#impractical jokers edit

part 2 of everybody here wants you! ♡ brian q.

3286 words

brian didn't ask for your number. and you didn't ask for his. 

maybe you should have. 

most definitely, actually.

but something about the way the night unfolded made it feel like it would cheapen it—like putting a label on something that wasn't ready to be named. so, you let the moment end where it did, with a lingering glance at the bar’s doorway, the ghost of his touch on your cheek still warm against your skin. you walked one way, he walked the other.

brian told himself that was it. 

but later, when he finally crashed onto his bed, the scent of whiskey and faint traces of your perfume still clinging to his shirt, his mind refused to let you go. refused to let you become a figment of his imagination because you weren't. you were real. 

—

you were in his dreams. he dreamt of your hands first—soft but certain, pressing against his chest, fingertips trailing down and lower, slow but teasing. his breath hitched as you leaned in, your lips brushing against his jaw, neck, his cock, whispering things he couldn't quite make out but could feel everywhere. 

his hands were on you too—grasping, exploring, memorizing. the way you felt under his touch was unreal, or maybe too real like he had known you in another lifetime. he dreamt of your dress slipping off your shoulders, pooling around your feet, your figure was truly angelic. you looked at him then, your gaze heavy, knowing. 

“you want this?” you asked, voice nothing more than a breath. 

brian swallowed hard, his pulse pounding. “yeah. please.”

you smiled, you kissed him like you meant it, like you did the night before. like you wanted to ruin him. 

he let you. 

—

brian woke up with a sharp inhale, his body too warm, his sheets tangled around his legs. a tent in his pants. his chest rose and fell in uneven breaths, his mind still half-lost in the dream. the phantom feel of you still imprinted on his skin. 

“jesus…” he muttered, running a hand over his beard. he wasn't the type to let himself get caught up in a single night. wasn't the type to dream about someone he barely knew! but here he was, laying in bed with your name caught in his throat, his body aching with something unspoken. 

and worst of all? he didnt even have your damn number. 

— 

brian spent the next morning in a haze. his body was awake, but his mind was still caught up somewhere between sleep and the memory of you. the dream hadn't faded like dreams were supposed to, lost and forgotten. instead, it lingered—stubborn, vivid, replaying in the quiet moments of his day like a shitty song stuck in his head.

coffee didn't help. a shower didnt either. 

every time he closed his eyes, he saw you again—your skin against his, your lips parting just before you kissed him, the way you smiled at him in that knowing way like you had him all figured out. like you knew he’d be thinking about you right now, long after he told himself he wouldn't. 

“fuck, this is ridiculous,” he muttered. 

now, he just felt stuck. 

—

brian wasn't the type to chase after ghosts. but two nights after he saw you, he found himself back at the same bar, sitting at the same damn stool, staring at the doorway like a true idiot. he told himself that he wasn't waiting for you. that would be utterly ridiculous. he was just here for a drink, killing time before heading home. if you showed up? totally cool. if not? no big fucking deal. 

lies. all lies.

had you thought about him at all since two nights ago? had you woken up the next morning with your head full of him the way he was full of you? or had he just been some passing moment, something you left behind the minute you left the bar?

the thought alone was upsetting him. 

but then— he saw you.

and his breath fucking hitched. 

you didn’t see him right away. you walked in with a couple of friends, laughing at something, looking just as effortlessly beautiful as you had that night. maybe more. your hair was different—he noticed that immediately, and god, what did that say about him? that he had memorized you so well that he could tell what changed?

but then your eyes scanned the room, and the second they landed on him, you stilled.

your laughter faded.

he swore he saw the exact moment recognition hit.

for a second, neither of you moved. like you guys did the moment you met.

and then, without thinking, bran lifted his glass slightly, like some silent acknowledgment of whatever this was.

you hesitated. then, slowly, you excused yourself from your friends and made your way toward him.

by the time you reached him, his heart was hammering in his chest. stupid, considering he had never been the nervous type.

