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onechicagorpf · 4 years

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Not A Stranger - Part 4

Pairing: Jay Halstead x Reader (Chicago Med intern)

Waking up in bed next to a random naked guy after a drunken night out usually sucks, but eh, whatever. you’ll never see him again, right? Well except this time, random naked guy turns out to be your ED attending’s little brother, so maybe you’re a little bit screwed…

Read Part 1 here Read Part 2 here Read Part 3 here

Warnings: Very mild mentions of sex. Swearing, the usual cuss words.

A/N: The final chapter! Woohoo! Honestly I was having so much trouble with this chapter - I actually ended up writing about 7k words total of 3 completely different plots when I suddenly got this idea yesterday and I decided to go with this one. Anyway, thank you SO MUCH for all of y’all who’ve showed the previous 3 parts so much love! I really appreciate it so much!

PS: Send me asks/messages/leave a note if you liked this and want to see more - it really makes me feel so much less insecure about my writing ahaha! Also do send me short prompts or requests that I can fill as blurbs (i.e. nothing that’s going to be a several chapter story - I will request those later on!) - preferably for Jay but I can do Will as well! Female!Halstead sibling is also okay :) Enough talking, enjoy!

The music is so loud you can barely hear your own thoughts. Or your own voice.

“HELLOOOOOO! BARMAN!” You yell at the guy making drinks 5 feet away from you. Your body is almost entirely atop the counter as you lean forward, trying to grab his attention. The couple next to you throw you a dirty look, but who cares? You’re 3 shots in, and you’re –

“ – drunk as fuck!” Lucy shouts in your ear, trying to pull you up so you straighten.

“What?” You slip off the counter and land back on your feet, wobbly. Your best friend shakes her head. “You’re drunk as fuck! How is that even possible? You barely had anything!” Lucy looks disappointed.

You laugh – a high-pitched drunken squeal – and lean in.‌ “I haven’t gone out in like, four weeks, y’know! My tolerance is down!”

Lucy throws her hands in the air, almost knocking a drink out of someone else’s hand. They yell at her, but she doesn’t notice or care. “This is why I ask you to come party with me like every week, bitch!”

You waggle your finger in front of her. Or, you try to. You’re tipsy enough that standing straight is a little difficult so you keep swaying, and you’re also fairly confident you’re seeing two of Lucy right now.

“The last time I went out with you, I got plastered and woke up next to – ”

“A total hottie! WOOO!” Lucy exclaims, shaking her fists in excitement.

“Yeah except he was also my boss’s brother, but okay.”

The bartender finally comes to you and Lucy, dropping two shots in front of you exasperatedly. You and Lucy each down one. When you flip the shot glass upside down on the counter, you can almost feel yourself losing what little awareness and sobriety was in you.

The music changes and Lucy’s eyes light up. “This is my song!” She howls, before starting to obnoxiously (and very much off-key) belt out lines. She grabs your hand, trying to lead you to the dance floor. You wave her off, saying you’ll be right behind her in a minute, and she nods before heading off.

Turning back to the counter, you lean against it dependently as you struggle with your clutch. You curse under your breath as your fingers repeatedly slip against the clutch opening, even though you had zero trouble opening it when you were sober two hours ago. Finally, your clutch opens, and you pull your phone out. Immediately, your fingers tap the messaging icon, and press on Jay’s name.

No new messages.

“Ugh,” You groan, dropping your head down in your hands. Your phone beeps randomly, but you ignore it in favour of moping.

It’s been about two weeks since that night. Two weeks since you told Jay he was ‘just some guy you were sleeping with’.

Two weeks of complete radio silence.

“Come on, don’t you want to say something to me?” You bitch out loud, glaring at the back of your phone. “I know I fucked up, I know I said mean shit, but my god, I didn’t fucking mean it – I was just. I was stupid and scared…and now I’m at the Verge again and I’m drunk, I’m soooooo drunk and my friend is – oh, she’s making out with some dude! Fuck, I was gonna ask her to book me an Uber but now I can’t and I don’t even know where my Uber app is on my phoneeeeee - ” You whine – a real full-on, high-pitched drunken whine – as you turn your phone screen around.

Voice message recorded.

Voice message sent.

“Huh?” You frown at your screen, trying to figure out what you just did, when someone knocks into you and you teeter over, almost face planting on the counter. “Fuck!” You curse, straightening and trying to look around for who did that, when a blonde head suddenly appears in view.

“Okay listen this is Alex and he’s a cutie and he wants to take me home but I gotta check if you’re okay?” Lucy informs you with the immediacy of a someone about to miss their last bus to work. You want to beg her to stay, but a) you ditched her last time when you saw Jay and she didn’t hold it against you, b) she was insistent that she had to get laid tonight, and c) Alex was hella cute.

“Get it girl!” You cheer, kissing her on the cheek and she beams. Once she exits, Alex in tow, you look around not sure what to do.

“HEY BARGUY? CAN I HAVE ANOTHER?”

***

It’s 30 minutes later that the bartender finally cuts you off and tells you in no uncertain terms that you have to go somewhere else if you want to keep drinking.

“Rude!” You exclaim into the cold air as you exit the back of the bar into a dark alley. “Fucking – I’m not even that drunk, that asshole. Like I don’t know my own limits?” You bitch to yourself as you wobble down the alley in your stupidly high stilettos. Bright lights suddenly shine at you, and you cover your face with your arms. “Motherfuck – !” You squint, trying to see which moron decided to flood the alley with his headlights.

“Jesus Christ,” You hear, and you almost immediately turn sober. You’d recognise that voice anywhere.

The lights go down, and just as your eyes adjust you see Jay Halstead exit from his GMC Sierra. Dressed in a black v-neck and dark jeans – god, does he own any colour in his wardrobe? – he steps towards you, a tight look on his face that’s otherwise devoid of any emotion.

