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shinidamachu · 4 years

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Neighbor Crush (The Thread)

Summary: modern AU, anyone? This was heavily inspired by a twitter thread I read a while ago, about a guy who developed a major crush on his neighbor’s voice and, with his roommate’s help, managed to ask him out.

Word Count: 2.015 Genre: fluff Fandom: InuYasha Pairing: Inukag Format: oneshot AO3 Link: 🌹 Fanfic.Net Link: 🌹

“I’m home!”

The abrupt sound of Miroku throwing his keys and briefcase at the table made InuYasha jump on his sit. It was a rare thing to do, taking him by surprise that way.

Unfortunately, Miroku knew so.

“You’re eavesdropping her again, aren’t you?”

It was hard to say what pissed InuYasha off the most: that Miroku had startled him, that he got caught in the act or the infuriating smugness in the bastard’s tone.

“Mind ya business.”

Ignoring his temper, Miroku went to their refrigerator and returned with a loosened tie and a couple of beers. He handed one to InuYasha and sat beside him on the couch.

“Come on, this is getting ridiculous. You have been obsessing over this girl for what? Three weeks, now? Just go downstairs, knock on her door and ask her out.”

Miroku took a long sip of his Heineken, as if rewarding himself for giving the world’s greatest advice. InuYasha wished he would choke on it.

“I’m not knocking on her door and asking her out, dipshit! We have no idea what the girl looks like!”

“Then do us both a favor and go find out!”

To be totally honest, her appearance was what mattered the least about this girl, although he couldn’t deny his curiosity.

Her voice.

It was her voice that started it all.

For two years he had been sharing this little apartment with Miroku and for two years it had been easy for them to ignore each resident of the building without a second thought. InuYasha was in no way a social guy and even though Miroku had a weak spot for the ladies, he had vowed not to get involved with a neighbor, ever.

“Location, location, location.” InuYasha remembered Miroku explaining once. “It’s simultaneously the best pro and the worst con. I’d rather not risk it, it could get pretty ugly.”

Knowing his tendency to hit and run, it was probably the smartest call.

And life went on as usual.

Until InuYasha heard her voice.

It was exceptionally loud. That was the very first thing he noticed. The second thing was that he incredibly didn’t mind at all. There was a sincerity tone to it that was ever present. Almost as if physically unable to lie. Sweet. Gentle. Smooth. But not in a generic way. He could download it into his GPS and drive forever. Her laughter had over him the same effect of sunbeams reaching out the untouched ground of a frozen forest and when she talks too low, something primal and urgent wakes inside him, letting him dying to know what his name would sound like between her whispers.

Then it became less about how and more about what she talked.

Her name was Kagome. She was in her twenties and had just graduated from pedagogy school. Three weeks ago, she had moved in with the girl who lived precisely in the apartment below theirs to save money as she adapted to the new job of substitute teacher. She had a cat named Buyo, couldn’t swear for the life of her, sang a lot, a bit clumsy, definitely a half full kind of person... Single, as far as he could tell.

Kagome had the most hilarious stories, most of them starring her little brother, her grandpa or her friends. He was especially fond of the ones in which she tried to be nice and it ended up blowing on her face spectacularly. Her heart was too big for her own good.

On the floor below, the girl in question left what InuYasha assumed was her kitchen and walked to the living room, turning the TV on. Even now, when the current conversation was supposed to be his focus, he found himself painfully aware of her moviments.

Miroku didn’t have to know any of that.

“That’s insane.”

“Why? How is that insane?”

“Hi, I’m InuYasha, your upstairs neighbor. You don’t know me, but I’ve been listening to everything you say or sing in your apartment since the day you moved in. Often on purpose, like a creepy person. Anyway, wanna have dinner sometime?”

“Lose the ‘creepy’ part and you’ll be fine.”

“Drop it, it ain’t happening.”

“Well, at least you recognize your obsession. Admitting you have a problem is the first step to recover.”

“You’re my problem,” he mumbled.

“Wrong, my friend. I’m the solution. You just gotta listen to me.”

“Yeah, don’t count on it.” Miroku laughed. “So how was work?”

“You’re changing the subject.”

“Damn straight I am.”

They made small talk and drank for a while, then Miroku pulled out his phone to check his notifications and InuYasha searched Netflix for an action movie they haven’t seen yet. The girl was binge-watching a sitcom. A good one, judging by the way her laughter reached his ears every now and then.

He smiled.

In moments like these, it was crazy tempting to walk down the stairs and go for it, but InuYasha wouldn’t dare. He was perfectly fine just hearing her life from a safe distance so they couldn’t hurt each other, because this is what love inevitably leads to — and that was assuming she wouldn’t reject his advances, in the first place.

Might as well save them both some pain.

“So what do you say? Shall we eat ramen for the third time in a row or order some pizza? InuYasha?”

But he wasn’t listening. In the apartment below, a door opened. Her roommate, Sango, had arrived.

“Hey!”

“Hey!” Replied Kagome. “I hope you’re hungry, ‘cause I just made lasagna.”

“And I hope you’re thirsty, ‘cause I just bought Tequila.”

“Tough day, huh?”

“Tough week.”

“Balcony?”

“You bet.”

The girls turned the blender on.

The balcony was their favorite spot to chat. It was also where the acoustic sounded better. To the point even human ears could catch the words.

One look at InuYasha and Miroku realized what it meant.

“Is she going to the balcony?” He asked, but didn’t wait for an answer.

InuYasha ran, intercepting Miroku just in time. One hand securely covering his friend’s mouth, the other holding him still. They were now in their own balcony.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

There was an attempt to speak, but it came off muttered. Even so, InuYasha refused to budge his hand. Until Miroku licked it. “Ugh!”

“What does it look like?” He questioned while InuYasha compulsively wiped his hand on his jeans. “I’m being your wingman.”

“I don’t need a wingman and will you shut up, already?” His whispered, angry. Miroku was ready to deliver a cunning comeback when the blender stopped and the girls stepped into the balcony.

“So I had to break up with Kuranosuke today.”

“Break up? I thought you guys were friends with benefits or whatever.”

“YES! WE WERE! THANK YOU! Now could you please be a lamb and go tell him that? Maybe I didn’t make myself clear the first four hundred times! Oh, stop laughing!”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Go on.”

