#Nicky: *drinks it all while maintaining direct eye contact* | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

gotmetalkinginmysleep · 3 years

Text

No Candle No Light

Genre: Suggestion with Jeon Jungkook x Reader (Y/N)

Warnings: A lot of consented skin-ship that might be uncomfortable for some, Pre-smut, Sexual tension, Swearing, Alcohol, Drinking, Clubbing/Bars.

Summary: Your date somehow ends up in a bar, but on this occasion, it might be the best idea yet.

References: No Candle No Light by Zayn Feat Nicki Minaj

Word count: 1299 words

- - -

The bar glows red illuminating all the glasses and liquor bottles on display. As you glance around the buzzing room, the music pumping loud and vibrating your chest, you notice people enjoying themselves. Couples desperately trying to be heard over the music by talking into each other’s ears, friends celebrating with champagne and sparklers, dancers swaying to the reverberation as your eyes scout the bar, watching the individuals that have taken stoop at the counter. The bartenders in their crisp white collared shirts and braces, highlighted in red hues as they take peoples orders and refilling your glass of water accompanying your cocktail, where you’ve perched since your arrival.

Your date for the night placing orders with the bartender while the other refilling your glass catches your eye, throwing you a wink and an air kiss heating your cheeks in embarrassment. Jungkook’s order was short, you were still nursing your first cocktail, not that you weren’t in the mood to be there, just nervous. Suddenly, arriving with his personal order of Gin and tonic and JD and coke were 2 tequila shots. He hands you one, his fingers lingering on the glass as you delicately grasp it. “For your nerves,” he shouts towards you as he necks his shot back. You join him, the burn of tequila stinging at your throat as you swallow.

Slamming your glass on the table, you grab the water to swallow down the remnants of the shot. “You ok?” He chuckles as you recover, nodding in his general direction, still too nervous to look at him. He’s dressed all in black but casual. His hair black and parted showing his forehead, strands scattering and threatening his eyes as he jigs about to the beat, desperately trying to help you relax, laugh and enjoy yourself. His skin is to die for, absolutely flawless and quite intimidating as the lights bounce off its slightly reflective surface.

Let’s be honest here, you were enjoying yourself but your anxiety was getting the better of you. You were enjoying everything, the music, the atmosphere, your company... it just wasn’t showing on your face. Your eyes constantly checking the exits and the bathrooms in case you needed to run for it. Your throat is tight in anticipation, threatening to close access for air to your lungs.

You feel a gentle touch on your shoulder and thigh as he sits back down on the barstool next to you. Looking to the corner of your eye, you feel his eyes on you. He leans in, his nose brushing against your cheek as he moves your hair behind your ear with his fingers, speaking into it directly, “Tell me, are you ok? Do you want to go home?” Jungkook seems concerned about your wellbeing even though you haven’t even told him that yet. It must be written all over your face and his concern is written all over his.

“I don’t want to do anything you don’t want me to do,” he comforts, “I’m just really into you. Shit, I’ve touched you. I didn’t ask. Is that ok? I’m so sorry.” He pulls his hands away quickly and leans back in his chair, throwing his head to the ceiling annoyed within himself for doing something wrong, physically sighing as you turn to him to reassure him. Taking his hand in yours and brushing your thumb across his tattooed knuckles, he softens slightly. His need for your skin being sated for a while.

“No, you didn’t ask. But I promise I will tell you if there’s something I don’t want you to do or if want you to stop,” now you’re doing the consoling. Perhaps the drinks he’s consuming are to settle his nerves.

“You promise?” He asks, looking up at you through his hair strands.

“Hand on my heart hope to…”

“Don’t die. Nope,” He clutches your hand pulling it to his lips giving you a gentle kiss on your knuckles, “not tonight anyway.”

You blush slightly from his gentle advances and turn back to your drink, raising it to your lips as you continue to feel his eyes on you. You sip from the glass, resting it on the bar before you look in his direction, not once has he looked away. He tucks your hair behind your ear again, placing his hand gently on your shoulder as he leans in, “I’m sorry if I’m clingy. It’s just you’re so pretty. I think you’re really pretty... and cute.” He leans back to take you in, slightly underdressed considering the rest of the punters in this bar, but you match each other, twinning almost in your casual clothes. You smile back, mouthing thank you, your shyness getting the better of you as you try to hideaway. “Sorry was that not ok?” He questions as you lean in, telling him, “I’m sorry. I’m just not used to compliments. I don’t know how to respond, so thank you.”

You continue drinking as his hand begins stroking your arm that’s currently resting on the bar, supporting your more than casual stoop. Subconsciously protecting you from everything going on around you but your walls are slowly crumbling as his gentle touch graces your shoulder, thumb brushing through the thin layer of your tee across your skin. You’re starting to relax to his touch. His charms. Him. You turn your head to look, his eyes dark when you catch them, before they close and lower to your arm, his teeth gently biting into your arm. Your head goes completely numb, your core drops in need and you lose all your willpower. He’s biting you. He’s. Fucking. Biting. You!

You’ve succumbed to him in an instant and those protective walls you built are rubble around you. Jungkook can tell as your eyes become noticeably heavy as he lifts his head to take notice of you. His fingers delicately twirling the hair falling forward onto your face before tucking it behind your ear one more. Your eyes rolling to close at the soft sensation of his fingers brushing the shell of your ear, leaning into his palm. Your lips parting for a rushed breath as his fingers trace along your jaw, settling under your chin and you follow his pull towards his face. Towards his lips.

