Phil didn’t really like to go out to gatherings all too often, mainly because he was content with sitting at home with Dan, spending lazy mornings together watching cooking shows and sipping tea.
They were always too busy to go out as well, seeing as they not only had to create and edit videos, but they also had to work at the BBC some days, not to mention that they were afraid someone might find out that they’re together.
Dan decided that they needed to socialize, however, and so he planned a YouTube gathering of his own; in their flat this time.
While YiXing has an average height, his boyfriend, Wu Fan is the Chinese version of Tower Eiffel, but even though one has to look up and the other has to look down in order for them to look one another in the eye, the centimeters that are between them are perfect like that, and there are many reasons for that, and for them, they are obvious when you look at the couple.
First, if YiXing wants a kiss he will have to get it himself, because his adamant boyfriend will almost never give it to him even if he pleads. That way, the shorter pouts in the first stage, then in the second, he raises on his toes and gets what he wants. The truth is Wu Fan likes that, and that’s why he refuses to comply from the beginning, being the damn tease he is.
That’s one of it. Wu Fan likes to see his sweetheart struggle when he needs to get things on the higher shelves. He would in fact ask YiXing to get them for him purposely, knowing that he can’t reach them, because why not stand back and enjoy the poor boy trying in vain, small whimpers escaping his mouth when he does so? Of course there’s no reason not to.
“Wu Fan, you asshole…” he would mutter under his breath, and the other would chuckle and eventually get the respective object. Or just wrap his arms around his waist, bringing him close to him, then lift him off the ground so that he can get it himself.
The most important should be the way YiXing can rest his head on Wu Fan’s shoulder in a perfectly comfortable way when walking next to each other. They fall in place like two pieces of a puzzle, the brunet’s soft hair nuzzling against the crook of the other’s neck. Also, he can easily lean his head a little towards Wu Fan’s chest and hear his soothing heartbeats while holding hands with him and rubbing his cheek against the fabric of hic clothes.
The taller finds those little gestures adorable. And he just can’t help but chuckle when the younger buries his face in his clothes when he gets embarrassed. Wu Fan will never forget the first time YiXing told him he loved him. It was a winter day, it was snowing, and they were outside, walking. The shorter suddenly got closer and closer to him, linking their arms, then he buried his face in his clothes, blushing madly, muttering those words, which the other understood for the first time. But he couldn’t let him say it just one time, could he?
That eventually became a habit. Actually all of them are just endearing habits of the couple a few cute centimeters apart.
Sometimes in the middle of the night, Brian wakes to his phone ringing. Blindly, he reaches out for his phone on his nightstand, filtering out profanities from his roommate Jae and his cries of My friend, my brother, I love you but I’m trying to sleep. Some of us don’t have the luxury of a girlfriend so please, kindly be considerate. Brian ignores Jae and answers the call. For the record, you weren’t his girlfriend. Yet. He hasn’t asked, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t about to. Just not at this hour of the night. He snuggles back to bed, turns to his side, balances his phone on top of his ear, and closes his eyes.
Your voice through the receiver is frantic and punctuated with sobs and squeaks. “Bri?”
“Are you there?”
“I just answered the phone, didn’t I?” He’s not quite awake enough for this conversation.
“No need to be snippy! I…It’s just…He left! He left just like that, he thinks he’s doing her a favor and that he has her best interest at heart but that’s not what she wants why are boys so ridiculously stupid!”
“Are we talking about a real person or are we talking about a fictional couple?” He hears you pause to take a breath, and he can’t help but chuckle himself. “Go back to sleep, baby. I love you.”
Nothing. Dead air. Static.
“You still there?” he asks. It then dawns on him, just exactly what he said. He’s said it before, of course. In his head. To the air. To his reflection in the mirror when he’s practicing the lines for when he gathers the courage to finally tell you.
“What did you say?” you gasp.
Brian is fully awake now. “I…”
“God, Brian, you’re disgustingly sappy,” Jae groans from his side of the room. “I can never look at you the same way ever again.”
