Producer Jeff Bhasker faced a daunting task several months ago. After having worked with Kanye West and winning Grammy Awards for producing Mark Ronson’s “Uptown Funk,” and Fun.’s 2012 album “Some Nights,” he had to decide whether to take on a new project: the debut solo album of One Direction member Harry Styles.
“I’d just had a baby, and I was kind of like, ‘Eh, I don’t know if I’ll jump into this,‘” Bhasker tells Variety. He agreed to have Styles come over to “just talk,” and proceeded to put him through the Bhasker home sniff test. “My dog tends to bite people, and he was kind of scoping Harry out,” Bhasker explains. Styles “did this move — like a little shoot the gun with his finger, and my dog walked over and started licking his finger. That’s when I was, like, ‘This guy has something special.'”
Once music came into the mix, Bhasker was sold. “He started playing references of what he wanted to do, which sounded like a cool rock band. I got it, and could see where if we pulled this off, it would be one of the coolest things ever. But he needed a buddy who plays guitar like he’s Keith Richards.” The insinuation being: Styles is the Mick Jagger in this scenario.
Adds Bhasker: “I’m so proud of the album itself, and also of Harry for being so brave, and committing 100%, and writing the kind of vulnerable lyrics that he wrote, and not pandering to what people thought he would do. People have no idea that this is what Harry Styles is like. Just like I didn’t know. He’s obviously very famous and beloved, but people don’t know the depths of what an amazing personality and artist he is.”
Variety spoke with Bhasker about the recording of “Harry Styles” ahead of the album’s May 12 release:
The night starts with a big, spicy Philly cheese steak. It’s about 6pm. I’ve been wanting to try the cheese steak from this corny, 50’s retro place for a long time. I gobble down the big greasy bowl of meat, hot sauce, and cheese, then head to the coffee shop for my weekly draw group. A little after I get home, about 10pm, a stomach ache comes on. “Damn, guess spicy foods are out.” I’ve been getting stomach aches every time I have spicy Thai or hot wings. I google search about spice pain- possible stomach ulcer? “I guess I have been stressed lately, but no more than usual I don’t think…” File under “Will investigate further later.“ According to the comments on this health website, a glass of milk will help. Gulp one down, go to bed.
Wrestle to sleep for about an hour. Realize the ache is just over the required pain threshold to keep you from sleeping. Do some work on my comic, more tired, but stomach worse. Will play batman until I fall asleep. I feel like I’m just running in circles… How many times have I failed this mission? Batman, batman, stomach now hurts too bad to enjoy an active task like video games. Deliriously tired. Would be great to sleep through the rest of this abdominal temper tantrum. Try the old “hot shower will make you sleep” trick. Take some Pepto-Bismol, and some generic acetaminophen. Out of the shower, hurts to walk around now, and to lie down. Guess I’ll have to wait it out with my eyes open. Call and leave my Doc a message, maybe will get a spot in there tomorrow. Need to get that ulcer discovered… Time to enjoy a passive task like watching TV. Breaking Bad feels like the right mixture of funny and painful, just like me and my burning spice belly. Damn, I can’t even enjoy that part where during Hank’s interrogation of that meth head, Wendy, she accuses Hank of trying to buy sexual services from her on behalf of an underage “football player” (a misunderstanding involving Walter Jr. from a few episodes before). Oh hell. Time to look up what time emergency medical clinics open. Guess I’ll have to pay out of pocket since I can’t wait for my Doc tomorrow. It’s about 4am now. Earliest clinic opens at 8. Now hungry again, but can’t eat what with all the pain. One hour down. Man, this is really starting to hurt. Can I really wait 3 more hours? Sitting is starting to hurt as much as lying and standing. And I’m still not enjoying TV. Okay, I’ve come to a decision….
“Hey, Kayla, my stomach still hurts, I’m thinking about driving to the ER, do you wanna come?” “Oh! Ya, sure. What time is it?” “It’s 5:30”. I call the hospital “Hey, I’ve had a pretty bad stomach ache all night, I’m thinking of coming by.” Operator: *long pause* “Haha, well, okay! We’re open all night, so just come on in.”
Driving with a stomach ache is not so bad, because you’re already hunched over. Wish Kayla could drive, but she doesn’t really know how, probably would have a panic attack and would definitely crash. Interesting that they have ER parking, I wonder how many ER patients drive themselves here… All bodily positions hurt my insides now, signing in to this place sucks. Give Kayla half the paperwork to fill out, glad she’s here, or this would be really boring. Man, they sure take a long time for someone trying to get into an empty emergency room… Signing in with a nurse, she ask me my height and I say “ ‘5’’8”, but I notice she puts down “ ‘5’’7”… They want to look at my pee, they always want to see my pee. I pee, no blood, so whatever that tells them means I’m getting an ultrasound first. Then a young nurse named Ken, a cool Asian dude with screws through both ears, squirts so much morphine into my IV that I lean back and audibly say “oh my god.” I feel it ripple like a shock wave from my arm down to the ends of my body. My belly is feeling alright now.
The ultrasound technician tells me that babies are the least common thing she uses ultrasounds for. My joke has fallen flat. Back in the room, the doctor and his manila folder tell me “Good news! No gallstones, there are kidney stones inside your kidneys, but since they are inside, you shouldn’t be feeling the pain from those.” “Wait, does that mean I have to pee those stones out at some poin–” It is not discussed again. Seeing that neither organ has the appropriate stones, Doc would “rather not expose me to more radiation than necessary” and is working on discharging me. But, “I won’t leave here without a diagnosis.”
In I go to the CT scan tube. That hot squish of contrast dye spreading through my veins. “Okay, we’re moving you into a room upstairs.” Says a hippy technician. Upstairs in my sweet and swanky single with couch, a person I’m pretty sure is just a businessman disguised in medical scrubs types on a computer. He takes down my answers to what seem like pre-surgery questions. “Do you have anybody specific on file in the event you are medically unable to yield consent for yourself?” This, combined fact that they won’t feed me, makes me wonder what it is I’m going into surgery for. I saw this same thing about a year and a half ago with the whole brain debacle, but that’s a story for another time. Several medical people dip in, sprinkle breadcrumbs of information; it’s like a game show challenge that combines a scavenger hunt with a jigsaw puzzle. You have to gather the pieces of information from their hiding places, then assemble them in the correct order to reveal an answer. A tech comes in and spoils the game, “You seem to have a lot of questions, so I just want to make sure, you know you have appendicitis right? We’re about to take it out.” “Thank god,” I think. “It’s not the spicy foods. Spicy foods are still in.” Downstairs, in pre-op, I complain to my plain-clothes surgeon about how analog tests like pressing on my stomach are remarkably inaccurate, since a doctor’s subjective interpretation of my poor description of say, “the pain is slightly higher” can rule out appendicitis, the same appendicitis that a machine might spot an hour later. I tell him that I almost got sent home. My surgeon tells me he’s been doing analogue tests for 30 years, and not to worry about it. I start to tell him how “my deadpan reaction to pain also causes a lot of people to misdiagnose me, that a lot of people laugh when I describe how I’m in pai–”, but he walks away in the middle to get dressed for surgery. The operating room has big TVs and lights, it looks like a set, and I consider the possibility of fake hospitals as the anesthesia takes the wheel.
In the recovery area, the nurse tells me how big, inflamed appendixes can be agitated by spicy foods, foods high in fat, and dense foods like heavy cheese. I see an image of a spotlit cheese steak appear in a black void. Nurse feeds me ice chips and tells me she craves ice chips when she’s dehydrated. I suggest that she only craves ice chips because she works in a hospital, that ice chips are too unsatisfying a thing to crave at random, and that most people would just crave water. She agrees. Back upstairs in my room, it is now 8pm, and it has been 26 hours since I’ve eaten. I’ve been hydrated only through IV’s. The driest mouth and the clearest pee. Because the lingering anesthetic can cause nausea and vomiting, they will only give me jello. I go nuts on the jello. They continue to give me every jello I ask for, one at a time, like a test. Way past where I though the cutoff point would be, the nurse tells me “That’s it! There’s no more jello! You ate all the jello on this floor.” You’re damn right I did, you’re damn right….
8. You ask your best friend to pretend to be your boyfriend for your sisters couples dinner party. Requested by anon.
Warning : Language
Word Count : 2,434
Three knocks, that’s all it took before Steve opened the door. He stood there, wearing a tank top and sweats, and his hair damped from sweat, which only meant he just came back from the gym.
“Hey, didn’t expect you here today.” He smiled, waving you in.
“I know, but I needed to talk to you.”
You walked in to his apartment, and plopped down onto his couch. His place was like your second home. You were always there, and if you weren’t, then you two were at your place.
“Beer?” He asked, walking to the kitchen.
“Nah, just water.”
Steve tossed you a water bottle, as he started back toward the living room where you waited.
You took a big swig of the water and felt the cold liquid trickle down your throat. Making you feel somewhat at ease.
“So what did you need to talk to me about?” Steve asked, leaning against the wall across from you.
For some reason you were feeling nervous. Which was strange. Steve was your best friend. You two were so close, you were able to talk to him about anything. He’s seen you in sweats with no makeup on. He’s helped you when you were a drunken mess. And yet, you were somehow nervous about this topic.
“Y/N.” he snapped his fingers, catching your attention. “You okay?”
You slowly nodded, running your hand through your hair. Something you did when you were nervous.
“So my sister is throwing a couples party tomorrow night, and when I RSVP’d a month ago, I was dating Jared-”
“The asshole.” He cut you off.
“Woah, language.” You teased.
He dramatically rolled his eyes and huffed. “Anyways, go on.”
“As I was saying, I told her I’d go and now she’s expecting me to be there.”
“So?” He drawled out.
You swallowed hard, meeting your best friends gaze.
“I was wondering if you can go as my fake boyfriend.” You slightly winced as the words finally fell from your lips.
AU where instead of going to Samwell, Jack starts a widely successful Publicly Broadcast show for children.
Jack learns that he is great with kids after coaching them for a little over two years. Moreover, kids are good with Jack. There is no pressure to be anything other than who he is.
It all starts with a local news program doing a fluff piece on Jack Zimmermann’s coaching ability. But then it turned into something completely different when Jack skated onto camera and started to introduce every single one of his kids and what was special about them. He was…really enchanting actually. He didn’t ever really talk down to them. Jack just treated them as a tiny friend.
They ARE his tiny friends, but that’s not the point.