“Why’re you here?” You ask, trying to hide the fact that your heart is beating so loud and fast you feel like you can hear it in your ears.

Jay stops in front of you, raising an eyebrow. “You called.”

You frown. “No I didn’t.”

Jay pulls out his phone and presses a button. You hear your own voice saying something about being drunk and not being able to order an Uber.

“That’s not – I didn’t – how the fuck…” You just trail off, confusion written all over your face.

“Well, I’m sure you’re not the first person to drunkenly send a voice message asking someone to come pick you up.” Jay supplies, pocketing his phone. There’s a note of judgement in his voice and you don’t appreciate it.

“Hey, I didn’t ask you to come and pick me up! I’m fucking fine!” You announce, before shoving Jay to the side and walking past him.

“You’re swaying like a leaf in the wind, you know?” Jay comments, behind you.

“Fuck you!” You swivel around sharply, pointing an accusatory finger at him, which proves to be a bad decision when you trip sideways and just about slam your shoulder into the alley wall. The only reason you don’t is that Jay lunges forward and grabs your arms, pulling you to him.

There’s a moment of silence.

“I’m not that drunk, it’s just my shoes, I swear.” You mutter into his chest. It’s true – almost. You were a little wasted when you exited the bar, fine, but in the same way that drunk people can get immediately sober once they see, say, a train collision, the sudden shock of seeing Jay seems to have burned through the fog in your mind.

You’re not sure what that says about your feelings for him...

The two of you separate, but Jay’s still holding you at an arm’s distance. As he looks down at you, he frowns. “What…are you wearing?” He asks in a judgemental tone.

You look down at yourself – it’s a short, red figure-hugging dress with side cut-outs. Looking back at him, you respond: “A dress.”

Jay snorts derisively. “Not exactly leaving a lot to the imagination.” He mutters under his breath.

“Hey!” You raise your voice, and take a step towards him to – to punch his arm or something – but once again your heels fail you and you just topple straight into his chest.‌ “Fuck!” You shout, cheeks burning, and you push back from him. Bending over, as gracefully as you possibly can in your tiny dress, you try to get your stupid shoes off. Meanwhile, the sound of Jay’s laughter is in the air and you throw a dirty look at him.

After watching you struggle with the straps of your heels for about a minute, Jay crouches down in front you. “Alright, alright, hold on,” He says. Getting on one knee, he tells you to stand and you do.

Jay’s hands wrap around your right ankle gently, and his fingers move deftly, undoing the multiple straps of the heel. You place your left hand on his shoulder, steadying yourself, and try hard to breathe regular. The feeling of his fingers against your skin is tantalising, and the sight of him crouched down before you is putting racy thoughts in your mind.

Without even thinking about it, you move your hand to hold his face.

Jay looks up at you as you run your thumb over his cheek. He holds his breath as the pad of your thumb gently swipes against his pink lips.

Bending over, you lean downwards and capture Jay’s lips in yours.

The kiss is gentle and sweet for all of three seconds, before you run your tongue over Jay’s lips and he escalates it. Starting from your ankles, his hands run up the back of your legs as he gets up. Once he’s halfway up the back of your thigh, Jay swiftly stands, lifting you effortlessly. You hook your legs around his waist like a good girl and continue the heated, ravaging kiss. Jay holds you against him with just his right arm – and my god, are you ready to come just from that because holy fuck how strong is this guy to be carrying you with one arm! – as his left hand grabs your jaw in that authoritative, bossy way that has your head spinning.

You know you shouldn’t be doing this, you know it’s going to hurt so bad when he leaves, you know the smart thing to do is to put a stop to this - to stop being with the one guy you can’t have; the one that sees you as a hookup and nothing more. But god, the way he makes you feel, the way he kisses you like he’s taking your soul – so hard and deep and yet so passionate – and the way he holds you to him like you’re his…the way he’s got your toes curling, he’s got you not giving a fuck that you’ve got one heel on and the other…somewhere on the ground – fuck, you’re so fucking gone for him.

He walks, steady and confident, and you don’t know where he’s taking you until he drops you against the hood of his truck.

You’re panting heavily, your hair fanned out around your head as you lick your lips, your pulse thundering between your legs. Jay looks down at you with nothing but lust in his eyes, before grabbing the back of your thighs and pulling you toward him roughly so that your ass is right at the edge of the hood, Jay’s hips right between your legs. The movement causes your already short dress to ride up even more, and now it’s bunched up around your hips. The cool air of the nice is cold against your legs, and especially cold against the growing wet patch at the crotch of your panties.

You look up at Jay – your eyes wide with salacious want, a desperate need for him, to touch you, fuck you, come for you –

A cacophony of sounds is suddenly in the air. A group of people are exiting the bar, loud and boisterous.

And just like that, the moment between you and Jay is over. You sit up at lightning speed, getting off the hood of his truck, pulling your dress down just as Jay steps back, swearing under his breath.

The group take their own sweet time to leave the alley, to get out of sight, and you’re so impatient you briefly consider tossing your other shoe at them to get them to move faster.

Eventually, the last of them turns the corner and you let out of a breath of relief. You turn back to Jay, opening your mouth, and he just shakes his head.

“No, no, no.” Jay runs his hands through his hair, looking agitated. He sighs deeply, before looking straight at you with the most apologetic look on his face. “We can’t be doing this, Y/N. I’m sorry, but...I can’t.”

Your entire body goes cold.

You shake your head, eyes pleading. “Jay, no – I’m not drunk I swear – ”

“It’s not that, Y/N – ”

“Then what is it? What did I do wrong?” You whisper, reaching towards him.

“It’s nothing you did.” Jay smiles ruefully. “It’s something I did.”

You frown. “What did you do?” Jay doesn’t answer, instead just walking past you.

You grab his arm, stopping him. Jay turns, his green eyes slightly wet, mouth open but you cut him off.