“I love you,” Brian says again.
“Okay. I’ll let you sleep now. Good night.”
“I love you, too.”
The last thing Brian hears is the slamming of their door, and Jae muttering something about sleeping in Sungjin’s room for the next couple of days. On the bunk above him, Dowoon sleeps like a baby.
(Oh god, going through old stuff jotted down and found THIS–a short scene-fic-idea-exorcism I harassed Hari with back at the end of season 1.)
Oliver and Diggle showed up at the office at 12 precisely to collect her for lunch. Nice as it was to see the boys in a non-foundry setting, she was mostly just relieved for an excuse to extricate herself from the angry hornet’s nest her inbox had become over legal’s server glitch and accounting’s department-wide systems upgrade.
As the three exited Queen Consolidated, Felicity walked just ahead of the boys, trusting them to keep her from running over any pedestrians or puppies while she fired off a few final urgent e-mails on her tablet before disconnecting for her lunch hour. After all, they weren’t going far, having agreed on the deli bistro a block over from QC.
Felicity kept half an ear to the conversation between Digg and Oliver as she set her e-mail to auto-respond to all incoming mail with an out-to-lunch notice until she returned to the office. Hearing her name, she lifted her chin, eyes taking longer to tear from her tablet screen as she turned her head to reply over her right shoulder to Diggle’s playful prodding. In that exact moment, the door to an antique bookshop swung open and a lean man of middling height in a well-fitted gray suit stepped directly into Felicity’s path. Oliver, however, averted an embarrassing collision with a touch to her elbow. Felicity’s head came back around, lips already forming a chagrined “sorry” before her eyes took in the man standing three feet in front of her.
The apology was sucked back into her mouth in a strangled gasp of air, and Felicity’s fingers tightened into a white-knuckled grip on her tablet. Her shoulders went rigid and her feet backpedaled her directly into a firm chest. She might have turned and run, but a large hand circled her left bicep.
"Felicity?“ The man in the gray suit arched sandy-blond brows in surprise, his mouth flashing a bright grin that was deliberately swallowed a moment later, hidden away with the tuck of his full lower lip between his teeth. "Felicity Smoak? Wow, I–wow. This is… unexpected.”
"N-Nick,“ Felicity stammered, "What’re you–? You–you can’t BE here. How–?”
"I, uh. Hey, I’m sorry, listen,“ the man, Nick, smiled again, this time apologetically, and raised his hands in a soothing gesture, taking an exaggerated step backward. "This is… awkward, I know. Um.” Nick ran a hand over his hair, cropped close on the sides and back, longer on top. “Wow. I’m sorry, you look great, it’s been ages. Shit.” He dropped his hands to his sides, fingers curling into fists. “That was inappropriate, I’m sorry.”
"You’re–you’re SORRY?“ Felicity’s voice was incredulous, and she clutched her tablet to her chest like a shield. "Are you kidding me?”
A throat cleared behind her and Felicity jumped, startled. She’d forgotten John and Oliver were right there with her, though Oliver’s hand hadn’t yet left her arm and she was still pressed back against his chest, knees locked and spine like an iron rod.
Diggle cleared his throat again. “Felicity, you want to introduce us?”
Nick glanced over John, standing close but loose at Felicity’s right shoulder, then at Oliver, and his hand. The look in his eyes was unreadable, his expression smooth and blank. “Oh, uh, don’t worry about it. Actually, yeah, I should just… I should just go.” He turned his body towards the street, paused, and then moved a few short steps closer to the trio.
Felicity tensed, though really, if she stood any straighter she’d be on her toes. She felt Oliver’s grip shift on her bicep, but her attention was homed in on Nick’s face as he leaned in towards her.
His voice was hushed, meant just for her as he said, “I just, I wanted you to know, Felicity. I’ve–I’ve been seeing somebody. A doctor.” He paused, licked his lips, brown eyes never breaking contact with hers. “You don’t need to worry about me anymore.” Then he straightened, stepped back–and walked away.