His touch was gentle, not passionate but just enough to test the water. The pressure against them you can tell he’s holding back the urge to devour you in favour of making sure you’re comfortable. You sigh at the touch against his soft lips, something he notices as he pulls away. His eyes are heavy and black as they follow from your lips to your own heavy glare, resting foreheads as his thumb rubs against your bottom lip. “So pretty. So soft,” he coos. The music is still pounding around you but your brain has muted it to the background, as you lick the pad of his thumb, a sigh from Jungkook audible over the room but you’re the only one that heard.

You’re both melting at each other's touch until he offers you his finger. You look confused at it before you catch his eye, maintaining eye contact as you take it into your mouth, sucking it in and flicking your tongue over the top. His mouth falling open at your movements, before pulling his finger away and replacing it with his tongue in a heavy kiss. Both of your inhibitions falling around you, the music muffled and blurred in the background as you let him consume you. As he stops for air, you catch his bottom lip between your teeth pulling away slightly, noticing his eyes watching you intently, glazing over in lust before he devours your lips once more. Muttering against them in need,

“Come on, let’s get out of here.”

Read more on the Masterlist.

128 notes · View notes

lavellaned · 4 years

Text

blunt thou the lion’s paws,

Chapter five

Desdemona makes eye contact with Deacon as soon as he steps foot into HQ. He saunters in without a care in the world, swipes a Nuka Cherry from one of the shelves, and plops himself down in a chair like he owns the place. The artificial fruit flavor burns a little on the way down.

Desdemona points her head to the backroom, giving Deacon an unspoken order. He sighs, mourning the moment’s rest he’s missing out on, and follows after her. He throws back the cola again as he trods into the room. Des, Carrington, and PAM are waiting for him.

“So?” Des asks.

Deacon leans a shoulder on the wall, crossing his ankles. He gives a single shoulder shrug.

“Institute wasn’t there, at least not on site.”

“But…?” Carrington prods.

“Our neighborhood ghost town isn’t as ghosty as we thought.” He takes another drink.

The past few days of trailing the vault dweller answered some questions, but raised a hell of a lot more. She kept her cards so close to her that it impressed him, and if he hadn’t gone down into Vault 111 himself, he would still be betting on the theory that she was an Institute plant. His first contact with her in Diamond City was risky, but Deacon thought it paid off in the end. Since then, she’s stuck to pretty much the same routine. She left Diamond City, wandered a little ways into old Boston until she lost her nerve, went back to that old neighborhood, and has been doing chores for the Minuteman in charge there. It has only been a couple times she’s deviated from this, once to help out a few Brotherhood schmucks and when she traveled back to Diamond City for a short while.

Which, he found interesting, was to visit good ol’ Nicky. She didn’t seem all too happy when she left his place.

Deacon didn’t think she’d take to the Wasteland as well as she has. If he didn’t see her metaphorical resurrection from the vault himself, he’d pin her off as a born and raised wastelander. He’s not sure if he should be concerned about that or not.

Like watching a baby bird take its first flight and leave the nest, Deacon watched her start to find her groove. It’s rare that he feels the need to interfere anymore, other than leaving heavy handed hints of the Railroad around in her path.

There are three things that Deacon uses to help predict someone: caps, belief, and ego.

From his little one-on-one with her back in DC he’s pretty confident he’s started to get those filled in for her. One: he’s learned that she’s broke. The fact that she also has no gauge for how many caps is too little or too much for something also speaks volumes ( seven caps for a box of Dandy Boy apples you dug up out of the trash, Vadim? Really? ). Two: he’s learned that she’s skeptical, cautious, even. She had been hesitant to take his caps, instead of blindly accepting shit from strangers. That almost made him a little proud. And then comes her ego. She showed her hand a bit when she instantly flat out rejected his unintentional proposition, but, hey, happy accidents, right?

So, the info that he’s gathered so far on his new favorite vaultie is that she’s a shrewd, volatile recluse with a huge chip on her shoulder and an ability (and willingness) to adapt to dangerous situations.

Deacon doesn’t like putting expectations on the future, ‘cause that’ll just lead straight to disappointment, but he can’t help that nibbling feeling that little miss vaultie might just be the Railroad’s ticket to getting back on their feet. Hell, if only a handful of the Railroad had half the amount of focus and gusto she’s shown, this fight would be in the bag.

But that all hinges on whether or not she actually decides to find them.

Deacon fills them in on the cliffnotes version of events, omitting other details until further notice.

“How do you know for sure that she’s not working with the Institute?” Desdemona asks.

“I don’t. But word on the block is that she’s looking for… something, and so far, she’s been hounding for info on the Institute. She’s got friends, connections, scattered through the ‘wealth, and she’s doing a good job of keeping it quiet. Hell, given some more time, I’d say she’d be able to come up with something that could overshadow the Railroad.”

“So what are you suggesting, then?”

“Nothing. All I’m saying is that she’s a dangerous enemy to have, and if I had to bet, an even more powerful ally.”

Deacon watches as Carrington and Des give silent glances to each other. The second in command doesn’t look too happy with what he thinks the chief is going to say, but he never gets the opportunity to voice his concerns.

“Keep an eye on her,” Des tells him, “Just because she’s hunting the Institute doesn’t mean that she’s going to fight for the synths as well.”

“Gotchya.” He pushes off from the wall, downs the last bit of his cola, and turns to leave the room.

“And, Deacon.” He stops. “There's nothing done beyond that until we can be sure she’s not with the Institute, understand?”

“Aye aye, cap’n,” he says as he gives a little salute and ambles out.

----------

As soon as Dogmeat is through the gate, Claudia is slamming it closed behind her. She freezes as she listens through the wood for any indication that her pursuers are still after her. Her chest heaves through raspy breaths, adrenaline making her feel like she’s as explosive as a live wire. Sweat beads down her face and makes her hands clammy, forcing her to maintain a death grip on her gun.

