water! Byeioo!~

[~*~]

Roman cleaned his hands on his jeans before stretching his back and sighing in relief when a small ‘pop’ came from it. The pal from the nearby library was a cool person – not that he would ever allow the other to hear this, because, damn, people who called Roman cocky definitely haven’t met them yet – but equally precise in get on his nerves with as few words as possible, even though the florist didn’t care that much as his dramatics discourses tried to convince everyone he did.

Besides that, they was Patton’s friend and even more important, they made an accord with the Flower Shop’s owner and Roman was the one in charge to deliver their biweekly floral arrangement to the library’s decór. However, today Roman managed to win their discussion and therefore a couple of podcast episodes read by them (What? Their voice was quite nice!!).

Roman ignored the small ring of the door’s bell as he entered the Flower Shop, looking around to be sure there was no clients before taking his position behind the balcony, internally thanking how chill Patton was with his employees using phone during the shift as long there wasn’t no one near, especially as he unlocked his screen and a new notification popped in front of him.

Butterflies went immediately crazy on his stomach.

[Message from Panic! At Everywhere]

[P: Hey. So, are you still ok?]

Virgil kicked his blanket out of his bed, already feeling a tad of giddiness spread across his body, a small smirk finding its way to his face without him even realizing. Today was the day. Since when he and Roman talked on the last week about boundaries to be sure nothing had changed and decided Saturday as a good day for their session the one with purple hair couldn’t help but let his thoughts wander, picturing and re-picturing what would happen, even though Roman always insisted to never tell him his plans, wanting to keep everything as a surprise, which definitely didn’t help at all the excitement running on his veins.

Their session.

Their tickle session. It was only eleven in the morning and Virgil could already feel his skin tingle just by imagine Roman’s fingers grazing, dancing on it, carefully looking for all his weak spots both knew so well before coming with an entire new technique that would make the other (almost, barely, hardly) want to jump out of his skin so he could escape from the maddening tickly sensation.

He was going to love it.

Also, it didn’t help that he spent the previous night and its following morning consuming all his favorite tickle content, dying on the spot (and on the reblogs) and skyrocketing his lee mood to the mountains.

Nevertheless, he tried to play nonchalant as answered the other’s new message.

[Message from Dumb(o)]

[D: Yes.]

[P: Cool.]

[D: You?]

[P: Yep.]

[D: Glad to know, Blushy Bug. Try to not alarm all of our neighborhood with your squeals and giggles before I get there, okay? ~

D: And yeah, plu-e-ase, continue with your so delightful tags on your reblogs, okay, Tickle me Emo? I’m learning so much new information with that. If only I would have an opportunity to use all of them today…]

Virgil snorted, one hand trying to hide his face as he attempted with all his might to ignore the flames taking over his cheeks as the teases sank and the memories from the day he conquered this nickname emerged from the deeps of his mind. So, Princey was already so over his head with being the ler this time? Thinking Virgil would be hiding his face on the pillow, squeaking and tittering helpless? Well, he would have a big storm coming, then.

Virgil got up, his footsteps leading him to the clean desk in the room, moving some of the objects so carefully chosen in order to get the perfect picture. Every single makeup brush lined, gleaming under the lens of his camera, away enough so the viewer would be able to realize all their individualities but close enough to create an impact.

Two can play this game.

[Panic! At Everywhere sent an image]

Roman clicked on it, eyes going immediately wide as he quickly slammed the cellphone’s screen on his red apron, his gaze running from a place to another to be sure no one was near or had seen the conversation or noticed the way his smile went from an ear to another.

[P: Nah. I’m too occupied choosing the perfect tools for today… I mean, there are just so many options, ya know? I especially prefer the smallest ones, their bristles softly running on my ribs, tracing their way across my tummy to get to the other side… yeah. That is the good stuff. Or maybe we could be experimenting the biggest ones today, letting them tease that spot right under my chin, the softness engulfing all the nerves… ]

Roman took a deep breath, realizing the other still typing.

[P: Anyway, don’t make a big deal of this, ‘kay? I know your imagination can be very fertile but try to not alert Patton with all your blush and twitching. You know he is a curious guy and will want to know why you’re so smiley. ;)]

“Pai amado, (Dear God) he is going to kill me.” Roman crossed his arms, using all his will to no start wiggling them to nothing, a sudden urge to sing some nursery rhymes making him begin to humming quietly as attempted to gather enough concentration to type a proper, cool reply.

[D: Is that so? So, the big, badass Virgil Storm is excited to get all his tickly-tickle-tickles today? Is he excited to become a so helpless, so adorable mess of giggles and squeaks? To be teased and tickled until he can do nothing but give me those lovely snorts and wiggly-wiggles? ~

Awww. So cute. ~]

[P: Yeah, I am. So what? Wanna do something about that, Sir Sing a Lot?

Ops, I forgot you’re at work rn. Tsc. Such a pity. Well, guess I will have to kill some time by looking at your precious collection of feathers, see if I find something interesting there.]

[D: You just wait for when I get home.]

[P: :)]

Virgil laid his phone at his side, hiding his face on the mattress, kicking just like he was some teenager in love from those generic movies. The squeals bubbled out from his lips, smiles blooming. He knew he probably was just digging his own grave, but, ha, as if he would fall without a fight. Plus, imagining Roman trying at every cost to keep a straight expression while reading his texts and then struggling to continue his work just as if nothing had happened, with that cute, excited smile planted on his face made a proud wave of power – and joy - hit him and that was a bonus which was worth it.

Then his phone vibrated, indicating a new notification and a new flood of shivers as he unlocked his screen, freezing for a couple of heartbeats with the length of the message.

[D: A poem for my dear Knightmare. ~

Once upon a time

There was a wiggley-wiggly lee

That just a few pokes

Made him giggle with glee

Some scribbles here

Some scratches there

You can tickle-tickle

He is ticklish everywhere!

What, you don’t believe me?

‘That much cute he can’t be!’

Well, then allow me to demonstrate

All the beautiful sounds he can create!

Give a few prodding on his ribs

And a quick digging on his hips

Some brushes on his toesies and feet

And don’t forget about these helpless pits!

(And hey, psst, if you squeeze his sides

The cutie, squeaky, wiggly lee,

Will be squealing in a happy delight)

This neck is also asking for tickly-kisses

He always denies, always desire

Add to that some teasy whispers

And watch his cheeks be set on fire!

Once upon a time

There was a bratty, smug lee

That just a few tickle teases

Can make him a blushy mess

Just like now, you see!]

[…]

“Have a nice day. Thank you for coming!”

Roman waved to the client who got out from the Flower Shop, taming the smugness which threatened to take over his features as he realized that even though an hour had passed, no answer to his last text had arrived yet. He was perfectly aware of how weak Virgil was for any sort of rhymed tease and a whole poem – not his best, he had to admit – dedicated to him? He could almost see the other shrieking, hiding his red face on the pillow, lost in a mess of quiet peals of laughter and curses. His smile got even bigger, swelled in pride. And, well, if he couldn’t help it but push his luck a few inches further, his fingers already halfway to typing a small, itsy bitsy, new tease to his favorite emo lee, how could someone really blame him?

[D: Oh, sorry. Did I make the scary Virgil too much flustered to talk? Awww, I will miss your sassy remarks deeply and sing a ballad in your honor at the funeral. ~]

He snorted at the amount of time the symbol of ‘typing’ appeared and disappeared on the conversation, using the ten minutes he took to be answered to organize a few sales signs on the glass in front of the store, gaining a dance on his step as the one-worded sentence shone on his phone.

[P: Bitch.]

[D: I have no idea of what you’re talking about. Is that something I said? I feel wounded.]

But a new thing popped up.

[Panic! At Everywhere sent a video]

[P: :)]

It seemed like hours passed, even if he knew the downloading probably didn’t really take more than a few pieces of minute for him to hit the play.

The focus of the camera took a few seconds to adjust, the image trembling and shaking before going still, the crystal clear form of a small light brown, slightly spiked feather twirling between Virgil’s index and thumb locking his eyes on the screen. A quick, quiet sigh could be heard before the tickle tool descended to the palm extended on a desk, stopping by Virgil’s pulse.

The bristles grazed the skin there as the feather began to move on slow strokes, going from the left to the right, left and right, left and right… calmly making its way up, changing to small swirls as it contorted the form of the hand, giving to each finger a light tracing before concentrating on the palm, drawing a spiral which approximated inch by inch to the center. If Roman wasn’t so quiet, - even holding his breath, - maybe he wouldn’t be able to listen the incredibly low, contained huffs of laughter on the background, a soft snort escaping and making both hands tremble as the bristles hit the center of his hand, dancing around the spot for a bit.

When it stopped, the tool was placed on the desk and then the camera started to move, stopping on Roman’s so very well-known golden with silver details box. Its lid laid next to it, letting its entire content to be proudly shown. The explosion of colors from the most diverse large, small, pointy, fluffy feathers took over the frame, however, a tiny piece of paper placed on the exact center of them was what captured his attention. The lens zoomed and focused, making him able to read the quick message written there.

“:)”

And then the screen went black. The video was over.

Roman could feel his face being almost split in half by his grin, his fingers hitting the table top in complete frenzy since they hadn’t to hold the device anymore, curling and uncurling as the one who couldn’t just stay still started to bounce his right leg, ignoring the redness he felt crippling down his neck.

“Roman?”

He fully shrieked. Both him and Patton startled and jumped a few centimeters in the air with the sudden sound. The florist slapping his own hand on his mouth, trying with all his inner strength to stop the bubbly giggles which flooded non stop from his lips

“Sorry for the scare, kiddo,” the shine on his eyes free of any guilt as Patton bit his own knuckles proved the contrary, especially when the rest of an awed squeal escaped from his lips, only making the other to giggle harder, eyes closed, blush deepening and nose scrunched. “Aww, your giggles are so cute!”

“Shuhuhush!!” The Flower Shop owner just smiled fondly, withholding his comments and patiently waiting for the other to recompose himself. When Roman looked at least a tad calmer he decided to make his decision to talk to him clear.

“I’m glad you’re in a good mood, Ro! I just wanted to remember today’s shift is already over. I need a bit of time to organize everything before the painter comes so we can discuss the new design of the Flower Shop. Thank you so much for the ideas, by the way! I can’t wait for you all to see the result! It will be so pretty!!” Roman’s wide eyes were enough of an explanation of why he wasn’t ready to go yet, probably having forgotten about their last month conversation. Although, the surprised look was away in an instant, a shine taking over his glare before he softened, locking his eyes with Patton.

“Of course, it will be, Patty-cake! With my magnificent ideas and your good taste, I really don’t think any other result besides wonderful and perfection will be possible!” He squeezed Patton’s cheeks and his friend stuck out his tongue at him, winning a quick poke on his ribs that made him squirms and yelp, quickly tittering and waving the other with his hands.

“Now shoo-shoo, go enjoy your afternoon!”

A devious smirk gleamed on Roman’s expression for a second. “You can count on it, Padre.” But then it was gone as quickly as it appeared. “Thank you, my mighty hero in a shiny armor! May the universe let our destiny align again in the future.”

“See ya, kiddo!” He replied, his tune also full of joy, watching the one with red hair going away, a happy bounce on his steps.

[…]

Virgil picked the phone in the first ring. “Roman, something happened?”

“Nope,” the purple lover sighed in relief, all the tension getting out of his body and being replaced by confusion, “nothing happened except that a handsome, incredible someone got out from his work earlier than expected and might be heading his home by now.”

That made Virgil shot up, biting his lower lip, butterflies freaking out. “No.” It was his whisper.

“Oh, yes. ~” Roman practically purred on the speaker. “any last words, my dear, defenseless Giggly Storm?”

Virgil just giggled and Roman had almost forgotten how that sound only was enough to spread an explosion of a warm, good feeling on his chest. “Aw, and here I was thinking I would have at least some challenge today. ~” He continued to tease.

Silence.

“Go check your messages, Princeypie.”

And then he hung up. Roman fondly rolled his eyes, running to check the new notification on their conversation.

[Panic! At Everywhere sent a photo]

It was Virgil, sitting on his bed criss crossed, one elbow resting on his thigh as he took the picture on the body mirror on the other side of the room, a strong blush very visible on his face half hidden by the device, wearing a short and Roman’s red crop top. A new message popped right under the photo.

[P: Get your butt here and tickle me, Sir Sing a Lot.’]

This emo was going to be the death of him.

[D: Aww, I don’t even get a smile?]

[P: You gotta work for those, Princey.]

Virgil definitely did not jump nor yelp as he heard the low, dangerous tune of an “evil” laughter echoes in the house coming from the living room, the sound of the front door being closed making his flight instincts kick in.

“Oh, don’t worry.” Virgil was already halfway to the most far away room where he could escape, trying to keep his reputation as he heard another set of footsteps quickly getting ground and following right behind him. Laughter and squeaks mixed in the air.

“Because I will.” Roman answered.

#Very teasy #Teases #Lee!Virgil #Ler!Roman #Virgil is a brat and Roman is one as well #Ticklish!Virgil #Sanders Sides tickles #Sanders Sides tickling #Kanene's Fanfic #Kanene's Art #Kanene's fic #Brief self tickles #Feathers #blushy bois #Writing this kind of fic is very fun and sdfghertcvgbhn kind of silly as well #Virgil: Tickle me// Roman: Okay// Virgil: *NYOOOM*#I still don't know how to tag this dfghjsdfghdcf #I feel like my writing is a bit weird nowdays but yeah I'm still proud of this!

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randomoranges · 3 years

Text

the majority of the first part of this fic is based on a real thing that happened to me and my students yesterday

i applaud their ease at which all of this happened.

The Kids are All Right

“M Édouard, est-ce que tu veux jouer avec nous?”

It’s Friday afternoon and the first nice day of the week. The weather has been miserable, but luckily, he didn’t have to deal with indoor recess this time around. The group finishes in English class and he’s quite honestly killing time before he can leave them with their English teacher. He could have planned something exciting and fun, or ploughed on with another lesson, but he’s exhausted and doesn’t want to fight them. They’ve been – more rambunctious than usual these past two weeks and he’s been snappier with them than usual. He wonders if it’s the new seating arrangement or the coming of spring, but he’s counting down the days to the end of the school year and murmuring it like a mantra to himself on various occasions throughout the day.

Still. Moments like these bring the smallest of smiles to his face.

He likes to watch the kids play during recess, when he’s not aimlessly walking, and daydreaming about any other job he could have taken that wouldn’t be so taxing. This afternoon is one of those occasions. Most of the boys are on one end of the playground, playing a rather intense game of soccer, while the majority of the girls have been playing some invented game with a jump rope. The others are spread around; some are playing pear ball, others are sitting in clusters, but it’s nice to see that all the kids are hanging out with another kid and that no one is alone.

He figures he can play with the girls this time around.

Every now and again, he plays with the kids – when they ask him to, obviously and it’s a free bonding moment with them. He’s played some intense soccer and basket ball games, has played every version of tag and other such games, has learned to be decent at pear ball and he’s even been known to play hopscotch and jump rope. The kids love it. He also loves it.

He nods and his student excitedly yells out “M Édouard va jouer!” which is greeted by loud cheers by the other girls. He gets a quick run through of the game; the person in the middle makes the jump rope go round, the others are gathered in a circle around it and they need to jump when the rope gets close to them. If the rope touches them, they need to tell a truth about themselves. Easy enough, really. He’s encountered multiple versions of this same game over the years.

He offers to be the spinner, since the student who’d been doing it before had been struggling with the rope and the kids are delighted to let him have a go about it.

The girls show no mercy when one of them gets touched by the rope and the questions they ask are harmless in nature; do you have a crush on anyone, what’s the most embarrassing thing you ever did, which of your siblings is your favourite, and so on. He politely reminds them that they’re not obliged to answer a question if they feel uncomfortable, and overall, everyone seems to have fun.

On the fifth or sixth turn, the rope stops at a different student and the other girls flock around her chanting “Vé-ri-té! Vé-ri-té!” He joins them in, clapping his hands to the rhythm of the words and finally she gets them to stop as she thinks up of a truth to tell them, or be placed at the mercy of the counsel of questions.

Finally, she graces them all with her truth, as the others wait with baited breaths, “Chuis bi,” She says easy as all else and the rest of the girls roll their eyes, laugh, and groan, complaining about how they all already knew.

He’s – surprised by this. By the ease of the way she’s said her truth, but also by how not a big deal it seemed to be. He wonders, briefly, if it has anything to do with the talk he’s had with them earlier that week – about gender and sexual identities and such. Still, he marvels at the situation and it takes him a moment to recover, thinking of his own childhood and how long it had taken him to come to terms with his own sexuality. The fear he’d had. The anxiety it had produced. (And the relief, afterwards, when his parents hadn’t booted him out of their home.)

“Merci de nous avoir partager ça,” He says, because even if his fifth graders might not understand the full scope of it, he still wants them to feel that he accepts them as they are. He reminds them that they don’t have to share everything with him – or the others, but that if they do, he appreciates it and that he is someone they can come to and trust.

Then, within the same breath, before they can start the game again, another one of the girls admits to being bi as well. Again, the rest of the girls react much of the same way; they laugh, they say they already knew, and they move on and it flummoxes him. He thinks back to being eleven himself and never in his wildest dreams would he have felt such ease in admitting something.

Edward briefly wonders if maybe, just maybe, it has to do with the fact that they are girls and not boys. He knows it’s not the best way to think about it, but he feels that girls might have it just a little bit easier – with each other and their friend circle, whereas the boys – especially his boys this year, are still very much immature and very centered on the idea of being a Real Man (whatever the hell that’s supposed to mean.)

Or maybe these students are just more open and more aware of themselves. It’s a better thought to have. He knows the discourse has changed, even if it isn’t perfect. There are now queer characters in media and literature that were very much absent in his day and age. Celebrities – young celebrities just a little older than his kids are using social media platforms to talk of their own experiences and doing their own coming outs and maybe that’s also helped make these terms less loaded.

There has to be some good out of it, after all. It can’t all be about cyber bullying and fraud.

Still, he makes it a point to remind them that they don’t have to “come out” to everyone just because and that it’s okay if they don’t want to tell people. They don’t own it to no one. They nod along and humour him and he wants to sit them down and tell them that no, he’s serious and that sometimes it’s not this easy. He should know. But – maybe it is this easy for them. Maybe it has become this easy for the new generation despite what he still hears on the news. Maybe, thanks to the new generation, different orientations will finally no longer be some big taboo and the world can be a better place.

Maybe he’s still dreaming, but – it’s a nice hope to have. If anything, he can hope and appreciate that these two students seem to be very comfortable with themselves and for that, he’s happy. If they can have an easy ride of it, why the hell not.

He leaves it at that and the game runs its course for a while longer, until recess comes to its end.

“M Édouard, dites-nous une vérité!” One of the girls asks as they line up to go back inside. He laughs and stalls for a moment. Some part of him wants to share as well – tell them through his truth that they are not alone and that he’s gay. It would be easy, really, and he’d be an ally to them, or something – he’s not sure, but he likes that it’s not some convoluted over-thought process like most of all the other times he’s come out in his life. Thinking back to how casual the others were with their friends telling them, he figures they wouldn’t turn on him. They’d be surprised, probably, but – it’d be fine – he hopes.