The footage they got of “snack time” was really the best. Imagine a good 16 kids piled around this massive man teaching them the best way to make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.
It should have been obvious that a local channel would contact him. It still surprises Jack. They want him to host a show? Why? Everyone always teased him about how impersonable he was during interviews. Is it because he’s Jack Zimmermann’s son? Or Alicia’s?
Jack asks all of these questions to his mother and she just laughs. “You made a PB&J interesting to 16 kids just by being you”
“…I’m gonna show you tonight! I’m alright! I’m just fine! And you’re a tool so, so what?”
You belted your heart out up on stage, pumping your fist in the air to empower your words even further. It was a good thing you knew all the words, too, because your mates had bought you so many drinks your vision was crossed and blurred you couldn’t have read the lyrics to an unfamiliar song. Then you would have just been a blubbering fool butchering a karaoke performance. And that would have been embarrassing.
Singing yourself blue in the face—and drinking yourself into oblivion—served as the perfect outlet for your aching heart. Hours earlier, you’d been dumped. Or more accurately, replaced.
It’d been a week since you’d heard from your long-term boyfriend, and while you knew he was on holiday with his mates—a holiday you hadn’t been invited on—it was still odd that you hadn’t heard from him at all. Not even a text to let you know that he’d made it to Amsterdam. You didn’t expect too much communication; you trusted him to treat you right, but, silly you, you thought your boyfriend might actually miss you and want to say hi.
Last night after seven and a half days of nothing, you completely lost it and called him forty-seven times in a row. And not a single one was answered. So you rang your closest friends and they came over, laptops and tablets in hand, and intense cyber-stalking commenced.
It only took thirty-four minutes for your good mate Lindsey to unearth a damning post on Insta that your boyfriend was tagged in by a girl you kind of knew. The picture itself wasn’t awful; honestly you couldn’t make out much besides silhouettes and drinks. Even the caption wasn’t much; all it said was, “this guy” with a random slew of emojis. But the funny thing was, when you tried to search for it yourself, nothing came up. Meaning you were blocked. You weren’t meant to see this picture.
Twenty-two minutes of super-sleuthing was enough time for your oldest friend Ashley to find every social media account the girl had, and then eventually uncover her phone number.
In thirteen minutes you had a text drafted to her that was so long it was broken into five different parts when you hit send.
And one minute and fifty-four seconds is all the time your boyfriend—well ex-boyfriend—allowed you to speak to him today before he told you he was coming back tomorrow and there’d be no need for you to come see him. Tomorrow or ever again.
So your mates did what they knew best. They took you out, got you absolutely smashed, and then got you up on stage to pour your heart out. Somewhere in between I Will Survive and Total Eclipse of the Heart, you got a bit weepy and ended up calling your brother from the toilet. It took you awhile to realize you weren’t actually sobbing to him but his voicemail, and as soon as you did you pulled yourself back together and headed out for another drink and a rousing rendition of Since U Been Gone.
The few other patrons in the pub were hardly paying attention to your drunken warbling on stage, only breaking from their conversations when your mates would cheer at the end of each song, some of them even offering half-hearted claps. If they were annoyed, they certainly didn’t let on. Most likely, they pitied you; for Christ sake, you pitied you.
When your song ended, you finished the rest of your drink and began flipping through the songbook. Liberation was surging through you and you wanted a song to match your mood; something to serve as a proper fuck you to the twat you’d wasted the last few years of your young life on.
The book closed on your fingers, and you stumbled back in surprise. Were books automated now too?! You still weren’t over the automated tills at Tesco, would you now have to get used to robotic books closing on you when they’d had enough?!
You looked up, your blurred vision slowly coming into focus as you swayed on the spot. A robotic book didn’t close itself on you, a person had closed it. Which was rather rude of them.
“[Y/N],” he repeated. Finally he came into view and you cocked your head in confusion.
“Hazza?” you slurred, taking a step closer to get a better look. You nearly toppled off the stage, but Harry was quick to grab you by the waist and steady you before easing you down.
Summary: In a world where soulmates can share thoughts, you never imagined that the sweet voice in your head would belong to a guy like Jungkook.
Word count: 1.5k words
You dropped your backpack beside you, and it landed on the ground with a loud thunk. Sighing quietly, you collapsed onto a beanbag (because your university was trendy enough to have them in the library) and tried not to cry. Your body sank into the soft material of the beanbag, and you wished you could just disappear.
The sunlight streaming in from the window beside you doused you in warmth, and soon you felt yourself slipping into sleep.
“Rough day?” a voice rang through your head. Your lips quirked into a smile, your earlier hardships completely forgotten.
It was a rare moment when soulmates shared thoughts. No one really understood the science of soulmates–the mechanics of thought-sharing, in particular. It was just a universally accepted phenomenon, and you thought it was beautiful.
Yeah, you could say that, you thought, hoping your soulmate would be able to hear you. Sometimes, all you got was a passing thought, and sometimes you were able to have conversations. There was only one limitation–you could never share your identity.
Still, you tried and tried and tried. You couldn’t wait to meet your soulmate.
“What happened?” your soulmate asked, his sweet voice making you blush. You thought his voice was the most beautiful thing you had ever heard, and you wondered if the boy was just as beautiful.
Just…life. University’s hard, you know? you replied. The little information you knew about your soulmate was this: he was around your age, also in university, studying music and dance, liked anime, exercised a lot.
“Trust me, I feel that,” came his response, and it sounded almost amused. “But you’ll be okay.”
For the next few minutes, you tried to think of something to ask him. You hoped he couldn’t hear your embarrassing thoughts. His thoughts were silent too, and you knew the connection had been lost.
Smiling sadly, you stood up and grabbed your bag. Your encounter with your soulmate, however brief, was enough to energize you. Ready to face the rest of the day, you walked out of the library. Your thoughts lingered back to your soulmate, and you wondered if he was thinking about you, too.
Your phone blared loudly, and you startled awake. Still disoriented, your heart thumped wildly as you searched blindly for your phone. Finally, you located it on your nightstand. Squinting at the bright screen, you saw that you had an incoming call from your roommate.
“Hello?” you mumbled, pressing your phone to the side of your face.
“Oh, shit, did I wake you up?” Jieun exclaimed, her excited voice too loud so early in the morning. “Well, since you’re up, we can talk! Y/N, you’ll never guess what just happened.”
You sighed, flopping back onto your bed. “So tell me,” you said blandly.
“You’re no fun,” Jieun pouted. “Okay! So. I just slept with Jungkook! Let me tell you, the rumours are true. He’s great in bed and he does this thing–”
“Wow! Cool!” you squeaked, quickly cutting her off. You did not need to know about Jieun–or Jungkook’s–sex life. “Is that a good idea, though? I know you’re low-key crushing on him, but Jungkook doesn’t do relationships, right?”
“I don’t know, Jieun,” you replied slowly. “Be careful, because with a guy like Jungkook, you’re only gonna get hurt.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know,” she snorted. You could hear rustling in the background as Jieun moved. “He’s a major fuckboy. I’m trying not to catch feelings, but he’s so damn hot.”
You grunted in agreement.
“Oh, Y/N, can you do me a favour?” Jieun asked suddenly. “I’m going straight to school from Jungkook’s flat. Could you bring me a change of clothes and, like, mouthwash or something?”
“Yeah, sure,” you yawned, getting up to go to Jieun’s room. “I’ll be at school in like an hour. Should I just meet you in the music building?”
Jieun was majoring in music, since she was such a great singer.
“Yep!” she chirped. “Thank you so much, Y/N. You’re the bestest friend ever!”
You walked aimlessly through the music building, a bag full of clothes and toiletries on your back, as you searched for the room number Jieun had sent you earlier. It was a practice room, and the hall you were moving through seemed endless.
In the distance, you could hear the sound of someone singing. As you continued forwards, the voice became clearer and clearer. The person had a beautiful voice. It was clear and melodious, floating softly through the air.
It tugged at the back of your mind, like a faint memory. It was almost like a weird sense of deja vu, and you struggled to recall why.
Then–it hit you.
This was the voice you had been hearing in your head your entire life–the one you had listen to transform over the years. Your soulmate was here.
Your heart thundered in your chest as you practically ran, following the sound of your soulmate’s beautiful voice. It led you to a door that was slightly ajar. Your soulmate was still singing, completely unaware that you were just outside the room, listening.
For a moment, you stopped, not entirely sure if you were ready to meet your soulmate. It was supposed to be the most beautiful moment in life, and it felt strange that your meeting wasn’t going to be spontaneous.
Still, your curiosity got the better of you. You peered through the crack in the doorway, searching for the owner of the voice.
Before you, Jungkook stood. His profile was facing you, the light from the window behind him highlighting his features. Jungkook was beautiful.
Then, you turned away. You could feel your heart breaking already. A guy like Jungkook didn’t believe in soulmates, if his sexual escapades were any indication.
So you left, locating Jieun’s practice room and placing the bag in front of it. As quickly as you had come, you exited the building, headed towards the library to drown yourself in work. You wanted to forget–forget who he was, forget about soulmates, forget about the future you had hoped for.
“Are you okay?” Jungkook’s voice suddenly spoke, clear in your mind.
You pushed his thoughts away, keeping your mind blank as possible as you hurried through the quad with your head cast down. You didn’t want to indulge in something you could never truly have.
You spent the entire day in the library, alternating between working and staring blankly at the textbooks in front of you. You had forgotten to eat that day, so when you finally staggered out of the library, you were exhausted and hungry. The walk home was quiet. The sun had set a long time ago, although you weren’t entirely sure what time it was.
Once you reached your apartment, you were surprised to find the front door unlocked. You and Jieun didn’t live in the best part of town, so you were always sure to lock the door whenever you came and went.
You turned the knob, and the door creaked as it opened. As you stepped through the threshold, you stumbled over a pair of shoes that were haphazardly strewn on the ground.
“Y/N!” Jieun exclaimed in surprise, sounding breathless.
At that, you looked up.
In front of you, Jieun was pressed against the wall, shirtless, as some guy was leaning over her, his lips attached to her neck. The guy turned towards you once he noticed Jieun’s stillness.
It was Jungkook.
“Oh my god, Y/N! I’m so sorry,” Jieun rambled, pushing Jungkook off her as she reached down to grab her shirt that had been discarded. “I thought you weren’t coming home tonight, since you were so late!”
