#brianprobablywill

That last one, he’s not so sure everybody understands. He’s not so sure he wants everybody to understand. He wants to be the only one who gets to watch as Y/N’s chest rises and falls with every deep breath. He wants to be the only one who gets to put his hands on her, gentle at first and rougher from there on, the only one who gets to truly feel her.

He’s sitting in Y/N’s kitchen as he thinks, running his hand over the rim of his coffee cup. He’s watching as his girl hums while spreading cream cheese on a bagel, a stupid grin on his face he didn’t know he was sporting.

Y/N turns around once she’s done, bringing over two plates of toasted bagels to the table. She scoffs at Ben’s expression, “What are you looking at?”

“Huh?”

“You were looking at me like I’m Aphrodite or something.” She says it so nonchalantly. She doesn’t think anything of it as she takes a large bite out of her bagel. “What?” She reiterates when Ben doesn’t say anything.

Meanwhile, Ben’s asking Y/N in her head, Do you not see it, my Aphrodite? But that is not what leaves his mouth. “Huh.”

“Huh?”

“Didn’t realise,” he mumbles, picking at the crumbs on his plate. But even with his vision turned towards his plate, Y/N’s fingers are still in view. He can see them, the pointer finger tap tap tapping on the counter, clearly because Y/N’s not satisfied with Ben’s answer.

But when Ben doesn’t say anything to follow up his short two words, Y/N shakes her head dismissively before getting up to pull a yogurt out of the fridge. “Got anything to do today?”

“Day off.” Ben’s voice is still small. He knows what’s coming next.

It’s Y/N’s boisterous laugh, happy about the fact that she has Ben all to herself today. “Really?” When Ben nods, Y/N puts down her yogurt cup on the counter and walks over to stand behind Ben. 

The hair on the back of Ben’s neck stands up straight as Y/N brings her lips next to his ear to whisper, “Then I know what we should do once we’re done here.”

It happens in a blur. It’s quick and it’s habitual. It’s become chronic for Y/N and Ben. Oh, such routine it is, for Ben to find himself in Y/N’s bedroom after a hard day of filming just to get his mind off things. 

And it works! It works for him, and it works for Y/N. They both have someone to themselves when they need it, and that was what was agreed upon.

But that’s the thing. That was all that was agreed upon.

So when Y/N gets up and out of bed after she’s caught her breath and heads to the dressing table to grab the tub of body butter, and when she smirks after realising Ben’s watching her every move, it feels a little too… intimate.

It never used to end like this. It always ended with Y/N and Ben both falling asleep with their naked backs facing each other. But somewhere along the way Y/N began making small talk as they both caught their breaths. 

At first Ben was repulsed by the idea that it could be something more. He felt like he wasn’t ready for it. 

But now, he craves it.

He craves those moments after sex when Y/N walks around the room to work on menial tasks and allows him to stay right there. He craves the feeling when Y/N casually sits down on his side of the bed, working the knots out of his shoulders after he said he was feeling stiff. 

He craves Y/N. 

Y/N climbs right back into bed once she’s done slathering the body butter onto her skin -- and some onto Ben’s too, right up until he protests. The comforter gathers around her waist, and she makes no effort to bring it up to her chest to cover her breasts from Ben.

Her phone pings! suddenly. She takes a quick look at the brightened screen before turning back to face Ben, a different expression on her face. “Forgot to tell you!” She puts her hand on Ben’s shoulder in a show of urgency.

“Yeah?” Ben says softly, trying not to melt into her touch too much. 

“I have a date for tomorrow night. So don’t show up.” 

She says it without a shred of hesitation. Suddenly, the hand on Ben’s shoulder feels too hot. He wants it off. He wants to get up, take a shower and wash off the feeling of Y/N on his body. But as soon as he gets up, mumbling something about using the shower, Y/N gets up with him, following him into the bathroom and waiting for him to get into the cubicle.

Ben doesn’t. His eyes stay glued to the grim tiles of Y/N’s bathroom floor for as long as Y/N doesn’t hurry him up. He can hear his heart in his ears. 

He can also feel Y/N pushing on his shoulder, muttering, “Oi.” She shakes her head playfully, pushing past Ben to enter the cubicle before him. 

Ben can’t help but take two steps back, he does not want to be in there with her. Not anymore. “You finish up first. I-- no, you go.”

“Oh, come on.”

“I have to-- just, you go-- I can’t.” Ben’s rushing out of the bathroom before he can hear what Y/N says next. 

He sits on the edge of the bed the entire time Y/N is in the shower. Y/N’s side. 

As soon as he hears the shower turn off, he stands up and rushes out of the room, trying not to face Y/N yet. He busies himself with making yet another cup of coffee for Y/N, because he knows how much she loves a steaming cup of coffee after a shower.

His sharp breaths are the only sound in the small kitchen. His hands grip the counter tightly, and he just wants to leave. 

The sound of Y/N’s feet pattering across the floor soon fill his ears, and he uses the few seconds to collect himself before she sees his face. 

“You should’ve made a mug for me, too!” Y/N pouts, pulling all her wet hair over one shoulder.

Ben wordlessly puts the mug in front of Y/N, and the smile, oh the smile that blossoms on Y/N’s face just makes him forget his predicament for a second. And for that second, he can only watch as Y/N wiggles her body -- quite natural for when she’s feeling happy -- and admire her. 

“I knew I kept you around for a reason,” Y/N hums after taking a sip, wrapping her hands around the mug, holding it close to her chest. 