He opens his mouth to say it – to casually let them know that he’s gay, but then the words falter and die at the back of his throat; shrivel up as bile forms instead. He chokes over them and that same old fear creeps back in. He sighs, frustrated with himself. It’s not that the kids need to know, but part of him yearns to share and to show them that it’s okay to be like this – that they can lead successful lives while being themselves. Yet, even if these students would be okay with it, he fears they’d share the news and spread it – that it would then reach the ears of someone else, who would tell their parents, who would get upset, who would tell the school and ultimately, that he’d get fired and dragged through the mud.

He doesn’t have the energy for that. Not now. And the fear ices his veins and suddenly, the pleasant mood from before is gone.

The kids look at him, waiting for an answer.

“Quand j’étais jeune, j’voulais être un astronaute.”

It’s not a lie, but it feels like he’s just done them a great disservice. They don’t realise it and some other kid pipes up saying they too wanted to be an astronaut when they were seven, while another rattles off the name of a few astronauts they know. The moment passes, the kids move on to the next thing as they file back in and Edward breathes a little easier, even though the disappointment weighs him down. This could have been a great teaching moment and he’d let it slip through his fingers.

He trickles in after them and tries not to over think it too much. After all, hadn’t he just reminded his students that they don’t have to tell other people about their sexual orientation if they didn’t want to? The same should apply to him, even if...

Instead, he focuses on the fact that two of his students felt comfortable telling him, even if maybe they were only kidding and even if they went back on it at some later point. It doesn’t matter. What matters is that they didn’t feel the need to keep this truth about themselves hidden. That they felt zero shame and malaise sharing. That their friends welcomed them. If anything, it was refreshing to see. Hopeful at its fullest. It’s good to know that maybe the discourse has changed, after all and maybe, with time, he’ll come to terms with his own fears as well. He’s got to keep hope, if not for himself, but for them and maybe, with time, he can learn something from them along the way.

(There will come a time, later, a few years down the road, during the last leg of his career. The context will be similar; recess, a Friday afternoon and the girls will be playing some other iteration of a truth game. They’ll ask him to play and he’ll agree, for a lack of something better to do and a never-ending need to bond with his kids in whichever way they want him to.

It’ll be great fun. The kids will share truths about themselves that’ll range from heartfelt to funny and he’ll appreciate every single one of them. Eventually, as the kids are often known to do, they’ll turn on him and ask for a truth in return. Eventually, he’ll abdicate and confess to his own.

“Je suis gai,” He’ll tell them, easy and simple as that, with a teasing grin to his face. They’ll roll his eyes at him, complaining all the while that they already know and that they want something new – a real truth. He’ll get them to settle and they’ll wait patiently, thirsting for a new truth about their teacher, “M Étienne et moi on est ensemble,” He’ll tell them next, laughing as they groan because it’s old news. They’ve known for ages – some since first grade. It’s the oldest news in the whole of the school. Hell, some have known since before since they had older siblings who brought the news home even before that.

But Edward will laugh, pick up the game from where it left off and resume it. He’ll share the truth because it is one of his favourites. He’ll share it because, finally, after so long, he feels comfortable doing so. But mostly, he’ll share it for the kids. To let them know. To remind them, really, that it is okay to be this way and that even when they have doubts and even if it sometimes feels as though they have no one cheering for them, they’ll always have him.)

FIN

#pc: edmonton #edward murphy #au #fic #teacher au

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isazulabaeorwhat · 4 years

Note

Spill the tea, what's the deal with you and the BSG group (avatar-chang and her squad in particular)?

Ok anon, sorry for taking so long! I wanted to get everything right and honestly collecting the posts took a longass time xD

Anyways, the only ones I have a problem there are avatar-chang, hexful/dykesia/bizukos, catrademption, cardboardseagulls (never seen interacted b4) and bizulas (also never interacted b4).

I’m going to be really transparent about this whole thing so it’s gonna be long as there’s gonna be several links and I’ve included the dates so it’ll be easier to understand. Since I’ll be fully transparent about this, i’ll probably get hate or whatever. Honestly, I just want to put everything out there without being biased or hiding anything. I’m going to disclose everything here.

So, the whole thing between me and avatar-chang started off with this post I made last year on 10 March 2019. Afterwards, she PMed me on the same day and this was the conversation:

After that, I thought the argument was over because she blocked me lmao. The only ones I spoke to about this was nbw and my real life friends (who had nothing to do with ATLA lmao I just ranted to them).

And then the next incident I think was on 16 March 2019 when I made this post about Azula’s abuse of her friends. I was new and 16. I genuinely wanted to know why people labeled Azula as an abuser. It was dykesia who responded to me at the time.

Now, unlike avatar-chang, I had a few conversations with dykesia (who was bizukos then) that was generally civil. I first interacted with her when she made a post calling out Zucest shippers or something?? I was very new. Like fresh newbie baby ATLA tumblr fan new lmao so I thought what she said was too aggressive. I didn’t realize that there were actual Zucest shippers until after some time. And then she PMed me on 13 March 2019, saying that she doesn’t always agree on characters with me but I do write some interesting pieces on Azula— that she’s a huge fan of Azula but she just tends to stay away from her fandom. I apologized about the previous incident of the Zucest thing and it was fine after then. We talked about zuko, the fandom, the comics, Mai etc etc. I thought we were on fine terms.

And then I made a post about the cliff scene in the comics on 16 March 2019. Avatar-Chang made a post that was pretty directed at the post but it seems like she’s deleted it.

On 17 March 2019, I received an anon mail telling me that avatar-chang was talking shit about me behind my back. I censored her name then because I didn’t want to believe without any evidence. No one sent me any screenshots about it so I just dismissed it.

On the same day, avatar-chang answered an anon and talked about the 13 child post theory I made on 9 March.

On 23 April 2019, I received another anon mail about avatar-chang, asking if I’d seen the post she made about Azula. I censored her name again cuz I didn’t want to start any shit over having differing opinions. I’m assuming this is the post the anon was referring to.

On 28 April 2019, dykesia/hexful/bizukos PMed me to ask if I was talking shit about other people behind their backs, and her. I denied this because I hadn’t. This was how the conversation went:

Yes, I didn’t censor any name because as I said, full transparency. I have afp blocked because we’ve clashed several times and he’d still come for my posts last year despite already being blocked. If you’ve followed me long enough, you probably would’ve rmbered that time lmao

Anyways during then, I don’t think I realized that dykesia was actually being passive aggressive. It’d been barely a year since I started the blog and I just didn’t want to full out make enemies. Reading the messages now tho lmao she really was passive aggressive. But yeah then she said this in bsg so I don’t even know why she bothered to ask me if she wasn’t even going to consider believing me.

The 9th of June 2019 was the last time she messaged and it was to ask if I mind her discoursing this Zuko post while ‘hard and drunk’. It was the first time she could apparently agree with me so it was I quote a ‘Yay??’. Afterwards I don’t know when she did it but she blocked me lmao

On 17 July 2019, I received another anon mail telling me that avatar-chang publicly called me a bitch when she was answering an anon about me posting the scans of the EK Chronicles. She mentioned this in bsg again on 19 April 2020 lmao (she’s that petty) it seems:

On November 8 2019, an anon (one of avatar-chang’s friends actually) asked about my thoughts towards the allegations against Aaron Ehasz. I still believe in the system of ‘Innocent before proven guilty’, so I didn’t side with anyone. I tried to be as objective as possible. When I said that I hoped men would also come forward, I said that because I don’t want men to just sit on the sidelines and let the women get the heat if they were telling the truth. At the end of this whole thing, I concluded that Ehasz was a dick of a boss to the girls. Being called an abuser carries more weight than just being a dick. Everyone has been a dick at one point, but being an abuser is something else. Just because Ehasz was a dick doesn’t mean I’m going to stop watching TDP or dismiss his involvement in ATLA.

The next day, BSG brought the issue up despite both avatar-chang having already blocked me by then lmao

On 5 February 2020, after Legacy of the Fire Nation came out, I made a post calling out Iroh’s bs to Azula (guy literally blames Azula for everything that happened to Zuko (something which avatar-chang agrees with apparently, and Iroh even sees Ozai in a better light).

That’s so far what I’ve remembered that involved avatar-chang and dykesia.

Moving on to the next three attackers: catrademption, cardboardseagulls and bizulas.

I’ve seen catrademption around, but I don’t remember if we’ve clashed before. We must have though cuz she’s got me blocked lmao and I mostly only debate back to people when they reply to my posts. For cardboardseagulls and bizulas, I don’t think I’ve ever seen them them before but obviously they’ve seen my blog and misinterpreted everything I’ve written.

But according to them, I’m apparently a Azula apologist, extremist, irrational, toxic, coddles and woobifies Azula, justifies everything she does and invalidates abuse victims.

You can see the posts I’ve made to judge whether I actually am an irrational Azula apologist who blames everything on Zuko. One of the most recent posts I made about Azula’s character is this, and there’s still several more posts like that. Just search #meta or #analysis in my blog search and all of them will just pop up. I can assure you, I have never acted as if Azula has done nothing wrong or did everything right or whatever lies these people are spewing.

If anyone has proof that I’ve talked shit about people in the fandom to other people before, please, present your evidence. I highly think this is impossible because I actually don’t have many friends on Tumblr, nor do I usually initiate conversation because I’m awkward af.

I’ve also tried approaching those I recognized in bsg to find out more about the situation (and at least give my side of the story). Most of them have chosen not to speak to me LMAO but one of them who’s chosen to remain anonymous for their privacy, admitted that dykesia (hexful) forced them to block a blog before (after realizing they were interacting with said blog) and if not, they would be blocked themselves. I can’t post the conversation publicly because they’re afraid their speech mannerism will give away their identity. @space-sword has also shared his experience with avatar-chang on his blog and was pressured to cut off ties with ppb21 just to join the oh so magnificent Ba Sing Gay.

There’s absolutely no reason to judge someone based on their sexual orientation, race, color or age either. They rant about being discriminated against or being generalized or stereotypes but they’re the ones hypocritically committing these actions, and then justify their actions by saying ‘we’re oppressed, they’re not, so it’s not racism or discrimination’. And yet people still wonder why discrimination is still rampant LMAO

I can’t speak for the blogs they victimized in bsg, but I personally don’t agree with talking shit about them on a public server and then criminalizing them as if they’re actually predators. I also don’t agree with involving the blogs’ friends simply because of their association. I also don’t agree with demanding people to block blogs they don’t like because that’s just pure manipulation. That’s wrong and marginalizing people. Unless someone has actually been harassing or literally preying on people, then there’s no reason to actually go around warning blogs about them unless they’re asked about it.

If they feel uncomfortable about something? Then avoid that blog, filter their tags or even block that blog if they’re that uncomfortable—BUT they shouldn’t demand others to do the same just for their own benefit. It’s not up to them to decide what a person can or cannot see or who they can or cannot interact with. They’re not their parents, and they obviously have no right to pressure people into doing things they don’t want to. If they think it tactless that I shared the conversations? Oh honestly, a line was crossed when they spread shit about me so idc. If they actually feel terrible for being called out? GOOD. That’s what they should feel, because in no way was any of what they were doing right or justified. If they’re going to shit on me then expect to be burned because I’m not someone who’ll just shrivel in fear because they have a bigger following.

#ba sing gay #bsg

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gilmesc1 · 4 years

Text

Sacrificing my remaining braincells to the void

Ok friends, you requested it, you awaited it, I’ve cleaned out my ears to remove the melted remains of my brain, here we go, we’re doing this, tell my partner I love them. It’s time...for syscourse analysis.

So this is a very bare bones run through of syscourse, it’s as basic as it gets and if need be I’ll focus on components of it after I recover.

So, syscourse is literally the words system+discourse. Bet you guys never saw that coming. 20 seconds into this fucking mess and we already have a major plot twist. And I know what you guys are thinking. A bunch of traumatized people not getting along? Another plot twist!

Jesus I better tone down the sarcasm.

Anyways, what the fuck even has to happen to have syscourse, apparently two types of systems. Yes friends, two types of systems, and I’m not talking DID and OSDD (which are really quite similar).

Our players are traumagenic systems and endogenic systems. Traumagenic systems are systems that formed out of trauma, like DID and OSDD systems. Naturally this plunks me down in the traumagenic catagory, thanks to my big fucking mess of trauma. So we got that down, moving on to endogenic.

So an endogenic system is a system that supposedly split without trauma. No idea where the word endo comes from. Or like, what the fuck endo even means as a word like trauma. (Maybe I want to endo myself after reading a bunch of syscourse? Ok, ok that was bad.)

The biggest issue once you get down to it is who is the Real System tm, and do other systems belong in each other’s tags. This is the part where I’d smoothly bring you all to a good starting point, but *insert deity here* help me, there isn’t one.

Syscourse seems to be older than mankind itself mongrels, because I cannot find where it started and who the tags belonged to first. So for those of you who like to visualize, picture two dogs chasing each other’s tails, running in a circle, and that is syscourse.

So let’s break it down more. I, and I’m sure many others, flocked to tumblr to find others who experience what I do, that being traumagenic system stuff. Again, we have trauma that results in our system’s creation. And that’s all fine and good, sure not everyone gets along with each other but for the most part all us systems are vibing and sharing memes and posts.

Now like I said, to be an endogenic system you are a system without trauma, and to me this is a little confusing. Brains aren’t made to be multiple and I’m the clusterfuck I am because of trauma, but to just magically thanos snap a system into existence? That I have a harder time wrapping my mind around.

There are a lot of examples of endo systems, but the ones I’ll be looking at today are tulpas. What is a tulpa? Well at first I thought it was a ghost thingy that you get by thinking about it, (supernatural anyone?) but now that I look into it, it’s apparently a Tibetan religious practice.

So we have science vs spirituality. This spells disaster already for syscourse.

So to get a better idea of tulpas than I could give you, I’d recommend looking at tumblr posts on tulpas because I’m in sarcasm mode and not really in a position to educate about those. Long story short it’s a thought process where you can essentially create a second being that is similar to an alter, as it exists in a headspace and can switch in.

Now I said headspace and switch in on purpose, because that is where the issue lies. Endos and traumagenics fight about words like that, and who they belonged to first. Can an endo use the words system, fronting, ect when they are scientific words specifically for DID or OSDD, or can traumagenics use the word multiplicity when it supposedly came from tulpamancy?

Side note: Guys do not lecture me on words, I’m trying to give examples, sorry but I don’t have my words for traumagenics dictionary on me rn, that’s in my other hoodie.

The majority of day to day syscourse is endos and traumagenics “infiltrating” each other’s tags and safe spaces, and ruining everyone’s day. From what I have seen, many traumagenics do not want endos to interact with them, and personally I see a few good reasons for this.

1, mental illness is not a trend and DID and OSDD are very very rough to live with. With there currently being a lack of scientific evidence on the existence of tulpas, I understand how it can seem that some are cashing in on the “DID hype” and giving off this romanticized view of being a system.

2. People with DID might be looking for specific DID info, and having to strain through irrelevant topics to them might be heavily stressful.

3. We’re traumatized and random things can set us off. This is the internet and I think everyone is at least a little toxic, and both sides have said shit to each other, but when people get triggered its easy to lose control. Not an excuse, tis merely a fact.

I’ve seen endos post things like “all systems are valid” and it’s a nice sentiment, in my heart of hearts behind my black toxic drama loving one, I’d like it if systems could just get along, but on a topic as complex as mental illness I don’t think that’ll happen.

I’ve seen both sides say things that were really uncalled for, and there’s no right or wrong answer overall in a fight like this. Naturally I’m team traumagenic but as for whether or not I feel like endos are valid or not, jury’s still out on that.

Hear me out, I have heard the theory that endo systems can help deal with trauma despite not being formed by trauma, and I’ve met a few people irl and seen things that confused me. Maybe they were traumagenic systems who didn’t know their trauma, idk.

I really don’t want drama. I’m sure systems on both sides are good people but like I said, the internet is toxic. (btw I love you mutuals, you are all good people)

In my humble opinion syscourse is stupid. I think there definitely should be a discussion about endos and traumagenics, but like can we talk like adults and not be like “WE’RE ALL VALID UWUUUU” with a string of toxicity behind it.

That level of back and forth is dizzying and irritating, and quite honestly I don’t want to deal with it. This is me trying to be neutral and give an overview, but that’s hard as I am traumagenic myself, and I don’t really understand the other side.

That’s why I’m not going to say I reject endos. I need to figure out more for myself and since this does leak into my personal life i want to do it carefully. I’m open to polite discussions, but I really want to keep out of syscourse drama.

Another side note: Something I think that is especially stupid is the amount of outrage over users saying they dni with endos. It’s a choice for that person and it should be respected. Like how I have personal reasons for keeping discussion open, others have personal reason for closing it. That should be respected and not ranted about. There are thousands of tumblrs, find one that isn’t dni and leave those people alone.

Additionally, if any endos do want to talk I’d prefer if you dm me, as I want to keep my blog traumagenic focused, both for my followers and for me, out of respect for those who don’t want any endogenic content and for me so i don’t wear out my three brain cells (I’m accepting name ideas for them)

To end this, I don’t want drama, nothing makes it easier for me to cave to my vices then drama, and syscourse is so freaking tiring that it would be like rolling around like sandpaper to get involved.

So there it is, my useless, sarcastic post on syscourse. Let’s see how many followers I lose, and if need be I can look into more stuff about syscourse since this is an overview.

Again this was supposed to be neutral and not necessarily all of my views, I’ll get more personal on it later maybe, but tbh I’m too fucking tired for that rn. Chronic illness, hell yeah.

Anyways, hope you enjoyed, I’m impressed I wrote it all, have a good day guys, I have to go to a party while feeling like my body is leading a rebellion.

I don’t even like people, why am I going XD

But hey shout out to social distancing, I’m using my personal space bubble and NO ONE can stop me.

