#but like also he should’ve respected mon not being with him anyway

[glamgoblin]

Area man slowly learning that lesbians exist

#let’s all support nop on this journey #the gears they are slowly turning #some things are slowly clicking #blinking man meme #so proud of him #but like also he should’ve respected mon not being with him anyway #but in all seriousness your boss forcing you to stay over at their house is a vast abuse of power #and cause for serious concern #i would be worried about my friends life too #since she’s her boss #it screams toxic work environment #however since this is a gl and not real life #I’m screaming at nop like girls can like girls #and my guy this girl likes girls #and the pool scene #listen nop bringing mon boba and Kirk with his fix everything with snacks #and one dinner #the men in this show are here for one thing #and that is to deliver food #i will never be over this episode #like the sleep scene too #gap yuri #gap the series #sammon #freenbecky

[thevindicativevordan]

How do you feel about the way New Krypton was resolved? To me it felt really callous. Like DC was just sweeping it all aside with the Kryptonians being genocided, and then the whole world moves on a week later.

Two words: Wasted potential.

This should have been Superman's Sinestro Corps War, his big event/storyline that completely rejuvenated his sales and brought in a ton of new readers. It had all the hallmarks of being the big shakeup that the Superman franchise desperately needed: it gave Superman a big conflict that allowed him to punch stuff while also not being something he could solve solely by punching, it centered all of his big villains and gave them the revamps they needed (particularly Zod as I'll get to later), it involved all the other members of the Superfamily (bar Conner who was dead at the time) and gave them stuff to do, it even brought in the Legion of Superheroes at one point! The setup was all there to do something great, to give Superman that big event storyline he hadn't had since Death of Superman (or President Luthor if you're feeling generous).

And DC completely fucked it up.

First you had Busiek and Johns, the guys who were doing the actual setup and who had been doing great work beforehand, both leave the books right as the event was kicking off. Busiek to go do Trinity and Johns to go prepare Blackest Night, both leaving their big event to be executed by new writers who had not been involved in the process of conceptualizing this event. Then you had Clark taken out of Superman and Action Comics, those titles given to Z-Listers, and Clark himself dropped into a brand new mini. No offense to those who like Mon-El but there was never a chance in hell of him sustaining his own book as the lead guy unless Johns was writing it. Then you hilariously had the first son of Clark and Lois, Chris Kent, aged up in a bizarre way and made a costumed hero himself with a romance to boot in a deeply unpopular move (funny how history repeats itself, although I like what's unfolding with Jon a lot more). So of course the sales tanked, and what happened next was inevitable.

DC panicked and hit the reset button so hard a planet exploded and everyone died, except for Kal, Kara, and Zod plus some of his loyalists.

God I was pissed because while the side books may have floundered, the main mini itself following Clark on New Krypton? That was really good in my opinion.

Clark was forced into an interesting position: a second chance at life with his people, at the cost of renouncing ties with his adopted homeworld. Can Kal-El find a way of keeping the peace between the two worlds, with the leadership on both ends preparing for war? That's an exciting and enticing premise or at least it was for me! I loved the storyline also because it took the usual cliche storyline of Superman losing his powers and flipped it: what if there was an entire new planet full of guys who were just as strong as he was? What makes Superman special then? And we got to see the answer: his brains and his experience.

It was cool seeing Clark kick ass, seeing him navigate the politics of the Guilds and Kryptonian society. There was so much worldbuilding going on at the same time, old Kryptonian animals and plants being recreated on New Krypton, the dissatisfaction within the Labor Guild, the military spoiling for a fight, Kal's internal struggles with everyone seeing Zod as a hero and him having to try to work quietly to change that, it was all really fun to read about for me. There were also those hints of long term plotlines being set up, such as those aliens from Saturn who were also super powered, and were letting the newcomers know they were keeping an eye on things. I seriously thought we were going to get a Solar War with every race in the Sol system fighting each other for dominance. And the Superman/Zod dynamic has never been better than it was in this storyline.

The two did not like each other, but there was a grudging respect being built up between the two. Kal was coming to appreciate that Zod genuinely cared about protecting the Kryptonians, and Zod was coming to respect Clark's skills and insights. Zod was sympathetic and understandable in his goals while also still being a ruthless son of a bitch, which is exactly how I prefer he be depicted.

In all honesty this was the first big Zod story I read and it shaped my perceptions of how he should be. You also had General Sam Lane on the other side, putting together Project 7734 to tackle the Kryptonians, drafting Lex Luthor, Metallo, and others to his side. Hell this was the last and as far as I know only story to pit the Big 3 of Lex, Brainiac, and Zod against one another, something I would dearly love to see tried again. All these major players working their own agendas simply isn't something you usually get in Superman books. Lex working to kill Superman and the other Kryptonians of course, but also out to steal knowledge from Brainiac and secure his freedom. Brainiac wanting to recapture the Kryptonians. Zod and Lane out to preemptively destroy one another, with Zod seeding Kryptonian sleeper agents back on Earth. Superman's Rogues got good showings as the dangerous threats they are in this story, I'll say that much.

All of it torched in the end alas. DC definitely wanted it all swept under the rug and forgotten. I liked the retcon of Grounded really being Superman suffering a massive case of PTSD which is why he was being an asshole under JMS, but I doubt that was the original intention. You're right, Clark having to experience the pain of losing his people as an adult, and Kara having to re-experience it along with the death of her mother, really should've gotten more focus. But they wanted it gone and done with.

You know what kills me? Not even a few years later they'd reboot the whole damn universe anyway, so what was the point of taking Superman back to his "status quo"? They should've just said fuck it and let the writers go wild in the final years before the New 52, let New Krypton play out as it was intended to, it was all going to get rebooted anyway. Of course New 52 was a rush job I understand, so they didn't know ahead of time what would happen, but I can't help but be bitter.

The potential New Krypton offered is one I would 100% love to see revisited, in an animated movie or in that upcoming My Adventures With Superman cartoon. The animated side keeps changing the stories as they adapt them anyway, and I would love to see the ending to New Krypton get changed. Give me the original Johns/Busiek plan for the event, or give me something else entirely, it can't be a bigger disappointment than what we ultimately got anyway.

#superman #new krypton #supergirl #dc comics #general zod

[constant-eggs]

I’ve been seeing a lot of posts about William on Supergirl from fellow Supercorp shippers, so I wanna talk a bit about Kara and Lena’s love interests and how they are viewed, and also about racism in the show and fandom. This has probably been done to death but I’m new to the fandom — I binge watched the show over the winter and just started using Tumblr in a real way about a month ago. So anyway, back to the men:

There’s the major three: James, Mon-El, and William. Jack is cool too — he should’ve had more than two episodes which is part of the issue I’m going to get to, but he never got to be a major player.

So let’s talk about James. Now, I liked him a lot, particularly in season 1. Of the three main love interests for Kara, he was the only one who (season 1) writers took time to establish as a character separate from her. He had hopes and a backstory (of course), and his own idealism that usually uplifted and sometimes contradicted with Kara’s. He was honest, and vulnerable, and when he made a mistake (like calling Superman against Kara’s wishes) he grew from them. Because he respected Kara, and himself. Now the chemistry between Kara and James for me felt good — it wasn’t earth shattering — but it was typical in what I’d come to expect from a heterosexual pairing. And I would argue that had the writers not done a complete 180 on Kara’s feelings for James in S2 and had let them keep growing together as characters, that the chemistry and relationship could have been really good. But they didn’t because as the writers themselves said, they’re ‘in the drama business.’ So having a healthy, supportive partner for Kara wasn’t their priority, James was sidelined, and then they never figured out what to do with his character from that moment on. Also, I do think that race played a part in the writers’ decision to change direction with their relationship, and it’s...disheartening.

Now real briefly on James with Lena: it reminded me a lot of Laurel 1 and Oliver — when they talked about each other to other people— I believed that there was love, but when they were together, I didn’t see any real spark. Even their drama wasn’t particularly interesting — so I won’t even get into it. But it’s been long enough in this post for me to get to the point of it: the fault of the deterioration of James as a character lies with the writers. They chose to sideline him, have his values constantly shift, and have his character development stagnate post S1. He could’ve had interesting stories as Guardian, could’ve worked more closely with Kara when he replaced Cat Grant, or any number of things. But his potential was squandered. And if they were so dead set on having a male love interest for Kara, he was their best option of the three.

Mon-El and Kara had chemistry. To me, it was very much sibling chemistry in nature, which is kind of funny considering that in the comics he was a pseudo brother to Superman. To be clear I’m talking about Kara and Mon-El and not Chris and Melissa who are married, because they aren’t their characters. That’s how I think he should have stayed — as an antagonistic, shallow brother type who slooowly became decent through character growth and not specifically to become Kara’s love interest. But the handful of times Mon-El did the right thing — rebelling against his parents, trying to be a hero etc. it was because he liked Kara. How boring is that? As a love interest he was subpar — and he continued to be a liar. I don’t hate him like some fans do — and I’m well aware that he was a shallow partner who owned other people on his planet, and a habitual liar. I also see that this show is fantastical in nature where I am rooting for Lena after nearly mind-enslaving the entire population just last season. And also in a universe where a primary hero — Oliver Queen, was a serial killer (as are Laurel 2, Sara Lance, and Mick Rory to name a few). So that isn’t the main reason why I don’t like Mon-El for Kara. I just feel as early Kara felt: She deserves so much better than him.

What is there even to say about William? He’s essentially the audience in character form — the chorus in an Ancient Greek play telling us how we should feel about whatever action he’s being sidelined from. If they wanted him to be endgame, he should’ve been introduced bare minimum a season earlier to give him a fair shot. He needs to be better integrated in the fold, and at this point there isn’t a lot of time to do that well.

I’m making this post though because I don’t agree with some of what I’m seeing in fandom. Yes, I too dislike Mon-El as a love interest for Kara, but I’m not going to yuck someone else’s yum. Same goes for William and James. If you see something romantic, that’s okay. If you’re a multi shipper, that’s okay too. I was into other Arrowverse shows when Karamel and Supercorp animosity was at its highest and saw some of what went on and now I see some people uniting over their mutual dislike for William. But his underdevelopment as a character is once again entirely on the writers and execs. Not Staz Nair. And @motorcyclegirlfriends has a much more nuanced post about how race plays into characters being empathized within fandom and the screen time they are allotted by writers and directors. https://motorcyclegirlfriends.tumblr.com/post/649196192472924160/what-a-lot-of-the-nice-fellow-fans-dont-harass

We shouldn’t be tearing down actors of color or characters of color out of frustration over (potentially/hopefully) queer (white) characters. We should instead be asking for them to have more well rounded stories, just as we ask for better LGBT rep — the two aren’t separate. If Supercorp doesn’t become canon it won’t be because of the subpar heterosexual romances they were given. It will be because the writers see the love story they’ve created, inadvertently or otherwise (even doubling down on it in S5) but chose to ignore it. I really hope that isn’t the case. Us fans deserve more complex, messy slowburn romances, and Supercorp could be up there with She-Ra as one of the best ever portrayed. Here’s to hoping.

#supergirl #supercorp #james olsen #mon el #william dey #lena luthor #kara danvers #let’s be real lena gets the screen time of a co lead #which I love but give me more #kelly olsen #brainy #m’gann m’orzz #j’onn j’onzz #nia nal #and yes william dey if he is going to be the endgame love interest

[georgescatcafe]

but i keep my hands (’til you come into the water)

rating: t warning/s: none pairing/s: georgenap genres/tags: barista george, fluff, humor, flirting, friendship, communication, getting together word count: 22,064 summary: George breathes, and it comes out in a shudder. “Everything about you is so much.” He straightens, meets Sapnap’s eyes. “I’m trying, Sapnap. But sometimes I think you’re just too much for me.”

Or, the one where George is a barista, Dream is Sapnap's best friend, and Sapnap just feels a lot.

+ao3

;;

The first attempt is a disaster. Sapnap should’ve expected it, the object of his desires completely different from who he usually chases after. For one thing, it’s a guy, for another, he’s got his arms crossed, fingers digging harshly into his arms, brows furrowed, lips downturned in a frown. Usually, when someone catches Sapnap’s interest, they paint a more pleasant picture.

Yeah. Not this one.

“I’m working,” he snaps. “I get it, but I really don’t like being flirted with at work.”

“You’re so upfront,” Sapnap replies, smile still on his lips, though he’s certain his ears are turning red as more people turn to look at him where he leans against the counter, probably about to be completely eviscerated by this barista. “I like that.”

He’s not eviscerated. His fate is even worse.

He gets ignored.

“Julia,” George calls, placing down the drink handed to him.

Sapnap steps out of the way as a petite girl with blonde hair takes the drink from the other, delicate fingers curling around the cup, golden-tipped fingers contrasting against the pink of her drink. Sapnap finds himself fighting against the urge to shove his hands in his pockets, remembering something about Dream saying that’s an obvious display of insecurity. And Sapnap isn’t insecure.

He just doesn’t like the way George smiled at the girl as she walked away.

“It’s called customer service, idiot,” Dream tells him later, the two of them having agreed to meet at the library so Dream doesn’t have to smell the coffee that wafts a good way out past the entrance of the Starbucks Sapnap frequents. Sapnap rolls his eyes as he takes a long sip of his vanilla frap, not fully convinced.

“It’s just,” he finally says, drink set carefully down on the table, “it’s like… why did he smile at her like that, when you could barely hear her ‘thank you,’ yet he doesn’t even look at me?”

“Maybe because he told you to leave him alone and you didn’t?” Dream suggests, taking Sapnap’s cup and drawing a smiley face in the condensation. He presents it to the other, only for Sapnap to groan and rub it away. He’s not exactly in the mood for cutesy shit. He says as much.

Dream looks unimpressed. “I’m just saying,” he draws another smiley on the opposite side of the cup, “try respecting his boundaries next time.”

“But I only know him as the barista from Starbucks,” Sapnap whines. “How am I supposed to flirt with him if I only see him when he’s working?”

“Break,” Dream replies, easy.

“Ah.”

Dream sets down Sapnap’s cup, the new smiley still there. “Yeah,” he says, “ah.”

;;

Dream had also advised him to maybe read the barista’s nametag and find out his name, so that’s the first thing Sapnap does when he walks in on Wednesday, eyes going directly to the little plaque on the barista’s apron. GEORGE. Sapnap bites his lip. He can work with that.

“Welcome to Starbucks, would you be interested in trying any of our—oh.” Sapnap looks up from the nametag to see George’s eyes on him, face devoid of any emotion other than perhaps vague disappointment.

“Hi,” Sapnap says.

George’s lips press together, and it’s not a frown, so Sapnap takes it as a smile.

“One venti vanilla frap please.”

“Name?”

“Come on,” Sapnap says. “You so remember my name.”

George hums, brows furrowing as he enters the order into the computer. “You’re right. Something like… ‘nuisance’?”

Sapnap frowns.

“My bad,” George says. “It was ‘annoyance,’ wasn’t it?”

“Ha ha,” Sapnap replies, crossing his arms. “It’s—”

“Sapnap, I know.” George taps the screen and Sapnap tries not to flush at the sight of his wrists. It’s not like they were hidden. It’s not like George is some Victorian lady. Jeez. Embarrassing. And then—

“‘I know’?” he quotes. “So you remembered my name.”

“Kind of hard to forget,” George replies, “since you wouldn’t leave me alone.”

Sapnap rolls his eyes. “Come on,” he tries, “I wasn’t that bad.”

“You were.”

“I’m just determined.”

“Determined?” George repeats, unamused. Sapnap nods. George gives him a long look up and down (and it’s not checking him out, not even close, but Sapnap pretends that’s the case, straightening up and hoping the lighting makes him look good) before sighing and motioning to the person next in line.

Sapnap is ready to continue speaking, but then he remembers the main point of Dream’s advice and instead just rolls his eyes, finding an empty table near the window. 

Better? a text from Dream reads.

Duh, his name is George

George

Yes, George , Sapnap glances up at the barista, who’s now taking the order of a guy definitely taller than Sapnap, and judging by the size of his arms, probably stronger too, and when he walks away, George’s eyes definitely follow him, lips curled into a smile not like the one he wore when the blondie left, but rather… oh, come on. Dude what the hell

What

Sapnap doesn’t take a picture, but he does try his best to describe the other customer to Dream. George was like..drooling over him what the hell!

I doubt it

When Sapnap looks up again, George is most definitely not wiping any drool away from his mouth, instead wearing a polite smile as he takes an older woman’s order. It’s as if Sapnap made up the smile he wore watching that guy walk away.

Ok, he concedes, maybe not drooling, but he definitely like… I dont think Im his type :(

As if u ever gave up that easily, Dream’s reply is fast, and Sapnap smiles as the thinking dots appear. You’re fine, just be yourself and respect his boundaries. I know you, you’re a great guy Sap you’ve got this

He’s right. About… everything. Sapnap slips his phone into his pocket right before he hears his name called. It’s not George calling out the drinks today, whoever was missing the other day now returned to their normal shift. Sapnap accepts the drink with an easy thank you and is about to walk away before he’s struck with an idea.

“Um, excuse me,” he calls to the woman who’s already started to head back to the espresso machine. She turns around and makes her way back over to the counter anyway, brows raised, anticipating Sapnap’s question.

Sapnap leans in some, unsure if he wants George to hear what he’s about to ask or not.

“Um, George,” he starts, and, oh, that’s not a good look. He presses on anyway. “When is… do you know his breaktime?”

“I do,” the woman replies, and Sapnap is ready to be pleasantly surprised, the amount of information this employee is ready to give more than expected, but then she continues, “but legally I’m not allowed to share it with you, and even if I could, I don’t think I would.”

Sapnap tries his best to swallow his disappointment. He’s not sure how he ended up so dumb with hope anyway. “Right,” he says. “Sorry for asking.”

“I suggest not doing it again,” she replies easily, but before she walks away she gives him a soft smile, “but it’s fine.”

Sapnap returns her smile, even as he feels an itch at the base of his neck, only growing as heat spreads under his skin. He’s quick to make his way back to the table, fingers wrapped tight around his frap.

He tries his best not to watch George, appearing as disinterested as he can, up until the other switches places with another employee, now going around cleaning up tables. Sapnap’s been people watching, eyes determinedly looking anywhere but at George, but that fails when he sees movement from the corner of his eye, a napkin falling to the floor, just in reach of Sapnap’s foot. Stretching the tiniest bit, Sapnap catches the napkin under his shoe, pulling it over to him so he can pick it up and throw it away himself. He almost makes a comment to George about his cleaning skills, always one to tease, no matter who it is he’s teasing, but then the napkin flops over the back of his hand and he sees ink on paper.

Mon-Th 8am-4pm break @ 10 lunch @ 12 break @ 2

Sapnap has no idea when George wrote that, if it was while he was still taking orders or if he wrote it while Sapnap kept his eyes out the window, but when he looks up, he finds the barista already watching him, now back behind the till, cheeks pink even as he holds Sapnap’s gaze. Sapnap smiles, waving the napkin in an I got it! gesture. George doesn’t smile back, just looks down at the register, then up at the customer that walks in a second later.

That’s fine. Sapnap shoves the napkin into his pocket. This is progress.

 When he’s about to leave, hand pressed against the glass door, he turns. George is looking down, but Sapnap can see the tips of his ears, the slope of his nose. Pink. Bright, pretty pink.

He smiles. Definitely progress.

;;

“So you want me to flirt with you, then?” Sapnap asks, leaning his hip against the edge of the table George sits at, the barista looking at something on his phone.

“No, not really,” George replies, not looking up from the device.

Sapnap sits in the seat across from him. “But I can flirt with you now, right?” he asks. “Since you’re not technically working right now?”

“I’m being paid for this,” George says. “It’s ten minutes. Money is going into my bank account, right now.” He finally looks up at the other, eyes wide in emphasis. “That means I’m working.”

“Boo,” Sapnap immediately snaps. “You just don’t want to admit that you want me.”

George makes a face.

“Want me flirting with you,” Sapnap clarifies, though he wouldn’t mind George wanting him. (He even hopes for that, honestly.) “You want me to flirt with you.”

“Quit making assumptions, you weirdo.”

Sapnap laughs. “You sound like my friend.”

“Oh, really?” George asks. “Maybe we’d get along then.”

“Me and you?” 

George gives him a dry look. “No, you idiot, me and your friend.”

“Well, you’re not going to meet him,” Sapnap replies.

“What, is he better looking than you?” George asks. “Wouldn’t surprise me.”

“Hey!” Sapnap cries indignantly. “What does that mean?” George merely raises a brow. “And no , he’s not. I just… he doesn’t like coffee.”

“And that means he can’t come inside?” George asks.

“He gets, like, really nauseous if he smells it,” Sapnap explains “After I come here, I usually end up meeting him at, like, the library or something.”

“Oh, are you guys students?” At this, George sits up, leaning forward slightly over the table. Sapnap wonders if he’d be allowed to copy the other’s posture, or if it’d make George lean away. He decides not to risk it.

“I am,” he says. “My friend isn’t.”

“H’m,” George says.

“Yeah,” Sapnap replies. “H’m.”

He smiles at the smile that spreads on George’s lips, even as the other looks away, tucking his chin into his collar in an attempt to hide it further. “Stop it,” George says, muffled as he speaks into fabric. “Stop that.”

“I’m just looking at you,” Sapnap replies.

George glances at him from the corner of his eye. “I know,” he says. “Stop it.”

Though he doesn’t want to, he does. “So are you a student too?” he asks.

“Alum,” he replies. “Graduated last year.”

“Ooh,” Sapnap says. “Teach me all that you know.”

“You don’t even know what I majored in,” George replies. “What if we took, like, completely different classes?”

“Unimportant,” Sapnap says. “I was just trying to find an excuse to spend more time with you.”

“I—,” George is cut off by a persistent beeping. The two look down at the phone on the table. “Oh,” George turns off the timer. “Back to work.”

“I thought you said you’re still technically working?” Sapnap asks, knowing the grin he’s wearing is infuriating.

George’s eyes narrow as he looks at Sapnap before he shakes his head. “You’re so annoying.”

“You’re the one who talked to me for ten minutes,” Sapnap replies easily.

George doesn’t reply, instead just shaking his head once more, heading back to the counter, where he grabs his apron and goes to tie it around his (oh God, small) waist. Sapnap squeezes his eyes shut, thinking, before he gets up from his chair. The place is relatively empty for ten in the morning. “It’s compsci,” he says as George finally comes to stand at the register. “I’m a compsci major.” George looks up at him from across the room, startled. “In case you were, you know, actually wondering.” He can feel his confidence drain out of him the longer the other continues to stare blankly at him. “Um, yeah.” He lifts a hand to wave goodbye, and he’s about to walk out when George replies:

“Wait, Sapnap,” he turns around to see George watching him, fingers gripping the edge of the counter, “if you actually do want help ever, uh, I can do that. For you.”

Sapnap wants to reply, wants to say thank you or maybe even you, me, library tomorrow at six?, but instead he stays silent, and the moment passes, George inserting something into the computer, Sapnap clearly dismissed.

;;

“I fucked up,” he says immediately to Dream, sinking into his seat at the small diner on the corner of Mulberry and 11th, convenient for its equidistance from his dorm and Dream’s apartment.

