#i was pretty board and had heaps of boxes lying around

[hopetofantasy]

Culture, parallels & meta - S3 E3

Zaterdag 08:10

Perfect parallel: An upset Robbe being little spoon to Noor this episode, him being a relaxed little spoon to Sander in the last one.

Blink-and-y’ll-miss-it: Moyo has half eaten wafers cookies on his bed. Between the cellphone time and timestamp, it took Robbe five minutes to get dressed and to the beach. The beautiful angel pendant makes its first appearance.

Bonus: This cinematography trick of using a wide shot with nobody else in the sight, makes us actually feel how lonely Robbe actually is. 

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Zaterdag 08:23

C is for culture: “Vamanos” - As you may have noticed, Flemish has a lot of words that aren’t typically Dutch. These are called ‘leenwoorden’ (= ‘borrowing words’). In some cases, the language has made the word its own, with their conjugation or sound (like barbecue - barbecuet - or e-mail - ge-e-maild), other times the expression is copied completely (like smartphone or laptop). There are various reasons as to why people don’t want to change it: globalization, wanting to be more vague/cool, general laziness, ...

Perfect parallel: 

Sander’s playful “Are you the manager?” and “That’ll be zero stars on Booking.com” to Robbe when they meet in this episode, Sander’s sheepish “Zero stars on Booking.com” and Robbe’s pointed “Where is that manager when you need him?”, when they have their fall-out in a later episode. 

Sander saying “When I booked this room, I explicitly asked for room-service” here and him actually booking a room with room-service for the both of them later on.

Blink-and-y’ll-miss-it: Jens’ keyboard is lying on top of the closet. Sander grabbing his keys (to his car?).

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Zaterdag 08:44

C is for culture: The option to use self-scanning is pretty common in Belgian supermarkets, especially in shop-and-go city stores. You pick up the scanner, scan the stuff you buy, go to a counter, pay and walk out with your groceries. A sales assistant is still present to help out with problems or do random routine checks. It’s fast, easy and cost-efficient. The downside? Shoplifting becomes a bit easier this way.

That’s character: Sander is putting up a ‘cool guy, devil may care’ facade. He jokes about not scanning everything, dismisses Amber’s list, whirls the shopping cart around and sings David Bowie to this boy. He wants to make a lasting impression on Robbe. If he’s the most charming, chaotic and adventurous version of himself, then he doesn’t have to think about other stuff like his own crumbling relationship. (Also the reason why he doesn’t answer the question about Amber: they simply met through Britt). As the boxes fall down, so does Sander’s tough exterior, as he never intended to hurt Robbe by playing around in the supermarket.

Robbe’s clumsiness meter: +3, he almost topples off the cart twice and drops the chocolate bars on the floor. (The crash with Sander isn’t his fault though)

Oopsie: 

Sander is wearing a leather jacket, but we don’t see it in the previous clip. Either he left it in his car or it’s an ‘oopsie’.

When Sander accidentally tosses Robbe into the boxes, we hear glass breaking. However, in the next shot, the boxes seem to empty (and they were supposed to be filled with chips, which don’t make that sound).

Blink-and-y’ll-miss-it: Sander is wearing black Converse. They bought Jupiler beer. Robbe pulls out ‘Delhaize’ Biscuit chocolate bars and Florentin cookies.

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Zaterdag 13:13

C is for culture: "Croques” - The word ‘croque’ is an abbreviation for ‘croque monsieur’ (= ‘crunch mister’). These are grilled ham-and-cheese sandwiches, a typical greasy snack at taverns, markets, carnivals, your home, ... Other versions include the ‘croque madame’ topped with a fried egg, ‘croque bolognese’ with bolognese sauce, ‘croque hawai’ with a pineapple slice.

That’s character: It’s clear that Robbe has no idea how to eat properly. All throughout the season he eats unhealthy breakfasts (choco spread with cookies), snacks (chips, cookies) and dinners (Aïki noodles, frozen lasagna). But here we see the reason: he doesn’t seem to know how to cook or work a stove. Exactly why he buys prepackaged or instant food options. So, it’s probably for the best that Zoë helps out his eating habits.

Perfect parallel:

Robbe making an unhealthy breakfast in the previous episode, Sander providing him with an unhealthy snack in this one. (The way to a man’s heart is through the stomach)

Britt’s condescending “Listening to David Bowie again?” in this episode, her calling Robbe his next obsession similar to David Bowie later on. 

Sander’s “Do you know where I can find the coffee?” to Robbe in an earlier scene and his “Was coffee on the list?” to Amber here.

Robbe’s clumsiness meter: +2, he stumbles backwards after Sander touches his shoulder and burns himself after turning the ‘croque’.

Nod to the OG: This kitchen scene is the equivalent of the ‘5 fine frøkner’ scene, as Sander sings his favorite song to Robbe and makes breakfast, whilst both flirt with each other (subtly).

Oopsie: They supposedly went to ‘Delhaize’ for all their groceries, but the ketchup bottle comes from ‘Carrefour’ and the butter from ‘Colruyt’. 

Blink-and-y’ll-miss-it: Sander messes up the first words to ‘Under Pressure’ - it’s ‘pressure’ not ‘under pressure’. He mixes the weed with tobacco for his joint. The conflict on Sander’s face at the end.

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Zondag 16:34

C is for culture: "What kind of shit question is this?” - They’re playing ‘De Slimste Mens ter wereld’ (= ‘The smartest human on earth’), a board game by the popular Flemish television show with the same name. The quiz is very challenging. People have to solve associative, general knowledge and out-of-the-box questions with multiple answers in different rounds. Points are awarded in the form of seconds, which are used during the game. The candidate with time left at the end, wins.

Blink-and-y’ll-miss-it: The group is drinking white wine out of plastic cups. Sander studied at ‘de!Kunsthumaniora’, the same school as Noor. Sander’s wearing his combat boots again.

°

Maandag 15:12

C is for culture: Aaron is wearing a bunny costume for the paintball game ‘Hunt the bunny’. This is usually played by people on a bachelor party or a corporate team building (with the groom/boss as the bunny). The goal is simple: the bunny has to cross the field from one corner to another, whilst the hunters shoot as much paintballs as possible to ‘kill’ it. Which is... rather painful, especially at close range. 

Oopsie: What they’re doing is actually illegal or even impossible. People aren’t allowed to play paintball in protected environments, like dunes. Unless they’re doing it with a specialized organization who’s trained for these games (and are present at the time of playing) or have the written permission from the ‘Agency of Nature and Forest’, the police, the city, ... There is a whole heap of permissions, administrative papers and laws to deal with. 

Lost in translation: Britt saying “Doe normaal” (= “Act normal”) has nothing to do with her dismissing Sander’s mental health. This Flemish phrase is often used to calm people down, telling them that they’re acting rather irrationally or childish. It’s an angry way of saying “Can’t you behave yourself? Calm down. What are you doing? Be rational!”. 

Blink-and-y’ll-miss-it: The blue and red flags tells us that they’re going to play ‘capture the flag’. Some of the ‘pfff’ gun sounds you hear, indicate that the air pressure needs to be checked. Moyo took off his protection mask, which is dangerous and sometimes considered a foul during the game.

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Dinsdag 20:02

C is for culture: "Do you know how to make s’mores?” - Toasting marshmallows above a campfire, isn’t really a tradition in Belgium. So that’s why the girls don’t know how to make s’mores. 

Lost in translation: ’Smoor’ is a Flemish dialect word for smoke or the act of smoking. It does sound a lot like ‘s’mores’. This is why Luca thinks Aaron wants to hold the marshmallow into the fire. 

Oop, there it is, the homophobia / heteronormativity: Of course Robbe had nothing to lose with Noor, he wasn’t actually interested in her. With Sander, however, Robbe doesn’t dare to do anything.

Blink-and-y’ll-miss-it: Aaron is drinking ‘Bock’ beer. Amber looks at Aaron like she really likes him, when he’s preparing the s’mores.

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Woensdag 20:42

C is for culture: 

“An old german bunker” - The province of West-Flanders as well as its coast still has a lot of remnants left from WWI. From German bunkers to trench-networks, burial sites and museums, the 'Great war’ left its traces. Unsurprisingly, every year, people still find around 300 tons of (active) bombs underneath the fields.

“Around ‘All Souls’ Day’ they come back to life” - ‘All Souls’ Day’ is a christian holiday on the 2nd of November, on which the dead are commemorated. However, since that day isn’t an official holiday in Belgium, people visit the graves and honor of their loved ones on the 1st of November, ‘All Saint’s Day’. 

The group drinking ‘jenever’ shots - ‘Jenever’ (known in English as ‘Dutch gin’ or ‘genever’) is a traditional liquor in Belgium and the Netherlands. Young people usually drink these colored, high percentage spirits at Christmas markets, pre-drinks or parties when it’s cold outside. Different flavors include vanilla, chocolate, berries, lemon, apple, ...

Blink-and-y’ll-miss-it: The wooden panel behind Jens says ‘Volg de pijlen’ (= ‘Follow the arrows’). Aaron and Amber are holding hands after their fall. Robbe downs a chocolate-cream ‘jenever’ shot at the end. 

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Woensdag 21:53

Perfect parallel: Robbe lashing out at his friends in this episode - he feels left out and confused about his sexuality - and blames the pranks. Him doing the same in the next - he thinks his friends are hypocrites by saying homophobic comments to him yet defending the gay teacher - and blames the vlogs. 

Blink-and-y’ll-miss-it: The second living room has a spinning disco light.

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Donderdag 21:12

C is for culture:

“In dat jeugdhuis” - A ‘jeugdhuis’ (= ‘youth house’) is a meeting place, run by young volunteers. All teens and young adults are welcome to hang out, throw parties, drink at their bar, organize concerts, attend workshops - just making the space their own. 

“He sounded like a begging Romanian” - Luca is referring to Romanian Romani families, who roam around in the streets of Brussels begging for some money. These ethnic groups have a mostly negative image amongst the Europeans. Which is why she states this harsh and hurtful comparison.

Perfect parallel: Noor asking Robbe for a playlist so she can listen to his favorite songs here, Sander actually making a Bowie playlist for Robbe in the next episode.

Lost in translation: Luca is mocking the West-Flemish dialect by copying what the boy said, namely “Moe’en julder ok ‘n flyer ‘ennen?”. This dialect is known for blowing their ‘g’ and ‘h’ so that they sound similar, conjugating their 'yes’ or ‘no’, having double subjects, seemingly swallowing some letters, among other things. It’s one of the most confusing and difficult dialects for the Flemish to understand themselves.

Oopsie: When Aaron asks Amber if she needs a drink, Britt and Sander are dancing right behind him. When she answers and walks away, they’re suddenly gone, only to be seen again when Moyo walks over.

Nod to the OG/Wink to other remakes: The ‘call your girlfriend’ kiss, duh! 

Blink-and-y’ll-miss-it: Jana is wearing one white contact lens.

°

Vrijdag 08:43

Perfect parallel: 

Sander searching for coffee first thing in the morning earlier this episode and him pouring a cup before any task in this clip.

Sander’s “Maybe I’m scared that I will never find someone” here and Robbe’s multi-layered “I’m so happy that I found you” in the last episode.

Oopsie: When the boys walk to the recycling spot, the lighting changes from sunny to clouded to dark in a matter of seconds.

Funny coincidence: Sander referring to his relationship as ‘ups and downs’, probably similar to his experience with bipolarity.

Wink to other remakes: An almost kiss near trash, remind you of certain Italian boys?

Blink-and-y’ll-miss-it: Amber delegating tasks, but doing nothing herself. Robbe smiles for a few milliseconds, because Sander touched him. The flash of panic in Robbe’s eyes afterwards.

#wtfock #wtfam #cpm rewatch #skam #skam belgium

[sinfulshelbys]

Euphoria | shelby! reader

Isaiah Jesus x Shelby! Reader

summary: in which Isaiah Jesus and Y/N Shelby pretend to be nothing more than friends with benefits, leading to complications and tense feelings

warnings: smut, swearing, jealous! isaiah, jealous! reader, idiots in love

word count: 3k

Nothing goes on within the walls of Polly Gray’s house without her knowledge. 

This saying has held true for years, all the Shelby siblings often using it as a way of teasing their aunt – yourself included. From the time that she somehow knew that it was you and John who had taken all Tommy’s left shoe’s and right socks to the moment that Finn and you had hidden a stray kitten in a box under your bed – she knew it all. 

Which is why you were surprised that Polly hadn’t noticed what was going on between you and your best friend, Isaiah. In fact, it had been your brother Finn who was the first one to find out about the thing going on with the pair of you. 

He had caught the boy trying to sneak out of your window when he opened his to let the smoke from his cigarette out; instantly rushing into your room. 

“Isaiah, what the fuck are you doing?” Finn whisper-yelled, swinging your door open – your eyes widening when you turned to see your brother. 

With one leg out of the window and his hands hastily buttoning up his shirt, Isaiah looked equally as shocked as you as he tried to form a satisfying response, for the youngest Shelby as to why he was in his sisters room.

“Finn, funny you joined us,” his smooth voice wavered as Finn rolled his eyes, before pointing between the two of you. 

“Are you guys fucking?” 

Wrapping your robe tighter around your naked frame, you ran a hand hastily through your matted hair – Finn’s jaw dropping at the sight of the markings that littered your collar bone from where your robe slipped. 

“Jesus christ,” he snickered, trying to stop his laughter. “Why hasn’t aunt Pol told us?” 

Shrugging, you let out a sigh before pinching your brothers bicep.

“Because aunt Pol surprisingly doesn’t know,” you rolled your eyes, before gesturing for Finn to leave. “Don’t you dare fucking tell her either Finn or I’ll dob you in for stealing all her scones.”

From that moment on, Finn had helped you and Isaiah hide your hookups. 

If Isaiah stayed over, he would tell everybody that they had a boys night or if the pair of you accidentally slipped up and let your hands linger a bit too long on one another, Finn would take one for the team and embarrass himself.

However, every time he asked if you were together you would immediately deny it – it’s complicated, was all you said. 