“It was a nightmare! The whole week he kept sending flowers and Valentine’s Day cards to the precinct. It’s not even february!”

“I’m surprised you didn’t get him arrested.”

“Believe me, I was this close. It’s hard enough getting their respect, you know? Being a female cop and all. He wasn’t helping.”

“I know. But hey! Someday you’ll find the guy for you. Someone who’ll understand how much your job means. I’m serious! You will!”

“Nope. That’s it for me. I’m done with men.”

“Funny, I’m in the opposite vibe.”

“Really? Now that’s interesting.”

“It’s just… I haven’t dated anyone since Koga.”

“Damn, you’re right! I haven’t realized it.”

“You know what? You should set me up with someone.”

Miroku playfully punched InuYasha’s shoulder, getting his attention. “That’s your chance,” he mouthed. The half demon shook his head.

“Hmmm… Wouldn’t Ayumi, Yuka and What’s-Her-Name be a better option for that? I’m usually cuffing most guys I meet.”

“Eri. And no way! They would just set me up with Hojo.”

“Right! And why won’t you date him, again?”

“Because he’s my friend!”

“He is cute.”

“A cute friend.”

“He likes you.”

“Not my fault.”

“Fine. I’ll d—”

“HEY, NEIGHBORS! NEIGHBORS!”

Mortified, InuYasha watched Miroku make a fool of himself. Like in a movie, his body seemed to forget how to react.

“Hi!” Greeted Sango. “I’m sorry. Were we being too loud? We’ll keep it down.”

“No, it’s okay, the walls are really thin. Listen… I have this friend. And he’s really into your friend’s voice. I was wondering if she would be interest in going on a date with him.”

“What?” Kagome let out a shaken giggle.

“Is this for real?”

“Yes! I gotta go, but check his Instagram out. It’s @InuYashaTaisho.”

Apparently very pleased with himself, Miroku walked inside.

“You’re a dead man!”

“What do you think?” Kagome asked, while InuYasha chased Miroku around the apartment.

“It can’t hurt to give a look,” Answered Sango.

“Five years from now, when the two of you get married, you’ll be thanking me for this.” Miroku dodged the pillow InuYasha threw on his direction.

“Don’t ya worry. Imma make sure to write this on your tombstone.”

“Sango!”

“Wha—Wow! This is him? What are you gonna do?”

InuYasha threw another pillow. Miroku caught it in the air. He was cornered on the wall and nothing could save him now.

Bzzt! Bzzzt!

Impertinently, his phone choose that exact minute to vibrate. InuYasha fished it off his back pocket and the notification took his breath away.

Kagome Higurashi started following you.

“Is that her?”

InuYasha ignored him. The only important thing was the dark haired beauty smiling brightly on his screen. Her eyes were big and warm, framed by extremely long black lashes. She had adorable bangs and sharped cheeks. The perfect shape of her lips rivaled those from a greek statue and they seemed to be painted in a natural shade of pink in almost every picture. Except when they were burning red.

He couldn’t have put a better face to the voice if he tried.

Scrolling down her feed, InuYasha continued to connect the features he didn’t know with the names he did. Sango. Her mom. Sota. Buyo. Her grandfather.

“Let me see!” Miroku ran to his side and hang on his shoulder like a parrot, whistling in approval as InuYasha went on. “Woah, wait, wait, wait! Who is that?”

“That’s Sango, the girl you just embarrassed me and yourself in front of.” He followed Kagome back.

“I think I’m in love.”

InuYasha glared at him.

“Don’t even think about it.”

“He followed me back!”

“Oh, it’s going down!” Sango laughed.

“Watch me.” Defied Miroku.

“What the fuck happened to the ‘not dating neighbors’ rule?”

“If four years of law school taught me something was that every rule has its exceptions. In this case, the exception is the absurd level of hotness of said neighbor.”

“On a second thought, go ahead and date her. It’s about time someone put you in jail.”

Miroku smirked.

“Should I say hello?”

“Definitely!” Encouraged Sango. “Don’t schedule anything until I check him for bad precedents, though.”

“You’re such a cop.”

Bzzt! Bzzzt!

Hi!

Hi! I’m sorry about my friend. He thinks ‘boundaries’ is an indie band.

She chuckled.

“Hey!”

“Don’t you have a pizza to order?” InuYasha faced him, eyebrows raised. Miroku narrowed his eyes and left.

“This isn’t over.”

That’s okay. So... you’re a dog demon. I’m assuming this is how you can hear us down here?

Actually I’m half demon, which means I’m only half responsible for invading your privacy. The other half is on you for being so damn loud.

Excuse me?! I thought you liked my loud personality! Wasn’t that the whole point?

To be fair, what I liked was your killer cover of Livin’ On A Prayer.

OH MY GOD! I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU HEARD THAT! Okay. This isn’t fair. You’ve been listening to my voice since I moved in, but I have no idea what yours sound like.

The next text he sent her was his phone number.

A/N: it’s been a while, yes? Tell me if you guys enjoyed this one. Fluff is not really my thing. Let me know if I can interest you in a Part II of them dating and send me sugestions of where they could go, if you want to. If I liked them better than the ideas I have in mind, I might end up writing it (is not a priority, though).

Also, I want to dedicate this piece to @xfangheartx. Thank you for always being a sweetheart.

#Neighbor Crush (The Thread)#InuYasha #Kagome Higurashi #Inukag #Inukag Fluff #Inukag Oneshot #InuYasha Fanfic #My Writing #Inukag AU #InuYasha AU #Inukag Modern AU

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hopeyoulietome · 6 years

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\ let me love the lonely /

PAIRING: Michael/Y/N

RATING: PG

WORD COUNT: 2.4k

A/N: this imagine is based on the song ‘let me love the lonely’ by james arthur so give it a listen :) although this little imagine is a bit happier than the song but yeah feel free to give me some feedback if you’d like to, i’m really excited to get into the 5sos writing world

When Luke and Ashton dragged Michael out of his apartment to come to some party with them, he was expecting to seriously hate his night. What he wasn’t expecting was to see a beautiful girl across the room the moment he stepped into the crowded house. Throughout the night he kept an eye on her, catching a few things about her that he’s almost positive no one else notices.