Ok, time to give the braincells a rest. See you guys

#DID #OSDD #actuallydid #actuallymultiple #actuallytraumagenic #syscourse #system #actuallydissociative #dissociative identity disorder #alters #didosdd #endogenic system #traumagenic system #tulpas

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lowkeysebastianstan · 5 years

Note

hey there. I totally get your frustration with endgame and the ending. I wasn't happy and I'm not happy how half the fandom tells me/us how we have to look at it. how we have to accept it. how the actors are happy with it and so should we. how the writers/producers - okay, I'm gonna leave them out of this seeing neither of them have any idea what they have done in the first place. after all they disagree on everything in every interview since the release. and isn't that funny? (1/?)

how even they are not on one side with the movie? what I despise most right now when it comes to this movie and this fandom is how we are treated. how we should tag our “hate” - which I think is funny since I didn’t hate the movie entirely. I hated pieces of it, like I did with past movies. I never liked doctor strange and even back then people were allowed to mention how casting cumberbatch for the part wasn’t the smartest idea they had. (2/?)

people want us to be happy with an ending that doesn’t make sense to us and they appreciate and are “allowed” to shove down our throats with their happy posts about a perfect ending. how is taking tony’s life after he finally married pepper and got a daughter is perfect? how is sending steve back to peggy after they did everything in their power to convince us he moved on from his past life…how is that perfect? (3/?)

you can probably tell I’m bitter. I really am. there’s not a day that goes by I’m not frustrated with what we got after ten years and 22 movies. however, I thought to myself what would it give me to cling on to this on my blog. would it change anything? I do know I’m not alone. I see so many people agreeing with this anger and it gives me some sort of peace. at the end of the day, though, it’s also important to see what it gives to you. (4/?)

talking to one of my closest friends about it and voicing my frustration with the end helps me more than keep posting about it. because in the end it won’t change a thing. the longer I surround myself with the frustration and anger and everything that comes with this not being what I had hoped for the more it pushes me from the fandom. of course everyone do as they please and I get people who want to get it out of their system. (5/?)

but maybe sitting down and look at what the constant repeating will give you in the end, realizing where it might end, could help finding some kind of peace for you. I’d hope for you to enjoy the parts of the fandom that still apply to you. I really like your blog and you as a person and I’d hate to see one of my fave people on this site to leave (I lost count, but this is the last)

whew! hi right back, that was quite something.

i feel ive answered this ask before, was that also you?

i mean, yeah. i know im not alone, i do. i see some of it on my dash, but not a lot, since ive had to block every marvel related tag just to keep from indulging in some light murder (just gentle ones, not to worry), and i really cannot fathom why ppl on the other side of the isle can’t do the same? or if you’re getting tired of the negativity? blacklist. or unfollow, block even.

as ive said a few times lately, ive been here 6 years. and this is the first time ive aired my frustration in any noticeable way. sure there’s been a few occasions where i got the salt shaker out, but that was in relation to much more limited subjects, and it was a post or two at the most.

ive been frustrated with previous movies too, but ive kept my trap shut, ive just gone on, kept my queue stocked, giffed the rare set and hid behind pretty solid content, no drama, not personality, no engagement.

and it’s not too bad, to just be anonymous, to look at the pretty, spread the pretty, do the occasional tag rant, and let that be it.

but.

when i came back after a long hiatus last autumn i started writing again. i posted a psa where i apologised for the fact that i would reblog my writing on this blog, i informed what tags i was gonna use, and for the first time i actually checked my follower count before and after. i lost 20 followers the first day. for posting writing. my writing. that was tagged to a ridiculous degree. and i saw a fair few more disappear before the exodus, and idk. i made me realise a thing or two.

one, people like my blog and the content i post

two, they’re only here for that content

three, to have a strictly themed blog will limit you horribly

four, my followers in general don’t give a shit about me, only about the content i post, which fair enough

five, i care about that, even if i don’t care about the follower count as such, i do care that the ones i have actually like me

six, which is completely absurd bc none of them knows me at all, i never show myself

but that was then. this is now. and the last weeks has made me realise the most important thing of all, i dont care any more. why the fuck should i? when my showing any kind of negativity about something that i did care a whole lot about but i no longer have?

endgame might have killed all my enthusiasm for the mcu, and it fucking hurts. it’s been a staple in my life for years, ive invested my time, my creativity, my love and my goddamn money, and ive got jack shit to show for it. i have a blog that i used to love, but is becoming alien to me, and that hurts too. ive invested a lot in this blog too, after i deleted a few of my other blogs a couple of years back, this is by far my biggest one. and im torn tbh.

do i want to leave it? no, i don’t. can i go back? honestly? i doubt it. if my love for the mcu is gone, well so is bucky. and lets be real, a sebastian stan blog with no bucky? i cannot really see it, can you?

but hey. ill make you a deal, all of you. ill ease up on the memes, i won’t stop bc i have a few scheduled, you guys blacklist or unfollow if you dont want to see them, and ill see about sprinkling in some sebastian content if i can find any i deem worth it.

also i don’t have any close irl friends to air my frustrations with, everyone here loved this crap, and that’s not really the discourse im looking for. but im happy for you, it sounds nice :)

hope you’re having a great day!

eta: i won’t leave btw. not unless the porn hub thing comes into fruition. just so you know, and if anyone cares. just sayin.

eta2: also? the fact that i, or we, are complaining and being pissed at the movie, but the opposition are attacking us for doing that? instead of, again, fucking blacklist and leave us the fuck alone? yeah, doesn’t help with the bitter. if y’all are so threatened by our arguments, maybe you should reevaluate your own, seems you’re trying a bit too hard there. i don’t want to take enjoyment from anyone, i envy you too much for that, but ffs, just leave me the fuck alone to deal with it. (that’s not @ you, that’s to them)

eta3: and thank you for saying im someone you like. but see? ive been trolling you all, im terrible. and i expect you don’t like me as much now anyways. but thank you, it was nice to hear nevertheless.

#anon #ask #answered #anti endgame #see? i still tag it ffs #long post #so so long #hey i get it #the positivity is killing me #i get where you're coming from #but it's getting a bit tiresome to have people just come in and tell me to get over it #no matter how well you mean it #im sorry that i cant just snap and make half my feelings go away #y'know bc that would take away any good ones too #good greif infinity war kinda sucks too doesn't it #wow

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silverquillsideas · 5 years

Note

Salmon and others were openly discussing rape and talking about drawing rape and there were people in the replies talking about how seeing a “rape drawing” changed the way they consumed content and shipped things (they meant that they liked the rape btw). If she hasn’t gone back to private, you can probably find those for yourself since they’re pretty recent. I thought you seemed nice but I’m really disappointed in you. Will be unfollowing and blocking.

Hello! I was debating on how (if at all) to answer this, since you seem to have already made up your mind to not hear anything further about this issue altogether.

But I do have a few things to say, regardless, because I found specific phrases you used, to be sketchy/unclear at best.

Warning tho : this is going to delve into a discussion of "rape and sexuality" from a real life perspective, since the fandom seems so bent upon drawing parallels to reality and compare fiction and irl examples. If you find that uncomfortable, block the tag "tw:rape" and scroll past.

_____

So, my first point of discussion : "Salmon and others were openly discussing rape and talking about drawing rape"

Putting aside the issue of the subject matter of the threads for a second, I'll focus on the other part : about *posting publicly*. I talked to three separate followers of the twt artist, who also happen to be my tumblr mutuals, and they basically confirmed the same thing : there was no "open discussion", in the sense, that, they did so either on Privatter (assuming you know how it works) or they did in the comment threads on their *personal twitter account*, and only those who were willing to engage in such a discussion, went ahead and joined. They did not encroach on anyone's space and invite them in forcefully.

I'm putting the screenshots of conversation I've had with one of my friends regarding this, and as you can see, none of it was *open for public viewing*

Also, here's the artist's own message that's pinned to their account :

Let me put this in perspective : suppose you're not into kpop (I picked a random example, btw) and find it weird and flamboyant, and you generally avoid it altogether. While scrolling through tumblr, you stumble upon a hardcore kpop blog, you're totally put off by the contents and you complain to your mutuals about how ABC person indulges in kpop and you found it weird and unappealing.

But my point is, there was nothing public about the said blog or account, because, by nature, every blog or account is a person's private space for expression of ideas. Yes, tumblr, twitter and other social media platforms are all *public* in the sense that they are hosted on public domains and anyone with an access to the Internet can stumble upon any website or blog listed therein. But, you, being a responsible, well discerning person, willingly stepped onto a personal blog or acc on which the owner was likely to present their own views, and started complaining about what you found there. Your statement implies, that you willingly browsed through the comment threads until the point you spotted these uncomfortable discussions and you voluntarily exposed yourself to the same.

My second point : "there were people in the replies talking about how seeing a "rape drawing" changed the way they consumed content and shipped things (they meant that they liked rape btw)"

I find it highly confusing how you generalised something as sensitive and complex as psychological behaviour on behalf of a bunch of strangers you never actually interacted with (or confirmed their views on the said matter) and proceeded to label them as "people who liked rape".

What does the statement "liking rape" mean anyway? And, does anyone who talk about or discusses rape, in the context of fanarts and fanfiction, and that too, "rape fantasy" in this case, (but I'll get to it in a moment) automatically becomes someone who likes the act? Or condones it happening in real life, to real people or situations? I'm curious as to which aspect of rape they talked about 'liking' (since your statement implies they explicitly stated so) : was it the pain, the trauma, the physical and psychological stress, or the violence and the sense of dominance over a helpless, real life person?

If you do have an answer supported by evidence, let me know, I'll modify my response gladly.

It brings me to my third point : these artists or the people who commented, were discussing, not about real life rape, but a fantasy situation in which they put two fictional characters together and made a fanart of them (the composition of the art in question is described in the conversation above).

Deriving pleasure from the actual act of rape or sexual violence is a pathological condition and needs medical or psychiatric treatment.

Deriving pleasure or indulging in paraphilic sexual fantasies, however, is not uncommon. I'll redirect you to @iamtrashforash 's post here that describes this issue more coherently. I'll also point you to articles written on PsychologyToday, based on research done on this specific topic of "Rape Fantasy" that I found, and I think everyone should have a look at them :

Article 1

Article 2

If I remember correctly, the actual comment I saw in the screenshot circulating around, regarding the controversy, went something along the lines of "I love seeing Ash's pained face in this situation", and that's what made people lose their minds. There was outrage over "How could you do that with Ash, a CSA survivor? It sends a bad message to them, it's triggering, it's disrespectful, you are disgusting, etc etc."

But, my own conversations with three people who are in real life CSA survivors, two of them who reached out to me in my DMs over the last two days, have given me a very different idea about what these people actually think regarding the art. Here's the hot take : they did not find it disturbing or offensive to themselves personally.

In fact, they pointed out, that they saw it as a fictional scenario, were well aware of the differences between the artist's intent and their potential real life behaviour (FYI, none of them drew the conclusion that either the artist or the people discussing it, "liked rape").

The fact that the comment threads were openly talking about indulging in such a fantasy is what seemed to baffle the more outspoken and outraged people, who proceeded to harass and send hate messages to the creators. But here's the fact : these fetishes have existed for as long as humanity has, and will continue to do so, regardless of whether you crucify a handful of people in a small corner of a fandom or not.

If you're familiar with the yaoi manga genre, or any adult erotica games (I can't cite any examples bc I don't have enough details, but I do know they exist), you'll find a plethora of works where all sorts of fantasy situations are presented : rape is fetishised, there's shape-shifters (vampires or otherwise), A/B/O dynamics, even bestiality. In other words, a major prevalence of themes like dominant, aggressive behaviour contrasted with helpless, passive behaviour as far as sexual situations go. And they are thriving. They have a huge pool of audience out in the world.

Whether these fetishes are "morally right or wrong" to indulge in, is not a question I have any authority to debate, because I'm not a clinical psychologist, or a behavioural scientist.

Personally speaking, I happen to be a demisexual person. Any discussion of sexual situations or scenarios outside of my own very narrow comfort zone or mental compatibility scares the shit out of me. And I find all of the above scenarios I described, as plainly unappealing and downright weird or scary. I will never, as long as I have my faculties in control, go out seeking any of them voluntarily, in either fanarts or fiction.

My point is, this is a complicated issue, I fully acknowledge that beforehand. We, as a fandom, got attached to Ash as a character, for so many different reasons. We all love him, respect him for standing up against all odds, and fighting against his fate all his life. That's the reason why the back-lash against these depictions got so violent, I think. People are more willing to see him heal, to see him make peace with his scars and move on. The general consensus with this line of thought was so ingrained in our minds, that people lashed out as soon as something "against the norms" and "potentially harmful" came to their notice.

But, the thing is, both these outcomes, are fictional. The fandom's biggest purpose is this : we weave fiction out of fiction itself. That's why we have fanarts and AUs and headcanons and a hundred other things. And different people will find different aspects of said fictional scenarios appealing. It's why we have so many ships on one hand and unfortunately, *ridiculous* ship-wars and toxic discourses on the other. But, it's okay to accept that there'll always be differences in such a wide space where everyone is coming together. It's okay to find content you don't agree with, and simply, move on.

But, I'll repeat myself : I'm not going to persecute people, who have carefully tagged, classified, and filtered their content, being mindful of the others in the fandom, and barge on their doors demanding "why they liked what they liked" and "how could they like such a thing??". Especially because it is fiction, involving fictional characters, separated from reality.

Had it been a real life discourse, involving actual people, I'd have definitely spoken out against it.

Also, to anon, if you find my views or ideas unpleasant, or find my completely sfw multifandom blog a safety hazard, then you're more than welcome to unfollow and block me. Your mental peace is all that I ask for. :)

#banana fish #analysis #discourse #bananafish #tw:rape #asks #anon #textposts #personal

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skamremakesfromhell · 5 years

Note

I will never understand how skam italia got so popular that it somehow developed its own breed of stans outside of regular skam/Rm skam stans? Like i literally see other rm stan accounts othe twitter and tumblr complain about how obnoxious skam it stans are

so idk if you were really asking for a breakdown but i’ve been thinking about this a lot recently so im gonna ramble about it for a bit whoops

so it was always inevitable that the remakes would cause divisions within the skam fandom and i think that’s important to kept in mind. there were divisions when there was only the 1 show! the chaos of 8 was a given lol. so not only would there be people that preferred one remake over another but there was also the immediate division between fans of og who didn’t even wanna touch a remake with a 10 foot pole and og fans that were watching the remakes

so the first rounds of remakes start (skamfr, skamit, druck, and skamus) and there was a lot of excitement and disappointment happening because we were all excited for new content but simultaneously disappointed that the content wasn’t new enough. that s1 was the same exact story across them all. skam france came first and it really set the bar real low. it felt to many like a cheap copycat. it had some fun stuff here and there and the cast was doing a decent job but overall with the constant promise of “change” from the production/cast that never followed through a lot of people quickly got tired of it. by the time s1 was almost over druck and skam italia began to air and a little bit later skam austin starts. right here i think it’s important that s2 of skam france was airing for a majority of the time these others were on since s2 is the season that’s the most “either you love it or you hate it”

a number of people gave up on skamfr either not feeling it/refusing to watch s2/whatever and moved on to the other remakes. i think it’s really important to note that at this time skamit was the only version that was changing “william” in any substantial way. druck only changes at the very end and it’s only the fact that he apologized to kiki on his own but edoardo had been introducing small deliberate changes to his character throughout the season. this gained interest from both noorhelm fan and anti noorhelm people because it was new! and different! compared to the other version not changing much for this storyline and skamfr airing a basic copy of s2 this was an exciting development! it was something that intrigued more og fans

of course you have to remember that everyone thought all the remakes were gonna be terrible. they were all a lost cause from the very beginning. people that were enjoying the remakes were already having to be defensive against og fans who hated the remakes just for enjoying them. skamfr was already kinda a dud, skamus had too much hype and pressure on it since it was the one julie was working on to really live up to that, and druck was falling to the wayside from poor production decisions (going on break for a week within the first month without telling anyone ?!?? really ?!?) skamit s1 did seem to be the best produced, with some interesting character changes, and a nice aesthetic. it quickly became the one most people recommended to others. new person asks “which remake should i watch?” and the first answer would almost always be skamit. italians were all pleasantly surprised by the show which made them want to spread it even more. like “look finally some good italian television!” the actors are good and not super overdramatic! the shots are nice and pretty! everyone on the cast is so pretty! rome is so pretty!

but what made this turn into the skamit fans being their own “separate” fandom? well if you go back through all the #discourse you can see all the number of time skamit fans have had to defend the fact that they liked skamit and that in itself will limit you down to the kind of people are always on the defense. who feel like they have to talk about all the great amazing things to feel validated in liking what they like because people are out there criticizing it. who either don’t care about issues people raise or don’t want to think about it. “why can’t everyone leave us alone” “if you don’t like don’t watch” “this is how italy is and you’re the problem for not understanding that”. the casting of sana caused a lot of people to call out skamit and condemn it as “problematic” and/or refuse to watch it before it even aired. now i believe those people are well within their right to do that. if something like this about a show upsets you you don’t owe it to anybody to watch it. but what this caused was people that wanted to watch skamit/enjoyed it felt the need to dismiss the issues raised by other people in the fandom. this is because 1) people were attacking them for liking skamit and 2) it’s become the culture of fandoms to demand you only enjoy things that meet an incredibly high moral ground and you have to constantly prove that the media you enjoy does that. which is such a disservice to being media literate honestly. and this kept happening. the racist, fatphobic comments, the excuse from the production about sana’s casting, the lack of any minority actors, the excluding of mahdi’s characters, the n-word being used and the mess that was the response from the cast and crew

it was one after another of things that made a number of people decided to not be a fan of skamit anymore and once they’d decided that any new thing that came out just proved to them that they were right! that skamit was racist and they were right for dropping it! but that doesn’t just end there because then it becomes anyone that supports skamit is racist and doesn’t deserve respect. and while all this is happening as every new thing happens and we all argue again about who is the most “morally superior” the fans of skamit are stepping on the toes of anyone that dares to criticize the show. they are defensive because they feel like their character is being attacked. because they feel like they have to be. and so ideologies are clashing all over the place over what is and isn’t racist, what’s good representation, what’s the importance of representation over “realism”, how realistic is skam really, you have muslims saying sana’s casting is disgraceful and muslims saying they don’t mind it, people of color saying it’s bad that there are no pocs and that sana is whitewashed and other people of color saying this isn’t a big deal because it’s realistic for italy, europeans claiming all the hate is coming from americans who live in a “us centric world” and don’t understand european views on race and europeans saying uh no i also think this is racist, italians saying this is just how italy is and italians calling all the racist stuff out. it’s just a ton of arguments that are difficult things to get people to see eye to eye on especially when it’s all over social media text and everyone feels like they have something to prove! prove the show they like is morally sound! prove they’re actually the most “woke”! prove and blame and defend and dog pile on everything! and no one is actually listening to each other because defending or shitting on a show is more important than remembering the humanity behind these arguments. remembering that there’s a person who you’re upsetting! who you are hurting because we’ve all invested too much of ourself in this!

it really bred this perfect space for back and forth arguments that went nowhere because people felt the need to tighten their hold on their own ideologies and to defend their position over any random comments they see. i’m guilty of doing this a number of times. i’ve seen a post in the skam tag and made my own post against it. i’ve seen comments on my post or people sub-blogging me and called them out to address it. this thing this show and all it’s versions are something we as fans all feel very strongly about. and this is really the only space we have to talk about it. to hash everything out. to post whatever thought we have. emotion run high! and with the anonymity of social media these arguments escalate so quickly!

i think it’s accurate to say that skamit fans are defensive. they feel like they have to be because they feel like the reasons they and the show they love are attacked are arbitrary reasons. they’ll dealt with so much criticism that any remark against skamit feels like another attack they need to defend themselves against. which has now created a culture where people are scared to say anything critical of skamit. that they’ll be deemed a hater and told “if you don’t like don’t watch”. but people don’t have to defend against every argument they see! they dont need to sit themselves on a high horse! anti skamit people are told to just leave and not bother with skamit but this goes both ways! skamit fans don’t have to address every criticism!

because of this back and forth that went no where we’ve created a culture where we can’t seem to even have discussions about the show anymore. about what we like/don’t like. what’s working and what’s not. that if you say “i don’t like this” you’ll get someone in your ask box basically saying “fuck you” because we attacked the people that wanted to enjoy the show it’s made them feel that everything is an attack. and this is a phenomenon you see across many fandoms! this morally superior hate-filled childish attacks. and at this point i don’t know if we can undo the damage that’s been done, both to how the fans of skamit view criticizers and how the people that aren’t fans view the fans. and that’s honestly really unfortunate

#ask #anon #it: talkingheads #idk

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davidthetraveler · 5 years

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David’s Thoughtful Thursday: Famders and the Issue of Fandom Toxicity

So, the other day my friend asked me about my Top 5 things I like about the Thomas Sanders/Sanders Sides fandom, and what I put as number one was the community that makes up the fandom. But I didn’t go into much detail, because I realized it could be the perfect first entry into a new series I’m starting on here called David’s Thoughtful Thursday, where I’ll be discussing a particular topic that I’m passionate about and wish to share my thoughts on. So here are my thoughts on the Famders as a community.