Felicity stayed stock still as she watched him disappear into the thin crowds on the sidewalk, unaware of the two men at her back tracking Nick’s progress with hawk-like focus. Finally, when she couldn’t see Nick anymore, Felicity counted backward from ten and slowly exhaled the breath she’d been holding since Nick leaned close.
Suddenly, the warmth and solidness at her back vanished, and Felicity swayed slightly with the loss, though Oliver’s hand slipped from its circle around her upper arm to a gentler touch on her shoulder. “Felicity?” Oliver’s voice was calm, deliberate, but she recognized the cold notes of the Hood in his tone. “Want to tell Digg and me who, exactly, that guy was?”
Felicity glanced first to the left, at John. His quietly concerned, but no less determined look was easier to handle. “That was Nick Jasper.”
"Felicity.“ This time Oliver’s voice held no question, and though still swaddled in gentleness, the steel behind it brooked no argument, allowed for no evasion. She had been painfully obviously terrified, and it would be absurd to hope that Oliver would just let that slide.
Finally, she broke from John’s reassuring gaze to turn and look at Oliver’s careful mask. He was trying hard not to look frighteningly determined, out here in the middle of the sidewalk with people moving around them, but Felicity all too easily recognized the hard clench of his jaw and the flinty look in his eyes. It was no less intimidating for the lack of green greasepaint. Swallowing thickly, Felicity chewed her lip for a second then, in a rush, said, "Nick was my stalker.”
Title: Neck tie
Pairing: Krisho, ChenLay
Summary: Junmyeon tells his husband about his son’s conversation
“Do you know Yixing?”
“Jongdae’s best friend right?”
“Okayy, boyfriend then.”
Yifan watched as Junmyeon put the bowl at the rack and continued washing the dishes.
“What about Yixing? He didn’t hurt my baby boy did he?”
“No no no. You resolve to violence too much, even Baekhyun is so violent thanks to you.”
His reply was cut short as Junmyeon glared at him.
“Anyways you should had heard Jongdae this afternoon when Chanyeol came, it was epic.”
“How are you?”
“Jongdae you saw Chanyeol yesterday.” Baekhyun said.
“Why can’t I miss talking to my future brother in law?”
“Because he’s mine. Anyways where’s my future brother in law? Where is Xingxing?”
“Oh he had to stay back to help some other junior with studies.” Jongdae said dreamily.
Baekhyun turned to his boyfriend.
“If you ever say that I’ll kick you.”
“Please I say cheesier things than that.”
The elder duo turned to Jongdae as the middle schooler took out a tie.
“Thanks for lending me your tie, Yeol.”
“Eh? Didn’t you say you wanted to save money by not buying the school tie?”
“Yeah, I remember you forcing me to ask him for it since Yeol went to the same middle school!”
“Well, it’s kind of cause of Yixing.”
“WHAT DID HE DO?”
Jongdae scratched his head and blushed.
“Yixing said he didn’t like me wearing another man’s tie. He said I should only wear his stuff since he’s my boyfriend so he got one for me instead. I-I mean he gave me his and he bought a new one for himself.”
Baekhyun and Chanyeol gawked.
“That kid is trying to surpass my level of possessiveness!”
“He’s so reckless and demanding when it comes to Jongdae.”
“I like him.”
Junmyeon shook his head as Yifan left.
“BABA HAS GONE NUTS!”
“HE CAME INTO MY ROOM YESTERDAY TELLING ME HE IS GIVING ME AND YIXING HIS BLESSINGS!”
“Isn’t that good?”
“I AM IN MIDDLE SCHOOL UMMA!”
Sesshomaru had long, thin fingers, beautifully delicate looking but impossibly–deceptively–strong. They were tipped with carefully manicured claws that danced over Kagome’s skin in an effort to make her very basic instincts swirl and mix with his; and most of the time they worked. But tonight the little miko was having none of it.