“You really could’ve gotten a date, and instead you just stood there,” Dream says, a vague echo of Sapnap’s retelling.

“You’re making fun of me right now,” Sapnap whines.

“No,” Dream says. Sapnap looks up at him from between his fingers. The corner of Dream’s mouth twitches. “Maybe.”

Sapnap groans, pushing his face further into his hands.

“No, no, it’s not that bad,” Dream tries. “Come on, man, no moping at Sally’s. You’re literally eating cheesecake pancakes right now. You can’t mope.”

“I’m not moping,” Sapnap immediately replies. “I’m mourning.” He pulls his hands away from his face, instead pressing the tips of his fingers to his temples. “Mourning the relationship that never was.”

“Is this what you’re like when you actually have to work for a relationship?” Dream asks. He steals a strawberry off of Sapnap’s plate. “I don’t know if I like this dude.”

“George?” Sapnap asks.

“No,” Dream says, stealing another strawberry, “you.”

“Considering you’re still here, I think you like him well enough.” Sapnap lifts a brow as Dream goes to sneak another strawberry, blocking the other’s fork with his own. Metal clinks against metal.  Dream accepts defeat, going back to his waffles.

“We all have our ups and downs,” Dream finally declares. “That was a bad day—”

“But it was going so well!”

“Okay, then things got thrown off with the alarm—”

“Timer.”

“—going off,” Dream eats another bite of waffles, “so basically: don’t worry about it.”

“I will worry about it,” Sapnap says, just to be contradictory.

Dream knows what he’s doing, so instead of replying, he just finishes off the first of his waffles. Sapnap glares down at his own meal before spearing a piece of pancake.

“I’ll go back tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow’s Friday,” Dream says.

Shit.

;;

He resigns himself to waiting until Monday to see George again, only to find himself stopping short when walking to his dorm from the library, spotting a familiar figure sitting on one of the benches that line the commons.

“George?” he calls, before he can decide if interacting outside of the four walls of the Starbucks they’re so used to is a good idea.

George looks up, slipping his phone in his pocket, eyes obviously wide even when hidden behind a pair of—

“Are those clout goggles?” Sapnap asks, biting back a laugh.

George crosses his arms, stretching his legs out (though they don’t reach particularly far, Sapnap affectionately notes) and leaning back on the bench. “Maybe,” he replies.

Sapnap stops holding back his laughter, letting it spill out freely as George’s face goes through a range of expressions, from a frown to a smile to a grimace to something of a cross between all three.

“If you’re done,” he says when Sapnap’s laughter has turned more into sporadic giggles.

“I’m sorry,” Sapnap immediately replies, though it’s clear the words mean nothing. He’s certain if he could see George’s eyes clearly through his lenses, the other would be rolling them. “It’s cute,” he almost says, but something stops him, the words turning into, “It’s fine. They suit you.”

One of George’s hands comes up to adjust the glasses, the twist of his lips finally turning into a smile. “Really?” he asks, hand pulling away from the frames to instead rest his fingers lightly against the plastic, but Sapnap isn’t paying attention to the glasses at all, eyes instead locked on the delicate bones of George’s wrist.

“Yeah,” he says anyway. George’s hand falls back to his lap. “So,” Sapnap says, now that the immediate distraction is gone, coming back into himself, “what are you doing here? Don’t tell me you were wanting to see my face again.”

“Um.” George looks away, at a tree that Sapnap knows is behind him, at the ground, the railing of the bench, at an acorn that lay a few feet away. Sapnap tries not to let the hope grow in him, even though the silence only continues to stretch on.

The hope finally breaks loose, and he asks it: “Did you really come here just to see me?”

“Not… entirely,” George replies. Sapnap gives him a disbelieving look, and George is quick to defend himself. “No, really!” he says. “I live in the area, and this… it’s nice, isn’t it?” He motions to the commons. “It’s, like, cool outside now, and the sun isn’t, like, really hot or anything. It’s nice.”

“But you said ‘not entirely,’” Sapnap says, “so that means I was part of the reason?”

“I didn’t expect to see you,” George sighs. “But if—if—I did see you, I wouldn’t be opposed to, like, hanging out or, um, something.”

“Okay,” Sapnap says easily, taking a seat on the bench next to him. Now that he’s beside George, he can see his eyes better underneath his glasses, and he doesn’t even try to hide the way he stares. “So what do you want to do?”

George gives a noncommittal shrug. 

Sapnap sighs. They sit in a tense silence, Sapnap itching to say something, George… Sapnap isn’t sure what he’s thinking. Although they’re sitting side by side, sometimes their shoes would brush against each other, edge of sole against edge of sole, and George would jump like he’s been shocked, bringing Sapnap’s eyes back to him every time. Finally, Sapnap gives another sigh and says, “I spy… with my little eye… something… blue.”

From the corner of his eye, he sees George tense. And then.

“The sky?”

“Nope!” Sapnap answers, popping the ‘p’. “Try again.”

George hums quietly, head moving the tiniest bit as he surveys the area. “There,” he says, pointing, “those flowers.”

“Got it,” Sapnap smiles, “your turn.”

George looks around, a single finger tapping on his jean-clad thigh. Sapnap refuses to follow the movement. “I spy,” George begins, “with my little eye something that starts with P.”

Sapnap looks around, searching for whatever George could have chosen. Then a bark rings through the air, and his head snaps around to look at the dog darting across the commons to get to a girl kneeled in the grass. “That puppy,” Sapnap replies, smug.

“Yup.” George nods, glancing over at Sapnap as he picks out something.

“I spy with my little eye,” he starts, angling himself more towards George, “something green.”

George falters. “Grass?” he tries, a slight smile on his face.

Sapnap laughs. “No,” and then out of a rush of courage he’s not sure from where, he reaches up to pluck the leaf out of George’s hair, holding it up between the two of them.

George scoffs. “That’s not even fair. I can’t see that. And was that in my hair this entire time?”

Sapnap shakes his head, flicking it away from them, the leaf dancing idly in the air before twirling to the ground. “Nah. It must have happened sometime last round.”

“Ah.” George finally takes off his sunglasses, pushing them up onto the top of his head. “Well, still not fair. I can’t even see green.”

“What?” Sapnap doesn’t mean for it to come out as a laugh, but it does. “What do you mean you can’t see green?”

“I’m colorblind, asshole,” George doesn’t shove him, but his hand does lift and make a weak motion towards him. “When you started with a color, I figured this wouldn’t last long.”

“Why didn’t you say anything, then?” Sapnap asks, hand coming down on the bench next to him so he can lean towards George.

“You said blue; it was fine,” George replies. “Besides,” he gives a shrug, “I just said the letter the word starts with. If I did it every time, maybe you would too.”

“Weird,” Sapnap says, the word coming out on a whistle.

“Not as weird as you,” George easily fires back.

Sapnap rolls his eyes but doesn’t reply, settling back on the bench once more. They sit in a companionable silence for another second before he remembers.

“Hey, uh,” George looks over at him, and wow, have his eyes always been that deep, wide and round and shining like honey in the bright sun, “my friend and I, the one that doesn’t like coffee, we’re meeting up for dinner. Would you… maybe want to come? Just so you can meet him. You know. We hang out a lot. And stuff.”

George seems to consider it before he nods. “If your friend is fine with it, why not?”

Sapnap sends Dream a quick text to ask, though he knows the other will say yes. “You’re not allergic to anything, are you?” he asks, even though he and Dream were just going to meet at, like, a McDonald’s.

“Not that I know of,” George replies.

“Awesome,” Sapnap says.

“Yup,” George agrees.

And… it’s awkward again.

“Got any other plans?” he asks, just to break the silence.

“Not really,” George says. “Fridays are usually pretty uneventful.”

“No one asking you to any parties?”

At that, George gives a quiet laugh. “Not really a partying type of person.”

“Really?” Sapnap asks, eyes wide. “I never would’ve guessed.”

George looks over at him, brows high, before he realizes it was sarcasm, making him roll his eyes. “Oh my God, you’re so annoying.”

“I’m not the one who agreed to spend more time with me.” 

George doesn’t reply, but when Sapnap glances at him, he’s got a small smile on his lips, cheeks pink and not, Sapnap is pretty sure, because of the sun.

;;

Sapnap thinks he should be jealous. He’s, like, really sure he’s supposed to be jealous.

Dream and George meet and hit it off immediately, falling into an easy banter that Sapnap watches like a tennis match, a constant smile on George’s face, laughter spilling out past his lips like a waterfall. 

They get along like a house on fire or whatever the phrase is, and Sapnap is left to breathe in the smoke. Yet he’s not choking and he’s not jealous.

Because every time George says something that sends Dream into a fit of laughter, he’ll glance over at Sapnap, eyes bright and smile wide, as if to check that he has Sapnap’s attention too, that he has Sapnap laughing right along with them.

Sapnap wonders if Dream notices, if he catches these moments between them, but if he does, he never comments on it, instead continuing to talk to George like they’ve known each other for thirty years and not thirty minutes.

By the time they finish their food, George and Dream have exchanged numbers and are planning another time to hang out.

“It sucks about the coffee thing,” George says to Dream, head tilted back so they can make eye contact. It’s endearing, but Sapnap does feel a slight pain in his chest when he realizes their one inch difference in height means he doesn’t get the same experience. 

“Yeah,” Dream agrees, “honestly it’s just, like, really inconvenient because I don’t like coffee in the first place, but you’re telling me I can’t even be near it?” George gives a sympathetic smile, and Dream backtracks. “If you ever want, I’m sure I can stomach it for, like, a minute or two, but—”

“It’s fine,” George cuts him off. “I can meet you wherever you want. I don’t mind.”

“Are you sure?” Dream asks, looking apologetic.

“It’s fine,” George repeats. “So next Tuesday? When I get off work?”

“Yeah,” Dream confirms. “I’ll let you know if something comes up.”

“Same here.” George gives him a smile. “It’ll be fun kicking your ass.”

“Oh, right, like you’re going to win,” Dream scoffs. “Right.”

“You’ll see,” George crosses his arms, “just wait.”

“Whatever.” Dream gives a laugh before shouldering his backpack. “Alright,” he says to both George and Sapnap this time. “I’m going to head out. Patches is probably wondering why she hasn’t been fed yet.”

George laughs as Sapnap lifts his hand in an easy wave.

Dream waves back then heads out, leaving George and Sapnap alone.

George turns to Sapnap.

“So,” Sapnap says, “what’d you think?”

“He’s nice,” George replies, and then, “thanks for, uh, inviting me.”

“Of course, dude,” Sapnap says because what else do you call the guy you like, other than dude? He blinks. “Maybe we could do it again sometime.”

George gives a hesitant smile. “Maybe.”

“You’re not, like, intruding on anything,” Sapnap immediately goes to reassure. “We do this, like, all the time. It’s really not a big deal.”

“I didn’t think I was.” George collects his trash, “but thanks for putting the idea in my head.”

“No. You don’t get to do that.” Sapnap follows his lead as they throw out the wrappers from the burgers. “Anyway,” he opens the door for George, who ducks his head in silent thanks, before following after him, “what about me?”

“What about you?” George asks.

“Your number,” Sapnap answers, “I want it.”

“You think I give it out just like that?” George’s brows are raised in disbelief as Sapnap scoffs.

“You did it for Dream, and he didn’t even ask!”

“Okay, and?”

“You’re so mean to me, George,” Sapnap whines, crossing his arms. “See if I ever talk to you again.”

“Oh because that’s just the worst possible outcome for me,” George laughs.

“What the hell?” Sapnap uncrosses his arms to instead fling them out at his sides. “I thought we had fun today! We played I spy!”

“Yes,” George says, “because that is the exact definition of fun.”

“Well,” Sapnap crosses his arms again, “ I had fun. Sorry that you didn’t.”

In his performance, he had closed his eyes, but when he opens them again, his heart is quick to skip a beat upon seeing the soft smile on George’s face as he looks at him. His eyes are no longer turned to gold by the sun, but instead are dark like the coffee he serves, and Sapnap only finds himself looking away from them to instead drop his gaze to the other’s lips. They’re a soft pink, and they’re full, and Sapnap finds himself wondering what they’d feel like on his own.

“It’s,” and then a slew of numbers that Sapnap doesn’t catch. He finally meets George’s eyes again.

“What was it?” he asks, pulling out his phone. George rolls his eyes, giving a quiet laugh, before repeating his numbers as Sapnap rushes to add him to his contacts. When he’s done, he sends a quick text to George (Hiiii :D) to which George doesn’t answer but does make a show of blocking the number (then immediately unblocking it).

“Anyway,” Sapnap shoves his hands in his pockets, Dream’s advice be damned, and gives a slight whistle, “walk you home?”

George shifts his weight, readjusting his jacket, before nodding. “Alright.”

Sapnap smiles. George starts walking.

;;

George’s apartment is nice. Not too far from the Starbucks he works at (not too far from Sapnap’s dorm) and it’s in a quieter part of the city. The two of them stand in silence on the front step.

“So,” George says.

“So,” Sapnap agrees.

A second. Two seconds.

George makes a small noise that has Sapnap ready to ask if he’s alright when George’s hand suddenly smacks against his cheek. Sapnap immediately reaches up to cradle the reddening skin. “Did you just slap me?” He thinks the slight crack in his voice is warranted.

George’s eyes are wide as he shakes his head. “No. Oh my God. I wasn’t… it was a,” and then he makes a motion, like he’s pressing a kiss to his fingers, then lifting them as if he were to press that kiss to—

“You couldn’t have just kissed me like a normal person?” Sapnap is trying not to sound accusatory or angry because he’s not, but what the hell.

“It’s—I didn’t—look, fuck, I’m sorry.” George wraps his fingers around Sapnap’s arm to tug his hand away from his cheek. “Here, look, shit, I—,” and then he’s got his lips on Sapnap’s cheek and any pain Sapnap’s feeling is gone. George’s lips are warm against his skin, and when he pulls away, his eyes are still shut, fluttering open only once he’s back within his own space. Sapnap stares at him with wide eyes. “It wasn’t supposed to be a big deal,” George says.

“It was kind of cute,” Sapnap tries, heart pounding in his chest. “But only kind of.”

“Whatever,” George says, “I’ll see you Monday, Sapnap.”

“Will you kiss me then too?” Sapnap asks.

George shakes his head, shoving past Sapnap to get to his front door, pulling out his key and unlocking it. “Goodnight, Sapnap,” he says.

“Goodnight, George,” Sapnap replies.

George turns around, looking at him from right inside the door. Sapnap stares back. George opens his mouth, as if he plans to say something, but only ends up closing it again, shaking his head and turning to go further inside, shutting the door behind him.

Sapnap stands there on the front step for another second before shaking his head, the ghost of a response to whatever George left unsaid, deciding to take the long way home.

;;

Monday comes quickly, and after class Sapnap finds himself making his way to Starbucks, just in time for George’s lunch break. He wonders if thirty minutes is enough for him to take George somewhere, nothing fancy, just something quick, but then he’s inside and George is sitting at a table on the far wall, lunchbox open in front of him.

“Boo,” Sapnap says, sliding into the seat across from him, “I was going to ask if you wanted to get lunch with me.”

“I’m good, thanks,” George says.

“I can see that.”

He watches as George peels away layers of cling wrap around his sandwich.

“So how was class?” George asks, right before he takes a bite.

“Ugh,” Sapnap crosses his arms and rests his head atop them, closing his eyes, “I don’t know why I do it sometimes.”

“What, go to school?” Based on what he hears, Sapnap assumes George has peeled away more cling wrap.

“Yes,” he replies.

“Deep down you enjoy it,” George says, “and it’s for your future.”

“You went to school,” Sapnap starts, “and now you work at Starbucks.”

“I hate you.”

“That’s not what you said on Friday.”

“I didn’t say anything Friday,” George says.

“You’re right,” Sapnap sits back up, “you didn’t say anything because you were too busy kissing me.”

“Yeah because a kiss on the cheek totally equals making out on the couch,” George snorts as he takes another bite of his sandwich. “Right.”

Sapnap grins. “Duh.” When George just rolls his eyes and opens a bag of chips, Sapnap is quick to steal one. “Anyway, we have a quiz Friday that I am not looking forward to.”

“I don’t think anyone looks forward to quizzes,” George slaps his hand away when it swoops in for another chip, “are you ready for it?”

“Define ‘ready,’” Sapnap replies. At George’s unimpressed look, Sapnap shrugs. “I mean, as ready as I can be.”

“That’s better than ‘not at all,’” George sighs. “Tell me how it goes?”

“Obviously.” Sapnap smiles when George allows him another chip. “So what about you? How’s your morning gone?”

“It’s gone,” George says. And then he pauses. “I got a girl’s number.”

“Oh,” Sapnap says, because that’s all he can think to say.

“She, like, wrote it on the receipt, I guess when Sarah was talking to me, and when she left, she just… left it on the counter.” Sarah, as it turns out, is the woman who told Sapnap she’s not allowed to disclose George’s break times. Sapnap still feels prickles of irritation under his skin as George continues: “I threw it out.”

The prickles suddenly stop.

“You threw it out?”

George nods, nonchalant, popping another chip in his mouth and even offering the rest in the bag to Sapnap with a raised brow. Sapnap just shakes his head, ears still ringing from George’s words.

“Why?” he asks.

“Not interested,” George says, finishing off his chips. “Besides,” he says, getting up to toss the bag in the trash, “no flirting while I’m at work.” Sapnap hands him the cling wrap sitting on the table. George smiles as he grabs his lunchbox. “See you later, Sapnap.”

“What if I wanted to order something?” Sapnap calls as George gets himself situated behind the counter.

“You drink too much sugar,” George replies, putting on his customer service face as a middle-aged man walks in. “Welcome to Starbucks, would you…,” Sapnap lets the rest of the greeting fade into background noise as he watches George’s mouth move, his fingers dancing across the computer as the man places his order. After another second, he gives a stretch, then rises, giving George a smile and a wave as he heads out the door.

He comes back that afternoon only to be greeted by George’s furrowed brows and a cold drink shoved into his hands. “On the house,” George tells him as Sapnap stares down at the vanilla frap, the condensation that had gathered on the cup wetting his hands.

“Thanks,” he says.

“Don’t mention it,” George replies, pushing through the glass doors and holding one open for Sapnap. “So where to?”

Sapnap thinks. He hadn’t really thought of anything for them to do, mostly just wanting to see George again. Then he remembers neon lights and crummy carpet with space patterns on it, rockets and stars and moons. With the next step he takes, he moves the tiniest fraction closer to George. The backs of their hands brush together. Sapnap lets this happen a couple more times, and then—he takes George’s hand.

George just holds on tight.

Sapnap smiles. “I have somewhere.”

;;

They hold hands the entire way, and Sapnap tries not to let it get to him. George’s fingers are thinner than his, and not long after he had started to lead them in the direction of the arcade did George’s fingers slot their way between his. His palm is warm, pressed flat against Sapnap’s own, and every once in awhile Sapnap will say something that makes George laugh and his hand will come up as if to cover his mouth, the action aborted halfway to its destination when Sapnap’s arm goes taut, George letting their hands fall back between them. He still looks over at Sapnap though, eyes glittering, squinted, cheeks rosy.

It’s maybe the most beautiful thing Sapnap has ever seen.

;;

Correction. George smiling (still, because George always looks nice smiling) colored by the neon lights is the most beautiful thing Sapnap has ever seen. He’s almost tempted to take a picture of just George, just for him to have, him to cherish, but he knows George will hate it, George will watch him like a hawk over his shoulder as he deletes it, not letting up until he deletes it, and the effort isn’t worth it. Seeing George so displeased isn’t worth it.

So instead he crowds into George’s space, demanding a selfie, “to send to Dream! To make him jealous!”

Like that’s anywhere close to the truth. But he does send the selfie to Dream, who does reply with a >:(, and Sapnap laughs and shows George, who laughs then wanders over to the skee ball, and then that’s when Sapnap goes and changes the picture to his homescreen (because a lockscreen is too risky, because he knows George will definitely see it).

He lets George win at skee ball. And air hockey. And… this game isn’t even competitive, what the hell, but he lets George win at that too. (And okay, maybe sometimes George wins because he’s better, but it’s not like Sapnap would ever admit to that.)

When they leave, George is still giggly, fingers intertwined with Sapnap’s once again, but less passive, more with a purpose, more I’m holding your hand because I really want to hold your hand, because I like how your fingers feel between mine, because I like the way our skin touches, you’re here and so am I. It’s so deliberate, and Sapnap is dizzy from it.

They get dinner at a seedy, shitty pizza place, though the pizza is anything but, and then it’s back to Sapnap walking George home.

“You really don’t have to,” George says. “Your dorm is, like, right there,” he makes a general motion to the upcoming intersection.

“But I want to,” Sapnap says.

George sighs, but doesn’t say anything, even as they walk past the entrance of the university.

When they reach his apartment, Sapnap fakes nonchalance. “So,” he says, “are you going to make it a big deal?”

George crosses his arms.

Sapnap puts up his hands in front of him. “Just a question.” He smiles. “So are you?”

“You’re so annoying,” and then warm lips are on his cheek as fingers tangle into his shirt. “I hate you,” George says when he leans back. Sapnap looks down at where George still has a grip on his shirt, but when he meets George’s eyes again, the other doesn’t let go. Sapnap wants to take his face in his hands and press a kiss to his lips right then and there.

George’s gaze dropping down—to his lips, there’s no doubt about it, George is looking at his lips—is almost enough to make him do so.

But that would scare George away. He knows it would. So he leans back on his heels, smile on his lips. “Hate you too.” The soft lilt of his voice belies his words. He doesn’t mind. 

George’s eyes flit back up to Sapnap’s. Sapnap’s smile widens. George drops his hand from Sapnap’s shirt. “Thank you for today,” George finally says. “I had fun.”

“Me too,” Sapnap reaches out, taking George’s hand in his own, finding that he quite missed the other’s touch, even if it’d only been a few seconds. “We’ll have to do it again sometime.”

“Yeah,” George agrees, “we will.”

They stand there in silence, Sapnap holding George’s hand. George clears his throat.

“Well,” he says, “goodnight, Sapnap.”

Sapnap gives the other’s hand a squeeze. “Goodnight, George.” He drops George’s hand, their fingers dragging together until they’re not.

When their fingers finally part, George takes a breath then turns to unlock his door and head inside. Right before he shuts the door, Sapnap is treated to the sight of an eye turned liquid gold from the streetlights, a rich, amber color that leaves Sapnap tasting coffee and honey. “Goodnight, George,” he says one last time, and then, the door shuts and it’s just Sapnap out in the cold. He gives a smile to the closed door, then turns and starts the walk to his dorm.

;;

Sapnap ends up with what feels like fifty new assignments on Tuesday, and he knows Dream and George are meeting up after George’s shift ends, so he decides to forgo his usual trip to Starbucks and instead heads back to his dorm after shooting George a quick Have fun with dream :) text. 

When he reaches his room, his phone chimes in his pocket.

thanks, i’m gonna kick his ass

Sapnap huffs out a laugh before unlocking the door and heading inside, dropping his backpack onto the floor next to his desk then collapsing into his chair, tilting his head back and closing his eyes before replying to the text.

Of course u will <3

Immediately, he gets a text back, and he thinks more about that than what the text actually says (gross, don’t ever send me a <3 ever again).