So, one of the things I’ve noticed about us famders is that, compared to so many other fandoms, we are a surprisingly stable and nondiscordant group. We have our disagreements, of course, and we don’t always remember the lessons we’ve learned from our dear Thomas about how to treat each other. But when you set us next to other fandoms and communities, we seem like an island of calm in the midst of a raging hurricane. I’ve thought about it for a while, and I think there’s a number of reasons that we look like such a beacon of hope amongst the fan communities, and it all starts with

Our Dear Thomas

Let’s face it, Thomas is a living ball of sunshine and rainbows (in more ways that one). He goes out of his way to try and make people smile and loves with his whole heart. He’s not mean, he’s not snobby, he’s not even aloof (though he should probably be a tad more discreet about some things). He shares himself with us, and never asks for anything more than what we’re willing to give in return.

But he’s not without his flaws. He worries about his place in the world. He has issues with his bodily appearance. He deals with anxiety and stress and bad sleep schedules. He has an ongoing issue with not feeling worthy of the praise he receives for the work he does. And all of this makes him more relatable to the common people, and helps us to see him not as a celebrity (though he is one for sure), but as someone just like. A young man doing his best to live his dream in a world that doesn’t always act the way we want it to.

He does his best to stand as an example for us, and I can think of no better way that has become so ingrained in our community than in our

Consensual Compromise

Let’s face it, with as large a group as the famders have become, it’s no surprise that a number of issues have divided us. The fact of the matter is that statistically speaking we were long overdue for a fandom split. So it should come as no shock that something as simple as a new character would divide us so completely.

Yes, we’re talking about Deceit.

Deceit’s introduction left our entire community in a state of shock before the inevitable clash of ideas began. As soon as we recovered, different camps began to form based on individual character interpretation. Some saw Deceit as the new villain, taking the old role Anxiety had. Those individuals focused on his manipulative tendencies and the lies he surrounded himself in. Others saw him as a neutral party, neither bad nor good, simply an ambiguous part of Thomas’ psyche, focusing more on his task of self-preservation. And then there were those who immediately adopted him, calling him misunderstood, and saying he was just doing his job, not being a villain.

Suffice it to say that there was a fair deal of conflict involved in trying to reconcile these different views into a single fanon narrative. And in the end, we were unable to. But while there was some discourse in the beginning, eventually we all mutually agreed that, despite some people’s interpretations, Deceit’s portrayal within the video represented something that negatively affected members of our community and could be considered a trigger for them. So a compromised was mutually agreed upon.

We all agreed to tag content with Deceit in it so that those who wished to avoid him could do so. We also ensured that what version of Deceit was being portrayed was made known, ensuring that those who wished to see one version but not others could filter out the content they didn’t want to deal with. Thus the matter was reconciled and we were able to move forward together. And other than the occasional private debate, I’ve seen little to no further discourse on the matter.

This of course demonstrates how well we as a unit can deal with discourse within our own ranks. But it also reminds us that

Stable Does Not Mean Perfect

Yes, we are a very stable and welcoming community, and we do our best to be accepting of others and their opinions. But that doesn’t mean we don’t have our squabbles. It’s a simple fact that the more people you put together, the more differing ideas and opinions become present in the group. Eventually one idea or opinion will clash with another, and disagreement will begin to settle in. While our experiences with Deceit show we can deal with discourse in a healthy manner, there’s still the fact that we are all human.

None of us is perfect, not even our dear Thomas. We all have flaws and issues. And each of us has at some point made a bad choice or decision or said something wrong. We can’t expect each other to not make mistakes. But we can expect each other to recognize this fact. Yet sometimes we don’t.

I myself have said things in this community that I’m not proud of, things I regret saying and doing. But with the help of others to point it out to me and to set me straight, I apologized and worked to do better in future. And the people I hurt with my words forgave me, and we were all able to move on from the incident.

That I think is one of our greatest strengths. Yes, we’re not perfect, but that’s okay. We understand people make mistakes, and we try to help them correct those mistakes so they can grow as a person. We do our best to make each other better.

Even with all of these good qualities, there are still issues in our community. They may not be as apparently big or as numerous as in other fandoms, but the fact remains that some individuals have felt the need to leave this fandom, for one reason or another. We don’t hold it against them for having to remove themselves for a time. We try to understand, and we accept that, for them, leaving our group is the best choice they can make for their own sake.

But the fact remains that very few people have actually had to take this step. And I think it’s because of the sense of community we’ve garnered in this fandom. Because in many ways what we’re doing here is not just enjoying a creator’s content, but rather

Standing Together

The vast majority of the famders identify in some way as deviating from the prescribed norm that society presents. Society seems to suggest that the majority of people in the world are straight, cisgender, neurotypical individuals. And we can see how much that comes across in modern culture. But our fandom doesn’t prescribe to this view, simply because of who we are.

Most of us identify as being LBGTQ+ in some way. I myself am Asexual Biromantic, though it took being a part of this fandom to figure it out and come to terms with it. And I’ve made friends with people in this fandom who are gay, bi, pan, trans, nonbinary, and even fluid. Many of us deal with ongoing mental health issues, from depression and anxiety to more serious concerns such as depersonalization, PTSD and even Dissociative Identity Disorder. We even have members who are on the autistic spectrum.

I’ve wondered myself how such an enormous collection of identities and personalities could possibly mix together without more discourse. But the answer is the same every time I ponder it out.

It all comes back to Thomas.

Thomas presents in his video content something we don’t always see in the world around us: acceptance. He gets in front of that camera and tells us that he loves us, just the way we are. He doesn’t care how we identify. He just loves us, flaws and all.

He and his friends show us a world where people of all creeds and identities can live together in mutual respect and understanding. Compared to many of the issues plaguing modern society, it’s a shining example of what the world could be. And we marvel at that concept.

We stand together because Thomas tells us we can, and we should. He leads by example that a great community is built, not by power or control or fear or hate, but by mutual understanding, cooperation, and love. We love each other, and we’ve become like an extended family for each other.

There’s a reason we’ve changed our name from Fanders to Famders.

Because we are family.

And family means no one gets left behind, or forgotten.

And that’s why I love my famders family. Because no matter my pain, no matter my sorrow, no matter my fear or anger or frustration, I know who I can turn to to make it better.

And I wouldn’t trade this family for the world.

Well, that got a bit longer than I intended. But in any case, I think I’ve worked this out rather well. Let me know what you think.

And since I’m going to be making this a semi-permanent feature, I’m also starting up a tag list for it. If you’d like to be added to said list, or if you’re on it and would like to be removed, just let me now. In any case, thank you for reading.

General Tag List:

@ultimate-queen-of-fandoms2

Thoughtful Thursday Tag List:

@wolfishhel

#TW Deceit #David's Thoughtful Thursday

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minyoongijjangjjangmanboongboong · 6 years

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Dissonance Chapter Nine

Description: After spending a year studying abroad in America, Y/N returns to Seoul hoping to greet the familiar city as a new girl. But what will she do when she’s met with old friends she’d rather forget? It seems the strings of fate are determined to test her resolve…and her willpower.

Genre: Fluff and Angst

Pairing: Taehyung x (f) Reader

Word Count: 10.5k

Tags: Badboy!Taehyung, Non-Idol!Au, Rockband BTS!Au, Bassist Taehyung!Au

Warnings: Swearing and mentions of alcohol, although infrequently

A/N: Uh.....so uh.......these chapters just....haha....keep getting....longer.....haha... I’M SORRY!!! I GOT ON A ROLL TOWARDS THE END AND I JUST NEEDED TO GET IT ALL OUT MY GOD I’M SORRY HAHA. Anyway, I hope you guys like the chapter ;) It is probably my favorite so far, but I can’t say for sure. As always, please don’t be shy and send me anything you want! I love talking with you guys. I’ll answer all asks within a day of receiving them. And please feel free to send me feedback, critique, concerns, or questions and I’ll do my best to address and fix them!

That said!! It has come to my attention that all of my formatting gets washed when you read the story on mobile. THAT’S SO ANNOYING!! I’m working on remedying this, but in the meantime all of the flashback scenes will be written in italics for the first sentence so folks on mobile don’t get too lost. I’m sorry about that you guys! Hopefully this works as a temporary fix.

- Mercury

Previous Chapter – Next Chapter

Masterlist

“What the hell are you doing here?” asked Jimin with a sneer.

Hyerim smiled softly and rested a hand on her hip, pursing her lips. “Well, I need technical experience to put into my portfolio for jobs and Mijin was kind enough to let me help style you guys,” she said.

Mijin stared between Jimin and Hyerim in the circle, brows furrowed as if she was trying to figure something out. “Wait…,” she trailed.

“Sorry, I’m not comfortable having snakes so close to my face,” said Jimin.

I gave his side a pinch and he turned to me with wide brown eyes. “Jimin,” I whispered, gaze still trained on Hyerim.

She tilted her head to the side, silky pink locks slipping over her slender shoulder. “Are you still upset about what happened before? Jesus, you guys need to lighten up,” she said with a laugh, tossing me a smile.

I blinked at her. Truthfully, hearing her say that made my nerves settle slightly. If she was willing to bury the hatchet… “Wait,” repeated Mijin, watching the discourse with puzzled eyes.

Taehyung was tense at my side and I could see Hoseok glancing anxiously between us beside him. How could one person’s presence turn us all to stone? “Hyerim, we all know you’re not here with good intentions,” said Taehyung, his tone measured.

She scoffed. “I told you! I’m trying to get more looks in my portfolio. If I’m being honest, things haven’t been easy for me since I left. I barely got into cosmetology school and after that…,” she sighed, rubbing her temples. She looked briefly familiar. “I haven’t been able to find a job. I’m not even asking to be paid! Just to use you guys as…canvases.” She flitted her hand with a smile.

Taehyung glanced down at me with raised brows. Jimin too gave me a loaded glance. “What?” I asked them both.

“What do you think?” asked Jimin quietly, but nonetheless the whole group could hear.

“Wait, are you looking at me to decide what to do?” I asked, pointing at my chest.

Jimin nodded. “Obviously.”

“Hold on!” called Mijin, raising her hands to draw our attention. All eyes turned towards her. “You guys know each other?”

“We went to high school together,” said Hyerim, chuckling as she patted Mijin’s shoulder. “Well, I went to high school with them. They were friends before.” Mijin, still perplexed, looked over at Hyerim. “So you knew them when you asked to work with me?”

“I thought it might be easier,” she said, then sighed heavily. “Since I’m still nervous with clients I don’t know.”

Jimin feigned a cough that sounded dangerously close to the word bullshit and Taehyung continued to gauge my expression. “Hyerim, surely you can practice somewhere else,” said Taehyung, finally turning back towards her with slightly narrowed eyes.

“So who knows who now?” asked Mijin, rubbing her head with one manicured hand. “I’m so lost.”

Hyerim laughed. “Keep up, grandma,” she said. “I know Taehyung, Jimin, and…,” she paused to slide her gaze across the empty space towards me. “Y/N,” she finished slowly.

Mijin nodded. “Oh…okay…?” she began, but it ended like a question.

“I know her from stories,” offered Yoongi, raising a hand as he glanced lazily around the circle.

Mijin pouted as she thought. “Okay…”

“Oh, me too,” said Jungkook.

“And Hoseok,” offered Taehyung, pointing to the boy at his side.

I blinked as realization washed over me. Of course he knew her. How else would he have known to come grab Taehyung and me? I turned to him to find his eyes focused very intently on a crack in the concrete floor by his left foot.

“Am I the only one who doesn’t know this person?” asked Sunny, her voice high and pitchy as her slight features contorted with a frown.

“I don’t know who these two people are,” offered Hyerim, pointing at Namjoon and Jin before returning her gaze to Sunny with a smile. “So we’re clear now?” she asked, chipper.

Mijin sighed, still rubbing her head. “Alright. Whatever. Point is, she’s here to help me. I never have enough hands to get my makeup done and the boys always get onstage looking a little sloppy. If Sunny gets Y/N as an assistant, then I get Hyerim,” she said, nodding resolutely.

Hyerim turned to me, our eyes locking. I wasn’t sure what passed between us. It felt volatile, slightly dangerous…but not aggressive as it had at one time been. Perhaps she really had moved on. Perhaps I could move on too. Seeing her smile and interact with everyone tugged at something hidden in my chest, something for which I had been carrying guilt for the better part of a year.

“Y/N?” asked Taehyung gently from my side, placing a hand softly on my shoulder.

I glanced back at Hyerim, her doll-like features smoothed into a blank peacefulness. She looked healthy, her skin glowing and her eyes somehow warmer than before. Had she reformed? She seemed to implore me with her gaze alone. I couldn’t help the part of me that wanted to answer that call.

“I…I don’t know why you guys are asking me like I’m the authority,” I said slowly, still locking eyes with her. “But I don’t have a problem with her helping out. Lord knows we need more hands to keep you guys from burning the venue down.”

The group chuckled in response, and Hyerim even cracked a smile my way. She bowed her head slightly my way and I nodded back to her. “Thanks,” she said quietly.

I felt myself blush. Would it have been this easy to reconcile had I chosen to find her sooner? Was it supposed to be so seamless? “No problem,” I said. “Ah, you might wanna take a look at Taehyung’s makeup. I had to finish it and it’s…questionable.”

She laughed, the sound of bells, and at long last approached me, staring up at Taehyung with squinted eyes and crossed arms. “When are your makeup skills not questionable?” she asked with a smile. “Hyerim Ace is on the job,” she said, grabbing Taehyung by the arm and leading him backstage. He walked stiffly at her side, all the while tossing glances over his shoulder at me.

Jimin smacked my upper arm as the circle disbanded and furrowed his brow. I winced. “What the hell, Y/N?” he exclaimed.

I shook my head. “What the hell yourself!”

“She sabotaged your piece for that writing contest. She almost ruined your college specs,” he said.

“Almost,” I said, glancing towards the ground as conversation picked up around us.

He scoffed. “You’re just gonna forgive her?”

“Jimin…Taehyung told you why I freaked out the night before I left, right?” I asked quietly, mindful of Hoseok standing a few feet behind me.

He sighed and nodded. “But Y/N, that wasn’t your fault. That was your parents,” he said.

I nodded. “But…I can’t help but feel like all of this was avoidable. Because of that she started to hate me. I would have hated me too. And instead of asking her why she was doing it, all I did was hate her back. I don’t want to be that person anymore,” I said, shaking my head.

He stared down at me, eyes scanning my face as he chewed on my words. “Y/N,” he said softly.

I smiled. “I left so I could come back and be better. How can I be better if I don’t do better?”

He sighed. “Fine. But I don’t like it,” he said, eyeing me cautiously. “And I don’t like her.”

I laughed and wrapped an arm around his waist, pulling him into a loose hug. Reluctantly, he returned it. “Thank you for always standing up for me,” I said into his side.

He laughed. “Someone has to.”

“She’s sitting alone,” said Jimin from beside me as we entered the cafeteria, his eyes trained on a figure in the distance.

I followed his gaze and found that he was right. Sitting by herself, pushing broccoli around with a chopstick, was newly seventeen Lee Hyerim. Her complexion was poor and she looked sallow, as if she was sick. I’d taken care of her when she was sick just a few months prior. Oh how quickly things could change. I felt a familiar pang of pity in my gut and forced myself to ignore it. I couldn’t afford to feel anything for a person who was capable of being kind to my face while silently trying to ruin me.

“Maybe someone will come,” I said quietly as we took our seats beside Taehyung.

He eyed me carefully. God, was I ever sick of that. Ever since Hyerim and I had had our obligatory meeting in the principal’s office and the truth came out, the two of them had been too keen to keep an eye on me. Too careful. Too cautious. It was as if I was suddenly a porcelain doll that was dangerously close to breaking.

But I felt fine.

Aside from the guilt tearing holes through my stomach.

“I hope nobody goes,” spat Jimin, leaning over his rice and shoveling a spoonful in his mouth.

I smacked his arm and he looked at me with wide eyes and full cheeks. “Don’t be a dick,” I said, then rolled my eyes and picked at my food. “And chew your food.”

He obliged on my second command, but as soon as he had swallowed he was turning my way with furrowed brows. “Excuse me, but she deleted the essay you’ve been working on for months,” he said, leveling his eyes with mine.

I looked over his shoulder and saw her still sitting alone by the window, her gaze far away. There was something sad in her posture, and I hated myself for wanting to know what it was. Her narrow shoulders looked slouched and thin, and her hair formed a curtain between her face and the rest of the cafeteria.

“Thanks, I almost forgot,” I quipped, still staring at her.

He sighed. “You’ve got that stupid guilty look on your face,” he said, snapping his fingers in front of my eyes. “And it shouldn’t be there. Nobody even knows what she did because you told the principal you deleted it yourself. You’re the only reason she’s not expelled-,”

“They wouldn’t expel her, Jimin,” I said.

He held up a finger to silence me. “You let her off because you’re nice. And because of that, her life doesn’t change. At all. The only one exiling her is herself,” he said with a huff.

Taehyung glanced at me over Jimin’s head and I looked away. I didn’t like him being so wary of me. “You know she doesn’t have a lot of friends. She’s shy,” I said.

Jimin scoffed. “Not shy around a computer apparently.”

I shrugged. “She made a mistake,” I said.

Taehyung continued to stare at me, his gaze far more serious than usual. He hadn’t said a single word. “Y/N, I’m telling you, you’re punishing yourself for no reason. She’s a bad person.”

I furrowed my brow. “We’re more than our mistakes,” I said slowly, trying to tease out what I really meant.

Somehow, those small words seemed to sum it up. She wasn’t one bad action. She was endless nights spent giggling in my pitch-black bedroom. She was reassuring hugs after poor test grades that I didn’t have the strength to show my father. She was evening trips to the traveling fair, sharing cotton candy and screams at the top of precarious roller coasters. She was more than a bad choice. She was more than a bad person.

“Tae, what do you think? You’re being…like, uncharacteristically silent,” said Jimin, giving Taehyung a shove with his elbow.