And just like that, the moment is gone. The tightness in Ben’s chest returns. His smile fades away, but Ben doesn’t realise that so does Y/N’s.

“Everything okay, Benster?” she asks, putting her mug down and leaning forward, clearly worried.

Ben chuckles, running a hand through his hair. “Have you noticed, Y/N?” he begins, trying to maintain the casualness of his voice. “We’re… never mind.”

“Oh come on, tell me.” She stands, walking over to Ben and putting a hand on his shoulder. “Whatever it is, I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

Fucking hell. Ben thinks. “We’re acting- uh, really it’s fine, I don’t-” his mumbling is cut off by Y/N’s hand running down his arm to grab onto his hand. 

“Hey.” Y/N’s voice is softer this time, almost like she’s talking to a little child after they’ve been crying. And honestly, Ben feels like one right about now. “It’s okay.”

Ben smiles wider, as if it’s helping him maintain his composure. “We act a lot like a couple, you notice?”

Y/N pulls away completely at that, crossing her arms across her chest. Shaking her head, she asks, “Really?” 

“Just an observation.”

“Huh.” 

“Yeah,” Ben whispers, pushing past Y/N to stand a few feet away, finding some comfort in gripping the handle of a nearby chair. “You know, talking casually after sex, eating breakfast afterwards, showering together; it’s all… coupley?” He smiles as he says the words, in an effort to write it off as a measly observation, and not as something that’s been eating away at him for weeks.

“Weird,” Y/N says shortly, shuffling her feet around. “I hadn’t noticed.” Her voice is small, too, now, clearly taken aback by Ben’s words. “Yeah, that’s weird,” She chuckles, looking down at the floor. 

Ben can’t gauge what Y/N’s reaction means. Is she… affronted? Taken aback? Is she hurt? 

“Stupid,” Ben says, his voice sounded distant to to Y/N’s years. “I shouldn’t have said it.” 

“It’s fine,” Y/N breathes out. “Um…” she pinches the bridge of her nose with her index finger and thumb, still unable to muster up the courage to look at Ben. “I have to… I have to get ready.”

“What for?” Ben tries to get a look at Y/N’s face, but she’s clearly determined to hide it from him. 

“My date.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll go.”

“Yeah, you should.”

Ben’s walking out of the kitchen without another word, deciding that some space for the both of them was best right now. 

“Hey, wait, Ben.” 

It doesn’t take Ben more than a second to turn around. Y/N’s voice is like a bell in his head, a call that he simply has to answer. 

“If my date goes horribly,” Y/N mumbles, twisting her index finger with the fingers of her other hand. “Will you still be there?”

The way Y/N looks at Ben is so curious, afraid even, that Ben can’t help but take a small step towards his Y/N. His Y/N. He’s trying to maintain a distance, because he can sense that Y/N’s not happy with Ben’s discovery, but he can’t help himself. He simply has to reach out. He has to put his hand on Y/N’s face and caress her skin gently. 

“I’ll always be there.” 

------

forever tags: @lv7867 @fatbottomedguys @unbound-chaos @spacedustmazzello @cruelmooon @lovesaweed @bensrhapsody @mrsmazzello @toomuchtellyneck @danadeacon @melinas-eyeliner @itsalreadybroken @suredontwannagohome​ @mexifangorl​ @classy-fangirl​ @a-kind-of-magik​ @johnmazello​ @killer-queen-xo​ @hardyhoe68703 @just-my-sickly-pride​ @mymelancholyblu3s​ @brian-maybe-not​

ben tags: @dancingstan @likeit-or-leaveit​ @floating-hufflepuff​ @ken-yee-not​

It‘s some action movie on TV. You find action movies kind of boring, but Ben loves them, and you look for any excuse to cuddle, so you’re not complaining.

That being said, it’s a hot spring night. You have a fan on, blasting air into your faces, but cuddling can be an uncomfortable time in the summer. Even more uncomfortable with your boyfriend in particular.

“I don’t know how you’re wearing a hoodie,” you grumble, letting your arms fall out to the sides — one on the couch, one over Ben’s stomach — as far as they can go, in an attempt to cool yourself off.

It’s a grumble Ben has heard from you countless times now. “Maybe you just run hotter than me, love,” he replies absentmindedly, starting to trace patterns on the inside of your forearm.

“Me? Run hotter than you?”

“I always seem to be colder than you.”

“Maybe it’s because you radiate heat. It all escapes from you. All my heat stays trapped inside me. I could boil a frog in my stomach.”

Ben pauses his pattern-tracing. “A frog?”

“Yeah, because, y’know, when you put a frog into cold water and slowly turn up the heat, it...” You shake your head. “Doesn’t matter.”

Ben chuckles.

The movie continues.

You start to drift off, lulled to sleep by the sound of explosions and gunshots. Or maybe it’s Ben and his heat.

You’re woken up slightly when Ben jostles you, pulling you into his lap. You grunt at him, but your head falls against his shoulder and you’re out like a light again.

You’re woken up next by an awfully familiar feeling. Boiling alive.

You stir, taking a moment to figure out why you can’t move. Ben has his hoodie zipped around the both of you, and you’re trapped.

You make a soft sound of complaint. “What the hell? Ben?”

Ben rubs your back through the hoodie. “Mm?”

“I’m sweating. Let me go.”

Ben laughs, and drops a kiss to your forehead. “You look adorable when you’re overheating in your sleep, did you know that?”