“What did you do? Dammit Jay, stop shutting me out!” You exclaim, begging, and the two of you are so close now you can see Jay’s pupils dilate, and a pained expression fixes itself onto his face and it kills you seeing him this upset.

“I caught feelings for you.” Jay whispers, and your heart stops. “You said I was just some guy you were sleeping with…that you didn't feel like that about me and – and I was going to put distance between us, I swear.” Jay sighs, and you just try to keep up with what he’s saying but it’s tough because you feel like your head is underwater, like you can’t breathe.

Jay doesn’t notice any of this, and he continues. “But then you called tonight and I heard your voice and I don't know what it is about you but I just – I just lose my mind. I was halfway down the block before I even realised I was coming to get you. And that night you came over – you were under me, taking me so well and so hot I didn't even think before – I just went so hard on you because I wanted you so fucking bad – Y/N I want you so fucking bad, all the fucking time – ” Jay’s shaking his head, his voice is cracking, there’s tears in his eyes and you – you just –

“I'm going to fucking kill you.” You announce, and Jay closes his eyes.

“Y/N – ”

“Jay, I'm in love with you.” You admit, your voice clear as can be, and Jay’s eyes open, stunned. “I thought you thought I was just some hookup – ”

A deep frown embeds itself between Jay’s eyebrows, “Why the fuck would you think – ”

You raise your voice, slightly affronted. “I asked you about the Army! And you didn't open up to me and I thought – ”

“Oh my god – ” Jay drops his head in his hands.

“How was I supposed to know you felt the same way – ”

“I didn't tell you about that shit because I hate it! Y/N, nothing good came out of my time over there and I saw that look on your face when you found my scar and you looked horrified – ”

“Of course I was horrified – someone stabbed you!” You exclaim, your voice high, your breathing erratic. Jay looks at you, and he’s also breathing heavy...but slowly, his face just splits into a smile. You smile too.

Both of you lean in, pressing your lips together. Jay’s arms wrap around you, tight, and your hands cradle his face as the two of you sink into one another in an intimate, tender moment. Your heart feels like it’s weightless – all the happiness in the world resides within you, for a moment, and the feeling of Jay around you – your Jay – brings tears to your eyes.

When you separate, you barely move – your faces are still so close, Jay looking down at you with all the fondness in the world, and you looking back up at him, teary-eyed.

“I need to get my shoe.” You whisper, the first one to break the silence. Jay laughs, throwing his head back. You laugh with him, a giant grin on your face, as he gently rests you atop the hood of his truck again before running to retrieve your lonesome heel.

He tosses it to you and you grab it. “Do you want a kiss for that?” You ask him, smiling sweetly.

“Oh, one hundred percent.” Jay grins back, and you throw your arms around his neck. “One more thing – ” Jay interrupts you just as you pull close, and you raise your eyebrows.

“Yes?”

Jay scrunches up his face. “Someone needs to tell Will.

You roll your eyes. “You’re scared of that?”

“Hey, he’s not your big brother. I’ll bet my entire savings account he’s going to give the shovel talk to me, his own blood.” Jay counters, and you laugh. “Well, he’s a gentleman like that,” You say, slipping your hands into Jay’s pocket to pull out his phone.

Jay gazes at you with amusement in his eyes as you type a few sentences – out of his sight – and send it to Will.

“Done!” You announce cheerily.

Jay raises an eyebrow. “Are you sure – ” He’s cut off by his phone buzzing in your hand. It buzzes again. It then buzzes a third time, before it starts ringing.

“Three messages and a phone call, in 30 seconds. That’s never good news.” Jay notes, a strained expression on his face. “What exactly did you tell him?”

You shrug, pretending to be innocent. “Well, I definitely didn’t say anything along the lines of ‘Hey I’ve been bedding your intern for the last few weeks behind your back, and yes we definitely had sex the night you came over for hockey. Anyway, we’re a thing now. Bye!’.”

Jay drops his head. “Oh my fucking god – ” His phone goes off again, and Jay just curses, shutting it off. “Y/N – he’s going to kill me.” He says, eyes wide with incredulity. You just giggle, pulling him close to kiss him again. You heart soars as you feel Jay smile through the kiss. ***

Tag List: @elliee1497 @scorpiomindfuck @lookatallthefeels

#jay halstead #jay halstead imagine #jay halstead x reader #chicago pd imagine #chicago med imagine #onechicago imagine #onechicago #cpd imagine

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twisted-trunk · 3 years

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I Don’t Have Time for This [A Day In The Life]

I drag myself up from my bed, heaving heavy winter blankets off of me. I take one step away from my place of rest and despair. My medicine, pills placed in two separate containers; morning and night, lay on the dresser that functions more as a tall nightstand. Choosing the one closest to the door, I squint and try to remember the day. It shouldn’t be so hard between taking my meds and keeping my medical diary. Good thing I don’t fully close the tab from the day before.

I take my medicine: some float on the water in my mouth, some are small, some are big. I down half my water bottle. My heating pad clinks to life as I tap the remote on the cord three times then slink back into place. I maneuver my laptop in front of me, slightly tilted then click on a YouTube video.

The window for sleep is gone.

I’m tired.

I open my phone.

The time flashes brightly at me then gives way to my home screen. I click the weather app. The barometer reads 1023 hPa (hexopascals; normal or one atmosphere is 1013 hPa), last night ended at 1018 hPa. What’s the point in this, I ask myself even as I dutifully record it in my medical diary; I feel like shit either way and it’s been doing fucking backflips.

Next, I record the time: 6:35. It’s winter. The sun isn’t up. My birds are, for the moment, quiet. The house isn’t awake. Save for the annoying neighbor that straight-piped their muffler, the world is quiet. The fish tank’s filter pours water back down into the tank. Car lights flash on the wall through the slight opening my layered curtains allow. Soon, the sun will come and the light will force its way into my world far before I’m ready.