Because it was complicated after all, you and Isaiah weren’t in a doting relationship; you fucked and that was it. And while there are numerous things wrong with having your best friends head between your thighs, you couldn’t find yourself to care. 

Isaiah ate you out like you were the last meal he was ever going to taste, his head covered by your skirt as you were perched upon your desk – papers thrown carelessly across the floor in your haste to have each other like this. Sensually.

“Isaiah,” you gasped – his name barely leaving your lips. You were close, oh so close, and he knew it. Suddenly his fingers were in you, adding to the feeling of his tongue swirling on your clit and you exploded – hands barely being able to keep your body upright. 

Trying to even out your breathing as Isaiah pulled himself up off his knees, you  finally came face-to-face with the smug boy. You watched as he sucked on his fingers that were covered in your juices – a soft whine leaving your throat at the erotic sight. 

“I‘m going to fuck you over this desk one day,” his voice was deep, filled with lust as he caged you between his arms on either side of you. “Bend you over and just completely ruin you.” 

“Shit,” was all you could say to his words, eyes fluttering shut as his hands made their way under your skirt to run up and down your thighs – he lowly chuckled at the pathetic state you were in.

Before things could become heated again, a knock at your door startled you both – Isaiah quickly pulling away to round the other side of your desk as you hopped down, straightening yourself out as best as you could. 

“Who is it?” You called, only to hear John’s voice yell back asking if he could enter; which you agreed to.

“Hey, we’re about to leave for the Garrison, you coming?” Your brother beamed, before looking at Isaiah who was sitting on the chair opposite you. “Isaiah, what the bloody hell are you doing in here?”

Before Isaiah could respond, you interjected, “asking me the same thing you were Johnny boy,” – you were becoming too comfortable with lying. 

“Alright,” John pretended to not notice that your panties that were in a heap on the floor next to Isaiah’s coat that he had forgotten to put back on, or the disastrous state the office was in. “We’ll c’mon you two, let’s go.”

Nodding, you told John to give you both a minute, the boy shaking his head fondly before shutting the door. Staring at Isaiah, you quickly reached to the floor; grabbing his coat and tossing it at him before hastily pulling on your panties.

Walking towards the door, you turned towards Isaiah who was still sitting with his coat on his lap. 

“Well,” you trailed, causing the boy to look at you. “You coming or not?”

~~~~~~~~~

Jealousy was a funny thing to Isaiah.

He loved to make fun of John Shelby when the boy would drop everything to stop some daft man who thought it was a good idea to flirt with Esme or relentlessly teased Arthur for being “whipped,” every time the eldest Shelby stormed over to his wife, Linda, who was being sent one too many drinks from the grimy men at the bar.

He just never thought he would feel that way – especially, because the two of you agreed that what you were doing was purely for fun and nothing else. 

Swallowing the bitter whiskey on the tip of his tongue, Isaiah watched as you chatted to the man who sat on the stall next to you at the bar. The Garrison was loud and full of life, but Isaiah swore that all he could hear was the sound of his racing heart as his eyes locked on you.

His jaw tensed as you put your dainty hand on the business mans arm, laughing at something he had said. He was good for you, Isaiah told himself – you needed someone who wasn’t rough around the edges and the brown haired man beside you seemed to be just that. 

Pouring himself another drink, Isaiah turned his attention back to Michael who was explaining some drunken theory to his cousins, pretending to laugh along with whatever drunken words that were spilling from his best friends lips. But he soon felt his attention slipping towards where he last saw you; only to find you and the man gone. 

Perking his head up to see past the multitude of bodies in the Garrison, Isaiah couldn’t find you anywhere and he felt his head leap with the realisation that you must’ve left with Mr. Goody-two-shoes. 

So with a scoff he grabbed the bottle of whiskey, pouring himself another glass and downing it in one go before slumping back in his seat. 

He shouldn’t care about what, or who, you did – you guys weren’t together, but he couldn’t fucking help the way his stomach was doing flips at the idea of another mans hands touching you places that only his touched hours before, or the idea that he wasn’t the only one to hear your moans, or see the way your face glowed when you reached bliss.

He couldn’t help that he was pathetically in love with you – or that you didn’t feel the same. So he did the only thing that seemed sensible in the moment, but he would regret once it was over.

She was pretty, but she wasn’t you.

~~~~~~~~~

You hated to admit when your brothers were right – especially Finn. 

In fact, the only sibling that you would ever allow to be right was Ada; the girl always being full of wisdom and advice to provide you when she was. 

But here you were, sitting across the coffee table in the living room – Finn and you in a heated game of chess when he hit you with the question that you were trying to ignore.

“Do you love him?”

It should’ve been a simple question with a simple answer, instead your hand dropped your chess piece, head darting up to your brother who was watching your struggle with amusement.

“Love who?” You recovered, picking your piece up before moving it across the board. Finn only let out an annoyed groan, pushing the game aside to get your full attention. 

“You fucking know who,” his response was short and snappy. “Do you love Isaiah?”

Pinching the bridge of you nose – an action that you had been told one too many times by your aunt that it reminded her of Tommy – you leaned back against the couch behind you, arms raising in the air in frustration.

“No, maybe – I don’t fucking know Finn, it’s–.”

“Complicated.” He rolled his eyes, picking up a pawn from the board before tossed it at you. “It’s only complicated because you’re both making it that way.”

Remaining quiet, you fiddled with the piece that landed in your lap before throwing it back at your brother who quickly dodged it before it hit his cheek. 

Finn sighed, he wasn’t one to get involved in your business – it was just the way you two worked since you were younger – but he couldn’t help himself in this instance, knowing that if he didn’t give you a push both you and Isaiah were going to end up hating each other and he wasn’t ever going to let that happen.

“Look, Isaiah loves you. Don’t ask how I know or deny it – because he fucking does. He couldn’t take his eyes off you last night, it was like he was hypnotised by you; couldn’t get his fucking attention. But he saw you with the man you were talking to and was obviously jealous, and when you both disappeared – let’s just say he made a stupid mistake.”

Furrowing your eyebrows, you looked towards the freckled boy in-front of you. “What kind of mistake?”

“The kind that involves a whole bottle of whiskey and a pretty brunette.”

“Shit.”

Another girl. Isaiah was with another girl last night while you were wide awake in bed waiting for him. His hands were on her, lips kissing hers instead of yours – touched her like he had touched you a thousand times. It hit you like a ton of bricks as you felt your heart break at the idea.