“That’s so weird,” you mutter, squirming. “And so specific. You weirdo.”

Ben laughs again, and wraps his arms tightly around you. “Nope. You’re mine.”

“No!” you cry. “Free me! Unhand me, foul beast!”

“You’re so weird,” Ben chuckles.

“I’m melting!” You struggle against the hoodie, but your arms are stuck firm. “Tell my family I love them!”

“You’re lucky I love you,” Ben says, and you stop abruptly. You look up at him, but you can’t see his face.

“You love me?”

You feel Ben tense. “Um... I— I guess I do. I do.”

Your heart grows about ten times its size. “I love you too.”

“Really?” Ben says.

“Yeah. But what a shame we can’t be together.”

“What?” Ben exclaims. “Why? What’s wrong?”

“Because I will be dead within the hour.”

Ben chuckles, and it’s mostly from relief. He finally unzips the hoodie, and you tumble to the floor.

“Oh my God, babe, are you all right?” he says, reaching for you.

You settle on your back, stretching out, revelling in the coolness of freedom. “I’ve never been better.” You sit up, finally getting a proper look at his face. “I love you.”

Ben grins. “I love you too. Sorry for almost killing you. But you do look ridiculously cute.”

“I forgive you,” you say. “But only if you give me precisely ten thousand kisses.”

Ben hesitates. “Ten thousand?” he says. “That’s pretty steep, babe.”

“Take it or leave it.”

“What if I give them all to you tonight, do I get a reward?”

You pretend to mull it over. “Maybe.”

Ben slides off the couch and gets comfortable in a straddle over your lap. “Well, I’d better get started, then,” he says with a cheeky smile, and presses his lips to yours.

“Cut the theatrics,” you say. You want to lean forward and give him a kiss, but you settle for a pat on his back, smiling at him. “Thanks. But, um, I didn’t get you anything.” Your hand retracts quickly, wrapped up in your other. 

“Oh, don’t worry about that at all!” Gwil rotates your chair till it faces your desk and gives it a push. “Just get to work. Harry asked for your expense report for January. Why haven’t you turned it in yet?”

You huff, tucking your hair behind your ear, “Just behind on stuff. Oh, Natalie wants to meet you in the evening.”

“It’s fourteen days into the month. Another fourteen and you’ll have to turn in another.”

It’s hard for you to admit to yourself that you feel shame at what Gwilym was saying. It was true, you were falling behind on stuff. You’d only recently taken on a new, more important role, and with that had come a lot more work than you’d anticipated. You mutter, “Just meet Natalie, okay?”

You and Gwilym get to your respective work, sending out emails and answering phone calls. Gwilym makes a trip down to the reception and brings back a bouquet of roses for you, sent by an anonymous person. 

“I think it’s Harry.” Gwilym coughs, keeping his vision to the floor as he slides back to his desk. 

You smile, setting the bouquet down, remembering to ask Harry about it. 

Gwilym coughs again, and then once more. Loudly. 

“Hey, you okay?” You ask, spinning around to face Gwilym in time with him.

“Yeah, of course.” He’s almost turning around again before he stops himself, pointing a finger towards you. “Have you got plans today?”

No. You’re going to stay late and catch up on all the work you’ve been putting off. But Gwilym doesn’t need to know that. “Oh, yeah. A date.”

Gwilym’s eyes widen, “Oh. Okay. Great. Me too.” 

“Sweet,” you utter softly. You don’t want to keep this conversation going, so you turn around quickly, muttering, “Email, Natalie, expense reports, scrum call.”

The rest of the day passes by uneventfully. Harry gets your expense report, you and Gwilym catch coffee in the afternoon together, but stay silent for most of the time. As Gwilym’s packing up for the day, you stand up, too. 

“Leaving? Don’t keep your date waiting.” Gwilym sings. 

You smile softly, shaking your head. “Just getting myself some coffee from the rec room. Oh, Nata-”

“Meet Natalie. I’m going, I’m going, I’m going,” he groans exaggeratedly, throwing his head back before heading out of your shared cubicle.

Gwilym is not back by the time you’ve grabbed your coffee. Assuming he’s left for the day after meeting your boss, you decide you can sit in the rec room to finish up the rest of your work, since it is the end of the day and most people must have left by now.

It’s the buzzing of your phone - a call from Gwilym - that distracts you before you’ve even started working, and you can’t resist pushing your laptop aside and answering at once. 

“Hey, what’s up?” you ask, trying to make it sound as nonchalant as possible. 

“I’m staying late.” 

“What?” you hope your voice doesn’t deceive you, because you have to admit, it did spark excitement in you, getting to spend time with Gwilym. 

Gwilym huffs on his side of the line, “Natalie wants me to work with some of the QA folks in New York,” he groans, and you can hear a soft thud.

“But you’re not even part of the QA t--”

“The new project with Ridgemond?”

“Yeah, what about it?”

“Your new hot-shot role?”

“What about it, Gwil?”

“She’s assigned me on that project. I can’t believe I have to work with fuckin-- I’m a software developer! How can I-- oh my goodness.” 

You can’t help but smile at Gwilym’s frustration, finding it absolutely adorable. You rest your chin on your hand. “Have to cancel your date?”

Gwil lets out a moan of sorts, filled with indecisiveness. 

“Me too.”

“What?”

Yeah, I didn’t have a date at all, but this is a convenient excuse, seeing as I’m going to get to spend time with my crush of-- No, Y/N. “Yeah. Catching up on work. You know how behind I am.”