Just to be antagonistic, Sapnap grins and sends: Good luck baby xoxo mwah mwah mwah <3

Another instant reply: you’re so disgusting. talk to you later sapnap

Sapnap’s grin stays as he sets his phone down and pulls out the assignment he’s decided to tackle first. Sure, George may be annoyed by every text he sends, but he’s still replying right away, still replying at all—he totally doesn’t mean it. George totally loves texting him, he’s sure of it. Sapnap gets out his laptop and goes to Blackboard as he thinks about George on Monday, the way he’d sometimes lean into Sapnap, the clean scent of his laundry detergent settling into Sapnap’s heart and the occasional press of his cheek against Sapnap’s leaving a permanent warmth under his skin.

He goes through his assignments in a daze, Java getting mixed with java and graphs getting interrupted by George. Only the sound of his phone going off—a call from Dream—breaks him out of it, little numbers and letters dancing behind his eyes as he blinks and answers the phone.

“Yeah?”

“George and I are getting something to eat, do you want us to bring anything to your dorm?”

“You don’t have to,” Sapnap replies, even as his stomach rumbles and roars at him to eat.

“You’re right,” Dream agrees, “but I’m not doing this for myself.”

Sapnap blinks. “George,” he says, and Dream gives a quiet hum. “Where’re you guys getting food from?”

“Taco Bell, maybe,” Dream replies. “There’s one on the way to your dorm.”

“Across the street, yeah,” Sapnap agrees. “Then can I get a Cheesy Gordita Crunch with two soft chicken tacos, a steak quesadilla, cinnamon twists, and a Baja Blast?”

Dream repeats it back to him with an, “alright,” at the end, and Sapnap tells him he’ll pay him back when they get to his dorm. “Sounds good,” Dream replies. “See you in a bit.”

“See you,” Sapnap agrees, then the call disconnects, and Sapnap is left in a messy as hell room with George on his way. “Shit,” Sapnap says, looking at the weeks-old laundry spilling out of his wardrobe and the assortment of half-drunk Gatorades and water bottles littering the shelf above his desk. “Shit, shit, shit.”

He grabs his trash can from where it sits at the foot of the bed, lifting it to the edge of the shelf and just pushing all the bottles into it, some of them falling past the edge and hitting the floor. He groans as he bends over to grab them and put them into the trash properly. When that’s done, he knows he’s not going to be able to run a full two and some loads of laundry before Dream and George get to his dorm, so he deems the laundry a lost cause and shoves it as best he can back into the wardrobe, his hamper buried under weeks of unwashed clothes. Oh well. At least his room doesn’t smell.

Sapnap freezes. Does it?

He shakes his head. No. It doesn’t. It’s fine. Besides, his room isn’t that bad. And George is a guy; he probably lived in the dorms, he knows the horrors of a bunch of dudes crowded in one building. It’s fine.

A knock on the door makes him look up from where he’d been staring a hole into his bedsheets, wondering if remaking his bed (he had put it together haphazardly that morning, more for a sense of productivity than any need for cleanliness, the sheets wrinkled and pillows slouched awkwardly) would be worth it. He supposes the interruption is answer enough. Leaving the bed as is, he unlocks the door, swinging it open to see George standing there holding three paper bags, two drinks under his left arm.

“Hi,” Sapnap says.

“Hi,” George replies, angling himself to allow Sapnap to take a bag from him. “These drinks are really cold.”

“Here,” Sapnap grabs the green one, immediately lifting it to his lips and taking a sip. “Almost as refreshing as seeing you.”

George stares at him before making his way into Sapnap’s room, setting the two bags down then taking out a napkin and setting his drink on it. “You’re not funny.”

“You’re right,” Sapnap agrees, making George’s eyes widen as he looks over at him. “I’m hilarious.”

George’s parted lips fall into an unamused line. He scoffs, turning back to the bags and pulling out various Taco Bell items. “Here,” he says, handing Sapnap his quesadilla and cinnamon twists, “they threw some of our things in the same bag. Everything in the one you’re holding is yours, though.”

“Nice.” Sapnap sets down the bag to take the food, immediately getting started on his quesadilla.

“And Dream was going to come, but then he got a call from someone and said he had to go. He might’ve taken the hot sauce…?” He looks over at Sapnap with a raised brow, who glances into his bag.

“Nah. There’s sauce in here.”

“Cool,” George replies. “But yeah, it’s… it’s just us now, I guess.”

Sapnap glances over at him. George is staring down into his bag, fingers crumpling the paper. When George turns to look at him, Sapnap doesn’t turn away. George holds his gaze for a second before his ears turn a warm pink, and he ducks his head, reaching into his bag to pull out a Quesarito. 

“Uh,” Sapnap says, and then reaches across George to grab his wallet from the desk and pull out a ten. “For the food.” He holds it out to George.

George takes it, their fingers brushing and Sapnap’s pulse sent racing. 

“Thanks,” George says, “but Dream paid.”

Sapnap plucks the cash from George’s fingers. “Never mind then.”

George laughs, “rude,” before unwrapping his Quesarito and taking a bite. “So how are your classes going?”

Sapnap groans making a motion to the stack of assignments half-covered by an empty Taco Bell bag. “Terribly. I’m doing… fine. It’s just… so much work.”

“The worst,” George agrees, taking another bite. “Studying for the quiz?”

“What are you, my dad?” Sapnap asks, but at an unimpressed look from George, he sighs and leans back against his bed. “Yes.”

“Good,” George says, and then he says, “I kicked Dream’s ass by the way.”

“Like I said you would,” Sapnap replies, and when George looks at him from under dark lashes, he thinks about how easy it would be to lean forward and press a kiss to the space between his brows, the tip of his nose, Sapnap hesitates for the shortest second before his gaze drops lower—it’d be so easy to lean forward and press a kiss to George’s lips. When he meets George’s eyes again, they’re dark, and in the faint light, Sapnap can see his pupils blown wide. He swallows. George watches the movement.

Sapnap takes a breath. “I—”

And then George is on him, their mouths pressed hot against each other. Sapnap moves back, resting on the bed, as he tilts his head, angles it so that he can kiss George properly. It’s once he does this, once he brings a hand up to hold the back of George’s head, that George pulls away with a small breath. “This was a—”

“If you say ‘bad idea,’ you owe me ten bucks,” Sapnap says before he can finish.

George, flushed, glances up at him and huffs a small laugh. “Lapse in better judgement, then.”

“No take-backs,” Sapnap says, his left hand, which had settled on the curve of George’s hip, sliding up to hold the nape of George’s neck. “Okay?”

George lets out a breath. Sapnap feels it warm against his lips, a phantom of their kiss. “Okay.”

Sapnap smiles. “Good. So what’s wrong?” He wouldn’t normally talk it out, the other party throwing out their worries and Sapnap immediately going back in for the kill, lips on theirs and them preferably in the bed by now, but it’s okay if it’s George—if this takes longer than it normally would, that’s okay, and—George gives him a hesitant smile back—if the end result is more than a tumble in the sheets, that’s even better. (Not that that was ever the desired result, but for a time, Sapnap could’ve been content with just that. Not anymore, though. Not now.)

“I’ve never dated anyone,” George admits, “not seriously.”

“Like, you’re some type of player or…?” Sapnap lifts a brow as George sends him a look. He drops his hand to pull himself back and up onto his bed then pats the space next to him in a silent offering to George. George looks from his hand to his face then back a couple times before sighing and climbing onto the bed next to him. When George places his hands down at his side, his and Sapnap’s pinkies brush together. George takes another breath.

“I mean, I dated a girl in high school, if you could call it that,” George says. “More like I knew she had a crush on me and was doing what I was supposed to.” He makes a face and Sapnap wonders if it would be bad of him to curl their pinkies together, to take even more than that. Good or bad, he leaves his hands as they are, letting George continue. “It didn’t mean anything, and it was a high school relationship. Those are hardly legitimate.” He gives a slight eye roll. “So yeah, this is… kind of new to me.”

“That’s okay,” Sapnap says immediately. “I’ve never had a real relationship either.” 

It’s not the consolation Sapnap had planned for it to be. Sapnap wouldn’t say he sleeps around, or slept around, he’s not some kind of manwhore or anything, but the fact still stands that he’s definitely had more than one partner and most of those relationships did reach at least third base before he even hit the ball. That, in contrast to George’s high school hand-holding, is definitely a strike against him.

Sapnap shakes his head, dissipating the baseball metaphors beginning to sprawl in his mind. “But it’s something I want with you,” he amends. “I really like you, George. Like… I really like you.” He’s not sure if the second thing is what does it for George, but either way, he still takes Sapnap’s hand in his, lacing their fingers together and resting their connected hands in his lap. Sapnap leans over just enough to have their shoulders touching.

“You really do annoy me sometimes, you know?” George asks, thumb rubbing smooth circles into Sapnap’s skin. “It’s like you go out of your way to do it, too. You can’t just… dial it back a bit. It’s really all or nothing with you.”

“I’m not known for doing things in halves, yeah,” Sapnap agrees.

George glances at him from the corner of his eyes. “Except for relationships,” he says. His voice is rough.

The smile that had started to grow on Sapnap’s face drops. “Yeah. Except for those.”

“I really like you too,” George finally admits, “and if you’re willing to try,” he squeezes Sapnap’s hand then looks over and meets his eyes, “I am too.”

;;

The soft atmosphere had broken not long after that, Sapnap’s stomach rumbling and George bursting into lilted giggles, nerves and hesitance coloring his every move after that. But when Sapnap offered to walk him home, George agreed, and they held hands the entire way, and when they reached George’s door, George scrunched his face up then grabbed Sapnap by the front of his jacket and pulled him into a searing kiss.

“For someone who’s never been in an actual relationship,” Sapnap had said, “your kisses are pretty hot.”

“Thanks,” George had said and then slammed the door in Sapnap’s face.

Sapnap didn’t mind, though; nah, he grinned the entire way home.

;;

The rest of the week flies by in a vanilla frap-flavored, headache-filled haze. George is certain the headaches are from all the sugar Sapnap intakes, but Sapnap is certain it’s from all the homework his professors assign and studying George pushes him to do.

“It’s not as if you wouldn’t be doing this if I weren’t in the picture,” George tells him as he wipes down the table next to Sapnap’s. Sapnap has a lab report open on his laptop, his notes spread all out on the table before him. Half of the keyboard is covered by the paper, rendered unusable. 

Sapnap doesn’t have a good argument for that, but he also wants to keep George nearby. He leans back in his chair. “I’d have a headache with no remedy,” he says.

“Remedy, huh?” George asks, standing straight and arching a brow.

“Seeing your face is the only medicine I need,” Sapnap says, and then he throws in a, “pretty boy,” just because he wants to see what it’ll make George do.

Apparently, it makes his expression fall off his face and heat rise in its place, cheeks and ears glowing a bright pink even as he stutters out irritated (and empty) phrases, eventually giving the table a final furious once-over then disappearing into the kitchen to get rid of the dirtied rag. So basically, the words did the opposite of what he wanted, but in the end, Sapnap finds himself unable to consider it anything other than a win, mind now running through other opportunities to pull out the pet names.

George appears only when he’s about to leave, sending him off with a kiss on the cheek that’s really more an accidental brushing of lips against skin, but it’s enough for Sapnap, and he leaves the other with a smile and a promise to tell him how the quiz goes at dinner.

;;

Come dinner, Sapnap is halfway through explaining how he’s pretty sure he failed the quiz when George sits up in his seat and asks, “Is this a date?”

Sapnap freezes, mouth open and mid-word. “Do you want it to be a date?”

George huffs. “This isn’t really the wining and dining I expected, but—”

“I’m nineteen,” Sapnap tells him.

George sighs. “It was just an expression,” he says. “And I was going to say it’s fine. Everything here leaves something to be desired, but it’s fine.”

“Everything?” Sapnap asks, eyes widening coyly as he looks at the other.

“Everything,” George confirms. “Especially my date.”

Sapnap exaggerates a sad face and George rolls his eyes, throwing a fry at him, but he’s got a smile on his face, so Sapnap drops the act and grins back. “You’re so cute,” he tells the other, and George immediately seems to grow smaller, shoulders curving inwards, face angled down, his smile facing the floor instead of Sapnap, who observes this all with a quiet gaze.

“Shut up,” George says, the words on the end of a laugh.

“It’s true,” Sapnap replies. “I love looking at you. Even when you look dumb.”

“Excuse you,” George immediately snaps, finally looking back at Sapnap, “I never look dumb.”

“Oh,” Sapnap says, “you’re right. I meant when you look stupid.”

“What the hell?” George guffaws. “You’re actually so annoying. Shut up.”

“So you want me to shut up when I compliment you, and you want me to shut up when I insult you—what’s the truth?”

George looks at him, unimpressed. “The only conclusion is that I like you best when you say nothing at all.”

Sapnap scoffs. “Rude.”

“And yet.” George lifts a brow.

Sapnap gives a quiet exhale. “And yet,” he agrees.

;;

Dream stretches his legs out in front of him while Sapnap twists himself around to lean against Dream, back pressed against shoulder.

“How’s it going with George?” Dream asks, flicking through the channels on the TV, Sapnap watching the short frames he gets while taking nothing in.

“I think we’re a thing,” Sapnap replies, settling even further into Dream when he finally decides on a channel. It’s an old comedy from the 80’s, one Sapnap thinks his dad might’ve shown him when he was younger. Vaguely, he recalls falling asleep halfway through. He’ll try not to do that this time.

He feels Dream shift as he looks down at the younger. Sapnap can sense his eyes on the top of his head. “You think?” Dream asks, the words coming out slowly, as if he’s tasting every letter.

“We kissed,” Sapnap explains, “and we both talked about how we feel, and we went on a date, and he’s kissed me again since that first one. On the lips,” he adds hastily, just so Dream understands the severity of the situation.

“But no one’s said ‘boyfriend’ yet,” Dream concludes.

“But no one’s said ‘boyfriend’ yet,” Sapnap confirms.

Dream hums as a fanfare starts up in the movie. Sapnap takes a handful of popcorn from the bag on the coffee table in front of them.

“I think we’re taking it slow,” Sapnap continues. “Neither of us are good at relationships.”

“What do you mean?” Dream turns slightly, and Sapnap slips down his arm some. “You’re not good at relationships?”

“You know how it was,” Sapnap answers, “is.”

“Is it really that bad?”

Sapnap shrugs, scooting back up against Dream as he does so. “I’d think so. Someone like George would think so.”

“Where does that leave me?” Dream asks.

Sapnap doesn’t answer, eyes back on the TV screen. Dream huffs, but doesn’t push for one either. 

“It’s fine,” he finally says. “Whatever works best for you guys.”

Sapnap nods, and they don’t talk about George or Sapnap and George or relationships for the rest of the movie.

;;

This is new. Sapnap’s heart pounds heavy in his chest as George sits perched on his lap, hands flying across Sapnap’s keyboard as he types a command into the chatbox. Dream’s voice crackles through his speakers: “George! What the hell?”

“Oops,” George says, glancing back to share a conspiratorial look with Sapnap, “I didn’t mean to.”

“Yes, you did,” Dream argues, his character finding George’s—who's really just using Sapnap’s character, but it’s whatever—and George running, even as Dream hits him over and over, beginning to take hearts. “You’re such an idiot, oh my God.”

George leans back against Sapnap’s chest, letting Dream kill him. “Fine,” he sighs, “we can do it your way. Whatever.” Sapnap smiles at the way his accent colors his words. George sends him a curious glance; Sapnap noses at the edge of his hairline in answer. George makes a small noise before leaning forward to get back into the game. Sapnap shifts, adjusting George on his lap so he can have some circulation in his thighs again. It’s not that George is heavy, no, George is fairly light, but George is bony, and for all Sapnap likes him and would in fact like to slip his hand in the other’s back pocket as they walk together, that doesn’t change the reality of George having a bony ass and it pressing into Sapnap’s lap.

When he’s got him where he wants, Sapnap curves himself over George, wrapping his arms around the other’s waist. George feels warm all over, and when Sapnap tilts his head to take in the other’s profile, he sees it as a soft pink. Though George can’t really afford a free hand when PvPing Dream, he still lifts a hand to shove Sapnap’s head away.

Sapnap huffs and hooks his chin over the other’s shoulder. And then he gets the most terrible (wonderful) idea and angles his head so his nose is pressed into George’s neck and he’s starting to run kisses across the skin there. George breathes out a titter and lifts his shoulder to try and push Sapnap away. Sapnap grins and starts to climb his lips up the slender column of George’s neck. George gives a full-on giggle at this. “Stop,” he says, hand coming up to shove at Sapnap again, the lapse giving Dream a chance to hit George with his axe. “Sapnap,” George says when his kisses turn a bit rougher.

“What are you guys—,” and then George gives another breathless laugh and Dream makes a disgusted noise. “Seriously?” he asks. “In the middle of my Minecraft PvP?”

“Sorry,” George gasps, shoving at Sapnap with an urgency now, brows knitting and lips losing their smile for a frown instead. Sapnap gives one final nip to George’s neck before relenting, letting George stand from his lap and glare down at him. It holds for another second before George turns back to the computer. “I’ll be back on in a bit, is that okay?”

Dream makes a noise of confirmation then ends the call. George turns back to Sapnap. 

“Too far?” Sapnap asks.

George scrutinizes him, eyes narrowed, before he sits back down on Sapnap’s lap, this time angled towards him. When Sapnap puts his hands on his hips, George makes a face. Sapnap drops his hands. “I know I kissed you first,” George finally says, not quite meeting Sapnap’s eyes. “So I should be okay with all this.” He finally manages to make eye contact, holding it as he speaks. “But I’m not.” He swallows. “I’m sorry.”

“You can tell me when it’s too much,” Sapnap tells him, but at George’s look, he sucks in a breath. “You did.”

“I was—I didn’t seem like I meant it,” George says. “I know. And, um, I guess I didn’t. Not really, not at first, but—”

“I still should’ve.” Sapnap lifts a hand, looking from it to George’s eyes then back. George gives a nod, and Sapnap sets his hand on George’s side, fingers resting in the spaces between George’s ribs. He feels George’s chest expand and contract with every breath he takes.

“We could,” George ducks his head, “have a sign, or a word, or something, and if one of us does it, the other stops,” he meets Sapnap’s eyes again, “would that work?”

Sapnap’s brows raise, jaw dropping slightly. “George…,” he says, “did you just suggest we employ a safeword?” 

George splutters. “No? I mean—I guess, but not like that! Just… yes or no?”

“Butterscotch,” Sapnap says.

“What?” George makes a face.

“When it’s too much,” Sapnap explains, “just say you want butterscotch.”

“It sounds like a euphemism.” The word drips distasteful from George’s tongue.

Sapnap rolls his eyes. “But that’s what makes it good !” He slides his fingers from George’s side around to his back, watching George’s face all the while. When George doesn’t stop him—physically or with butterscotch—Sapnap brings his other arm around George, holding him. “People will think we’re going to fuck or something, but actually we’re doing the opposite!”

“That or they’ll think we’re sugar addicts,” George scoffs, making Sapnap laugh.

“One of those,” Sapnap agrees. “Is that really such a bad thing?”

George looks at him, disappointment clear on his features. Sapnap smiles. George’s facade breaks; he smiles back. “It’s dumb,” he says.

“You always look dumb,” Sapnap replies. “No one will think anything.”

George sighs. Sapnap feels the movement against his chest, beneath his fingertips. “Fine,” George finally concedes. “Butterscotch.”

Sapnap smiles back then leans forward till their noses touch and their breath intermingles as George inhales then says, “If there’s ever been a better time to say the opposite of butterscotch, it’d be now.” Sapnap kisses him. George’s eyes slip shut, hands coming up to tangle slender fingers into the ends of Sapnap’s hair, and returns the kiss.

Eventually, George calls Dream again and the two of them start up their game again, George back to his perch at the edge of Sapnap’s lap, and this time Sapnap doesn’t kiss him, but George lets him run his fingers up and down his sides, and Sapnap delights in the little shivers and shudders George does every time. George and Dream end the day on a tie, the last win one of Dream’s. George’s consolation is a kiss pressed to his temple, but then George says that’s not enough and decides Dream and Sapnap owe him dinner.

“Both of us?” Sapnap asks as Dream groans on the other line.

George nods.

“Why me?” Sapnap makes the best pleading face he can. 

George is made of stone. “Friend of the enemy.”

“Boo,” Sapnap says, “hiss.”

“Hey!” Dream’s voice crackles through the speaker. George glances over at it, unamused.

“I think we should try that one place, what was it called? It’s on Main and Delaware.”

Dream makes a noise. Sapnap thinks it might be one of fear. “If it’s the place I’m thinking… that’s really expensive.”

“But you can pay for it, can’t you, Dream?” George asks. “I know you can.”

Dream doesn’t reply. All three of them know he can.

“But I wouldn’t do that to you,” George continues. “Which is why Sapnap owes me dinner too.”

Sapnap is about to whine when his brain catches onto an idea and his eyes narrow. “Is this payback for the date?”

“H’m?” The tilt of George’s head is innocent in a way only the guise of innocence can be. Sapnap’s eyes squint even more, vision practically gone. “Of course not.”

Sapnap doesn’t believe him.

;;

Despite George’s teasing earlier that week, he ends up ordering the cheapest things on the menu, though Sapnap (feeling guilty about the date thing, oops) points out other, more expensive, things for George to try.

“Sapnap,” George finally says, “it’s fine. If it bothers you that much, we can split a dessert or something.” Across the table, they meet eyes and at the contact, a small smile appears on George’s face. Sapnap’s breath catches.

Dream is seated next to George, this date of course anything but traditional, but, like at the McDonald’s, Sapnap finds he doesn’t care, their closeness completely platonic—if anything, he’s comforted by it, in a sense, his two favorite people getting along as easy as they do. Sapnap’s utterly sold on it.

He and George catch eyes again as Dream peoplewatches casually, cheek resting on his palm. Sapnap’s own palm is open on the table in front of him, bored of messing with his unused cutlery. He smiles as George eyes the hand, eyes dark and inscrutable, before a hand covers his own. Sapnap curls his fingers around the other’s. They sit in this calm silence until their server brings them their food.

Sapnap’s tempted to keep George’s hand in his as he eats, but it’s his right hand and George’s left, so he lets go, turning to his food instead. George does the same, and Sapnap thinks that’s it, but then he feels a foot brush his, and when he glances up, it’s to see George already watching him, cheeks flushed. Sapnap hooks their ankles together. George’s gaze goes back to his plate.

When it comes time for dessert, George does agree on splitting with Sapnap, Dream getting his own thing, some chocolate mousse pie, and George and Sapnap getting a crème brûlée, George eager to tap the top with his spoon when the waiter brings it out to them, steaming and pretty.

Every once in awhile, their spoons clink against each other, and they exchange quick glances, Sapnap swears his aren’t heated, but the pounding in his heart suggests otherwise—he never knows with George, whether there’s something behind them or not, his eyes dark, endless, Sapnap wonders if he’ll ever be able to properly read him. If Dream is ever uncomfortable, he never gives any indication of it.

Dream and Sapnap do pay, and George looks green and guilty after, even when Dream did everything he could to keep George from seeing the check, leaning away and even cupping a hand over the receipt to prevent curious eyes from wandering.