Taehyung glanced at me before inhaling sharply and, with a shrug, saying as if to dismiss the conversation, “She’s getting what she deserves.”

I awoke in the morning to a clean bedroom. I still wasn’t quite used to that, I supposed. Looking around at the pristine floor, devoid of all the usual clutter felt like a good omen for that quiet Saturday morning. Distantly, my phone gave a shrill call, screeching into the air to remind me to get ready for my date. Outside my door I heard Yuna and Haewon chatting and slowly I slinked out of my cozy bed and made my way into the living room. The girls sat on the floor in front of the coffee table, talking over an episode of Hello Counselor. In it, a girl was being confronted about her addiction to ramen.

“All I’m saying is if that’s how I go then that’s how I go,” insisted Haewon with a shrug.

Yuna gaped. “Excuse me, but that’s a horrible attitude. Health is important!”

“Health is important,” mimicked Haewon, crossing her eyes.

Yuna shoved her shoulder. “Oh! Morning, Y/N,” she said as she noticed me chuckling just outside my door. I plopped down beside Haewon and rested my head on her shoulder. She gave my hair a rub. “I hear through the grapevine that you and Hoseok had a date yesterday.”

I glanced at her with wide eyes before readjusting on Haewon’s shoulder. “It wasn’t a date. We were just hanging out,” I said. “And what grapevine?”

She hummed. “Park Jimin,” she said.

“You two seem to talk an awful lot,” I remarked, smirking.

“He’s a good friend to have!” she said, and without looking I could hear her pout.

I laughed. “Don’t talk about me with him!”

“Grapevines are stubborn! I don’t know what you expect me to do about it.”

“Spray it with weed repellant!” I called.

She scoffed. “Grapevines aren’t weeds-,”

“Sh!” exclaimed Haewon, shaking me off her shoulder. “Jaehyun is talking.”

I groaned and leaned back against the couch. “How many boyfriends do you have? Kai from EXO, Jackson from Got7, Taehyung, and now Jaehyun?”

She rolled her eyes at me. “You’re one to talk. You’re the only one out of all of us going on actual dates. Don’t you have one today too?” she asked.

“It’s wasn't a date!”

“Today’s a date,” said Yuna from over Haewon’s shoulder. “Anyway, how was the concert? Did they do well?”

I sighed as I recalled it. Jimin was significantly more aggressive onstage than usual, which given his docility and gentle frame was pretty jarring. Taehyung was the same as normal, and I wasn’t sure if I liked that. After that moment in the dressing room, I would have figured…

I glanced at Haewon and scolded that stupid voice in my head. “They were a little distracted,” I said, recalling how Hoseok’s drumstick had gone flying halfway through their second song. He’d almost tripped poor Seokjin.

“Oh? Why?”

“Probably because of Hyerim,” I said, grabbing for Haewon’s unfinished bowl of Lucky Charms and spooning a bite into my mouth.

Yuna turned to me, wide-eyed, and blinked. “Wait, the Hyerim?”

“Do I know any other Hyerims?” I asked, thinking.

She rolled her eyes, tossing the remote at me which hit me squarely on the shoulder. I winced. “Well you never tell me anything, so maybe!”

I nodded. “Fine! Fair. But yes, it’s that Hyerim.”

“Why is she nosing around?” asked Yuna, her tone growing agitated.

I shrugged. “She’s friends with Mijin so she’s working as like…assistant stylist or something,” I said, examining a cuticle.

Yuna snorted. “Who needs an assistant stylist?”

“Who needs an assistant manager?” I asked.

Yuna glanced at me. “Trust me…Bangtan needs it.”

“Anyway, that’s why Hyerim is there. So I’ll be seeing her a lot and I’d appreciate it if we could all just think of her as a new member of Team Bangtan,” I said resolutely with a stiff nod.

“Uh…,” Haewon hedged beside me. “Sorry, but who’s Hyerim?” she asked softly, puzzled.

I turned to her. “Ah, just a girl I used to be friends with when I was younger. We…kind of had a falling out.”

“She almost kept Y/N from going to college,” offered Yuna, her attention once again seized by the TV.

I shook my head at Haewon as she turned to me with surprise etched into her features. “That’s a little severe,” I said. “She lashed out at me because of…well, something I didn’t really do. But I wasn’t there for her either so it’s really nobody’s fault-,”

“It’s her fault,” said Yuna.

“It’s not.”

She glanced at me slowly. “What could have been so bad that she turned into literal Satan?” asked Yuna with a stern look my way.

I rolled my eyes. “It’s complicated,” I said, but hot shame began to bubble inside me, signaling that this topic was a danger zone.

“You have a lot of weird friends,” said Haewon, pursing her lips. “It’s probably because you’re weird too.”

“Probably.”

“I wanna meet her,” Yuna said suddenly.

I gaped at her. “Pardon me?”

She nodded. “If she had anything to do with what happened the night before you left for America, I wanna meet her.”

“It’s not that-,”

“Were you or were you not sobbing uncontrollably in a park at four in the morning that night?” asked Yuna.

I flushed. She’d never been so blunt about it before. “I mean…yeah.”

“And was she or was she not involved in said sobbing?”

“Involved, yeah. But that wasn’t why-,”

“Then I’d like to meet her please. When are you seeing her again?” she asked.

She was speaking like my mother… “Tonight,” I replied quickly, and unconsciously my spine straightened out a little.

Yuna nodded. “Then I’ll be coming to the dress rehearsal,” she said.

“Me too!” offered Haewon, raising her hand. “I don’t like the sound of this girl.”

“You just wanna see Taehyung,” said Yuna with a smirk.

Haewon shoved her shoulder with furrowed brows. “No!” she shouted. “But…I mean, it’s a pretty nice bonus.”

I laughed, but something inside me felt ill at ease. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to involve so many people. Although, to be fair, most of Bangtan already knew her. It wasn’t just a private thing between Hyerim and me after all. It never really had been.

But I had a particularly bad feeling about bringing the girls tonight…

Hoseok slowly laced his fingers with mine, intertwining them as we strolled through Namsan Park. Despite being back in Seoul for a while and living there even longer, I hadn’t really spent much time in the park. It was precisely the kind of date I expected from Hoseok: wholesome. He peeked down at me as if to gauge my reaction and instead of pulling away I simply smiled.

“You’re wearing my scarf,” he said with a grin.

A couple slid past us, tiring of our easy pace as we wandered aimlessly through the falling leaves. “You told me to take good care of it,” I said, resting my chin in the fabric.

He squeezed his eyes shut in an animated smile and cringed slightly. “It’s too cute,” he shouted. He began releasing ambiguous yells as he wiggled slightly, putting on a show.

A few other park-goers glanced at us with worried eyes and, frantically, I reached up to clamp a hand over his lips, halting his string of screams. His eyes went wide as he stared down at me, our bodies closer now, our hands still clasped. Slowly, his expression slackened into something more relaxed and he snaked his free hand back around my waist.

“Don’t scream in public places,” I scolded, but my voice was quiet, timid. “Besides, you have a concert tonight.”

He hummed and I let my hand fall. “Are you worried about me?”

I flushed. “I mean-,”

“I worry about you too,” he said. We’d stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, and a flurry of people were filing past us on their morning walks. “I should explain a few things.”

At the shift in his playful tone I backed away slightly and he released my waist, opting for simply holding my hand as we began walking once more. “Can I ask how you know so much about me?”

“Taehyung,” he said quietly, eyes settled on his sneakers as they stepped one in front of the other, crunching autumn leaves.

I blinked ahead and nodded, trying my hardest to digest the information without reaction. “Oh.”

“He and I became roommates when I moved into the apartment and started drumming for the group,” he said, our pace becoming decidedly more slow.

I nodded. “What did he tell you?”

“He told me you two used to be very close. And he said that there was…something between you,” he said, then cleared his throat. “He said that he fucked it up.”

“We can agree on that,” I said.

Hoseok let out a laugh that felt a little disingenuous. “Yeah. We became close pretty naturally. I told him some things I’ve never told anyone and in return…he told me about you.”

My body was hot and the wind felt crisp and heavy like when you have a fever. “Really?”

“I think…as he told me more about you I started to kind of…I don’t know, idealize you? Like, you seemed like the kind of person I could really respect,” he said, then chuckled. “Which, despite how I may act, is kinda hard to find. I don’t really…like people as much as I pretend to.”

There were moments, I’d begun to notice, with Hoseok in which his words became dark and his usual chipper demeanor faltered in lieu of something…different. Something sad. I’d glimpsed it the night he’d come back for me after the show, and the night he’d kissed me. There was something splintering in him that only emerged when the mask slipped.

“I understand,” I said, then chuckled. “To be fair, I think I’m a better concept than I am a real person.”

He squeezed my hand. “That’s the thing with people. It’s easy to make them more than what they are which is…well, mundane. Flawed.”

I nodded. “I’m…I’m a little shocked that Taehyung told you about me. I figured he’d talk about something more important.”

“You’re very important to him,” said Hoseok, his tone serious. I cleared my throat. “When you came back and we took you on as a co-manager, he didn’t know what to do. He doesn’t really confide in people,” he said, then chuckled and glanced my way, catching my eye. “But you’d know that better than me.”

“Yeah…,” I said, but it felt like I was offering nothing to the conversation. I was processing the information, but it wasn’t digesting easily.

“Well, he kind of…asked me to look after you. Keep you out of trouble since he couldn’t do it,” he said.

I stopped walking and stared up at him with wide eyes. “Excuse me?”

Hoseok chuckled. “I knew you’d have that face.”

“It’s just my face,” I said, then shook my head. “But…he asked you to do that?”

“Yeah,” he said. “I even tried to play matchmaker a little bit in the beginning. I tried to lead you into his room, hoping you’d see the pictures on the walls and-,”

“And realize he still cared even if he pretended he didn’t,” I finished with a scoff. “Funny thing is, I did see the pictures and they convinced me he didn’t care. The most important one…it’s missing.”

He shook his head. “At any rate, I thought I might be happy seeing him happy. He’s pretty precious to me. But…I started to get a little too greedy.”

“Greedy?”

“The night I went back to the venue to get you,” he said. “Taehyung was the one who asked me to. He noticed you leave the group and worried about you. He felt like he couldn’t worry. Like he wasn’t allowed.”

“But you were allowed,” I said, thinking back. To be fair, I’d made it pretty much impossible for Taehyung to approach me.

He nodded. “I started to feel a little special. And when we spoke that night…I kind of…I don’t know, I found myself being honest with you.”

“Are you not usually honest?” I asked.

He shook his head. “No. I’m usually…pretty much the opposite.”

The mask was slipping ever further. “Hoseok…”

“Anyway, I felt something towards you. Something that I wasn’t sure was right. And things just kept happening. He hooked up with Haewon that night, and he pushed you away. I kept having to come in and care for you,” he said, letting his thumb slide smoothly over the skin of my hand. “Somewhere along the way, I stopped doing it for him and started doing it for me.”

I blushed. “You…”

“I realized that I kind of liked myself when I was with you. Which is…kinda rare.”

“Hoseok, wait-,”

“I realized that you brought out the version of me that wasn’t horrible, wasn’t made-up. I started to envy Taehyung, and I started to want you for myself-,”

“Hoseok-,” I interjected again, worry edging my voice higher.

He smiled softly as his gaze remained frontward. “All the things I’d heard from Taehyung, all the stories…they created this composite of you that I admired. But meeting you and making memories of our own, not just relying on his memories, it made me feel…kind of happy,” he said. “Like I’d met someone who could look at me at whatever stage I was in and be okay with me.”

“Hoseok!” I finally called, halting my step and so halting his. He finally looked at me and again that sadness was there, thinly veiled with a weak smile. “Hoseok, do you hate yourself?”

He blinked at me and pursed his lips, thinking. After a moment, he chuckled and ran a hand through his hair. “Doesn’t everybody? Just a little?”

Without realizing it, I released his hand and fell forward into his chest, wrapping my arms about his waist and placing my cheek beside his heart. I realized then that it was racing. Hoseok stood, as if the action of embrace had shocked the motion right out of him, stiff and still as stone. Slowly though, his arms slid around my shoulders. He rested his chin atop my head and I heart his heart rate slow down gradually, his breathing return to normal.

“Please don’t think you’re unloveable. Whether you smile and laugh or cry and scream you have people in your life who care for you,” I said carefully, rubbing his back. I wasn’t used to providing comfort this way, but the words kept tumbling as I felt him nod his head. “You have so much to give. And so much that you deserve to receive. I don’t know who put it in your head that you don’t, but they’re wrong.”

“Thank you,” he said quietly against my hair. “Thank you,” he repeated once again.

I didn’t know where to go from there. The more I knew him, the deeper entrenched I became in this whole mess. I could no longer view our relationship as casual or fun. There was a new dynamic between us that had been emerging for some time. I worried that perhaps that dynamic would further complicate things. But as he hugged me back, his grip almost desperate, I realized that this person trusted me. And I had to be whatever he needed.

“Are you sure you’re not tired? You look tired.”

“I’m not tired.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

Jimin pouted at Yoongi as the three of us sat atop the stage, our legs dangling over the edge. “You need to practice self care,” he insisted.

Yoongi glanced over Jimin to lock eyes with me and I fought a laugh. “Self care is me leaving this conversation,” said Yoongi as he stood to his feet and ambled backstage.

The rest of the boys were being taken care of by Mijin and Hyerim, and the girls were sitting cross-legged beside Sunny on the floor below where Jimin and I leisured. I had seen neither Taehyung nor Hoseok since I’d entered the building, and I wasn’t sure if that was unsettling or comforting. With Hyerim’s reappearance and Haewon’s eagerness to get to know Taehyung, part of me just wanted to bury my head in the sand and bide my time.

“He’s such a shit,” mumbled Jimin as he scooted closer to me and rested his chin on my shoulder, examining me with furrowed brows and a pout.

I shrugged him off and squared my gaze with his. I raised my fists in defense and he gaped. “You’re weird today. I don’t like it.”

“Weird how?” he asked, shaking his head. “Can’t I care for my friends?”

“You’re being extra mom-y,” I said.

He scoffed and crossed his arms. “I guess it’s a crime to love you guys,” he said.

“Jimin,” I chided, placing a hand on his shoulder. “I can tell you’re upset.”

He glanced at me out the corner of his eye before, reluctantly, his posture fell with an exhale and he let his expression relax. “It’s Hyerim,” he said.

“I figured.”

“I just don’t trust her,” he said.

“Did she do anything today? When she was doing your makeup?” I asked.

He shook his head. “I won’t let her touch me. Mijin does my makeup,” he said. “I don’t talk to her either.”

“Isn’t that a little much?” I asked. “This isn’t high school.”

Jimin pulled his knees to his chest and shrugged. “I don’t know. I just…you and Tae are really important to me. And I worry about you because you’re not gonna be stern when you have to be. I want her to know someone is watching her, even if it’s not you,” he said.

I sighed. “She was lonely our junior year. After everything happened.”

“So?”

“We didn’t do anything to help. Years of friendship…dissolved after one mistake,” I said.

He rolled his eyes. “It wasn’t a mistake. It was calculated. And then she and Tae started hooking up once she switched schools-,”

“Don’t remind me,” I said with a soft laugh.

His eyes went wide. “Shit! I’m so sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”

“It’s okay,” I said. “Anyway, I guess…now that I have the opportunity I want to give her the chance I didn’t give her back then. I have a lot that I feel regretful for,” I said. “And a lot that I still resent her for.”

Quietly, Jimin exhaled. “I understand.”

“So try not to worry too much. Focus on doing your best tonight,” I said, smiling his way.

He returned it. “You too,” he said, then snapped his fingers and pointed to me, letting his knees fall into a criss-cross position. “That’s right! I forgot to tell you yesterday, but my mom wants to see you. We had our weekly phone call and I mentioned that you’ve been back for a while and she yelled at me for not telling her sooner. She misses you.”

I laughed. “I miss her too,” I said. Of all the parental figures in my life, Mrs. Park had always felt the most like a real mom.

“Next weekend then. We can go back home and stay with her for the night, okay?” he asked. “She’s been bugging me to come back home anyway.”

I nodded. “Sounds like a plan. But…if you could, maybe don’t tell my parents.” “Still cold shouldering them?”

I furrowed my brow. “Can you use that like a verb?” I asked.

He bumped my shoulder with his and laughed. “Answer the question.”

“Yes,” I said. “I don’t want to see them yet. Not until I can figure out how I want to face them.”

He placed a hand in my hair, ruffling it a little with a smile. “Alright. I’ll tell my mom you’re coming then.”

“Y/N! Can you fix Jungkook’s mic stand please? It’s lopsided,” called Sunny from below, giggling over a pile of snacks with Haewon and Yuna.

I smiled at Jimin and gave his knee a squeeze before standing and stretching. “Duty calls,” I said. But as I turned around I found myself met with a very close view of Kim Taehyung’s broad chest. I stumbled back slightly and glanced up towards his face, shocked when I saw what awaited me. “Your hair!”

He grabbed a lock between his middle and forefingers, pursing his cherry lips. “Hyerim thought it was time to revamp my look,” he said.

I blinked at him. Gone was the cold silver that made his skin look particularly warm. It had been replaced entirely with the same blackish brown he’d had in high school: the same deep color that brought me in an instant back to the days when we’d sit outside and the sun would cast reddish streaks through his hair. The days I would pat his head just to feel how soft it might be. The days when he would laugh brightly in response and pat my head in response.

I flushed as the memories became too much. “Looks nice-,” I began, but Jimin was quick to stand to his feet and cross his arms.

“Looks stupid,” he grumbled.

I sighed. “Just because Hyerim did it doesn’t mean it’s bad,” I said, then turned back to Taehyung who was gazing down at me with a soft smile playing on his face. “You look handsome.” I cleared my throat after my sudden confession and stepped around the tall boy to reach Jungkook’s crooked mic stand.

“She’s just saying that because she’s a girl. Trust me, Tae, you look really, really dumb,” said Jimin.

“If Y/N approves, then that’s enough,” he said with a chuckle before hopping off the stage without so much as crouching to minimize the impact. He sauntered towards Sunny and the girls and began chatting with them. I couldn’t look away from his back, and the way his white t-shirt and dark hair made him almost resemble the Taehyung I’d been madly in love with.

I stood in the crowd the whole night and, even though I enjoyed watching the boys perform I had a hard time focusing. Or rather, I had a hard time knowing where exactly I should focus. Half the time my eyes were stuck on Hoseok as he smiled and laughed, and I couldn’t figure out why the dichotomy of this man on stage and the boy who had hugged me in the park made me so uneasy. The other half of the time I would catch myself locking my gaze on Taehyung as he smoothly plucked strings, occasionally shooting smirks into the crowd which were met, each and every time, with a chorus of squeals. Seeing him up there, smiling and maneuvering gracefully around the stage…it reminded me of when I used to watch him practice in Jimin’s basement. No stage, no lights, no screaming fans. Just him and his smile.