I can already tell it won’t be a cloudy day.

I click a new YouTube video, something’s ought to catch my attention. I pray the depression med will finally do something. I pray the rest of the medicine with do something. The dose of one has been upped, there has to be a difference, right?

Through muscle memory, I click through apps. Weather. Instagram. Solitaire. Tumblr. Instagram. Safari. Solitaire.

I check the time.

6:53 am.

Unconsciously, I sigh. I check my blogs though I know nothing’s new, no one has interacted with them; no notifications tell me otherwise. Still, though, I check. Maybe someone will want to talk with me. I think I expressed that enough? I hope I did.

I don’t want the disaster or awkwardness from attempting to make conversation first but then really having nothing to say besides please talk to me, give me something, anything, I need something to take my attention away. Let me know I’m not alone.

7:03 am.

Light is invading more of my space. I pull the stiff blankets up as a pathetic barrier against it. I exit the YouTube video and search my recommended for something.

I refresh.

I refresh again.

One more time. I click on something. I play with my phone again. The water continues to fall and splash. I open a different app. The noise grates on my thin nerves if I focus on it. I try my mindless games. Nope.

I flow through Instagram and tumblr and instagram again.

8:59 am.

It’s bright and I don’t want to get up but I’m thirsty, and it’s a horrible feeling and my mouth is dry and my doctor even prescribed me to drink more and I don’t want a kidney stone.

I don’t know how long it takes, but I get up and trample around my bed to fold the curtains in. The best it’ll get. The room is shaded only slightly; more so if it were darker out. Winter, I think, it’ll be darker, I think, but as ever, I remind myself that snow reflects light and it will be worse than a bright summer’s day.

I grab the same cup I used the day before. My inner germaphobe winces but nothing’s been in there but water; I barely had enough energy yesterday to make myself a small bowl of pasta.

I throw my forlorn, now warm compress into the freezer and ensure it’s shut with a knee to handle. I hate this freezer.

I refill my glass and go to the bathroom.

I come back and stand in front of my bed. Just do it, it think. You’re already up, I think.

I shame myself into doing my physical therapy—at least the exercises I am able to do. Halfway through my first, I remember the ones I could have done before ever getting up to warm myself up for the rest. That was the plan I’d had for two weeks yet could never quite do it without flipping the order. I’ll lay down again anyway, after this I won’t have much pith and vinegar left.

I never do.

A few in, the hardest ones, I feel sick. Whether it be the “exhaustion” or unintentional dehydration or my poor eating habit courtesy of a very sickly stomach, I don’t know.

I grit my teeth and focus on whatever distraction I’d last clicked on.

I do some stretches in the middle, finish what’s left of it all while I’m still up. Then I lay down. I open my phone again as I begin this round of exercises and stretches.

10:15 am. I write down when I started in my medical diary, giving a very wide birth of time considering my... inabilities.

I click through apps again. YouTube plays in the background. My birds rise to an unknown challenge. I get up and whisper sweet nothings at them, half chiding them for being so damn loud. They direct their complaints directly at me. I give them food and open their cage doors. One flies directly onto my shoulder. Another makes declaration and flies past me to a tall perch. Two others share the same shyness. The rest take their time. Despite the time I’ve spent with them and my attempts at training over the last year or so, the second two flee my attempts to hold them. The last addition plain out tries to bite me. He doesn’t do it hard and still takes my finger as a perch, but his cuddlebug-ness needs direction. Still, he has his moments. I mumble at him and lightly chide him, petting him with my cheek as one hand has my phone and the other is holding him. I set my phone down and make entreaty towards the shyer two. They make exclamation and half hearted attempts to flee. They’ll come around. They all will, eventually. But now I have to lay down again.

I pause in my room again. I look around. At what, I’m not quite sure, the thoughts come and go, barely a thing left behind. I mull on the thought of food.

Nah. Nothing’s “ready.” Pulling something together seems too much. I set my cuddle bug on a perch on their birdy playground I have set up in my room. It’s next to the bike I got as an early Christmas present.

I gather my laptop and make myself comfortable on the bike. I watch a YouTube video, my phone still open on solitaire.

The video ends. I catch a glimpse of the time: 11:45 am.

Nearly time to take my midday pills, I think as my legs continue to move and my finger clicks on another video.

Finally, something catches my attention.

I still play solitaire on my phone.

I add a science-y video to my watch list.

I check the barometer.

1019 hPa.

I keep peddling.

1:51 pm.

I get up and take my midday pills.

I blow kisses to my birds as I refill my water.

I stare at the counter for a minute. Food, I think, it’s about time. I need food. I evaluate my appetite and what my stomach would accept. Spaghetti, I decide. I retrieve my laptop and listen to a tiktok while I wait for the water to boil, and eat.

I retreat back to my room to lay down and record the time I took my meds and ate.

I text a friend. Something they say triggers me. I take a breath. That’s not how they meant it, I say to myself and do my best to tone down my response. It still comes off rudely. I hope they don’t take it the wrong way.

3:47 pm.

The light has faded some, the shadows have shifted.

My friend and I make light conversation. Something viscerally in me feels off. It’s like when I dread something.

I try to distract myself.

3:51 pm.

I move back to my bike.

3:56 pm.

I keep peddling.

4:03 pm.

I keep peddling.

4:08 pm.

I keep peddling.

4:12 pm.

I keep peddling.

4:16 pm.

I refill my water bottle.

4:23 pm.

I keep peddling.

4:27 pm.

I keep peddling.

4:34 pm.

I keep peddling.

1022 hPa.

My room is slightly darker than before. A YouTube compilation drones in my vision.

Tomorrow will be rinse and repeat.

For the nth time, I think about all that I could be doing. I know why I can’t yet I shame myself all the same.

I find something interesting to watch.

Then refresh.

And refresh.