When she doesn’t hear the pounding footsteps behind her, she steps away from the gate and directs her attention to the new area. Drifters spare her a small glance here and there, but other than that, she doesn’t seem to have attracted too much attention to herself. Feeling like she’s not in any more immediate danger than usual, she holsters her pistol. Her legs feel like jelly as they take her deeper into Goodneighbor.

She is barely able to take a breath before a gruff voice is trying to get her attention. She resists the temptation to start screaming.

A rough looking man walks up to her, stopping her from gaining anymore ground. Claudia says nothing as he sizes her up.

“You new ‘round here?” he says, tongue rolling over a thick accent. She remains silent. “You should know that you can’t go walkin’ ‘round Goodneighbor without insurance.” He points a finger towards her. “So if you know what’s good for ya, you’ll pay up. Or accidents are gonna start happenin’ to ya. Big. Bloody. Accidents.”

Now, Claudia doesn’t quite have a full grasp on the general attitude of law and order in the Commonwealth, but she is fully pondering whether or not people would care if she shoots this guy here in the middle of their town.

“Woah, woah, woah,” a distant voice calls out from down the alley. Claudia groans inwardly.

Great now there’s two of them.

“Come on, Finn, what’s the deal? You know that if someone new walks through those gates, they’re a guest.” A duster clad ghoul steps into view. He walks over to the man, looks over to Claudia, and gives a quick wink in her direction before returning his attention back to Finn.

She hears a low scoff come from the man. “You’re gettin’ soft, Hancock. You keep letting outsiders walk all over you like this and soon Goodneighbor’s gonna find itself with a new mayor.” The ghoul chuckles and it sends a cold shiver down Claudia's spine.

“Hey,” Hancock says, “come ‘ere, I need to tell you something.” Finn gives him a wary look but doesn’t have time to do much else before the ghoul produces a knife from seemingly nowhere and guts him right there in the street.

Finn falls to the ground with a gurgle as Hancock wipes his combat knife on his pant leg, looking down to the quickly dying man. “Now why’d you have to go an’ say that, huh? Breakin’ my heart over here.” He hides the knife away again and turns his attention to Claudia who has been silent the entire exchange.

He starts talking to her, but she can’t hear a damn thing he’s saying. She’s exhausted, hungry, and is really fed up with the smell of gunpowder, blood, and piss. Right now, Claudia could give a rat’s ass if he’s threatening her or welcoming her.

He’s quiet for a moment before she realizes he’s stopped talking and is probably waiting for a reply to some question he’s asked.

“You got a place to crash?” she asks instead. A look of understanding lights up the mayor’s eyes briefly as he takes her demeanor in stride and gives her a cockeyed smile.

“Hotel Rexford, just ‘round the corner,” he rasps.

“Thanks,” Claudia murmurs as she steps over Finn’s body without a second glance.

----------

It took her longer than he thought it would to venture on out this far into the city. At first, Deacon thought that she was following the Freedom Trail and had to stop himself from doing a little happy dance, but she didn’t even notice the red lines literally leading her directly to HQ, and instead headed east.

He took a chance guessing she was going to Goodneighbor, so he drifted into the town before her and waited for her arrival.

When time started to pass and she still hadn’t shown up, he was starting to get worried that maybe he lost her trail or she got nicked on her way over, until she blasted through the gates out of breath and wildeyed.

Must have run into the super mutants. He bit back a grin.

He stationed himself against the wall between the two shops at the front of the town, so he got a first row seat to the little show Hancock put on for her. The man always was a bit dramatic.

She went and rented a room at the Rexford immediately afterwards, and has not been seen since.

At first he thought she dipped when he wasn’t looking, however doubtful that would be, but the key to the room that she rented was still gone from the hook behind the front desk when he meandered inside. Then he thought that something happened to her, but there had been no commotion to make that idea totally logical.

It’s been going on almost a full 24 hours with no sighting of her when Deacon decides to slip up the stairs and down the hallway to her room. When he tries it, he finds the door locked. He presses his ear to the door. It’s dead silent inside, no noise that could come from her or that dog that’s following her around. A quick glance down the hallway confirms he’s alone.

He scans the wall (these inn walls are always slightly torn to shit) until he spots a small lift in the wallpaper. It doesn’t offer much, but he can just see through a pin sized hole in the wall into the room. He doesn’t see her or the dog, but he can see her bag sitting on foot of the bed. He pulls back and purses his lips.

He’s only supposed to be keeping an eye on her and see if she’s going to hinder the Railroad’s efforts in any way. That’s it. What he should do is turn around, leave, and blend in with the rest of the drifters and see where she shows up then. Deacon knows he’s been taking too many risks on this job. He’s gotten close to, if not just outright, broken several of his rules when it comes to a long-term stake out.

He’s interfered not once, but twice now, and, as if that wasn’t bad enough, he made face to face contact with her. She’s seen his face, heard his voice. Granted, that was about a week ago, and in a vastly different context, but that still doesn’t lessen the liability that comes with that.

But he’s been good lately, he’s fallen back into his usual routine, he’s kept his distance. He’s inspected her work around the Commonwealth without raising alarm, and he’s dutifully continued peppering Railroad propaganda here and there in her path. He’s been the good little stalker from afar. Out of sight, out of mind.

And he’s about to throw all of that straight into the trash.

He holds back the urge to punch himself in the face and goes over to the door, standing close to it to block his actions from view. He pulls out a couple bobby pins and starts getting to work on the lock. It’s not a complex one and it’s pretty busted so it unlocks without much fuss.