“D-don’t worry,” you stammered, your voice wavering. You kept your eyes on Jieun, trying not to look at Jungkook. You could feel his heavy gaze on you. “I can stay with Rose or something, it’s not a problem. I’ll j-just leave–”
Suddenly, Jungkook was in front of you, pushing you backwards until your back hit the wall. His face was morphed into shock, even awe, before he schooled his features back into indifference. Jungkook peered over you, his large frame blocking your line of vision. You were forced to look at him, and his eyes were burning into you yours.
“You’re my soulmate!?” he demanded, his normally sweet voice rumbling. The person he was in your mind was completely different than the boy who stood in front of you. “Answer me!”
“Yes,” you whispered, your voice faltering. You continued, your voice stronger, “I am.”
“Fuck,” Jungkook spat, leaning back. He stepped away from you, returning to the front door where he slipped into his shoes. Jungkook turned back to you, and when he spoke, his voice was cold. “I’m not the guy I pretend to be. So do us both a favour and stay the fuck away. Forget this every happened.”
With that, Jungkook exited the apartment, slamming the door behind him. You stood, back still against the wall. You could hear Jieun talking to you, but she sounded far away. But for the first time, your mind was completely blank.
You decided you hated the silence.
- Girl in Luv
Thanks for reading! I think I’ll continue this story…I hate sad endings. When I first imagined this story, it seemed like it could be a longer piece? Maybe I’ll rewrite it or make it a chaptered thing…what do you guys think?
THIS WAS A PROMPT BUT I FUCKED UP AND ACCIDENTALLY POSTED IT EARLY SO NOW ITS GONE FOREVER IM SORRY ANON BUT I STILL WANTED TO FINISH IT SO YE the prompt was basically innocent religious dan and phil like pines after him ; ending in sex in church bathroom and yes, you are going to hell
it’s also really long oops
Phil was fucking screwed. Never had he wanted someone so bad as he wanted Dan Howell. That boy fucked with his head and his body and his life. And he wasn’t even TRYING.
If he was trying, he was doing a damn good job at hiding it. Dan seemed completely oblivious to Phil’s attempts to win him over. The light blush on his cheeks said otherwise, but Dan ignored it completely. Dan was the goddamn priests son, but Phil liked a challenge. And this definitely was one.
Phil took another sip of the dumb nonalcoholic punch they were serving, scowling at the plastic cup. He shouldn’t be here, at this dumb church party, he didn’t have to be. It was optional, unlike the weekly services he was required to attend due to his parents getting pissed that he had defiled the school with graffiti yet again. It wasn’t that bad, he got to see Dan at least. But the only reason he was here was for him.
“Hey,” a girl spoke, interrupting Phil’s thoughts. He turned to look at her, scanning her blonde hair and plaid school uniform. Who wears a uniform to a party? Church kids, Phil figured.
“Uh, hey,” Phil responded, sounding completely uninterested, but she didn’t take a hint.
“Fun party, huh?”
Phil raised his eyebrows at her, chuckling, pulling a flask out of his leather jacket pocket and tipping the clear liquid into the cup.
“No, not particularly.”
She seemed a bit put off by that, but bounced back quickly.
“So, do you know anyone here?” She asked, her voice light and Phil swore he heard a hint of flirtiness in her tone
Phil chuckled, his eyes glinting.
“Look, sorry honey, but if you’re trying to get in my pants you might as well give up now. I like cock, dunno if your tiny brain can wrap itself around that, but the only reason I’m here is that I want to fuck Dan Howell.” He casually picked at a black nail, flashing her a tight lipped smile. “So, if you still want to bother me after that, feel free. But I’m gay as hell. Just saying.”
The girl stared at him, her eyes wide and her jaw practically hitting the ground. Phil chuckled. He loved doing that.
She let out a small squeak, whirling on her heel and rushing off. Phil shook his head.
Phil cursed under his breath as he watched her beeline straight to Dan and his group of friends at the other side of the room. Phil couldn’t hear what she was saying, but she pointed at him less than subtly. A blush appeared immediately on Dan’s face, a hand going to cover his mouth automatically. He said something, and glanced over at Phil. Phil winked, waving. Might as well commit.
Dan blushed harder, looking away immediately and pressing his hands to his clearly heated cheeks. Phil smirked. He loved how much of an affect this had on him. He was so responsive.
Phil would just have to wait until he was alone.
It was about half an hour of boredom and wanting to leave later when Dan’s friends started to leave one by one, and Phil watched them almost hungrily until the only one left was the girl who had talked to him.
Phil moved along the wall a little closer, straining to hear their conversation. He couldn’t hear her but he heard Dan say “Silvia, I’m fine, I’m just gonna help clean up. I can take care of myself.”
“Are you sure you’re okay with walking home alone?”
“Of course. It’s just a few blocks over.” He offered her a soft smile, touching her shoulder, and Phil’s heart swelled. Damn it. “It’ll be fine. I’ll see you at school, alright?”
“Alright…” she agreed hesitantly, going on her toes to give him a kiss on the cheek, rushing out of the room.
And then it was only them.
Dan cleared his throat, his cheeks beginning to redden again. “So, um, do you want to help clean up, or…”
Phil recognized the opportunity he was offering, and took it. “Yeah, sure. I’d say you’ll probably need a hand.”
Phil helped Dan fold chairs, watching him the whole time while Dan avoided his eyes.
“You look nice,” Dan commented, just being polite, but Phil snorted.
“Are you kidding? I’m wearing rags compared to you. Seriously, who wears a tie to a party in a church basement?”
Dan blushed even harder, glancing down at the black tie fastened neatly around his neck.
“Me, I guess,” he muttered, laughing awkwardly.
“Was that your girlfriend?” Phil blurted.
Dan looked at him then, eyes wide. “Who, Silvia?”
Phil nodded, and Dan laughed. Like, really laughed.
“No!” He exclaimed, shaking his head. “She’s my cousin!”
Now Phil laughed too, pushing his hair back until it sat in a quiff above his forehead.
“Oh Jesus,” he muttered. “Well, thank god.”
He expected Dan to just brush off his comment like he always did, change the subject, look away, something. He didn’t.
“Why’s that?” He asked softly, pressing his lips together and searching Phil’s face. “Why are you relieved?”
Phil shrugged, tossing a plastic cup at the trash and making it. “Because if you were with anyone else, I’d be upset.”
He glanced at Dan, smirking at the way his eyes had widened and his mouth had fallen open just slightly.
“W-Why?” Dan asked again, biting his lip and turning back to the plates he was stacking.
“Because I like you.” He shrugged, casual. “I wanna make you mine, and if people are interfering, that’s a problem, isn’t it baby boy?”
A small gasp escaped Dan’s mouth at the nickname, and Phil smirked.
“Silvia… Silvia said you…” he trailed off, chewing on his lip, his eyebrows furrowed. Phil took this opportunity to step closer.
“That I want to fuck you?” Phil asked, finishing the sentence, and Dan tensed up.
“Yeah…” he muttered, practically a whisper.
“Well, it’s not a lie.” Phil glanced at him, searching his face before turning back to the chair he was folding up. “I’ve been hitting on you for the last month, you didn’t notice?”
Dan shook his head, avoiding his gaze, and they were quiet for a moment.
“You ever kissed a boy?”
“What?!” Dan spluttered, his cheeks redder than Phil had thought possible. “N-No, of course not, I… I couldn’t.”
Phil turned to look at him, frowning, turning his whole body this time so he was facing him.
Dan faced him too, at a loss for words, his mouth opening and closing.
“I mean, I s-suppose I could but… I CAN’T. That… that’s…” he trailed off, and Phil stepped forward so he was only inches away. Dan froze, but didn’t move away.
He trailed a finger up Dan’s jaw slowly and Dan swallowed, shivering, watching its progress. “You never know if you like something until you try it, right?”
“Well I suppose, but…” Dan gasped as Phil grabbed his tie, wrapping it around his hand and pulling Dan closer.
“But…” Dan looked like his mind was going fuzzy, glancing down at the tie that Phil was holding him by and back up at Phil’s eyes, and then his lips. “I’m not gay,” he practically squeaked, his voice small.
“You never know if you like something unless you try it,” Phil repeated, slowly touching Dan’s waist with the hand that wasn’t gripping his tie. Dan didn’t move an inch as Phil leaned over, pressing his lips against Dan’s.
Phil waited a second to make sure Dan wasn’t going to pull away before reaching up to touch Dan’s chin, really kissing him. He dragged his tongue along Dan’s bottom lip, asking for entrance, rather surprised when he actually opened his mouth.
He could feel Dan’s hands shaking as they moved up Phil’s chest, sliding over his shoulders and wrapping around his neck. Phil gripped his waist, pulling him as close as possible. With one hand he tangled his fingers in Dan’s hair, kissing him deeper. He tasted like awful punch and fruit gum, and Phil was sure he tasted like cigarettes, but Dan didn’t seem to mind.
Phil backed him against the wall, kissing him hotly and letting his hands roam Dan’s body. He moved his mouth to Dan’s jaw, kissing down to his neck and nipping at the pale skin. Dan whimpered, moaning softly and tangling his fingers in Phil’s hair.
“Ah-” Dan gasped, letting his head fall back against the wall. “Phil…”
Phil pulled back, pressing his forehead against Dan’s and breathing heavily.
“Is there somewhere we could go?” Phil breathed, and he promised himself if Dan said no, or didn’t get the hint, he would give up. Dan’s brown eyes blinked at him.
They ended up in the boy’s bathroom, Phil roughly shoving him against the wall and kissing him possessively. Dan whined into the kiss, wrapping his arms around Phil’s neck and clinging to him desperately.
Phil grabbed Dan’s thigh, hooking his leg around his waist and Dan took the hint, hopping up and wrapping his legs around Phil’s waist. Phil went back to his neck, trailing sloppy kisses down to his collarbone.
He unbuttoned Dan’s shirt, loosening and removing his tie before kissing him again. He let Dan push off his leather jacket and tug his shirt over his head, tossing it aside.
Phil’s hands explored Dan’s chest, pinching one of his nipples, and Dan gasped.
“Phil…” he moaned, an indirect beg for more. Phil palmed at his bulge, feeling Dan grind against his hand desperately.
Phil picked him up, spinning them around and setting him down on the counter, tugging at the button of Dan’s black jeans. Once he got them off he flipped Dan over after pressing a kiss to his jaw, bending him over the counter.
“I’m guessing you’ve never done this with a guy before,” Phil muttered, smoothing his hand over the curve of Dan’s ass and squeezing roughly. Dan jumped.