“Holy shit, Finn,” you let out a shaky breath, eyes glossy with unshed tears. “I’m in love with Isaiah fucking Jesus.”

~~~~~~~~~

No strings. That was the one rule you had both agreed upon when you started sleeping together. No fucking strings. 

“Don’t fall in love with me, Isaiah Jesus,” you had specifically told him, Isaiah instantly agreeing; sarcastically replying as he undressed you.

“As long as you don’t fall in love with me, Y/N Shelby.”

But here you were, pacing back and forth in your room as you waited for Isaiah to let himself in after his meeting with Tommy. Your hands clenched and unclenched about a hundred times in the last forty-seconds, nerves rattling through every cell in your body at what you were about to admit to Isaiah.

Hearing a soft knock at your door, you instantly knew it was him – the timid boy pushing your door open, looking behind him to make sure none of your family were around before walking in. 

Before he could say anything, your words fell from your mouth – everything you wanted to ask coming out all at once. “You were with another girl?”

“I- fucking what?” He spluttered, slightly stunned at your question that sounded more like a statement.

“Were you with another girl?” You repeated. 

Still slightly stunned, Isaiah watched as you ran a shaky hand through your hair, his eyes noticing the small crescent moons on your palms from your nails, it was obvious that the idea of him with someone else made you stressed.

Instead of denying it, Isaiah only became defensive. “Well, you were with another guy!”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

Groaning, Isaiah walked over to you bed – taking a seat on the edge before patting the space beside him as a signal for you to join him. He waited until you were comfortable before facing you – figuring that there was no point in this resulting in an argument that would definitely gain your families attention. 

“That guy at the bar that you were talking to,” Isaiah began, vulnerability creeping into his tone. “You left together and I-”

“Whoah hold on,” you cut him off, turning you body towards him. “I didn’t leave with Mr. Hughes. I took him to the back room to do business with Tommy and then went home because I was exhausted.”

“So you didn’t sleep with him?”

“No sia, I was actually waiting here for you while you were off with some girl that Finn told me about.”

Huffing, Isaiah shook his head as he looked towards the wall – muttering about how Finn told you everything, before turning back towards you.

“I couldn’t go through with it,” he admitted, eyes turning soft as he reached up to brush a stray strand of your hair behind your ear. “I got to the front door of her house and she leaned up to kiss me and I pulled away because she wasn’t who I wanted to be kissing. She wasn’t who I wanted to be going home with.”

“And who did you want to be kissing?” You voice was barely above a whisper as Isaiah moved closer to you; his soft breath fanning across your face. “Who did you want to go home with?”

“You, and only you.”

With those simple words Isaiah’s lips were on yours, his hands grabbing your hips to pull you onto his lap, while he shifted up against the headboard. Your hands held tightly onto his vest, as if you were scared that if you let go he would disappear from your grasp.

Pulling away, both of you were breathless as Isaiah pulled off his shirt – your hands lifting your dress up and over your head. Isaiah lunged forward to connect his lips to the skin just above your breasts – pressing light kisses upon it, as soft moans passed your lips.

“Isaiah,” you whispered, pulling a hum from the boy as you ran your hands through his hair. Your heart practically bursting from your chest as you finally said those three little words. “I love you.”

Isaiah’s head seemed to shoot up at your words, the moonlight filtering into your room from the gap in your curtains hitting his skin perfectly, adding an angelic glow to him. 

Your hand remains on his chest, just above his heart and you feel it skip a beat, maybe two, as he looks intently at your face as if searching for a reason of doubt behind your words. He came up empty. 

Warm fingers curved around the nape of your neck, his forehead coming to rest upon yours. His words as soft as velvet – desperate and hopeful.

“Say it again.”

You do. 

You’d say it over a thousand times without him needing to ask. 

“I love you, Isaiah Jesus.”

The kiss is softer but more urgent to show just how much he appreciated the words. He swears he could stay here, in this moment, forever. Just him and you – he would if he could. He wishes he could commit the feeling to memory. 

Instead, he says the words back as he flips you over, kisses as light as feathers as they are peppered over your bare chest. 

“I love you, Y/N Shelby.” The words are sweet, like the honey that Polly spends more money than necessary on. A groan barely audible emitting from the back of his throat as you unbuckle his belt. “So fucking much.”

Your hands roam each others skin – your fingers lightly running over the scars that litter his chest before you kiss them. Intimate. Yours. 

Your movements are fluid – knowing each others bodies better than your own. Only this time it isn’t fucking. It’s love making, and my God, did you love each other. 

Your legs were wrapped around his hips – your head flies back against your pillow as he delivers a particularly harsh thrust in-between his rhythmic ones. Perfect. Sweet.

The bed-frame is lightly banging against the plaster wall and you’re certain that it will leave a dent – or wake up your family. But you didn’t care, not when it felt this good. Not when it was this right. 

One of his hand creeps up to grab yours that’s above gripping your sheet, his other making its way between your legs – thumb finding your bundle of nerves that sets your body alight. It’s all you needed to push you there, the feeling causing Isaiah to crumble, white ribbons spilling inside you.

Collapsing beside you, Isaiah doesn’t let go of your hand – he’d hold it tighter if he could. Jagged breaths leaving both of your parted lips as you stared at each other. Your hearts beating as one. It’s beautiful. Delightful. 

“Do you mean it?” He asks, a little too scared of rejection. 

You roll over, your lips tasting his again. You repeat the words, whispering them to him, the moon and all the stars.

“I love you, Isaiah Jesus.”

He watches as the glow settles upon your body – only one word filling Isaiah’s mind as her takes in your angelic appearance. Lips swollen, his marks littered upon your body, hair a tussled mess that’s cascaded around your head forming your own personal halo. 

This is what euphoria feels like, he thinks – and he utterly believes it. 

“I love you, Y/N Shelby.”

Yeah, this is euphoria.

#isaiah #isaiah jesus #isaiah jesus x reader #isaiah jesus x you #isaiah jesus x y/n #isaiah jesus x shelby!reader #isaiah jesus x shelby! reader #isaiah jesus x shelby!sister #isaiah jesus x shelby! sister #isaiah jesus imagine #isaiah jesus imagines #isaiah jesus head canon #isaiah jesus headcanon #isaiah jesus one shot #isaiah jesus oneshot #peaky blinder #peaky blinders #peaky #blinder #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders imagines #peaky blinders oneshot #peaky blinders headcanon #shelby! sister #shelby!sister #shelby! sis #shelby! sister imagine #shelby sister #tommy shelby

[cialbi]

Summertime Happy Daze - Chapter One

Summary: Working in a small, local grocery store down by the shore has its perks; good pay, free food and seven handsome coworkers. Your first day back after two years abroad, your happy summer days have just begun. 

Genre: Slice of Life, Friendship, Romance (fluff), Hurt and Comfort, (BTS AU)

Pairings: BTS ot7 x Reader

Warnings: Language

Word Count: 8651

Based on TRUE Daily Events

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

The faint cry of seagulls could be heard overhead, circling the sky in hunger as you stood lucidly, staring at white twin doors that had paint peeling off with age. The familiar image was comforting in a way, like seeing an old classmate from school that you hadn’t known very well, but brought back those memories of the good old days.

And like seeing an old classmate, a part of you wanted to duck away and avoid them altogether. 

You gripped the rim of your oversized sweatshirt for comfort, the brush of your tightly tied ponytail tickling the nape of your neck as it blew against the breeze. The sleek, silver name tag pinned to your clothes sailed in the sunshine. Little beads of sweat had begun to form on your forehead and the sticky summer heat thick against your skin as you drew in a breath. 

You checked your watch; it was 11:00 am in the morning. 

It had been awhile since you were down at the shore; the heavy scent of ocean prominent in your nose. You wrinkled it in discomfort. 

The idea of spending your summer at the beach had been your parents' decision and they had leant you their beach house to use while you were working. Leaving you to your own devices, your mom and dad had chosen to take a much needed vacation to Hawaii. Instead of keeping you company they had retired you to fend for yourself. 

Although you understood, you also felt bitter that they up and went without you.

“Structure. Discipline. Self reliance. Think of this as practice for the fall when you go back to school.” Your dad had said. 

“We think this is what’s best for you, sweetheart.” Your mom agreed.

You narrowed your eyes at the memory of their words. Yeah, what ‘was best for you’ was to hightail it out of here and retreat to the comfort of your own bedroom. You didn’t bode well in anxious situations and your first reaction had always been to run the opposite direction. 

But now that you were standing outside the back of Kim’s Market, that option didn’t seem very plausible. Today was opening day, and you knew as much help as possible was needed.

Almost every summer spent down the shore you’d worked in this little, local market. Since you’d been eighteen to be exact. The pay had been good and the owner allowed his employees to snack on food for free; not to mention the heaps of down time and 5G wifi. You’d done a lot of instagraming in those days.

The last two years were the longest you’d been without paying a visit to Kim’s. Choosing to study abroad, you’d saved money by spending the summers over there instead of returning home to your country. Though every now and then you had found yourself thinking about the little market and wondered how it was doing. 

Standing in front of it now felt nostalgic, but you realized that two years was a long time and that many things could have changed while you were gone. And that’s why you found yourself so nervous. 

Will they even remember me? You wondered to yourself. 

You reached out your hands to touch the chipping wooden door and felt the wrinkles of maturing paint beneath your fingertips.

By they you meant your former, future, coworkers that you spent months of your time with over the past years of your life. Would they be happy to see you? Had they changed at all? Because you knew that you certainly had.

You remembered their faces as clearly as you could see in front of yourself. Their laughter and smiles were an unforgettable memory ingrained in your brain and the special moments you had spent with each of them had been precious. The long hours at work, the trips to the beach to enjoy an afternoon picnic, even the gaps of silence that had dispersed like a welcomed breeze. Every second had been cherished, and the heat of the fierce, beaming sun was always a reminder of the lovely summer days you’d spent together. 

Because above having been your coworkers, they had been your friends. 

Get a grip. You told yourself. How long you’d been standing there, you couldn’t tell, but by the looks of nosy passerbys it must have been for a while now.

Taking one last, nerve wrecked breath, you pushed open the tall double doors that lead inside to the back office, a blanket of air conditioned cool prickled your face. 

It was dimly lit. Only the small rectangular windows that poured in the early afternoon sun provided any sort of light in the small wood paneled room. It looked as if plant life had invaded. Pots of tiny trees and baskets of wild flowers decorated almost every surface. Their gardener had a knack for floral feng-shui.  

Said gardener stood behind a marble counter, back slightly bent as he trimmed stocks of parsley with a pair of gardening shears. A happy melody vibrated through his lips as he hummed to himself cheerfully. His deep brown eyes glimmered as if stars swam in them. 

He wore a black, deep cut v-neck shirt and airy blue jeans stained with dirt. Glowing brightly in the afternoon glare were the words Kim’s Market plastered across his chest and a little silver tag with the name Hoseok etched into its face. 

He looked peaceful, eyes lidded as if he had drifted into his own, little world. 

“Hi Hobi.” You piped up, his nickname shy on your tongue.  

The man snapped his head of chocolate brown hair up from his ministrations and squinted at you--or maybe he just couldn’t see well without his glasses. Nearsightedness if you recall. Even so, realization seemed to dawn on him as you were greeted with his infamous sunny smile. The perfect ‘welcome back.’

“Y/N, it’s so good to see you.” Hoseok said, then shrugged. “Well, you know, as much as I can see you.” 

You shrugged back with a smile. “It’s good to be seen.” 

He placed the shears onto the cutting board and approached you with outstretched arms. You thought for a moment he was going to hug you, but instead he placed both hands firmly on your shoulders and held you in place. 

“Let me get a good look at you!” He said, eyeing you once over. “Beautiful.”

You blushed, looking down at the ground in hopes that he wouldn’t notice. Beautiful wasn’t the exact words you would have used, feeling a little frumpy in your baggy attire.

 “Thanks.” 

“So.” Hoseok cocked his head to the side, your eyes meeting. “How was Japan?” 

You bit your lip a little and averted your gaze once again to the tiled floor beneath your feet. You knew well that Hoseok could always tell when you were lying. “Good. I had a great time.” 

His eyes followed yours, brows furrowed as he aimed a curious look at your face. The older man opened his mouth to say something but before he could utter a word he was sorely interrupted by an outburst from the deli. 

“Y/N!” A chorus of voices in assorted octaves shrieked with delight.

Shocked, but happy to be off topic, you turned your head to meet the smiling faces of Jimin and Jungkook. They peered from a little open frame in the wall that doubled as a fissure between the office and the deli.

Jimin’s eyes twinkled in excitement while Jungkook grinned at you from ear to ear, and suddenly you felt your prior worries begin to dissipate. Returning their expressions of friendliness you waved at them with an arm tucked behind your back. 

“Hey gu--woah!” 

A little yelp escaped your lips as you felt your legs being lifted off the ground.

Arms wrapped around your waist in a tight hug, a mess of shaggy black hair had burrowed in the crook of your neck. “You’re back.” It purred, deep, husky voice muffled by your shoulder. 

Knowing exactly who it was before you even saw his face, you giggled, touched. 

“Hey Tae. I’m back.”

At the call of his nickname, Taehyung lifted his head and flashed you a smile so winning that you got the idea he didn’t smile like that very often. 

“Hi! I missed you!” 

A light chuckle from Hoseok tickled your ears as the enthusiastic Taehyung hug-dragged you around into the deli so that the rest of the boys could properly welcome you. After a lingering minute the hold on you dropped, which allowed you to take a gander at your surroundings.

The deli looked pretty much the same, albeit a bit cleaner. It was small--homely--the entire area itself took up only one third of the modestly sized market. The deli case, up front and center, was lined with meats, cheeses, salads, ground hamburger chuck and fresh cut slabs of prime beef, each holding a respective, organized place amongst one another. Three scales were scattered on the top, separated by Hoseok’s potted plants and a few steps away were the rows of slicers that cut the hunks of meat and cheese into cold-cuts. 

On the left of the case, pushed snuggly against the wall, was the grinder block. That was where all the chuck for hamburgers were ground into ribbons and panned on trays to be served to customers. Parallel was the butchers block and across from that, way in the back, was the sandwich block followed by the wrapping block and the walk-in fridge. 

They were all placed pretty close together and you could recall many collisions from the past as everyone had rushed to deliver their orders. Your heart warmed in remembrance. 

“So, whatcha think?” Jungkook’s voice pulled you from your thoughts. 

He was leaning against a tall metal hand-trolly piled high with boxes of what-nots and arms folded proudly across his chest. You noticed immediately that he was bigger than you remembered. He looked like an adonis from where he stood, his blue-and-white-striped shirt clung to his muscles, almost every ridge and curve visible to the naked eye. He oozed with pride.

You thought Jungkook was inquiring about his muscular metamorphosis or the very least about the deli, but when he gestured to the trolly you frowned. 

“Uh. Nice… boxes?” You raised a brow. Jimin chuckled from beside you. 