Luke makes some shit joke, you laugh because everyone else is - although you’ve heard the joke before at the last party you ran into Luke and Ashton at. But unlike that last party, their friend and fellow band mate Michael hadn’t tagged along. You noticed him the moment he stepped into the house. Seeming as though he was enjoying this party just as much as you were. You catch Michael’s eye as he too laughs at Luke’s shitty joke, his lips pressing into a tight smile as he realizes you’re looking at him.

An entire hour goes by and neither Luke or Ashton get the hint that Michael wants one of them to introduce him to the beautiful girl he feels he can already connect with, only after a few stolen glances. Now he notices you sitting by yourself on the couch that’s pushed into the corner so people can stand around the living room. Michael takes a deep breath, another big sip of his beer for liquid courage and then walks up to you.

“Hey, is someone sitting here?” He asks. You look up at him and find yourself staring, he was just really cute up close.

“No,” you answer after a few terrifying seconds that make Michael want to run and hide. But once you do say no, Michael smiles and takes the open seat beside you.

“I noticed you’ve been holding that same drink for a while,” Michael says but instantly regrets from how creepy he must sound to you.

You lift up the bottle half full of some shitty kiwi flavoured cooler, “yeah, it kinda sucks,” you tell him.

“Oh, did you want something else? I’m sure there’s another option somewhere for you,” Michael says, looking around the house but only finding the crowd doubled in size since he last looked around.

“No, it’s fine, I don’t really drink anyways,” you admit.

“Me neither,” Michael sighs, picking at the label on the beer bottle he’s hanging into.

“Why come to the party then?” You ask. It’s stupid to question him, seeing as you had just said you don’t drink either. But as you glance at the cute unnamed boy sitting beside you with his face all screwed up and him pushing his glasses up his nose you end up smiling.

“My friends dragged me here,” he states. “What about you?”

“Same, this place is my friends. She never let me miss a party if she’s hosting it,” you explain.

“Quite hostile of her,” Michael says, earning a chuckle from you. “I’m Mike by the way,”

“Mike?” You repeat, making sure you heard him right as the song had gotten more upbeat and louder almost.

“I meant Michael, no one really calls me Mike except my dad when he’s trying to sound cool,” he rambles out, talking with his hands. It’s cute, you think while giving him a smile.

“Michael,” you try his name again. This causes him to blush, his pale cheeks turning a faint shade of red as he hears his name fall off your tongue. “It’s nice to meet you, I’m Y/N,” you say.

“I’m sorry if I like came over here and bugged you, I just noticed you were alone and thought you might be lonely or something,” Michael catches himself rambling to you again. But again, it earns a soft chuckle from you followed by a sweet smile he’d probably dream about tonight.

“It’s fine, you’re right,” you shrug, “parties can get kinda lonely,”

“I totally feel that too,”

“Yeah?” You question, brows pulled together. “Usually I say that to people and they think I’m crazy,”

“Well I don’t,” Michael says, “I kinda feel like that one string of a guitar that’s out of tune when I come to these things,”

You somehow manage to furrow your brows together even more, utterly confused by his choice of words. But it makes you laugh again. This guy was both cute and endearing. You nod your head, causing a piece of your hair to fall into your face so you’re quick to push it back behind your ear before meeting Michael’s gaze again.

“Funny way to put it, but I get it,” you say. Michael smiles, that adorable blush still on his cheeks. You can tell the conversation is sorta near it’s end, and you don’t want it to be like at all. “So you play guitar?” You ask, aware his answer is mostly going to be yes. But it sparks up an entire conversation with the cute boy that’s making you feel a little less lonely.

Just as the conversation was getting good, someone is shouting your name from across the room. You glance away from Michael and see your best friend waving you over.

“I gotta go see what she needs,” you tell Michael.

“It’s fine, I should probably check on dumb and dumber to make sure they’re not making a fool of themselves,”

“Luke and Ash are always making a fool of themselves,” you chuckle.

“Fair point,” Michael says, chuckling along with you. And with one last smile, you’re walking off to where your friend is shouting at you again. Almost instantly Michael’s mind is full of regrets. He should’ve got your number, or gone with you or anything. Maybe he’d get to you again during this stupid party.

You’re grinning at a couple, but Michael finds it like you’re a lighthouse without a light. Something he knows because he feels the same way too. Before you can catch his staring, Michael turns away and walks off into the dining room where he knows both of his idiot friends are playing a game of beer pong. Losing, which is no shock.

It’s stupid to think, but Michael is stupid so... he stares at you across the room again a while later. You’re still smiling without your eyes. It’s clear as day that you’re not enjoying your night, well it’s clear to him but not anyone else it seems. But Michael thinks to himself, maybe he could save himself from this party if he saves you. If he had to stand in this dining room and watch his drunk friends any longer he might lose his mind. For a second he thinks of how much better his night would be with some shit anime show. But then he finds you across the room again, time to make this night better.

“Hey,” Michael says as he approaches you again.

“Hi again,” you smile.

“I was, uh, I was wondering if you wanted to get out of here,” he says - really shooting his chance here. “I just noticed that you don’t really want to be here and I don’t really want to be here and I saw this pizza place down the street and-”

“Michael,” you cut off his rambling, grinning at the blush that creeps to his cheeks again. “I’d love to get out of here and get some pizza with you,” you say.

Michael really can’t believe it. You’re walking beside him down the staircase to the street, your white converse avoiding the puddle while he’s too busy watching you to notice the puddle - his boots now wet as the two of you walk down the sidewalk together. If someone were to tell him he’d met a girl at this stupid party and end up getting some greasy cheese pizza while sitting inside a less than busy pizza and donair shop, well Michael wouldn’t believe them. And yet here he was, scrambling to get his wallet out before you can pay for the pizza.

“It was my idea,” he insists as you narrow your eyes at him in a joking matter. You smile and lean your hip into the counter, crossing your arms at your chest. There’s no missing Michael’s eyes darting down to your pushed up cleavage as you do so. But it’s fine, cause he blushes after and looks to the floor.

“Okay, but I’ll buy us a milkshake to share,” you state while turning back to look at the menu that hangs above the counter. “Do you like chocolate or vanilla?”