Phil kissed the nape of his neck, pressing himself against Dan’s body. “Are you sure you want to?”
Dan let out an almost desperate gasp, his voice breaking. “Yes, yesyesyes, god just please… p-please fuck me, Phil, want you.”
Phil grunted, slapping Dan’s thigh sharply. “Jesus, you have no idea how long I’ve waited to hear you say that.”
Phil took no time removing his jeans, tugging down Dan’s boxers as well, grinding his still clothed bulge against Dan’s ass. Dan moaned, reaching back and grabbing Phil’s hips, pulling him closer.
Phil’s boxers were off in a second as well, skin rubbing against skin. Dan pushed his ass back; he was a needy bottom and Phil fucking loved it.
Phil held two fingers to Dan’s mouth, motioning for him to open. Dan sucked on the fingers obediently, slicking them up with spit.
“This might hurt a little,” Phil muttered, rubbing Dan’s entrance with one finger. “Tell me to stop if you need to, alright?”
“Mhm,” Dan agreed, pushing his ass back again. Phil slapped it and Dan yelped, pulling forward again.
“Don’t be a needy bitch, Dan,” Phil growled, pushing the first finger into Dan slowly. Dan moaned.
“S-Sorry, sir-” he gasped.
Phil took his time stretching him; considering it was his first time he didn’t want it to hurt too bad. Dan flinched away at first but soon he was whining and grinding back on Phil’s digits. Phil moaned just at the sight, he never thought he’d have him like this.
Finally he pulled out, holding his hand up to Dan’s face again and instructing him to spit. Dan did as he said, and Phil slicked himself up with that as well as precum that was already forming on the head of his swollen cock.
“Ready?” He breathed, pressing his whole body against Dan’s and leaning over him to kiss his neck. Dan whined.
“Yes, yes sir, please, I’m ready, I need you.”
Phil hummed in approval; he loved how quickly Dan had changed from a good little church boy to a desperate slut with just a little kissing.
Phil pushed in slowly, taking his time in edging into Dan, which took an incredible amount of self control on his part. Finally he bottomed out, kneading Dan’s ass in his hands. Dan was a mess beneath him, whining and whimpering at every movement, conflicted between pushing back and pulling away.
Phil reached up, tangling his fingers in Dan’s hair, giving it a soft tug and driving a whimper out of Dan’s pretty mouth.
He began to thrust, pulling almost all the way out and pushing back in slowly, Dan gasping every time he did so. Phil snapped his hips roughly without warning, thrusting hard, and Dan cried out.
“Fuck!” He practically shrieked, a loud feminine moan falling from his mouth.
“You’re a loud little slut, aren’t you?” Phil panted, groaning as he thrust roughly again. Dan let out a high pitched whine.
“Fuckfuckfuck p-please, fuck, harder…”
Phil obliged, driving his cock deeper into the whimpering boy, skin slapping on skin echoing through the room. Phil tugged on Dan’s hair again, watching his face through the mirror, and fuck he could cum just from that.
Dan’s lips were swollen, his cheeks red and flushed, his hair messy and his eyes glazed over with need. Phil groaned, snapping his hips.
Phil knew he had hit Dan’s prostate when he screamed, a loud “FUCK, PHIL” bouncing off the walls. Phil smirked, angling his thrusts to hit that spot.
“This is a sin, you know,” Phil growled, reaching up to cover Dan’s mouth with his hand as he fucked into him harder. “Such a filthy fucking sinner for me, princess, ruined on my cock.”
Dan’s desperate muffled moans against his hand were pushing him to the edge, that and his tight heat encasing Phil’s cock. Phil smirked.
“Such a pretty fucking sinner too, isn’t that right? All for me. Your tight ass is all mine, yeah?”
Dan didn’t answer, continuous moaning falling from his mouth, muffled by Phil’s hand. He just nodded frantically, his moans sounding close to sobs.
Dan came after a few more thrusts all over his stomach, white streaking the counter under him and he whimpered, now sensitive to Phil’s cock pounding into his prostate every thrust.
Phil pulled out, quickly tugging Dan to his knees in front of him, guiding his cock to his lips. Dan took it obediently, lowering himself on Phil’s length. Phil groaned, tangling his fingers in Dan’s hair and fucking his throat as gently as he could. Dan gagged, digging his fingernails into Phil’s hips, and that was all it took. Phil came down his throat, keeping his cock still until he was sure Dan had swallowed all of it.
He helped Dan to his feet, holding him steady because it was clear he was close to falling over.
Dan just stared at him, stunned, watching as Phil casually got dressed. After he was clothed he cleaned Dan’s stomach and the counter with a paper towel, tossing it in the trash.
He grinned, kissing Dan’s cheek and backing towards the door, winking.
yoongi x reader •
smut, 69 (lord have mercy on my soul, I have never written this and it’s been
years since I did it irl, so, yolo), face riding, girl on top, dirty talk,
sex toy (the vibrator’s back, bitches), and some fluff chucked in for good
words: 6,529 →
been dating your best friend-turned-boyfriend for a few months now. What happens
when he can’t nap because of a — as he so lovingly put it, raging boner…?
You’re In Love With Him But He Likes Your Best Friend
Masterlist linked in bio
Harry’s been drinking all night.
It all started off with Savannah, whom he went to Lexi’s Bar with a couple of friends. It was a tradition they all had that carried throughout the past couple of months. Because Friday night meant cheaper alcohol, and Y/n’ s closing shift.
They were all having a good time, Y/n serving them drinks and they all drank their week away. It was just a night of celebrating the end of the week, where stress could be left behind for at least a couple of hours.
Everything was great until Harry got too handsy. It wasn’t his fault, he thinks, they had been talking for months and he had no particular reason to refrain himself from wrapping his arms around Savannah, considering she’s let him do it many times before.
But tonight, she wasn’t going near him, which was a drastic change from her previous attitude with him earlier that night.
So now, he’s stranded at Lexi’s Bar past closing hours, tipsy out of his mind. Savannah left without a word, abandoning him at the bar with no other ride home.
“Jesus, Harry!” Y/n gasps, her hand instinctively reaching for her chest when she makes her way back to the bar. “What the hell are you still doing here?!”
Their friends had left a while ago, only Harry remaining slumped against the bar with an empty glass of Malibu. She wasn’t aware of his stay, in fact, it was her closing shift and the bar had closed twenty minutes ago. Only the slight sound of the radio and the clanging of dishes Y/n was washing could be heard throughout the scene.
He looks like a mix of frustrated and upset, a clear shadow of sadness in his eyes as he looks up at her. He frowns a bit, looking back down at the empty glass that’s fiddling in his hands as he lets out an almost inaudible sigh.
“Do you mind driving me home?” he asks guiltily, “Savannah was my ride but she’s not really speaking to me right now.”
Y/n furrows her eyebrows at the softness of his words, an evident tone of helplessness when he spoke. She nods her head slightly, reaching over to grab his finished drink.
“Gonna wash this real quick,” she mutters, “you can grab your coat, I’ll be right out.”
Harry nods while shooting her a small smile through his frown. He’s always been extremely appreciative of her efforts with him. He knows damn well no other person would be able to treat him the way she does. She put him first, always, and it had always been something Harry never fully understood. She went out of the way for him whenever he needed it most, without the smallest hesitation. And if he needed someone to talk to, even if it was about the horrendous traffic on his way to work, she was always there to listen to him.
He can’t lie, he feels guilty that it’s her closing shift and she’d have to be driving out of her way in order to take him home. But in all honesty, he had nobody else. Savannah left without a word after Harry tried desperately to get her attention, his other friends following shortly after in one car, leaving Harry stranded alone at the bar with Y/n still working. So, really, this was his only option.
When Y/n returns to the front of the bar, she remains silent as she grabs her coat off of the hanger. She looks at him from the corner of her eye, watching as his fingers rub harsh circles against his temples, a gesture he’s always done when he was stressed. He shook his head slightly, shutting his eyes tightly as he fixes the jacket hanging swiftly from his shoulders.
She bites her lip, curious eyes wandering around his slumped frame. Seeing Harry distressed makes her feel upset. Witnessing him at a time of stress was extremely rare, and something about it makes Y/n’s stomach drop. He was always so positive, always making sure the people around him were smiling. He has the type of personality others strive, because he’s so selfless and effortless at everything he does, it’s the part of him Y/n always loved and admired.
“What happened? You okay?”
Harry lets out a frustrated sigh, his nose flaring as he closes his eyes momentarily.
“Savannah’s just so confusing sometimes. I like her a lot, but she’s hard to keep up with. It’s like she’s into me one minute and the next like I’m completely wasting her time, you know? I don’t know what she wants from me anymore.”
Y/n nods, understanding completely what he’s talking about. Savannah often does this to him—to most guys, actually.Because of how different they both are relationship-wise, it’s almost impossible for Harry to adjust to Savannah’s ‘hard to get’ character. Harry prefers to not waste any time when it comes to dating. If he likes someone who reciprocates feelings, he immediately takes action. That’s how he always was with his past girlfriends, taking no time to start a relationship with them.
Savannah, however, loves the game. Being chased amuses her, almost makes her feel as if she’s worth something. Because of her undoubtable beauty and irresistibly charming personality, she always makes the man work for her liking. Her character always made guys frustrated but exposed them to an entirely different relationship. Her hot to cold attitude made men feel intimidated, yet motivated them to catch her. Because, undoubtedly, she’s the ultimate catch no guy could ever ignore.
It had always been that way, too. When Y/n and Savannah both hit puberty, Savannah was the irresistible one. Her figure curved at all the right edges, her tan complexion naturally glowing, and she started to expose herself to new people.
She wasn’t shy of anything. Any opportunity to take on a challenge called Savannah’s name. She was constantly seeking adventure and finding new people to get along with. Which, of course, wasn’t hard at all. Everyone liked Savannah, it was almost impossible not to.
Y/n, however, was the exact opposite. She was beautiful, but not ‘Savannah beautiful.’ She was paler, not a spot of makeup on her face. Her body was a bit more frail than hers, her curves not as extenuated. She was more introverted, as well, only speaking when she felt was necessary. The only way she was able to make friends was through Savannah’s courageous behavior.
And although Savannah and Y/n had an unbreakable bond since middle school, being Savannah’s best friend screwed up Y/n’s love life tremendously. It hurt Y/n a lot throughout her high school years. Being best friends with the most beautiful girl wasn’t easy for her, if anything, it made her feel less about herself. It’s the exact reason why she hasn’t dated in years. Because guys Y/n liked always ended up falling for Savannah.