“Not those--well yes those. I’m stocking this year!” He boasted, face lifting in dignity. 

You felt Jimin shift. “Yeah! And don’t forget you left me all alone with the registers!” He pouted. 

Jungkook’s lip quirked to the side. “You know hyung, you could have joined me if you weren’t so…” He trailed, fishing for the right word. “Weak.”

You thought Jimin would pop what with the way his face puffed, flabbergasted. “I have abs! I can lift things!” He retorted, pulling up his sweater and smacking his toned stomach for emphasis. You looked away in shame.

Someone clicked their tongue from behind the sandwich block. “You’re too short.” 

It was Yoongi. 

You hadn’t noticed him from his seated position on the floor, but there he was, clad in a grey sweatshirt and backwards cap, knees hugged loosely to his chest as he scrolled through his phone. 

“Don’t take his side hyung!” Jimin turned to you with sad, gooey sparkles in his eyes. “You see what happens when you leave? They all bully me.”

You brought to mind how they all had teased Jimin; the poor boy made it far too easy for them. One time, Yoongi had pretended that Jimin was invisible for two days, all the while Jimin had relentlessly thrown himself in front of the older and practically begged to be acknowledged. 

“Where’s Jimin? I don’t see him. I hope he’s not dead.” Yoongi had taunted, shielding his eyes as if looking for someone. 

Jimin had bit his lip so hard it turned purple. “Stop it hyung! You know I’m right here.”

It wasn’t until you had locked his paycheck in your locker that Yoongi could miraculously see him again.

Before you left, you had been Jimin’s safeguard. You had taken pity on him because he always looked so lost and helpless. The others could easily fend for themselves, but Jimin--with his cute pouty lip and doleful eyes--there was something that had made you highly defensive of him; like a mother protecting her young. And he felt about you like you were his knight in shining armor. 

In times like this one, you would have ruffled his hair affectionately or perhaps even went after his offender and gave them a piece of your mind. It had always thrilled him to tears when you stood up for him. 

But time had passed and you didn’t know if the same tactics would still apply. 

You looked up at Jimin as he hissed at his coworkers like an offended kitten, a look of attack and desperate attempts to sound big. But in the end he was still nothing more than that. A kitten. Although you’d never admit it to him, you were the tiniest bit charmed.

Well, it couldn’t hurt to try? 

Tenderly, you patted his glossy head, receiving a startled jump from under your touch. 

“Don’t listen to them Jiminnie.” You cooed. “Your job is just as important and neither height nor arm muscles makes you any more or any less of a wonderful, capable man.”

Both Jungkook and Yoongi scoffed. 

“And you two!” You swiped a delicate finger between them. “Don’t think that because I’ve been gone for some time, that I won’t hesitate to kick both your asses if I hear you tell him otherwise.”

Jimin beamed at you with crescent moon eyes, catching your hand in his. “She’s really back.” He whispered, just loud enough for only you to hear.

The five of you exchanged looks before Yoongi snorted and the rest of you fell into a gleeful bote of laughter. No. The deli, the market, the atmosphere, it really hadn’t changed much. 

But the boys themselves most certainly had. 

Yoongi’s hair had gotten longer; crimped seafoam-green bangs touched the tips of his eyelashes and his once sunkissed skin had faded a few shades. His shoulders slouched a little more. He’d always been a quiet man, but something about the way he held himself seemed more aloof and less interested.

Jimin was much skinnier, almost worryingly so. His once pinchable chubby cheeks were replaced with sculpted definition to his jawline and his collarbone protruded amidst his baggy baby-pink sweater. He still had his abs, yes, but when he had previously exposed himself to the group, you had noticed the little lines of ribs poking through his honey-colored skin. Although still painfully pretty, you worried he hadn’t been eating enough.

Jungkook--muscle growth aside--seemed to have grown an entire foot in height. His pointy nose was slightly sunburned and his cappuccino hair swept to the side, streaked with highlights. His former, innocent demeanor now dripped with overconfidence and tenacity; something you instantly knew would be difficult to keep a handle on. 

Even Hoseok, sunny, energetic, ever-loving Hoseok had looked uncharacteristically tired. He had tried to hide it, but the lines under his eyes gave him away.

And Taehyung. His lion's mane of wavy hair, his deep chocolate-brown eyes, his obnoxiously good looks-- 

You eyed the raven-haired boy who had become completely distracted, busily taping a pair of plastic gloves around his wrists and using a bendy-straw to blow them up like balloons. He cooed excitedly and shoved them in your general direction. “Look Y/N! I’m like Baymax!” 

He hasn’t changed a bit.  

Perhaps it was the many bodies in such a tight space, or perhaps you were just overly perceptive today but it suddenly dawned on you that two other members were missing. 

You frowned. “Hey, where’s Namjoon and--”

“Yah! I see goofing off!” A shout that reminded you of a squawking mother emanated from the other side of the deli case. 

Ah. There he is. 

In unison, you all whirled around to see the store owner, Jin, shouldering a large silver tray of fresh pastries and looking absolutely perfect. His beautiful full lips pulled back in annoyance and his ivory skin tinted pink like blooming roses. He had an evergreen apron tied around his waist and his free hand was placed fiercely on his hip.

“Hyung, look!” Taehyung wiggled his balloon-a-fied hands at Jin. “Y/N is here!”

Jin looked over to you, his expression softening. “Hey there Y/N.” He said, circling around the deli case and placing the tray on the meat-grinder block. 

“Hi Jin.” You blushed. His presence had a way of making you flustered. 

He patted his floury hands on his apron before extending one towards you. You took it with a hardy handshake, his touch lingered slightly before he pulled it away. 

“Are you ready to work hard?” Jin asked, straightening back up. 

You eyed your coworkers skeptically. “Yes sir.” 

Taehyung was using his balloon-hands to squish Jimin’s face while Jungkook stood by as witness; the three of them bursted into fits of giggles when one of the gloves popped just above Jimin’s nose. Yoongi, who was completely ignoring you guys, had returned to his previous activities, engaged in his phone once again. 

Ready to work hard? By the look of it, you didn’t feel like you really had a choice, because no doubt you’d be carrying a lot of the weight.  

“Good.” Jin said and took a spatula from one of the magnetic holsters. “Because it seems to me that with these four slack offs--” he gestured with it at the younger men, “--you have your work cut out for you.”

Read my mind.

You hummed in response and watched as Jin began to square off the pastries with the spatula. He looked good--well he had always looked good, but with his delicately placed locks of black hair and eyelashes that casted shadows across cheekbones, the shopkeeper looked particularly angelic as he focused on his work. 

“Ooh! Hyung! Is that the crumb cake?” Taehyung’s short attention span was naturally swayed by the sight of food. 

He scurried over to the two of you, a look of unadulterated hunger on his face. The rest of the boys, minus Yoongi, followed shortly after him. Taehyung reached for one, the plastic from his glove still deflated around his hand. Jin smacked it away. 

“Don’t you dare touch these with your grubby little hands.” The oldest scolded. “These are for the customers. You know, the ones who actually pay for my food.” 

Taehyung whimpered, disappointed. “...looks so good though…” 

“They most certainly are. Delicious--” His eyes narrowed. “--and for the customers. I don’t want to catch any of you snacking on these today. Anything else, fine. But stay away from the crumb cake.”

A chorus of protest had Jin stabbing the spatula with a particularly strong force.

“I mean it.” 

Jimin’s lip jutted and Taehyung leaned against the grinder block back first, angling his face to fix Jin with the perfect puppy-pout. Not that it worked. Jin’s nerves were made of steel. 

“Just a little?” 

“No.”

“A crumb?”

“No!” 

“A lick?”

“Aish! Stop bothering me!” 

“Move.” A curt voice cut through the room. 

Namjoon, the last missing member of the group, appeared from the inside of the walk-in fridge, holding a large plastic bin with the words ‘cuts to be trimmed’ written on the side in black sharpie. 

You all turned to look at the man as he glared intensely at you; the crowd of people in his way. Namjoon’s arms were shaking under the weight of the bin like he was barely keeping it from falling out of his grip. He was flushed, with tiny beads of sweat rolling down his forehead. You gulped as everyone automatically stepped aside and created a path for him. Even Yoongi scooched over on the ground. 

Why is he...

You looked at Jimin confused, but the boy just shrugged. “Namjoon is the butcher now.”

Namjoon mumbled something you couldn’t hear as he heaved the bin towards the butcher's block and slammed it down on the counter. His back was turned to you, not having noticed your presence. 

The tallest man’s willowy figure had always been lean but, like Jungkook, new muscle definition ripped up his biceps and upper pectorals. On top of that, his once golden skin was now a deep shade of almond and his brown quiff had been replaced with a silver, clean-shaven undercut. 

Two years ago, it had been you, Namjoon, Yoongi and Taehyung that worked in the deli, cutting cold-cuts, making sandwiches and helping out around the market whenever time allowed. Jin had been the one in charge of the beef, only temporarily lending the reins when the store got too busy for him to handle it alone. Jin liked control. He especially liked control over their best selling meat, so you wondered how Namjoon had convinced the uptight shopkeeper to let him go full-time. 

He looked poised, a little cold.

You hugged your arms sheepishly. “Hi Joon.”

The butcher slipped, eyes wide and clearly not expecting to hear your voice as he caught himself on the butchers block. Giving himself a second to catch his breath, Namjoon turned to look at you with a bewildered expression. 

“Y/N...” He said, taking a step towards you. 

“Hey, it’s good to see yooooh my god are you ok?” 

Your hands flew to your lips in shock as Namjoon’s heel snagged on a piece of plastic--no doubt left on the floor from Taehyung’s glove--and flew to the ground in a tumble of limbs and a loud ‘crash’. You bit back a laugh. There’s that klutziness.

Wincing in pain, Namjoon stood up, his face red with peevery as he steadied himself. “Taehyung!” He growled.

Silence followed. 

Taehyung looked at his only remaining balloon-hand then looked back to Namjoon. “On a scale of one to ten, how would you rate your pain!?” He cheered, diving for the older with his hands outstretched. 

A loud ‘pop’ echoed in his wake. The rest of you exchanged looks of surprise as Namjoon held himself, wielding a long, skinny butcher's knife that extended towards Taehyung’s defending hand. The butcher fixed his eyes on the raven-haired male--who swallowed hard as the tip of the blade barely met his palm--shooting aggressive daggers. 

“No.” 

More silence. 

Jin clapped his hands, breaking the lull. “That’s it! Everyone back to work!” 

The shopkeeper shooed you guys away with a flick of his wrist and turned back around to resume cutting the crumb cake. The few “awws” that reverberated from the younger boys' mouths were silenced by the don’t-fuck-with-me look thier boss shot at them. 

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

Work well underway, the day seemed to slip by pretty slowly. The store was basically empty save a browsing customer here or there.

Jimin had returned to the registers while Jungkook was busy wheeling boxes around and unloading the contents to their respective places. Yoongi remained unbothered on his phone and Taehyung was doodling away with a black deli crayon on a piece of wrapping paper. The only noises that could be heard were the murmurs of Hoseok and Jin from the office and the soft thwacks of Namjoon’s cleaver as he chopped up pieces of meat and dumped them into a vacant bucket. 

You sighed to yourself. It’s so quiet...

There were no chairs back in the deli. Jin’s reasoning had been that sitting around made them look lazy, and laziness would repel customers. Nevertheless, none of the boys had any trouble finding ways to look apathetic. So you were leaning against the sandwich block, hands gripped around the wooden sides to support yourself and mind wandering off in boredom. 

A little restless, you looked down at Yoongi who was sitting inches from your branched out legs. 

“So, Yoongi…” You tried. “How’s business been today?”

Your shift may have started in the early afternoon, but most of, if not all the boys had been here since opening at six. You were privately grateful that you didn’t have to haul ass at bumblefuck am in the morning. 

Yoongi looked up at you briefly and you noticed tiny little bags under his eyes. “Slow.”

He had never been much for small talk. 

Ennui set in again and you found yourself wishing that you had brought your phone to pass the time. Maybe you’d forgotten on purpose due to your social media sabbatical or maybe you’d truly just forgotten but either way staring at a screen if not just to look at something sounded pretty good. So, to compensate, you settled on looking around the store. 

The late afternoon sun had soaked the deli in warm shades of oranges and pinks, the sheets of white menus that hung from the walls glared irredecentaly against the blaring light. The metal of the slicers and the walk-in glinted like precious silver and plastic containers full of lettuce, tomato and onion on the sandwich counter reflected images of your surroundings. You could hear the rolling of pebbles from outside as cars pulled in or drove away from the market and the faint smell of raw beef wafted through your nose. You crinkled it in disagreement. 

It was amazing how everything felt so… normal.

Looking at Yoongi’s hunched form, you pushed yourself away from the counter and tentatively took a seat next to him. He didn’t move. A quick peek over his shoulder, you realized he was typing something on a notes app. 

“Whatcha writing?” 

At that, Yoongi lifted his head and shielded his phone against his chest. You felt a little bad for eavesdropping. 

Your eyes met his. The look of genuine interest spread clearly on your face had Yoongi’s lips tugged back in a gentle smirk. He raised his hand to rub the back of his neck and dropped the phone from his chest to expose its contents towards your waiting gaze. 

“Lyrics.” He shrugged. “Never know when inspiration will hit you.”

Yoongi had one of those voices that oozed self-control, a voice you couldn’t imagine raised. And the way his eyes glimmered with passion for his art made your heart thrum little pitter-pats against your ribs. I forgot how handsome he is. 

“I didn’t know you liked to write music.” You truly hadn’t. He had always been so reserved, even back then. 

Yoongi snorted. “Well, my real goals in life are to cut meat and cheese for wealthy, uptight buttfucks. But what can I say? Gotta dream big.” 

You laughed. I also forgot how colorful his language could be. 

You wanted to ask him more, but a call from the front of the deli had you both snapping your heads towards the order counter.

“Excuse me!” A woman with two chins and sunglasses peered from the other side of the deli case. “Some service over here!” 

“Speak of the devil.” You sighed, rolling your eyes in Yoongi’s direction. “Keep writing. I got it.”

A hint of a smile ghosted his lips as you stood up and trotted over to the customer who was tapping her fingers impatiently. You put on your best pseudo grin. 

“Sorry for the wait ma’am. What can I get for you?” 

She frowned at you--or maybe that was her normal expression. “Yes. Thank you.” Her painted lips sneered. “I’d like a sandwich--”

“Hoagie or Kaiser?” You interrupted. The sandwich bags varied in sizes, so you needed to know which one to write her order on.

“Hoagie.” Her chins wagged as she navigated her eyes to one of the paper menus. “With--” 

You scrawled down her elongated list of toppings, checking the right boxes and circling the written words printed neatly on a chosen hoagie bag. The customer paused, opening her mouth as if she wanted to order something else, then promptly closed it. 

“That’s all.” 

“Alright!” You said with a nod. “That’ll be up in just a couple minutes.” 

The customer grumbled something you couldn’t make out but backed away from the counter and went to wait off to the side. 

That was the part of the job you hadn’t missed. The entitlement, the poor treatment, the rudeness and you, as an employee, were just supposed to smile and be polite besides yourself. 

Walking back to the sandwich block, you slipped past Namjoon, careful so as not to bump him and then clipped the bag on a sleek metal rack. It was your first sandwich of the year and you could feel a twinge of nervousness as your brain tried to remember what to do and what order to do it in. 

Yoongi peeked his head up again to watch you quietly, making sure you were ok or if you needed any guidance. 