The three of them walk out together, Sapnap’s pockets feeling considerably lighter, but the meal worth it, and when he reaches over, George lets him clasp their hands together easily, fingers intertwining like this happens everyday. Dream walks on his other side, hands in his pockets (Sapnap stops himself from making a smart remark), eyes on the sidewalk ahead of them. The sun has long since set, and a chill has started under Sapnap’s skin, shaken only by the solid warmth of George’s hand in his. Still, when a breeze ruffles their hair, Sapnap has to suppress a shiver. 

They reach George’s apartment first, and he goes with an easy goodbye to Dream and a short hug around Sapnap’s middle. When he pulls away, he turns his head and his lips brush Sapnap’s cheek in something like a kiss. Sapnap watches him up until the door finally shuts and they hear the click of the lock. 

They’ll reach his dorm before they reach Dream’s place. When Sapnap looks over, Dream is still staring straight ahead.

“I could’ve paid it all myself,” Dream says. “You knew that.”

“Yeah,” Sapnap agrees.

“You could’ve told me to pay it all myself.” Dream turns his head, eyes on Sapnap. His gaze is sharp. “George wouldn’t have minded.”

Sapnap looks to the ground. “Yeah.”

Dream goes back to looking ahead. They walk in silence for another minute. “He’s happy,” he finally says. Sapnap’s eyes dart to the other. Dream isn’t looking back. “He really likes you.”

“I really like him,” Sapnap says.

“Monday—the other week,” Dream gives a slight laugh, “George said he really liked that, too. He had a bad day—,” Sapnap remembers the drink shoved in his hands, the dark expression on George’s face, “—and then you were there, and you were happy and happy to see him, and suddenly the bad parts of the day didn’t really matter.”

“I just want to see him smile,” Sapnap says, and then he amends the statement, “I want to see him happy. If it’s because of me, that’s even better, but really, he just…,” he shrugs, makes a noise in his throat. “I care about him.”

“So do I,” Dream says. “And I care about you. And I can tell that you guys make each other happy. And that’s all you want for each other.” He glances over, showing the other a soft smile. “And that’s all I want for you both.”

“You haven’t even known George for that long,” Sapnap says, because he’s socially incompetent or something.

“George is easy to love,” Dream replies.

Sapnap doesn’t have anything to say to that. It’s true. He is.

;;

It’s another one of Sapnap and Dream’s biweekly movie nights, but this time George is there, head resting in Sapnap’s lap, feet in Dream’s. He fits perfectly along the couch, though he’s turned on his side, blanket tugged tight over him as he watches Jurassic Park. They settled on that after some brief bickering, mostly between George and Sapnap, Dream content to watch whatever, while George wanted a comedy and Sapnap didn’t know what he wanted but it wasn’t a comedy because, “Dream and I watched a comedy last time!”

“I wasn’t here last time!” George argues. “So it shouldn’t matter!”

“But it does ,” Sapnap does not whine, though they all know the pitch in his voice makes it close to one. “We should watch something else.”

In the end, it was Dream who decided, having closed his eyes then picked a movie off the shelf randomly. Once Dream was sat back down on the couch, George had huffed and flopped over onto his side to watch it, ignoring Sapnap’s cheering but not turning away from the hand the younger had placed atop his head, fingers running through the short strands.

Now, an hour and a half later, George makes a sleepy noise, nuzzling into Sapnap’s thigh, and Sapnap’s heart clenches in his chest.

Dream had dozed off a few minutes ago, chin in his palm, and now his elbow has started to slide off the arm of the couch. Sapnap bends over, running his nose along the curve of George’s ear, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Hey,” he whispers. “Want to call it a night?”

George turns his head, nose bumping into Sapnap’s when Sapnap doesn’t sit up quick enough. Their eyes lock, dark blue on dark brown, and George stares up at him for a second before he glances to Dream at the other end of the couch, one hand curled around George’s ankles. “‘Kay,” George says, voice rough. Sapnap finally leans back the rest of the way, and George sits up, pointing his sock-clad toes and stretching out his right arm, the limb having been pressed to the couch beneath him. When he takes his feet from Dream’s lap, dropping them to the floor, Dream’s elbow finally slips from the couch, and he jerks awake, eyes blinking rapidly until they finally settle blearily on the TV.

Sapnap leans over to place a gentle hand on his shoulder. “George and I are gonna head out,” he tells him. “We’re all pretty tired.”

Dream looks over at him, movements sluggish, before he nods. “See you guys tomorrow?”

“Probably,” Sapnap replies.

Dream nods again before making a small noise and pushing himself up from the couch. The movie still plays on the television, but none of them pay it any mind. Dream picks up their empty bowl of popcorn and takes it to the kitchen.

George sighs, leaning back on the couch and closing his eyes.

“Ready for the walk home?” He’s talking about their respective homes, Sapnap knows—George’s apartment and Sapnap’s dorm—but it feels so much like they’re a duo, a pair, home coming from George’s lips like they live together, that it makes Sapnap’s breath catch in his chest. Breathlessness and a clenching heart—maybe Sapnap should seek medical help.

At his lack of reply, George looks back at him. The blue light colors his skin something pretty. Maybe Sapnap’s just had an overdose of George. He doesn’t think he minds. “I’ll walk you home,” he says. And then he thinks about the placement of their houses. He backtracks. “Or… if you wanted, you could just stay at mine?”

George, growing steadily more alert as time goes on, stares at him. “You want me to go home with you,” he says. It is in no way a question.

“I mean, if you want,” Sapnap answers anyway.

“We might as well have spent the night here,” George tells him.

Sapnap glances back at Dream, only to find the other missing from the kitchen. A look at the dark hallway and the slim line of light coming from underneath the bathroom door lets him know where the other is, however. He turns back to George. “We can ask Dream,” he says. “Do you want to?”

George gives a half-hearted shrug. “I don’t know. Maybe your place would be better. We don’t know what he’s doing tomorrow.”

“We don’t,” Sapnap agrees, although they’re both aware Dream doesn’t have any plans.

“And we don’t want to overstay our welcome,” George continues.

“We don’t,” Sapnap repeats.

George sucks in a breath, holds it. “My place is farther,” he finally says on the exhale, “ but my bed is bigger.”

That’s true. Sapnap has a room to himself, but he’s still only got a twin. It can barely fit him sometimes.

“I’m willing to make the walk if you are,” he decides.

;;

George is willing to make the walk. Dream had come out of the bathroom not long after, wiping his hands dry on his sleep pants, then waving them out with a tired smile. Sapnap had taken George’s hand the minute the door had shut behind them, the two of them alone on the sidewalk, Sapnap tugging George even closer, using their connected hands to his advantage.

They make their way to George’s apartment slowly, despite their initial reluctance to walk. Sapnap wonders if it’s a delay of the inevitable or an enjoyment of the other’s company. (They can enjoy each others’ company within four walls, not outside where the unforgiving autumn cold that’s finally settled seeps into their bones.) George takes a breath.

“I don’t,” he starts, then makes a noise. “I don’t want anything to happen, Sapnap.”

When they pass under a streetlight, Sapnap sees George’s cheeks glow red. George glances over at him.

“You know that, right?”

Sapnap has a list of things he could say. I never even thought about that, is one. Why not? is another. “Yeah,” is what he goes with. “Don’t worry.” He squeezes George’s hand. George squeezes back.

“I just…,” George tilts his head back, looking to the sky, and Sapnap’s eyes are locked on the graceful column of his throat, “I really like you, Sapnap.” He goes back to looking ahead, but Sapnap keeps his eyes on him. “And it’s almost been a month since… since,” with his free hand, he makes a vague motion at where their other hands are locked together, “this. Whatever this is. So I just… in case you, I don’t know, expected anything.”

“It’s okay,” Sapnap says. Again, he adds, “Don’t worry.”

George smiles at him. Sapnap smiles back.

;;

When they reach George’s apartment, George unlocks the door and Sapnap follows him silently inside, chewing on his lower lip as he contemplates what he’s about to say next. Eventually, he gives up on elegance:

“You said this.” George looks over at him from where he’s locked the door. Sapnap leans against the kitchen counter. “Whatever this is.” He makes a gesture between the two of them, something indicative of the blurry relationship they have.

“I don’t know what to call it,” George says.

“I know,” Sapnap replies. “I don't know what to call it either.”

George glances around, as if checking for eavesdroppers, before he looks back to Sapnap. “What do you want to call it?”

Sapnap raises his brows. “What do you want to call it?”

George gives a sigh. “Are we having this talk now?”

“When else will we have it?” Sapnap crosses his arms as George shuts off the main lights, plunging the two of them into darkness.

“I don’t know,” George replies. “In the morning?” He’s nothing but a shadow as he crosses in front of Sapnap. Sapnap refrains from reaching out to grab a wrist, pull him to his chest, demand an answer now. It doesn’t matter that much.

But it’d be nice to have some answers. And George had been right before. It’s been almost a month since that kiss in Sapnap’s dorm, lips greasy with Taco Bell yet the kiss still nice, in that way kissing someone you really, really like is. In kissing someone you could grow to love—maybe already love, deep, deep down—is.

“I just like knowing,” Sapnap finally says. “What’s wrong with that?”

A light flicks on, and when Sapnap takes a couple steps away from the counter, he realizes it’s the light for George’s bedroom. He stands out of place in the doorway before George takes notice and makes his way over to the other. 

Sapnap gives him a tight smile once they’re face to face. George studies him for a second before sighing. “There’s nothing wrong with that.” He pivots, going over to a set of drawers and tugging the middle one open. T-shirts and lounge pants are folded loosely inside. “I like knowing too.” He glances over his shoulder at Sapnap. “Do you think any of these will fit?”

George buys most of his clothes oversized. Just something Sapnap’s noticed about the other. “There’s a chance,” he replies. George tosses a few different pairs at him. Sapnap changes in the bathroom.

The first pair he tries doesn’t fit at all. He gives a small laugh to himself before grabbing the second. They fit better. The third look hot, flannel and dark, even for the weather, so he leaves them folded and tries his best to fold the other pair before dutifully marching back to George’s side to have him tuck them back into his drawer.

“We’ve been on a date before,” Sapnap says, “and a half. A date and a half. You could say we’re dating?”

“We’re about to literally sleep together,” George replies, and although his cheeks are flaming, the heat radiating off them in waves, his expression remains neutral, completely unamused. “I think we’re a bit past that.”

“So…,” Sapnap tries his luck, though he’s starting to think it less luck, and more a careful maneuver on George’s part, “you could say we’re boyfriends?”

“A bit gradeschoolish,” George replies.

Sapnap blinks at him.

George stares back before rolling his eyes and scoffing. “You’re so dumb. Yes, you could say we’re boyfriends.”

Immediately, the blank look drops off Sapnap’s face, and he grins, even as George turns on a lamp and brushes past him to turn off the bedroom light, completely ignoring him. Sapnap watches him disappear out the door and round the corner into the bathroom. There’s the sound of water running, then rummaging, then water running again, and then George’s head pops into the bedroom and he says, “I’ve got a spare toothbrush.”

Sapnap brushes his teeth and watches George’s shadow every time its reflection appears in the mirror. He holds back a sudsy laugh when he realizes the taste of George’s toothpaste is familiar. He rinses and spits then straightens and runs a hand through his hair. It’s gotten longer since the start of the semester. Since he’s met George. When he tugs his fingers through the ends, they get caught on knots. He does his best to untangle them without a brush. He gives up less than a minute in.

When he gets back into George’s room, George is already in bed, looking at something on his phone. Sapnap bites back a giddy smile, crawling into bed next to him, immediately pressing a kiss to his temple then sliding down the bed and wrapping an arm around his waist. 

George sets his phone down on the bedside table before looking down at him. “You’re very affectionate,” he says.

“So I’ve been told,” Sapnap replies.

George stares at him for another handful of seconds. Sapnap stares back. George blinks, then stretches to turn off the lamp. They’re left in the dark once again.

Sapnap is forced to lift his arm when George gets properly under the covers, the sheets tugged up to his chin. He’s flat on his back, and when Sapnap sets his arm back down, this time across his chest, he can feel the tension in him. George takes in a breath, and when he lets it out, Sapnap feels it shudder.

“George,” Sapnap says, and then, a leap of faith, “baby.”

George turns his head. Beneath Sapnap’s arm, his heart pounds.

“C’mere,” Sapnap says. A second. Two seconds. George rolls onto his side. Now, they watch each other, face to face. Sapnap can’t pick up any details on George’s, the room too dark, the most he can figure out being the slope of George’s nose, the occasional movement of his eyes. The window is behind George. Sapnap wonders if George can see him more clearly. 

Sapnap gets his arm further round George, pulling him close. When George lets out a breath, Sapnap feels it warm through his shirt. When George blinks, Sapnap feels the feathery kisses his lashes leave on his skin.

“You’re really warm,” Sapnap says.

From beneath the covers, George’s fingers twist and tangle in his shirt. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

A car passes by outside. George gives a small sigh. Sapnap brushes the pads of his fingers across the back of George’s neck.

“You can,” the words get muffled into Sapnap’s chest.

“What?” Sapnap asks.

George tilts his head back. “Your shirt,” he says. “You can take it off if you want.”

It’s Sapnap’s heart’s turn to pound.

George goes back to lying on his back. And then he rolls onto his side, but this time, he faces the window. Sapnap studies the curve of his shoulder. Then he sits up. And he pulls off his shirt.

He doesn’t really know what to do with it. Dropping it on the floor seems messy, but folding it and putting it on the bedside table just feels weird. No matter what, he’s not getting out of bed. He glances over and has to fight back the urge to jump. George has rolled back over, now staring at him.

Sapnap drops his shirt on the floor. George scoffs before rolling back over.

“I didn’t know what to do!” Sapnap immediately defends himself. He gets back under the covers. “I’m sorry.”

“Whatever,” George replies.

Sapnap moves closer. “Stop,” George says.

Sapnap places a hand on George’s shoulder. It’s warm under his palm.

“Sapnap,” George says.

“George,” Sapnap replies. He runs his hand from George’s shoulder down to his chest. Again, he can feel his heartbeat. He pulls the other closer, so George’s back is pressed to his chest.

“No,” George says. “I’m not… spooning with you.” The word is spat with venom.

Sapnap sighs, nose tickled by the other’s hair. “Night, babe.”

“Sapnap.” George’s fingers curl around Sapnap’s wrist. They make no move to pull his hand away. He makes no move to push him away.

He still hasn’t said butterscotch. Sapnap is pretty sure he’s not going to say butterscotch. George lets out a breath. Sapnap feels him relax against his chest. Another car passes by. Sapnap hears it outside. Sees the change in lighting from behind his eyelids.

George lets out a quiet breath. “Whatever,” he finally says, more to himself than to Sapnap. “Night, Sapnap.”

Sapnap hums and delights in the shiver it sends through George. When he falls asleep, it’s to the steady sound of George breathing and the light movements of George tracing shapes on the back of his hand. Sapnap wonders what exactly it is he’s drawing. Wonders if he’s drawing anything in particular at all.

;;

When Sapnap wakes, George is still asleep. They’ve changed positions sometime in the night, both of them apparently being the type to spread out (and it had felt nice, Sapnap notes, not just to wake up next to George, but to wake up in a bed that he can actually stretch out in), so now George, Sapnap sees after sitting up all the way, has a foot just off the edge of the bed, the bump of it clear under the blanket, an arm flung back towards Sapnap, the other close to his head, fingers brushing the hair near his ear. The leg closer to Sapnap is tangled with Sapnap’s own. Sapnap’s not sure which of them is the cause for that.

There’s not much to do yet. It’s a Saturday, and while Dream didn’t have plans, he didn’t have any either. George might, but Sapnap is pretty sure that’s unlikely. He lets himself fall back onto the bed, head bouncing lightly against the pillow. George makes a soft sound from next to him. Sapnap takes his hand. He tries not to think the curl that appears at the corner of George’s lips is because of him.

George sleeps for another hour, Sapnap drifting in and out of wakefulness next to him. The final time Sapnap wakes, he knows he won’t be falling back asleep, but it doesn’t matter, because George huffs then slowly blinks open his eyes, staring blankly at the wall before looking over at Sapnap.

“G’morning,” he says.

“Morning,” Sapnap replies.

“Breakfast?” George asks.

“I’m down.”

Neither of them move.

George gives a soft laugh. Sapnap smiles at the sound.

“I might have eggs in the fridge,” George says. He looks over at the other. “I have apple juice.”

Still, neither of them move. Sapnap grins as George sighs and presses the heels of his palms over his eyes.

“There’s a diner on 3rd and Ashmore,” Sapnap tells him. “Want to try there?”

“Sounds good,” George replies.

They sit there for another second before George swings his legs off the bed and Sapnap leans over to pick his t-shirt off the floor.

“I might have a sweater you can wear,” George says. “You can put it on over your shirt.”

“Yeah?” Sapnap asks.

George tosses him a sweatshirt. It’s a pale grey, crewneck. Sapnap tugs it on over his head. It’s a little tight. George sighs, grabbing Sapnap’s jacket off the chair he had set it on the night before. “Never mind. It’s fine. Not like anyone saw you last night anyway.”

“Scared they’ll think you’re sleeping around?” Sapnap teases. George sends him an unamused look, taking the sweatshirt back when Sapnap hands it to him. “George the neighborhood whore?”

“Shouldn’t you be a little nicer to your boyfriend?” George asks, and while Sapnap is choking on his words, George sends him a playful look, hanging the sweatshirt back up in his closet.

Sapnap gets a grip on himself and gives him a smile back. “That’s not a no.”

“Yes,” George tells him, “because I’m just such a whore. Always sleeping around.”

Sapnap stands, going over to George, backing him up into the bedroom door. “I wouldn’t mind,” he says, “if that were the case. I know it’s not, but even if it were, I don’t care.”

“I don’t care either,” George replies. Sapnap wonders if George thinks that was the case with him. “I,” they had tentatively locked eyes, George’s occasionally glowing amber when caught by the morning light slipping through the blinds, but now, George looks away, at some distant point past Sapnap, “like you as you are. If that’s how you were, it wouldn’t matter. I like you.”

“Can I kiss you?” Sapnap asks, breath caught in his throat. At George’s concerned look, Sapnap waves a hand. “Morning breath, I—you—you seem like you’d care about that.”

George presses a kiss to the corner of Sapnap’s lips. Sapnap lifts a hand and runs his fingers along George’s chin, gets pricked by the short, short stubble there, then tilts his head and kisses George proper on the lips. George kisses back.

When they separate, George keeps his eyes closed. Sapnap bumps their noses together.

“In the future,” George says, “I’ll care about that.”

Sapnap really wants to say I love you.

“I’m sure you will,” he says instead.

;;

For breakfast, Sapnap has steak and eggs. George has French toast. To drink, he has apple juice. Sapnap stares into his own black coffee.

“Very nice,” George tells him. “Very stereotypical.”

“Are you really judging my food choices right now?” Sapnap asks.

George lifts his cup to his lips, taking a sip of his juice as he raises a single brow. Sapnap tries to be defiant, firm in his choices, but his eyes are continually drawn to George’s throat, the pale skin there. His gaze is only broken by George setting the glass back down. Sapnap swallows. He can’t say if George’s eyes following the movement is deliberate.

He looks back up. George has moved on, cutting into his toast, taking a bite.

“It’s good,” he says, once he’s swallowed. “How’s yours?”

Sapnap cuts into his steak. It’s good.

They eat, and their legs once again tangle, this time under a table instead of blankets.

;;

Despite what they had all told each other the day before, George and Sapnap end up not seeing Dream again.

“Sorry,” he tells them over a Discord call, George and Sapnap both at George’s computer, Sapnap having dragged the chair in the corner of George’s bedroom over to the desk. “Someone kind of high profile asked me to code something for them. I wasn’t going to turn it down. It was a good offer.”

“We didn’t expect you to turn it down,” George replies. “We don’t want you to turn it down.”

“Yeah, man,” Sapnap agrees. “That’s great. Secure that bag.”

“Secure that bag?” George echoes. “Seriously?”

“Let’s get this bread,” Sapnap says solemnly. “Make his pockets hurt.”

“I already did,” George replies.

“Still,” Dream cuts in easily, making George and Sapnap immediately stop, heads turning once again to the computer, “I’m sorry. I’ll see you Monday or Tuesday maybe.”

“You want a rematch?” George asks him. “It’s been awhile since I’ve completely obliterated you.”

“Whatever,” Dream laughs. “I’ll see you.”

“See you,” George and Sapnap agree. And then the call ends. And then it’s just them.

Part of Sapnap feels like he’s overstaying his welcome. Part of him wants to overstay his welcome, wants to stay forever. Part of him feels like George would say something if he were. If not get out , then butterscotch or something. But George has stayed silent, content to have Sapnap by his side.

At that thought, Sapnap leans over, a hand coming to rest on George’s thigh. George shifts, and Sapnap’s hand falls. That was the movement’s intention. Sapnap readjusts, placing his hand on the edge of George’s chair. George returns to his previous position. Sapnap leaves his hand where it is.

George takes a breath then leans back, head rolling on his neck to look over at Sapnap. “Got any work to do?”

“Nope,” Sapnap replies, popping the p. George hums, eyes slipping shut.

“Got any plans at all?”

“Nope,” Sapnap repeats. “No obligations, nowhere I need to be. I can go home if you want me to, though.”

“You don’t need to,” George replies. And then he glances behind to the bed. “I might take a nap.”

“You want me to say something,” Sapnap says, eyes narrowing. “What is it?”

George looks at him with wide, innocent eyes. “I want you,” he says, “to do whatever you think you should be doing right now.” 

And with that, he rises from his chair, tugs off his tennis shoes, and falls onto the bed.

“In jeans?” Sapnap asks him, crossing his arms as best as he can at the angle he’s at.

George grunts. Sapnap sighs, taking the pair of sweatpants George had left on the dresser and dropping them on the bed next to George.

“You want any water or anything?” he asks.

George keeps his eyes closed. “I’m good, thanks.”

Sapnap studies him for a second before heading to the bathroom.

He really has no idea what George wants from him. 

Really, going into the bathroom was just him stalling, more for George’s benefit than his—he’s completely certain he’ll reenter George’s bedroom to see the other wearing the sweatpants he had set next to him—but he does use it as a moment to wonder just what he’s supposed to be doing.

When he goes back into George’s room, the other is lying the way he had been when he left, but, just as Sapnap thought, he’s now wearing sweatpants, an arm thrown across his eyes.

Sapnap takes a seat next to him, then lets out a breath and lets himself relax back onto the bed. George’s arm falls from his eyes. Together, they stare up at the ceiling.

“Can we just stay like this?” George finally asks.

Sapnap looks over at him.

George remains looking at the ceiling.

“Like what?”

“You’re so affectionate, Sapnap.” George’s fingers brush his. Sapnap fights the urge to take them. “It’s a lot for me.” George finally turns his head and meets Sapnap’s eyes.

Sapnap holds his breath. George’s fingers run up his arm, tickle quick over his shoulder, finally scratch through the slight beard he has. “Sorry,” Sapnap says.

George takes a breath, then shifts, turning himself onto his side. “Not your fault. It’s just new. A lot of this is,” he gives a quiet exhale, “new.” His fingers still press against Sapnap’s skin. They’re warm. Sapnap swears when they fall away, his skin will be stained red.