“Either,” Michael squeaks out, clearing his throat before adding, “whichever you want,”

You smile, your cheeks were beginning to hurt from all the smiling this guy was getting you to do. “Chocolate milkshake please, just a regular size,” you tell the worker before paying.

The two of you sit at the booth by the window, indulging into the delicious pizza before getting into some ‘get to know ya’ kind of conversation. You learn each others full names, your favourite colour (which sparks up a fight of wether or not black was a colour or a shade), and your both watching on Netflix at the moment.

“I’m a photographer, mostly for local based clients that pay me to amp up their Instagram feeds, LA people you know,” you joke while telling Michael about your job. Which you did love a lot.

“So your good then?”

“Um, yeah, I guess,” you shrug. Then you get a brilliant idea, opening your camera on your phone. “Pose,” you say, chuckling as Michael’s arms move like a horribly functioning robot - clearly not sure what to do. But then he just smiles, and the way the neon sign beside you two shines on his face does your photo more justice that you could hope for. You take a minute to edit the photo quickly before turning your phone to Michael and showing him.

“That’s amazing,” he says, picking up your phone, “never would guess you took this on an iPhone,” he adds.

“Thanks,” you smile.

“Can I post it? Amp up my Instagram,” he says, smiling.

“Yeah, of course,” you nod and take your phone back from him. “What’s your number?”

“And here I thought I’d be the one asking for your number tonight,” Michael says. You chuckle at him and shake your head.

“Well, for the record, I would’ve gave it to you,”

Michael smile grows wider as he lists out his phone number to you. You send him the photo and then as he’s posting the Instagram he asks for your tag. Without another thought you give him your username and smile as the notification comes through.

“You know,” you pause to take a sip of the milkshake (you’ve been drinking most of it), “I thought tonight was going to be another shitty party,” you state.

“So did I,” Michael nods.

“Thanks for getting me out of there,”

“You’re welcome,”

The night continues on with even more smiles and laughter between you two. Michael has to be one of the sweetest guys you’ve ever met. And if someone was to tell you that you’d find a cute nice guy at one of your bets friend’s shitty parties, you sure as hell wouldn’t believe them. And yet here you were, hoping and praying this night would never end honestly. But it does, the worker coming up to you two after some time to let you know they’re closing.

“I should probably head back to the party anyways, I’m staying the night there,” you explain while walking out of the shop with Michael holding open the door for you.

“Yeah, I have to head back with Luke and Ashton soon too,” he states while glancing at his phone. Both the guys had texted him recently, asking where he had gone.

“I really had a great time tonight, Michael,” you say. Michael notices your smile is much different from the beginning of the night. It’s more real, more genuine and just as heart warming as the last to be honest. Suppose he just really liked you.

“Mikey!!!!”

You both look away from one another to see Luke running towards Michael, arms wide open to engulf his friend in a hug. Ashton’s close behind, laughing at the sight. You can’t help but chuckle as well. The two of them are talking to Michael a million miles an hour, it’s almost intimidating to stand by and watch the boys. It’s nearly two in the morning, yet they’re shouting as if it’s two in the afternoon. You reach back and scratch the back of your neck.

“Our Uber’s here!” Ashton shouts, running towards the white car that’s pulling to the curb.

Luke follows behind him, smacking Michael hard on the back as he glances your way. You give him another smile, it doesn’t meet your eyes this time though. Maybe you’re as sad as he’s feeling that the night’s come to an end... Michael kicks his boots against the pavement, looking down for a quick second before glancing back up and meeting your gaze.

“Can I take you to dinner tomorrow?” he asks, the overwhelming feeling of courage hitting him in the chest again.

“I can’t,” you say. Michael’s face drops at your words. “I have plans, but I’m free the next day?”

Michael mirrors your smile, “I’ll text you,” he says before turning on his heels and jogging to the Uber where his drunk friends are awaiting him.

“That chick was hot,” Luke says as Michael gets into the back seat.

“Yeah, good pick,” Ashton agrees from the front seat.

Michael simply rolls his eyes at his friends. You weren’t just a ‘good pick’, he felt like he already knew you before he got to know you at the pizza shop. And unlike usual, he didn’t hide away and stare from afar, he actually took a chance and it paid off. Michael looks out the window, catching the sight of the neon signs of the pizza shop you two had just sat in for almost two hours. He’d probably text you tomorrow morning, knowing he couldn’t wait that long without hearing from you again.

#5sos imagine #5sos blurbs #5sos #michael clifford #michael clifford imagine #michael clifford blurb #5sos drabble #5sos imagines #idk about the 5sos writing world here on tumblr yet but guess i'll get to know it lol

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artificialqueens · 7 years

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your body as a museum of careless gestures (biadore) - dylann

A/N:

Adore’s impulsive, sure.

But she’s more “don’t sober up at all for 36 hours because you’re sad you can’t randomly drop your own responsibilities and fly out to Europe” impulsive than “actually fly out to Europe” impulsive.

(or

Bianca is vulnerable, homesickness is a real bitch, Europe is very far away and plane tickets are unreasonably priced. Also, old patterns are hard to break, especially when you don’t even want to break them.

A reunion fic, everyone. That’s what this is.

Drag names and she/her pronouns for both throughout most of this. Shoutout to Dare for some solid constructive criticism and noticing my missing paragraph breaks.

Content warnings for mentions of weed and alcohol; sex; minor breathplay)

They FaceTime once, in early August, while Bianca’s at an airport somewhere in Europe, and Adore’s shitfaced in Seattle.

She’s home after a local show, still in full makeup, but she’s pulled her wig off and her own hair is piled up at the top of her head in a messy approximation of a bun. Her phone keeps flashing on every couple of minutes, lighting up with various notifications.

Bianca liking a recent Instagram post, or the occasional tweet, or commenting on pictures they’re both tagged in. It’s the clear signs of someone who’s bored and in some sort of situation where they can’t do much besides fuck about on their phone.

Adore knows she shouldn’t text because— well, because she isn’t having the best night anyway, and while talking to Bianca might help at first, it’d probably fuck her up worse in the long run.