That’s how the both of you end up on the dirty couch of the rec room, almost entirely pressed up against each other so you can put your papers on either side of your body. Gwilym mumbles from time to time, counting on his fingers and biting his lip, while you stay considerably silent for the most part.

Around 8.00 p.m., Gwilym gets a phone call, which he answers immediately. “Yeah? Christ, is that the time already?” He runs a hand over his chin, the friction of his palm against his stubble making a soft noise in the quiet room. “Yeah, I don’t think I can, mate. Just, oh, I don’t know, I’ll figure it out. You go ahead.”

You don’t want to pry, but you can barely help yourself. “Your date?”

“Flatmate. Told him I’d find a place to eat dinner.” 

You furrow your brows. “I thought you’d be having dinner with your date…”

Gwil fumbles with his words for a minute before finding what to say, “We were just going to meet for the evening. No dinner.” His tight smile gives away that there’s probably a bit more to that answer. But you’re not one to pry, so you let it be.

He shuts his laptop, letting out an audible breath before turning his attention to you. “It’s getting late,” his voice is soft, and his gaze is fixed on your eyes, a small smile on his face.

You mirror his smile, silently shutting your laptop and gathering all your stuff. 

Gwilym grabs your attention pretty quickly again with a gentle hand on your shoulder. 

When you turn around, Gwilym shyly asks, “What are you doing for dinner?”

You shrug, looking around nervously. “Not anything in particular. Why?”

“Do you, uh… Never mind.” Gwilym almost laughs himself off, shaking his head. He turns his attention towards his shoes before you call him again.

“Hey, what is it?”

Gwilym still looks unsure. Doubt flickers in his eyes, and he bites his bottom lip before biting the bullet. “Fancy doing something with me?”

You have to stop your face from immediately blossoming into a smile at his words. You settle for a nonchalant, “What do you have in mind?”

“I don’t know…” Gwilym rubs the back of his neck, fussing with his collar in the process. He adjusts the strap of his satchel repeatedly while he formulates his next sentence. “Forget it.”

“No, no, come on!” You take a hold of his hand, ignoring the butterflies in your belly telling you to kiss him!!!!! “I think I know what we can do.”

Admittedly, your idea? Not the best. It’s the first thing that came to your mind, though. 

It’s awkward, getting Gwilym into your house and telling him to make himself comfortable. You stood awkwardly in front of him as he took off his coat and put it beside him on your loveseat, running his feet forward and back on the rug on your floor. 

He looks up to meet your gaze. “Your apartment is very nice. Cozy.” He smiles, gripping one hand with the other in his lap. “So…”

“So?”

“What now?”

“I… don’t know,” you say, grinning sheepishly. You clearly hadn’t thought this out before inviting him over. Really, what now? 

“I mean,” Gwilym begins, chuckling to himself, “It is Valentine’s Day.” He raises one eyebrow, pushing his tongue into his inner cheek.

You put your hands on your hips, cocking your head at him, “What exactly is it that you have in mind, Lee?”

“We had to cancel on our dates. Why don’t we just… make this a date?”

Goodness, what? Was Gwilym implying you were on a date with him? “Sure.” Sure. Motherfucking sure, Y/N.

“Really? You’re up for it?” Gwilym stands up, making his way towards you. “Just like that?”

“Yeah,” you say with a giggle, unsure of what you were getting yourself into. You know it’s not a conventional date, for sure. 

“Okay. Dinner time.” Gwilym winks at you, grabbing one of your hands and leading you towards your own kitchen. Standing in the middle of the kitchen, looking around, he muses, “What must these cupboards hold, I wonder.”

You lean against the counter, letting him take the reigns. 

Gwilym claps his hands, turning to you. “Can I look through your fridge?”

“I don’t know, can you?” This is fun.

Gwilym rolls his eyes. “I’m looking through your fridge.” 

You find yourself following him to the fridge, watching from behind him as he leans over to look into your vegetable compartment. He mumbles, “Stir fry, salad-- hey, do you have eggs?”

“Yeah… There’s chicken in the freezer.”

“Perfect.”

You follow Gwilym’s instructions the entire time, following closely and learning. Honey glazed chicken, he’d said. Sounds good. You decided to make some rice with that. Once you’re done with your part of the work, you climb onto the counter, watching Gwilym as he does all the work. His shirt stretches deliciously over his shoulders when he moves. He has this intense look of concentration on his face that makes your belly coil. 

“Oi!” he says to you, raising his eyebrows, “you’re just going to sit there?”

“I’m watching and learning!” You laugh, climbing off the counter. “Wine?”

“Oh, yes please, if you don’t mind.” Gwilym says without looking at you, focusing on his chicken. 

“Red or white?”

“Ooh, I get to pick!” he sings, following it up with, “White, please.”

He’s so polite, you think as you pour out two glasses of white wine, placing one on the counter next to him. 

You smirk, clinking your wine glass with his for a second. “Your date is missing out.”

Gwilym laughs at that. “Yeah?”

“Yeah!” you exclaim, as if it is obvious. “You’re a really nice guy,” you say after a sip, smiling softly, “Like, really nice. You’re kind, and sweet,” you take a step towards him as he turns off the flame under the pot, “And dare I say, a sight for sore eyes.”

Gwilym doesn’t make eye contact with you. He sniffs, rubbing a finger over his nose before mumbling, “This is done.”