She sat behind him on the ledge of the pit-like tub that was in the very center of the cave they had receded to. Her own fingers, not nearly as long and elegant as his but tapered beautifully at the ends with rounded nails; were buried firmly into his hair as she worked the sweet oil into it. And every advance he moved to make, she would press her feet to his back and keep him far enough from her so that he couldn’t overwhelm her.
True he could have forced her if he’d wished, no protests would have been heard and no one would have interrupted with his barrier that shrouded the entrance; but that was not a prize he wanted on his reputation. Or his conscience. So he leaned back against her feet as they fit comfortably under his shoulder blades and let her be until he desired to try again.
Kagome couldn’t have said why she wasn’t in the mood for Sesshomaru’s advances–or rather she didn’t want to admit it. Truthfully, she wasn’t comfortable with it; she hadn’t been ever since his mother had come to stay with them. While she had little objection to her son’s choice in mate–or if she did she didn’t voice it–she did object to their current lack of children. Any intimacy between the two while she was around to notice always ended with questions that the little miko was not entirely sure she wanted to answer. Thus her husband was kept at arms length until the demoness decided she’d stayed long enough.
Her guard didn’t leave her until the demon moved away to dip beneath the surface to rinse his hair but even then it proved to be a mistake because as she let her legs drop into the water as she waited for him to resurface, beautifully clawed fingers wrapped around one ankle and all but dragged her into the water.
Warmth surrounded her and before she could fully realize she’d been dragged underwater, she found herself being hauled up onto the cool stone once more. Sesshomaru was above her quick enough to draw a gasp from her lips and a wicked grin crossed his lips before he leaned down to press a kiss to her lips.
“Not funny” She offered in a warning tone as the kiss was broken, but she gave no protest when he bent to steal another kiss as clawed fingers worked her wet clothing from her body.
“I wasn’t trying to be, I was trying to warm you up.” He returned, voice smooth as silk and rich with humor as his fingers worked. No he’d not been playing a joke, he’d been trying to throw her off; to break up that ice that had seemed to encase her since his mother had come to stay. It had occurred to him more than once to send her away, but in the end–whether it was fear or respect–he’d rejected that idea and had elected for a night in the trysting caves with his wife instead.
“Did you just call me frigid?” Those were words of warning, but he only continued.
“Do you deny it?” He kissed her ear and enjoyed the shiver that ran up her spine as he did.
“Well no but–”
“You’re irritated” Her tone was flat.
“You pulled me into the tub.”
“You’ve been rejecting me for days.”
“I know but–” One word stopped her, his answer.
“Why?” And then suddenly it was uncomfortable, she didn’t push him off of her but she relaxed and sighed in a way that told him any hope of anything further than teasing was out of his reach. Pulling back, cool golden eyes watched her sit up; meeting her blues briefly before she glanced away. Reaching, he gently clasped her chin and turned her face towards him.
“Miko?” Blue eyes watched him for a moment before their owner sighed and pulled her chin out of his grasp; arms crossing.
“Because your mother is here.”
“Mother would not dare interfere with–” Blushing, she interrupted him.
“That’s not what I mean! She knows! Every time we—she knows and asks me questions that make me–….uncomfortable.” Golden irises focused on her intently, unreadable.
“What does she ask?” Kagome gave another frustrated sigh, her voice taking on an irritated and uncomfortable tone to it.
“How often we do it. Why we leave here when I am not pregnant. If we’re planning children. If you satisfy me. If I satisfy you. If I am barren.” His hand ran through her hair and turned her face up to him once more.
“And such questions bother you?” The miko pulled her face away again but this time she didn’t turn away.
“Well–…yeah…” He was quiet for a moment, a long moment as he studied her.
“This is not all we are, Miko.” Came his slow answer, “Children will come when you are ready, not when mother wants them to. We are not the sum of our shared passion, we are the sum of our passion for one another. A passion that is not based upon what offspring we could create.” Kagome blinked.