Turkey. Swiss. Lettuce and tomato. A little salt, some hot peppers and onions. Oh and oil. Don’t forget the oil. You recited as you grabbed what you needed from the deli case, hands quivered slightly with nerves. You didn’t want to fuck this up. A part of you wanted to show the boys that you may have been gone a couple years, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t still make a killer sandwich. The whole store knew your sandwich making skills had always been the best and you had a reputation to uphold. 

You went over to the slicers and paused briefly, gathering your demeanor before you switched on the blades. Gripping the butt of the cheese you breathed deeply, quiet enough as to not draw attention to yourself. 

There was this irrational fear that you had; you even experienced nightmares once or twice because of it. You had always catastrophized that one of these days you’d slice your hand into a thick flap and then have to walk around with your flesh flopping like a turkey’s throat. Shuddering at the thought, you began to slice.

Thankfully, your body memory took over and suddenly you felt yourself falling back into old motions, cutting the cold-cuts with ease and one hundred percent skin-flap free.

With a slight spring to your step, you brushed past Namjoon again, again being careful not to hit him with your butt as you went about your way. You heard an appreciative ‘thunk’ of blade hitting wood. 

When all the items were laid out in a neat line, you began to assemble the sandwich, making sure to place each piece of food in the correct order. First meat, then cheese, then veggies and then oil. You never put oil on the bread because the moisture would make the entire sandwich soggy. You explained this to Taehyung and Yoongi once when a customer had come in with a complaint about an ‘inedible sandwich.’ Finishing up your order with a sprinkle of lettuce and a spray of oil you topped it off with a light dusting of sea salt. Perfect. 

While you took a step back to admire your handy work, more customers began to line up in front of the deli case. With a low groan, Taehyung paused his doodling to go help them. Yoongi stood up and tucked his phone away in his hoodie. 

“Ahem.” Namjoon fixed you with an instructive stare and you chuckled sheepishly. 

“Right. Sorry.”

You gathered up the sandwich and brought it to the wrapping block, careful not to spill anything. Quickly and neatly you rolled the paper over it before taping it closed and stuffing it in the bag. 

“Here you are.” You beamed at the customer who had ordered from you, handing over your masterpiece. 

She didn’t thank you, just grabbed the sandwich and waddled away. 

“You’re welcome.” You muttered bitterly, the corner of your lip twitched in contempt. 

Bitch.

You were used to ungrateful customers. Most people who came to the shore were wealthy beach house owners--the top one percent--and most of them didn’t appreciate hard work let alone practiced basic manners. 

Giving yourself a moment, you checked your watch. It was a little after lunch time, which explained the sudden pickup in business. Usually between 12:30 and 2:00 the market became increasingly busy, then again between 4:30 and 6:00, giving everyone about an hour to catch their breath. 

“Already aching to clock out, eh?”

 Taehyung came up from behind you, causing you to squeak in surprise. He chuckled deeply in your ear, his breath hot against your skin. 

You whipped your head around, blood creeping up your cheeks. “No!” 

“Cute. Well here.” He handed you two paper sandwich bags. “This’ll pass the time.”

Taehyung graced you with a little wink and a wave of his hand before walking back up to the front of the deli to take more orders. 

Your shoulders slumped as a sigh departed your lips, already missing the freetime. 

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

Another hour crawled by. Not a moment to relax as the three of you maneuvered through and around the small space, slicing cold-cut after sandwich. You were beginning to lose your bearings as the line never seemed to end. 

“Coming through!” 

“On your left. No. Left Taehyung.” 

“Behind you hyung!” 

“Knife!” 

Every once in a while, Namjoon paused from his ministries to help out when the three of you had your hands full. He worked like a pro and made everything seem so effortless. You’d never felt more beholden. 

Once the line cleared and the four of you had a moment to yourselves, you breathed a sigh of relief. It truly felt good to be up on your feet again, but damn, dealing with so many people in such a short amount of time really weighed on your introverted personality. Running a hand through your hair, you looked at the clock on the deli phone.

Only four hours left to go. 

Phew. Ok. You can do this Y/N.

A slew of giggles erupted from the deli case and you turned your head to see a dwindling customer bent over the counter and chatting animatedly with Taehyung. By the way she twirled her hair and fluttered her lashes you could immediately tell she was flirting. And honestly, you couldn’t blame her. Customers had often flirted with the boys and every time it was a reminder of how seriously handsome each of them were. You frowned.

She was beautiful. A very tall, very blonde woman with a modelesque physique. Her skin was as fair as a jasmine petal, with perfect blue eyes and a perfect snowy neck. The spaghetti straps of her sundress threatened to slip down her tiny, pointed shoulders and you noticed her arms were crossed around her chest, emphasizing her cleavage.

Laughing at something he said, she reached out to touch Taehyung’s arm, a bold move if you ever saw one. He followed with his eyes to where her hand touched him and slowly backed away. Handing over her order, he fixed her with his boxy smile. 

“Bye! Come again soon!” He chirped. Ouch.  

The customer obviously didn’t want to leave, but Taehyung had already turned his back towards her, clearly ending the conversation. Her pretty, glossed lips bent down in a grimace and reluctantly she sulked off. The raven haired boy caught your stare, his eyes flying up to the sky as he shrugged. You made a gagging motion with your finger and then the two of you laughed. 

Yoongi shuffled over, a tired expression creased on his face as he dipped back down to the floor, back flush against the cool metal of the walk-in. His cheeks were rosy from all the exertion and eyes heavy as he sighed. Taking one last look up front as to make sure no other customers were around, he fished for the phone in his pocket and returned to typing fervidly. 

“How ya holding up?” You said to him. 

“Hm.”

Man, he’s a tough one to crack. 

A few moments passed in silence. You enjoyed the cool breeze of the air conditioning, eyes hooded as it satiated your skin. It felt peaceful to be among friends again. 

A subtle thunk grabbed you from your stupor.

“Oof. Watch it!” Yoongi jerked forward as the door of the walk-in pushed open from behind him. 

Namjoon emerged from the door with a large rack of ribs cradled on his shoulder. He looked between the two of you and quickly apologized to his friend. 

“The door knob is a little loose inside, so be careful not to pull it too hard.” He said, gesturing with his chin to the fridge. 

You nodded your head and Yoongi  hummed in admission, though if he was really listening you couldn’t tell. Doubtful. 

“Hey! Which one of you dum-dums keeps forgetting to price the sandwiches!?” Jimin called, face huffy as he poked his head out from behind aisle B. 

For some reason, Jin never liked the idea of using up-to-date cash registers, opting for old-fashioned antiques that probably came from the nineteen-thirties. That excluded a barcode scanner, so poor Jimin had to punch in all the item prices by hand. God forbid a customer decided not to buy something because then the boy had to zero out the register and start all over again.

“I had to make the prices up, and you know Jin hyung hates when I do that!” Jimin stomped over in a flurry of dust and dirt from unswept floors. Speaking of things Jin hated. 

Your eyes widened. Horrified, you realized it had been you. You totally forgot you had to hand write the prices of the sandwiches along with the orders. 

The rest of the members started to busy themselves, avoiding Jimin’s wrath. Taehyung began opening boxes of pickle jars from underneath the counters and Namjoon got to work on prepping the bonesaw for the ribs. To your surprise, even Yoongi stood up and began to clean the counter with a metal scraper. It was like they all turned their heads and whistled evadingly. 

You sighed, wiping the bridge of your nose. Honesty was the best approach. 

“Sorry Jimin! It was me.” You admitted to the blonde haired boy. 

He craned his neck to look at you standing in the back behind Namjoon. For a split second you worried he would tell you off. 

Instead, Jimin flashed you a radiant smile. “No worries Y/N. It’s only your first day back--”

“It’s all our first day back.” Yoongi muttered lowly. 

“--so it must be hard to remember everything all at once.” He finished, shooting a glare at the sea-green head on the floor. 

“Thanks… I’ll try to remember to write them down next time.” You said, heat rising to your cheeks. How embarrassing. 

“No problem, love.”

Taehyung scoffed, folding the emptied box in his arms. “It was a problem last year when I forgot that one time to price a ham sandwich. One time.”

Jimin pursed his luscious lips. “That’s because you’re always doing something you’re not supposed to be.” 

Taehyung threw up his hands in mock frustration. “Sue me!”

“Ironic that this is coming from the person who’s supposed to be behind the register.” Yoongi said, reminding his younger that in that moment, he’s the one doing something he’s not supposed to be.

Jimin ignored the remark and sauntered over to your side. He grabbed your hand between his.

“I’ve been dying to know!” He exclaimed, brown eyes sparkling. “How was Japan?”

From within the room, all ears perked up.

Your face fell a little at the question, not wanting to answer it again. “Oh you know… it was good. A great learning experience.”

He picked up on your bypassed tone. “Oh… did something happen?”

Suddenly, flashes of broken bottles, a messy room and red lights flashed through your head. You took a step away from him. 

“No. Nothing at all. Like I said, it was great.” You forced a little smile. “My Japanese is pretty good now.”

As if sensing your troubled thoughts, Jimin hummed in disapproval. His face was tinged with concern as he said “If something happened, you can tell us.” Great. An interrogation session was clearly in the making.

Abruptly, Namjoon turned from the bonesaw and shot Jimin a warning look. “Min, if you have time to chit-chat, you have time to help Jin or Hoseok.”

Jimin made a face. “But I’m talking to Y/N. We have so much to catch up on.” 

The butcher's shoulders squared in irritation. Running a hand through his silver locks he stopped what he was doing completely. “Go help your hyungs or go back to the register. There’s too many of us back here and hardly any room.”

“No fair! You guys get to spend all day with her, and I have to sit up front all by myself!” 

“Yeah, we’re pretty lucky.” Taehyung waggled his thick brows towards you.

Namjoon pinched his nose and shut his eyes to ease the headache he was getting. “Don’t make me call Jin over here.”  

“You’re no fun! I hope you cut your fingers!” Jimin stuck out his tongue. “Seriously, you always cut your fingers. It’s beyond me why Jin hyung trusted you as our butcher” He pointed at the array of band-aids that littered Namjoon’s hands. 

“At least I’m helping them out! Someone has to cut the meat around here, and I don’t see you volunteering.” 

Jimin turned a little green at the thought. “I’m just saying. Lose a finger and you’ll never be able to properly hold a knife again.”

“Fuck off.”

Jimin’s lip quivered. “When did you become so mean?”

You waved your hands at your two bickering coworkers in an attempt to dissipate the negative aura, wishing someone would come to your rescue. As if on cue, Hoseok’s head appeared through the little aperture between the back office and the deli, arms full of leafy greens. 

“Jimin, don’t you have a register to monitor?” He raised an eyebrow. 

Jimin bowed his head in defeat, knowing he didn’t stand a chance against the gardener. You felt relief wash over you. “Yes hyung…” 

With a quick glance back at you, his little body scuttled away to resume his job. A twang of guilt struck you.

Following suit, you squatted down by the sandwich counter and pulled out rolls of bread from orange crates. You placed them on top of the work surface so that you, Taehyung and Yoongi would be prepared for the next rush of orders. It was a quarter past 3:00. 

You thought about Jimin’s question, feeling bad for blowing him off like that. He’d always been so kind to you--warm and welcoming--and right then you felt like a raging bitch. 

I wish people would stop asking me that question. 

As you were pulling out the last bunches of bread, a blur of ebony and white caught your attention. 

“I’m a chef!” Taehyung announced, crouching beside you. Startled, you nearly dropped a sandwich roll. 

He adorned the pickle box on his head, indeed looking like he wore a chefs hat made of cardboard. He flashed you a toothy grin.

“The fuck?” Yoongi looked up and sniggered. 

Taehyung danced around the deli with the box on his head, not bothering to remove it when the next slew of customers arrived at the counter. He wiggled his hips and sprung about full of energy, causing a mixed reaction from the people up front.

A part of you knew he was trying to cheer you up.

You stifled a snort of amusement. “I wonder about the way your mind works, Tae.”

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

Around 3:30, Jin appeared from the office. 

“Y/N, can you help me with something?” 

You were on the ground with Yoongi, reading over his shoulder as he typed away lyrics passionately on his phone. The market had gone completely quiet, so you had seized the opportunity to bond with him.

Taehyung had gone back to doodling, the cardboard box completely forgotten, and Namjoon disappeared outside about five minutes ago. Probably to smoke.

“Sure.” You said. You stood up and brushed some bread crumbs off your clothes. 

“Follow me.”

Jin led you outside past Hoseok’s garden and over to a small freezer-truck parked adjacent to the back of the store. The air looked wavy and greasy as it came up from the ground. The heat hung heavy in the treetops, weighing down the leaves so that the only movement was that of automobiles, pulling out from the parking lot and roaring down the streets. Boiling and humid, it was summer at its most stifling. 

Jin took out his keys--no key fob, you noticed, but plenty of keys. Your own keyring had two keys and a fob shaped like a cat. You wondered if your keyring said something about you. 

He opened the door. The two of you stepped inside, the plastic flaps of the entryway hitting your face as a waft of cool air pricked the hairs on your skin. There were rows of boxes filled with produce and dairy; a storage unit used for things that weren’t yet needed on the market shelves. Jin stood next to a huddle of large boxes filled to the brim with juicy red strawberries that Hoseok had picked from his garden. 

The storekeeper gestured towards them. “I need you to take these strawberries and put them on the top shelf of the walk-in so they can defrost.” 

You eyed them closely, wondering why he hadn’t asked Taehyung or Yoongi. They looked pretty weighty but you thought you could handle some considerable lifting.

“Sure. No problem.” You said, bending down to pick one of them up. You were right in your assumptions. They were heavy as fuck. 

Jin brushed a perfect strand of ebony hair away from his face, a grateful look graced his delicate features. “Thanks. Hobi has been nagging about it all day.” 

“My pleasure.” You smiled. 

If you were being completely honest, you’d do practically anything for Jin. Your little crush on your boss was a bit embarrassing, but you’d come to terms with it. Shoulding the box with gusto, you turned to leave.

“Oh, and also.” He stopped you. “I meant to ask. How was Japan?” 

You gritted your teeth and swallowed thickly. You hadn’t wanted to lie to Jimin, but you really didn’t want to lie to Jin. 

You flashed him a weary smile. “It was awesome.” You fibbed for the third time today.

Jin nodded his head with a knuckle to his chin, less sensitive to your hesitance than Jimin and Hoseok had been. “That’s good to hear. Make any new friends?”

“Yeah.” 

“Meet anyone special?” 

“No.” 

Jin’s expression changed. Was that a look of relief on his face? You blinked, suspicious that your eyes had played a trick on you. You never thought Jin to be the bashful type, but in that moment he looked particularly shy. 

Not pressing any further, Jin put a hand on your elbow and stretched his pretty red lips into a soft smile, eyes glittering. “We really missed you.”

Your heart fluttered at his confession, a peaceful feeling returned to your body. 

“I really missed you too.” Fucking freudian slip.

The shopkeeper’s face turned pink. Suddenly wanting to look away, you turned your attention back to the boxes and stared. The box already on your shoulder began to falter since you’d been holding its weight for so long.

Jin followed your eyes and sighed. “Thank you so much. I’d have Jungkook do it, but I already have him making runs to the delivery trucks and bringing those boxes around front.” Ah. It’s delivery day. That explained why you hadn’t seen much of the youngest boy. 