He opens the door just a crack, confirming that the room is empty. His brows furrow and he opens the door just enough to walk into the room. His eyes are on the bag sitting on the bed and he barely takes a full two steps inside when the door is slammed shut behind him and the barrel of a gun is shoved in the middle of his back.

“Who the fuck are you?” a low voice asks behind him.

Oh, damn it all.

Deacon sees the dog circle around to his side out of the corner of his eye. He slowly raises his hands up in surrender.

“W-woah, shit, is this your room? Goddamn, I-I’m sorry, I really gotta get my head on straight,” he puts on a nervous chuckle. She remains silent behind him. “Uh, look, I didn’t mean nothin’ by it, if you let me go, I’ll leave and find my own room.”

“Who are you?” she asks again. He grits his teeth and holds back a groan of frustration.

“Me? I-I’m just,” he lets out a dramatic sigh, “I’m no one,” he whispers. She remains quiet, but he hears her grip on the gun shift.

“Turn around.” Deacon is really wishing he had punched himself in the face. He hesitates a moment too long and she starts to dig the barrel of the gun further into his spine.

Granted, he’s not in the same disguise as the one he was in Diamond City, him now being in a pair of road leathers and a newsboy cap, but that doesn’t lessen the skin-crawling feeling from the threat of being recognized.

With little to no other options, Deacon turns slowly, keeping his hands raised.

Her eyes are like steel; sharpened, powerful slivers of metal turned weapon. Two gun barrels aimed at him. They shoot through him just as effectively as the bullets she won’t hesitate to send through his heart. Even with his glasses, she somehow looks him right in the eyes and he has the worrying feeling of being paralyzed. What was that old story about the snake-lady turning people to stone, again?

Her expression is hardened, closed off like a vault door, offering no insight into her inner thoughts. If not for the current situation and her hand gripping the gun with a white-knuckled tension he would probably think she’s bored.

She stands poised, held tightly like a viper ready to strike. She holds the gun steady in front of her, aiming it right at his chest. They stand close enough that Deacon can make out a solitary freckle off-centered on the tip of her nose.

She says nothing for a couple of heartbeats, watching like she was weighing the possibilities of him doing something or not.

In all reality, he probably could, if not for the dog at his side waiting for any reason to rip into him.

“Wrong room, then?” she says, startling him out of his musings.

He gives a shrug, small enough to not give her the idea that he was threatening her. “Guess so.”

“The fact that you had to pick the lock not give you pause?”

“Thought I left the key in the room. Forgetful sort.”

“Clearly.”

She makes no move to let him go. She’s still pinning him down with her stare, but the eyes of her dog are also burning a hole through the side of his head.

“I should probably go find my room, before my buddy starts to worry,” he says, trying to end this little interaction as soon as possible. Her eyebrows shrug up a miniscule amount in acknowledgement, but she remains still. Deacon can feel the pulse in his neck start to tick faster as she stands there, continuing her silent inspection.

If he somehow wasn’t before, Deacon is now thoroughly regretting every choice he has ever made in his life.

Just as he thinks he’s going to have to do something drastic, she takes a step back. The gun is lowered slightly, but not all the way off of him. Her shoulders remain tense but her chin lowers slightly. She is still between him and the exit, however.

In an attempt to continue the motions of his escape, Deacon takes a small side step and begins lowering his hands as slow as he can. She still stands there.

Just as he thinks he’s starting to get in the clear, her eyes shoot down to his hands, attracted by the movement. They stay there a moment, taking in the detail of them, when suddenly, a look of alarm lights up her features, and she’s aiming her gun between his eyes.

Deacon’s heart stops dead in his chest.

“ You, ” she says in a whisper, confusion staining her tone.

Deacon feels the blood run from his face.

Her eyes squint slightly. He can see a flicker of something flash within their depths.

Deacon says nothing, his best poker face staring back at her.

“You’re from Diamond City,” she finally clarifies.

Ah, Christ.

“I’m not sure what you’re talking about, lady.”

“You’re that guard from the bar,” she says adamantly. “Why are you following me?” she grinds out, her voice threatening a multitude of painful things if he says the wrong thing.

“Uh, I’m not-”

“Who are you working for?”

Welp, Deacon sighs internally, Go big or go home, right?

He waits a few breaths till he answers, knowing that saying the wrong thing will send him to a quick grave. Not different from any other job. Just a typical Tuesday night.

“Word on the block is that you’re looking for the Institute.”

Her grip on the handle audibly tightens and the muscles in her jaw bulge as she grits her teeth. Her finger tightens ever so slightly on the trigger.

“I know people who can help,” he rushes to get out. “And I think you can help them out too.”

She remains silent, but he sees her brows come together slightly, betraying her curiosity.

The next words feel like blades slicing up his throat as he speaks them, every nerve and learned instinct screaming, begging for him to stop. His skin crawls with this spoken truth.

“I’m with the Railroad.”

#deacon x sole survivor #deacon x sosu #deacon fo4 #fallout 4 #fo4 #we're all caught up now!

6 notes · View notes

prideandprejudicees · 6 years

Text

Andrew didn’t know if he was getting older or if the scene at Eden’s Twilight was getting duller; what he did know was that sitting at the table and watching Aaron and Nicky fail at dancing while Kevin tried to yell at them over the music about a book he had just finished was quickly becoming less ‘boring’ and more ‘aggravating’.