“Is that your way of saying you will love me even if we find out one day that I can’t have children?"
"Would you expect less?” His cryptic answer brought a knowing smile to her lips.
The click of her heels is almost too loud in the stone-cold dungeon.
His breath washes out in pale wisps, white clouds of frost his only sign of life. Deidara doesn’t bother looking up, but he can’t suppress the small smile that crawls across his face. It’s a tiny, bruised grimace, but brings him satisfaction to know he’s not beaten yet.
The iron door creaks open, and he finally hazards a glance upwards, a scoff puffing out alongside his labored breaths. “Of course it’s you, yeah.” he drawls, tossing his head to get a better look at her.
Ino, of course, doesn’t look up from her clipboard as she pads closer.
“What, are dumb bitches all Konoha’s got? I heard such scary stories about the interrogation force, yeah.” he sneers, goading her, blinking a fresh drip of blood out of his eye.
She takes pause, blue-ice eyes taking him in. Matted hair, torn clothes, bruises and gashes that litter his skin like hail.
A small upturn of her mouth. She says nothing.
They’d met before, of course. But never like this. He remembers seeing her for the first time, perched in a field, flaxen brows furrowed with determination. He sees himself in her, the mirror of her hair, her eyes, the quick flutter of her hands.
Deidara had sent an exploding butterfly her way, careless, lazy in his confidence. So it’d been a shock when suddenly, suddenly, she was slumping to the ground before it reached her, and he—
He stared from behind his eyes, unable to move, to speak. The girl laughed with his voice, peering down at his hands, shrugging his shoulders. “Wow, you’re unlucky. A second earlier and I would have been toast.”
She rolls up the immaculate sleeves of her lab coat, delicately clearing her throat. “You understand why you’re here.” Ino begins, voice a practiced calm. “And you understand what I have to do.”
The clear timbre of her voice gives, suddenly, a tremor wracking the previous steady of her tone.
He sees her again, months later, and fury burns molten in his ribs. There’s nothing particularly special about her— dumb bitch, just asking for a kunai to the stomach, but he knows the galaxies that swirl in her eyes now. He remembers the infuriating song of her laugh, the agonizing strip-search of the molecules of his soul, waking up with dried tears on his face.
“Whatever.” Deidara rolls his eyes. Ino lifts a hand, bluish chakra rippling like heat waves around her fingers. She makes a circle over her heart, and there’s a sound like cymbals— his teeth rattle, eyes rolling back, thoughts fuzzy.
They meet again and this time, he will kill her. She laughs in his face, brazen and beautiful, and he sees flowers in her eyes.
Supernovas burn bright behind his eyeballs, along his nerves, and it’s all he can do not to scream. He can barely register the ice-cold touch of her palm to his forehead, her consciousness roaring through his head like wildfire, the regretful laugh that resonates as she rips at his memories.
“I don’t know how you keep finding me.” she says the sixth time, tucking a dandelion behind his ear. “Don’t you want me dead?”
“Sorry,” Ino murmurs, and he can’t tell if it’s her voice or her thoughts. Comets streak through his veins, ripping apart his atoms, and her consciousness is so bright he thinks he might go blind.
After the tenth time, he stops pretending he wants to kill her. She traces a finger along the mouth on his left palm and laughs. There’s a feeling in his stomach like low-grade clay exploding and he hates it.
He gasps for air, sucking it in like a dying man. And maybe he is dying, maybe he’s already dead, but he’s blinking nebulae out of his eyes as Ino pulls her hand back. Slowly, his sight returns, and the first thing he sees is platinum gold and sky.
“Thanks for your cooperation.” she steps back, face blank once more. If there’s dampness at the corners of her eyes, he doesn’t say anything.
The tapping of her footsteps and the slam of the door sound too quick, too loud, and he stares at the floor, thinking of irises and oleander.