Which is exactly what’s happening with Harry.
Y/n first met Harry when she began working at Lexi’s. It was her first Friday night shift during the summer. It was her first week after training, so she wasn’t quite used to the busy weekends and late hours, but she didn’t mind it.
She was rearranging glasses at the bar when Harry first walked in. Her breath hitched in her throat when she first saw him enter. She could have sworn her heart had jumped out from her chest in that very moment. He was beautiful, a different kind of beautiful, too. He was so effortless at it—the way he moved and the way he presented himself; he had confidence in himself without flaunting it.
He was wearing tight black jeans with a pink floral see-through button up, flowing loosely from his shoulders. His chest was in great view, as well, the cross hanging from his necklace dangling perfectly between his pecs. His hair was freshly cut, his face freshly shaved and had an aroma of a cologne Y/n wasn’t familiar with. It was unique, though, like him, and all-in-all made him more attractive than she already perceived him to be.
Her eyes went wide when he claimed the barstool in front of her, her actions coming to a halt as her eyes hawked over his every move. She genuinely forgot how to breathe, his physical features overwhelming her in ways she’s never experienced before. The world around her seemed to fade as she admired every part of him she could see.
He was just so breathtaking.
It wasn’t until one of the other bartenders dropped a glass onto the floor that Y/n was pulled out of her trance. She quickly shook her head, slowly coming back in touch with reality. Thankfully, he hadn’t seemed to notice her presence yet.
She shook her head again before working to dry the remaining shot glasses. She just had to make it a couple of hours without completely embarrassing herself in front of him, that’s all she had to do.
Her eyes drifted slightly to him again when he lifted his right leg up against the unoccupied barstool next to him, leaning over before his fingers started working to retie his shoelace.
“The usual.” he spoke, eyes still cast downward.
Y/n looked around behind the counter, checking to see if he was talking to someone else. Considering she had just started working there a week ago and hasn’t served him yet, she was completely clueless as to what he was ordering.
He looked up from his shoes, eyes diverting right into hers as a sense of realization reached his features.
“Oh, I see,” he giggled, “Sorry, love. I wasn’t aware there was a new bartender in town.”
His voice was both raspy and smooth in the most elegant way she’s ever heard. His accent was so incredibly thick she could visually see it by the way his lips moved. And his giggle, with the slight smirk he developed made her heart flutter in her chest.
Y/n nodded, smiling slightly at him.
“Yeah, just started a week ago. Nobody’s ever ordered ‘the usual’ before.” she joked, nervous laughter falling from her lips as she tucked loose pieces of hair behind her ear.
He grinned at her, his cheeks turning a bit peachy. He had to admit, she was gorgeous, and clearly had a great sense of humor. He could tell she was shy, though, by the way she wasn’t confident in her words and the way her cheeks flushed whenever he spoke to her.
“Cute” he muttered ever so slightly, Y/n almost thought she imagined it, “‘The usual,’ at least for me, is a Malibu Bay Breeze. Bit heavier on the cranberry juice, a bit lighter on the pineapple.”
Y/n nodded, muttering a quiet “coming right up” before gathering the ingredients. Harry watched her as she poured it all together, mixing the essential ingredients, admiring her gestures and movements whenever he said something that made her smile.
They talked for hours that night, getting to know each other. Y/n was mesmerized, completely and utterly captivated at how somebody like him could possibly exist. He was everything she’s ever dreamed of—there wasn’t any part of him she didn’t find alluring. This was the only time she’s ever spoken to him, yet she found herself feeling something she’s never felt before.
And the feelings only got stronger with time. Every Friday for four months, Y/n found Harry coming into Lexi’s earlier than he usually did, and every time he’d come she prepared him a Malibu Bay Breeze—heavy on the cranberry, light on the pineapple.
He stayed with her until closing, until the last light went off and the music went down. And after she was off her shift, he took her to the 24-hour movie theater that hardly anybody went to in those early hours of the morning. Instead of watching, however, they spent the entire movie goofing around with popcorn and sharing fond memories of their childhood.
To say Y/n had fallen hard for Harry was an understatement. She was completely and unconditionally in love with him.
The feeling he had given her never subsided—he never failed to give her a feeling of euphoria whenever he spent his Friday nights with her. And the more he opened up to her, and the more she opened up to him, the more it felt right. He felt right, no part of her doubted that for a second. He captured her heart and she knew there was no way in hell she was ever getting it back.
Savannah even began to notice her shift in mood ever since her Friday night shifts began. It was as if she turned into an entirely different person. She seemed more confident in herself, and Savannah started noticing the softest of smiles illuminating on her face every so often.
Y/n was the happiest she had ever been before, she swore she was on cloud nine. Y/n started to believe nothing could have torn her down. Nothing.
But then, it happened.
Savannah showed up to Lexi’s during Y/n’s regular Friday night shift. It was a little past midnight, arriving back from her aunt’s wedding—which Y/n would have attended if she didn’t need the money (and if it wasn’t during her shift Harry was a frequent customer in).
She ran in with a long eggplant purple dress, which had a long slit along the leg. Her hair curled in perfect waves that fell loosely down her shoulders, her makeup illuminating and extenuating her flawless features.
“Y/n!” She squealed, scurrying her way to the bar while nearly tripping over her six-inch heels.
Y/n saw Harry’s eyes widen at the sight of her. Of course she visited her when Harry’s here, and of course, she visited when she looked as beautiful as ever. Y/n knew the second Savannah walked in that it was over, every possibility of her and Harry building up to a relationship has been knocked down to the ground.
Y/n closed her eyes momentarily, because she started to feel every part of her heartbreak, and it was the most painful feeling she’s ever felt. Harry’s only seen Savannah for a couple of seconds and he was already looking at her in a way he never has with Y/n.
She gritted her teeth harshly, because how did she think this wouldn’t happen? This was always how it ended, and even if Harry ever liked Y/n enough to start a relationship with her, she wouldn’t be able to hide him from Savannah forever.
“Guess what!” she yelled once she found her way to the bar, leaning against it so she was as close as possible to Y/n.
“What?” Y/n smiled weakly, unable to rid the aching in her chest.
“The photographer at the wedding asked me to be a model for his pictures! And not only that, but he just started working for Top Shop, said he could talk to some people for me to make this work! Can you believe it?! Savannah Turk, next top model! Gosh, I’m so excited!”
Y/n smiled widely. It was always Savannah’s dream to become a model, and she could definitely pull it off. In all honesty, she was shocked she wasn’t one already.
“That’s great, Savannah!” Y/n gasped, “I can’t believe this! I’m so happy for you!”
They both reached over to hug each other, Savannah jumping up and down as small squeals fall from her lips. Once they let go, Y/n is quick to fix up Savannah’s favorite drink as she claims the barstool next to Harry.
Harry’s heart began to race as she scooted closer to him. She was completely breathtaking. He had never seen someone like her before, every part of her intrigued him. She drew him in, and there was no way in hell there was any chance of going back.
“I’m Harry, by the way.”
Savannah let out a slight “push” as she waved her hand in the air.
“I know, Y/n doesn’t shut up about you.”
Y/n’s eyes widened, but quickly refrained against her shocked expression as she let out a nervous laugh. God, they couldn’t know about her feelings, because she hadn’t told anybody about how she felt about Harry and certainly wanted to avoid talking about it while he’s practically gawking over Savannah.
Harry looked up at Y/n with a playful smirk resting perfectly on his face.
“Well, who else is going to get me through my Friday night shifts?” Y/n laughed.
Harry lifted his drink up to her, eyebrows lifting as he smirked at her, “And who else is going to get me through my loneliness, eh?”
Savannah’s eyebrows lifted, a wide grin on her face as she looked over to Harry. And by God, he surely was a sight to see.
“Oh, so ‘Friday night shift boy’ is lonely? Don’t know why Y/n hasn’t taken advantage of that yet,” Savannah smirked, “I know I would have.”
Y/n nods again, mustering up a sympathetic smile to him. She doesn’t want any part of Savannah’s games to make him feel bad about himself. None of what he’s feeling is his fault, and every atom in her body aches for him to know that.
“I’m sorry, Harry” she whispers, “I know how much that can hurt, you don’t deserve it.”
He gives her a soft smile, but it falls just as quickly as it spreads. His gaze falls to the floor, eyebrows furrowing as he shakes his head softly.
“I just can’t keep doing this with her.”
His soft and Bambi eyes look up at her in sorrow, a frown stretched on his lips at the strain his heart has endured.
“I don’t know what more I can do, Y/n.”
And as selfish as it sounds, the first thought that comes to her mind after the hopeless words leave Harry’s mouth is you can love me back.
Because, God, if he loved her, she wouldn’t keep him waiting. She wouldn’t keep him under the impression that he’s not good enough. No, Harry’s fulfilled every part of her wildest dreams, and she would never let a day go by without making him feel the way he deserves—loved.
Despite her selfish thoughts that she desperately wishes she could say to him, she pushes them all aside. Harry needs her, he needs her to be the friend that will be there for him in the latest hours of the night. He needs her shoulder to lean on, and she can’t deny the chance to help him through this and make him feel better.
She doesn’t respond to him, only slinging her bag around her shoulder and pointing her head toward the exit doors.
“We can talk about this later, yeah? Lets just get you home first.”
The ride to his house was silent, mainly consisting of the soft tune on the radio and Y/n’s hushed voice singing along. With the alcohol still buzzing inside Harry’s head, he didn’t mind the silence they shared. It was comfortable because Harry wasn’t in the mood to discuss his anticlimactic relationship with Savannah. He just needed someone to listen to him, to be there for him, and Y/n was his favorite company.
When they arrive at his house, Y/n is basically carrying Harry to his door.
“Yeah, alright, you—that’s right, you’re good” she huffs, the weight of his body making it a struggle for her to walk.
He isn’t drunk enough for her to completely guide him, but he is stumbling a bit and does find himself tripping over his own two feet a couple of times.
Y/n giggles, shaking her head as she walks him through his front door.
“I knew I shouldn’t have made you that many drinks. Thank God you weren’t planning on driving, that would have been a mess.”
Harry doesn’t have much time to respond before she sits him down on his couch. She runs her thumb along his forehead softly, wiping away some of the sweat before smiling at him softly.
"Gonna make you some tea, now.”