“I like it,” George finally says. “New is good.”

“That’s good,” Sapnap says.

“It is,” George agrees. “I like this a lot.”

“In the future, you’ll care?” Sapnap asks.

George laughs, gentle, soft. “I already do.”

;;

The rest of the weekend passed slowly, time molasses. Sapnap hadn’t spent the night again, the two of them finally napping, then Sapnap slipping out when they next woke, delivering a kiss to George’s lips then tugging his jacket over his shoulders and heading out into the October cold. He’d taken his time on the walk home, an opposite of Friday night—reluctance to leave, each step heavier than the last. By the time he gets to his dorm, he swears his feet are stone.

Wearily, he eyes his desk. Atop it lay various assignments, all at different degrees of completion. Most aren’t due till Friday or the next week entirely—he’d meant it when he told George he’s got nothing he needs to be doing—but with nothing to take his immediate attention anymore, he finds himself wondering if now would be a good time to complete it all.

He gets through an assignment and a half before he finds his thoughts wandering. Some of them go towards eating; he and George had slept through lunch, and now it’s practically dinnertime, and Sapnap is hungry. But most of them go towards George, towards a thought he’d had that morning.

I love you.

He rolls the thought around in his mind. Reshapes it.

I love you, George.

A beat.

“You’re so affectionate, Sapnap. It’s a lot for me.”

Sapnap groans, head coming to rest in his hands. When he lifts his head again, he pushes his hair back. An I love you now would be too soon. They’ve just declared themselves boyfriends, and now Sapnap is thinking about I love yous.

It is a lot. For anyone. Sapnap is the odd one out here. He knows it’s a problem, but he just doesn’t know any other way to be.

;;

meeting dream today, gonna try and kick his ass. wish me luck?

Sapnap smiles down at the text that lights up his phone. Kick his ass babe, gl but u got this

thanks

Sapnap slips his phone back into his pocket. It vibrates. Sapnap pulls it out once more.

It’s probably the bare minimum. There’s no words involved. But it stops Sapnap short, leaving him staring down at his screen with wide eyes. He wonders if he’s pink. His skin feels warm. 

<3

It means something. It’s George. It has to mean something.

;;

“I brought Taco Bell,” George announces when Sapnap swings the door open.

George pushes past him easily, setting the bags at an empty spot on Sapnap’s desk while Dream brings up the rear, shirt wet with condensation from their drinks.

“It only felt right,” George tells him as Dream gives him his Baja Blast.

“I’m here this time, though,” Dream says, pulling out a burrito from one of the bags George sat down. “Please don’t make any jumps in your relationship while I’m still in the room, thanks.”

George glares at him then takes a menacing bite of his Quesarito.

Sapnap turns to Dream with wide eyes. “I don’t think that’ll be an issue.”

“It won’t be,” George says.

“I didn’t realize you’re so sentimental, George,” Dream finally speaks up after a few minutes of them just eating their food.

“I’m not,” George replies.

“Could’ve fooled me.” Dream sends him an unamused look, but George just gives him one right back.

“Really,” he says. “I’m not.” He glances at Sapnap. Dream catches it. “I’m not really doing this for myself, anyway.”

Sapnap flushes, staring down at his gordita. Dream looks between them, blinks, exhales. Sapnap thinks he’s going to say something ridiculous. All he says is, “Couples,” and that’s that.

George catches his eye, smiles, and it’s like they’re sharing a secret. Sapnap likes it.

He loves it.

;;

With a new week comes the panic of midterms. Sapnap had thought he’d been overwhelmed before, but now he’s drowning, completely slipping under murky waters.

George pulls him out with a heated chocolate croissant and a pat on the head.

Sapnap smiles at him as he walks away.

Dream sits on a chair next to him, flipping through one of the New Yorker s left on the little table in front of them. Sapnap blinks at his laptop before setting it aside and stretching. “You’re so lucky, man,” he tells Dream, who gives a noncommittal hum and turns a page. “I mean it. Midterms are the worst.”

“Yeah,” Dream agrees. “Tests are annoying.”

“They’re dumb,” Sapnap says, conviction coloring his words. “Memorization is dumb.”

“Just a couple more years of this,” Dream replies.

Sapnap sighs, picking up the chocolate croissant and taking a bite. “Just a couple more years.”

After a few more minutes, Dream heaves a sigh. “It’s getting to me,” he says.

“Sorry,” Sapnap replies, like he can in some way change the strength of the coffee.

“It’s fine,” Dream dismisses, then he stands, dropping the magazine back onto the table. “See you later.”

Sapnap sends him a smile as he waves at George, who’s moved back behind the counter.

“See you!” George calls as the door slides shut behind Dream.

“That was pretty long, I think,” Sapnap says when George makes his way over a few minutes later, now on break, taking up Dream’s empty chair. “We’d been here almost an hour.”

“That is long,” George agrees. “How long are you staying?”

“You get off at four?” Sapnap asks, and George nods. “Want to get dinner with Dream and I after?”

“Of course.” George smiles, and Sapnap smiles back.

;;

Despite all of his manic studying—or perhaps because of it—midterms the next week pass by relatively quickly, him coming out of his last class Friday tired but content. He doesn’t really think he got an A, but he’s sure his mark will be pretty damn close. 

A few hours and a billion failed Minecraft speedruns later, Sapnap gets a message from Dream.

I know movie nights r every other week, but u just finished midterms. Wanna come over?

Sapnap’s at the other’s house before he even thinks about it. “Uh, yes, I want to come over,” he tells Dream when the other opens the door. “What are we watching?” 

“Whatever you want,” Dream replies. “You’re the one who’s got nothing to worry about anymore.”

Sapnap grins, plucking a movie off the shelf. “Here,” he hands it to Dream. “Popcorn?”

“You know it,” Dream replies, getting the movie set up.

When the popcorn is done, Dream is on the couch, remote in hand. “Good?”

Sapnap nods, setting the bowl between them.

The movie passes by quickly, and they move onto the next one—it turns into a right marathon by the time the sun has set, and eventually, the bowl of popcorn is empty, and they’re leaning against one another in the center of the couch.

At a lull in the movie, a quiet moment between the two main characters, Sapnap speaks:

“I think I’m in love with George.”

Dream is quiet for a moment. Sapnap feels him shift against him. Their shoulders press together. “He’s easy to love,” Dream echoes his words from weeks before.

“Easy to scare,” Sapnap replies.

More movement.

“Is there ever a right time to say I love you?” Dream asks. “If you love them, let them know.”

“He told me that I’m a lot,” Sapnap tells him. “That I’m a lot for him.”

“I’m sure he didn’t say it like that,” Dream says. Sapnap gives a half-hearted shrug. Dream sits up, angling himself to better face Sapnap. Sapnap imitates his pose. Like this, he can only see half of Dream’s face, one side lit up by the TV screen, the other cast in shadow. “It’s been a month,” Dream continues, “and a half. I think George is the type of guy where, if he feels like you’re too much, if he doesn’t like you, he’s going to leave. He’s not going to sit there, miserable, waiting for you to pull the plug.”

Dream is right because of course he is, but Sapnap still shifts, uncomfortable. “I just… I am a lot. We don’t spend all the time together, but I’m so much more affectionate than he is, and it’s like… I already love him, and—and—we have a safeword, Dream. Like this is some BDSM thing. But it’s not for that, it’s for how much I fucking hold his hand.”

“But isn't that proof?” Dream asks. “That’s communication. Compromise. He wants this to work, Sap. He wants to be with you. Wants you.” He smiles, hand reaching between them to hold Sapnap’s shoulder. “He wants the guy that’s pushy and loud and in your face, the guy that drinks too many vanilla fraps and gets competitive over everything and likes to cuddle. He wouldn’t have decided to go out with you—hell, I don’t even think he’d have kissed you—if that isn’t who he wanted.” He leans back, hand stroking warm down Sapnap’s arm, and the minute it falls back into his lap, Sapnap leans forward to throw his arms around the other.

“I love you,” Sapnap says, turning his face to press his nose into Dream’s neck. “I’m so lucky you’re my best friend.”

Though his arms are pinned awkwardly to his sides, Dream still manages to reach and get his hands on Sapnap’s waist where he squeezes the other in a poor imitation of a hug. “I can’t imagine a world where you aren’t my best friend,” he replies. “I love you too.” 

When Sapnap pulls away, Dream smiles. “But I don’t think I’m the one you need to be saying I love you to, though.”

Sapnap sleeps on Dream’s couch that night and dreams of the different ways telling George he loves him could go.

He’s pleased to note that most of the scenarios end positively.

;;

Saturday he spends the night at George’s again. He lies in bed, quiet, with George next to him, one of the older’s hands holding his phone, the other affectionately brushing through Sapnap’s hair. Sapnap gives a quiet sigh before rolling over and touching his nose to George’s hip. George hums and twirls a lock of Sapnap’s hair around a thin finger.

“You okay?” George asks.

Sapnap squeezes his eyes shut and nuzzles further into the other's side. “Tired.”

“Fall break is coming up,” George consoles him, “and midterms are over.”

Sapnap nods, arm stretching out and over George’s waist. His fingers brush along George’s side, featherlight. George flinches away from it with a giggle. Sapnap tilts his head, eyes opening and gaze flitting to George’s face. It’s a bad angle, but he can still make out the smile there.

He loves George, he knows that now. He’s in love with George.

And George wants him. Wants the him that touches too much and feels too much and loves more than he should. George wants that. George has that. And he likes it.

Sapnap sighs, sinking back into George’s side. George plugs his phone in then turns off the lamp. Before he gets fully under the covers, Sapnap feels his fingers run through his hair one more time before a kiss is pressed to the top of his head.

“Goodnight, Sapnap,” George whispers.

Sapnap squeezes George as best as he can, delivers warm kisses to the parts of George he can reach. “Night, baby.”

George hums, touching the tips of their noses together (with the action, Sapnap swears he did some kind of witchcraft to steal his breath), before rolling over, back to Sapnap’s front. Sapnap bites back a smile. He wonders if George would call this spooning. Because that’s what it is.

He buries his nose in the soft hair at the nape of George’s neck. It’d be easy to say it now. Let the words slip out and if George questions him on it, he can blame it on sleep. A slip of the tongue.

But he doesn’t want it to be a mistake, even if that’s a lie to save his own face. He wants the words to be deliberate, the meaning of them felt by George wholly.

He sighs, and George shivers with it. Sapnap makes a small noise of apology.

“What’re you thinking about?” George finally asks.

Sapnap takes in a breath. He’s not sure what to answer.

“You don’t have to tell me,” George says.

“I want to,” Sapnap replies.

George exhales, the sound loud, before rolling back over. When he’s facing Sapnap, a hand comes up to hold Sapnap’s cheek.

“I think you’re more affectionate than you realize,” Sapnap tells him.

“I think you just make me affectionate,” George replies.

Sapnap stares at him. George stares back before he lifts his hand, fingertips remaining against Sapnap’s skin. He runs them over his cheek, then across his lower lip. And then they go back to his cheek, and George is moving to slot their lips together.

When they separate, Sapnap smiles. He’s pretty sure George smiles back. He presses one more kiss to George’s lips.

He could say it now. George’s fingers begin to tangle into the ends of Sapnap’s hair. His mouth is hot underneath Sapnap’s own. Their breath intermingles. Under the sheets, their legs have tangled together. The two of them are practically completely intertwined.

Against his lips, Sapnap feels George smile.

He says it.

The words hang heavy in the minimal space between them. Sapnap’s heart is equally heavy in his chest as he anticipates George’s reaction. He wants to ramble—apologize, take them back, clarify, tell him that he loves him but he isn’t in love with him (but he is)—but he doesn’t. The words are what they are. He means them.

Though his face seems to now be void of the smile he wore, George doesn’t move away, and they remain tangled together. George rubs his thumb over the curve of Sapnap’s cheek.

He feels George’s breath. George kisses him softly. And then he replies: “I can’t say it yet, Sapnap.” His other hand finds Sapnap’s own. Holds it. “I feel it. I’m, like, certain I do. But I can’t say it yet. Not like that.”

Sapnap sucks in a breath, closes his eyes, nods. “I get it. That’s fine. I love you, though. I just… wanted you to know.”

At that, George laughs, a quiet, warm sound. “Thank you. I’ll remember that.” A beat. And then, “The minute I can say it myself, I’ll tell you.”

Sapnap smiles. “I’m holding you to that.”

George rolls back over. Instead of waiting for Sapnap to curl around him, he backs up, pulls Sapnap’s arm over him. Readjusts so it’s even harder to separate their legs. “Goodnight, Sapnap.” He means it this time.

Sapnap closes his eyes, relaxes. The words are out there now. And George accepts them. No take-backs.

“Goodnight.”

;;

Neither bring it up later. It happened—Sapnap definitely told him—but the words stay only in the air between them, felt but never heard. They go on a walk, no destination in mind, just enjoying each other’s company, and at the local cafe (an actual cafe, not the Starbucks George works at), they split a hot chocolate topped with a mountain of whipped cream that ages them a hundred years only for those years to be wiped away with a thumb. At one point, George has some stuck to the corner of his lips, and Sapnap can’t help but lean forward to lick it away. Of course, George shrieks and shoves him back, flustered and grossed out, but his lips are upturned.

“Sweet,” Sapnap tells him.

“You’re so annoying,” George replies.

“You’re cute,” Sapnap shoots back.

George flushes and takes the mug from Sapnap’s hands, lifting it to his lips so he can hide the smile on his lips. It only works so well. Sapnap lets the moment go, though.

“Normally that’d be butterscotch,” George tells him as they exit the cafe. “I can’t believe you did that. That’s so disgusting.”

Sapnap laces their fingers together. George huffs.

“The only reason you got away with it is because I didn’t expect it.” George kicks a pebble lying in his path. “So annoying.”

Sapnap doesn’t bring it up, but he does say it again.

George stutters out a laugh. Sapnap feels George’s hand squeeze his. It’s enough.

;;

The weeks pass by quickly after that, and soon Sapnap finds himself Friday night sitting between George and Dream while an early 2000s sci-fi movie plays on the TV. They weren’t supposed to have movie night this week either, but come tomorrow morning Sapnap is supposed to head down south for Thanksgiving with his family, so this is their last hurrah together.

They’re a bit like dominoes, actually, Dream sitting normally on the couch, Sapnap’s back resting pressed against his side, and George leaning on Sapnap. Idly, he plays with Sapnap’s fingers. To add to George’s amusement, Sapnap flexes and stretches his fingers. Meanwhile, Dream tugs on his hair.

“It’s probably best you head home soon,” Dream says. “Not to kick you out, but it’s a long drive tomorrow.”

“How many hours away is Houston anyway?” George asks, voice muffled with the way his cheek is squished against Sapnap’s chest.

“Too many,” Sapnap says. “I’m gonna miss you guys.”

“We’ll miss you too,” Dream tells him. 

George makes an affirmative noise.

“But it’s only for a week,” Sapnap says. “And then I’ll be back up here.”

“You don’t normally focus on that,” Dream tells him, more for George’s sake than his. Sapnap flushes, glancing down at George, who stares back with inquisitive eyes. “But I guess now you have something to come back to. Someone.”

“I like spending time with you.”

Dream scoffs. “Like distance ever mattered when it comes to us.”

“Huh?” George pushes himself up and Sapnap sends Dream a dirty look.

“I like cuddling with the homies well enough, but affection from you is way different from affection from George.” He pulls George back down on top of him. “Affection from you is like… a jacket. Nice to have, really nice, but not a necessity. George is a shirt. No shirt, no shoes, no service.”

Dream guffaws. “I hope I’m not just a jacket to you guys, but a friend too.”

“You’re my friend, Dream,” George tells him.

“I love you, George!” Dream immediately replies, and George hides a laugh in Sapnap’s chest.

The movie ends not long after that, and soon Sapnap is heading home.

“I can walk myself home just fine,” George tells him when they reach the intersection that Sapnap is supposed to turn at.

“But I like walking you home,” Sapnap replies.

“But you need to rest,” George tells him, smile on his face. He brushes a strand of hair out of Sapnap’s eyes. “I can help you pack your car in the morning?”

“Do you want to?”

George just continues to smile.

“Why are you like this?” Sapnap asks, and then he leans forward and George lifts a hand to cup the back of his neck. They kiss, and when they separate, Sapnap squeezes George’s waist. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

“Sleep well,” George replies.

“I’ll try.” George smiles, and Sapnap smiles back. George’s hand slips from his neck, and Sapnap’s hand falls from his waist. George starts to walk away. “Goodnight!” Sapnap calls after him. “Love you!”

“Goodnight, Sapnap!” George calls back.

;;

George greets him with a kiss and a coffee and bagel pressed into his hands. “For the road,” he says, and Sapnap thanks him, setting the things aside and drawing George into a deeper kiss than the chaste one he was given. “For the road?”

Sapnap grins. “For me. A week away from you. You know I need my kissies.”

“Don’t ever say that again,” George says. “Oh my God. I think I’m going to be sick.”

Sapnap laughs before tugging his backpack over his shoulders. Dragging his suitcase behind him, he leads George to the parking lot, where he lifts his suitcase and sets it into the trunk. “Seriously, though,” he says, “this’ll be fun.”

“An experiment,” George replies. “A week apart. How will we fare?”

Sapnap grins, and George smiles back.

“Remember me while I’m away,” Sapnap tells him. “Don’t go falling for the first pretty face you see.”

“Of course not,” George says solemnly, and Sapnap laughs. George studies him for a second before once again kissing him. “Three’s a lucky number.”

“I didn’t think you believed in luck,” Sapnap says.

“I don’t,” George replies.

Another kiss. George makes a small noise.

“Four,” Sapnap says. “Actually, I think that’s unlucky in China. I read that somewhere.”

One more.

“How’s five?” George asks.

“Eh,” Sapnap says. “Even numbers are better.”

“Seven is lucky.”

“Eight?”

“Pushing it.”

Sapnap leans away from where he’d come to pin George against the door. George straightens up, readjusts his shirt. Sapnap runs a hand through his hair. George tracks the movement with his eyes. Sapnap’s hand falls back to his side.

“Thanks,” he says.

George huffs a small laugh. “Don’t mention it.”

Sapnap studies him for a second before pulling him into a hug. “I really will miss you,” he says. “I’ll see you.”

“You’re getting on the server with Dream and I if you’re not too tired tonight, right?” George asks.

“Duh.”

George nods. Sapnap feels it against his neck.

“I’ll miss you too,” George finally says.

Sapnap holds him tighter.

;;

Despite the drama of him leaving, Thanksgiving passes by without much fuss. 

They voice call a fair amount and when Sapnap gets to Houston he does hop on the SMP for a bit, a couple hours later passing out mid-call. When he wakes, the lights are all shut off and his blinds are closed.

He’s grateful.

Dream FaceTimes him on Thanksgiving, showing Sapnap his and George’s… creative feast.

“I still can’t believe you guys are having it together,” Sapnap tells the two, completely ignoring the football game on TV to focus entirely on them.

“Why shouldn’t we?” Dream asks him. “George’s family is in England, and it’s not like they celebrate, and I’m not going to Florida this year. Why not?”

That’s fair. 

“Still,” Sapnap says anyway. “And did you just call every nearby restaurant?”

“It’s an assortment,” George says.

“But it’s good,” Dream continues. “Besides, it’s more about the leftovers than the meal.”

Also fair, and Sapnap finds himself with an array of Tupperware from his family’s Thanksgiving in his backseat as he drives back to school. When he’s back inside his dorm, staring at his minifridge, he realizes they won’t all fit in the small space.

“Can I use your fridge?”

“Welcome back, Sapnap,” George replies. “How was your break?”

“I’m offering you free food,” Sapnap says.

“And I’m asking how your break was.”

Sapnap makes a face. “Good. I’m happy to be back. Now, can I please use your fridge?”

A pause. “You only love me for my house,” George finally says. “That’s so wrong of you.”

It’s the first time George has ever brought up Sapnap’s love for him, even as a joke. Sapnap takes a breath. “I do love you for your house,” he replies, teasing before turning serious, “but I also love you for a lot of other reasons. You’re very lovable, you know.”

George is quiet for a second before Sapnap hears movement. “When are you coming over here?”

Sapnap gets an Uber, knowing parking near George’s apartment is risky at best. “Ten minutes?” he says when his phone tells him his driver will be there soon.

“Okay.” Sapnap listens as George putters around. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” George replies immediately, and then, “you’ll see.”

“M'kay,” Sapnap says. “I’ll be there soon.”

“Bye,” George says, and then ends the call.

Sapnap looks down into his plastic bag of remaining Tupperware. His phone pings—the driver’s outside.

;;

“Are you ready to eat leftovers for months?” Sapnap asks, setting the bags down on the counter. “Or at least as long as they last.”

George opens the first bag, pulling out a medium-sized container stuffed full of mashed potatoes. Immediately, he finds a place in his fridge to tuck it into. He does this with the rest of the containers, Sapnap taking them out and setting them on the empty counter space for George to pick up and put away. When they’re done, George comes to lean next to Sapnap.

“We survived,” he says.

“I knew we would,” Sapnap replies.

They’re on each other in an instant.

“I’m not usually into this,” George says hotly into his mouth.

“I know,” Sapnap says.

“I don’t know why I’m like this,” George continues.

“Do you need to know?” Sapnap asks.

George moans at the nip Sapnap gives to his lower lip.

“No,” George replies. “No.” Sapnap runs a burning trail of bites soothed by his tongue down George’s neck. “Sapnap.”

Against his skin, Sapnap smiles.

George gasps when Sapnap moves to press George into the couch instead, the cushions definitely comfier than the linoleum counter. “I missed you so much,” Sapnap says, each word punctuated by a kiss.

“You—Sapnap, yes—too.” George gets his fingers twisted and tangled into his hair, drags him up roughly. Sapnap bites back a groan at the sting and George pulls him into a bruising kiss. “Shit. I missed you.”

Sapnap lets himself be pulled down over George’s body, more than happy to press him further into the couch.

;;

George doesn’t let Sapnap skip his first class on Monday.

“School is important,” he tells him, zipping up his jacket like some mother hen. Sapnap makes a face when his hands brush imaginary dust off his shoulders.

“What are you going to do when I’m gone?” Sapnap asks.

George laughs. “Leaving for a week again?”

Sapnap gives him a dry look.

George smiles, soft. “I’m going to work. You’ll see me in, like, four… five hours at most. Is that really the end of the world?”

Sapnap grabs his hands from where they’d come to rest on his chest, pulling George in closer. “I just like spending time with you.”

“I love spending time with you too,” George says, “and you don’t see me clinging to you.”

“You think this is clingy?” Sapnap raises a brow in a silent challenge, and George tries to back up, but Sapnap just gives another tug to his hands before pulling him into a hug and wrapping his arms tight around him. “You wish I were clingy! You want me to be more clingy, actually.”

“I do not,” George replies, words warm against Sapnap’s ear. Sapnap holds back a shiver as George wriggles in his arms. “You’re… I like you like this.”

Sapnap holds him closer. George lets him.

He pulls away after a moment, the day finally catching up to them. “Class,” George tells Sapnap.

“Work,” Sapnap tells George.

They reach the Starbucks and George squeezes his hand. “See you,” he says.