“You know I’ll have to kill you one day, yeah.” he says after twenty-two meetings. Ino shrugs, flashing him her sun-bright smile.
and i’ll be yours until the stars fall out of the sky | Sungjin [drabble]
fluff, shameless fluff | 516 words | pg-ish
a/n: Elaina, @daystring6, my love, this is for you. I wrote this on the train on my way home from work today so this is raw and ugh and it’s a mess obvs but I also really want to show you now (because i kind of drew insp from yours) so I hope you like it even just a little bit <3 bb, you deserve more than this, and I will give you more than this, but for now this is what I have for you.
The definition of Economics is the branch of…. the branch of… the branch of…
“Oh, man, I give up,” Nathan mumbled as he shut his Economics textbook.
Edd sighed and shook his head. “As you wish, but you better be hoping you receive a decent score on your final, then.”
“I know all I need to know about Economics.”
“Oh, do you?”
“Yeah,” Nat said with nod. He grinned as he jumped up from the couch. “It’s all about the money and the government. Especially the money.” He rubbed his fingers together.
“You seem quite confident,” Edd said. “I don’t see why you’re here, then. I am supposed to be tutoring you, but as you said, you know all you need to know about Economics. Perhaps you should be getting home. It is getting late, and I still have much to study for.” The sockhead sighed softly as he flipped a page in his textbook.
Nat’s grin fell a bit, and he shrugged. “Well, I don’t know everything.”
The corners of Edd’s lips rose, but he hide his smile from Nathan. Although their relationship was strictly “study studs” as Nat put it, Edd couldn’t help but really enjoy the teal-haired teen’s company. It may or may not had to do with the tiniest crush he had on Nat.
“I can stay,” Nat said, sitting back down. “I can…” He bit his lower lip. Studying was the last thing he was in the mood for, but if it meant being able to spend more time with Edd, he would make up some excuse. Hanging out with Edd was different from hanging out with any of his other friends, and it wasn’t because he and Edd studied. It was the way Edd’s presence made him feel—comfortable. He honestly think being around a genius would make him feel intimidated, and even though Double D had his moments, he did make Nathan feel relaxed. Probably a little more relaxed than he felt with anyone else… not that it mattered.
Sean understands. He does. It’s complicated, it’s overwhelming, and Nick isn’t sure what’s okay to say, what’s okay to do. When he should speak, even. But it’s becoming problematic; Nick sits too silent, doesn’t contribute to the conversations. They are supposed to look like equals, in this, and Nick is his Grimm, needs to make his voice heard. Needs to command respect through more than just his title, his supposed relationship– no, his bond, the mate bond – with Sean. He needs to command respect on his own terms.
He can do that. Nick commands respect, always does, and not through fear; even in Portland, the Wesen respect him. He has made a name for himself as a Grimm who is fair-minded.
So in the safe house, Sean sits him down. It’s difficult, it’s awkward. He explains that Nick needs to be a participant. Sitting on an ancient chair, with faded upholstery, leaning forward, elbows on his parted knees, hands clasped loosely.
He holds Nick’s eyes, and tries to make him understand. Promises he is protected, holds a position of privilege, has the right to be heard. That his opinions can be unpopular, and will be respected. And then he excuses himself to sit quietly in the corner on his laptop, pretending they have the space they need to give each other privacy.
He wishes things were different.
Things aren’t different.
He wishes they were better friends, instead of uneasy allies forced to trust each other.
Perhaps one day.
The next afternoon, sitting at the head of a table with some of the most important families, some of the most important members of the resistance (carefully hidden behind their official titles) and some of the worst of the Royals, Sean turned to Nick.
“What do you think?”
Nick’s hands were clasped together on the table and he seemed to tighten them, a moment. As if giving himself some strength. He let go, drumming his fingers a second, and then began to speak.
The substance didn’t matter. The quiet way he got it all across mattered. The way certain people looked pleased, some sat up straighter, the way others looked angry and resigned.
And then he fell silent, and clasped his hands again.