Bodies pressed close to me, shoulder-to-shoulder, and the air was hot with sweat and exhalations. But soon it was over and I stood in the middle of an empty floor looking up at an empty stage. Haewon approached me from behind and wrapped an arm around my shoulders.

“So when do I get to see this Hyerim girl?” she asked.

I glanced at her. “Uh…I don’t exactly know. She might not even be here anymore,” I said.

Yuna sighed beside her. “She’s here. Jimin told me.”

“Jimin told you,” teased Haewon with a laugh. “If you and Jimin are so close why don’t you just date?”

Yuna stiffened and scoffed. “We’re acquaintances because of our mutual concern for Y/N. It’s a friendship of convenience,” she said.

I smirked at her. “Seems pretty convenient.”

“Stop!” she called. “Seriously! It’s just-,”

“Y/N,” said Taehyung’s deep voice from the side.

I turned to him, still flustered looking up at him, handsome face framed by dark locks of shiny hair. I swallowed heavily and nodded. “Yeah?”

“Um…nobody wanted to be the one to tell you so I offered, but…,” he began, rubbing the back of his neck.

I sighed. “Spit it out,” I ordered, facing him properly with crossed arms.

“Hyerim is throwing a party for us tonight and wanted to know if you could come,” he said.

I cocked a brow. “Why didn’t she ask me herself?”

“Because you haven’t been backstage and that’s where she works,” he said, deadpan.

I nodded. “Um…she…she wanted me to come?” I asked, perplexed.

He smiled softly. “Yeah. You’re fun,” he said.

I flushed. I wondered why he was being so gentle to me, so kind. It felt sudden. “Uh,” I floundered. “I…I guess it’s up to the girls.”

“Yes!” called Haewon.

“If it means meeting the demon spawn, I’m in,” said Yuna, picking at a hangnail.

I shrugged and turned back to Taehyung. “I think that’s a yes,” I said.

He smiled, another tender smile, and nodded. “I’ll let the guys know. She lives right around the corner so we’re just gonna walk together.”

I returned it, but I could feel the heat in my cheeks, in my joints. “Okay. We’ll meet you out back.”

“See you soon,” he said, giving the top of my head a soft pat before turning on his heel and walking backstage once again.

I stood still in the middle of the room, eyes wide in his wake, and couldn’t distinguish any noise apart from the wild pounding of my heart. “Y/N?” called Yuna from beside me.

I blinked and turned to her. “Yeah?”

“The hell was that?” she asked.

Haewon stared at me with furrowed brows. “He seemed different.”

I shrugged. “I couldn’t tell you,” I said, then stared in the direction he’d left. “All I know is that I need a drink.”

I forgot how much I hated house parties…

I stood in Hyerim’s kitchen, nursing a red cup full of soda and rum. I wasn’t sure where either had come from, but it was my third glass. I’d caught sight of Hoseok briefly, but as soon as I’d glimpsed him he was gone once again, dancing like a madman in the massive living room.

I wasn’t sure what I’d expected of Hyerim’s apartment. Perhaps something modest and manufactured like mine. Perhaps something artsy and small. But I was wrong on all counts. The place was massive, sprawling into tons of bedrooms and a balcony big enough that all of Team Bangtan could stretch out, fingertip to fingertip. It was furnished lavishly with pop art paintings and gold trimmings and accents. I wondered where she’d gotten all the money, but I knew better than to ask.

Yuna and Haewon had attached themselves to Jimin who, like Yuna, was pouting. He’d only agreed to come because I was there, and he was none too pleased about it. I couldn’t blame him. If the roles had been reversed, and someone had done wrong to him I would have had a horrible time trying to accept the person back into our lives.

But here I was.

“Hungry?” asked a voice from behind me.

I turned quickly to find Hyerim leaning back against a countertop, looking long and slender and sober and beautiful. She smiled. “Oh, uh…sure,” I said, approaching her.

She walked to her tall fridge and produced from the freezer a tub of mint chip ice cream. She offered me a spoon from her silverware drawer. “I bought this because I thought you might come,” she said.

I blinked. “That’s right. You hate this flavor,” I said, digging a spoon into the tub as she set it down on the counter.

She nodded, staring at the ice cream softly. “So you and Taehyung made up?” she asked.

I thought a moment. “I…I don’t know exactly.”

“Well, you guys aren’t awkwardly shuffling around each other anymore which is an improvement,” she said, laughing.

I joined her. “You’re right.”

“I always wondered about that. After how things got between you senior year I was curious if you guys would ever make amends,” she said.

It seemed strange for her to contemplate something like that, as our relationship suffered those hardships partially on her own account. “I suppose…I’d like to make amends.”

“Mature,” she said, smiling. “The old Y/N would have pretended things were fine and never tried to fix it.”

I shrugged. “I’m still like that,” I said. It was true. I was too cowardly to face Taehyung properly, to really hash things out. And I was too cowardly to be honest with Hoseok about my mixed-up feelings. I was too cowardly to apologize to Hyerim, too cowardly to admit to Haewon that I might feel something for the guy she liked, too cowardly to rewrite my essay. And, God, was I far too cowardly to talk to my parents. “I haven’t changed.”

“Don’t,” she said with a laugh. “Watching you make simple things complicated was always my favorite part of being friends with you.”

I turned to her as she took a hearty bite of ice cream. “I-,”

“Don’t change,” she said again. “If you change, I’ll have to change too.” She stuck the spoon straight into the mound of ice cream and turned on her heel to exit the kitchen. “Feel free to eat as much as you want, okay?” she asked with a smile before she wandered out into the living room from which heavy music bumped lowly.

I stared down into the minty ice cream, stared at her spoon sticking upright. I stared at the space she had been occupying only seconds before, now empty. She’d always been that way. Someone whose absence you could feel.

I sighed and removed her spoon, placing it inside her nearly full dishwasher and sliding the tub of ice cream back into the freezer. Quietly, I slipped through the crowd in the living room and made my way to Haewon who had finally managed to get Taehyung alone. The two were chatting close, Haewon grinning up at him with cheeks reddened by a cocktail of shyness and alcohol.

“Hey,” I said, standing between the pair as they hovered near the TV.

Haewon glanced at me and smiled. “Speak of the Devil!”

“Hey,” said Taehyung in response, tipping his cup.

“You were talking about me?” I asked. “Better not be telling her any of my embarrassing stories,” I warned Taehyung with a sever glance his way.

He laughed. “I would never betray your trust that way.”

I almost made a cheap joke about him betraying my trust in other ways, but retained my self control despite the drink in my hand. “What then? Talking about my staggering beauty?” I asked, running my fingers through my hair.

Taehyung scoffed. “No! We were talking about you and J-Hope!” she said.

The stage name hit my ears strangely and I squinted before I realized who they were talking about. “Ah!” I said, then laughed. “Right.”

“I think you two are cute, but Taehyung thinks Hoseok would look better with Irene from Red Velvet,” she said with a pout.

I gaped. “Excuse me?” I called. He laughed boisterously, that high-pitched one that he did when he was drunk. “Irene may be beautiful and talented and perfect, but I’m-,”

“Attainable,” finished Taehyung with a snort.

I smacked his chest. “Shut up!” I called, then laughed with him.

Haewon laughed too, but in a moment her expression fell. It was only midnight, and we hadn’t been at the party all that long, but I could tell from the paleness in her face that she was becoming ill. She glanced at me and before any of us could move, I slung an arm around her waist and pulled her as quickly as I could towards the hallway on the right, Taehyung in hot pursuit as I opened every door and found no restrooms. Nearing the end of the hallway, Haewon began to dry heave and I pleaded with the universe that this door would be the one. I wiggled it once, the silver handle shaking against the wood, and someone called something indistinguishable from inside.

I sighed. “Someone is about to puke!” I shouted.

“Should’ve gotten here sooner!” called a voice, completely different from the first one.

I cringed away from the door as the picture became clearer and I turned towards Taehyung. “She’s gonna blow,” I said, Haewon slumped over her stomach and only holding onto my shoulders limply.

“Must be Hyerim’s room. Maybe she has a bathroom,” he said, pointing to the final door. A piece of paper was taped to its surface reading: Please stay out~

I stared at it. “Do we wanna go in there?” I asked.

He shrugged. “Do we have a choice?”

I glanced down at Haewon, at the blanket of dark hair shrouding her face as it dangled towards the floor. “Good point,” I said, pushing the final door open and fumbling clumsily with the light switch.

Soon the room was flooded with yellow light and I spared no time trying to absorb what it looked like. To our luck, the door on the left of her massive bed opened into a large bathroom and Haewon immediately collapsed beside the porcelain toilet.

In seconds she was puking and Taehyung, sickened, turned away. I kneeled beside her and smoothed the hair out of her face, using the sleeve of my sweater to dab the cold sweat along her forehead. “It’s okay,” I chided.

She wretched for a moment longer before resting her flushed cheek against the seat. She shut her eyes, exhausted. “I drank too much,” she said.

“You always do,” I said, but I tried to keep the scolding tone out of my voice.

She chuckled and nodded. “I know. I think,” she paused to cough. “I think it makes me more fun.”

“You’re always fun.”

“Taehyung said you’re fun,” she said.

I stiffened beside her and began rubbing her back gently. “Stop talking,” I said. “Just rest a minute.”

Taehyung stood in the doorway staring down at us and I heard him sigh. “She should go home,” he said.

“No!” Haewon cried.

I smiled and shushed her. “She won’t go even if we drag her,” I said. “She wants to meet Hyerim.”

“Why would she ever want to do that willingly?” he mused.

I shot him a glare. “We are entering a new, mature era, Kim Taehyung. Don’t ruin it,” I said, but I found it hard to be at ease with Hyerim’s strange words looming in my brain.

He chuckled. “I won’t. Just…I don’t know, be careful okay? You don’t know her like you think you do,” he said.

I glanced at him with furrowed brows. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just-,”

He was cut off by the sound of Haewon puking once more, her back arched as she curled her face into the toilet bowl. I was quick to rub her back again, holding her hair in my free hand. I caught Taehyung turn around in the corner of my eye. He’d always been a bit squeamish.

“Ah,” Haewon exhaled with a tired laugh. “I feel better.”

“Yeah?” I asked.

She nodded and sat up straight, squeezing her eyes shut for a moment before opening them and staring at me. “Mhm,” she said with a smile.

I wiped her lips with a piece of toilet paper and frowned. “Taehyung’s right though. You should go home,” I said.

She rolled her eyes. “If I went home every time I puked I’d never go out,” she said.

“Haewon,” I said.

She smiled. “I’m good now!” she said. “See?” She turned side to side, giving me a look at her face as the color returned to it.

“Jesus! There you guys are,” said Yuna, having left the bedroom door swinging as she rushed into the bathroom. “God dammit, Haewon. Again?”

Haewon chuckled and flitted her fingers in a wave. “Hi,” she said.

Yuna sighed. “I saw you guys stumble back here. Haewon, let’s get you some fresh air,” she said.

I turned and saw Jimin behind her, soft eyes rich with concern. “Balcony?” she asked with a grin.

“Sure. Let’s go,” said Yuna, helping her to her feet and guiding her from the room. “I’ll take care of her. You two just…do whatever it is you do when we’re not around.”

And so the trio left, closing the door behind them.

I flushed. Suddenly I was all alone in my ex-friend’s bedroom with my other ex-friend who just so happened to be my first love. I turned to Taehyung as he sat down with a heavy sigh on Hyerim’s bed. He patted the space beside him and, having no reason to say no, I joined him. To be fair, I also had no reason to say yes…

“So…,” he started. “You and-,”

“If you say ‘you and Hoseok’ one more time I’m gonna deck you,” I said, turning to him.

He laughed. “Sorry. I’m just…curious.”

“To answer your question, we had a date today,” I said.

He glanced at me quietly. “And?”

“It was really nice,” I said, then shook my head. “No, well, it was sort of nice. I guess…the more I get to know him the more I worry about him.”

He smiled. “That’s how it goes with him.”

“That’s how it goes with you too,” I said.

He stiffened and I caught his cheeks go slightly pink. He looked away, towards Hyerim’s closed door. “Ah,” he said. “Y/N…can I ask you something?”

“You just asked me something.”

“Something else.”

I nodded. “Sure.”

He pursed his lips and played with his hands. Maybe it was the new hair or the flush in his cheeks. Maybe it was the softness in his eyes. But for a moment I wanted to wrap my arms around his stupid neck. “Why are you giving me another chance?”

I blinked. “I…I mean…that’s a good question.”

He laughed and looked down at me with a smile. “I really wanna know.”

“Tae,” I said, letting the nickname settle in the dim room. We were alone anyway. It was only me and him. “You told me to remind you that people are more than their mistakes. And I didn’t back then.”

“Y/N-,”

“You’re more than your mistakes, Kim Taehyung,” I said, meeting his eyes squarely. “You are.”

His eyes scanned me, leaping from my eyes to my nose, my jaw, my cheeks, then back to my eyes. “Are you sure?”

I nodded. “I’m sure.”

“Are you sure I’m not just a bad person?” he asked. There was a vulnerability in his voice that I had never heard before, not even when we were the closest.

“You’re not a bad person,” I said, shaking my head. “You’re insecure. And sometimes you’re too quick to lash out. You’re headstrong and stubborn. And you don’t listen to other people very well,” I said. “But…you’re not a bad person.”

Quietly, I pulled my hair to the side so I could reach behind my neck and fiddle with the clasp of his grandmother’s necklace. His eyes trained on the skin of my neck. I’d worn the chain that night with the intention of keeping it safe, as I’d been moving things around in my room and didn’t want to lose it. But somehow, it felt like the right thing to to. I met his eyes again and presented the silver chain to him.

He held the pendant between his fingers as I still held the chain and then glanced at me. “It hasn’t been a month.”

“I trust you.”

He blinked at me. “Are…are you sure?”

I nodded and pressed the necklace into his palms. I moved to let go of his hands, but he held on to me. Surprised, I turned to him with wide eyes and he simply scanned me wordlessly. I stared up at him, and his thumbs began smoothing shapes into the sides of my hands. Just like Hoseok.

But nothing like Hoseok.

He continued to stare at me, his deep eyes boundless as they took me in from above. The light made his skin glow, made his parted lips glisten slightly. I wondered what he was thinking, but I couldn’t bring myself to ask. Instead I stared at him too. It took me a moment to realize that his deep eyes were getting bigger, his parted lips were coming closer. But when I did I kept perfectly still. Slowly, his nose brushed mine and I watched him close his eyes. I did the same and butterflies flew through my stomach. All those years of friendship, and we’d never done something like this. I felt his breath fanning out across my lips and I could hear nothing buy my own thundering heart. What was he going to do? I could almost feel his lips brushing mine.

“Ah,” he exhaled, and as soon as he’d leaned in he was leaning away. I opened my eyes and caught a flash of horror on his face before he stood and cleared his throat. “We should go back out or Hoseok might get the wrong idea.”

I blushed. Hoseok.

It was again like a spell was broken and suddenly we were free again. It was odd. The thing that kept us from making that choice wasn’t circumstance or interruptions. No fated force had banged on the door, nobody had called for us. Nothing had fallen off a shelf. Nobody had sneezed. It was just the two of us in that room, and it was purely him who had stopped it.

Why did that hurt more?

He slipped out the door, leaving it open and not sparing even a moment to wait for me. I scratched my cheek and as my hand slid from my face, my fingers brushed my lower lip.

“Haewon?” I called through the rapidly dwindling crowd. “Yuna?”

I’d spent the rest of the evening drifting from the drink cooler to the living room to Hoseok’s arms to a particularly comfortable sofa across from the TV. I had spent little time in any one place, choosing instead to move all over: a desperate effort to keep my mind busy.

But the party was winding down and I found myself amidst a small group of people I didn’t know. Across the living room I glimpsed Hoseok and squeezed through a few small bundles of people to reach him. Upon seeing me he grinned.

“Hey, love,” he said, resting a hand on my cheek as his eyes went heavy. He’d had a lot to drink.

So had I.

So had everyone, really.

“Hi,” I said, leaning into his hand softly. I was allowed to touch this person. He was mine to touch. “Have you seen my friends?”

He shook his head. “Nuh-uh,” he said. “Not since way earlier.”

“Way earlier when?”

“When they went to the balcony with Jimin,” he said, nodding. His eyes had slipped shut standing up.

I smiled and grabbed his face, shaking it a little. “Wake up!” I called.

He laughed and his eyes opened once more. Quickly, he leaned down to peck my forehead. “I’m gonna go call a cab. If you see Taehyung tell him I’m down on the street.”

“Are you sure you’re okay to go alone?” I asked, pouting.

He laughed again. “I am!”

“Be careful.”

“Roger that!” he said before turning towards the front door and shuffling towards it.

I waved after him, chuckling, and decided that perhaps I ought to try calling one of them. I pulled my phone from my back pocket. It took my sensitive eyes a long moment to adjust to the brightness of the screen and I winced as I slid it unlocked. But as I did I noticed a notification in my text messages. Curious, I tapped the icon and read the message.

Dad: Mrs. Park told us you’re coming back to the neighborhood next weekend. I wasn’t aware you were back in the country. Stop by and see us while you’re here.

I stared slack-jawed at the message as icy dread filled my limbs. I had to see them? I was an adult. I didn’t have to listen, right? I could avoid it, right? The familiar panicky feeling I’d grown to know too well began rising in my throat. My heart started to beat fast and my face felt hot in a bad way. I blinked at the rapidly emptying living room before me and wanted to crawl away somewhere and hide. How was I supposed to see them? After what they’d told me before I left. After what they’d done. After what they’d said to me.

I felt tears pricking at my eyes and I fought them with a light slap to my cheek. I shook my head. I had to keep it together. I had to.

In my panic I slipped my phone back into my pocket and decided that taking my time finding the girls might be a good idea, an opportunity to settle my frazzled nerves before seeing them again. I didn’t want them to worry, and I didn’t want them to ask why.

“Yuna,” I called, although this time it was quieter, less urgent. I wandered around couches and tables until I was standing beside the massive door leading to the balcony.

Hoseok had mentioned the balcony. Could they still be out there hours later? It was as good a guess as any, I supposed, and I laboredly pulled the heavy sliding door open, embracing the cool night. I inhaled the fresh air and exhaled slowly, but it did little to settle my racing heart.

“Yu-,” I began, but stopped when I heard the sound of sloppy kissing in the distance. I cringed away from it. It was the bathroom all over again.

I would have turned right back around and stepped back inside had it not been for a giggle I recognized far too well. High, like bells, ringing clearly through the quiet night. I went stiff. No, no, no. This was different. Things were different. We were different. This wasn’t high school.

It wasn’t high school.

I turned slowly towards the source of the giggle and found in the dark corner of the long balcony, far from prying eyes except for mine, Hyerim’s back arched and her head tilted to the side. And, with his lips attached to her neck, was a brown-haired boy that I wished I didn’t recognize like the back of my goddamn hand.

I stared with wide eyes and mouth agape at Taehyung as his hands roamed her sides, his kisses clumsy and hungry. Their lips connected and I felt suddenly quiet ill. Why couldn’t I look away, just like before? Why was I mute and paralyzed, just like before? Why had I allowed myself to become hurt, let him close enough to squeeze my taped-up heart until it once again burst, just like before?