“Love you,” Sapnap replies. And then George is disappearing into the cafe, the words dissipating in the growing space between them.

;;

The rest of the week passes by slowly, each day slouching into the next. Sapnap looks over at George, whose lips are wrapped pretty around a cake pop. He’s been quiet, more so than usual, and it sets Sapnap on edge, each word coming out of him more hesitant than the last.

Come Saturday, and he finds himself confronting the other.

“You’re avoiding me,” he says.

“I’m not avoiding you,” is immediately shot back, and Sapnap rushes forward, George bringing a hand up between them to push him away. “I’m not. I’m just….”

“I’m too much,” Sapnap says, filling in the words himself.

George is adamant. “No! You’re—you’re—you’re you, and I—Sapnap, I really—,” he makes a small noise and Sapnap tries to get closer again, but George’s hand comes back up and he mutters a quick butterscotch. 

“What’s wrong?” Sapnap asks. “I did something.”

“You—no,” George shoves past Sapnap to get a glass and fill it up with tap water. He takes a quick drink before pouring the rest down the drain. “You love me so much,” he finally says.

“You’re lovable,” Sapnap replies. “Everything about you, George. It’s just—you’re so easy to love.”

“That’s what Dream had said,” George tells him, and Sapnap swallows at the lump that’s built in his throat like sediment, little bits and pieces added to the pile till it cuts off Sapnap’s airways and he’s left floundering, gasping for air. George gives a quiet laugh. “I thought,” he swallows, takes a breath in contrast to Sapnap’s struggle, “it was too soon. I’m not good at this, Sapnap.”

Sapnap moves to speak, but George continues, setting the glass in the sink before his fingers curl into the countertop, knuckles turning white from his grip. He takes another breath. “I love you,” he says, all in one breath. “It shouldn’t have happened so fast. I’m… I’m terrified, Sapnap.”

When Sapnap takes a hesitant step closer, George lets him. He lifts a hand and brushes back some of George’s hair before running his knuckles over George’s cheek, down to his neck. He curls his fingers around the back, brushes them through the short hair there. Under his palm, George is tense.

George breathes, and it comes out in a shudder. “Everything about you is so much.” He straightens, meets Sapnap’s eyes. “I’m trying, Sapnap. But sometimes I think you’re just too much for me.” 

And then he shrugs off Sapnap's hand, moves around him, disappears into his bedroom. Sapnap hears the door click. He stands alone in the kitchen, his only source of light the one over the stove. He thinks it might be dimmer than usual. He waits. George doesn’t come back out. Sapnap wonders if he’s been broken up with. George still doesn’t come back out.

Sapnap looks at the empty plastic bags on the counter. He gathers them in his hands. George can keep his leftovers. He never really wanted them anyway.

;;

“I think George broke up with me,” Sapnap accepts the apple slice Dream hands him, and at the sight of the fruit, it’s like the dam he tried to build surrounding thoughts of George breaks and all those pent up feelings come pouring out, “yesterday. He told me he loved me. And then he left me.” His grandma had made some apple cobbler. It sits on the second shelf of George’s fridge. George’s favorite fruit is apples. 

Sapnap takes a bite out of the slice. Dream sits next to him on the couch, setting the tray of assorted fruit on the coffee table. “Did he actually say that?” Dream asks. “That he’s breaking up with you.”

“He left,” Sapnap repeats. “He said, ‘I love you. You’re too much for me.’ Then he just… walked into his room, shut the door, and that was it.”

“Talk to him again,” Dream says. “He told you he loved you. I don’t think that’s nothing for George.”

Sapnap sighs. It’s not. Dream smiles at him, and Sapnap leans over, resting his head on the other’s shoulder.

“It’ll be fine,” Dream tells him. “Communication is always key.”

As always, he’s right.

;;

He doesn’t want to have any major conversations at Starbucks, but he feels if he doesn’t do it now he won’t do it at all. There hasn’t been any word between him and George since that conversation in the kitchen, but Sapnap doesn’t let that deter him, instead pressing on determinedly as he walks inside and sees George’s usual station devoid of, well, George.

“Called in sick today,” Sarah tells him as she finishes putting whipped cream on someone’s drink. “Thought he’d have told you.”

Sapnap blinks. “Uh,” he says, and then, “think he fell back asleep before he could. Thanks.” Sarah waves nonchalantly, but Sapnap is out the door before he can see it.

The walk to George’s has him tugging at the drawstring of his hoodie, the chill settling deep within him, unshakeable now, especially without George’s easy warmth by his side. He’s never been more grateful to see the steps leading up to the older’s apartment than he is at this moment.

And then he has to wait, much the same way he did Saturday, wait for George to see his text, call him back, answer his knock.

He waits, and he waits, and he waits.

The lock clicks, and the door creaks open. Sapnap swears his fingertips are turning blue.

“George,” he says immediately, just to have said something , and then the door is opening wider and Sapnap is rushing into the apartment, getting himself fully inside before George can reconsider.

In the sink, he spies empty Tupperware containers.

George stands next to the couch. Sapnap swallows.

“George,” he says again. “I missed you.”

“It was only a day, Sapnap,” George replies. His voice is quiet.

“You said I love you to me,” Sapnap says. George stays silent. Sapnap falters, continues: “I love you too, and I know I’m a lot, but George,” he comes closer—George lets him—he places a hand on George’s waist—George lets him, “I’ll… you once told me I can’t dial it down, or whatever, and this is me telling you that for you, I’d dial it down. Maybe you’re right. Maybe I can’t, but I want to try. For you. You said you’d try for me. You need to know I’d do the same for you.”

George laughs, but it’s an empty, hollow sound, just air shoved past his lips. “I don’t think it’s as easy as that.”

“Isn’t it, though?” Sapnap asks. “You said it happened so fast. What happened so fast?”

George mutters something. Sapnap moves closer. George pushes him back. “Falling in love, dumbass. I was in love with you before I even realized it was love I was feeling.” He keeps his hand in front of him, a visible barrier between him and Sapnap. “Am feeling.”

“What’s wrong with that?” Sapnap asks. “What are you so afraid of?”

George doesn’t reply.

“It’s only as complicated as you let it be,” Sapnap says. “I’m—we’re—we’re in love with each other, George.” His voice is firm. George finally meets his eyes. Dark and inscrutable as ever. Sapnap is in love with him. “Isn’t that enough? Just for right now, tell me it isn’t enough.”

George moves, a mirror image of the him in Sapnap’s dorm on Tuesday months ago, bringing their lips together and kissing Sapnap with purpose. When he pulls away, his cheeks are flushed and his eyes sparkle. “I can’t. I can’t tell you it isn’t enough. But I won’t say it’s not either.”

“I love you,” Sapnap says, reflex. He presses a kiss to George’s lips, presses one to his cheeks, his chin, nose, forehead. “I love everything about you.”

“You too,” George says. “I love you so much that I don’t know what to do with myself.”

“You don’t need to know,” Sapnap replies. “Just love me. Be in love with me.”

George’s fingers twist in the fabric of his hoodie, pull him closer. Their noses touch and Sapnap feels every single one of George’s breaths on his lips. They’re heavy. So are his own. When George speaks, he may as well be putting the words directly into Sapnap’s mouth, the two of them working as one. “I love you,” he says, and so does Sapnap. “I love you and being with you and being in love with you.”

“It won’t be perfect,” Sapnap says. (So does George.)

“But it doesn’t need to be.” George seals their lips together. He’s right. Neither of them need it to be perfect. Nor, Sapnap thinks, as George wraps an arm around his neck, draws him closer, holds him tighter, do either of them want it to be.

#georgenap #sapnotfound #snf #fic #fanfiction

[weirdochick56]

Mr. Evans- Chris Evans AU Chapter Seven

Teacher!Chris Evans x Student!Reader

Warnings: TeacherxStudent relationship. Slightly Underage reader x adult teacher. An almost-sexual-assault scene. If this triggers you please don’t read. Violence. (just a small fight scene)  Disclaimers: I don’t own CE or you. I don’t condone any relationship of this kind. This is for fictional and entertainment purposes only. 

A/N: Also, can we all just agree that if at any point a woman or anyone else says “no” or “stop”, you have to respect their wishes? CONSENT IS EVERYTHING PERIOD! Word Count:  4, 392 words

Read Chapter Six Here!!

*

(Gif isn’t mine!)

The thing you hated about parties the most was the fact that they never seemed to end.

Well, actually, that was the second thing you hated about them the most. The thing you actually hated the most about parties was having to dress up.

“God fuckin- Margo,” you groan, tugging at the soft fabric of your black cocktail dress.

“What?” She looks at you from the corner of her eye, gaze trained on the road ahead of her.

“This thing is too short.”

Laughing, your best friend shakes her head at your apprehensiveness. “You can not be serious, Y/n. That dress is like, six inches above your knees. Max. And it’s long at the back so...”

You lean back into the comfy seat of Margo’s sedan, grumbling. “I don’t like heels.”

She wiggles her brows. “They make your legs look great, though.”

You can’t argue the point with her any longer and hated to admit she was right. The strappy heels which wrapped all the way just below your knees and off-shoulder dress that hugged your top but spread out at the bottom required a considerable amount of cash from your father's bank account but looked really good on you.

The style was so far from your usual jeans and sneakers minimalist fashion but tonight you actually looked...pretty.

But that was just you. Margo insisted that you always looked pretty. The only difference tonight was that you looked “extremely fuckable.”

Not your favorite choice of wording but fair enough.

While getting ready, you’d asked her to go easy on the makeup (which she did not want to do) in exchange for you to let her do whatever she wanted to your hair.

She’d reluctantly agreed, only applying a thick layer of mascara to your lashes, shimmering eyeshadow to your lids and a pink-tinted lip gloss.

She didn’t do as much as you would’ve thought with the hair though, opting to curl it all instead of the crazy up-do you’d been expecting. The curls were big and loose and sexy. You looked bold and sophisticated and for once you felt good about your appearance.

“So this party,” you start. “How long is it gonna last?”

“Oh. As long as you want it to, baby.” She smirks in that typical Margo fashion that made you uneasy as hell.

“Oh no,” you groan softly under your breath.

Tonight was going to be a disaster, you just knew it.

*

Jenna Miller’s mansion was huge. Huge as in it may actually have been an entire estate.

The music was loud and even as you made your way up the steps of the front lawn, your feet still vibrated with the strong bass of “Pumped Up Kicks” by Foster The People.

You almost hold back a wince at the multiple couples on the literal brink of having sex right then and there. Almost.

Margo, who wore a tight red dress showing off all her incredible curves and monstrous black heels, hugged you to her, puckering her ruby red lips. “C’ mon Y/n. Stop being such a prude. A little kissing never hurt anyone.”

You laugh at her incredulously, pointing to a nearby couple practically dry-humping eachother. “That is not kissing. That is full-on sex.”

She smirks. “You mind now, but I’m sure if it was a certain English teacher kissing you, you wouldn’t mind in the least.”

You flush almost immediately at the sound of Mr. Evans and kissing in the same sentence, gulping a lump in your throat. If only she knew.

“Let’s just go in, yeah?” You rasp, walking in ahead of her.

She mumbles something about you “acting weird lately” under her breath but follows you all the same.

The inside of the house is not much better than the outside, with people drinking and hollering loudly. Some are making out in various places of the living area and most are just dancing like crazy.

You link your arms with Margo almost instinctively, your social anxiety kicking in at the overwhelming sight. I should’ve stayed home watching the rest of the third season of Breaking Bad, you think regretfully.

Margo smiles down at you softly. patting your hand reassuringly. “It’ll be okay, Y/n. Just relax. I’ll be here with you every step of the way.”

The third thing you hated most about parties happened to be that Margo thrived in them. 

Which meant it’d hadn’t even when an hour before she’d gone to get you drinks that she’d been surrounded by a crowd of her other friends, obscuring your view of her except for her head as another crowd of sweaty teens came in, blocking her off completely.

This immediately makes you anxious and you push your way through the crowd but it’s almost impossible. A string of “excuse me’s” and “sorry’s” follow close behind as you practically shove people away in desperate search of your friend, but when you make it to the other side where Margo had previously been in, she was gone.

You look around the immediate premise for her a bit more, but she’s nowhere to be found. You just hope she’ll eventually make her way back to where you’d been last.

You assumed she’d gone off to mingle and didn’t want to interrupt whatever socially-strengthening experience she was having right now. Just because you were incapable of holding a casual conversation with others doesn’t mean you had the right to hold her back from doing so. You were already enough baggage as it was.

So you sigh, throwing yourself back onto the couch you had found in a dark corner. You hoped no one else happened to stumble upon it in the time it took Margo to come back.

Time ticked by torturously by. You watched a game of beer pong going on in front of you and laughed along to some of the stupidities the dares these kids had come up with. Somewhere nearby, a clearly not-sober girl had begun a striptease to the tune of “Partition” by Beyoncé. Guys hollered and you gasped, about to go save the poor girl’s dignity before another girl quickly steps in and takes the girl off the table, giving her her shirt back and using it to cover her as she tugged her away. 

So there you are, bored out of your fucking mind, playing random games on your phone and trying to remain as inconspicuous as possible. It's been twenty minutes already when you feel the spot on the couch next to you sink.

Looking over, you raise a brow at who’s decided to sit next to you. He smiles that well-known charming smile of his and you suddenly realize why every girl in your school is in love with him.

“Hey,” James greets you warmly.

James McDaniels. Typical fuckboy. Hot as hell, dangerously charming and your town’s resident golden boy. The son of some big CEO who’d moved from another town down south, everyone believes he’ll make it to play football professionally.

But that’s beside the point. Why was the most attractive/popular guy in school talking to...you?

“Um...hi?” Rather than a greeting, you sound like you’re questioning yourself. You don’t wait for him to respond before you turn your attention back to your phone.

“Want a drink?” he draws your attention back to him, offering you a red solo cup.

You look at the cup then slowly trail your eyes from his hand to his -quite honestly- muscular arm to his handsome face which is pleasantly curved into an eye-blindingly sexy smile.

Immediately, your defenses go up and you shake your head disinterestedly. “No thank you. I don’t take drinks from strangers.”

He chuckles lightly, clicking his tongue. “I didn’t spike it if that’s what you’re thinking. Not that kind of guy, princess.”

His voice is incredibly attractive. Raspy and smooth and he has the hint of a southern accent which somehow makes it all the more attractive.

You finally look at him, putting our phone away in your clutch.

James McDaniels is not your type at all. He’s not dumb per se, but he’s not exactly an intellectual either.

And most importantly, he’s not Mr. Evans...

His eyes were a pretty hazel but they weren’t that gorgeous baby blue that occasionally turned into a deep aqua blue you loved so much. His hair was a dark brown, not a light dirty blonde you always have the urge to run your fingers through. His face was freshly-shaven and didn’t have the hints of a beard you utterly loved scratching your face. And his lips were nice, but they weren't Mr. Evans’s lips.

The thoughts infuriate you. Why are you still thinking about Mr. Evans, Y/n? That was a one-time thing and it was never even meant to happen. It’ll never happen again anyways. He’ll never be able to be with you in the real world. Wake up.

Shocking even yourself, you take the cup from James’s hand with a small smile. “Thanks.” And then you throw it back, drinking its contents in one go.

Immediately, you start coughing erratically, the alcohol burning your throat intensely. James laughs, patting your back lightly.

“Not used to drinking, I assume?”

You smile lightly at him, wiping your mouth. “Nope.” You frown. “What was that?”

He shrugs, downing his own drink easily. He crushes the cup in his hand and throws it over his shoulder. “Vodka maybe? Who even cares? It’s good, right?”

You find yourself smiling lightly, nodding along. “Yep.”

He smirks mischievously. “Wanna get more?”

You nibble on your lip, considering the offer lightly. It sounds fucked up, but for a few seconds, you were able to forget about Mr. Evans and the torture of not being able to ever really have him. You felt...good. Numb. So nothing, really. But that still was better than feeling the pain. You wanted to feel like that forever.

Plus, James McDaniels didn’t seem like bad company. You’d be cautious anyways.

You smirk at him. “Yes, please.”

*

Needless to say, as someone not used to drinking at all, your body did not grow accustomed to the alcohol that was constantly flowing into it fast enough whatsoever. 

It started out casual, but over time you’d become less and less defensive about the drinking, simply craving the feeling the alcohol gave you. The freedom from the memory of Mr. Evan’s lips on yours it offered you.

You were a lightweight and before you knew it, you were drunk.

Everything felt so much better when you didn’t feel like yourself. Even James, who you had no particular interest in became much more interesting with the alcohol. 

He was nice and flirty and over the time you’d spent conversing, he’d slowly moved in closer to you, expressing his interest in you with little brushes on your shoulder and face and legs...

You barely noticed, too lost in the euphoric feeling of the alcohol currently coursing through your system. Your muscles were loose and your smile came easy and you’d never felt so careless and free.

Margo never really made her way back to you but you were too buzzed to give a shit.

“So I fell off the fucking bleachers and landed on my ass,” James finishes his story and you can’t help but snort, quickly falling into a fit of giggles thereafter.

You don’t even know why you’re laughing so much, it’s not even that funny but you can’t help it. 

You calm down enough to ask, “oh my God, you really let that tiny guy shove you like that? For a girl?”

He shrugs with a soft smile, caressing your arm softly then looking into your eyes sincerely. “For the right girl, yeah. Sure princess.”

You can’t help but scoff, downing your tenth to eleventh vodka shot of the night.

“What?” James chuckles a bit confusedly.

You look at him with a grin. “Nothing, it’s just...you’re good.”

He raises a brow. “Good?”

You nod enthusiastically. “Yeah. Dangerously good. I mean c’ mon! ‘For the right girl, sure’?!” You huff. “That has got to be the cheesiest line I’ve ever heard!”

He smiles in a cute sheepish way that you suspect might also be rehearsed.

“Did it work at least?”

Feeling strangely bold, you smile flirtingly at him, slowly leaning in close enough to have your lips brush slightly. Your chest pressed against his, your finger makes a small trajectory from the sharp line of his jaw to his neck, chest, abs then lower... lower... it stops just above his belt.

You bite your lip seductively, looking into his eyes from underneath your lashes.

“Hm...” you hum softly, watching as his breath falters and his pupils dilate with desire. His lips part and his lids drop halfway.

“No.”

You lean back with a smug smirk on your face, almost bursting into uncontrollable laughter at the look in his face. He looked so disappointed. Your humor grows uneasy, though, when you think you think you see a pissed look flash across his face. It’s gone just as fast as it came and you wondered if you were imagining it when he laughs loudly along with you.

Shaking your head, you get up, slightly wobbling on your own two legs. You giggle at this.

“Where are you going?” James frowns up at you.

You smirk. “Calm down, dad. I'm going to piss, I’ll be back.”

You spin on your heels, almost tripping in the process and make your way to the back patio in an utterly clumsy manner. Truth be told, you just needed to breathe a little. All those people pushing up on you was suffocating. The heat was unbearable.

Stumbling your way outside, you take notice that the place was practically empty and sigh in relief. Silently, you take your phone out of your clutch. Typing quickly, you press Margo’s contact and write her a text message.

To: Bestie❤

Hey, where the hell are you? You better not be drunk cuz I’m hammered and you’re our driver.

You laugh stupidly at the text and it only takes a few seconds before she answers.

From: Bestie❤

Shit. I tried calling you, Y/n! After we got separated I was pulled off to talk and a few minutes later I got a call from my mom that there was a family emergency I had to leave for. I tried looking for you too, but you were nowhere to be found so I assumed you’d left.

I’m soooo sorry, babe!

You frown down at your phone. Crap.

“Shit!” You curse into the cool night but before you know what’s happening, the alcohol seeps into your brain, dismissing any coherent thought you could have. Soon, you find yourself shrugging dismissively and going back into your contacts in search of someone to call to come to pick you up.

“Dad? No, he does not know I’m here and we’d like to keep it that way, thank you very much,” you mumble to yourself. The rest of your contacts are Margo and fast food services and restaurants. 

“Should I call Dylan from Dominoes to come to pick me up?” You snort at your own little joke feeling careless as shit. “Hm...it’s times like these I wish I had more friends.” You sigh, about to give up on when you suddenly stumble across an unexpected contact name.

“Mr. Evans? When did I get his number?” You let out a small confused sound then smirk mischievously, a dumb idea suddenly popping up in your brain.

“Hm, doesn’t matter either way. I can have some fun with this.” You squeal excitedly and without a second thought, press on the contact name and put the phone to your ear, biting your lip to hold back the excitement equivalent to that of a five-year-old child on Christmas morning.

The plan was no plan, really. You just had a sudden urge to call him. To hear him. You felt so brave doing this.

It takes three full rings before he answers, his voice raspy and sexy with sleep.

“Hello?”

You can’t help but laugh, biting your lip even harder to suppress an inexplicable enthusiasm within you.

“What the-” you hear shifting for a second and assume it’s him moving the phone away from his face before he puts it back on, his voice suddenly more alert. “Y/n? What the hell is going on? It’s two in the morn-”

“You’re hot,” you impulsively blurt, immediately covering your mouth afterward.

“What?” You can hear him moving around as you giggle.

“You are. Like, stupid hot. You’re like out-of-this-world hot. I mean, you must know that right? Someone that looks like you do has to know they’re stupidly attractive, no?”

“Wh-”

“And you’re smart. Oh! A-and kind. Actually, you might be the kindest human being I know. It’s kind of funny actually. You are the one person I want to hate the most. But you’re literally impossible to hate.” You giggle. “Impossi-bleh. Ha. That’s a funny word. Impossi-bleh.”

“Y/n, are you drunk?”

You ignore his question, babbling off with a slur in your words. “It’s not fair you know? How can one person be so perfect? And why does that same person happen to be the only one I want but can’t be with?” Your voice grows softer towards the end, cautiously tender. 

He doesn’t respond at first so you continue, your voice strained with pain and utter desperation. “A-and why did you have to kiss me? That just ruined everything, ya’ know!? I was fine with having a stupid crush on my stupid English teacher because I was convinced it’d go away. But then-” you swallow the sudden and painful lump in your throat. “B-but then you kissed me, and that just ruined fucking everything!” You whine like a little girl. 

He sighs dejectedly over the phone. “Where are you, sweetheart? I’ll come to get you.”  

You laugh humorlessly, your mood abruptly turning sour. “See? This is exactly what I’m talking about! Here I am telling you I literally hate how fucking perfect you are and here you are, saying shit like that and being all concerned for my wellbeing.” 

He sighs exasperatedly. “Sweetheart-”

“Stop calling me that!” You find yourself screaming hysterically into the phone, your grip on it tightening before you speak again. “You can’t call me that and assume it means nothing.”

“Okay, okay. Y/n,” he corrects himself gently. “Can you just tell me where you are so I can come to get you?”

You huff into the phone. “James is nice, you know? And cute. And he likes touching me a lot. I don’t really like it, but he brings me drinks so I guess it’s okay.” You giggle, shrugging and disregarding the fact that no one could see you.

“Oh no,” he mumbles worriedly. “Y/n can you please just tell me where you’re-”

“Anyways,” you cut him off. “I’m going to go back to drinking and forgetting about your stupid lips now Mr. Evans. Bye!”