You’re mindlessly picking up cutlery as you continue praising Gwilym. “And you’re so hard working, you know? And you can cook! You can fucking cook!” 

Placing plates on the table while Gwilym followed closely behind with the pot of chicken, you say softly, “You’re like, peak husband material.”

Gwilym lets out a snort, “Rice?”

“I’ll get it. I work with you, you’re so tolerant of the people you manage! And I share a cubicle with you, and I don’t have a single complaint about you!”

“Yeah, that’s enough,” Gwilym said shyly as he dragged a chair back as you did the same. He laughs as if he found your praise funny, “How about yourself, miss perfect?”

You blink, saying nothing as you sit down in the chair opposite Gwilym. As Gwilym talks, you grab a fork and pick up a piece of chicken from the pot itself. 

“Wait, let me serve you!” Gwilym says in the middle of his rant, which you have very conveniently blocked out completely. “Huh? You’re… so beautiful. So beautiful. Have you seen yourself?” He ladles out some of the rice and chicken onto both of your plates while you only passively watch.

You’re unable to look at Gwilym. You only tuck a lock of hair behind your ear and pick at the chicken on your plate. 

“Okay, okay.” Gwilym clears his throat. “I think that’s enough. Shall we eat?”

After a small toast from Gwilym that left you in giggles, you dig into your meal, and it’s delicious. Worth it. 

Pretty soon, you’re both on your loveseat again, passing the bottle of wine between each other. 

Gwilym has his eyes closed, head thrown back on the backrest. His eyebrows are furrowed, nose crinkled slightly. It makes him look adorable. He lets out a sigh, letting himself relax into the plush leather of the couch even further. “I like this.”

“Yeah?” You ask, resting your head on your knuckles, watching as Gwilym breathed in and out, breath by breath. 

“Your date is missing out.”

“What?” You chuckle.

“You said my date was missing out? You were wrong-- yours is.” Gwilym opens his eyes, gazing at you softly. 

Ha.

You hum amusedly. “All that from just a meal? Where you did all the cooking?”

Gwilym proceeds to sit up straight, bringing one hand up to tuck your hair behind your ear. “Yeah.” His eyes hold a look of adoration. “You were there. That’s what made this dinner amazing.”

“Really?” Your voice is soft. Gwilym’s face is closer to yours now. You can’t help but notice how his chest rises and falls as he inches himself even closer to you.

“Can I try something, Y/N?”

At this point, you have a good idea of what he’s implying.

“Go right ahead.” You glance up at his eyes before turning your gaze to his lips. His bottom lip is caught between his teeth, and he releases it to lick his lower lip.

And then, his lips are on yours.

It only lasts a second. Gwilym pulls away immediately, shooting you a curious look. “Sorry.” His voice is nothing but a whisper. There is no other sound in the room, just your breaths, which you can only hear because you’re sitting so close to Gwil.

“What for?” You don’t waste a second in bringing your hand up to cup Gwilym’s cheek and pressing your lips to his. It happens in haste, but Gwilym is quick to react. He brings his hands to your waist, wrapping them around tightly, and you slide so close to him that at this point, it’d be more practical to just climb into his lap.

Gwilym pulls away again, giggling this time. “Maybe the wine is getting to us.” He touched his lips, as if he couldn’t believe what had just happened and he needed physical proof.

“I don’t know, I haven’t had that much.” You stare at the bottle of wine, which was only a third of the way empty. “You?

“No, not that much, really.”

And then Gwilym’s giggling again, and you’re giggling again and you both know why.

After you’ve both quietened down a little, Gwilym sneakily grabs your hand, interlacing his fingers with yours. “Tomorrow’s a Saturday.”

“Yeah, it is.” You sneak a look at him through the corner of your eye.

“Let me cook breakfast for you.”

“Getting ahead of ourselves, are we, Mister Lee?” You tug at his collar playfully only to get your hand swatted away.

“I’m not saying anything!” Gwilym said between laughs, running a hand over his face.

“Okay.”

“Okay, what?” Gwilym’s eyes are wide. 

“Okay, you can cook me breakfast.” You push your body up against his, wrapping your arm around his. “But what comes before the breakfast, good sir?”

“This quiet night.” Gwilym smiles in earnest, and your heart swells at the way he’s looking at you. 

“Yes. This quiet night.”

------------

forever tags: @lv7867 @fatbottomedguys @unbound-chaos @bensrhapsody @mrsmazzello @cruelmooon @lovesaweed @spacedustmazzello @toomuchtellyneck @danadeacon @melinas-eyeliner @itsalreadybroken​ @suredontwannagohome​ @mexifangorl @classy-fangirl​  @a-kind-of-magik​ @killer-queen-xo​ @johnmazello​ @hardyhoe68703 @justmysicklypride​ @brian-maybe-not​ @mymelancholyblu3s​ @harryslowerleftnipple 

gwilym tags: @sweetlygwilym​

bold means i couldn’t tag you. 

“It’s almost midnight.” Joe juts his chin out, looking at you incredulously. “You have to care about where I’ve been, damn it!”

You’re about to snap too, tell him that acting is not your thing, but the sound of a door opening stops you. 

“Whoa, hey.” Ben steps out of his room, glasses perched delicately on his nose. “I’m trying to study.”

“And so are we.” Joe retorts. 

Hardly. You’re only filling in for one play that your college was organising. You really didn’t want to, but participation is a big deal and you’re not going to slack in any area, no sir. This is just something you have to do.

“Keep it down,” your roommate hisses. “These definite integrals are hell.”