When it became apparent that Aaron and Nicky were steadfastly ignoring him, Kevin turned to stare at him with a pronounced pout. Andrew gave him a warning look, but Kevin paid him no heed and staggered back over to the table. He sat with so much force that he nearly went tumbling off his stool, and Andrew made no move to right him. Disappointingly, Kevin managed to keep his balance and sat up (mostly) straight. “Andrew,” he said, glaring blearily at him, “Andrew.”

“What.” Andrew forced the words out through gritted teeth. Times like these had him really questioning why he put himself through these trips to Eden’s every goddamn week (that question was usually answered in the looseness of Aaron’s shoulders and the easiness of Nicky’s laugh and even goddamn Kevin’s bright-eyed rants about whatever had caught his attention that week when they were surrounded by the familiar surroundings of the pounding music and flashing lights).

“I was trying to tell the others about how Marie Antoinette was villainised-”

Andrew swept himself to his feet, and scowled down at Kevin in all his five-feet glory. When he was greeted with the same disappointed pout, he said “I’m getting more drinks” and Kevin’s face melted into a look of contented expectation.

He ignored the drink orders that were called after him as he made his way to the bar, but they all knew he’d bring them back what they wanted anyway. The crowd of people parted easily around him as his elbows carved out a path through squirming bodies. By the time he reached the bar he was breathing heavily and trying hard to hide it; he hated to think that Kevin might have had a point about his smoking habit ruining his lungs.

“More of the same?” Roland called. The heat behind the bar had his hair curling up at the ends, and Andrew watched a droplet of sweat slide down his neck and beneath his shirt. He entertained the notion of slipping into the back room with Roland after he dropped the drinks back at the table; his group were too giddy to notice his absence, and he knew that Roland would ask.

“Kevin wants a triple vodka cranberry.” was all he said. Roland nodded and set about mixing the drinks, and Andrew settled against the bar to wait.

The tray was only half full of drink when another body settled next to Andrew’s, far enough to not be entirely invasive, but close enough for the intent to be unmistakable. Looking up, Andrew is met with large blue eyes and shiny red curls that reflect the pulsating lights from the dance floor.

“Hi there.” the stranger smiles. It’s a charming smile for sure, but it’s obvious that the intention behind it is to be charming. Andrew isn’t convinced; despite the attractive face, it’s clear that the guy doesn’t really smile that often. The expression looks complicated and uncomfortable on him.

Andrew raises an eyebrow in lieu of replying, just to be difficult. The guy is good-looking - really good-looking, if Andrew is going to be honest with himself. Since he’s not in the habit of lying to himself, he takes in the pretty eyes, straight teeth, and interesting scars along his left cheekbone. Then he takes all that interest and shoves it down deep where it won’t bother him.

The lack of reply seems to set the guy on edge, because he looks briefly to the dancefloor and then quickly back to Andrew. “I’m Neil,” he says. The uncomfortable smile is still on his face, and it’s starting to become irritating.

“What do you want?” Andrew checks on Roland’s progress with the drinks, but it looks like he’s gotten distracted with another customer further up the bar.

“Uh,” the guy’s smile flickers for a moment, and then drops completely. He leans in close, and Andrew hates himself for getting distracted by the swell of his bottom lip, “Okay, look. My friends were kinda getting on my back about me being single, and I said that it was by choice and if I wanted to I could get anyone I wanted. And obviously that’s an extremely presumptuous thing to say, so they told me to prove it. So, uh, here I am. And here you are. And if you’d like to maybe help me out with this, that would be awesome.”

Andrew stares at Neil for a moment that seems to stretch on forever. Neil stares back with no signs of the discomfort that people usually display when he maintains eye contact for too long. “You want me to play along with you and pretend that you’re some kind of sex god?”

Neil flushes a gratifyingly bright pink. “I never said I was-”

“So what do you want me to do?” Andrew interrupts. His eyes are fixed on Neil’s rosy cheeks. The alcohol and the heat are making him stupid, he thinks.

Neil cuts himself off with a sharp inhale, and stares at Andrew in mild disbelief. “Wait. You’ll play along?”

Andrew leans on the bar and tilts his head to the side. “You’d better get this show on the road in case your friends begin to get suspicious, hm?”

That makes Neil shoot another look at the dance floor; this time Andrew catches a glimpse of the massive guy with ridiculous hair that shoots an enthusiastic thumbs up in their direction. Neil smiles back at him, but this one is small and wavering. Andrew likes it better; this one is real.

“There we go.” Roland announces as he sets the last of the drinks on the tray and pushes it in Andrew’s direction. His eyes flick curiously between him and Neil, before he raises his eyebrows at Andrew and leans against the bar.

When Andrew shakes his head, Roland takes it as the answer it is and moves on to serve other patrons further down the bar. When Andrew looks back to Neil, he finds that Neil hasn’t taken his eyes off him. “Quit staring,” he says “and tell me what you want from me.”

“Your, um,” suddenly Neil doesn’t seem so confident at all, and can’t quite make eye contact, “Your phone number, maybe?”

Andrew takes one of the shots on the tray and throws it back; it’s the only way he’ll get out of this situation still sane. He doesn’t even know why he’s entertaining this guy, until he looks back at him and gets an eyeful of those big blue eyes and stupid freckles and then it becomes very obvious indeed. “Give me your phone then,” he snaps, and it comes out harsher than he had intended.

Neil doesn’t seem to take offense, and he scrambles to search his pockets and then to hand his phone over. He obviously attempted to match Eden’s Twilight’s theme; his jeans look like they’ve been painted on and his shirt is constructed with a mixture of mesh and sheer black panels. Andrew can see scars, but he pointedly doesn’t look; he wonders if Neil dressed himself or if somebody else picked those clothes for him.