“It’s not a problem. I’m happy to help.”

Although it’s only filled with strawberries, the pressing weight they provided made you breathe hard as you hauled it through the double doors and back into the market. Hoseok looked up from his office chair, a spread of bundled herbs layed out in front of him. 

He waved at you with a bunch of rosemary and chuckled brightly. “Need a hand?”

Not wanting to bother him, you shook your head. “Nope! I got it.”  

“You sure? That looks heavy.”

“Don’t worry Hobi! I’m stronger than I look!” You tucked the box in the crook of your neck and flexed your bicep.

He eyed you skeptically but nodded nonetheless, resuming his work.

You heaved yourself back into the deli. Sweat threatened to drip down your face as you walked in on Taehyung holding a circular plastic container filled with a curious, salmon-pink substance. What was that boy up to now?

“So… what, exactly, did you put in it?” Yoongi asked. He was bending over the sandwich block watching Taehyung with sick intrigue. 

“Potato salad, egg salad, tuna salad, seafood salad, chicken salad, macaroni salad… all the salads!” Taehyung cheered, then paused. “Except for coleslaw.” He shivered in disgust. 

Yoongi sighed nonchalantly. “It’s just gonna taste like mayonnaise.”

The boy simply shrugged, spooning a good amount of the mixture into his mouth and looked on in consideration. You and Yoongi gagged simultaneously. 

Both boys' eyes snapped to you as they finally took notice of your struggling form. Yoongi’s eyebrows shot to his hairline. Taehyung put the container down and smiled at you. 

“Hey Y/N, need some help?” 

You placed the strawberries on the butcher’s block to catch your breath. “Nah. Seriously, I got this. Just gimme a second.”

“I can do it if you want.” Yoongi said, folding his arms over his chest. 

Determined to finish the job by yourself, you raised a hand and waved off the offer. “I can do this.” 

“Alright, well, I’ll get the door.” He pushed himself off the counter and turned to open the walk-in. 

You hummed in appreciation. Lifting the box again, you hauled both it and yourself through the waiting door. A cold breeze coursed beneath your flesh. 

Yoongi held it open, watching you with slitted eyes as you stood on your tippy-toes and tried to place the box on the top shelf. It began to wobble in your hands. You grunted, your arms begging to give and you realized too late that you were too short. The box doubled back and suddenly, you felt yourself go with it. Your heart began to hammer in your chest, dread washed over you as you anticipated your fall. 

There was a click of the door shutting closed as two hands shot out from behind you and steadied the box, which consecutively steadied you. 

“Careful.” Yoongi warned. 

Your eyes widened. 

He was really close. His hard pectorals pressed up against you and it was then you realized how strong his body was. You could feel his quickened heart thumping, which only aided in the increase of your own pulse. He smelled like mint. 

Your ears burned red despite the cold. 

Yoongi helped you push the box onto the top shelf, hands enveloping yours. His fingers were long and elegant, a couple silver rings sheathed around them. You noticed lengthy veins that protruded through his skin and you gulped. Even though the box had already been shelved, he didn’t move away. 

“Uh. T-thanks.” You stuttered.

“Yup.” 

Finally he backed up and removed his hands. You turned around slowly and met his eyes. Yoongi’s face was equally flushed. After a moment of awkward silence, you found your voice again.

“W-we should… uh… head back out. Jin has more boxes that need to be moved.” 

He rubbed his neck and averted his gaze, but nodded slowly. 

Together, the two of you soundlessly turned to exit the fridge, anxious to get out of the cold. You willed your heart to slow, feeling embarrassed that you let the moment get to you. 

You reached out and grabbed the handle. 

Whether it was from your spaztic sensitivity or the way your hands shook, Namjoon’s previous warning had escaped you as you pulled it way too hard. 

The handle snapped off and fell to the floor with a rambunctious ‘clang.’ For a long moment you just stared at each other. 

“Fuck.”

You and Yoongi were undoubtedly trapped inside.

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

Next⤏

#bts #bts army #bts fic #bts fanfic #bts fanfction #jhope #yoongi #suga #hoseok #ot7 #bts ot7 #jin #seokjin #bts imagines #bts x reader #ot7 x reader #bts ot7 x reader #jimin #taehyung #reader x hoseok #reader x jimin #reader x namjoon #reader x yoongi #reader x jin #reader x taehyung #bts fan account #reader insert #fan fic writing #jhope x reader #bts x y/n

[tisfan]

Right Foot Red

Title: Right Foot Red Collaborators: @27dragons and @tisfan AO3 Link  Square Filled: N5 - Silly Sex Ship: WinterIronWidow Bucky Barnes/Tony Stark/Natasha Romanoff Rating: M Major Tags: playing games, competition, strip Twister, cheating, flexible, gays can’t sit in chairs properly, poly relationships, extensive foreplay Summary: Steve says Tony’s not that flexible. Bucky and Nat don’t mind letting him prove Steve wrong. Word Count: 1767 Created for @mcukinkbingo

“Is there some compelling reason why you can’t sit in a chair like a normal person?” Steve demanded, pushing Tony’s legs off the arm of the chair, almost spilling his popcorn in the process.

“It’s a gay thing, Cap, you wouldn’t understand,” Clint said. He was also, Bucky noted, not sitting in the chair properly, instead practically perched on the back of his like he was expecting to take off in flight or something.

“Tony’s just got no spine,” Nat said, curling up even harder between Tony and Bucky, her feet in Bucky’s lap. “It makes him very flexible.”

“It’s true,” Tony said. “I’m very flexible.” He waggled his eyebrows lasciviously. “You should see what I can do with that in bed.”

Tony, like a cat, is liquid,” Bucky piped up. “He just sort of flows.” His boyfriend was amazing, graceful and delicious.

“Well, he’s not bad in the suit,” Steve said, sitting on the sofa and manspreading, like he was trying to prove a point by having both feet on the floor and his knees wide. “But, honestly, he can’t compare to an enhanced human. No offense.”

Tony’s eyebrow went up. “Precisely which enhanced human are you thinking of comparing me to?” he wondered in a dangerously mild tone.

“Oh, now you’ve done it,” Nat sing-songed.

“Flexibility’s not enhanced by the serum,” Bucky said, scowling. “Nat an’ I got this way because we danced. Tony does yoga. He’d kick your ass in Twister.” He drew a few circles up Nat’s leg and ended with his hand on Tony’s shoulder. Even with Steve trying to make him sit up, Tony was determined to sprawl.

(more under the cut)

“I don’t even know what that is,” Steve said, and proceeded to ignore them for the rest of the evening.

“Twister might be fun,” Nat commented, on the way up to their apartment, later. “Add a little spice.” She stuck her tongue on Tony’s ear almost absently, playing with his hair. “Unless you don’t think you have anything to prove.”

“I don’t,” Tony pouted, “but it might still be fun.” He tucked his fingers into the back of her belt. “Strip Twister?” He waved at the furniture as they walked into the living room. “Clear us out a space. JARVIS, project a board for us, would you?”

“I’m gonna break my dick, and what use will I be to either of ya?” Bucky wondered, but scraped back his hair and twisted it into a bun, already counting items of clothing. He might have an advantage; he was always a little cold, so he tended to wear layers to avoid baking his lovers in his preferred temperature settings.

Despite his complaints, Bucky shoved the sofa back up against the wall.

Tony clapped his hands and rubbed them together cheerfully. “All right, let’s do this. Box rules? Anyone want a minute to stretch first?” He smirked at them like the brat he was.

Bucky did stretch, a little, twisting his hips and crackling his spine, because he wasn’t an idiot. Bucky was strong, he was fast, and sometimes he could be graceful, but his standard operating procedure was to walk at the bad guys like incoming death. Most of them got out of his way, rather than the reverse.

“I am fine,” Nat said, braiding her hair to keep it out of the way; Tony was the only one of them who wore short hair. “Should I offer you a penalty?”

“Are we playing for penalties?” Tony wondered. “Sure, why not. Give it a little edge.”

“If you win, I shall allow you to sleep in the middle tonight,” she said. The middle was a highly coveted spot that they actually had to chart out, to keep everyone from arguing about it. “And if you lose, you will tell Steve that you lost.”

“Agreed. If you win, I will go with you to the ballet,” Tony offered. “And not mock the costumes, or fall asleep during the performance. And if you lose, then you get to tell Steve that I cleaned your clock.” He slanted a look at Bucky. “You want in on this action?”

“If I win--” Bucky thought about it for a moment. “You cut your coffee habit in half for a week. And come to bed on time. If you win, I will let you upgrade the arm.”

“Sold. JARVIS, record the bets, please, and give us a spin.”

“Recorded. The first spin is: left hand, blue.”

Uncharacteristically, Tony paused to survey the projected board, waiting until Bucky and Nat had each claimed their spots, before carefully bending to put his hand down.

It didn’t take them very long to get all snarled up together, and Bucky was not above cheating, in that he made deliberate efforts to brush against his partners. He knocked Tony down once by depositing a kiss on the back of Tony’s neck as he moved by.

He’d expected Tony to cry foul at that, but Tony just gave him a cheerful salute and a wink that promised mayhem and revenge as he surrendered his shirt.

Losing the shoes seemed like the ideal choice after his first slip, when he and Nat were battling it out for Left Foot Red, but socks were even worse. The floor and JARVIS’s projected mat were probably not as slick as an actual plastic game board might have been, but Tony’s interior designer had put together a Look, at that Look had not involved carpeting in the public spaces.

They all went down in a heap when Bucky’s foot slipped on Right Foot Blue.

“Ooof,” Tony complained. “How did I end up on the bottom, again?” He wriggled distractingly. “Bucky’s penalty?” he petitioned Nat.

“You’re on the bottom,” Nat said, pushing herself upright again, which put her breasts mostly in Tony’s face, “because you are the Bottom.”

“He has a very nice bottom,” Bucky commented, helping himself to a handful before picking his way out of the pile to peel off his shirt. Down to a white undershirt, and his jeans, he was finding it difficult to imagine how many more wrong moves he could make before he’d get to sit back (naked, but that was okay) and watch Tony and Nat writhe around each other. “What’s the next spin, J?”

The game went on, and despite the distinct lack of attire they had, it seemed they got more competitive. The exercise was keeping Bucky warm, and watching his partners bend and flex and move around him was both distracting and an incentive to stay in the game.

JARVIS called a change of position for right hands, and Tony, instead of sensibly putting his hand on the spot right under his shoulder, twisted around and situated himself so his elbow was tucked up between Bucky’s legs, brushing the inside of Bucky’s thigh, bumping ever so gently against Bucky’s balls.

Bucky hitched in a breath and put a mission behind not falling over. Which was harder than it sounded as his knees buckled and his dick decided to perk up and pay attention. “Cheat,” he hissed.

“I don’t know what you could possibly mean,” Tony said in his most innocent tones.

Nat took advantage of both of her men being distracted to slither between them, one leg delicately balanced over Bucky’s hips and the other stretched almost flat to reach the yellow dot all the way in the back.

“That has got to be hard on your hips,” Bucky commented. It was an impressive split and Bucky could practically see the folds of her labia as her underwear plastered against her skin.

Oh yeah, he was going to lose.

Another couple of rounds, and Tony had managed to tuck himself almost completely up underneath Bucky’s legs, his perfectly-shaped rear rubbing up against Bucky’s crotch, while his face was somehow pressed against one of Nat’s breasts. “I’d say I was sorry for the awkward,” he said, “but you both know I’d be lying.”

Bucky couldn’t quite resist the temptation, rubbing down across Tony’s ass when he moved to their new spot, but his hand came down on Nat’s at the same time and he had to quickly replan his trajectory.

And he missed.

Which he might have been sorry about, except somehow that managed to put him with his mouth pressed against Nat’s thigh, so, since he’d already lost, he took advantage of the position to lick the gusset of her drawers and blow warm air across the wet fabric. “Hello there, kratsotka.”

Nat’s breath caught and her balance wavered, just a little. Tony turned his head farther than it seemed should be possible to see what was going on, and coughed out a laugh. “Ready to give up?”

“I’m out, I’m off,” Bucky said, climbing out from between them. “Now I can sit here and watch you two look pretty.” He stripped off his boxer-briefs, and might have deliberately tossed them in Tony’s face. Bucky took a seat on the shoved aside sofa and didn’t bother to pretend he wasn’t posing.

Tony and Nat were worth the watching. Especially now that they’d both apparently decided that the only way to win was to cheat. They chose their positions less for convenience and more to cause them to rub up against each other, pressing their faces into skin and teasing each other with subtle licks and extremely unsubtle nips.

But from his position on the couch, Bucky could see that Nat was being carefully herded to one side of the playing board, limiting her choices. Finally, Tony managed to beat her to a Right Foot Green call, leaving her only option to stretch all the way across him to the far side of the board -- a distance her shorter limbs simply couldn’t reach. She was determined to try, slipping her leg between Tony’s arms and sliding her calf along his thigh, but she couldn’t quite make it, and with an extremely unladylike curse, dropped to the floor.

“I win!” Tony crowed.

Bucky hauled himself to his feet, offering Nat a hand up. “Well, looks like you get to be the middle spoon tonight--” He glanced at Nat, who gave him a lopsided smile, resignation to being second place instead of being able to crow about it. “And, you know what that means.”

Nat took up his train of thought immediately. “He shall have the benefit of both our complete attentions.”

Bucky bent to bring Tony up to his feet, tugging at the last few pieces of clothing he had in place. “We will, indeed. Because, as the winner, you should definitely enjoy the spoils.”

A/n: Bad Russian Translating - “gorgeous” 

#mcukinkbingo #bingo fills #winterironwidow #tony x nat x bucky #tony stark #bucky barnes #natasha romanoff #silly sex #foreplay really

[thelandthatfeeds]

Week 9 of my 2018 growing season (part 2 of 2). Selling! After mostly drying out the spring salad mix (I ended up having to swing the bag around a bit to "spin" a lot of the water out), I bagged it up in 100g portions (about two heaped handfuls), enough for about 3 or 4 main salad meals or a bunch of side salads. I had an unused cold frame, a fold out table and a chalk board lying around which functioned as the market stall, with our external locked letter box acting as the cash tin. Pretty good (easy) setup, but sadly it didn't really sell much today (£5 worth, or 3 bags). The boys absolutely loved it though, they were pretending to be "shopkeepers" all morning, so I definately think that this will be a weekly thing now regardless of how much actually gets sold. I am going to play around with the table/frame design to see if I can get something a little more effective at selling.

#thelandthatfeeds #saladstarter #urban farming #market gardening #farmtotable

[the-golden-mango-of-discord]

Maybe This Is Enough

I was not the type of person to just move on to the next compartment when I saw a lonely girl sitting by herself on the Hogwarts Express.

She was staring out the window, probably lost in thought. She had long, blue-black hair that hung in her face, half-obscuring her sharp features. Her eyes had a challenging coldness in them that I’d never seen before.

Well, I loved new things. And challenges.

I pushed open the compartment door and sat down across from the girl, changing my appearance to be as inviting as possible - dark golden hair, with a subtle wave to it, and smooth chocolate skin. Oh, and bright blue eyes! Yes, that was it.

I took a moment to pride myself on my new look and how effortlessly I’d changed my original hair, skin, and eye colour. Mum was right; practice makes perfect.

“Hello!” I said, plopping down opposite her. “Mind if I sit here? I saw you were alone, and I thought you might want company.”

The girl shook her head ever so slightly, narrowing her eyes. But after a moment, she sighed, quiet and slow, and said, “Yes, you can stay, I suppose.”

Everything she said and did seemed to be subtle and soft - a contrast to her high cheekbones, sleek black hair, and sharp, cold eyes that seemed to scream ‘mean and dark’.

“Oh, wonderful! My name’s Cassiopeia. Cassiopeia Carter, but you can call me C.C. or Cassie or even Carter but -”