“Y/N! Were you looking for me?” asked Haewon from the doorway, sounding remarkably more sober than before.

I couldn’t turn away, still rooted in place. I didn’t have the words in my vocabulary to describe the aching, burning, frozen feeling in my chest. Haewon approached me quickly, sensing something was off, and followed my eyes towards the scene in the corner.

Only they’d stopped as the crowd had grew, likely alerted by Haewon calling my name. Hyerim stared at me with a smile and Taehyung’s face was contorted with shock and shame. I shook my head as he opened his mouth to speak. He stepped forward into the light of the balcony and I stepped back, breaking my gaze with him and turning to Haewon. After all, she would be far more hurt than I was.

Only she was looking at me, all concern. “Y/N,” she said. “You’re crying.”

I wouldn’t have noticed had it not been for the plump droplets hitting my chest but those tears I’d been holding in since before came rushing forth with impossible strength. Startled, I dabbed my cheek and found water on my fingertips. I turned back to Taehyung who was by then shaking his head vehemently, his hair a mess, his brows upturned.

“I…,” I began, but my voice cracked.

“Let’s go, okay? We can catch the Owl Bus,” she asked, rubbing my arms.

I blinked at the tears that fell into my open palms. “I’m…”

“Let’s go,” repeated Haewon.

Taehyung shook his head. “Y/N, please don’t-,”

“Don’t!” I screamed, alarmed at the volume of my own words. With a shaking hand, I covered my mouth and shook my head. “Just…don’t,” I said, the tremors rocking my voice.

“Y/N!” he called as Haewon and I turned back inside and rushed out the front door. The tears persisted.

“Let’s just go,” she said again, like a mantra, repeating the statement again in my ear.

We emerged on the street and I couldn’t stop the tears. Just like before, everything came to a head at the same time and, just like before, the three factors were there: Taehyung, Hyerim, and my parents. It was like a horribly predictable algorithm. I sniffled, but I knew the tears were far from finished. We stood quietly at the bus stop and Haewon rubbed my back, much like I’d done for her before.

“Hey,” she said softly after a long minute of silence and crying.

I glanced at her. “Hey.”

“I’m over Taehyung now, if that makes you feel better,” she said.

Despite myself I chuckled, wiping beneath my eyes. “Good.”

“Are you okay?” she asked carefully, an arm still wrapped snugly around my shoulders.

I met her beseeching eyes. “Mhm,” I said, then rolled my eyes. “I’m starting to think it’s a right of passage for all of my close friends to see me like this.”

“Yuna too,” she said, nodding. “She mentioned something this morning. About a park.”

“Yeah,” I said.

“I want to understand,” she said.

I blinked past the tears blurring my vision. “You don’t need to say that.”

“Y/N,” she said, and I turned my head to look at her again. “I want to understand. But you need to explain it to me.”

“It’s a long story.”

“It’s a long bus ride,” she said, expression serious.

I sniffed and wiped my eyes once more, inhaling sharply as she released my shoulders and gave me her full attention. The moon was bright above our heads and the night was quiet, waiting for dawn as we waited for our night bus. I wasn’t sure where to begin or how. I wasn’t sure what it meant to finally share the story. But in Haewon’s soft eyes I could see a margin of unacknowledged hurt, covered by a gentle smile. She deserved the truth more than anyone.

I released my breath and nodded. “Okay,” I said, glancing into the placid nighttime street. “It all started when we were kids.”

#bts #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #bts v #taehyung #kim taehyung #taehyung fanfic #taehyung fanfiction #bts au #bts imagine #bts reactions #bts reader insert #taehyung fluff #taehyung angst #bts fluff #bts angst

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theclaravoyant · 6 years

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Changing Stripes (bi!Fitz - Ch.6 - Now Complete!)

AN ~ a fic literally years in the posting (oops) has finally finished and bi!Fitz has finally cocooned through his journey and is ready to come out; and who better to hear it first than his long-time best friend, fellow queer, & potential partner, Jemma Simmons!

*note: I have left the endgame ship(s) of this fic deliberately ambiguous. I invite you to ship whoever you want; follow it through to its canon conclusion or keep FS platonic, I do not mind (hello, I love both options so much I couldn’t finish the fic for literal years!), but there’s been a lot of tagging/shipping discourse up in here lately and I’m not here for it, so: this fic doesn’t “belong” to any ship. It belongs to bi!Fitz, no matter who he ends up with <3

and now, without further ado: Rshps: platonic (or pre-rshp) FS with mentions of romantic FitzSimmons, FitzMack, FitzHunter, FitzSkye, Skimmons, and Simmorse. Rated: T for mild sexual references & innuendo. Fluff (with a few angsty moments, but I promise I make up for them :P)

for Anon prompt, and @meanderings0ul who I think might enjoy it, based on a recent prompt of theirs as well :)

bi!Fitz comes out to bi! (or pan) Jemma

Changing Stripes

“So what’s going on with you?”

“How d’you mean?”

Fitz looked over his shoulder, back at Jemma who was lying on the couch. She put a piece of popcorn into her mouth, shrugged, and repeated the question.

“You know. I was away for months, Fitz. It must have been awful, but I don’t expect you to have been thinking about me the entire time. You must have done something. Learnt something. Bought a shirt? Watched a movie? I don’t know. Something.”

“Yeah, nothing much,” Fitz replied with a shrug of his own. He reached for the bowl of popcorn, and Jemma slid it out of his reach with a firm glare.

“Leopold James Fitz,” she breathed. “First: I was stuck on a desert planet, mostly alone, and it was permanently night time. For six months. You don’t even know what doing nothing is. And second: please get dramatic about something? I need the gossip.”

I need to know you didn’t spend the entire six months thinking about nothing but me, was what she wanted to say, but their relationship still wasn’t quite what it had once been; still wasn’t quite sure exactly what it was. She had to be careful with it. But she also wanted to let her friend know – because that’s what he still was, no matter what else happened – that she cared about him. She missed him. That, at least, he seemed to get, as he gestured for her to sit up and came to sit up beside her, rather than in front of her on the floor.

“Something did happen, actually,” he confessed. There was a little sparkle in his eye, but a nervous energy to the way that he moved, the combination of which piqued Jemma’s curiosity. Seeing the words on the tip of his tongue, she held out the popcorn bowl, and he downed a handful as one might drink a shot before revealing big news. He took a deep breath.

“I came out,” he declared. “Well – I guess I didn’t, technically, come out ‘til just now. You’re the first person I’ve told. Joey knows, sort of, but-“

“As what?” Jemma interrupted.

“Hm?”

“Came out as what?” Her eyes glimmered with pride and excitement. She bit back her instinct to say I told you so, and grinned at him instead. “You never said.”

“Oh,” he said, and grinned, as the gears in his head stopped grinding; overthinking; qualifying. “I’m bi.”

Jemma squealed, jostling the popcorn dangerously close to falling out of the bowl.

“Tell me everything!” she begged. “How did you know? When did you know? Was it Mack? It was Mack wasn’t it. Or was it Hunter… He’s a little roguish, but he’s got that loner-with-a-heart-of-gold air working for him quite well, doesn’t he? I can see you falling for that.”

Fitz waved her off. “It was lots of things. Ever since the Academy. I just kept telling myself, it was nothing – you know, it was hormones or jealousy or whatever.”

“Life goals or wife goals,” Jemma added, nodding in understanding.

“- but every time I started to think about it, really think about it,” Fitz continued, “something would happen, and it would go away, or I’d spook myself and hide it. Joey saw through all that, and he sort of- he got me to reflect on all this stuff, the crushes and everything, and I realised that actually… I’ve known about this for a long time. I just wasn’t ready to accept it.”

Jemma nodded. Her own sexual awakening had come to her rather easily, but she knew a good number of people for whom it had not been so simple, or welcomed. Yet she couldn’t help but spare a moment of solemnity for the messy timing of all this. She found herself wanting to ask, so what does this mean for us?, but of course she already knew. The answer was probably, nothing. Just because Fitz now recognised another side to his romantic and sexual nature, it didn’t change his feelings for her, and it didn’t change the mess they were in. And it didn’t change the fact that he still trusted her enough to tell her first.

“How do you feel about it now?” she asked instead.

“Honestly, good,” Fitz replied, then qualified - “Most of the time. I still doubt myself sometimes, or I think, what would Mack say if he caught me staring, you know? Would it change things between us?”

Seeing that he was starting to fret, Jemma put an arm around Fitz’s shoulder and pulled him close. These were waters she knew well.

“That’s okay,” she promised. “These are all very normal feelings, and you don’t have to tell Mack – or anyone – if you don’t want to. But he’s a good man and he won’t hate you for it. And, you know, have you ever considered that it could change things in a good way? If you feel like you’re hiding something or lying to him now, coming out might help that. You’ll feel more secure. And… you might even get a date out of it. I don’t know Mack’s situation, of course, but if I were you I wouldn’t let those guns pass me by without letting him know I was on the table.”

“… That’s a very sexual image.”

“Yes it is.” Jemma bit her tongue. She was going to enjoy mocking Fitz relentlessly, he always got so flustered when it came to matters of the body, but she had to ease him into it first. “But it’s not just a matter of that, is it? You said you liked the way Mack treats you, with respect, with forwardness, with kindness. You enjoy doing things together. Same taste in cars, same taste in movies; that’s as good a place as any to start. It seems to me you two could build, if you’d pardon the pun, quite the life together – or at least show each other a good time.

“Or what about Hunter? Now, I know for a fact he likes people of the masculine persuasion. He’s got a nice beard, very rugged, and don’t think I haven’t seen you checking out that ass. From what I’ve heard, he’s also a great softie, underneath all that swagger. You two would get along quite well, I’d imagine. Although, the fights over football would be a problem. He barracks for a different team does he not?”

Fitz snorted, as if about to start on a rant at the very thought, but then something occurred to him and he smiled to himself. “We play together too, though. Football, I mean. He’s rather good at it.”

“See?” Jemma nudged him. Fitz laughed.

“Alright, so are you going to set me up with every guy in this place or what?” “Well, you don’t have many options left as regards the women,” Jemma pointed out. “Daisy’s somewhat taken, apparently; May, while gorgeous, is too old for you; and I’m sorry but Bobbi is just out of your league.”

“Oh, but right in yours is she?”

“What?” Now it was Jemma’s turn to blush.

“Don’t ‘what’ me,” Fitz scoffed, smugly taking another handful of popcorn. “You know full well what I’m talking about. You started at her legs when she walked into the lab the first time for a full minute. A full minute Jemma-“

“What about you!” Jemma retorted. “I saw you lick your lips when Mack walked out the other day with that tank top and the grease stain on his collarbone-“

“You started fake cursing like an old woman from the South the first time you saw Daisy without a top on-“

Verbal arguments failing her, Jemma shoved the bowl of popcorn at Fitz. He shoved it back, and she deflected it straight onto the floor, sending popcorn spilling out across the carpet. They paused for a moment in their bickering, and decided they’d best clean it up, so they slithered onto the floor together and crawled around on their hands and knees, dropping popcorn piece by piece back into the bowl. The fight was not over yet though, with Jemma taking this distraction as a chance to have the final word.

“It’s not like you can talk, Mr ‘let me show you my equipment,’” she mumbled.

“What was that?” Fitz beckoned, and flicked a piece of popcorn at her. It bounced off her shoulder. “Did you have something you’d like to share with the class, Ms ‘well formed and symmetrical’?”

“Ugh, Fitz!” Jemma groaned, and threw a handful of kernels at him.

“Shove off!” he yelped, trying to shield himself against the rain. He reached for the bowl, half-full of their recovered popcorn, and flicked handful after handful in retaliation. Jemma gathered her reserves from what remained on the floor, and the two of them engaged in a highly undignified food-fight until there was nothing left but abandoned corn like fallen snow, and two very giggly super geniuses, catching their breath from laughter for the first time in years.

#leo fitz #bi!fitz #leofitzfic #fitzsimmons #fitzhunter #fitzmack #aosfic #aos fic #fsfic #fitzmackfic #fitzhunterfic #clara's fic tag #prompt me stuff #bisexual headcanons #bi headcanons #aos headcanons #bisexual leo fitz #agents of shield

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scrapyardboyfriends · 6 years

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Jenny’s Belated Live Blogging - 22 February 2018

- okay so there’s still no way I can speak coherently about this episode. This will still be a mess. But in general, I love Maxine. As I’ve been reminded by scrolling through tumblr all day yesterday and today, she’s so great at everything. From romance, to those deep meaningful conversations that need to be had, to the humor, to the heart and warmth she instills in every episode. She’s amazing

- Let’s get Ross out of the way first. I mean normally, I’m at least sympathetic to his plight but in this episode, I used his scenes to shove some food in my mouth since I was watching during my lunch break. But they were good. I just couldn’t care. Haha

- The Tracy parts of the Tracy stuff were great. Amy continues to do amazing with the material and I’m glad she’s getting to show her range more. I was happy to see Tracy get to be the one to take Phil down and not have David come in to save her. Thank god Frank is at least a decent human and gave her a hug after she told him what happened. Yep, still side eyeing you for that one David. It’d be a lot easier to believe his explanation if he hadn’t you know...cheated on her with Leyla and continued to lie about it and play on her insecurities to do so. But whatevs...on to more important things!

- Oh right...also...couldn’t care less about the micro brewery stuff but at least that provided Charity with an escape plan.

- I loved everything about the girls night out + Robert. It was so nice to just see everyone out having fun and see characters interact that don’t normally get a chance to. It was a welcome change of pace. And I like Robert having friends even if it was just for this episode.

- Robert and Vanessa was amazing. I really want them to at least stay friendly here and there. It was great seeing her encouraging him after he had been supportive of her earlier. This is the kind of character relationship stuff I like to see. More please.

- The Vanity content was amazing. It had just the right amount of weight in the episode, where all the heavy emotional stuff was with robron but they got to have a fun little reunion of their own and take their next step. I’m so glad that they seem to really want to go somewhere with them as a couple. I was so worried at the beginning that they would just let it be a one off.

- I loved seeing Charity go to the club and slide in there alongside Aaron. I love Aaron and Charity together even if he was way too preoccupied staring at Robert to bother. It was just fun. And Vanessa being all ‘she cares if I live or die as Aaron just couldn’t care was perfect. But the banter between Vanity was great and I’m glad to see them decide to be girlfriends.

- And then you know...there was a robron reunion. Haha. Where do I even begin?

- Big fan of Robert having to be dragged out by the girls because he was having second thoughts as well as his moping during the ‘i never’ game. These two are hopeless. But bravo to Maxine for sticking in a reference to portacabin sex.

- The Vic and Aaron conversation in the back room was perfect. It reminded me so much of their dynamic back in 2011 when Aaron moved into the pub. It was so nice to see them like that again. Just snarky and playful but with an underside of warmth and care that their relationship has grown into now they’re family.

- I loved Bernice and Vic dragging Robert out on the dance floor. He was so intent on just moping the whole time but they weren’t having it and that was lovely.

- Robert is a failure at flirting when it’s not Aaron. Great.

- Aaron’s look of surprise when Alex showed up was priceless. He just genuinely had no idea what to say to that sudden change of events. ‘Oh sorry I was just here stalking my husband to stop him moving on...’. Also just the fact that Aaron was just blatantly standing there watching him, pint in hand, not caring what that looked like. I love it.

- I loved all the girls being so protective of Robert when they saw Aaron there with Alex. It was nice that they weren’t just used to get Rob there but actually were genuinely invested in the situation.

- The Alex break up cracked me up because he did it so quick. He was just watching Robert dance badly with a little smile on his face and then it was like ‘oh...right...you. Yeah I can’t do this. I miss my husband.’ And that he was fully about to do it in front of the nameless friend was even better.

- I kind of love that he didn’t just go right over to Robert after that. I liked that there was that space and time to let things play out. I fully expected there to be a big moment in the club but I’m kind of glad there wasn’t. I adored that little scene outside before Robert went off with Mike when they joked about the bisexual contract and the crimes against dancing. It was so very them.

- So very sad we didn’t get to see that cab ride home with Aaron and the girls but I’m glad to know it happened.

- I’m so happy that Maxine put a Paddy and Aaron scene in there because it was perfect. The humor with Paddy’s back lightened the tone of Aaron’s heartbreak but I loved that he was so open about his intentions with Paddy. It was a simple little scene but it was lovely to see him not bottling it up or going off by himself right away.

- Aaron breaking into the garage. Haha. They really do hate doors. The fact that they both went to the garage is so sentimental and so grossly them. I love it. That whole scene was amazing. Robert’s realization that Aaron had ended things with Alex. Ryan and his face are perfect. And Aaron being like ‘trust me, I’m not broken up about alex’ was great.

- The hand holding!!! They finally learned how to do it properly and I was so pleased. And Aaron looked so happy to be holding his hand again which just makes me emotional considering his character growth.

- The deep conversations were had. I’m glad they talked about everything, that they didn’t just gloss over and ignore the hard stuff. I was happy to finally hear some thoughts about Seb from Aaron. Was it enough? Was there a good enough build up to that point. Probably not but it was something and I appreciate Maxine’s words for Aaron. I think they ring true to him and his character and I think it works going forward even if how they got there is still an issue. As long as Aaron is happy, I’ll be happy, even if I’m still critical of the writing for the storyline as a whole. And I was glad she put in that line about Robert not forcing him on Aaron. That was important as well as Aaron saying ‘he wouldn’t have to’

- I’m so happy Aaron brought up their communication issues as their main problem because it’s so true. They were always afraid to be honest with each other because they feared that truth would cause them to lose each other. And that led to so much pain. That has to change going forward and it seems like now it might. They’re in such better places now.

- I knew Robert was going to try and pull away though and protect Aaron and himself. I’m glad he got that speech out though about how hard it was for him to lose Aaron and how he can’t go through it again. I mean, he’s insane but we all love that about him. Like I said, Emma Barton is rolling over in her grave.

- Aaron’s speech!!! God it was like every ask we’ve ever answered about why Aaron loves Robert and it was beautiful. It was also very Aaron with the insults at the beginning. Gotta get in those digs about his music tastes!! And I loved him saying that he sees the good things Robert does, the good in him even if other people don’t. It’s always been what’s drawn Aaron to him and I’m glad Robert got to hear that because he always doubts that about himself. And the ending with the come Home was beautiful. And Aaron’s little ‘well okay you can talk now’. Perfection.

- I died at Robert’s first response being ‘I’m actually a really good dancer’. So good!! And Maxine getting in on the Adele discourse with the ‘we definitely don’t have a song’ exchange.

- And the Mr Sugden/Mr Dingle call back!!! I wanted it after prison but it was tainted then so I’m glad we got it now. And it made my reunion tag super relevant.

- Aaron’s little ‘shut up’ and the smiles and the kisses and the hugging. Clinging on to each other so damn tight. It was perfect.

- And holding hands and walking off home...while leaving the door to keeper’s open because their love is more important than Vic’s safety. Just brilliant. Hahaha.