Joe scoffs. “Okay, electrical engineering.”

Ben doesn’t leave before flipping Joe the bird, but once the moment to his bedroom door is shut, Joe turns his attention back to you. “Okay.” He turns his eyes to the ceiling, presumably to work out a plan for what to do about your predicament. 

You’re busy picking at the aglet of your converse when Joe exclaims, “Yes!” You watch as he makes his way towards where you were sat on the couch.

Crouching in front of you, he begins, “We’re friends, aren’t we?” His hands come to lay flat on your thighs, sending a wave of electricity through your body.

You nod, letting his eyes make direct contact with yours. 

“Close your eyes for a minute.”

You do.

“And imagine we’re a couple.”

“Oh, no.” Your eyes are open within an instant, looking at Joe, alarmed.

“Hey!” he holds up his hands in defence. “I didn’t think the idea disgusted you that much.” He looks down at his feet, scoffing lightly. 

“No!” you’re quick to respond, twisting your hands together in your lap.

Joe nods, waiting for you to back your answer with some more substance. When you don’t, he asks, “And?”

“Huh?”

“No, what?” He shakes his head. “No, you’re really sweet; no, it’s not like that… no?”

“It’s not like that.” your response is weak. 

Truth is, the idea of dating Joe isn’t disgusting to you at all. Not one bit. It’s almost a little tempting, letting him know how you really feel.

But you’ve been burnt in the past, you’ve been hurt. Your previous attempts at confessing to crushes have gone sideways many times, and you’re not sure if you’re ready to put yourself out on the fire like that. Yet again. 

Joe exhales shakily, using the support of his hands on his thighs to stand up. He holds out a hand to you, prompting you to get up with him. “Is it okay if we pretend to be a couple?”

You nod firmly, not letting a single bit of hesitation seep through. But when Joe takes one step towards you, his hot breath fanning your face now, you wonder if you should have simply said no.

Joe’s lips land on yours in one smooth motion. They’re soft. Joe’s grip on your hand gets just a little more firm. But before you can respond to his kiss, he’s pulled away already, grabbing the script from your other hand and handing you his.

“Let’s switch roles,” he says quickly, turning to sit down on the couch. “You come home at midnight, and I’ll show you how a doting boyfriend would respond.”

“Isn’t acting interpretative? Maybe my interpretation about a loving relationship is different from yours.” There isn’t any real meaning behind your accusation, and you make your way towards the door to ‘come home at midnight’ anyway.

Despite having practiced the scene several times, you still have to look at your-- Joe’s script to find out what you have to do. Joe’s character - Sam - doesn’t really have many lines. It’s just a few grunts and mumbles while your character - Anna - does all the talking. 

“It’s midnight, where the hell were you?” 

Whoa. He’s taking his liberties with expanding on the dialogues, you realise. The conviction is strong with his dialogue. It really feels like you’re his girlfriend. Like he’s really worried about you after you’ve come home late. And it makes your stomach do a little flip, because, damn, is this what it would feel like to have Joe as a boyfriend? 

“Just out,” you try your hardest to match your acting skills with Joe’s, but that’s a losing battle. Half the time you’re really only focusing on Joe, watching how he takes the dialogue and makes a scene out of it.

“Out?” Joe stands up, his eyes flitting over his script briefly before looking back up at you, and you can swear you can see a flash of rage in his eyes. “I called your work.” He put his hand on his hip. “They said you left hours ago.”

Joe’s fingers were slender, the tips pressing into the fabric of his shirt. You’d very much like to smoothen out the wrinkles in his shirt.

“Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

“Dialogue,” he sings, his shoulder sagging. 

Your script falls to the floor as you bring your hands to your forehead. “Oh my god.”

“Hey, hey, hey.” Joe is quick to rush to your side, putting a gentle hand on your lower back. “What’s wrong?”

“I can’t do this,” you whisper, looking at Joe through the corner of your eye. 

“Oh,” he mumbles, not sure what to do for just a second. “Um, sit down?” He slowly guides you to the couch, sitting a considerable distance away from you. 

You know what comes next in the script. Sam apologises to Anna after realising how worried she was, and they kiss. They kiss. And if you’re going to be acting it out with Joe, you’re not sure you can handle it.

Even then, you’re trying to keep it under control. He can’t see why you’re so upset about such a simple thing. So when Joe looks at you questioningly, you only shake your head vigorously, reaching for the water bottle you’d placed on the coffee table.

“Look,” Joe begins, his voice gentle, “I get that you’re not an actor. And I get that this is a difficult task for you.” He goes on once you nod. “Are you sure you can’t pull out of the gig?”

“I’m sure,” you state, even though you’re not. You really want this extra credit, and you were going to get it. 

“Okay. Maybe we can try practicing another day. You’re tired. Aren’t you?” Joe hooks two fingers under your chin to get you to look at him. You can see the concern in his eyes, you can see that he cares about you and wants you to be okay. “You should get some sleep.”

“What if I do horribly?” Your question is meek. You almost already know the answer, but you still have to ask.

“You won’t.” Joe’s hand moves from your chin to your shoulder, squeezing once. “You have me, remember?” He smiles, wide and goofy, and for a minute you forget about the impending doom that’s going to come during your dress rehearsal. “I’ll get you whipped up for the role in no time!” He snaps his fingers.

You can’t help but giggle softly. 

“Sleepytime?” He asks, putting his hand on your back to guide you to stand up. 