She’s stripped down to her underwear and the remnants of a practically destroyed Sex Pistols tank top when her phone buzzes again. It’s another Facebook comment, and she caves.

To Bea 🍹 (3:27:02am) how the fuck bored are you??

Bianca fires back a 😂 almost immediately, and then types a response. The three dots that indicate her thinking pop up a few times, until she settles on

To Adore 🔞 Delano (3:30:03am) Airport. Plane’s delayed.

(3:30:12am) cafe’s not even open, I hate Europe.

Adore mutters “No, you don’t,” to herself as she situates herself in the middle of her bed. Last night’s bowl is still half-packed at the sill of her open window, and she thanks past-Adore for being so considerate as she picks it up and takes a hit.

And then she remembers Bianca can’t actually hear her.

To Bea 🍹 (3:31:45am) no you dont

(3:31:57am) can i call you???

To Adore 🔞 Delano (3:32:05am) 🙃👌🏼👌🏼👌🏼👌🏼

Adore props her phone on her nightstand, and tilts the small reading lamp so it hits her face from the right angle. She’s wearing very light sea green contacts, and she knows for a fact her eyes look stunning.

The connection takes a moment and then the black screen lights up to reveal Roy who looks like a parody of an airplane traveller. He’s clearly exhausted and bleary-eyed under the rim of his baseball cap, and he’s wearing a plush fuchsia pink travel pillow around his neck like a goddamn statement piece.

Adore lets out a delighted laugh, and then goes,

“You look horrible.”

“It’s good to see you too,” Roy laughs, giving his camera a long look. “Isn’t it, like, way past your bedtime?”

“Has anyone ever told you you use emoji like a thirteen year old girl with a secret Instagram account?” Adore fires back.

“Are you calling me old?” Roy asks, feigning offense well enough that it makes Adore break and she shoots the camera a shit-eating grin as she nods and lights up her bowl again.

“Call me old one more time and I’ll buy a house somewhere in central Europe, take up farming, and never fucking come back,” Roy threatens lightly.

“No one would miss you here,” Adore says, perhaps a second too late to be funny.

Roy doesn’t answer, which is fine. Adore is usually obsessed with filling silences, like it’s her personal responsibility to make sure everyone’s constantly entertained. Roy’s an exception.

They’ve been silent around each other enough that it hasn’t felt awkward in years.

“How’s Europe?” she asks eventually.

“Fun. Loud. Really fucking hot,“ Roy shrugs. He reaches up and presses his thumb against the bridge of his nose before rubbing along the outline of his eye socket. It’s rare and unsettling to see him that quiet and clearly drained.

Adore smokes and watches him as she contemplates how okay it’d be to say what’s actually on her mind.

“Hey, Bea?” she says quietly, as she shifts to lie down on her stomach.

“Yeah?”

“You look really tired. But um— I hope you’re just tired? Europe’s not making you, like, sad, is it?” Adore trails off for a second and presses her eyes shut as she refocuses. “That’s dumb. I mean. A continent can’t make you sad, right? I don’t know—“

“I’m fine,” Roy says and his face lights up with a small, fond smile which makes him look more like himself. “How are you doing? You look—“

“Fucking wasted?” Adore supplies. She aims for a joke but it just kind of comes out tired and flat. Plus, selling Roy the whole act is kind of pointless. “Yeah. I had a weird night, I don’t know. The whole album thing is fucking stressing me out.”

“People are gonna love it,” Roy says quickly, earnestly. He seems more awake. “They’re gonna eat that shit up.”

“You’re supposed to say that ‘cause you love me,” Adore whines jokingly, but then he just shrugs and nods in agreement, which makes her soften. “Thanks. Honestly. It’s just so— people wanna hear the old shit, you know? And the new stuff’s so different, I just— what if they don’t wanna hear it?”

“They keep asking for the old stuff ‘cause they haven’t heard your new stuff,” Roy reasons. He’s holding his headphones’ microphone close to his lips and it sort of feels like he’s in the room and talking directly to her if she closes her eyes.

“You’re right. Thanks, Bea,” she sighs, and then bites her lip as she adds softly, “I miss you.”

“Come to Europe,” Roy laughs a little. He can always recognize when she’s on the brink of some sad spiral and can usually pull her right back out. Adore opens her eyes to watch him laugh at the camera.

It’s impossible not to smile back.

“Right, are you gonna fly me out?” she laughs, making a show of pursing her lips at the camera.

“You wish,” Roy grins, and then his eyes drift over to something out of frame. Some sort of airport announcement comes through the speaker of Adore’s phone, entirely too far away and jumbled to be understandable.

“Hey, listen, I gotta go,” Roy says. “I might finally get to make it to a plane.”

“Awesome, fly safe,” Adore nods, scrunching up her nose as she fights off a yawn.

“You get some rest,” Roy adds. “This was fun, let’s—“

“More often. Yeah. I’ll call you.”

Adore smiles, and they say their goodbyes and hang up.

And then they don’t talk again for weeks.

***

The morning after the last FaceTime call, Adore had woken up with a screenshot of her own bank account, and a bunch of screenshots of various potential flights on her phone. Looking at them (and maybe the hangover) had made her sick, and she’d deleted them with her eyes half closed.

Adore’s impulsive, sure.

It’d been days, maybe weeks, after the call when an ad had popped up on her Instagram feed, quite aggressively advertising Bianca’s upcoming gig on Fire Island.

New York is, in comparison to central Europe, closer.

Closer, easier to get to, slightly more reasonable.

So Adore had called her manager and said she’d do that one interview she had scheduled over the phone, and that she was going to be out of town for a few days. Her manager wasn’t impressed, but it was just a weekend, and she’d already made up her mind.

She doesn’t really call or let anyone else know she’s going.

When she walks into the club, the security guard gives her and her ID a long, curious look, but other than that, it’s dark enough that no one really notices or pays attention to her.

She’s wearing a Bianca t-shirt she’s mercilessly cut up into a douchey tank top tucked into a short, faux leather mini skirt with an unnecessarily chunky zipper in the front. Underneath the tank top, she’s in a lacy black bandeau that only draws attention to the boy chest, which is the exact effect she’s aiming for. The tight fishnet covering her legs culminates in heeled combat boots. Her hair is long and black and just messy enough that from afar, she looks like she could be just another girl here for the show.