- Safe to say, this episode was perfection and I’ll never be over it!!!!

#robron #emmerdale #vanity #belated live blogging #this is a mess #haha

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star-trekkin-across-theuniverse · 7 years

Text

Floating, Pt17

Word Count: 3878 Author’s Notes: Tagging - @medicatemedrmccoy, @from-kitten-to-kitsune @suzen23smith @outside-the-government @sistasarah-sallysaidso @nymphadora-blurryface @bluebird214

I stood, waiting, outside Bones’ room. Christine had been unavailable to hang out with, and Uhura had plans with Spock. I didn’t really know anyone else well enough to impose on their off time. So I was waiting outside Bones’ room for him to answer because my only plans for my child-free evening were rubbing bruise ointment on his back.

The door finally opened, and Jim stepped out. I dodged out of his way before he walked into me.

“Hey,” he smiled. “I didn’t think I’d bump into you so soon.”

“Yeah, I’m actually here for Leonard. On account of it being his room.” It felt awkward and forced. Jim was right, eventually we were going to be friends. But at the moment, it felt stiff and uncoordinated to try to have light, meaningless discourse with him.

“Oh, of course.” He stepped aside, obviously feeling similarly uncomfortable. “I’ll confirm the details with you by tomorrow’s Beta shift, Bones.”

“Thank you, Jim.” Leonard raised an eyebrow at me. I held up the salve and stepped into his room. “That was forced.”

“Maybe a little,” I admitted.

“Did you have stronger feelings than he realized?” Leonard demanded. “Because if he’s hurt you, so help me. I don’t care if he is my best friend, I’ll whip his -”

“No, no, the split was amicable. His read of the situation was right on point,” I interrupted, smiling. “It’s just a little weird. It’ll pass.” He narrowed his eyes and I could tell he was trying to figure out if I was lying. I met his gaze, and he nodded.

“Alright. I suppose you’d like to get on with your evening.” He started pulling his shirt over his head. Jim’s words echoed in my head and I pressed my lips together to stop myself from the torrent of questions I wanted to ask him.

“I’m in no rush,” I admitted, looking at my feet, waiting for him to turn his back to me. I looked up and he was staring at me.

“Why not?”

“Chris was busy. Nyota had plans. I’m not in any hurry to head back to my quarters and sit around waiting on Katie.” I forced myself to maintain eye contact. I’d hard a hard time not admiring Leonard’s physique before everything shook down with Jim. Now I had to fight to look away lest I do something completely stupid. He looked like he was going to say something, and then stopped himself, instead presenting his back to me. The bruise was already significantly improved, but he still flinched when I touched his skin.

“Do you have something against warming up your hands before you touch a body, kid?” he complained.

“Are my hands cold, or are you feeling pain?” I countered. “Because they feel pretty warm to me.”

He reached for my free hand and wrapped his hands around it. His were warmer, but not by much. He scowled and placed my hand on his forearm. Again, there wasn’t much in the way of difference in temperature. “Maybe it’s pain. It doesn’t feel that cold now.”

“Mmhmm,” I murmured, concentrating on rubbing the salve into his skin. “I didn’t bring anything for pain with me. I can run back to medbay -”

His hand covered mine, still on his arm. “I don’t need anything for pain, Bryn.”

“But if you’re -”

“I don’t need anything for pain, Bryn,” he repeated. “But since you don’t have any other plans, maybe you could stick around and distract me.”

“I’m terrible at chess,” I offered. He let out a short bark of laughter, and then braced his side. “Bones, you’re in a lot more pain than you’re willing to admit. I think I should get something for you.”

“Just distract me,” he asked. “Not with chess. I can’t stand the game.”

“Yeah, you kind of look more like a poker guy,” I laughed, recapping the salve, and stepping back to hand him his shirt. He pulled the undershirt on, and stepped over to his shelving unit.

“I have a deck of cards and some chips somewhere,” he commented, moving some things on the top shelf. I fussed with the replicator and got us something to drink while he sat and shuffled the cards. “You can play poker, can’t you?”

“You think I got through med school at the Academy without knowing?”

“Couldn’t tell you, I didn’t go to med school at the Academy. Just officer training,” he countered.

“Oh, I didn’t realise!” I exclaimed. “Yeah, Kara and I were the reigning champs of study poker.”

“Study poker?”

“Yeah, kind of like strip poker, but when you won, the loser didn’t lose clothing, they had to answer revision questions,” I laughed.

“I think I’d prefer strip poker,” he chuckled.

“Yeah, but you seem to really enjoy running around topless,” I countered.

“There’s no guarantee if we played strip poker that I’d be the one topless.” There was a challenge there that I knew better than to accept.

“Oh, I’m very good at poker,” I promised. “And you’re unwell. You can lose at strip poker when you’re back in peak physical condition. It’ll be more enjoyable for me.” I winked. He looked so offended that I had to bite my lip to not laugh.

“Oh, you’re on, kid,” he growled. “We’ll see who winds up losing.”

“When you’re healthy, Bones,” I reminded him. The cards snapped as he dealt them, and I couldn’t hide my amusement. “Do you want to see if you can win at study poker tonight?”

“No, I think higher stakes than that,” he countered. “Next shore leave, drinks on the loser.”

“That seems fair,” I agreed.

“I drink very expensive scotch.” He raised an eyebrow. “So save your creds up.”

I looked at my cards and cringed inwardly. It was going to take a great deal of bluffing to win this hand. I put my bet in, and traded out two cards. My hand improved, marginally. Bones traded out a single card. I checked. He raised the bet. I assessed my hand and called. He dropped his cards. He had a straight. I had two pair. He swept the chips to his side, and handed me the deck. The game continued, and I watched as my chips slowly moved over to his side of the table. He was handing my ass to me. He won the final hand and the grin he gave me was part triumphant and part mercenary.

“Top shelf scotch, kid.” He winked. I nodded.

“I let you win.” I winked back and tidied the chips. Before standing to retrieve the box for them, I stopped beside him. “I like expensive scotch too, but it’s more enjoyable to drink with a friend. You need to get some rest.” I wrapped my arms around his shoulders. His arms snaked around my hips and he laid his head against my tummy.

“I haven’t thanked you.” His voice was so quiet I could barely hear it.

“For letting you win at poker?” I laughed. He stood up beside me and pulled me back into his arms.

“You know that’s not what I’m talking about,” he chided. I sighed and pulled out of his arms reluctantly.

“Well, what would we do without you, Bones? You kinda forced my hand.” I headed toward the door. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Science Fair!” Katie woke me with a shake. I was dozing on the couch after my shift and was completely disoriented.

“What?” I asked.

“Mr. Yim is taking us to a science fair!” She exclaimed.

“Why?” I still wasn’t quite awake.

“Our holographic projection program! If we can work out some of the issues with it, he said he’ll take us to the science fair on Starbase 12 when the crew is on shore leave!” She was shaking with excitement. I rubbed my eyes and processed what she said.

“Shore leave? I don’t think there’s shore leave scheduled for a while.” I had to wonder how many months in the future this shore leave was supposed to be.

“It’s super soon, he said. As soon as we get to Starbase 12 for reprovisioning, Jim has authorized crew-wide leave, and I am going to a science fair!” She started going a happy dance. There were worse things for her to be that excited about. I wondered where exactly my brain had been that I hadn’t realized we were nearing Starbase 12, but I suspected I was suffering from selective hearing. I had been pulled in so many directions since the incident with the rock aliens that I wasn’t even sure which way was up. Bones had returned me to three times a week zero-grav drills, and Katie was struggling with her history class because she was focussing all her energy on science. I’d been spending most of the evenings she wasn’t working on the holographic imaging program tutoring her. And on those nights that she was tied up with the pursuit of science, Bones and I had expanded our poker game to include Scotty, Jim, Uhura and somewhat surprisingly, Spock. I felt like I was finally properly integrated into the crew.

“So are you back to school for extra tonight?” I asked, pulling the pins and elastic out of my hair, and combing my fingers through it.

“I am. We might try a larger scale projection next week, so we need to work on debugging it more.” She nodded. I replicated dinner for Katie and I, and when she finished inhaling her meal, she kissed me on the cheek and headed back to the education centre. I checked my appearance in the mirror, and after determining that I looked presentable, I commed Christine to see if she was interested in meeting me in the cantina, heading there before she responded.

Tarin waved from her table when she saw me, and I joined her. It had been ages since we’d sat down and visited, and I was looking forward to catching up. Christine joined us a few minutes later.

“It’s like the stars finally aligned so we could catch up!” Tarin laughed. “I haven’t seen either of you in too long.”

“Katie has been ignoring her history in order to focus on science,” I explained. “And while science is what will get her into the Academy early, she needs all her marks to be obscenely high.”

“So what you’re saying is that she has ninety-nine percent in history, instead of one hundred?” Christine laughed. I joined in.

“It’s funny because it’s true.” I nodded. Tarin grinned.

“My sister entered the academy at 14. I remember my parents worrying about how single-minded she was as well,” she offered. “I don’t think ninety-nine will keep her out.”

“The worst of it is that I don’t know if I want her to go so young,” I admitted. “I only just got her back full-time. To only get three years with her?”

“But once she finished, she can always request assignment with you until she’s an adult,” Christine suggested.

“Which only gives me two more years,” I sighed. “I’m borrowing worries, I know. It’s far too soon to be losing sleep over this.”

“Particularly when you have someone else helping you lose sleep,” Christine winked. I furrowed my brow in confusion.

“But I don’t.”

“I thought you and -”

“Oh no, that ended almost as quickly as it started,” I laughed. “Far too much cloak and dagger, I think, in the end.” I wasn’t about to share that Jim had pinpointed my less-than-platonic feelings for Bones before I had. Or that I had less-than-platonic feelings in the first place.

“Wait, are we talking about you and McCoy, or something else?” Tarin asked. My jaw dropped and Christine burst out laughing.

“Bones is my best friend. There’s nothing going on there,” I denied. Christine laughed again.

“To use our beloved CMO’s own favourite phrase, horse shit,” she chuckled. “If my best friend and I were constantly in one another’s laps like you two are, we’d be assigned shared quarters.”

“Christine, there is nothing happening between Doctor McCoy and I.” I kept my voice calm and steady. “He’s been my advocate and my ally, and he is my best friend shipboard.” Christine arched her eyebrow in disbelief, but let it go.

“Do either of you have exciting plans for shore leave?” Tarin carefully changed the subject. I lifted my hands in disbelief.

“Am I the only person who hasn’t been paying attention?” I asked. Christine shook her head.

“Nope, this is the first I’ve heard of it too,” she replied. “What shore leave?”

“We’ll be at Starbase 12 in about three days. Captain Kirk has authorized ship-wide leave,” she explained. “You seriously didn’t know?”

“I’ll ask Bones about it tomorrow morning.” I looked at Christine. “I hope that doesn’t mean he’s planning education leave for us or something.”

“12 has a pretty basic hospital and medical centre. I can’t think there would be much for us to learn. And he would never consider drilling us off the ship,” Christine said. My comm chirped, alerting me that Katie was headed back to quarters.

“Sorry to cut the evening short, that was Katie,” I excused myself. I wondered about the shore leave as I headed back to my quarters. I couldn’t think of a reasonable excuse for why Bones wouldn’t let medical personnel know about it, but I assumed there would be a reason.

Katie wasn’t in when I got back. I’d asked her to comm me before she came home so I could be back in time, but the education centre was closer than the cantina, and she nearly always beat me. I looked down at my communicator and checked the message. It wasn’t a message from Katie, it was from Bones. I turned around and headed out to his quarters.

“Okay, you’ve summoned me away from drinks with Chris and Tarin. What’s up?” I asked as I entered his quarters. He was sitting on his couch, poring over his PADD.

“This curriculum is ridiculous. Why is it so important for kids to know about history? Shouldn’t Katie be learning about other cultures? Earth history can be summed up in a few words. And then we blew shit up again.” He put air quotes around the last sentence.

“What are you talking about?”

“I’ve been trying to help Katie with her history homework, but I don’t understand why it’s so goddamn important that she know about,” he paused and scanned his PADD “nuclear proliferation in the twentieth century.”

“It’s all related to the Cold War and the space race,” I replied.

“Well aren’t you a happy little ray of history,” he retorted, finally looking away from his PADD. I smiled and sat down beside him. “Your hair looks pretty when it’s down.”

“Uh, Thanks? When did you start helping her?” I asked.

“Ages ago. Her mark dropped to a ninety-six and she was scared to tell you. She thinks you’ll be upset if she doesn’t get early admission to the Academy. I told her you’d probably prefer she didn’t go early, but she’s convinced you’ll be heartbroken if she doesn’t,” he explained. I sighed.

“I don’t think I want her to go early. But I want her to have the opportunity to, if that’s what she wants,” I admitted. “Does that make sense?”

“Of course it does. But you should tell her that,” he advised. I nodded.

“Speaking of telling, when were you going to let us know about shore leave?” I asked. He stared at me blankly.

“I sent that memo last week, as soon as Jim authorized it. It should be on everyone’s PADDs.”

I pulled my PADD and showed him all my messages. Nothing about shore leave was there. He looked at my PADD, and then opened his own messaging. “Oh for -” He growled. “I left it in drafts. I think I was waiting on Jim to confirm dates.” A few taps later, and my PADD alerted me of the message waiting.

“So right now you owe me drinks,” I prompted. He raised an eyebrow.

“In a pig’s eye, kid,” he retorted. I laughed.

“I’m not going to fight with you about it. Fair and square. I’m ahead right now in the official greatest poker challenge ever,” I flipped through my PADD until I found the tracking page I’d set up, and handed it to him.

“Well, I’ll be damned. I’ll have to try a little harder tomorrow,” he laughed.

“I’ll make you a deal,” I offered. “If you’ll come with me to check out Katie’s science fair while we’re on leave, I’ll buy.”

“Done,” he said, too quickly.

“That was too easy.” I narrowed my eyes. He grinned.

“She’d already invited me.”

“You’re an asshole, Bones,” I laughed, bumping him with my shoulder.

“She’s a good girl,” he commented, more seriously.

“Yeah, I think my parents did right by me,” I agreed. “She’s smart, she’s kind -”

“She loves her mama, she wants to make you proud,” he agreed. “I hope my Joey is growing up the same, although I somehow doubt it.”

“Joey?” I asked. He must have meant the girl in the holo.

“My daughter. She’s a little less than a year older than Katie,” he offered, as though he wasn’t dropping a huge secret in my lap.

“You’ve never mentioned her,” I pressed. He looked sad. Wistful.

“It was an ugly divorce, and her mother got custody.” It was a short answer, but I could hear the pain in his voice. I squeezed his hand.

“I’m sorry.” I wasn’t sure what else to say. He laced his fingers in mine and squeezed back.

“She writes the greatest letters. Jocelyn tried to prevent me from contacting her, but the court said being off planet was hardship enough. Joanna sends me a letter once a month. Says she’s too old for me to keep calling her Joey, but she’ll always be a little girl with pigtails and a lisp in my mind,” he laughed. “I got to see her when we were back on Earth. She’s not a little girl with pigtails and a lisp anymore.”

“You’re a good man, Leonard.” I squeezed his hand again, and leaned against his shoulder.

“Joc would probably argue that point,” he laughed.

“Let me at her.” I wasn’t joking. He slipped his arm around my shoulder.

“Well,” he paused. “I was a different man then.”

“No,” I argued. “You weren’t. Men like you are born, not made.”

“Thank you for your vote of confidence, kid,” he laughed. “But I assure you, I was a fuck up and that ended my marriage.”

“Well, whatever you are, you owe me drinks when we get to Starbase 12,” I teased.

“We just agreed that you were buying!” He protested. “Check in with Katie, and see how much later she’s going to be.” I raised an eyebrow in question, but complied. Her response was immediate. She was busy, I was to stop interrupting her, and Mr. Yim was a god among men.

“Apparently I have at least an hour.” I shrugged. Leonard grabbed the poker chips and the deck of cards and raised his eyebrow in challenge.

“Double or nothing,” he dared. I narrowed my eyes and bit my lip.

“I don’t know, Bones,” I hesitated. “I mean, it’s not much of a wager. A second glass of scotch? Doesn’t really seem worth the risk.”

“Chicken?” He tried to provoke me. He tilted his head from side to side, cracking his neck.

“Oh, you are on.” I rose to the bait. I took an early lead in the game, raking his chips across the table to my pile. A few hands in, I was certain I was going to clean him out. He had significantly fewer chips than I did, and had drawn three cards. I had a solid hand, a full house with three aces and a pair of kings. I knew I could clean him out, and went all in, sure he would follow suit. I showed my hand and his eyes widened.

“That’s a good hand,” he admitted, as he dropped his hand on the table. “But my four of a kind beats it.”

“Twos? You beat me with twos?” I threw my hands up in defeat and glared at him. He smirked winking as he swept the chips across the table. I gathered the cards and put them away, still shaking my head and muttering under my breath. He followed me to the shelving unit and put the chips down beside the cards and laughed.

“Come on, don’t be that way,” he cajoled. I scowled at him. “That was a pretty historic loss, as poker losses go. You don’t see that often.”

“Rub it in why don’t you?” He took my chin in his hand and tilted my head up, forcing me to look at him. I smiled despite myself.

“There’s my girl,” he teased. “Sunny disposition and all.” I cocked an eyebrow and rolled my eyes.

“I should punch you in the spleen,” I grumbled. He stepped a little closer and slipped his free arm around my waist, pinning my arm at my side.

“Come on now, the bruise is only just gone,” he laughed, and I became acutely aware of how close he was. My breath caught. I extricated myself from his arms and stepped toward the door.

“I should go.” I bit my lip. He looked hurt, almost.

“I thought you weren’t in a hurry?” He asked. “Katie hasn’t commed.” He took a few steps toward me, and I had to force myself to not retreat. He pushed a stray curl off my face and looked at me in wonder. I had to force myself to breathe. His hand cupped my cheek, and without realizing what I was doing, I closed my eyes and leaned into it. Then, while my eyes were still closed, I felt his lips brush against mine, soft, without any force. I pulled away, dragging in a deep breath. He stepped away.

“I -”

“Oh, shit, Bryn,” he breathed. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have -”

“No, don’t.” I placed my fingers against his mouth. “Don’t apologize.” I stepped back against him, eliminating the space between us. My arm snaked around his neck, pulling him down to me. Our lips met, and the tight anticipation in my chest exploded as he gathered me into his arms. And then my comm chirped, forcing us apart. I looked down at the message, knowing it would be Katie.

“I have to go.” I didn’t want to go. He nodded, mute, his face flushed. “I will see you in the morning.” He nodded again. I walked toward the door, and turned back before pushing the button to open it. He crossed the room in three steps and pushed me into the wall, his mouth hard against mine. His hands tangled in the hair at the nape of my neck and his teeth tugged on my bottom lip. I slid my tongue against his teeth and he deepened the kiss, leaving me breathless. He pulled away, his mouth turning up at the corner just slightly.

“You have to go,” he breathed. “Katie.” It sounded like he was reminding himself more than me.

#star trek fanfic #star trek fanfic with OC

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