But you don’t. You nod, and shuffle closer to Joe, putting your head on his shoulder. “Can you, um, can you call Lucy and tell her you’re staying over?”

“What?”

“I want you to stay.” You look up at him through your eyelashes, heart beating fast lest he says no. “Please?”

“Of course. Of course, sweetheart,” Joe whispers. His next words are a shout, “Yo, Ben!”

“A heads-up would’ve been nice,” you snap, rolling your eyes.

Joe grimaces, shouting again. “Benjamin!” 

Ben’s bedroom door opens immediately, with your roommate storming out, one airpod in his hand, the other in his ear. “What?” he hisses.

“Call Lucy and tell her I’m sleeping over.”

Ben cocks his head to the side. “I didn’t ask you to sleep over.” That’s when his eyes fully take in the visual in front of him. “Oh. Oh.” He smirks, “Okay. I’ll tell her you’re sleeping with Y/N tonight.”

Ben looks like he’s about to say something else, but a hot look from both you and Joe shuts him right up. He holds up his hands in defence, muttering, “I’ll let Lucy know,” before heading back into his room.

As soon as he’s gone, you turn to look at Joe, still leaning on him. “You’re sleeping with me tonight.” You wiggle your eyebrows and give him your best goofy eyes, and it looks like it works, because Joe’s face breaks into a smile and he shakes his head fondly.

“Can’t wait,” he whispers back with equal goofiness.

No more words are exchanged as Joe holds your hand to lead you to your room, waiting for you to change, and then tucks you into bed. As he slides into bed next to you - now changed into one of Ben’s shirts and a pair of sweatpants - you simply have to peep at him, watching as he lays down slowly, putting his hands on his chest. 

His chest rises and falls slowly, and you can see, even in the dark, he blinks. 

The logical part of your brain has no time to stop your heart before you’re reaching up to run a hand through his hair. 

Joe lets out a sharp breath, turning his body towards you and offering better access to his hair. “You’re not asleep?”

You say nothing. Joe can feel the tips of your fingers on his scalp, and it sends a wave of relaxation through him. Hesitantly, he asks, “Do you want to get closer?”

You wordlessly shuffle closer to him, your free hand reaching around his body. You can still play with his hair. And now, Joe can play with yours. You can tell why he likes it - it is very relaxing.

“I like sleeping with you,” you whisper, “just like this.”

Joe giggles softly, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. “Me too. Just like this.”

You’re not sure which one of you falls asleep first. Just that it’s a very relaxing night for you. And that when you wake up, Joe is there to give you another kiss, this time on the lips. And that you kiss him back, mocking, “Just like this?”

“Yeah, like this too.” Joe sasses, still wrapped up in the high of kissing you.

You’re sure you don’t mind. You could spend night after night wrapped up in Joe’s arms, waking up to sleepy kisses. 

Just like this.

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forever tags: @lv7867 @fatbottomedguys @unbound-chaos @bensrhapsody @mrsmazzello @cruelmooon @lovesaweed @spacedustmazzello @toomuchtellyneck @danadeacon @melinas-eyeliner @itsalreadybroken @suredontwannagohome @mexifangorl @classy-fangirl @johnmazello @a-kind-of-magik @hardyhoe68703 @killer-queen-xo @justmysicklypride​ @mymelancholyblu3s​ @brian-maybe-not​ 

also tagging @royally-rogers​ for good measure :)

The way he’d played with his fingers when he approached you, and the way he bit his lower lip while he waited for you to respond made it impossible for you to deny him. And honestly, the way Joe squeezed you into a hug when you said yes made you feel like it was worth it already. 

Picking out a dress was an awful process. You just couldn’t find one. So Joe insisted on coming with you to buy a new dress, and made sure to gas you up when you tried them on and showed him. When you finally landed on one -- a midi dress with flowers on it -- Joe made sure you knew how beautiful he thought you looked. 

You’d been standing outside your house for five minutes, waiting for Joe to come pick you up. When Joe finally did show up, instead of waiting for you to climb into the car, he got out himself, walking up to you. 

His tuxedo looked wonderful on him.

“Hey,” he breathed out, “You look so beautiful.”

“Thanks, Joey.” You giggled. “Shall we get going?”

The car ride was silent for the first half. It was only when you commented on the silence that Joe let you connect your phone to the car and use spotify to play some music. It was only when you and Joe started singing duets together that it started feeling like, yeah, you were spending time with your best friend.

The wedding was beautiful. Joe’s roommate from college was getting married, and Joe was one of the groomsmen. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t have your eyes on Joe for a large part of the ceremony. 

It was only when the bride and groom took to the dance floor for their first dance that Joe came back to you. He’d spent the time socialising, catching up with old friends and acquaintances, and you’d admired his extroversion from your seat at the bar. 

“Sorry to keep you sitting here,” Joe apologised when he sat down next to you, casually putting his hand on top of yours. 

“No worries,” you said after you downed the remains of your drink. “I enjoyed myself.”

“Yeah?” Joe smiled, coking his head to the side, “How so?”

“Oh, just watching you. And the bride and groom. Them, mostly. You not so much.”

“Huh,” Joe smirked. By this time, a few other couples had started to dance. After taking a look towards them, Joe asked, “Wanna dance?”

“Eh.” 

“Oh, come on!” Joe huffed. He stood up from his stool, grabbing your hand and pulling you along with him.