“No! Y-” He tries to protest but doesn’t get to finish before you end the call, heading back inside with a small smile on your face.

That’ll show him, you think triumphantly.

Once you’ve made your way clumsily back inside, a red plastic solo cup is already waiting for you. You grin, walking over and sitting next to James excitedly.  

He smiles lazily and swiftly moves his hand to rest on your knee.

You paid it no mind, opting instead to squeal as “Toxic” by Britney Spears came on.

“I love this song!” You grin excitedly.

James gets up, offering you his hand and motioning to the dance floor where a bunch of people were already dancing. 

He smirks. “Would you give me the absolute pleasure of letting me take you out to dance, princess?”

You giggle softly, shaking your head. “Oh. I can’t dance.”

He raises his brows. “I can’t either.”

You laugh a bit and reluctantly place your hand in his. “Fine.”

He pulls you to him, placing a hand dangerously close to your butt and leading you to the dance floor.

Immediately, you’re squished together with James, the bodies of sweaty drunk teens sliding up next to you. Usually, you’d be gagging with disgust, but you just didn’t care right now.

James wraps his hands around your waist, pushing your hips to move. You look up at him weirdly for a second but your mind is far too fuzzy to even care about what he’s making you do, so you begin to dance as he instructs.

The music was far too irresistible to your intoxicated ears and you couldn’t hold back from moving your hips along to the beat, letting your hair be free in its movement. 

It doesn’t take long and frankly, you barely notice when you spin around and begin grinding on James, brushing your ass against his crotch and kissing his neck teasingly light.

He pulls you close to him, thick arm wrapped tightly around your waist and hips still moving against you.

“I knew behind all that good girl act you put up you’re actually a freak in the sheets, princess,” he rasps sultrily in your ear.  

Something about that doesn’t rub you right, even in your drunk state and you immediately cease your movements, looking up at him. “Let me go, please. I’d like to sit down.”

He frowns. “What? Why? We were having such a good time, princess. I like you and I know you like me.” He leans down, kissing your neck softly.

You don’t like the feeling and immediately shove him away, stumbling back on your unstable legs and heels. “What the hell makes you think that?” You snap drunkenly.

He laughs incredulously, reaching out for you again. “Uh, maybe the fact that you were practically flirting with me the entire night?”

You purse your lips, recognizing how that might’ve looked on your behalf. It’s just...you’d never really felt powerful and sexy and the alcohol gave you the courage you’d never had otherwise to express your sexuality. 

You were still sticking to your plan though. And giving your virginity to a guy like James McDaniels was not your plan. 

“Hey, James. I’m really sorry if I g-gave you any reason to believe this was going to go any further than what just happened.”

You struggle to stand upright and suddenly it occurs to you that James didn’t look all that drunk despite having been bringing you drinks all night.

“I-I think I’m just gonna go.” You point shakily over your shoulder, unable to keep from laughing at the stupidity of, well, you.  

At that moment, the same pissed off look you thought you’d been imagining before comes onto James’s face again, and this time it doesn’t leave.

“The hell you are, you big tease. You’re were the one who started this. And now you’re going to finish it,” he growls, gripping your wrist tightly, his fingers digging into your skin and making it abundantly clear he didn’t plan on letting you go.

You immediately tug at your wrist, shaking your head firmly. “Let me go, James.”

He grins darkly. “No can do, princess. You got me all ready for action and now you’re going to come through whether you like it or not.” 

And just like that, he starts dragging you away toward the staircase where the bedrooms were situated, you assume.

An uneasy feeling grips your gut painfully tight. He looks like he means it. 

“James! I’m serious, let me go!” You tug harder to no avail as his nails dig deeper into the skin of your wrist. You yelp in pain. “Someone help!” No one seems to even notice you, too lost in their little worlds. Your panic intensifies and your heart starts racing at an erratic pace. “Please James, let go of me!” He spins around in a fit, gripping your jaw bruisingly tight.

Panic takes over your mind, but you’re weak in your intoxicated state and not a match for the football player’s strength.

“Listen, slut, either you shut your trap or it’ll be worse for you. That’s a promise.” He roughly shoves your face back. 

But he doesn’t get a chance to spin back around and tug you into your worst nightmare before a fist comes crashing down into his jaw.

James groans in pain at the powerful attack, falling on his back with a hard crack.

You gasp, holding a horrified hand to your mouth as the figure, who you now realize is wearing a dark hoodie and sunglasses hiding his identity, straddles James and begins punching the living hell out of him.

Fist after fist strikes the harasser in the face, painful groans and yelps leaving his mouth whilst your aggressive savior only lets out breathy grunts and under-his-breath mumbles when his fists make contact with James’s face.

And although you were thankful to have been saved, blood was spraying on your legs and you knew if this continued, he’d kill him.

James begins picking himself up, though, landing some blows of his own. The stranger barely grunts in pain upon impact, his blows to James becoming twice as powerful as before and pummelling his fists down on him.

People quickly gather around you three, creating a huge crowd of people recording the fight and a string of “oohs” from multiple of them. No one steps in to stop them from killing eachother though.

Suddenly feeling sober, you jump in, gripping the stranger’s bicep tightly in your small hands. “Hey! Hey, stop! Stop it! That’s enough!”

At the sound of your voice, the stranger instantly stops the assault and gets up, gripping your arm firmly without a word. The grip was not enough to hurt you, but enough to easily sweep you out of the house, past the probing crowd and down the front lawn. 

You stumble along in your heels, still trying to make sense of everything that just happened.

“Hey!” You scream at him. “Where- ah!”

But before your still-buzzed mind can place exactly what it is that’s happening, the man is picking you up bridal style.

You squeak a little, wrapping your arms around his neck to stabilize yourself.

“What the hell, dude!? You just saved me from a scum-bag and now you’re-”

“Damn it, sweetheart. We need to get out of here!”

You freeze. You’d recognize that voice anywhere.

“Mr. Evans?” you breathe.

Read Chapter Eight Here!!

***

Hehehe... Told ya’ shit was gonna go down this chapter...

A Special Thanks To:  ( I apologize for those of you I said I’d tag, but didn’t. I’m bad at keeping track of things. So please if you’re not here when I said you’d be, let me know!)

@bombsandsparkles

@meowsekai

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@missbosstown

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@emmiejames

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@zofty15

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@badkatthings  

@pinnedandneedled

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@lowkey-love-loki

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@celestiial-angel

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And of course my forevers!

@jessikared97

@sherlockedtash88

@lilypalmer1987

@mogaruke

#chris evans #chris evans x reader #chris evans au #chris evans imagine

[inkstaineddove]

End of the Line

Characters: Prussia, Germany, Austria, Britain, France, Russia

Summary: It's been two years since the end of World War Two. The final sentencing by the Allies has come. Germany, Prussia, and Austria have all right to fear what might be coming for them.

1947 - Geneva, Switzerland There was a silence among the three nations sitting in the frigid hallway. Germany, Prussia, and Austria didn't dare speak a word to each other for the longest time. Tension crackled amongst the three men. None of them knew what to say, what would be appropriate in their situation. Austria and Prussia remained silent to withhold their blame. Germany remained silent out of fear until the panic and anxiety of not knowing overtook. A rush of words began to pour from his lips. "Why aren't Italy and Japan here?" The German man asked frantically. He rose and began pacing. The heel of his shoes made a clip that echoed throughout. His eyes were bloodshot from lack of sleep and widened from terror. He was shaking uncontrollably and his movements were erratic instead of his usual precise ones. "America and China should be punishing Japan. I shouldn't be alone here."

Austria sighed. "Italy has already received his and we've heard no word from the East yet." He looked down at the ground. "We're all war criminals." "Well, two of us aren't. Two of us got dragged in for the ride." Prussia grumbled under his breath. Roderich was the only one to catch the comment and glared at his cousin. Gilbert got the cue and went back to being quiet as Germany continued to ramble on. Five minutes later, a petite Englishwoman opened the door and led them into the chamber. Canada, China, Russia, England, America, and France all sat in a semicircle at the head of the room. None of them showed any expression, except for America who gave them a polite, yet very restrained, smile. The three nations on trial sat at the chairs and table before their prosecutors. Prussia leaned back and exhaled sharply through his nose. "Can we cut to the chase? All three of us are aware of how shitty we are. Just deal it out to us." England smiled with deeply refrained anger at his long ago ally. "As you wish, Mr. Beilschmidt." France took the lead. "We were originally going to go with Austria first, but due to a last minute change of plans, Gilbert-" "Only my friends call me Gilbert." The Prussian cast Francis a dirty look as he spoke. The betrayal he had felt a century before due to Holy Rome being slaughtered at the Frenchman's hands still stung. Even when they had been allies, Prussia refused to call him a true friend. That was what Spain was for. And now, now that someone who was supposed to be his friend was treating him like a criminal? Convicting him of crimes he was forced to be complacent with as a result of his brother? No, they would never again be friends. "And, I want to state that I'm a victim in this. That this is no longer my nation to control. It's called Germany. Not Prussia, Germany. Two very distinct things. Anyway, so what hell am I being subjected to? Gotta give Konigsberg to Poland? Least I can do. The guy deserves it. It makes a lot of geographical sense anyway." France's face turned white. He looked away from Prussia and instead at the Briton besides him. "Non, I can't. I didn't want to be the one to do this. I understand the necessity, but I can't." He barely looked at the Prussian before him. "Prussia, please, forgive me." Gilbert cocked an eyebrow. "It's not even that big of a deal. Ja, there was a lot of history attached, but I'll get over it. I'll come and visit it every now and then for old times sake." He finally realized the looks of mockery and pity he was getting. Bile came rushing up into his mouth. He forced himself to swallow. "I get the feeling I'm wrong." Arthur grinned. To demolish the nation that had enabled the one to set his heart in flames? It would be one of his last great pleasures as the untouchable empire. Prussia's time had finally come. They'd partition him worse than Poland. "We, the Allied Forces of World War Two, find it necessary to dissolve the Free State of Prussia. Your lands will be divided up between Germany, Poland, Russia, and whomever else we find you've wronged. Your name will change accordingly to each place, but will not remain apart of you." He licked his lips. "I must admit, it will be interesting to see a nation die considering none of us are aware of what exactly happened to our ancestors. I barely remember how Mother went. Yours will be an interesting case study." Prussia's face turned paler than normal. His heart dropped into his stomach. "Nein. Nein! You can't do this! I had nothing to do with the start of the war! My people revolted against Hitler!" Tears were brimming in his eyes. He jumped over the table and rushed towards his prosecutors. "There's no standing for this!" America looked away. "Dude, don't make this worse than it has to be. I doubt you're really gonna die." This enraged him. "You arschloch! I've seen my bruders, my vader, everyone I'm related to die over the years! And you dare tell me being dissolved isn't a big deal? That I'm blowing this out of proportion? I. Did. Nothing! I fought in plenty wars, ja, but so did all of you! We've all spilt each other’s blood!" He frantically looked at each face, trying to find someone he could plead to. He found that person in Russia. Prussia fell to his knees before Ivan. Tears were flowing freely now down his face. "Please. Ivan, Russia. We were allies. We've been allies for so many years. We fought together and won. I know unification hurt that, but you and your boss can't forget the past. Please. Please don't let me die." Russia felt his heart wrench. While he was no fan of the snake in the grass Ludwig had turned out to be, Gilbert was another story. They had fought excellently together. They had won so often and shared many good memories. Did they have their wars? Of course, but that's how Europe was. He wouldn't punish him for that. "Stalin didn't...I didn't want this. We wanted to at least retain the name. I'm sorry, Prussia. I'm not the one who needs to hear this." He then looked at the other nations. "I need a drink." He somberly escaped into the chamber where the allies had come from. France turned around in his chair. "Mon ami, this is for the best. You were a very militaristic region. Always fighting and invading, never playing by the rules or respecting the balance of power. Non, it wasn't good. If we divide you up and separate you from your brother, he should be able to grow and mature without your warmongering instincts. This all could've been avoided if you put down the sword and put on the toga like the rest of us." A chill ran down the Prussian's spine. He couldn't believe this. He didn't want to believe this. "Look at yourself! Look at England, Spain, the Netherlands! I did not go to the New World to start wars that carried over into Europe! I begged none of you for help against my enemies! I stood tall, strong, and powerful! If anyone's militaristic in this room, it's the one with the fucking empire that's ready to collapse! You and Arthur are the biggest hypocrites I've ever met! What makes it worse is getting your two former colonies, a nation you've fucked over so much just for trade, and a Russian who's only on your side because we betrayed him to agree to this!" He turned to walk towards the door, but the anger he felt couldn't be held back. He whipped around and faced them all once more. "I didn't want this war. My nation, my free state or whatever bullshit it became, had a significant amount of people that revolted against Hitler. My government - my true government, not Hitler’s fucking puppets - wanted to prevent the outbreak of this." He looked at Germany. "Did you ever step foot in those places?" Germany shook his head. Prussia continued. "Not surprised. Well I did because I had to stay in line. I had to be constantly threatened. Fun fact: Edelstein. It's a German name, but it's also Jewish. I want you all to guess where Roderich would've gone. Doesn't matter that he's a nation, he would've been there. It's a good thing someone in the family picked up on the extreme antisemitism, realized their cousin would die repeatedly alongside his people, and changed his last name to Beilschmidt. Such a good thing one of us did. Ludwig? Was that you? Nein, of course not because I'm the one who did it, but I'm the one who wanted to get his last kick at being a superpower this way." Austria looked touched. "You did that? I would've thought...danke." Prussia didn't hear the Austrian over the sound of his ranting. "If anyone should be getting dissolved it's Germany. That's his boss! That's his boss and he's the one who should cease to exist because his birth was a mistake as far as I'm concerned!" He glared at his brother. Hatred suddenly filled him. "You...you were the mistake! Ostmark should've started you! I regret Bismark and I regret your birth! Nationalism poisoned your birth, it poisoned your heart, and it slaughtered millions! You're the reason all this shieße has happened to me! If we really wanted to protect ourselves, we’d abolish you!" There was a deathly silence. The gravity of what had been said hit hard. Germany looked broken. His gazed at his hands and a few stray tears went down his cheek. Gilbert's eyes widened. "I didn't mean it like that. I’m blowing off steam. Ludwig, please. I didn’t mean all that." It was a minute before the German stood. Ludwig rose on shaky legs and looked straight at the men who held his fate in their hands. "Ja, he's right. Everyone's been right. I don't deserve any mercy. I don't deserve any forgiveness or empathy or respect. This isn't the first war, this isn't where we all made mistakes. The blame winds up on me and the people I represent. You all say you wish to do the right thing, to clean the slate once and for all." He glanced at his older brother and sighed. "Don't punish him. The right thing is to dissolve Deutchland." Tears once again fell down his face and he collapsed in his chair. "Please, dissolve me! My life is the one that should be traded for all the millions lost! I stood beside evil incarnate, I supported it, I was proud of it until so recently! Dissolve me! Dissolve me, let a better nation take my place." Francis shrugged. "Getting rid of the German sounds good to me." He glared down his nose at Germany. "You've been a menace since you were a small child." Russia had walked back in sometime ago and was back in his seat, vodka glass in hand. "Da, there's no reason. He's done nothing for us." He chuckled softly. "Or for me. He has never kept a promise. Then again, keep your enemies closer." Discussion broke out amongst them. Arthur rolled his eyes. This was much longer than he had wanted it to be. He banged his gavel. "Morons, you're forgetting the plan! Germany, you're going to be split into East and West. The West will be overlooked and controlled by America, France, and I. The East is Russia's problem. As far as I'm concerned, you're not really going to exist." He turned his attention back to Gilbert, who was still fuming. "Mr. Beilschmidt, did you not fight in the war?" "Ja, I fought. I had to. I also owned his stupid book because it was illegal not to. Look at me! I'm an albino, I'm a freak! I'm hardly Aryan! I had to do everything I could so I wouldn't wind up like what that monster ordered on Poland or Belgium or Hungary!" "Did you oversee generals who committed acts of torture?" "This is crossing a line! You're doing this purely for-" "Did you not help kill innocent people?" "-a power trip to show your authority in-" "Do you not deserve to pay for your crimes?" This silenced the Prussian. His eyes were burning holes into the ground. Eventually he looked up. His cheeks were tear stained. "You forget that we can't disobey. We've all committed atrocities we hadn't wanted, that we look back on with disgust. The Trail of Tears, the slave trade, the Romanovs. Who among us doesn't deserve to pay for what they've done as a nation? Who here is truly innocent? You're punishing me for wanting to be strong. We all wanted to be strong! But I'm somehow the worst for it?" "Answer the question, Gilbert." Prussia closed his eyes and exhaled loudly. There was no escape. "I deserve to pay." Arthur reclined in his chair. A smug grin danced across his lips. "Then, like all the other Nazis, you will. Your country is dissolved. Ludwig, your war reparations will be billed to you. Austria, no reparations will be paid to you, but we see you not at fault. Again, Russia, America, France, and I will see to the running of your respective governments. This meeting is adjured." The Allies left, leaving the three men alone together. Ludwig took a cautious step towards his older brother. He reached out a hand towards him. "I'll see what I can do. I'll try and transfer power. Gilbert, I can't do this without you. I don't know what I'm doing." He sounded so small, so like a child. Prussia stared back and forth between his brother and his cousin. He could always feel how distant he was from them, but now it felt like there was an uncrossable ocean. "Nein. You got rid of me first with Versailles then with the lawsuit. I’m sorry, Germany, but you're on your own now." He patted Germany on the shoulder and walked out of the courthouse. Soon he found himself sprinting, trying to get away from it as fast as he could. As he ran, the meeting played over and over again in a loop. He couldn't get the words out of his head or the emptiness in his soul to dissipate. Finally, he stopped. What good would running do? He couldn't turn back time. He had to accept fate. Gilbert slumped down on the ground, hugging his knees. He wished to be a Teutonic Knight again, he wished to be young and free. He wished to be anywhere but here. It took twenty minutes for someone to catch up to him. The sound of labored breathing is what snapped Prussia out of his self pity. He saw Austria, of all people, standing behind him. The Austrian was hunched over with his hands on his knees, wiping sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. Instinctive hostility took over. "What do you want?" Gilbert hissed. The last thing he wanted to see was another nation. Especially one of his kin. The be-speckled man remained silent. He took off his suit jacket and laid it on the grass before sitting on it. Roderich stared for a long time at Prussia before suddenly hugging him. Tears ran down his cheeks and wet Gilbert's shoulder. "Danke. Danke." Those were the only words that could escape his lips. Prussia held onto his cousin. Instead of being annoyed like he normally would, he appreciated this. He was thankful that someone realized he had done at least one good thing over the past decade. When the Austrian had composed himself enough to say more than one word, he pulled away. His violet eyes still glistened with water and his cheeks were stained. "Ludwig went back to the house to pack for me since I'm allowed to return to Vienna as soon as I please." Gilbert huffed and turned his attention away. Austria smiled slightly, relieved to receive the response he expected. "I didn't think you cared, but I thought I should tell you. I'll be home by sundown tomorrow." Gilbert laughed without humor. "Nothing like having a home." The two didn't exchange words for awhile. Instead, they watched the cars and people go by on the streets of the city. This was the most time they had spent together in peace in centuries. "Why? Why did you do it? I saw those places too and...danke. I couldn't have...Elizavèta would've been..." Prussia shrugged. "Believe it or not, I'm a decent fucking person." He ran a hand through his hair, freeing it from the professional style he had worn for their day in court. "I've been around you the majority of my life. We've fought against each other, had good times together, went after the same girls. Same territories too. Don't get me wrong, that doesn't mean I like you." Austria laughed. "I don't like you either." "Good. I don't want you or your pity especially now." He looked at the Austrian. "Roddy, I'm not going to let anyone hurt you. That's my job. Verdammt, you were such a mess after the divorce with Lizzie that I almost wanted to kick her ass. It's my job and my job only to make your life miserable. No one can ever replace me there." Some more silence passed between them before Roderich would speak again. "Now that you're dead, what are you going to do with your life?" The Prussian flashed his trademark smirk. He crossed his arms behind his head and leaned back on the grass. So many answers, but he wanted the perfect one. When it came, he laughed. "I'm going to live."

#aph prussia #aph austria #aph germany #aph germanics #dissolution of prussia #prussia dies #well.....'dies' #aph france #aph russia #aph britain #aph #hetalia #axis powers hetalia #aph fanfic #aph fanfiction #hetalia fanfiction #hetalia fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction

[higuchimon]

[fanfic] Crafted For Command:  Chapter 1

“Wake up.”

Daisuke didn’t want to, but his eyes opened anyway and he blinked, absolutely lost on where he was. Where had he been?

Right. The Digital World. Fighting the Kaiser. Then something had sorta blown up near him and everything turned red, then black, and now he was… he was…

Apparently in a very deep pit of trouble.

Kaiser stood in front of him, hands on his hips, whip hanging off of his belt, a smirk on his lips that Daisuke hated the sight of right away.

“That’s a good boy,” Kaiser praised and Daisuke wondered why in the world he liked the sound of that when he hated the Kaiser so very much.

Daisuke drew breath to demand to know what was going on, where he was, and what the Kaiser thought he was doing. He couldn’t get a single word out before Kaiser pressed a gloved finger against his lips.

“Be quiet. You weren’t given permission to speak.”

What’s that got to do with it? Daisuke wanted to ask but it was as if his voice no longer worked. He checked himself over as quickly as he could. No Ring. No Spiral. Did those work on humans? If they did, Kaiser hadn’t ever tried it before. And since he couldn’t find one now, even if they did, that wasn’t what was going on now.

Kaiser’s finger remained where it was, but now he tapped it on Daisuke’s lips.

“I know that you’re confused and have questions. I’ll tell you what you need to know. I’ve learned something very interesting about you, Motomiya Daisuke, and I want to make certain that it’s true.”

Confused didn’t even begin to cover everything. He jerked his head around again, pulling it away from the Kaiser’s touch, trying to find V-mon and his friends. He came up with nothing.

Was he the only one who’d been caught? That didn’t look good in the slightest.

Kaiser cleared his throat and Daisuke turned back to him as if his head were on a string.

“I want you to pay attention to me and only me. There’s no one else around for you to listen to anyway. I’m the only one allowed access to this room. Not even Wormmon can come in.” He cupped the side of Daisuke’s face with one hand. “It’s just you and me, Daisuke.”

If Daisuke could’ve spoken – and his voice remained oddly frozen – he would’ve declared how much he hated that fact. All he could do was stare at the Kaiser, though, and let his eyes do the talking.

“Are you aware that not all of your Chosen friends are as human as they appear?”

Daisuke blinked, tilting his head. Then he shook it carefully, since Kaiser seemed to be expecting an answer. He’d never heard of anything like that. He wasn’t going to believe it just on the Kaiser’s say-so, either.

A gesture and a screen appeared behind Kaiser, where Daisuke could see it. “Watch and learn, then. I’ve gathered some very interesting information.”

The screen flickered, then resolved into an image of Taichi and Yamato lounging together by a river. Daisuke didn’t recognize it, but he also spied Gabumon and Agumon with them, so it was probably somewhere in the Digital World. He wasn’t sure of what they were doing nor could he hear them, but Yamato raised up one hand and if Daisuke could’ve rubbed his eyes he would have.