Sean felt himself smile. Reached hi own hand across, to settle on Nick’s; not unusual, for a mated pair, or a married couple, and no one would blink, and perhaps some who had whispered that they couldn’t sense a bond there at all might shut up. Nick looked up, a little bewildered, and Sean gave a squeeze, before pulling away again and looking up at the faces around the table.
Progress. He was glad. And for a moment, he wished that what he and Nick were supposed to have was real.
This is a short AU drabble that takes place a few weeks after episode 11 of season 3. Peter has been completely miserable and he has nobody left to turn to except Rumplestiltskin’s mother. She ends up helping him more than he ever expected. In this story, just assume Peter had Rumple after he had already been given eternal youth. (It makes things less weird.)
Sirius saw Marlene standing up furiously from her table in the Great Hall as everybody was having dinner. She looked positively annoyed and unable to cope with herself, even. So, frowning slightly he made his way out of the place as well, willing to take the chance to take away her miserable feelings by making her laugh, snog with her o something beyond that.
Christmas has always been Kurt’s favorite holiday.
However, since his mother had passed away, Christmas had also become Kurt’s most dreaded holiday.
There are just too many memories kindling up again during that time of the year. Just the faint smell of fir branches that rises up his nose whenever he sits down in the living room, with their advent wreath taking up almost all the space on their small coffee table. Or when he turns on the radio in the mornings and the first thing he hears is Mariah Carey’s ‘All I Want For Christmas’.
And then, of course, it’s the preparations he, himself, has to make before the holidays. Baking Christmas cookies, wrapping gifts, looking up recipes for the perfect Christmas goose (no matter how high the praise is he receives, he’s never satisfied with himself), and then, there’s one thing that strikes him especially hard.
Send in ☼ for my muse’s reaction to yours sliding their hand up mine’s thigh
There were times where Molly joined Lestrade and some of the Yard out for drinks– it was just a thing that started happening more frequently, especially now that the two were dating. This outing happened to just be a casual one as opposed to the other times. John had managed to drag Sherlock out of the flat and to the bar by promise that he could deduce the situation at hand (as Molly and Greg hadn’t revealed their relationship status yet, though it must have been obvious with their actions with one another).
It was more an experiment, as Sherlock had noticed Molly’s “bliss weight” and new hairstyle. She could only imagine what Greg had to go through all the time on a case.
After a round of darts, the small group sat themselves down at a round table, Molly seated to Greg’s right and the 221B boys sitting across from them. Sherlock immediately went about analyzing everything, and as Greg and John sparked up a conversation, Molly found herself stiffening and attempting to keep a straight face. Greg’s hand had found her knee and at this point she was both cursing and blessing her brain for having chosen a flowery dress to wear out that night.
Greg did well to act as though there were absolutely nothing going on - the only indication he knew what he was up to was the second-long flick of his eyes towards the blushing woman, and a twitch at his upper lip as he fought back the urge to smirk. She hadn’t though they drank a lot tonight, as he wasn't normally so touchy feely in public… but at this point, she certainly wasn’t complaining.
It took a moment for Molly to click in that her name was being called, and she shook her head, cheeks flaming a hotter red now as Sherlock squint his eyes at her, staring her down. He continued to stare, eyes flicking over her face and body a moment before he grinned, turning to John and scooting back his chair.
“Come on, John, that was hardly difficult to figure out. It’s obvious that they are seeing each other. And, Molly–” he turned his eyes on her again, and suddenly it felt like everyone was staring at her. “I was about to suggest that John and I leave, though from how high his hand is upon your thigh, I’d suggest that you two get out of here.”
You met Jae on a Sunday morning. For reasons still unbeknownst to you, you were compelled by some universal force to walk into the shady looking off-the-wall record shop down the street from the cafe you were supposed to meet your friends ten minutes ago. Supposed to, because they’re running late and you didn’t want to sit there waiting for them for another hour. Jae was strumming on his beat up guitar, sitting comfortably on top of the counter with his feet up, oblivious to the passing of time and space around him.