He briefly considers entering a fake number, but maybe the alcohol has affected him more than he had originally thought because the number he ends up saving into Neil’s phone is the same one he’s had for six years now. When he hands the phone back, Neil looks down at the saved contact details and says “Andrew.” His mouth moves slow and exaggerated around the letters, as if it’s his first time ever coming across the name.

Andrew swallows. “Is that all?”

“I don’t know.” Neil confesses, and shuffles closer. “What is it that sex gods usually do?”

If Andrew was smart, this would be the moment that he would step away from this frustratingly intriguing and stupidly pretty boy, and go back to his family with their drinks in hand. He would sit in silence and watch his people as they danced and got drunk and acted stupid, and then he would herd them into the car and back to the house and into bed. It was a routine. It was safe.

But Andrew isn’t as smart as he thinks he is, and so he says, “You’re an idiot. I don’t know if that makes me want to kiss you or shove you off a tall building.”

That, at the very least, seems to take Neil by surprise. His eyes widen, dark lashes almost touching his eye socket, and his mouth drops into a little ‘o’ shape. It only takes himself a minute to pull himself together, and then he’s looking at Andrew with a wicked grin that is at once light years better than the first two smiles he has seen and so, so, so much worse because this grin does something to Andrew on the inside. “Can I pick?”

“No.”

“Shame.” Neil’s eyes drop down to Andrew’s mouth, and then quickly flick back up.

Andrew narrows his eyes. He hates that he’s going to ask, but he knows he’ll probably hate himself more if he doesn’t. “You said you were single.” It comes out less like the question he intended it to be and more like an irrefutable statement of fact.

“Yeah.”

Andrew warred with himself for a long moment; Neil is silent, watching him and giving him the space to sort out what it was he wanted to say. It was rare for people to offer him that kind of consideration. He hated it. “Why?”

Neil blinks slowly, apparently surprised by the question. “Nobody’s caught my eye, I guess. I don’t really look at people like that.”

Ah. Of course. Andrew nods stiffly, viciously squashing down anything that even feels remotely like disappointment, because that’s a stupid thing to be feeling right now. He’s only exchanged a short conversation with this stupid pretty stranger; the fact that he respected his personal space and gave him time to think before speaking and flirted and smiled were completely coincidental.

“Your friend is getting worried.” he says for lack of anything else to say.

Neil glances over his shoulder at the big guy, but just waves his hand nonchalantly. “Matt’s not worried. Hovering is his way of being supportive.”

“Well,” says Andrew, “I think he believes you now.”

“You think so?”

“You got my number, didn’t you?”

“Mmm,” says Neil, and twists his phone in his hand. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Only if you ask it quickly.”

“If I asked you on a date, what would you say?”

Andrew is quite sure that his eyebrows have risen so high that they’ve disappeared into his hairline. He violently beats down that little thing that felt almost like a flutter because no, he is not dealing with that. Instead he asks, “I thought you didn’t look at people in that way.”

Neil shrugs, a little self-conscious. “Not usually,” he confesses, “But, um. There’s a reason I came to talk to you, ah, specifically.” When Andrew doesn’t immediately reply, he hurries to continue, “We don’t have to go on a date if that makes you uncomfortable. We can do something simpler. We can, uh, just talk? Or I can walk away and we can both pretend this never happened-”

“Stop talking.”

Neil ceases at once. Andrew tries not to notice how well Neil respects his wishes, but it’s futile at this point. It’s like someone has dialled up all his senses and aimed them right at the man in front of him. He’s impossible to ignore.

Andrew takes one of those deep, stupid yoga breaths that Renee taught him. It’s supposed to centre his mind, or something, but instead it just makes him look like an idiot that can’t breathe properly. He abandons his yoga breathing immediately. “I am going to go back to my table now.”

It’s strange, how fast Neil’s face falls. Stranger still is how fast that disappointment is covered over by smooth impassiveness; he’s had practice at that. Andrew knows the skill needed for that particular trick intimately. He’s a little surprised, really, by how much hope had actually been building up in Neil’s face. He hadn’t noticed until it had been wiped out by that still expression that occupied his pretty face.

Andrew picks up the tray and hefts it over one shoulder. Before he leaves, he looks Neil right in the eyes. “You have my number.”

“I can delete it, if you want.”

“If I wanted you to delete it I wouldn’t have given it to you in the first place.”

“Okay.” Neil stares at him uncomprehendingly, and Andrew’s jaw clenches. He’s really going to have to spell it out for this asshole.

“Call me.” the words are ground out between gritted teeth, and he probably makes it sound more like a threat than an offer, but it has Neil brightening up so fast it’s jarring.

“Yeah,” breathes Neil, eyes rounder than ever, “Okay.”

Andrew has to leave before he says something even more stupid, but he supposes the damage is done.

After he deposits the drinks at their table and warns Kevin off complaining about how long he took, he sits down and looks back across the dancefloor. Nicky and Aaron have returned to the table and are downing more shots, but Andrew looks past them.

Neil has been pulled onto the dancefloor by his large friend, and Andrew isn’t surprised (and definitely isn’t endeared) to find that Neil is an altogether graceless and awkward dancer.

(If, when he catches Andrew’s eyes across the crowded club, he puts more effort into his movements, then that’s nobody's business)

(And if, the next morning, the text waiting for Andrew from an unknown number hurriedly saved makes him smile for the first time in many long, countless days, then that’s nobody’s business either)

#hello friends here is the fruit of my essay procrastination #andreil #aftg fic #tfc hc #molly writes

1K notes · View notes

samanthasroberts · 7 years

Text

27 Of My Most Cringeworthy Moments From My Early Twenties I Will Recount Here For Your Entertainment

If you are my mother or my father or are in any way affiliated with them, please stop reading right here. Unless you’re Aunt Julie. Because you can hang, Jules.