“Cassiopeia is fine,” she murmured.

“And your name is...?” I prompted.

“Soraya.” She didn’t elaborate, nor did she take my offered hand to shake. I let it fall back to my side awkwardly.

“Pretty name. Well, um...” I pulled out a box of hard colourful candy from my bag. “Tic-tac?”

Soraya eyed the candy suspiciously. I popped a couple in my mouth to show that they were harmless. “They’re fruit-flavoured.”

She tentatively held out a hand, letting me rattle a few into her hand. “Why are you talking to me?”

“Well, you looked lonely, and I can’t just let people wallow in their own sadness because then I’d be a bad person,” I said. “And my mum didn’t raise me to be a bad person.”

Soraya shot a glance out the compartment window. “But don’t you have real friends to spend the trip with?”

I shrugged. “Probably. But I should make new friends too, right?”

She ate the Tic-Tacs one by one, nibbling on them first before swallowing them. Her expression didn’t change, but she didn’t spit them out, so I took that as a good sign.

“You’ve never had Tic-Tacs before?” I asked. “Are you pure-blood?”

She nodded.

“Ah, that explains it. In that case, you’re missing out. They’re a Muggle candy.”

I settled back in my seat, making myself comfortable with my Tic-Tacs and luggage. Soraya went back to staring out the window, her eyes quickly losing focus again as she fixed her gaze on the rolling hills and fields that passed by the window.

Every so often I would peek a glance at Soraya; each time she would still be gazing out the window with an unreadable expression on her face. When we were almost to Hogwarts, she picked up a bundle of clothes - probably her school uniform - and left the compartment. She returned a few minutes later and curled up in the corner of her seat and fell asleep, the oversized jumper she’d been wearing before she changed draped over her shoulders. I’d already changed into my uniform before boarding the train.

When we finally arrived at Hogwarts, I leaned over and nudged Soraya to wake her. She stirred but remained sound asleep.

I pushed her, and this time she did wake up with a start. She almost fell off the seat, and her jumper slipped to the floor in a crumpled heap. I picked it up and dusted it off.

Soraya snatched it from my hands and wrapped it around herself. I raised my hands and she looked away.

“Oh, hey,” I said as we spilt out of the Hogwarts Express with the rest of the students, “what House do you think you’ll be sorted into? My mum’s a Hufflepuff, but she said she almost got into Slytherin so I might be either of those.”

“Slytherin, definitely,” she said, but she sounded almost disdainful. “My whole family’s Slytherin. My mum would kick me out of the house if I ended up in any other house.”

I shot her a quizzical look.

Six Years Later

“I’m going to do it!” Alexander stood up so suddenly that he sent his chair flying. 

“All right,” I said, turning the page of my book. Alec had been saying this since third year, and see how that turned out. Tried to ask out his crush and tripped over his own robes, the poor soul.

Alec fidgeted, then tried to sit down before realizing that his chair was now lying on the floor. He stumbled and righted his chair, then sat down heavily, sulking. “But if you don’t think it’s a good idea, perhaps I shouldn’t....”

I sighed. “Well, just decide already! You’ll get it over with, at least. One way or another.”

Alec ran his fingers through his hair, messing it up even more. “But he’s... unattainable, I can’t just go up to him and...”

“It’s James Cornery, not some Greek god!” I said, throwing my hands up. It was days like this that made me want to slap Alec in the face. And then maybe hug him and wrap a blanket around him because sometimes he needed it. “He once ate an entire pizza in four minutes. Trust me, he isn’t anyone you can’t talk to like a normal human being.”

A tall boy with curly black hair sat down next to Alec, leaning over. “What’s going on?”

It was Cory Lovegood, Alec’s best friend. Maybe he could talk some sense into the poor lovestruck Gryffindor.

I waved my hand toward my fellow Hufflepuff James Cornery. “Alec’s been trying to work up the courage to ask him out. For the past twenty minutes.”

Cory frowned. “What do you see in him? I’m much more handsome than that bloke.”

Alec swatted his friend’s arm, blushing furiously.

As they bickered good-naturedly, I spotted my reluctant friend Soraya Dolohov out of the corner of my vision. She had her nose buried in an emerald green book - knowing her, probably a potions book - and her hair looked in need of a wash and combing.

I left Cory and Alec to argue over who was the prettiest of their sixth year and chased after Soraya.

I touched her shoulder, giggling when she jumped half a foot into the air and almost dropped her book.

She relaxed only slightly when she saw it was me. “Carter. What do you want?”

“A girl can’t check up on her friend every now and then?”

She frowned. “No. Not when she’s not even friends with her.”

I didn’t want to admit it, but that really did sting.

“Well, that’s rude,” I protested. “I haven’t talked to you in forever. Come.”

I linked my arm through hers, dragging her out of the library. Even though she protested, she didn’t try to dislocate herself from my grasp, so I took that as a good sign.

“Tic-Tac?” I asked, digging through my schoolbag, sure I had some somewhere. “They’re fruit-flavoured.”

I found a box of colourful Tic-Tacs buried underneath all the schoolwork and quills and books. “Aha! Here; candy always makes me feel more alive.”

Soraya let me pour a whole bunch into her hands. She downed them all in one gulp like you would swallow a pill. Her expression didn’t change, but I had come to realize that meant she was feeling happy and just didn’t want to show it.

I grinned. “So, how have you been?”

We turned a corner as Soraya slowly crawled out of her shell and told me about the new potion she was trying to perfect. She just couldn’t find the last ingredient to give it the exact result she wanted.

And so we walked the long, winding corridors of Hogwarts, past chattering paintings and students enjoying their weekend. We split two boxes of Tic-Tacs between us, talking about potions and class and little things we’d been thinking about the past few days. And as the hallways slowly cleared of students and grew darker as the sun set, I thought, Maybe this was enough.

#ocs #cassiopeia carter #soraya dolohov #mango's one-shots #a day at hogwarts #hogwarts ocs #harry potter fanfic #tic-tacs are my comfort food okay #friendships #my writing #i need to pay more attention to their relationship #alec warne #cory lovegood

[carlshameless]

The same yard.

Carl Gallagher x Female OC

Chap. IV | Slow burn fic | Unedited

First | Prev. | Next

Follows the storyline, though some things will be altered (Canon Divergence). No real storyline. Friendship to lovers.

Warnings: typical Shameless warnings

Kirin rubbed her hands together as she stood out on the porch of her house looking over at the big black truck that blocked her view of the Gallagher's house. She looked over at the house to the left, the one Steve had bought, and could distinctly make out Fiona's face as she peeked through the curtain to try and spy on the going's on in her old home.

It had been a few days since Kirin had last seen Carl, or Debbie, or anyone from the Gallagher family after the return of their mother, Monica Gallagher, and her girlfriend Roberta. The night that the family found out she had returned, they all rushed over to the Jackson's house leaving Kirin with Kev and Veronica, along with their foster child, Ethel and her son, to stay back at the house and watch over their dinner that was in the process of roasting in the oven.

With Ethel being the only one around Kirin's age, she became close with the girl as they waited hours for the Gallagher children to return home. Kirin never really talked to her before, mostly because of the weird things she spoke about of her past life, but Kirin found she was actually pretty normal when she wasn't talking about her husband Clyde, or the other wives. They played some board games for a while, the older girl even taught Kirin how to bake a few things, given that they had enough time. 

Midnight was the time the Gallagher siblings finally arrived home, and when Monica walked in behind the children with Frank and her girlfriend in tow, V wasted no time in going out to look for her good friend, Kev and Ethel following her as they tried to calm the worried woman.

"Goodnight Kirin." Ethel farewelled to her new friend who nodded back in response, watching as the young girl and her baby followed Kevin out the front door.

"Oh, my! Is that little Kirin?" Monica cooed as she grabbed the girl's cheeks. "Look how big you've gotten. Isn't she so big now Frank?" She grabbed Kirin's face, bringing it to her chest as she spun around to Frank. Roberta didn't like all the attention that her girlfriend was now showing to her husband.

"Let go of it Monica, or else it might think you're it's mother and attach itself like the rest of these leeches," Frank grumbled. The man jumped away from the small girl as she started to growl at him when he tried to pass through to get to the kitchen.

"Shut the fuck up, Frank," Lip said as he detached Monica from Kirin. "C'mon, bed. All of you." Lip ordered, handing Liam over to Kirin and directing her and Debbie towards their room, then putting a hand on Carl's head to spin the boy toward the stairs. The two teenaged boys followed the children upstairs as their mother bid them all goodnight and then waited for the response that never came.

"Where's Fiona?" Kirin asked as she looked down at the two older boys as they climbed the stairs. Carl and Debbie looked down at the steps, their eyes avoiding her, while Lip and Ian looked at each other.

"She's just taking a break, too much to handle right now, but she'll be back," Lip said reassuringly to all three children. As they reached the top of the stairs, Ian put his hands on Carl's shoulder and steered him into the boy's room, the younger boy looking back out as he watched the two girls head towards Debbie's room.

"Is she really going to take Liam?" Debbie asked as she looked at the sleeping baby resting his head on Kirin's shoulder.

"They're gonna have to pry him from my cold, dead fingers. But it's nothing you have to concern yourself about, okay Deb?" The girl nodded as she helped her friend to place Liam in his cot. As the girls made themselves comfortable in their shared bed, Lip turned off their light and left them to go and sort out Carl. 

The two girls spent half an hour talking about the night's events over at Sheila's before Debbie finally dozed off. Kirin was close to doing the same when she heard a small hissing sound coming from the bedroom floor.

"Pssst"

"What the-" Kirin looked over the edge to find Carl lying on the floor. "What are you doing?" She whispered as she tried to rub the sleep out of her eyes. Being the deep sleeper that Debbie was, it was no wonder she didn't wake up from the noise was making as he spoke up.

"I couldn't sleep." He said, reaching up to the bed to pull down the girl's blanket to cover himself a little.

"Hey." Kirin hissed as she looked over to see some of the blankets had moved off of Debbie.

"What? It's cold."

"Why didn't you bring your own blanket then?"

The room was silent for a second as Carl came up onto his elbows. "You know how hard it is to get across these floorboards without someone in this house waking up. I had to crawl down the hallway like I was in boot camp." He complained as he laid down on his stomach.

Eventually, Carl would speak up about what was on his mind, but until then Kirin turned to her side so she could see the boy better as they stared at each other through the darkness in comfortable silence.

That was the last time Kirin or Carl had seen each other, for early that morning Serena was at the bedside shaking Kirin awake, practically dragging her home while she was mentioning something about how Fiona had filled her in on the situation at the Gallagher's. Kirin currently wasn't allowed over while Monica and Frank had taken charge of the house, and with Carl flunking a grade, she rarely saw him during, before or after school as Monica was right there to drop the Gallagher's younger kids off and pick them up.

"Good morning neighbor." A gentle voice broke Kirin from her thoughts. The young girl looked out towards the sidewalk where a smiling Ethel stood holding up a shovel.

"I was shoveling out the snow on our footpath and wondered if you would like yours done as well." She asked kindly. Kirin walked down her porch steps to meet Ethel at the fence that surrounded their front yard.

"Nah, it's cool. I like the snow to build up, then make holes and cover them so people fall in them." Kirin shrugged.

"Oh, okay." Ethel was a little concerned but decided not to question her.

"Veronica is making you do chores on the weekend as well?" Kirin asked, gesturing to the shovel.

"Oh no. It was such a beautiful Sunday that I just felt like doing some goodwill in the Lord's name." Ethel explained, sending a small prayer up towards the sky.

"You wanna come into my house and take a break? I can even help you with it later if you want ?" Kirin said, opening the gate. Ethel walked into the front yard and left her shovel at the foot of the steps leading up to the porch.

"You don't have to. I'm almost done with the footpath, I'm going to start in the backyard soon, hopefully get it cleared to get it ready for harvest next season."

Kirin opened her front door and gestured for Ethel to go in, following the girl as she took her gloves and coat off. Kirin closed the front door to keep the cold air out and then took the girls coat off her to drape over the stair railing.

"I'll help. Nothing better to do anyway." Kirin shrugged, leading the older girl towards the kitchen. Ethel took this chance to take a look at the house. Bare walls, some with torn wallpaper and others with fist-sized holes, a small lounge with no tv, couches covered in clothes and dirty throw overs and an old dilapidated kitchen that had a sink filled with last night's dirty dishes.

"Thank you for inviting me in. Your house is…nice" Ethel said slowly as she watched a cockroach scurry across the floor.

"It's a shit hole, you don't have to lie," Kirin said as she pulled out a can of soda from a box. "Here. Serena took a couple of boxes of Soda from stock at the bar she works on her weekend shift. Sorry, it's not cold, our fridge has been on the fritz the past couple of days. It's all we have to drink unless you want a corona?"

"This is fine, thank you." Ethel accepted the can and took a seat at the round table.

"Woah, watch out," Kirin warned as she came over to the table where one of her shoelaces and her mother's used needle sat under a messy pile of bills. "Kev will kill me if you contract a disease while you're here." Kirin carefully picked up the needle like Serena taught her and discarded it into a sharps container she had V steal from the nursing home, if only for the safety of the child of a drug addict.

"So is it just you and your sister that live here?" Ethel struck up a conversation as she sipped on her drink. Kirin brought over some crackers for them to eat.

"Most of the time, yeah. Mom’s in and out every couple weeks. Dad used to live here, but he's in prison serving time.”

"What is he in for? If you don't mind me asking…"

Kirin gestured to the holes in the walls, "Anger issues. Anything and anyone is his targets."

"I think the saying is '- his punching bag'." Ethel corrected.

"No, I'm pretty sure I had it. Dad still has a heap of weapons hiding around the house. Sis said that the neighborhood used to be scared to walk past the front of the house 'cause he used to sit on the porch with his shotty." Kirin said in-between mouthfuls of crackers. "He had a baseball bat that he's cracked a few bones with, as well. Saving it for baseball season." Kirin winked.

"You're into baseball?"

"I'll play anything if it means not sitting at home, bored out of my mind. Gonna join in football season as well, while I'm still at the age that they accept girls." Kirin finished off her drink, scrunched up the can and landed it straight into the bin. "Might join Kev's basketball team, if I'm lucky. You should join up, it'll be fun."

"Oh, I'm not so sure." Ethel laughed nervously. "Mr. Ball tried to teach me but I'm not very good at those types of things."

"Come with me." Kirin abruptly stood up and went back down the hallway to the staircase. Ethel followed, discarding her rubbish as she passed through the house. "Up here," Kirin called out as she opened the door to her room, Ethel making her way in not long after.

The older girl looked around the small room and found it to be in a lot better condition than the rest of the house. Posters on the wall, a single bed, a desk which was covered in engravings and graffiti sat off to the left and a sizable window that looked to the front yard. Kirin opened up her closet, where a whole bunch of different sports equipment tumbled out.

"Here it is." Kirin pulled out the baseball bat she was talking about earlier. She gave it a few swings before handing it over to Ethel. "It's a little stained, but still in prime condition."

Ethel was a little concerned about the dark red patch at the top of the bat. "What does this stand for?" She asked as her finger traced over an initial carved into the wood, which looked similar to the ones that were etched into a lot of the furniture in the room. Kirin glanced over it before going back into her closet.