You walked in to the tinkle of the bell above the door, and immediately regretted it. The record shop was the kind that sold vinyl and vintage CDs. On the wall were guitars with names you could never remember, and all sounded the same to you. Jae glanced up, and you froze awkwardly hoping he’d ignore you.
But that wouldn’t be Jae-like.
Instead, he squinted at you from behind his too big wire-framed glasses and under his fluffy almost white hair. “Hey there.” He sounded like he’s known you forever, when you were pretty sure you’ve never even seen him before.
You remained stranded at the threshold. “I, uh, I’m just looking around?”
“You know,” he said, hopping off the counter and returning his guitar to its stand. “When someone new comes in, we have this tradition.”
You were regretting this decision more and more. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. We pick out a bunch of records that reflect our first impression of you.”
Jae rummaged through the stacks before him, deftly going record through record, like revisiting old friends, nostalgia palpable in the expression on his face. You couldn’t help but stare in return. “I’m Jae, by the way. What’s your name?”
He looked up, pushing his glasses up his nose. “That’s unfortunate. Why would your parents name you Not Necessary? Didn’t they want you?”
You were confused then, beautiful boy and goofy boy was a rare combination. But you still couldn’t figure out what to say so you just stared at him. You couldn’t even look away anymore.
“Here,” he said, picking out three records from the stack. “I picked these for you.”
Etta James (1961) At Last
Frankie Valli (1967) Can’t Take My Eyes Off You/The Trouble With Me
The Beatles (1963) I Want to Hold Your Hand/I Saw Her Standing There
You didn’t even feel any regret ditching your friends that day. Until much later, when Sungjin would tell you that no such tradition exists and that Jae probably just made it up that day because he thought you were cute. And that Jae might have been heavily medicated, but that’s for another conversation altogether.
They’re as far away as they can possibly get from Hong Kong and its Shatterdome, and Chuck says it shows when he leans up on his elbow and just stares at Herc. They both wear the only reminder they still possess of that life, of how they almost lost one another, but here and in this setting it’s something to celebrate rather than dwell on.
A year and an ocean or two away from the breach and Pitfall and the endless talk show invitations, the PR gigs, the men in stupid fucking suits who wanted to shake their hands and thank them for something they’d said would never work, and it finally feels like it might just be far enough.
Chuck smiles, bends to kiss the corner of his father’s eye, his fingers tangled in the chain and tags around Herc’s neck. "You look…“
"Hmm?” Herc opens one eye, reaching to put his hand into Chuck’s hair. "I look what?“
"Like my dad again. Like you used to.”
Chuck chews at his lip, watching Herc’s look soften slightly, like he’s feeling guilty all over again about the years they spent just being drift compatible, father and son. Jaeger pilots, instead of a boy and his dad.
“Light’s good in here then.”
“It’s not the light.”
Chuck shifts, pressing in against Herc’s side then lifting his leg over, his dick soft at Herc’s hip. He opens his mouth around the tags that are still warm from his touch, from Herc’s skin, and sucks them in, looking up at his dad through thick lashes.
“You’ve changed as well,” Herc remarks, dragging Chuck up again to kiss him around the tags.
Chuck can’t help it, feels himself starting to get hard just from the metal and his dad’s tongue in his mouth. Makes a soft sound, pulling back. "I think getting fucked day and night agrees with me.“ It’s not the subtlest of hints, but Chuck’s long learnt that subtlety doesn’t work too well on Herc.
"Huh, for me I’m pretty sure it’s the intense blow jobs my son gives me.” Herc blushes as he says it, my son, and Chuck just grins and wants to kiss him again and tell him it doesn’t fucking matter, it never will, not to him. Because it isn’t the sex, it isn’t even being thousands of miles away from a place that still haunts them both sometimes, it’s just the simple fact of reaching out and finding each other there, close enough to smell, to touch, to smile at, to love.