It’s great, and she feels kind of incognito, even though she’s not necessarily trying to hide. She’s just not here to put on a show, either.

When she gets a drink, the bartender shoots her a knowing grin and says this one’s on the house, she only smiles back and thanks him and doesn’t argue. There’s being lowkey, and then there’s just being plain stupid.

The club is already pretty full, and it’s crowded by the time Bianca takes the stage to host.

Adore doesn’t quite care for the actual event and she lets herself be distracted watching her even when she’s off to the side, and clearly not supposed to be pulling the focus.

It’s impossible for Bianca not to pull focus. In a bodycon dress that somehow manages to be both leopard and floral and still be incredible, she looks like every wet dream Adore’s ever had. Bianca’s focused and attentive, she watches each performance and laughs along, and her lips are so shiny, and her eyes are so bright, and Adore is so tempted to make her way over to the stage and pull her off now, like she can’t wait another minute.

But the reality is, she’s waited this long and now that she’s here, Adore wants to do this right. So she sits back, accepts a couple more drinks from the bartender, and lives out her groupie fantasy, screaming and howling with laugher as if she’s just there to prove she can be louder than everyone else in the club.

At the end of the show, Bianca performs a number and the crowd goes wild, and Adore wants to be cheering with them, except she’s transfixed, breathless as she watches Bianca in her element.

“It never fucking gets old,” Adore yells at the bartender once Bianca’s left the stage. Her ears are ringing.

“She’s great,” he agrees, sliding another refill across the bar for her.

“She’s the best,” Adore corrects. “Can you send her a large gin backstage? Tell her it’s from a fan who claims to know her.

The bartender laughs and fixes a drink, and Adore, who’s only human, watches the sway of his hips as he walks through an unmarked door behind the bar which presumably leads backstage.

When Bianca comes out (from a different door, off to the side), she scans the club past the faces of people who notice her and either try to flock to her, or take a few steps back in some sort of classical awe. She glances around with a look Adore has come to realize means she’s expecting to see an acquaintance who’s dropped her name in hopes for a drink and a catchup.

Then, Bianca notices her and her entire face shifts.

Adore watches her face go from a public, performative smile through shock, through defeat, all the way to blossoming into a genuine smile within a split second. Bianca mouths something in her direction and heads over, and Adore’s heart is pounding so hard in her chest that it makes her cough.

Then, Bianca’s in front of her and pulling her into a hug, and saying into her ear,

“You motherfucker.”

Adore laughs loudly, pulling back just enough to catch Bianca’s eyes and grin at her.

“You absolute motherfucker,” Bianca repeats. “You could’ve called—“

“I wanted to surprise you,” Adore shrugs, as if it’s that simple, and Bianca softens.

“Well, I am surprised,” she laughs. Her hands are still around Adore’s waist and she’s becoming more aware of that by the second. “But I left my drink in the dressing room so we’re gonna have to continue being surprised there.”

Adore just nods. She picks up her glass and follows Bianca through the crowd. When Bianca reaches back, she slips her hand in hers, and hopes the club is just dark and confusing enough that no one would see.

***

“I can’t believe you just pulled this shit,” Bianca says as they walk into the dressing room, which is cool and only illuminated by the lightbulbs that line the mirror.

She closes her eyes for a split second and Adore watches her stage poise and energy leave her body like air from a recently popped balloon.

“I wanted to see your face,” Adore shrugs, and squeezes her hand as she brings herself closer. “Plus, it’s been a while since I’ve watched you—“

“Tonight wasn’t that good,” Bianca says quietly. “It’s not even technically my show…“

Adore bites her lip, and takes a sip of her drink as she says,

“I wasn’t gonna push but— are you okay? I mean, you seem—“

“I’m okay,”

Bianca pulls her hand away from Adore’s and walks around to sit down on the makeup chair, her back turned to the room. Adore just kind of stands there, swallowing uneasily once they break contact. Bianca is never like this, and witnessing it is terrifying, and Adore’s chest is tight as she attempts to figure out how she’d help the most.

“I just feel like I’ve been away for so long, you know?” Bianca says suddenly. Her voice is barely audible over the dull, unrecognizable bass that filters through the walls. “I’m not even sure if I’m away from— This summer’s just going by so fast. I feel like I’m always catching up with people. Like, tonight, when I stepped out—“

“You looked fucking terrified,” Adore supplies. She’s taken one cautious step towards Bianca’s chair and is hovering there.

“‘cause I was,” Bianca agrees, and it comes out in a shaky laugh. “Fuck, Adore, I was so worried I was gonna have to sit down and have a chat with some local queen I haven’t seen in years and make it look like I’m having the time of my life, you know?”

“Yeah. I know.”

Years of sharing dressing rooms have taught Adore that usually, Bianca would be out of all of her drag by this point. Now, she’s just sitting there, her eyes distant as she looks into the mirror but not really at herself.

Adore sighs and walks the rest of the distance to the makeup table, planting herself directly behind the chair. She drapes her arms over Bianca’s shoulders and crosses her wrists at her chest. Bianca’s hand comes up to cover her wrist, pressing down just a little, as if she’s afraid Adore might pull back.

Bianca’s nails are a dark shade of greenish gold and they glitter as they catch the mirror light. Adore wants to tell her she’s never looked more beautiful.

“It just gets kinda lonely,” Bianca says, quiet enough that Adore isn’t sure if it’s for her at all. She doesn’t answer.

Instead, she moves her hand just a little underneath Bianca’s, so she can run her thumb along the side of Bianca’s hand. Bianca sighs and closes her eyes again. Her eyelashes cast long shadows down her cheeks.

Adore doesn’t move, just lets Bianca breathe and take in the physical weight of her presence, lets her be quiet until she seems a little bit more grounded. Adore can feel it under her arms when Bianca exhales a long breath and her shoulders relax.

“Well, I’m here now,” Adore says finally, quiet and intimate, and it feels like dipping one toe in cool water.

She hasn’t planned this far in advance, never knows quite where they stand when they’ve been away from each other for so long, only knows that she’s here, and she’s here for Bianca, in whatever capacity Bianca needs her to be.