Harry shakes his head, his hand reaching to grab her wrist.
“Love, you don’t have to,” Harry shakes his head, “you’ve been making everybody’s drinks all night.”
She shrugs, a small smile tugging on her lips.
“I don’t mind. You’re upset, I want to make sure you feel better, alright? I know that Savannah does this to you and I don’t—“ she pauses, closing her eyes softly, “and I don’t want you to keep thinking that this is your fault.”
His heart swells at her words, his large hands reaching out to grip her small ones.
“Would you mind just—just lying down with me for a bit? I don’t want the tea, just need your company right now.”
Y/n frowns slightly, and she isn’t sad because she doesn’t want to be with him. What makes her sad is the intimacy of holding him would give her no chance to escape her feelings. Whenever she feels the heartbreak sneaking back up on her, she always finds a way to distract herself from the pain. Whether it was rearranging her bedroom, organizing the books on her bookshelf, or focusing on her work, there was always a way to escape the pain.
But it’s when she feels him—whether it’s the touch of his hand, or a rub of the shoulder—when she feels his skin ignite her and when she feels the warmth of is body against her, there was no running away from the harsh reality she’s been living in. There is no escape from the thought that she’s in love with someone she can never have because all she feels when she feels him is broken.
And it’s in these moments she finds herself being most selfish. Because he needs her now, holding him, reassuring him that everything will be okay. He’s going through the same feeling she is, and all she can think about is her stupid self and her broken heart, even when he needs her most.
She lays down on his couch first, which Harry finds particularly inviting. He lays with his head face down against her neck, legs tangled in between hers with his arms wrapped around her back. He loves cuddling with her. She’s just so soft, and she feels cozy, especially after he drinks heaps of alcohol. He hasn’t cuddled with her for a while, either, and holding her against him now already makes his shitty night somewhat tolerable.
“Thank you for being with me, Y/n” he mumbles against her collar bone, the fabric of her t-shirt moving against his lips. “And I’m sorry I made you drive me back.”
She giggles softly, her fingers brushing through his messy bed of curls. She feels him relax into her the more she rakes his hair, and he doesn’t hesitate to keep her motions going.
“It’s okay, didn’t have any other plans. Besides, I kind of miss being alone with you sometimes.”
He hums in response, pressing his cheek further into her neck. His eyes shut, his body relaxing to the sound of her heartbeat, which he feels thumping perfectly against his chest.
“S’good to me” he mumbles, “don’t know what I’d do without you, you know.”
Y/n feels her heart skip at the words he spoke against her, her whole body getting an overwhelming sense of despondency.
“I think I’m gonna keep fighting for her” Harry interjects.
His voice is slurring now, his half-asleep daze making his words all jumbled. But he knows what he’s saying, and Y/n knows, too, and her heart plummets. Her throat suddenly begins to choke on cries she wasn’t aware had come so quickly. It’s just another reminder, just another confirmation that Savannah always gets what she wants, even if Y/n wants it more.
“Yeah, I’m not gonna give up on her yet. If I like her, I gotta fight for it, right? She’d be well worth it, too.”
Y/n tries desperately to blink away her tears, and she’s forever grateful that the light is off in his living room when she fails to do so.
“I—I think you should do what you want, Harry” her voice shakes as she speaks, “I’ll be here for you either way.”
Harry holds her tighter, humming in response again, because he’s already falling asleep and finds no energy in him to answer her.
She wishes with everything in her that she can scream, scream at him for being so fucking stupid and oblivious to her love. And the worst part is that she can’t even blame him. She had an entire four months where she could have confessed her feelings, where she could have told him how in love with him she was.
But would it have changed anything? Would they have just ended up in this shitty situation anyway?
And it isn’t until Harry’s passed out on top of her, his breath spreading along her chest and his fingers rubbing her back in his slumber that Y/n realizes she could spend forever laying here with him, all wrapped up against his body. She could fall asleep like this every night, after a long day of work and empty wine glasses on the coffee table. She could see everything, everything she’s ever envisioned, with him.
And it’s in this moment she realizes that she can’t keep doing this anymore, either.
Her cheeks dampen with her tears, hands shaking in his hair. Never would she think she’d have to let him go, but seeing his face rest so peacefully on her chest, she knows she has to.
“I love you, Harry.” She cries, her fingers gripping onto the roots of his hair.
“God, Harry, I love you so much.” she sobs.
If Harry wasn’t such a deep sleeper, she would have never dreamt of saying all of this. But he’s remaining asleep, lips parted as he snores, the alcohol in his veins making him almost immobile against her.
“You deserve to be happy, Harry” she whispers, “I shouldn’t hold you back.”
Her body is shaking, soft cries leaving her lips and endless tears streaming down her face. She doesn’t want to let go, she doesn’t want to stop loving him in the way she does now. Because even though it hurts, she doesn’t want to imagine a day without him.
But she has to. For him.
Her thumbs rub along his cheekbones, her eyes admiring his features one last time.
“And it’s because I love you—“ she pauses, swallowing thickly as her shaking lips press tentatively against his forehead, “that I have to let you go.”
“A Secret That’s Worth It”
Carl x Reader, Negan x Reader
Word Count: 9,670
Negan x Daughter Reader, Carl x Reader
Summary: You’re Negan’s teenage daughter and from the minute you saw Carl, he sparked your interest, leading to a relationship between you two.
Warnings: Language, fluff, angst, mentions of death, kinda smutty
A/N: Does not follow the show exactly, I had to change up some things for the sake of the story, but I tried to make it as close as possible.
He was the first person you noticed when you stepped out of that RV.
He was wearing a flannel and a cowboy hat, and even with one of his eyes covered up and it being dark out, you could see how bright blue they were. You didn’t know his name, but you certainly were attracted to him.
Your father, Negan, had told you to stay inside the RV while he went out there and talked to them. He had told you that he was going to kill one of them and that he didn’t want you to see that, so you needed to stay away.
“Y/N, I do not want to see you out there. Your ass better stay in here, alright?” Negan had warned you. You didn’t listen. You had heard him talking to their group, and you got curious. All you wanted to do was see what they looked like, nothing more. You opened the door slightly and peeked your head out, making the attractive boy turn his head and look at you. They all did, but he was the only one you noticed.
“Dear daughter, did I not tell you to stay inside?” Negan bellowed. You knew he was trying to scare the group- that was his way of being a big, bad leader. He intimidates everyone. And by the look of everyone’s face, they were definitely afraid.
It has pretty much everything but there is a point where there will be smut so if you don’t fancy something like that you can just skip the part.
Description:Your cousin gave you a gift. It’s a pen, a pen that whatever you write upon your skin with it will also appear on your soulmate’s. Silly stuff, how can what you write with a stupid pen appear on your soulmate’s skin?
“Can I talk to you?” You asked Jimin calmly as you entered the exquisite dining room, he was sat at the head of the large table, every man in the manor house surrounding him as he briefed them with the upcoming plan of action.
“Sure.” Your brother smiled, sliding his chair back with his legs as he stood up, his warning gaze flitting between Jungkook and Taehyung, who sat either side of him eyeing you curiously. “Minho you can take it from here.”
Today was the day Jimin planned to kill Hoseok, if anything you should’ve been proud of your brother for being so brazen and bold, but you couldn’t shake away the bad feeling captivating your body. Heading up the stairs to Jimin’s office you quickly and quietly made you way inside and sat down, Jimin in tow. He sat across from you, his once shiny silver hair now beginning to darken into his natural brown/black colour, his bangs lightly grazing the contours of his hooded, dark chocolate eyes.
“What’s this about? Did somebody hurt you?” He asked, brows knitted together curiously as his gaze settled upon your worried expression and the fact you were fidgeting with your sleeves.
“No, it’s just-“ Even though you promised Sung you wouldn’t say anything, you had to confront him, you had to make sure he was 100% certain he knew what he was doing, and after what happened to Jin you knew better than anybody that Hoseok was a dangerous, psychotic man. “I know about the attack… And I just want to make sure that you know what you’re doing…”
◇ warnings: angsty angst , swearing? , mentions of suicide/death
◇ synopsis: “I love you. A little less today than yesterday. I miss you. A little more than I did yesterday, and sometimes it’s easy to forget, that your emotions aren’t like mine; they’re constant. You hated me yesterday, you hate me today, and tomorrow, it will be just another day like this.”
i just want to say, i have nothing against my boys, this is just a story.
“Three things you need to know; first, I’m in love with another woman and I will die for her, I’ll do anything for a chance to spend the rest of my life with her. She’s the most important person in my life. Two, I hate your father. So fucking much, I could shoot him in the head. Twice. Just because he forced me into this, don’t think I’ll bend to his will, you’re not going to have the happily married life that he wants you to have, he won’t get the precious grandsons he wants so much. I’ll never touch you, never. And finally, I hate you. You could have said no, you should have said no to this. Instead, you trapped me in this life, this life that I sometimes wish I could just set fire to. So, keep that in mind when you look at me, it should stop you from smiling at me so much.”
Today, the sunshine was warm on my face but the air felt like little shards of glass, tearing through my skin and making me flinch. I stared up at the weak winter sun and realised that it was fighting a losing battle. The cold was just too much, today, grabbing both my arms to suppress a shudder, huddling closer to myself as I pulled my fir coat tighter and lightly touched my bag. It held a hastily packed lunch and 20,000 won worth of cash., not much but important to keep myself alive for the day, and my phone, an old battered Nokia with a peeling case and a scratched screen, which began vibrating and I groaned, glancing towards my watch. I was already 10 minutes late.
I worked as a secretary to a cranky producer who called himself ‘Suga’, but was more bitter than black coffee, and crankier than a three year old with colic. I was tired and not really in the mood to put up with his badgering, but then again, I wasn’t really into starving either, so I hailed a cab, staring sadly at the money that I would have to spend on it.
When I finally managed to reach the office, I was surprised to find Min Yoongi, ‘Suga’, in a pretty good mood, all things considering. He gave me a soft smile, a miracle that, and waved me to my office. I spent an hour or so organising his appointments for the coming week and then typing up the proposals to be sent to a dozen entertainment companies; all of them wanting Yoongi to become ‘exclusively’ theirs. Min Yoongi would never restrict himself that way, one of his biggest joys was delving into different types of music, he would never restrict himself to a single genre or concept.
