Riding My (t.h. x female reader)

Five - Bendy Wendy (Y)

6k, warnings: it's pretty generic, clubbing, drinking

summary: it's just another regular night out with the boys, what could possibly go wrong?

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Later that day, dinner time

You try to disguise a grimace as you stare at your dessert. If it can even be called that.

Tom picked something for the both of you from the menu because it featured a bunch of dish names and ingredients you hadn't heard outside of a cooking show. Most of them went right over your head, so you turned to him, wide-eyed. He laughed briefly, then said, "I've got you."

Except he hadn't. He chose something small, mushy, and acrid tasting; called it a matcha cake roll with vegan ganache, which meant nothing to you. Then he said it was delicious and dove right into his with fierce appetite. You, however, can't get past the feeling that he might have played you, even if there's no proper reason why he would do that.

Tuwaine pulls you out of your thoughts when he calls your name, and you welcome the distraction. Playing with your fork around the slice of green wannabe cake on your plate, you look up. "Yeah?"

"A little bird told me something about you, and I've been curious about it all day," he says, dipping a spoon in his small glass of ice cream littered with dark chocolate chips that makes your taste buds twinge.

"What?"

"Is my nose boopable?"

Tuwaine's question turns the table of six into a chuckling group. You included, of course.

"How do you even know about that?" you ask, your shoulders still shaking in amusement.

He had been working all day and only came to meet you at the private club where Tom reserved a table for tonight, which means he must have heard about it from someone else. Maybe someone who wanted to embarrass you when you hadn't done anything wrong. It wasn't even serious, it was pure drunken fun. However, instead of dismissing it, you thought of every story you knew about the boys' nights out that could be used as payback. Those would be immensely useful in case the culprit tried to use this one to shame you.

You look around the table for a second, from Tuwaine to Sam, who's sitting in front of you, to Harry on his other side and finally to Harrison, on your left. They're all tending to their desserts with their eyes on you, brows raised either in innocence or curiosity.

Which leaves one last option.

You turn to the right to glance at Tom, with squinty eyes and ready to complain about how you're being bombarded by his friends and he's not saying anything. The words are about to fire from your tongue, but Tom widens his eyes at you.

"Don't look at me!" he exclaims, taking a bite. You know exactly what he's doing. With his mouth full, he can keep quiet without raising suspicions.

"As if this wasn't your fault..."

"It wasn't! Harr—" he starts but covers his mouth and swallows first. You look down briefly and notice that his place is wiped clean, unlike yours.

After he recovers, Tom speaks again. "Harrison was complaining about it in the group chat."

"Oh, really?"

"Mhmm."

Your head spins to the left again, your eyes on Harrison now.

"I thought we were friends. The least I expected was that you wouldn't shame my nose, but I guess not." He shrugs, twirling his spoon in the air absent-mindedly, with a remotely dejected look, playful at the same time, but his pout is as real as ever. Or maybe as convincing as ever.