“Yeah— motherfucker,” Bianca repeats softly, in an almost-laugh. “You’re here.”

Then, she makes the choice for Adore.

Bianca pushes the chair back and stands up, turning around to face Adore in one swift, decisive motion. Adore catches her eyes and when Bianca tilts her chin down in the slightest of nods, it’s enough.

Adore launches herself forward, resting a gentle hand at the curve of Bianca’s neck as she kisses her with all the intent of an innocent death row inmate who’s been granted one last wish. Bianca responds almost immediately, her hands coming to rest at the small of Adore’s back. Adore (who, again, is only human) rolls her hips into the touch, which gets a noise halfway between a groan and a laugh from Bianca. It sounds more like her than anything Adore’s heard from her so far tonight.

“Missed you,” Bianca whispers once she pulls back. Up close, her eyes are so incredibly bright.

“I’m here.”

“You are.”

They exchange reassurances in a terribly familiar rhythm, and something in Adore’s chest twists a little. It must show on her face because Bianca says “Shhh” even though she’s silent, and is then she’s kissing her again.

This one lasts longer. Bianca licks her way past Adore’s dark plum lips and all Adore can do is respond in small, breathless sounds as she drops one hand down to grip the table behind Bianca, essentially trapping Bianca between herself and the tabletop.

A bunch of lipsticks fall down and maybe something rolls off the table, and Adore lets out a careless laugh into Bianca’s mouth. Her world feels lighter than it has in months. She doesn’t want to think about it at all.

Bianca distracts her, luckily, as she drops her hands past her ass to brush her fingers under Adore’s skirt. Underneath the thin layer of fishnet, Adore’s — unsurprisingly — untucked and wearing the tiniest briefs which leave most of her ass bare. Upon making that discovery for herself, Bianca lets out a laugh which is both appreciation and utter defeat.

“You’re gonna be the death of me, Adore Delano,” she hums, pulling back to draw in a very deep breath.

It’s overdramatic but earnest and Adore feels so fucking wanted.

“I dress to impress,” she says sweetly.

“Jesus,” Bianca whispers, and her exasperated smile reaches all the way to her eyes. “Shut up.”

Adore laughs loudly, and it comes from deep in her chest. This is easier than anything else she’s done in so long. She knows Bianca feels the exact same way because she’s still laughing as she kisses her again.

By the time Bianca pulls back again, Adore’s hard and dizzy and the only coherent thought in her head is a vague curiosity about whether the door to the dressing room locks.

“Where are you staying?” Bianca is asking quietly. The outline of her lipliner has blurred and her eyes are dark and bearing so much promise it makes Adore’s head spin.

She grins in response.

She has one bag �� a way too expensive designer carryon — that she’d dropped at a friend’s apartment before explaining that no, she didn’t need a place to crash, just storage room, thanks, I’ll see you tomorrow.

She hadn’t bothered with a plan B.

“You bitch,” Bianca laughs fondly. “Yeah. Come on.”

***

Bianca’s hotel room is tiny and taken over almost entirely by the bed in the center. There’s a suitcase half-open in one corner. The lights are off, and the room is instead illuminated by the pale orange glow of street lamps filtering through the (truly hideous) cream tulle curtains.

Adore’s head is swimming. She lets herself fall back onto the mattress, laughing breathlessly as she props herself up on her elbows to look at Bianca who pauses a few steps away to kick off her heels.

“Hold on—“ Bianca starts, heading over to the small table in front of the mirror.

“No, no, no,” Adore says quickly. “No time. Come here—“

Bianca laughs as she stretches to pull the zipper of her own dress down.

“Fine. Just this, then,” she negotiates and Adore nods, and falls silent as she watches her strip and unclip her wig to pull it off.

It’s rare for Bianca to stay in drag when they hook up, but de-dragging takes too long, and Adore is too turned on to survive waiting for her any longer than she absolutely has to.

Plus,

“You look so fucking beautiful,” Adore whispers, lowering herself onto her back as Bianca crawls on top of her. She’s completely naked now and it’s purely instinct when Adore reaches for her cock. Bianca catches her wrist and pulls her hand away, her lips curving in an amused smirk.

“You’re so fucking impatient,” she says quietly and Adore responds with a low groan because Yeah, no shit, aren’t you?

“You’re right,” Bianca agrees, still smirking like some wicked demon of temptation from the depths of Hell when she comes down to catch Adore’s lips in a messy kiss. Adore’s all about hyperbole when it comes to Bianca.

And then Bianca’s grinding her hips down as she licks a hot stripe down the side of Adore’s neck, and literally nothing in Adore’s entire life has ever felt nearly as good.

“That’s cute,” Bianca comments, her lips almost brushing the thin strip of leather. Adore’s wearing a simple one-ring choker, and her face turns a deep shade of pink the second Bianca decides to acknowledge it.

“Told you,” she smirks, and manages to school her voice into an almost challenging singsong. “I dress to impress.”

“Stop talking,” Bianca replies lowly, hooking a finger through the ring to tug Adore up as she kisses her again. Adore’s eyes fall shut and she gasps helplessly into the kiss, and then all she can do is part her lips for Bianca’s tongue.

Adore’s tank top and the lacy bandeau are long gone. She’s still wearing the skirt, and tights, and briefs, and that’s three layers too many, and she’s so uncomfortably hard, and Bianca knows and is ignoring her because apparently, Bianca likes to torture people.

(Which is, on occasion, actually true. And welcomed. Just—)

“Bea,” Adore whines, actually whines, because this is unbearable. “Not right now, Jesus, please.”

“No?”

“No. Come on, I’m done waiting, fuck me now, please,” the last word comes out indignant, as if she’s only saying it to be polite but she doesn’t really want to. It works for Bianca, apparently, because she lets go of the choker and refocuses both of her hands’ attention to unzipping Adore’s skirt.

The zipper goes all the way down and the skirt comes undone.

“You thought this through,” Bianca hums, audibly entertained, and Adore drives her hips up in response because Hurry up, yeah I have, I want this, I’m ready, hurry up.

Bianca peels her tights and her underwear down her legs at the same time and brings them all the way down to her ankles but doesn’t take them off.

“I like the boots,” she explains, breath heavy and hot against the inside of Adore’s thigh. “We’re keeping them on.”