“you’re a fucking cliche.”

brian smirked, leaning against the bar. “classic me.”

you huffed out a laugh, shaking your head. “you really came back here just hoping i’d show up?”

he took a sip of his drink, eyes never leaving yours. “seems that way. and here you are!”

you studied him for a second. you slid onto the stool next to him. “you knowww, most guys just ask for a number. it’s, like, common courtesy.”

brian exhaled, “yeah, well. guess i like to make things difficult.”

you laughed. laughed. “classic you.”

“yeah,” he admitted. “it is.”

you leaned in slightly, elbow propped on the bar, your voice dropping just enough to make his stomach tighten. “you pretend to be laid back, but really? you overthink things. you could've just asked for my number, but no—” you swayed your pointer finger in his face. he wanted to bite it. “---you just had to make it complicated. had to hope for a moment like this to happen.”

brian blinked, a slow smile spreading across his face. he looked pretty. “damn.”

“what?” 

“god, that was scarily accurate.” he huffed a quiet laugh, “alrighty then,” he said, voice a little rougher now. “if you've got me all figured out, tell me this—what am i thinking right now?”

you didnt even hesitate. you held his gaze, and said, “you wanna kiss me.”

brian didnt move for a second. because you were right. 

so fucking right, he wanted to kiss you just for saying that.

his fingers twitched against the glass. he should've played it off, should've smirked and said no, but instead, he swallowed, his eyes becoming a little shiny. “yeah,” he admitted, voice low. “i really do.”

you didnt look away. “so why don't you?”

and that was it. 

brian couldn't think anymore—he just moved. like he was having an out-of-body experience or some shit like that. one hand slid to the back of your neck, the other settling against your waist as he pulled you and that seat in. the kiss was slow at first like he wanted to make sure this wasn't one of his wet dreams again, that you were really here this time. but then—you sighed against his lips, fingers curling into his shirt, and something in him snapped.

the kiss deepened, his grip tightening, his heart pounding so hard he swore you could hear it. and just like that night at the bar, just like the dream he couldn't shake—he was lost in you all over again.

it was better than any dream. real. warm. messy in the best way. your fingers twisted into his shirt like you didnt want to let go, like you'd been thinking about this just as much as he had. 

and shit, maybe you had. 

but you weren’t going to admit that, just yet, at least.

when you finally pulled away, your lips were swollen, and brian had to fight the urge to chase after you, to steal another kiss just because he could. instead, he breathed sharply, his hand still resting against your waist, his thumb absentmindedly brushing the fabric of your shirt smooth.

“damn,” he breathed out, he ran hand through his hair, exhaling an uneven sigh, “was hoping i didn’t just imagine that.”

your eyes gleamed beneath the dim bar lights, something unreadable behind them, you leaned against the counter, fingers tracing the rim of his glass absentmindedly, “you dreamt about me, didn’t you?”

brian dragged a hand down his face, shaking his head as if that would erase the way his stomach tightened at your words, “i’m never living that down, am i?”

“not a chance in hell.”

a breath of laughter pushed past his lips, and he dropped his gaze to his drink, rolling it between his hands, “that cocky, huh?”

you inched closer slightly, voice low. “i was right, wasn’t i?”

yeah. of course you were.

but brian wasn’t about to give you the satisfaction of hearing him admit it. instead, he took a slow sip of his whiskey, letting the burn settle in his chest before setting the glass back down with a quiet clink. he tilted his head slightly, watching you from beneath his lashes, his expression unreadable. “maybe,” he mused, tapping his fingers idly against the counter. “or maybe i’m just really good at wishful thinking.”

your smirk faltered for a second—just long enough for him to catch it.

this wasn’t normal. wasn’t casual.

and neither of you could pretend otherwise anymore.

you watched him carefully, then, after a moment, pulled your phone from your pocket, tapped a few times, and slid it across the bar toward him.