"C.G. It's Carl's initials. Never realized that was on there before. He always marks something when he comes over."

"Does he come over often?" The older girl asked as she noticed one of Carl's beanies and jacket slung over the back of her desk chair.

"Sometimes. Only when he needs to hide when he gets in trouble, or when I'm not over at the Gallagher's, which is rare. In case you haven't noticed, there isn't much to do here."

"What about this? The sister's and I were taught how to make these when we were kids." Ethel said as she found a paper cup phone lying on the floor near the window sill. Kirin gave her a look when the older girl started to reminisce about her childhood. As Ethel went to pick up the paper cup, she realized that the line was cut.

"That's old. Carl has the other end. We used to plan stuff on that thing before a truck came through and snapped the line. We used so much string…" Kirin shook her head. Who would have thought that finding string would be such a struggle?

"Do you do everything with Carl? Don't you ever play with Debbie?"

Kirin shrugged her shoulders, "I guess. I play with Debbie sometimes but most of the time she pretends she's an adult and bosses us around."

Ethel was very curious about these children and their lives because they were so different to how she was brought up. Just as she was about to press the younger girl for some more information, Kirin cut her off as she emerged from the wardrobe, grin on her face as she held a puck and two hockey sticks. 

"Ever hit one of these before?"

"Yes." Ethel said confused as the grin widened. 

"How about at a moving target?"

#carl gallagher us #Carl Gallagher #Carl Gallagher imagine #Carl Gallagher x OC #Shameless US #shameless #The same yard fic

[wordsablaze]

#18: Voices and Videos

Match of Magic What if destiny chose soulmates through literal aesthetic matches? What if education fused with impossibility and reality faded away? Dan and Phil must unite, work together and help each other live the best of all the worlds they can…

(Dan POV)

I have to glance at Phil every few seconds to stop me panicking. Not only did I ‘bunk off’ again, go into what Mum calls 'the troubled area’ and punch two different people, I’m at Phil’s house!

Phil and Dylan share a strange look between them as their brothers come bounding down the stairs.

Jack and Mark both immediately swear in unison, “Was this because of Mathew?”

“I’m calling Henry.” Jack then declares firmly without waiting for an answer, apparently going off his brotherly intuition.

Mark glances at me and Phil, “Why aren’t you guys – oh. Oh yeah. Shit, okay, both of you go sit in the game room.”

Phil shakes his head after a beat of thought, “We’re going upstairs. I might make a video or something and Dan can help me with it.”

“Philly…” Dylan starts, then stops himself as he sees something in Phil’s expression.

I try and look at anything except any one of them, staring at the sofa or the boards on the floor, humming so I don’t eavesdrop on what they’re saying. I feel Phil’s hand grab my wrist and jump, almost shouting but relaxing as his touch is soft, gentle, caring. Mark’s gaze is scrutinising as we head up the stairs, Phil pulling me along to his room.

I smile.

I’ve seen his room in videos but never in 3D with the whole thing as one. His room has a general aqua theme of blue and green as if we’re out at sea but there’s colourful soft toys, pens, notebooks, cushions, school folders and books lying around in a messily organised way.

Except for his cupboard.

The poor piece of beech furniture is surrounded by a heap of clothes piled on boxes he’s clearly not that bothered about.

He also has posters of various bands and anime put up all over his walls, except for the one that has a desk in front of it. That wall only has mounted shelves fixed to the wall above the desk, filled with photos and various objects that obviously mean something to him.

“Dan?” Phil asks, snapping me out of my trance.

It dawns on me that I’m still standing the doorway as I stare at his room. I feel a blood rush creeping up my cheeks and grin.

“It’s so you,” is the only thing I can think to tell him.

“I would hope so. I don’t really know how to be anyone else.” he says light-heartedly, but the exact opposite at the same time.

I blink.

Damn, that was almost as deep as his eyes.

Thanks!

Oh shit.

Daniel!

I grin sheepishly and decide to get rid of the tension with a hug. I don’t know why; it just feels right. One moment later, my arms are around Phil and he’s softly gasping before hugging me back with a smile on his face.

“What’s up?” he questions.

“You.” I smile back, “Are you okay?”

What do you mean?

“At the… garden thing… you… ” I stop, the ability to explain things failing me.

Phil sighs and flops down onto his bed, his smile fading a little as he hugs his knees. I frown and take a deep breath before sitting down beside him and making sure I’m not in his personal space as I start humming.

I don’t know what I hum but I carry on, my lungs complaining as I go through every song in my head. Eventually, I have to restart, going back to the first song I hummed.

It scares me out of my skin when Phil’s gentle, bubbly baritone starts singing.

When I stop to try and avoid freaking out, he pauses almost shyly.

But he doesn’t stop.

He starts over, singing quietly.

My eyes widen.

I’ve never heard anything as magnificent and melodic as his acapella voice. He manages to stay smooth and in tune but there’s a bubbly zest in his tone, something bright and inspiring. I notice the way his Adam’s apple shifts as he sings, his tongue peeking out intermittently.

Once I recover from my awe, I start humming the background music again, making sure we’re both in time. I don’t notice as I tap against my knees for a beat but as Phil joins in with me, I realise.

Never even once glancing at the clock, we make our way through all the songs we can think of, not having to argue about them but somehow knowing exactly what to do. It probably helps that we can thought talk without thinking about it, an incredible yet slightly paradoxical ability.

We seem to obliterate any ideas of personal space as we carry on, our shoulders nudging against each other now and again. We’re sat with our legs stretched out so it doesn’t hurt our lungs to breathe, meaning that our legs are continuously in contact. Our feet tap against each other to keep us in rhythm, his bright mushroom and pineapple socks contrasting my pure black ones.

Once we stop, he grins happily, “Why did you have your musical ability hidden away inside a cave?”

What?

Phil just laughs, “Have you heard yourself?”

I glance sideways at him and catch his gaze, instantly knowing he genuinely means it. I let my head fall onto the bed we’ve been leaning against and smile at Phil, “Maybe I was just in hibernation?”

He chuckles, “What, like a bear?”

“No, like your mum.” I fire back.

He shakes his head and elbows me, a grin on his face, “Shut up bear.”

“I’m not a bear!” I argue, folding my arms.

Phil grins and winks at me, “You are too, and you need to come out of your hibernation.”

I don’t really understand what he means but he suddenly perks up and grins widely, a curious spark lighting up in his kaleidoscopic eyes, “Let���s make a video!”

“What?” I ask, not sure if this idea will work.

I don’t think I’m exactly suited to YouTube, even If I have been wanting to start my own channel ever since I watched Phil’s first few videos. Phil just gives me a pointed look and pulls me up, his warm hands wrapping around mine as I grudgingly let myself be dragged upright.

“Help me grab the camera tripod? I think it’s in Dylan’s room.” he asks and manages to sound so hopeful I don’t even think about saying no.

As we co-ordinate ourselves to lift the black structure into Phil’s bedroom, he trips over something I can’t see so we both end up falling forwards, our heads colliding and both of us exclaiming – only one of us swearing, no prize for guessing that it isn’t the human embodiment of literal sunshine who tripped in the first place.

“Sorry.” He grins, adjusting the tripod so we can pull it inside his room.

We set it up just opposite his bed where we were sat singing, and Phil opens up his laptop on one side.

“Should we just answer some questions?” he suggests.

“Sure.” I reply, still unable to believe I’m going to do a video with him.

I can finally understand what people call 'having butterflies’. Except mine are not pretty little creatures who fly around and bring joy to children, excitement to dogs and chaos to the parents who own either of the previous two. They’re more like dark, gloomy and malevolent moths out to slowly spray acid all over my stomach walls and slowly fester until I crumble into a void of nothing and fall into an abyss devoid of life.

Dan, are you still there?

I jump.

“Sorry, what?” I mumble.

“You’ve got that wondering expression on your face, are you okay?”

“Sure.” I reply.

The moths are out to get me.

I hate moths.

Oh good, you’re not one of those weird people who love them.

Nope! But I am one of those weird people who need to make a video right now.

“Oh right, yeah.” I cough, grinning.

Phil starts checking the camera and whatever else he has to do as I spot his lion, the soft toy that makes an extended cameo in all of his videos.

Phil chuckles as he catching me staring at it, “Dare you to lick him.”

I freeze for a minute, “What?”

He grins mischievously, “I dare you to-”

He has to stop halfway through the repeat of his request because I’ve already done it.

I grin back and wink at him as he grins, “And that’s the start of our video.”

“What? No!” I protest but shake my head fondly when he refuses to have it any other way, “Fine.”

He brightens up immediately and we start reading through some potential questions to answer. He laughs for a solid three minutes when the first one is about the cat whiskers.

“Come on, we’ve got to!” he announces and roots around his annoyingly cluttered – but typically Phil like – desk until he finds a sharpie.

I grin and a small euphoric hot air balloon of delight rise inside me when he hands it to me with a bright smile lighting up his face, and the whole room. It takes me four goes to get his right because I’ve never had to draw them before. He impressively manages to draw them on first time for me – obviously, he is amazing at everything.

“Wait, do I need to tell them who I am?” I ask, turning to face him.

“I’ll tell them at the end but I’m sure they can tell anyway. Who says instructions need to come first?”

Fair point.

We carry on with random animal noise questions, Phil making the same sound for pretty much every single one. I ask Phil whether he’d lose his leg or his nose and he laughs.

“I’d lose my leg! Imagine my face without a nose?”

“Voldemort has no nose -” I start to say but he’s thinking the same thing.

“I’d look like Voldemort!” he states, and we both grin.

“I already look like Voldemort.” He says as I finish my initial sentence. Apparently verbal momentum is a thing I suffer from because I continue…

“- I would bang Voldemort.” I admit with a grin, then realise what that would imply and turn red, whacking my forehead.

The corner of Phil’s mouth quirks upwards as he turns light pink, the blush more evident on his pallor skin.

“Uh…not that – I didn’t mean…” I mumble, giving up and sighing.

Phil’s expression is unreadable but he laughs and shrugs, “Let’s just carry on?”

“Sure.” I agree, coughing to try and clear away my embarrassment, “May I stroke your glabella?” I ask.

He pulls a face, “What’s a glabella?”

“Let’s find out?” I gesture to his laptop as he moves to grab something on the other side of me and he collide, our foreheads making resounding thuds as they meet.

I yelp and Phil rubs his head, “Ouch.”

“You okay?” I ask, massaging my own forehead.

“Yeah, you?” he asks, his voice practically oozing concern.

“I’m good.” I assure him and take the laptop as he passes it to me.

I read it out to him and his eyebrows furrow as he strokes his glabella, “Why did they need to name that?”

“Who knows?” I shrug and he suggests showing the internet the diagram, only for us to realise that the screen is too bright and looks like we’ve suddenly burned a rectangle of magnesium in attempt to blind them.

I elbow him with a smile, but behind the whiteness of what should be a diagram so it isn’t visible, “That’s so interesting Phil. I bet they’re all so glad they can see the diagram.”

“Oh shut up.” Phil chuckles, elbowing me back.

I laugh and tilt slightly too much, Phil grabbing my shoulders to pull me back up while he takes the laptop off me, “Moving on…”

We make our way through more animal questions that seem to come up too often and requests to say stuff in French, which we both fail at, before Dylan knocks on the door. Phil jumps in shock and drops his mac, which I catch before it smashes. Dylan smiles at me gratefully as Phil recovers.

“What is it?”

“You guys want food?” Dylan asks, offering us a bowl of popcorn.

Phil’s expression flickers between regret and excitement, a combination I hadn’t thought was possible but Phil is constantly proving that anything is possible, as cheesy as it may sound.

It’s true.

Dylan just waits in silence as if this happens a lot and I realise there’s so much I don’t even know a little bit about regarding Phil.

Who am I to him anyway?

Dan, you’re my other half. Don’t think like that.

“Yeah, we can do with a bowl of popcorn, why not?” He says out loud, taking said food from Dylan.

Dylan nods and ruffles his hair, “Are you … what did Matthew say?”

“When?” Phil asks, sitting back down beside me.

Other half.

I’m his other half.

The words resonate inside my cranium until my smile glows almost as brightly as Phil’s charming aura.

I don’t know if he notices my awkward vibe or simply feels like doing it but he laces his fingers between mine and gently squeezes, an action that instantly reassures me that I’m okay to be here. I can feel the blood rush to my face, almost as if every single red blood cell decided to gather on my cheeks without warning.

Dylan smirks knowingly at us, “I get the point: you guys want to carry on with your filming.”

Phil sticks his tongue out at his older brother and Dylan sighs, “What are you filming anyway?”

“I don’t exactly know yet,” Phil says optimistically, “but we can figure the name and stuff out later.”

“A'ight, don’t ruin my stuff.” Dylan gives us a small salute before winking at me and going back down the stairs to join the twins.

Phil smiles and switches the camera back on, “Ready for some more random questions?”

I smile, “Anytime.”

He sends me a quick grin and we start reading them out, having to tell each other we’ll cut out certain parts because we’re laughing too hard or because they’re too peculiar to add in. We also have to take breaks as we decide to eat the popcorn every now and then, the whole bowl quickly disappearing before we know it. Eventually, we decide we have to stop and both of us calm down, shutting the other laptop.

“Well, this was the most fun I’ve ever had.” I say quietly, not sure if we need to put that in but wanting to tell Phil.

I’m completely unprepared for Phil suddenly turning round to face me and attacking me with a hug akin to the force of a lion, a small noise of shock escaping me and both of us falling backwards onto the floor. The smile on his face doesn’t fade in the slightest as I go red again, laughing.

He pokes me, “This is only the beginning.”

This time it’s my grin that’s a force to be reckoned with, and I hug him back, temporarily not caring if we’re both still lying on the carpet. He seems equally as shocked as he wraps his arms around my shoulders.

You give quite the BEAR hug.

Jesus Christ, Phil…

Unfortunately, I have to admit that the pun was pretty clever so I just smile and we stay in the same position for an unknown amount of time.

Phil stretches as we pull ourselves back up, his nose scrunching up as he chucks a stray pencil over his shoulder. I chuckle and we quickly end the video, making the cheesiest hearts with our hands and signing off with a goodbye and a zoom into the camera.

Phil tells me he might add a quick introduction for me while he’s editing it later so we don’t bother to do anything regarding revealing who I am, simply lying back down and chilling for what feels like the longest time.

“What did you mean?” he asks me with a curious expression on his face.

“When?” I ask back.

“You asked if I was okay…?”

“At my mum’s garden. You left so suddenly.”

“Dan, you know where I live. Like I’d be accepted at your mum’s party.”

The scariest thing is that I know he genuinely believes this.

I shake my head so fast my fringe slaps me.

Phil laughs a little and gently blows on my eye, “Why did you do that?”

“Phil, nobody will judge you on where you come from!” I mumble as I try to control the blush sneaking across my face.

“Dan…” Phil gives me an expectant look as if to remind me about the dollopheads in our school who insult others about where they live on a daily basis.

“I think you’re amazing.” I argue, then mentally whack my head on a knife.

Phil’s divine beam is worth any kind of initial embarrassment I felt.

His arms engulf me in gratitude once again, “You’re the best, Dan.”

Now the blood has to reason to not colour my cheeks in rosy red.

Phil is impossible…

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