I give up and turn to Netflix.

Nothing.

Something borderline interesting.

6:50 pm.

Dinner, maybe? Energy level? Nada. I’ll think about it later.

Another video plays. I play on my phone, half interested in everything.

7:13 pm.

Dinner?

I need food, I think.

Can’t.

I’ll regret it, I know.

I’ll probably binge some in the morning whenever I get up.

I don’t move from my place. I try to down talk myself for bed, for the hope of not staying up half the night.

I drag myself up from my bed, heaving heavy winter blankets off of me. I take one step away from my place of rest and despair. My medicine, pills placed in two separate containers; morning and night, lay on the dresser that functions more as a tall nightstand. I take my medicine: some float on the water in my mouth, some are small, some are big. I down half my water bottle. My heating pad clinks back to life as I tap the remote on the cord three times then slink back into place. I close my laptop and set it further from me.

That sickly feeling comes back.

I realize it’s dread.

I open my phone.

[NOTE: this is not about suicide—I noticed after writing this that some things could be taken in such a way, hence this note.]

12/7/20

To those suffering: I see you; I support you; I love you.

~Rosa ❤️

#chronic illness #chronic pain #chronicfatigue #chronic migraine #chronicpainawareness #chronicpainblog #blog #disabled #ableism #internalized ableism #painblog #scoliosis

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marisa-writes · 7 years

Photo

work

Number four. Had this on repeat. More of Niall & Teyana can be found here.

**edit: there’s a little extra/follow-up addition to this - ‘unfinished business’ - which you can read here.

Teyana’s flushed from cheekbone to chest because Niall won’t stop looking at her.

“Stop it,” she breathes, working her fingers deep into the pastry dough she’s been kneading, a craving for something sweet having wracked her brain all afternoon. It’s evening now, just a bit after six, and she hasn’t even thought about dinner yet, getting lost in a parade of dessert recipes on Pinterest before finally settling on one that piqued her interest best. Priorities.

“Stop what?” Niall asks, from his perch on the counter against the wall to her right. His tone is nonchalant, edging towards playful, likely from the smile that Teyana can’t see at the moment but is almost certain is curving his lips.

“I thought you were supposed to be working,” Teyana quips, as she turns her head and catches his eyes on her again before they flit back to the legal pad in Niall’s hands. His pen scratches at the page as he visibly tries his best to play coy, but his smile, like always, gives him away.

“I am working,” he replies, pausing his pen before lifting the pad to show her the writing scrawled across the wide-ruled surface of the page. He arches a brow with an air of cockiness, like he’s put one past her.

Teyana hums in acknowledgement, fingers still kneading the mound of dough on the cutting board in front of her. “I can only imagine how much more work you’d get done if your mind and your eyes stayed fixed on whatever you’re writing right now, Mr. Songwriter.”

Niall laughs, that loud, warm cackle of his, before letting his lips thin out into a clever smile. His eyes sweep the length of her, starting at her face and working their way down.

Teyana doesn’t miss the way his gaze lingers on her backside, which makes the flush in her cheeks deepen, her neck and chest soon to follow, she bets.

The air conditioner in their place is acting shoddy again, fluctuating between semi-reliability and all-out non-function. For much of today, it’s been working the latter angle, and Teyana is annoyed yet unsurprised—of course, on an evening where both she and Niall are home together for an extended period of time, the blasted machine is on the fritz. They’ll need to talk to their landlord soon about getting the whole unit replaced this time, instead of repaired.

To cope, when she’d arrived home, Teyana had stripped out of her work attire and resigned to staying in her boy short underwear and changing into a bralette. Niall arrived home soon after, shuffling around the bed where Teyana was stretched out with the Pinterest app opened on her phone, pinning recipes. His mind had seemed occupied as he’d kissed her temple in greeting, then mumbled his frustrations with the temperature of the room while stripping himself of his t-shirt and jeans. It was unusual, though, the level of groaning he’d done about the heat that was annoying but still more bearable than the last time the machine had gone completely kaput.

“What’s up with you?” she’d asked, brows pulling together as she looked up from her phone to find her boyfriend wearing an expression that set hard lines into his forehead.

“Just...I have this lyric...had this lyric, on the ride home. Slipped my mind now. Kinda pissed about it.” His face relaxed slightly as he gave Teyana his full attention, apologies in his eyes for his demeanor. “Sorry.”

“You didn’t record it on your phone?” she asked him.

“Driving, petal,” Niall reminded her, giving her a look.

“Right, sorry,” she replied. Niall was adamant about safe driving, a quality she liked most about him. She always felt at ease when he was behind the wheel, refusing of any grave distractions like texting while driving. Teyana herself had proved to be more of a driving distraction to him than texting ever would be, in fact.

“It’s not just that.” It was soft, an unexpected admission settling into the quiet pause. He fell to his knees at the foot of the bed, so he and Teyana were eye to eye, and his were kinder now, even beneath worried brows. “The lads and I are kind of...at an impasse of sorts.”

Teyana noted the seriousness of his tone, his expression, and reached a hand forward to rest atop his. “Talk to me.”

Niall heaved a sigh. “We’re split on the decision to release the next EP,” he’d said, brows furrowing. “Curtis and Weiss say it’s done, Artie is indifferent but his mind’s been elsewhere lately—understandable, with everything happening with his dad—and Cricket and I, we’re the ones on the fence.”

While it wasn’t strange that Cricket—James, by his given name—seemed to be seeing eye-to-eye with Niall on the issue, it was a bit surprising that Curtis was not the one Niall mentioned to be in agreement with him, the way they were joined at the hip nearly as much as she and Niall were. Sometimes it was as if the two men shared a brain, especially when it came to all things Rookie Limelight.

Teyana’s brows furrowed. “On the fence?” she’d asked. “That like, rarely happens with you guys.”