1. I once locked myself into a bathroom with several cases of beer, because the cops showed up to a college party. I declared it my throne and proceeded to continue to drink cans of Coors Light for over an hour BY MYSELF until I decided it was safe to emerge.

2. After my 21st birthday party, I fell asleep on my staircase with my tights midway down my legs cradling my then baby dog and assuring her over and over, “You’re so beautiful.” I woke up to her chewing on my hair.

3. I played Peter Pan in college and had some sort of weird virus that resulted in 85% of my body being covered in hives. I was released from the ER after my school’s health center sent me there post thinking I was going into anaphylactic shock, but I had to do press and several photo shoots for the show. So now, there are photos of me (that yes, you can find) dressed as Peter Pan, flying around, while on several milligrams of Valium. Gives a whole new meaning to “flying high.” (sorry I had to.)

4. Once I got drunk in a field solely so I could hang out with a goat named Penelope. Here’s a picture:

5. My boyfriend for the latter half of my early twenties was around a year younger than me. So he couldn’t drink with me (in public anyway) at my 22nd and instead had to take care of me, bless his heart. On my 21st birthday a friend had challenged me to take a shot of SUPER cheap whiskey and I’d managed to do it. On my 22nd I tried to complete that same challenge and ended up puking into a cloth napkin, and sneakily throwing it away in the trash. My boyfriend promptly took me home after.

6. Another throw up story (let’s just stick with the theme) involved a pint glass. A party was being thrown at my ex’s house and naturally, I didn’t want to attend. One of my best guyfriend’s offered to accompany me to a bar near said ex’s place called “The Town And Country Lounge” which is a bar in a refurbished double wide. We sat there for approximately two to three hours, drinking cheap beer and shooting whiskey. The last shot of Jameson I did didn’t sit well, and I ended up methodically vomitting into the pint glass next to me, filling it straight to the brim. Surprisingly though, I didn’t spill.

7. At 25 I got so heated with a cab driver after a long night that he ended up calling the police on me. From my own phone. Saving that whole story for my eventual Lifetime movie. But it happened.

8. I went to a One Direction concert and a stranger who was drunk and talking animatedly with his hands clocked me straight in the face. I told him it was okay, I missed Zayn too. Again here’s a photo from said evening:

9. At 25 I sent presents to some dude who wrote for the same website as me, because I thought it meant we’d be friends. Now I’m pretty sure he just wanted to have phone sex (never did) because he was lonely as he stopped talking to me the SECOND there was a possibility of us hanging out IRL. Learn from my mistakes kids: don’t send flat-brims to people just because they’re sad. Save that money.

10. I left my number on more coasters and napkins for cute bartenders than I can even remember. It’s not really a cute move though, and I fully shake my head at myself now.

11. I sort of notoriously trolled a guy on Tinder and wrote about it. It made a lot of people really mad. I still stand by my original intent of writing the piece, which was/is that it’s kind of fucked up that we laugh when people threaten us or harass us or even just get rude, but I didn’t execute this well at all. Like honestly, I am linking to it and saying, “I think this ispoorlywritten and I am the one who wrote it.” BUT – I don’t believe in deleting work even when I don’t really relate to it anymore or even when it doesn’t garner the reaction I was hoping for. Instead I just shake my head when I get random messages about this piece (yes, even over a year later) and use it as a reminder to always do better.

12.After my first big breakup I decided to get out of a dodge for a bit and flew home to be with my parents and my childhood best friends. Only problem, I was flying out of my college town on my ex’s birthday. And apparently, his parents were also flying out on the same flight to go on vacation. I was in first class (not bougie – just the only ticket that was available) and they had to awkwardly stand beside me waiting to get to their seats. One of my absolute least favorite memories.

13. I impulsively got a tattoo with a sort of boyfriend one day on my ribs. I didn’t really WANT a rib tattoo but this dude told me it was “so sexy” so I caved. I also made the mistake of not going to a reputable artist, and frankly the tattoo looks like shit now. Eventually I’ll get it covered up but for now, the scratchy quote stays. Here’s another a picture so you can see visual representation of my mistakes!! Yay!

"curiosity often leads to trouble."

A photo posted by Kendra Syrdal (@kendrasyrdal) on Apr 6, 2013 at 4:58pm PDT

14. Once I went out on a date with a guy who actually, seriously quoted that fucking AWFUL book about picking up women called and I didn’t leave. Not only did I not leave, but I let him stay the night at my apartment (didn’t hook up with him because I maintained SOME level of self-respect) AND let him shower in the morning. He used my brand new, pretty spendy Sephora bubble bath as body wash, and opened brand new shampoo. He wanted to have a “discussion” after I told him I wasn’t interested in seeing him again. Yeah…I pick winners.

15.For my 20th birthday party I threw a joint birthday party with my friend Nicki that was “P” themed. This meant everyone who came to the party had to come dressed as something that started with the letter P. (Best costume was this dude Kyle who came as the preamble. It was gold.) The only other rule was that no one could come as a princess because that’s what Nicki and I were being. I dressed like this:

16.I was so in love with a boy that I bought him Decemberists tickets for literally no reason. Actually, come to think of it, a lot of the moments where I look at my younger self and go, “What the actual fuck were you thinking?!” have to do with spending money on boys who didn’t appreciate me. My therapist told me that I show affection through material goods because I have difficulty expressing emotions. Whatever, I’m working on it.

17.I have written so many prose pieces about guys who I knew were pulling away from me in a sad, pathetic attempt to try and make them see that I was worth their time and attention. Spoiler alert: If a guy doesn’t even read your stuff to begin with, this will literally never work.