“go ahead,” you said, tilting your head. “make it easy this time.”

brian stared down at the screen. your contact info, already open, waiting for him to fill in the blanks.

slowly, he picked it up, fingers hovering over the keyboard for half a second before typing in his name.

then, with a smile, he added:

Brian (the guy you dreamed about too)

you rolled your eyes, snatching the phone back, but he caught the way your lips twitched like you were holding back a laugh.

and for the first time in a long time, brian felt like he was exactly where he was supposed to be.

brian couldve left it at this—end the night with your number saved in his phone, his door cracked open for whenever you wanted to spend the night. but that wasnt enough. 

he reached for his drink, downing the last sip before setting the glass aside and shifting to face you fully. “you hungry?”

you arched a brow. “are you trying to get me to go home with you?”

he laughed, a restrained amusement flickering behind those eyes. “depends. if i say ive got leftover pizza, does that make it better or worse?”

you exhaled through your nose, pretending to think it over with your finger pressed to your chin. “you got a good reheater? cant eat cold pizza.”

he pushed away from the bar, nodding toward the door. “im a man of my word. come on.”

his place wasnt far, the ride passed in a blur of headlights and quiet conversation. by the time he unlocked the door and nudged it open, the city noise faded into something softer and warm. the apartment felt super lived in. shelves were covered in figurines and comic books, real nerdy. a denim jacket thrown over the back of the couch. 

you toed off your shoes near the door, glancing around. “cozy place this is.”

brian huffed, heading towards the kitchen. “i’ll take that as a compliment?”

you laughed, watching as he pulled open the fridge and grabbed a couple of takeout containers. “couldnt take me anywhere nice…”

brian shot you a look over his shoulder, biting back a smile. “yeah, well, youre lucky im feeding you at all. second, this is a quality meal, i even splurged for the extra toppings.”

you peered over his shoulder. a pizza box sat on the counter, it was still promising. “from where?”

brian grabbed a couple of plates, stacking them one-handed. “best spot in the city. you wouldn't know it.”

you hummed, skeptical, but reached for a slice anyway. the cheese stretched as you pulled it free, and you took a bite without waiting for him to sit down. brian leaned against the counter, watching you attentively. “Well?”

you chewed, dragging it out just to mess with him. then, with an exaggerated sigh, you nodded. “pretty solid choice.”

he pressed a hand to his chest, mock relieved. “thank god!”

you rolled your eyes, grabbing another slice and making your way toward the couch. you bet brian spent a lot of time in his apartment instead of just existing between work and sleep. a couple of throw blankets were bunched up at one end of the couch, and a stack of books balanced precariously on the coffee table, with an open bag of chips and an empty glass. 

you sank into the cushions, setting your plate on your knee. “you always keep this place so clean?” brian scoffed, sitting beside you with a soda in hand. “obviously. real neat freak over here.”

you glanced at the mess, then back at him, with a smile.

he grinned, stretching his big arm (drools.) along the back of the couch. “alright, so maybe i wasnt expecting company.” you licked a bit of sauce off your thumb, giggling. “didnt think id actually come home with you?”

brian hesitated just a second too long before answering. “wasnt too sure actually.”

you leaned back against the couch, letting your head rest against his arm as you studied him. the dim glow of the TV flickered over his face, catching the thoughtful crease of his bushy brows, few of the moles across his face, and the slight part of his lips like he wanted to say more but hadnt figured out how. 

for someone who made a living out of making a fool out of himself, he looked serious now.

brian caressed your head slowly, “i guess…i guess i didnt expect it. didnt wanna jinx it or something.”

that made you smile. just a little. “supertititous now arent we?”

his gaze flickered over to yours, eyes warm. “only when it comes to things i really fucking want.”

you felt your stomach dip, slightly. he wasnt playing around now. your voice was quieter when you spoke again, “and you wanted this?”

he swallowed, his throat bobbing slightly, “a million times over, yeah i did.”

neither of you were laughing anymore. 

nothing about you two was supposed to be serious. this heavy. and yet, here you were, sitting in his apartment, your face in his hand, and it felt like you two had something other than half-drunk kissing in a shitty bar. 

you exhaled softly, “im bad at this.”

brian’s brows furrowed, he didnt think he heard you correctly. 

your throat tightened, but you forced yourself to tell him. “i dont—” you wanted to hold his hand. he laced his hand into yours. his fingers flexed beneath yours before he turned his hand palm-up, letting yours slip against it. holding. not taking. not pulling. just…holding.