“I know,” Niall agreed. “And it’s—I don’t know, petal, maybe I’m making too much of it. The songs are good, the ones we have, but I feel like...like we’re still missing something.”

“Another song?”

Niall nodded.

“Then why don’t you guys hold off a bit, write a couple of new tracks and see if anything sticks?” she suggested. “I mean, what’s the rush?”

“There isn’t one,” Niall replied, before letting out a groan of frustration. “Studio time this go-round has just been...weirdly tense? I don’t know. Songs are a bit more raw than past ones. The guys have been through some shit recently.”

Teyana nodded in understanding. She’d gained knowledge of bits and pieces—a couple of canceled gigs, ended relationships, Artie’s father’s illness landing him in the hospital. The usually jovial group of guys had been nursing some wounds and hardships and the emotions had bled into the music they’d been creating. It made for the end of that creativity resulting in some wickedly good tunes, but it also made sense for some of them to want to be done, to be ready to put it out there and move on to the next.

In that moment, Teyana decided she’d pinned enough recipes, and there was one in particular that had lingered in the back of her mind, a pastry with apples, cinnamon, and sliced almonds. It sounded delightful and seemed pretty simple to make, but she’d have to check and be sure she had all of the ingredients.

Most importantly, she concluded, as she took in his body language, Niall seemed to need some space, and she wanted to give it to him. He was absent from the moment with her, eyes downcast towards the mattress, his chin tilted a bit downward as well. The wrinkles in his forehead had returned tenfold, and Teyana knew her disappearance in the kitchen for a while would serve him well.

Leaning forward, she pressed her lips to Niall’s. She could tell he wasn’t expecting it; it took his mouth several seconds to respond before hers was met with the returned pressure of his.

“What was that for?” he asked, when they pulled apart.

“Because I love you,” she’d replied simply. She reached up to his face and caressed his cheek before rolling over, to edge herself off the bed. “I’ll be in the kitchen, if you need me.”

So, in the kitchen she’d been, alone until about fifteen minutes later, when Niall came sulking in. He’d had the trusty yellow legal pad on which he wrote every song he’d penned for the band in his hands and a blue ink pen from some law office that ended up in their apartment God knows how. Teyana was in the process of getting started, assured that she had all the needed ingredients, and was lining them up on the counter nearest the sink when Niall wordlessly hoisted himself up onto the countertop to the right of her, broad shoulders resting against the cabinets until he leaned forward, concentrated on the pad in his hands. The head of his pen scratched purposefully at the lined paper, and she stole a glance at him every so often, delighted in the set of his jaw, firm and almost unmoving until a spark would light up his eyes and he’d lay heavy ink onto the page, lips set in a soft but satisfied closed-lipped grin.

It was good until she’d finally got herself settled in mixing ingredients for the pastry dough, hefting it out of the bowl onto a floured cutting board. Her hands, thoroughly floured as well, had begun to work themselves into the lumps of dough when she felt a pair of eyes on her and turned to catch Niall’s skittering away from her. She’d raised her brows expectantly, awaiting his eventual returned gaze, but he wouldn’t give in until her back was turned and she’d sense his eyes on her again.

It’s been a few minutes of this now, of Niall stealing glances while Teyana tries to go about her business as if she doesn’t feel close to trembling beneath his attentive gaze, especially now that she’s receiving it head-on. Before Niall arrived, she’d dragged the box fan into the kitchen, plopped it on the floor in a spot that luckily reaches both of them in their respective places of work, and it’s been a bit of relief, for the moment. Even still, that fan is not enough to relieve Teyana of the heat that creeps up her thighs, winding tight coils in her stomach the longer Niall’s unabashed gaze lingers on her backside.

“Seriously, stop,” Teyana says, pulling her fingers free from the dough. She whines at him, turning to face him full-on. “Why do you keep looking at me like that?”

Niall only smiles, his eyes drifting upward to hers before he replies, “Gathering inspiration.”

“What?” Teyana breathes. It’s stupid of her to ask. She knows that there are more than a handful of Rookie Limelight songs that came about by way of her—Niall’s feelings for her, anyway. Still, the sweetness in his tone when he says it is so very sweet that she forgets how very stupid it is to ask.

“I realized what’s missing,” Niall says, setting the legal pad aside, then the pen. With a push of his hands, he slides off the countertop, his feet landing on the floor with a soft thump.

“Did you, now?” she asks, hoping that Niall misses the tremble in her voice.

“I did.” He hasn’t missed it, the smirk that curls his lips and brightens his eyes a clear indication. Those eyes of his darken, however, as he steps closer.

Teyana takes a step back, but there isn’t much space to go anywhere, the edge of the countertop nudging her in the back. She’s not even sure why she’s trying to go anywhere. She knows where this is headed, knows very well that she won’t protest it. “And what did you realize?”

Niall moves forward until he’s reached her, a few inches of space between them before he slides his arms around her waist and pulls her towards him. Teyana keeps her arms hanging limply at her sides, intoxicated by the smell of cologne and sweat on Niall’s skin but still aware of the flour coating her hands.

“It needs something smoother,” Niall says, leaning his head towards hers. It’s timid, and soft, the kiss he presses to her lips, like he’s doing it for the first time instead of the hundredth. “The EP,” he explains, when he allows for a breath of space between their mouths. “It needs something smoother, sensual, to balance it out.”

Teyana manages a nod, trying to process what he’s saying when his eyes are so close, deep and blue as they look into hers.

Most of the songs recorded for the EP, from what Teyana understands, are heavier, elaborately composed, edgier and filled with thick basslines and heavy drum beats and groovy guitar and keyboard bits and a grittiness to Niall’s voice she’s not sure she’s heard in the history of the band’s sound. She’s only heard a few demos so far, some of which she’s not even sure have made it to the EP Niall speaks of, but from what she has heard, she can understand his angle, that something smoother is needed to provide a bit of an ease for the listener. A come down, maybe for the final track. Something just as wonderfully composed as its successors, but lovely and sweet and rich, to draw everything to a close.