You didn’t really have a chance to protest as Joe chose a spot on the dance floor for the both of you. You only stood passively as Joe wrapped one of his arms around your waist, using the other to grab yours. “This’ll be fun, Y/N,” he said as he began to sway, boring his eyes into yours.

You nodded, curling your arm tighter around his shoulder. “Definitely.”

“Wow, sarcastic much?”

“No, I mean it!” You shook your head. “Everything’s fun with you,” you said, dropping your voice.

“It is?” Joe beamed, standing up straighter.

“Yeah. Of course it is.”

After dancing quietly for a couple of moments, Joe spoke up. “Can I ask you something?” He went on when you nodded, “Why didn’t you want to dance with me?”

“What? When?” You asked, getting a little closer to Joe to hear him better. 

“Right now. You didn’t want to dance with me.”

“Oh, that’s- you know- we’re not, you know?”

Joe bit on his bottom lip, and looking at his expression, you were afraid you’d upset him. “We’re not what? I don’t know.”

“A couple,” you whispered, your vision trained on your and Joe’s feet that were moving back in forth in tiny steps. 

“Oh,” Joe said. He let go of your hand, instead wrapping it around your waist, pulling you tighter into him. You interlaced your fingers behind his neck, letting your forehead fall to his chest. 

Your heart was beating so fast. This was what had been bugging you for so long. You and Joe were not a couple. You were going to weddings and events as each other’s plus-ones, and you were just tired of all the pretending. It hurt to fake it.

And yet as these thoughts raced through your mind, your body was as close to Joe’s as possible, and you couldn’t feel more comfortable if you tried. Joe’s cheek was pressed to the side of your head, and you could hear his shallow breaths.

“I don’t care that we’re not a couple,” Joe whispered, right into your ear. 

“What?”

“I don’t care,” he said again, tightening his arms around you even further, which you didn’t think was possible. 

“I care, Joey. I don’t want to… I don’t want to pretend.” 

“Let’s not pretend.”

What?

When you tried to pull away to get a look at Joe’s face, Joe once again pulled you closer to him, not ready to let go. “Let’s not pretend, okay?”

“It’s not- you’re- what, Joe?”

“I want us to be a couple.” His voice trembled, almost like he was afraid. 

“We have to talk about this,” you finally said, dropping one hand to his lower back. 

“Let’s talk after this. I’ll take you out to ice cream.”

“Like a date?”

“Whatever.” 

You could tell Joe didn’t want to use his words. Maybe looking at your face and hearing you talk would help things out. 

“Okay. Whatever. Let’s go for ice cream, Joey.

forever tags: @lv7867 @fatbottomedguys @unbound-chaos @bensrhapsody @mrsmazzello @cruelmooon @lovesaweed @spacedustmazzello @toomuchtellyneck @danamaleksworld @melinas-eyeliner @mexifangorl @suredontwannagohome @classy-fangirl @a-kind-of-magik @itsalreadybroken @johnmazello @hardyhoe68703 @killer-queen-xo @just-my-sickly-pride @mymelancholyblu3s

“You don’t have to shout!” You howled, rolling your eyes as you put down your phone and pulled the covers off you, Joe’s fresh text still on your screen.

Joe’s kitchen is big, it’s got a pretty little breakfast nook, and -- Joe’s latest addition -- some bar stools for the island. 

Till yesterday, they sat in their Ikea box, unpacked, unassembled since the last four weeks, when you finally chided Joe about them rotting in the case if he left them for too long. What it resulted in was a huffy Joe who promised that they would be assembled and ready to go before you woke up the next morning.

Except, if it wasn’t already clear to the both of you, it’s Ikea furniture. And you knew Joe. This wasn’t going to happen. Not without your help.

But he didn’t need to ask for your help in the middle of the fucking night.

“Joe, no.” You said as you took in Joe, lying on his kitchen floor, a barstool leg lying across his chest.

“Wait, Y/N, please!” He tried to wiggle his way to you, not making much of an effort.

“You’re seriously like a man-child,” You murmured, making your way over to him nevertheless.

“You’re the best!” Joe put his arms around you once he sat up, pressing a kiss to your temple. 

“You know,” you picked up the instruction manual as you spoke, brandishing it in the space between the two of you, “Most boyfriends don’t make their long-distance partners do this when they come visit.” 

“Well, I am not most boyfriends,” Joe stuck his nose up in the air, letting you peruse the instruction manual. 

“It’s all pictures!” You said frustratedly, all residual sleep vanishing from your body.

“Told ya,” Joe said proudly, slapping his hands on his thighs. “Are you too sober for this? I’m too sober for this. Maybe you’re too sober for this too. We’re too sober, it’s vodka time.” He was standing up within a fraction of a second.

“It’s six o’clock in the morning, you’re not having vodka.” You were quick to pull him back down, tucking his hands into his lap with a stern look on your eyes. “I do wonder…” you mumbled.

“What do you wonder?” your boyfriend asked snootily.

“How I got stuck with such a child for a boyfriend,” you said, a loving edge to your voice, running your hand through his hair. 

You didn’t wait to look at Joe’s pout before getting to work on the stools again, letting Joe mess around with the pieces of paper that flew out of the cardboard box with the stool parts. 

After a full hour, you had three bar stools along the wall of the kitchen island and one sleepy boyfriend lying on the floor.

When you knelt down next to him to give him a kiss on the forehead, he held onto your arm and didn’t let go. He waited until your nose was touching his and whispered, “I’m not buying Ikea furniture ever again.”

“Yeah, I think that would be for the best.”

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