Because as far as he knew, people’s hands didn’t just burst into flames like that. They should’ve jumped and screamed and done… something. Instead of Yamato trailing one hand in the air, a bit of fire following behind, and Taichi smiling.

The scene shifted over to Sora, and this time he recognized where she was: the area that Birdramon patrolled. Only now they were patrolling it together, which wasn’t so unusual. The older Chosen visited their partners whenever they could, usually when the younger ones kept the Kaiser distracted.

Only he’d never, ever seen Sora-san flying while she was in the Digital World, and doing it as easily as if she did it every day of her life.

Again the scene shifted and this time it showed Koushirou-san, chatting with a powerful lion-like Digimon, in a place that Daisuke didn’t recognize, but it had a lot of baby Digimon there. Then the two of them turned to what looked like a row of targets, set up out of range of the babies, and the lion Digimon raised up one fist, blasting his attack, Fist of the Beast-King, toward one of them.

That wasn’t so unusual either. This time, what set it apart was that Koushirou did a version of the same attack, red-gold flames incinerating one of the targets, and the lion Digimon nodded, resting one hand in pride on Koushirou’s shoulder.

Last and not at all least, he saw Jou-san. He looked like he was just in his room, or a place Daisuke guessed was his room. Underneath his table there rested a small refrigerator, but instead of pulling out a soda of some kind, there was a vial in Jou’s hand when he stood back up, one neatly labeled.

The screen moved in on it and Daisuke had time to read it before it changed. Understanding it took a few moments longer.

Blood?? He’s drinking blood?

He wanted to shake his head even more. This didn’t seem like anything at all he wanted to believe about any of his friends.

Why wouldn’t they tell us? I mean, I can get not telling us here, because of the Kaiser, but why not at home? He would’ve asked all of that out loud if he’d been able to. Then the Kaiser touched him again.

“They are part Digimon, part human. I’ve taken samples from all of you to determine precisely their lineage and their types. I can instruct you in that another time: when you’ve learned your place properly.” He smiled and that drove at least some of the worry and confusion out of Daisuke. “But let me continue. Not only are they of Digimon breeding, but so are you.”

Daisuke blinked again. Then he shook his head, far more furiously than before. He didn’t care what the Kaiser had in mind. Those images were probably faked anyway. He knew who he was. He knew who he wasn’t.

But the Kaiser wasn’t going to let it drop that easily. “What I learned from the scans of you I’ve done turned out to be very useful. You’re special, Motomiya Daisuke. More so than any of the rest of them.”

His hand rested again on Daisuke’s cheek, then slid downward to cup his chin, turning his head so that Daisuke looked right at him.

“You won’t believe what I’ve learned if I told you. So I will demonstrate instead. This will take time. Days. Perhaps even weeks. I doubt any longer than that. You’re not that stubborn.”

Daisuke determined that he would be, no matter what. Perhaps that showed in his eyes, since the Kaiser chuckled.

“These are my orders, which you will obey.”

No sooner did he speak, than Daisuke noticed something strange about his voice. Stronger, deeper, commanding. Everything in Daisuke urged him to listen and to obey.

“You will only leave the fortress if I not only grant you permission, but have you on my leash. Leaving otherwise is not an option.”

Kaiser’s hand moved downward from Daisuke’s chin to rest on his chest. Daisuke’s heart beat faster at the touch. He told himself it was because he was furious. He wasn’t sure of how convincing he was.

“You’ll speak only when I ask you a question or give you an order. When you do speak, you’ll be respectful of me. No insults. No trying to get around your orders.” His hand moved again, splayed now across Daisuke’s stomach. “You will only go to places in the fortress or out of it that I order you to go to. I won’t have you roaming around unleashed.”

He moved his hand away from Daisuke, who at once told himself that he didn’t miss the contact.

He knew he lied on that one right away.

“Do you understand your orders?”

Of course I understood what you said! What makes you think I’m going to do what you want?

What came out of his mouth was a single word. “Yes.”

Kaiser smiled. “When you address me, you will call me master. Now, do you understand your orders?”

Part of Daisuke, the part he was most familiar with, ached to scream and resist. The rest of him, a part that he’d never even known existed and wasn’t sure why it was making itself known now, luxuriated in the thought of orders and control and being ruled.

“Yes, master.” He even sounded like himself to his own ears, only he wasn’t saying what he wanted to say!

Kaiser fisted his hand in Daisuke’s shirt and pulled them closer together. Only now did Daisuke realize that he hadn’t been restrained at all this whole time. He’d been too surprised and far too confused to even notice until now.

And now Kaiser’s actions spun every other thought out of his mind.

He gave no orders. He demanded everything.

Kaiser’s lips landed on Daisuke’s and kissed hungrily, as if Daisuke held the very breath of life within him.

To Be Continued

Notes: The M-rated portions will come in due course. Gotta set things up first.

#fanfic #higuchimon writes #digimon adventure 02 #motomiya daisuke #ichijouji ken #ken x daisuke #daisuke x ken #chapters: crafted for command #series: purpose of existence

[daegunotes]

dimple

Summary: the lyrics to the newest song written by Namjoon raise suspicion in Yoongi, what happens next..... Genre: Fluff Words: 1.6k Pairing: Namjoon x Reader

“When is this going to end, my eyes feeling like they’re going to sink into their sockets, how many more lyric checks and concept checks do we have to do?” Yoongi said to Pddogg in a huff while crossing his arms across his chest.

“Just one more song Yoongi-ah, Namjoon really wants it in the album for some reason, here take the sheet, he was scribbling on it like a madman, I think we’ll have to clean it up.” Pdogg said while sliding the thin sheet of paper across the boardroom table to where Yoongi sat.

“Illegal? Is it a diss track?” questioned Yoongi squinting at the title scrawled in a neat hand on top of the piece of paper.

“That dimple is illegal ...no, it’s dangerous, oh yes..so I call you illegirl...your existence alone is a cr-...” “What is this??? What are these corny ass lyrics?? Did namjoon really write these? Am I on hidden camera right now??” he said in disbelief while looking around for any clue that he was being pranked.

“I asked him the same thing, he just kept mumbling something about dimples and how we need to give the fans a new love song.” Pdogg said with a slight laugh.

“Go talk to him about it, I don't know where his attention is nowadays.” he said as he turned around to return to reviewing the other songs.

“You bet I will, gotta knock some sense in that boy. What is the cheesy shit….can't believe the same dude wrote Spring Day.” mumbled Yoongi as he exited the main boardroom.

Yoongi was a little mad but mostly confused at this, in principle the song fit, it would sell and the fans would love it. What didn't make sense to him was how Namjoon suddenly vaulted into writing such simplistic songs.

While making his way to Mon Studio,  He ran into you.

“Oh hey Yoongi, how's the prep coming along? You getting some sleep?” you said cheerily to the rapper

“Sleep? Idk what that is anymore but what's new. What brings you here? Is Jimin being whiny again?” he shot off the questions in quick succession

“Hey, don’t call my best friend, whiny. That was one time! Anyway, I’m on my way to pick up Seokjin, Tae, Gguk and Chim for dinner. Hoseok wants us to try this new place he found 20 mins ago….he’s waiting for us there.” your voice trailed off as you saw Yoongi raise one eyebrow.

“What???”

“You’re going….to a restaurant….that hobi found out about 20 mins ago? No research into it, nothing?” he asked with an amused expression on his face.

“Hey, if Jung Hoseok says he’s found the best Jjajangmyeon in Seoul, you best believe I will haul ass and get there. I happen to believe in Hobi’s conviction.” you huffed with both your hands placed on either sides of your waist which was coincidentally your favorite fighting stance.

“Ok… whatever you say crazy. Also, thanks for getting those loud children out of our hair, we have a lot of work to do, gotta make Namjoon rewrite a whole damn song.” he said through gritted teeth as he started to walk down the hallway again.

“Won’t tell Seokjin you called him one of the children again. He’ll chew your ear off.” you said to him and laughed a little at the thought of a red in the face Seokjin yelling at Yoongi about disrespecting him.

“Thanks. Have fun.” Yoongi said, signalling his approval with a thumbs up and  continuing to walk down the hallway.

“You too. Don’t work Namjoon too hard!” you said to Yoongi as you ran in the other direction to pick up your quarry.

Yoongi had a soft smile on his face as he walked the length of the hallway to MON STUDIO, he liked your energy, he liked having (finally) some female energy around after years of dealing with the testosterone filled premises.

You had sprung into their lives quite suddenly, by the virtue of being Jimin’s best friend from his Busan Arts High days and had quickly become inseparable with 5 of the 7 members. Namjoon and Yoongi couldn’t really spare much time to hang out recently since they basically ate and slept in their respective studios but they still had a certain fondness for you. Yoongi was especially pleased with how you raised everyone’s spirit when you came around.

Without bothering to knock, Yoongi threw open the door to Namjoon’s studio and immediately started his verbal attack on the younger member, “Yah Namjoon - what’s going on with you bruh? Why the fuck are you writing songs about dimples and calling someone illegirl like how corny is that dude?” he said, finishing his tirade by plopping his behind into the grey couch.

Namjoon was visibly startled by Yoongi’s appearance and hurriedly closed the browser on his computer. Yoongi hadn’t noticed but the now closed browser tab looked suspiciously like a Facebook profile.

“What do you mean? It’s a perfectly fine song.” Namjoon was quick to rise to his own defence.

“Really? Wait what was it? Yeah, that dimple is illegal but I want it anyway… you ok Joon? Something you wanna discuss with me? It’s very….simplistic for you.” Yoongi said dropping his tone to a conspiratorial whisper.

“Hey, I have dimples too and we haven't really written a simple love song in awhile you know. I think our fans deserve a nice love song.” he said with more conviction than he actually could feel

“My spidey senses are tingling, that is an excuse and you know I see right through you.” Yoongi replied narrowing his eyes at his friend.

Namjoon’s mouth opened to explain but immediately closed. The two rappers could hear the faint sound of their other friends approaching the studio.

“Wow Y/N your dimples really come out when you laugh huh. Cuuuuute.” Taehyung could be heard saying.

“He’s right, I think yours might be deeper than Joon’s!” Seokjin responded for you.

“That reminds me when we were in the 6th grade, I was so mad that Y/N had dimples and I didn’t that I kept poking my cheek with dull end of a pencil.” Jimin said, laughing at the memory.

“Wow Jimin hyung I guess you’ve been a dumbass since forever.” Jeongguk’s quiet voice said and all 4 except for Jimin started to convulse in laughter, with yours ringing out the longest.

Yoongi scowled and got up to open the door, he didn’t like this decibel level at all.

“Hey, I thought you were taking these kids out, what happe….” he stopped dead in his tracks with the door half open, as the conversation he had overheard came together in his mind.

He stared at your face and the way your dimples deepened when you smiled, for a good 30 seconds until your voice shook him out of his reverie.

“Sorry I wanted to ask if Namjoon and you wanted to join us? Hoseok is already there.” you asked.

“You guys go ahead…….Namjoon and I will see you there. We just have this one song to nail.” Yoongi replied, with his scowl slowly turning into a smirk as the truth dawned on him.

“Suit yourselves! Bye! See ya later!” you said while bouncing out of the door and down the hall with the other 4 bickering and following you like a herd of sheep.

Yoongi turned around slowly and locked his gaze onto his friend. The friend who was currently shuffling his feet and looking at anywhere but in Yoongi’s direction.

“You idiot, you’re so transparent. Did you really think you would get this past me? How long has it been?” he asked while scoffing at Namjoon’s pathetic attempt at hiding his feelings

“I should’ve guessed, I can never get anything past you. I just….. I don’t know. I always thought she was cool but I think I started feeling….something more recently. You know me, it all pours out in verses.” Namjoon said sheepishly covering his reddened face with his hands.

“Well… the song’s good. Simple. If that’s how your feelings are too then you’ll be fine. Err.. I’m not good at this encouragement stuff, maybe ask Hoseok.” Yoongi replied in a hesitant voice, his hand automatically rubbing the back of his neck, a gesture he defaulted to when he was uncertain about something.

“Hoseok already knows, he’s been helping me build up my courage.” Namjoon said quietly

Yoongi rolled his eyes and smiled his trademark gummy smile at Joon, for a worldwide superstar, the man sure was shy.

“I might not know about love advice but I do know music advice so here’s some: don't call it illegal, call it something like….Dimple. She might never hear it on air waves if you call it Illegal.” he said.

“That’s good advice. Thank you. I’ll keep it in mind and re-work it a little.” Namjoon replied, a weight lifted off his chest.

“Oh and also, I am not singing this at all, get her bffs to do it. It’ll sound better as a vocal line only song.” Yoongi said offering the last piece of advice before he exited the room.

“Oh…. yeah I guess that’ll be more pleasing to her...I mean the fans’ ears.” Namjoon said quickly, covering his face with his hands again in case the colour of his cheeks had betrayed him.

His slip wasn’t heard by Yoongi however, as he was already out the door and laughing his way down the hall.

As the sound of Yoongi’s laughter died down, Namjoon started working on the lyrics again. This had to be the perfect song, he had a lot riding on it.

“Ok Namjoon, here you go, Dimple, don’t fuck it up…..”

#bts-writing-squad #kpopwritingnet #bangtan-bookclub #kkreationsnet #sfwbangtan #kpoptrashtag #hyunglinenetwork #bangtanbudsnet #bts #bts fic #mine #transparent #namjoon fluff #namjoon fic #rap mon scenario

[gameof100-blog]

"The Head and The Heart"

My first fanfiction. It's a trash but I'm gonna post it anyway because for some reason I keep embarrassing myself so here you go. This was supposed to be a "if anything happens to me" speech without my babes being interrupted. I kinda love to hate how bad this is. ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ Bellamy was nervously tapping the surface of the red railing, watching down at Echo and Emori. They were snooping around the rocket, talking in Grounder's language and laughing. Clarke was on the computer at the desk behind him, saying something he couldn't hear from all the mess in his head. Clarke looked up and saw him, his hidden fear in every move. She stood up and came to him, with worried expression on her face. He just smiled and tilted his head. "Grounders in space, it's an oxymoron." Bellamy broke the eye contact. "Survival is a team sport. Especially out there. It's the only choice." she smiled to herself sarcastically and looked at him again. "Only choice. Also an oxymoron by the way." "Someone's cold sweat." he smiled and raised his hand to her face, moving a lock of her golden hair from her wet forehead. Clarke looked at him surprised, but she quickly recovered and gave him soft smile. "Still holding on hope for that nightblood solution." he added. "There was never any solution." she replied with disappointed voice. "Our fight is not over." "My mom had a vision of me dying." Clarke interrupted him, clearly inpatient to say something this whole time. "Just like the one Raven had, that told us the rocket was here." she glanced at it. "It is not the same thing." Bellamy said like he was trying to convince himself. "...if anything happens to me." she ignored his words. "Nothing is happening to you." he put his hands on her shoulders, squeezing them gently. His eyes were slightly darker and angrier. He moved away and murmured something to himself about work they need to do, but Clarke didn't give up. She was so damn afraid of the things she had to say. She repeated this conversation with herself all day but now something is different. When she wants to say it out loud it's like there's a thing that's blocking her tongue to form the words. Clarke took a deep breath, closed her eyes for a second, and then came to Bellamy, trying to stop herself from tearing up and falling apart in his arms. God, all she wanted to do now is to feel safe in his hug, to feel his heartbeat against her cheek and to inhale his scent while his hands are tucked in her hair. "Please, Bellamy, I need you to hear this." he looked so annoyed that she actually thought about stepping back and forgetting it all. But Clarke couldn't just leave things unsaid, she had a chance to tell him the truth and she will use it. Bellamy turned his head to meet her gaze and suddenly his facial expression changed. Now, when he was losing himself in her beautiful blue eyes he couldn't be angry at her behavior, he just couldn't. "We've been through a lot together you and I." she looked down nervously, damn, why is this so hard? It's not an actual goodbye, it's just in case something happens. But it still hurts the same. Thought of never seeing his face again made her stomach twist in a weirdest way. It was a lot easier when she was imagining this in her head to be honest. "I didn't like you at first, that's no secret." she smiled, but Bell cleared his throat impatiently, and suddenly smile faded away. "But even then, every stupid thing you did, that was to protect your sister." now he glanced back at her, his eyes softened slightly and noded quickly. "She didn't always see that, but I did. You've got such a big heart Bellamy." her voice was full of admiration as she half-wispered his name. "Clarke." he said, feeling his chest tightened as he thought of actually losing her. He just wanted her to stop right there, he saw where she was going and he didn't want to go there. Not yet. It is not a goodbye, they're going to spend 5 years together and they will have plenty of time to talk. But she didn't want to listen to him begging her to stop, she continued with the same respect and love in her eyes. "People follow you. You inspire them, because of this." she let her hand drop on his chest. His heart was pounding wildly. "But the only way that we make sure we'll survive this is if you use this to." Clarke touched his head gently. He was a step away from breaking down to tears. "I've got you for that." he said while he was on the edge of a heartbreak, softly and full of concern, deeply confused about everything that is happening at the moment. "Raven's preminition came true." He shook his head letting a single tear fall down his cheak. She quickly wiped it away, not breaking the eye contact. "I love you so much." Clarke said while tearing down herself. He pulled her into a hug, closing his eyes and trying to calm his shaking hands down. He was her salvation, hope, faith, strenght. And yes. She loved him, that was no secret. She showed it so many times but this is the first time she actually said it. And maybe it sounds just like a friend, like a brother to him, but she loves Bellamy in so many more ways. Because a friend can't make your heart beat that fast and your cheeks flush that much. And a brother can't make you feel a burn on your skin on every place he touched you, like he does. "You know I love you." he whispered into her hair, trying hard to make his voice not to break while saying it. She stood at the top of her toes and kissed him in the cheek but she accidentally kissed the corner of his lip too. Clarke shouldn't be so confused and uncomfortable because of this, but she is. "I'm so.... so.... sorry." she said avoiding his eyes. "It's okay Clarke. Calm down, it was accidental... What if we even kissed? Not like it would mean anything to us, we're like brother and sister." he regreted those words the second they left his mouth. "Um.. Yeah. Totally." she stepped back and turned around to go, but than quickly came back. "Bellamy, I'm scared." "It's OK. Nothing to be scared of." he said with a smile. "I'm afraid that I'm gonna die without doing something I so desperately want to do before it happens." "You are not dying did you understand that? And whatever you want to do can wait until we finish this." "Do you like me?" "Well.. That is an interesting switch of a subject." he titled his head. "Do you?" she repeated impatiently. "Define like." Bellamy looked at her with such fire and desire that Clarke thought she was going to explode from the tension in the air. "C' mon, just kidding, I do like you... As a friend." he added not very convincingly. "And if I died today, you wouldn't regret on anything you did, or didn't do, would you?" "I don't like where this is going. You were crying like seconds ago and now you're so.. Never mind. I wouldn't regret a thing. OK I lied. I'd definitely regret being an asshole to you when we first met. But I guess you forgave me for that." "Well, here's the thing. I kinda would." "So? What are you waiting for?" he looked amused and worried at the same time. "Invitation, maybe some kind of a letter I guess." she smiled and shook her head. "Classic Clarke Griffin, making fun of everything while making her "if i die" speech." "I know you'd miss me so damn much if I died." "I'm serious. Do not talk like that." he took her face in his palms. "Okay." she closed her eyes slowly and smiled sweetly. "I heard about Gina." her expression changed to slightly worried one. He remembered Gina and his heart started pounding faster. His face was angry and sad, eyes filled with hot tears the same second. Bell blinked them away and looked at Clarke. "Yeah. What about Gina?" "You loved her too?" Too? "Indeed." "I loved Lexa so much. She was everything to me. It's a huge pain... Losing the person you love. There are so many things I wanted to say to her, but now she's gone." she felt pain striking down her body while talking about her dead love. Tears couldn't be controlled, but she felt free to cry in front of Bellamy. She could be weak and honest with him. "It is so hard to move on. Almost impossible. You just can't afford to feel that pain again." he added, pulling her closer. He felt her pain. "But then you do. Even if you're not quite sure how, you do move on. I'll always carry Lexa with me, not like a burden, but like a memory. Beautiful memory. She will live through me. And I know she'd want me to move on." "How did we end up talking about Lexa and Gina? And crying like little girls all over again?" "I guess we cried enough for today." she moved away to look at his face. "For today? We cried enough for 5 years at space." They smiled and then suddenly stoped. Everything stopped. Their eyes were locked. They were so close to one another. It's quiet. Somehow it's always quiet with Bellamy. It's like he wears it on his shoulders, along with sadness and pain and hurt and guilt. "I remember that day when we got to the bunker, you know? You showed me how to shoot, and there was this moment where your hand was resting on me and I swear you got flustered. Bellamy Blake, getting flustered from touching a girl. I don't know, maybe I halucinated, but I like to think it's true. That there was a little part of you that thought I was worth getting flustered over." Clarke laughed not so secure of should've she said that. But he just gave her approving, and slightly ashamed look. "Yes, you are right. And you were worth of it. You were worth of it all." he came closer to her, his forehead resting on hers, he thought she'll step back, but she didn't. "So you liked me. Maybe even had a crush on me." she added in mocking tone. "Well, maybe I... Still do." he said it so casually that Clarke didn't realize what he said until she repeated it in head a few milion times. But when she did, her jaw dropped open and she couldn't hide her shocked expression, that turned into huge smile very quickly. She leaned even closer, closing the gap between their mouth, her lips slightly brushing his. "I love you." he felt like he was on fire. Before, she said she loved him and it was like a friend, but now. Now it has a different meaning. Bellamy kissed her softly on cheek, than other cheek, than forehead and finally her lips. He saw stars and different galaxies while kissing her, felt like he was dying and being brought to life over and over again, but he pulled away very quickly. "I love you." he said with honest, breathtaking smile. Than he crashed his lips onto hers so hard she felt shooked for a moment. It was a pure desire and passion, completely different from first kiss, gentle and careful. He would lie if he said he hadn't dreamed about this a few thousand times. But he could never imagine it would be this compelling, this intense. Once he got a taste of her lips, he couldn't help but want more. It was addictive. "You are not dying after this I hope you know that, because if you do, I'll die right after you." "I didn't know you were this cheesy?" "Guys, come o⎯." Raven froze when she saw them standing there hugging and looking at each other strangely. They turned their gaze to her. Clarke was slightly blushing while Bellamy had a weird smirk on his face. "Um... Did I just ruin the moment? I did right?" Raven said while covering her face with palms acting like she's ashamed. "Guys, you are the most boring couple, AND DON'T FIGHT ME ON THIS, at the beginning it was interesting watching you staring at each other like you want to smash each other's faces and kiss at the same time, but now it's really boring! Ugh, especially now, when you stopped. When are you gonna stop torturing us??" she exclaimed inpatiently. "Are you going to tell her or should I?" Bellamy looked at Clarke with amused smile. "I think she'll pass out if we tell her." she added in obvious tone. "We?? What. The. Actual. Hell." Raven's mouth opened in surprise, but than quickly closed. "You two didn't kiss or anything when you were alone, riiiight?" she said with a smirk. ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ My English hurts ikr, that's what happens when you don't write fanfics on your native language whoops. And yeah story doesn't make much sense and I'll stop hurting ur eyes I promise, never again. Pinky swear.

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