18. At 23 I went to Las Vegas for my best friend’s 21st birthday and the two of us go so lit up before going to the wax museum that we found a karaoke machine (it’s next to the was figure of Simon Cowell) and started serenading the entire museum with renditions of Celine Dion hits like “Taking Chances” and “The Power of Love.” We attempted to shake his hand after. We cleared the room of 70+ people. What I’m saying is, it was embarrassing.

19. I was really bad about remembering to renew my tags for my car in college and was pulled over for said offense one summer, and still didn’t renew my tags. 7 months (yes I know, I was/am the worst) later I was pulled over AGAIN for the same thing. Apparently there was a warrant out for my arrest and the officer decided midnight was the appropriate time to lecture me about this. Catch? I had just finished a performance ofwhich, if you’re not familiar, is set in Japan. So I was in FULL kabuki makeup while this policeman decided to lecture me about my fuck up. I was sobbing, Ben Nye makeup was smearing everywhere, he felt pretty bad. It was overall just a mess. But I didn’t go to jail. Thanks, Missoula Cop who didn’t take me in while I was still rocking the geisha makeup. I really appreciate it.

20.Iwas feeling vulnerable and sad one Halloween and decided the cure to this was hooking up with my friend’s much younger, VERY hot, trying to be a stripper friend. It was fine, it was whatever. But we hooked up on the floor of an apartment which was basically concrete. I ended up slipping a disc, bruising my tailbone, and having to spend the next 3 months getting chiropractic work to make my back okay again.He was hot, but not hot enough to justify that amount of back pain. #srynotsry

21.I got violently ill once from antibiotics and promptly shit in my leggings after trusting the fart. There is more to the story but again, saving it for my future bestseller.

22. I thought this was a good look. And also did this in public.

23.In college I played Columbia in the live musical version of where, for the midnight shows only, we were topless. I debated about it, but it was a paid gig and I felt fine about it so I decided sure, why not. My boyfriend at the time was NOT okay with it. I later found out he adamantly REFUSED to let his friends come to the show, even going so far as to pay them back for the tickets they had already purchased. I didn’t find this out for years and it still makes me super embarrassed for his behavior.

24.A guy broke up with me when I was 25 because I didn’t make enough eye contact. That was his honest to god reason. (Still bitter.)

25.I went on a mini vacation with some friends to Austin, Texas for my 26th birthday and decided to really just GO for it when I was there. This meant doing one of the ultimate “why not” moments: the Tinder one night stand. Only problem? We didn’t know our way around Texas and I didn’t bring any condoms. So my solution was to have Postmates deliver them. I didn’t even try to play it off and ordered like, chips and gum to make it better. I straight up just ordered a box of 16 Trojan’s to the AirBnb. The delivery man was loling, my “date” was loling, my friends were loling. It was lols all around. 10/10 recommend.

26. A friend of mine came to Seattle for an audition and I took her out one night to blow off some steam/show her the city. We ended up drinking all night with a professional indoor soccer team from Vegas, and I definitely got naked in a photobooth with a bunch of them. Somehow though, I still didn’t get laid. Only I could be one of two girls surrounded by a bunch of guys who were hot, professional athletes, show them all of my tattoos that required me taking my clothes off, and end up going home to eat queso in bed.

27.I lived. I made memories. Or I had those memories told back to me because I didn’t really…well… them. And even though sometimes that makes me all “god dammit smdh” I honestly think it’s pretty dope that I have all of these stories – cringeworthy or what have you.

Plus I once peed on my neighbor’s lawn furniture because she was threatening to call the cops on my Harry Potter themed party. And you can’t pay money for those kinds of stories.

Source: http://allofbeer.com/2017/08/30/27-of-my-most-cringeworthy-moments-from-my-early-twenties-i-will-recount-here-for-your-entertainment/

from All of Beer https://allofbeer.wordpress.com/2017/08/30/27-of-my-most-cringeworthy-moments-from-my-early-twenties-i-will-recount-here-for-your-entertainment/

0 notes

adambstingus · 7 years

Text

27 Of My Most Cringeworthy Moments From My Early Twenties I Will Recount Here For Your Entertainment

If you are my mother or my father or are in any way affiliated with them, please stop reading right here. Unless you’re Aunt Julie. Because you can hang, Jules.

4. Once I got drunk in a field solely so I could hang out with a goat named Penelope. Here’s a picture:

7. At 25 I got so heated with a cab driver after a long night that he ended up calling the police on me. From my own phone. Saving that whole story for my eventual Lifetime movie. But it happened.

10. I left my number on more coasters and napkins for cute bartenders than I can even remember. It’s not really a cute move though, and I fully shake my head at myself now.

“curiosity often leads to trouble.”

A photo posted by Kendra Syrdal (@kendrasyrdal) on Apr 6, 2013 at 4:58pm PDT

21.I got violently ill once from antibiotics and promptly shit in my leggings after trusting the fart. There is more to the story but again, saving it for my future bestseller.

22. I thought this was a good look. And also did this in public.

24.A guy broke up with me when I was 25 because I didn’t make enough eye contact. That was his honest to god reason. (Still bitter.)

Plus I once peed on my neighbor’s lawn furniture because she was threatening to call the cops on my Harry Potter themed party. And you can’t pay money for those kinds of stories.

from All Of Beer http://allofbeer.com/2017/08/30/27-of-my-most-cringeworthy-moments-from-my-early-twenties-i-will-recount-here-for-your-entertainment/ from All of Beer https://allofbeercom.tumblr.com/post/164769835047

0 notes