Adore feels filthy, like this part of it is somehow taboo, and her dick is already slick with precome against her stomach. She crosses her ankles and lets her knees fall open to the sides, and Bianca responds with an appreciative groan which makes her twitch.

Adore keeps her eyes closed as she listens to the distant sound of a plastic cap popping open, and then two lubed up fingers are pressing against her and she’s gone.

Bianca preps her quickly, efficiently, because any attempt she makes at slowing down is met by Adore with disjointed sounds of protest and helpless jerks of her hips.

“Now,” she moans eventually as she hovers with her hips pushed off the mattress, desperately trying to get more of Bianca. “Now, I’m ready, come on, fuck me now.”

A moment passes in which Bianca considers making her beg, just to get a rise out of her, but Adore is a picture of uncensored want with her messy hair spilling across the pillows, and her flushed dick, and the small crease in her forehead, and frankly, Bianca’s growing too impatient to tease.

Adore cries out loudly when Bianca pushes into her, sending stars flying behind her closed eyelids. Bianca’s propped a pillow under her hips and the angle is torturous and absolutely fucking perfect. Adore’s thighs shake with tension as Bianca thrusts all the way in, almost too slowly, letting Adore adjust to the sensation. It’s already so much, and yet not nearly enough.

Bianca moves experimentally and it draws a soft whimper from Adore. “Yeah— I’m ready, come on.”

And then, Bianca’s off. She grips Adore’s hips to tilt her up and picks up the pace as her nails dig half-moons into Adore’s ass. Adore is incoherent, meeting each thrust with small moans and broken, disconnected swearwords. Her lips are parted and swollen and glossy with spit, and Bianca stares in admiration for a moment before arching down to kiss her.

Bianca kisses like Adore’s darkest secret is hiding at the back of her mouth and there’s never going to be another way to get to it. It’s disorienting, like walking through darkness. Adore’s ears are ringing. Bianca pulls one hand away from her hips and a second later she’s tugging on Adore’s choker again. This time, she hooks her index finger under the strap and pinches it between the knuckle of her middle finger and her thumb. The leather digs into Adore’s throat and she feels it like fireworks at the back of her skull.

Bianca keeps her lips just out of reach as she tightens her grip on the choker, and it drives Adore to crane her neck, desperately chasing after a kiss she can’t quite reach. The leather digs into her neck and she coughs right as Bianca thrusts her cock deeper inside of her, at a slightly different angle which makes Adore want to scream.

The sound that comes out is closer to a strangled whine, and Bianca meets it with a low laugh which makes Adore blush. Her chest is so tight she feels like she’s one second, one stray touch, one jerk of Bianca’s hips away from bursting wide open.

“Bea—“ she starts, and it’s barely sound. She gasps, dragging in more air. Bianca’s grip doesn’t falter. “Bea. I’m—“

Adore’s voice breaks a loud moan as Bianca drops her hand to her cock. Bianca laughs quietly, breathlessly, as she tightens her grip and gives her a few experimental strokes. Adore accompanies each stroke with a whimper as Bianca picks up her pace so her hand can match the rhythm of her hips. Adore’s brow is beaded with sweat and her hair is sticking to her face and she looks absolutely gone as she drives her hips up, over and over, in an endless race to meet Bianca halfway.

She comes first, with Bianca’s name in a sharp moan on her lips, cum streaking through Bianca’s fingers and onto her stomach.

“God, you’re gorgeous,” Bianca groans quietly, arching down to trace kisses along the red mark lining Adore’s neck as she keeps fucking into her in deep, quick thrusts, chasing her own release.

Adore is shaking, spent and oversensitive and unabashedly loud as each move sends a new wave of aftershocks through her body.

When Bianca comes, she goes perfectly still, perfectly silent, her eyes pressed tightly shut and her lips parted in a soundless scream. Adore, who’s watching her through heavy, hooded eyelids, chokes out a moan instead of her.

Then, the only sound Adore can focus on is her own heartbeat pounding in her ears as Bianca lowers herself down, burrowing her face against Adore’s neck. She doesn’t quite kiss this time, just rests there, her breath warm against the cooling sweat on Adore’s skin.

Adore drifts. It takes a minute, or maybe an hour, she’d never know for sure, and Bianca’s growing soft inside of her but neither of them moves. Adore’s limbs feel heavy, inoperable, and she thinks distractedly that maybe that’s not too big of a deal, maybe she can just be there for the rest of her natural existence and she would be okay with that.

Then Bianca moves. She pulls herself away slowly, carefully, like she doesn’t mean to disturb, and Adore still winces at the loss.

“Gotta get you cleaned up,” Bianca says softly. Her voice sounds raw, spent, and Adore finds herself hoping it’s still like that tomorrow. She wants people to talk to Bianca and know.

The sound of the bathroom sink running and Bianca’s footsteps sound so far away and Adore closes her eyes, lets them lull her into a half-sleep as her body cools down and stops shaking.

Minutes later, perhaps, Bianca returns with a warm, damp towel, and Adore breathes steadily as she cleans her up, too tired and too gone to do much but accept it. Then it’s more footsteps, to the bathroom and back.

Then, Bianca’s hands are working her boots open and pulling them off, along with the mess of fabric tangled around her ankles. It feels private in a new sort of way, as if this is where the moment would usually have to break but Bianca’s not letting that happen. Adore’s chest tightens and she lets out the smallest noise as she swallows dryly.

“You okay?” Bianca asks, all gentle attentiveness, as she climbs up and rests behind her, one arm coming to drape over Adore’s hips, her hand angled up to rest at her sternum.

“Yeah.” Adore’s throat scratches, and she knows she’ll wake up needing water. Bianca makes a sound like she doesn’t quite believe her, so Adore amends, “I’m here.”

Bianca laughs. It’s almost inaudible but Adore feels it against her back.

“Yeah,” Bianca whispers. She presses her lips against Adore’s shoulder and holds them there for a long time. “You are.”

***

A/N: the title is from this poem which you should definitely read, it’s beautiful.

#dylann #biadore #adore delano #bianca del rio #angst #hurt/comfort #weed cw #alcohol cw #breathily cw #rpdr fanfiction #submission #canon compliant

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