“Did you write it? Something smoother?” Teyana asks him, then pauses. Their mouths are centimeters apart, and she swallows quietly, adding, “Sensual?”

“I’m working on it,” Niall replies, and he pushes forward, lips on hers again.

This kiss is not timid; it is not soft. It is hurried, and passionate, and Teyana forgets about the flour on her hands as they come up to press to Niall’s cheeks before sliding up to tangle fingers in his hair.

This seems to egg him on, and Niall groans into the kiss before his hands scramble to slide down her back, over the curve of her ass until they come to rest beneath. He lifts her up in one fluid motion, the silent prompt for Teyana to wrap her legs around his waist coming in loud and clear. She does as she’s urged to do, ankles locking around his back above the waistband of his boxer-briefs as Niall tries to turn, taking out a few containers on the counter as he does, headed towards the entryway of the kitchen.

There’s a bit of blind bumbling—against the countertop, a side table, the arm of the couch, the dresser—as Niall carries Teyana towards their bedroom, heavy breathing mixed with the kisses they share. There’s sure to be bruises and nicks when they assess for physical damage later but it’s the last thing on Teyana’s mind and she’s sure it’s the last thing on Niall’s as he drops her onto the mattress, his eyes chasing after her as she scoots up towards the head of the bed before his brain instructs his body to do the same.

Niall moves quickly and is hovering above her in seconds, a hand at her waist while he sinks down to resume their kissing. He nudges a thigh between hers to press them closer, works his hips into a slow grind with hers, and Teyana can feel him grow hard against her thigh.

Teyana lets out a slow, long breath when his mouth finally leaves hers to press kisses to her jaw, then the side of her neck. Both of Niall’s hands are on her waist now, his hips still working mind-blowing circles into hers and the friction between them renders her momentarily speechless, even as Niall’s fingers slip beneath the waistband of her panties, pressing to the sides of her waist.

He pulls away, tugs her panties down until Teyana can work them down the rest of the way with a few furious kicks of her legs, much to Niall’s laughter-fueled delight, and Niall makes quick work of removing his own underwear before lowering himself onto her again. The weight of him makes Teyana delirious, so delirious as his lips attach to her neck again that she almost forgets he’s unprotected until she feels a familiar nudge between her thighs, near her center, and it sobers her up.

“Niall,” she breathes. His face is still buried in her neck, fist still clenched around his cock pressing up between her thighs, and her hands come up to tangle in his hair again. “Niall. Niall. Niall,” she presses, her voice urgent, and she yanks him up just enough for his lips to detach from her skin. “Baby. Condom.”

A heavy grunt into her neck follows, and Niall pulls away fully, meeting her eyes. His are glazed over, but apologetic. “Shit; sorry,” he mumbles, pushing a hand through his hair before stretching himself across the mattress until he can reach the drawer of the nightstand. “Wasn’t—fuck—wasn’t thinking.”

The momentum of the moment temporarily lost, and with Niall no longer directly above her, Teyana feels exposed now. Even with the air conditioner on the fritz, the air around them feels cooler with the distance between their bodies and it stands her nerves on end. Chewing on her bottom lip, she folds her arms across the flimsy fabric covering her chest while she waits for Niall to finish rummaging around for a condom.

When he slides above her again, he presses a short kiss to her lips before he shifts to the side, allows himself room to roll on the condom he’s pulled from its packet. He looks down into her eyes all the while, the awkwardness of the previous moment melting away the longer Teyana holds his gaze.

Then she feels him nudge her thighs apart again, feels him press to her entrance, then gradually push inside, and her eyes fall closed, mouth falling open to let out a gasp as she arches up beneath him.

Niall opts for an easy start, slow thrusts that allow her to grow accustomed to the way he fills her up. But once she gives the go-ahead, he picks up his pace, firm thrusts that work her into an otherworldly state, fingernails sunk into the skin across his back. It’s a good, thorough, passionate fuck that leaves her breathless and boneless at the finish.

Niall appears equally spent, letting out another heavy sigh as he rolls to the side of her and takes care of the condom before tugging the sheets of their unmade bed up to crawl beneath them, curling an arm around Teyana’s waist. She goes easily, laughing a quiet little laugh, pulled to Niall with his desperate hands that only seem satisfied when they’re clutching at her back, holding her against his chest. Eyes closed, she breathes him in, his scent all around her, familiar and good, good, good.

///

She doesn’t realize she’s drifted off until she wakes.

A slow blink reveals that it’s dark now; she can tell by the dimness of the room, the only light coming in from the window. It’s cooler in the room as well, she notes, and figures the air must’ve shifted back into a functioning state, wonders how long it’ll be before it decides to screw them over again. Slowly, her eyes begin to focus, and she turns her gaze towards the window

The moonlight bathes the first thing she sees: Niall, perched at the edge of the bed, his guitar, Aileen, in his lap, his legal pad propped up against the window frame. His fingers are plucking softly at the strings, so soft that Teyana can’t even hear the notes at first, but she sits up a bit, and her stirring draws Niall’s attention, a grander tug on the string as he’s startled by the movement.

“You’re up.” He smiles, though she can only make out one half of it, the half illuminated by the light of the moon.

Teyana nods, reaching up to shove a hand through messy, messy curls, and she gives him a sleepy smile in return. “Didn’t realize I was out. What time is it?”

Niall lifts his wrist to check his watch. “Nearly ten,” he replies.

Teyana nods, trying to process, and then suddenly her brain kicks into gear. “Shit. My pastry dough.”

Niall laughs as he begins to pick at the strings of his guitar again. “Yeah, suppose that’s good and wrecked now.”

With a groan, Teyana flings herself back against the mattress. “Why didn’t you wake me up so I could salvage it?”