“i swear i know the feeling”, he murmured. 

the words seemed to tangle on your tongue. you inhaled sharply, feeling the weight of his voice settle deep inside your chest. it wasnt just what he said—it was how he said it. like he had been carrying the same ache, the same want, the same fear of reaching too far only to find nothing waiting on the othr side. that was how his love life seemed to go until he met you a few nights ago.

your fingers flexed against his, pressing, testing the waters. he let you. he let you take what you needed, hell, he would give you anything you wanted. and god, he was so real. not just a face in a bar. not just a man you made out with. but this. a man sitting in front of you, giving you his hand when you needed it most. 

“you think i do this all the time?” you said, fragile in a way you werent usually used to being. “yeah, maybe ive been with people before. but one thing is, i dont do this.” your thumb traced over the back of his hand. “i dont know how to do this—how to want someone this much and not screw it up.”

his breath caught. 

his hand flexed in yours, and he laughed, quietly. “i don't want to mess this up either,” he admitted, almost to himself. his eyes met yours again, desperate and honest. “i don't wanna rush this, believe me, don't want to do something that makes you walk out that door and never look back. but i also know that i dont want to sit here and not want you.” he let out a rough breath, fingers tightening against yours. “and i dont want this to be just another night. i cant—wont—let it just be that.”

you never heard him sound like this before. unsure. raw.

your fingers curled against his jaw, “it doesnt have to be like that, brian.” you said. “you dont have to wonder if this is juat a moment. if this disappears when the sun comes up,” your voice trembled but you kept going. “i feel it too, brian. and i dont want to let that go.”

then, barely above a whisper, he said, “ya mean that?”

you nodded, brushing your lips over his, slow and careful, sealing a promise between the two of you, “you never have to wonder, not with me.” the second those words left your lips, he closed the space between you, capturing your mouth in a kiss that sent heat spilling down your spine. it made your lungs burn because neither of you wanted to break away.

his hands moved, slowly and deliberately, tracing your back, your waist, pulling you onto his lap. your fingers slid into his hair, tangling in the dark strands, holding on like you needed him to keep you steady, which you did. he moaned softly against your lips, the sound reverberating through your chest, and you felt yourself buck into him.

the kiss turned hungrier, your teeth grazing his bottom lip, his hands gripping tighter at your hips, guiding, pressing, feeling. heat curled low in your stomach, pooling, spreading, and when you pulled back just enough to catch your breath, he chased after you—like he couldn’t bear the space, like he needed you closer, always closer.

“brian,” you murmured, voice barely there, drowned out by the sound of your breaths mingling, by the quiet hum of the city beyond the apartment walls.

his name on your lips wrecked him. you saw it in the way his eyes darkened, in the way his grip tightened like he was grounding himself in you.

he didn’t speak, just shifted, hands sliding beneath your thighs, lifting you as if you weighed nothing. a small gasp left you, but you wrapped yourself around him instinctively, your arms locking around his shoulders as he carried you down the hall. his lips never left you—pressing soft, lingering kisses along your jaw, down the curve of your neck, setting fire to every inch of skin he touched.

the bedroom door pushed open, the room dimly lit by the glow from the city outside. he lowered you onto the bed, following close behind, his weight settling over you in a way that felt inevitable. like you were always meant to be right here, tangled in each other, with nothing between you but want and warmth and the promise of something neither of you could name—but both of you could feel.