As I typed out yet another page of boring details, the small bell over the door chimed, signalling someone’s entry. I look up curiously and froze automatically. After three years, I still didn’t know how to look at her. How did you look at your husband’s beautiful mistress without feeling like killing yourself? But I wasn’t a doormat, at least not in front of Kim Hyeri; she may have my husband’s heart, but I still have his name.
“Hi there, Y/N.” She said casually and I sighed. She was the same age as Hoseok, four years older than me yet she acted like a toddler, taking every opportunity to rile me up, but I wouldn’t let her get to me, I couldn’t afford to let her get to me. Then again, after three years, we have both become jaded enough to tolerate each other without incident. She didn’t rant and rave at me and I didn’t yell back.
“Hi, unnie. How’s your back? Yoongi oppa told me you sprained it dancing,” I said softy. Hyeri shrugged and took off her jacket, hanging it in the closet before slipping out of her cute little fur boots. She was an idol, her figure perfect, her face breathtaking and manners infallible. I smiled as she dug into her bag and carefully produced a small bottle of chocolate milk and a straw, sliding it across the table and smiled.
“Have a nice day.” She said softly, her gaze told me she meant it. Oh well, I accepted the gift, bowing politely. She gave me a searching look and finally took a deep breath she had been holding in.
“Hobi and I talked about marriage.”
I froze. Finally. There it was. I sighed as relief flooded through me.
“I’ll sign the papers as soon as he-”
“-He doesn’t want to marry me.”
I fought to keep my jaw from going unhinged.
“He thinks it will damage my career, so we’re going to put it off for a couple of years at least.”
I could feel my skin begin to crawl like there were thousands of fire ants all over my body, burning me. I could sense the anger, the frustration, the bitterness, threatening to spill over and I had to bite my lip to keep myself from screaming.
“That’s the most nauseating thing I’ve ever heard…” I spat out.
“It’s not like there’s anything you can do about it.” She said loftily, glaring at me before walking into the main office. I sat still, taking deep breaths, she was right. There wasn’t much I could do, my mother was old, dying. I couldn’t break her heart by going through an ugly divorce, and the divorce would turn ugly if I had to fight for it. Defeated, I stared at the papers in front of me. I didn’t even like my husband anymore, he was just another obstacle to my happiness. It was a pity because he was a nice guy in general, nice than most of the choreographers I’d met; he didn’t yell at people or try to control his students, and he was a phenomenal dancer, the best at his craft.
But he was a miserable husband, and I was his miserable wife.
That evening, I had to practically drag myself up to the apartment. It was a moderately expensive two bedroom flat, close to most of the dance studios that Hoseok worked at and a whole city ride away from where I worked. I sighed, pushing the scratched key into the lock and making my way in. The apartment was bright, the lights on and soothing music echoing off the walls. Great, he was home, which meant I couldn’t even grab a coffee before facing him. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and grimaced. I would never be called beautiful. I wasn’t hideous, but my features were painfully regular; straight hair, straight brows, button nose and lips. My figure was nothing different from the rest of the 90% Korean female population. Small, spindly legs. I wasn’t short, but I wasn’t tall either. I looked haggard, my hair messed and the white blouse I’d worn in the morning, now crumpled beyond redemption. There was also a small stain near my left shoulder, I scratched at it with my forefinger, making a mental note to soak it before tossing it in the washer.
“You’re late.” Hoseok’s voice came from the bedroom and I shut my eyes, trying to arrange my features into an expression that didn’t scream ‘murder’ and turned around slowly.
“I am.” I said blankly, trying not to stare as he casually took off his shirt and tossed it in the small hamper that stood on the passageway outside my bedroom. He swore and went to the thermostat.
“Did you change it again? It’s sweltering hot in this place!!”
I sighed and shook my head. “I didn’t.” I said, moving to drop my bag on the small table near the TV and taking off my jacket. I walked into the kitchen to pour myself a glass of water and frowned when he followed me.
“I’m having two auditions with a couple of rookies tomorrow. I’ve asked them to meet me tonight to brief them, fix dinner for them.” He said casually, I just stared at him, annoyed.
“Really? I was hoping we could order in…” I said miserably, every joint and curve protesting at the thought of more work.
“It’s the least you can do after forgetting to stock up on milk, again. I told you I need that for my protein shake.” He said calmly, moving to slip on a tank top and I sighed. I wasn’t really strong enough to pick a fight, especially after the scintillating news I’d just heard. I didn’t know if Hoseok knew that his girlfriend had already told me about their plans, it was funny that they planned out their life without giving a damn about me, although I was intricately involved in it myself. I didn’t want to bring it up either. Over the years, I’d learnt that there was a time and place to talk about things like this. I had to be at my maximum capacity, not half dead from commuting two hours and haggard from a day of work. I moved to the bathroom to freshen up and then moved to the kitchen to start dinner.
Idols seldom got the chance to eat well, and most of the kids who dropped by at our apartment were between 15 and 18, and they were always vociferously hungry. I did my best to cook large quantities and I’d inherited my mom’s talent for making delicious food with very little fanfare, but it still took the better part of 2 hours for everything to be ready and Hoseok was already in the small dance studio next to the sitting room, dancing and discussing with the kids. I hesitated before moving to the edge of the hall and peering in. Not for the first time, I felt my breath catch at how beautiful he looked with his fluid movements, long legs and wide shoulders moving flawlessly in front of the mirror as he demonstrated various moves.
Hoseok was a born dancer. He was only ever alive when he was on the dance floor, and I was proud of him for fighting his own father and deciding to pursue his dreams. Him and Hyeri had that in common, they had grown up together and broken free from the privileged upbringing to pursue their dreams. I gripped the edge of my dress and bit my lip. Three years ago, I’d been an art major in a normal university. I hadn’t thought beyond that and when my father had spoken to me about marrying a handsome young dancer with a bright smile and kind eyes, I’d never even considered myself saying no. My father had wanted a heir for his company and as the only daughter I would be the one to provide that for him. I hadn’t resented him for it, it wasn’t sudden, after all. I’d know it for a long time, and I’d been happy that he had picked someone down to earth and cheerful like Hoseok.
Sighing, I moved away and stretched, flinching when my back popped. That was a lifetime ago, a whole other life. My marriage had been a disaster from day one, and my father had written me off from his will last month, reminding me that I had failed to do the one thing I’d been asked to do. So now, when Hoseok did divorce me, I had nowhere to go. I thought of all the money I’d saved over the years, it wasn’t a lot but enough to at least keep me from starving until I found a way to get on my own 2 feet again. I had already looked up a nice, remote mountain village, far from Seoul. I wouldn’t stay within a thousand miles of Jung Hoseok, whether he’s intended to or not, he had destroyed my life.
But that night, when I was already in bed, I saw a shadow fall across the foot of my bed. Surprised, I sat up. Hoseok never came to my bedroom, he was smiling a little, almost fighting laughter.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, surprised.
“The…uh…choreography got approved for the last three songs I’d been working on…” He said softly. I smiled, pleased.
“That’s great news. You worked hard on it…”
He stood still and kept staring at me. “I’ve been thinking,” he whispered, “of getting a bigger apartment, closer to the city. You won’t have to travel that far everyday then.”
My heart skipped a beat. “Uh..okay, as you wish..“ I said, looking down into my lap. He stood for a second longer and then turned around without a second word.
I couldn’t sleep that night, my mind sinking into a huge plethora of what ifs?
What if we get along?
What if he didn’t love someone else?
What if, instead he loved…?
I tamped down that last thought with a firm push, I couldn’t think that. Not today. Not ever.
The call came in at 5pm.
I was on my desk, highlighting some minutes from one of Yoongi’s meetings when my boss came out, looking like death.
“Y/N…” He whispered in horror.
The look of his face was nothing, if not terrifying, and my first instinctive reaction was that someone had either plagiarised his music, accused his of pagiarism, or leaked an unreleased track.
“What’s wrong oppa..?” I stood up automatically and Yoongi just stared at me.
“It’s Hoseok..he…” My heart stopped. White noise roared through my skin, my toes and fingers went ice cold, my stomach contracting hard enough to cramp and my knees knocking together.
“Hoseok…?” I said, stunned.
“He was in an accident…”
I gripped the edge of the table while the doctor let out a huge sigh, his face filled with sympathy. “We’re going to have to amputate his legs.”
I exhaled deeply. “No. Absolutely not.” I said firmly, the doctor giving me a sympathetic look.
“Mrs.Jung..I understand that-”
“-No you don’t. I know your medical books teach you that the heart and the brain and what you need to survive, but for my husband..he needs his legs. He’s a dancer, doctor, if he wakes up and finds them gone, he’ll die. He really will. So I don’t fucking care what you say, I won’t sign that form. It would be the same as sticking a knife in his heart.” My voice trembled uncontrollably.
“The injury we’re talking about is to his spine. It’s unlikely that he’ll ever regain use of his legs and it will only affect his overall recovery. This isn’t someone negotiable…”
“I don’t care. There has to be another way…”
“His..uh..friend, Hyeri-ssi..? She told me to go ahead with it.”
I tried not to let my face turn red. “I’m his wife, I’m the one who gets to decide.” I said, willing myself not to start crying, now wasn’t the time…
The doctor stared at me for a while and then bent down to rummage in his desk drawer. “I shouldn’t be doing this but…this is a very new surgery. We’ve only attempted 32 of them so far and they have a less than 50% success rate, but it could help your husband without having to remove his legs.”
Relief flooded through me in a rush, “That’s great, let’s go ahead and-”
“-5 million won..it will take 5 million won.” He interrupted firmly.
I froze. Oh god, that was a lot of money, but I didn’t think twice. I could find away, I had about a 1 million won in savings and…
“Okay. I’ll arrange the money just…just do it.” I said desperately, the doctor staring at me some more.
“Please keep in mind that there’s a chance that he could still end up losing his legs.”
“But there’s also a chance that he couldn’t,” I said firmly, “and that’s the chance I’m going to take.”
“He’s going to die on that operating table because of you.” Hyeri spat out furiously and I swallowed. I’d spent 3 hours calling everyone I knew, I’d asked Yoongi to sell my jewelry and he had given me 3 million won from his own savings. I had managed the rest by selling my wedding ring, the diamond ring had been the only beautiful thing in my life and my fingers looked and felt bare without it, but the money was paid and Hoseok was in surgery. He would get better, he had to get better.
“He would have died anyway if they removed his legs…” I whispered.
“I’m in love with Hoseok, not the dancer in him! I want him alive! I can’t believe you!” She cried out, tears tracking down her face in torrents.