Niall laughs again, still playing his guitar. “Lover, I just woke up about a half hour ago.” He arches a brow, one Teyana can see on his moonlit side. “Someone rendered me pretty knackered for a bit there.”

“You’re one to talk,” Teyana replies, “considering you’re the one who started it up.”

“I have no regrets.” Niall shrugs. “Ruined dough is a small price to pay for pleasure.”

Laughing, Teyana pushes herself up, clutching the sheets to her chest as she moves closer to him. Leaned against his back, she slides her arms around his waist and rests her chin atop his shoulder for a long moment. Then, she tilts her chin up to playfully nip at his ear, but is suddenly hit with a thought as her stomach gives way to a quiet rumble of dissatisfaction.

“Niall,” she says, remembering the time, “we didn’t eat.”

Niall nods. “I ordered pizza.”

“From the place down the street?” she asks, hopeful. It’s a small little pizzeria that’s open late, and it’s Teyana’s favorite.

To her great satisfaction, Niall nods again.

“When?”

“About fifteen minutes ago.”

“You’re incredible,” she sighs, pressing a succession of kisses into the curve of his neck, and Niall chuckles. “Up for half an hour and the first thing you do is order pizza.”

“Actually,” Niall says, “the first thing I did was finish my song, and then I ordered the pizza.”

“Your song...” Teyana almost forgot that's what Niall had been doing before lust got the best of them. “You finished it?”

“I mean, it’s not finished, but yeah, I did,” he replies. “Needs some finishing touches, but I’m gonna play it for the lads tomorrow, see if it takes.” There's a pause, and his next words come out unsteady. “Do you want to take a listen?”

What a silly question, Teyana thinks. Niall could put the nutrition facts on the back of a cereal box into song and she'd want to take a listen.

“Of course, my love,” is her reply, arms uncurling from around his waist, to give him the space he needs to play.

Niall lets out a slow breath, then begins, and this is her favorite thing. When Niall shares songs with her, it's a whole production, the cogs turning in his mind. He talks her through the elements—where in his mind he can hear the bass and keys come in, a chord progression, the time to be kept with Curtis’s drum kit.

He imagines a heavy, seductive bass line for this track, one he “hopes Weiss is up for,” and wonders aloud if he can talk Cricket into dusting off his saxophone skills from high school for them, to “thicken up the sound”. As he plays what he calls a “rough version” of the song, which equates more to a stripped-down, acoustic version, Teyana is mesmerized. Even acoustically, it's got a slow groove that's warm and sexy, especially with Niall's voice still low and gravelly from sleep. She can almost hear the elements he's talked about in her head—the bass, the drums, even the saxophone—and then there are the lyrics to consider, an ode to spending sunset with your lover, nothing crude but nothing shy, either, about the sentiments of lust expressed in the lyrics. Suddenly, she's eager to hear the final product, damn near tempted to call the boys herself so Niall can play it for them right now.

“Anyway, that's it,” Niall says at the finish, and he rests his palm flat against the guitar, meeting Teyana's eyes. Even in the limited light, she can make out the nervousness in his expression as he asks, “Thoughts?”

“Well, frankly, I think I want to have sex with you again,” Teyana replies.

“Teyana,” he huffs, rolling his eyes.

“No, babe, really, I love it,” she says, with a gentle laugh. She moves in close again, arms around his waist as she presses a kiss into his shoulder. “Smooth and sensual, just like you wanted.”

“It’s not too much?” he asks, and the timid nature of his tone is mind-boggling for Teyana. The contrast between who he is as a lover and a songwriter is so much to take in at times. Confident with his actions, cautious with his words. “Not even the line about—”

“Touching reckless, baby, breathless from your sunburst skin. Lips gone, gone southern—let me taste you, take you in?” Teyana questions, brow raising as she reads the lyrics straight from Niall’s legal pad, over his shoulder. Niall nods, and then she smiles, enjoying the flush in his cheeks now that she can see it up close. “I wouldn’t say it’s too much. Might just tip everyone off that you like to go down on your girlfriend, as every good boyfriend should.”

Niall chuckles, turning his head to look at her full-on. “Suppose I owe you for a missed opportunity tonight.”

“Nah, it was perfect,” Teyana replies. She reaches up to his head and ruffles his hair affectionately, surprised to find remnants of the flour from her hands still dusting the dark strands. “Though I’ll never object if you decide you’d like to make it up to me.”

Niall’s got a look in his eyes, like he just might take her up on the offer, when the doorbell rings.

“Hold that thought,” he says, before setting Aileen aside. He pulls on a pair of loose-fitting athletic shorts, then grabs up his wallet from atop the dresser and hustles towards the front door.

The pizza has arrived, and Teyana listens as Niall exchanges polite greetings with the delivery person at the door before the jingle of change passing from hand to hand seals the deal. The door gives its usual creak as it begins to close, Niall calling out a “Goodnight, and thank you!” before she hears the door shut.

He’s all smiles as he comes back into the bedroom, practically skipping, and Teyana smiles in return, happy to see him in a much better mood than when he arrived home. He tosses the box of pizza onto the mattress before hoisting himself up to join Teyana, and flips the lid of the pizza box open with a wildly-gestured flourish that makes her laugh.

Together, they eat their fill of pizza and Niall inquires about Teyana’s day and then there’s a lull that brings about a shift in the mood, telling in the eyes and the placement of hands and the way Niall moves in closer, the last few slices of pizza very quickly forgotten.

And then, with a wicked smile, Teyana lets Niall lay her down. There will be no missed opportunities tonight.

#1dff #1dffupdates #Niall Horan #Niall Horan fanfiction #One Direction #One Direction fanfiction #1D fanfic #the image this opens with has been playing in my mind for days #finally found some words to go with it #work #Teyana x Niall #fic: sangria #sangria drabble #my fanfiction #my writing

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