“And I want him to live! Being alive is not enough if he has to stay in a bed for the rest of his life. Dancing is everything he has ever lived for, how could you think of taking that away from him?! He’s young. He’s strong. He’ll get through it..I know..” I tried to keep steady. I hadn’t slept in 30 hours, my body was threatening to shut down, but I couldn’t sleep, not yet. Hobi was in surgery and…
“I’m leaving.” She said suddenly.
“What? Hyeri..no…” I struggled to get my head on straight while my vision blurred at the edges. Why did everyone feel the need to fight me on this? Did no one care that Hoseok could never survive without his art?
“I won’t stick around to hear how you killed the man I love. That will be on your head.” She whispered and I tried not to cry.
“He’s not going to die..he’ll wake up from that surgery and he’s going t want to see you…just…” Oh god…why was she making this so difficult?
“Just how delusional are you? His spine is mangled, he’s…he’s not going to make it. And all you’re doing is making him suffer more than he already has too…well, I won’t stand for it. I cant’t just stand here and watch you destroy him all over again.” Again? Had I destroyed him before? I hadn’t…had I?
I bit my lip as she grabbed her bad and then, after 10 steps she turned back and pulled out an envelope, pushing it into my hands. “Divorce papers, he signed them already, but you didn’t. So I can’t even use them against you the way I want to.”
I started at it in dismay. Sighing, I slipped it into my bag, I’ll think about this later.
When the doctor finally came out of the operating room, he looked worse than me. I gripped Yoongi’s fingers in mine as he came over to us. My heart began pounding, suddenly the thought that Hoseok may not make it hit me like a sledge hammer and I chocked on my own breath.
“Is…is he?” I stared at him, wide eyed.
“Your husband is a fighter, Mrs.Jung. He pulled through.” I shut my eyes, the relief making me realise just how scared I had been. How scared I had been that I had made the wrong decision.
“Is he going to be okay, then?” I whispered.
“I wish I could say yet, but really this is just the beginning. He’s going to need extensive therapy, physical and mental to get back on his feet. It can take any time between 6 months to a year for him to start using his limbs again. For now, he’s going to have to get to a place where he can recover completely. Somewhere nice and quiet, preferably warm and temperate climate that would be easy on him.”
I felt my shoulders droop. As the doctor moved away, I let myself fall back against Yoongi who tightened his arms around my shoulders. “Don’t worry about it. Remember that kid I told you about? Jeon Jungkook? He has a resort in Jeju the he offered to let me holiday in last year. I’ll talk to him and we’ll arrange for Hobi to be shifted there. It will be okay..” He said calmly.
“I…what about the therapists..?”
“There’s an excellent physiotherapist in Jeju who I would recommend. His name is Kim Seokjin and he’s worked with some world class athletes before. He doesn’t charge money and if I’m guessing right, he was a friend of your husband when they were in school. Jin will help him out and well..I have a hoobae from school who was a psych major. But of a crazy guy but he’s good at what he does. Name’s Kim Taehyung, I’ll see if we can book sessions with him as well.”
I burst into tears, startling Yoongi and myself. “Thank you…” I said, honestly. “Thank you for helping me..”
“Uh..it’s okay..” Yoongi inched away, looking partly embarrassed and partly horrified. “You’re a good kid. Hoseok is lucky to have you.”
I sighed, gripping the chair and levered myself up. There would be enough time to think about all this. For now, I really needed some sleep.
Nicky was exasperated. It was obvious by the way he looked out of breath even though he was just standing there being rather noisey.
Neil scrunched up his nose. As much as he loved Nicky, he wouldn’t mind hearing him less right now.
“What’s your point, Nicky?”
The thing with Nicky, however, was that when you requested a straight answer, you instead got a show.
Act one of this show was apparently looking around at the rest of the foxes and proclaiming, “Can you believe this kid?!”
Andrew was coming from his appointment with Bee so wasn’t at the locker rooms yet for practice. Neil found himself silently hoping he would get there faster to shut Nicky up.
Usually everybody would just let Nicky go on his rant, half ignoring him and half egging him on. But when Neil looked past him, he realized that all the Foxes were actually paying attention. Their eyes were focused on Neil with a combination of pity, confusion, and general annoyance.
Nicky was making a huge fuss now, not actually getting to the point but rather going around it. “Of all the days to not know-”
But Matt cut him off. Which was odd, because Matt usually didn’t cut Nicky off.
A/N: I was thinking of making this a two part. Should I make a part two and have it a fight/make up/ smut? Let me know! If so, I’ll post part two ASAP! :D
“Don’t go near ________ with that, she hates spiders.”
A slow, sneaky grin spreads across Justin’s face. Your brother Alex warns him again, but it does no good. Justin takes a step forward and you take one back, arms up in mock surrender. Being deathly afraid of spiders your whole life, you didn’t want anything to do with them. Justin is holding a huge, hairy spider in his hand and the look he’s giving you is unsettling.
Ok but can we talk about the poor person who took Jack’s Valentine’s order???
Like obviously this was done with a lot of notice. You don’t get a sea of roses a week before Valentine’s Day, you gotta plan this shit a month in advance at least.
So imagine it, the store opened like half an hour ago, Carl the new guy, is a little sleepy still getting used to having to show up at the crack of dawn to receive deliveries, and answers the phone.
He takes the order and the customer details, and aw that’s sweet, this guy is already thinking of Valentine’s Day. That’s commitment right there.
He doesn’t think too much about it, till Lisa is putting the order into their system and she tracks him down.
“Hey Carl, I know you had the early shift and it’s your first week, so I’m going to let this one pass, but you realise you put the order as 12 dozen roses right? That’s 144 roses my friend.”
“Oh shit, yeah that doesn’t sound right,” Carl laughs because it not only doesn’t sound right, it sounds ridiculous. “He probably said 2 dozen or something like that and I fucked up, thanks for catching that.”
Carl is very relieved because that kind of fuck up would probably have been his job.
“No worries, on my first day I almost mixed two big orders and sent a funeral arrangement to a wedding!”
She tells him a few more stories before they go back to work, and then calls the customer who put the order to get the correct number of roses.
“Hello Mr. Zimmermann? I’m calling in regard to the order you placed this morning with The Green Room, I just wanted to confirm some of the details of the order before putting it on the system?”
Lisa reads back the address, the time and date, name of the person who would receive the flowers and then hesitates for just a moment.
“The order says 12 dozen roses, which would make it 144 roses, but I’m sure that’s a mix up,” she says hoping the guy has a sense of humour and won’t make it into a thing.
“Yeah it must be, I didn’t order 144,” Mr. Zimmermann says with a steady voice, so he isn’t laughing but he prolly won’t be an asshole about it, “I ordered 150.”
“Pardon me?” Lisa asked wondering if this was the start of a bad joke or if indeed this was a prank order, she sceptically asks again, “so you want 150 roses to be delivered before 7am on Valentine’s Day?”
“Yes,” the guy replies still sounding serious.
“Right,” definitely a prank, “as it is a big order, we won’t be able to process it until we first take payment.”
“That’s fine, do you need my credit card details again?”
Lisa plays along, she confirms the credit card details and she hangs up wishing the ‘costumer’ a good day.
She then calls the manager and explains the situation, because she isn’t going to be the fool who puts that order in without clearing it with her boss.
“Oh,” her boss says when she looks at the name in the order, “go ahead and place it, but first call our distributor to make sure they can put the 150 roses on top of our Valentine’s order and then get a delivery slot booked now. If the costumer calls again or we need to talk to them let me know and I’ll deal with it.”
Lisa waits until she’s on her way home to google Jack Zimmermann which she feels shows a lot of restraint on her part.
“Damn,” she whispers when she gets a look at those gorgeous cheek bones. “What a lucky bitch,” she adds with respect.
She wonders if it would be creepy to try and google Larissa Duan, just out of curiosity but then decides that yeah it probably would be and let’s the matter drop.
(Later Jack will realise this is where the rumours about him dating Lardo start…)
It’s four am and the
diner is quiet. Derek finishes wiping down a table; life as usual, he’s alone,
he’s at work, everything goes on as it does. He refills coffee for the two
tired-looking truckers sitting at the counter and goes back to refilling the
The last time Cora was
home, she’d asked if he and Laura ever considered selling the place. “Doesn’t
do much business,” she said, trying to be gentle. Say it was okay to let go.
But she’d only been a baby when the accident happened that took their parents;
she didn’t have memories growing up here the way Derek and Laura did, playing
hide-and-seek under the counters, watching their dad bake pies and their mom
fill coffee, listening to travelers talk about their lives on the road.
Hale’s is fifty miles from the nearest town in either direction, a
blink-and-miss-it diner still stuck in the ‘50s, right off the Pacific Coast
Highway. The little town of Beacon Hills is an hour away, so almost all the
patrons are travellers, people looking for respite from the road, on their way
up to the redwoods or heading down to San Francisco and Los Angeles. There’s a
little wall of autographs from famous people who’ve dined here; cowboys and
starlets and authors and people Derek’s parents took a shine to. The diner is a
historic landmark, not to mention it’s always been home to Derek.
So Laura manages the day
shift and Derek does the night. It works out well; he doesn’t have to interact
with people much. He and Laura were homeschooled until high school, and Derek
had found Beacon Hills High School overwhelming with its crowds.
The radio starts a new
song; it’s one of Derek’s favorites. He doesn’t remember the name of the
artist, but it makes Derek feel alive. The song lyrics aren’t
particularly sensual, but the man’s voice is— Derek shudders, feeling his blood
run hot under his skin, and he imagines the warm touch of someone pulling him
close, embracing him, kissing him—
“Can I take this coffee
“Oh. Sure,” Derek says,
pouring the trucker’s coffee into a plastic cup.
They leave him a decent
tip and are off, the bell jingling as they go.
Derek sighs, watching
the moonlight dance across the ocean in the distance. He listens to the
rustling of the trees, and occasionally a car will drive past the diner, lights
He turns off the radio
and hums the song to himself as he sweeps up.
There’s longing here, of
a love long lost, and Derek is lost to the song, to the memories it drags up.
Nothing but the sound of
waves crashing on the shore, the white hot sun burning just beyond Derek’s
closed eyes. He can feel the warm body next to him stir awake, and then fingers
carding through his hair.
“Derek… hey. You awake?”
“Nope,” Derek says, and he
can already picture it: Stiles leaning over him, his hair still wet, eyes
bright with laughter.