#avery CHOSE him

[clarissaweasley-10]

seriously reblog if you don't hate Jameson Hawthorne..

[waterfall-ambience]

reworking chapters 20 - 23 of perpetua rn. i'm still keeping the old versions around in a separate doc but the character development in those ones felt a little off. damien shrank back too quickly, the aquarium thing would be better material for arc 4, and luna's talk with avery was getting too long and complicated.

[rainrot4me]

My Muse - Halloween Special

Summary: What if the Creepypasta characters were real life killers idolized the same way horror movie slashers were? Kids dressing up as Ghostface or Pennywise? More like kids decorated as Jeff the Killer or Slenderman! You chose to dress as your favorite mass murderer, Ticci Toby- and, oh, how he couldn’t get enough of it. He had never seen someone look so good in his goggles.

Characters: Ticci Toby x Female Reader

SMUT WARNING MINORS DNI

TW: Vaginal, fluff and smut, fluff, vaginal fingering, handjobs, use of a condom, slight stalking, slight obsession, praise, alcohol, slight bullying, Jeff being a big brother, slight miscommunication, slight panic attacks, decompression, Toby is obsessive but we knew that, first time?

Tag: #rainykinktober2024

Words: 12k

A/N: Happy Halloween everyone! This work is based off of @h3llw1’s request made a while ago that I felt fit perfectly with a good spooky special! I will tag the request! Please be responsible and have fun tonight and this weekend!

Find the original request for this story here!

“Wait, so… Who are you dressed up as, again?”

You shuffled the goggles off of your eyes, pushing them onto your forehead and messing into your hair, turning back to your friend.

“Toby Rogers- y’know, that kid who burned all those houses down? Serial killer, dude.” You smiled awkwardly, turning back to your vanity mirror and pressing the makeup brush against your cheek, trying to recreate the infamous cheek gash in the image you had pulled up. You were almost done, detailing the fake teeth at the corner of your lips. “Was really obsessed with him in middle school…”

“Oh, right.” Your roommate, Avery, rolled her eyes, curling the strands of her hair into big voluptuous rolls, making sure each piece looked nice under her hat. She was supposed to be Strawberry Shortcake, you think, it was hard to tell with how little she was wearing of the actual costume. It was really more of a bikini topped off with a strawberry hat.

“You’re still planning on going to AJ’s party, right?” She chirped, flipping the curling iron off and lying it on the counter, reaching back to grab her phone. You paused, giving yourself a once-over in the mirror- your costume really wasn’t the ‘AJ’s party’ type. You turned around in your chair, a little overwhelmed with how messy your bedroom floor was, but promising yourself you would clean it up later tonight.

“Uh, sure- If you guys are still going.” Avery tapped away at her phone, your own lighting up with text messages to your group chat sent by her. You were waiting on the rest of her friends, some people she had become close with in her classes.

It would be fun… you hoped.

“Oh, they’re here.” Stepping out of your room, you followed her to the front door, making sure your makeup looked good in the mirror. Standing on your front step, the rest of the group was there, chittering their excitement as Avery swung the door wide.

You stood awkwardly as they all hugged, complimenting each other on their matching costumes- the other two girls were supposed to be Orange Blossom and Blueberry Muffin, but they more or less matched with Avery’s.

They each had a guy with them, the tallest one wrapping his arm around your roommate’s shoulder, the Ghostface costume he had on making her all giggly. You cringed, fidgeting with the hem of the hoodie you had stitched to look like Toby’s, the stripes on your sleeves were the hardest part.

“Oh! This is my roommate [Y/N], she’s gonna come with us tonight.” You nodded, giving a small wave as they all turned to you. Brushing your hair behind your ear, they all smiled sweetly, but you could tell they were a little put off by the outfit you were wearing.

“Ah, what’re you dressed up as?” The Ghostface guy chuckled, shuffling his mask up to get a better look. 

“Oh- uhm, Toby Rogers? Like, that serial killer. Yeah.” None of them had a clue, you could see it in the weird glances they cast at one another. Avery waved them off, jingling through her keys to pull the door shut and locking it behind you. “We should get going, I don’t wanna miss anyone.”

Nodding, everyone began to walk down the hallway of your apartment building, the guys carrying six-packs of beer under their arms. Sighing, you followed behind, taking the fabric mask from under your chin and pulling it over your mouth.

You would try to have fun tonight, you swore it.

-

“Listen, kid, if you don’t hurry up I’m leaving you here.” 

Jeff crossed his arms, a scowl on his face as he watched poor Sally try and adjust her costume. Toby shoved him, kneeling beside her and reaching back to tie the little bow around her waist, casting a nasty look at the killer.

She was dressed as Annabelle, the creepy dress splattered with fake blood, making the real blood pooling from her forehead look like nothing more than some face paint. Her hair was tied into two neat little braids, Nina’s doing. Sally turned to look at herself in the reflection of EJ’s truck- Jeff had stolen it for the night, claiming he wasn’t going to walk all the way into town just for some candy. She finally nodded, holding her little basket tight in her hands.

This was her first Halloween, with Jeff of all people, so she was a little anxious. The killer, on the other hand, found this holiday to be his favorite. He could waltz the streets of the small town closest to the mansion, hood down and everything, snagging as much candy and compliments as he wanted. People really admired his ‘makeup.’

Toby decided to tag along this year, curious to see all the costumes and jack-o-lanterns. He really loved this night as a kid, he wanted to make sure it was good for Sally, too.

“I’m ready now.” She hummed, skipping forward to wrap her hand around Jeff’s hoodie sleeve, the killer rolling his eyes as he began to walk. Toby followed behind, admiring the decorations and darkly colored leaves littering the ground, a surge of excitement coursing through him. It felt just like one of those older scary movies, the sun dipping just low enough to cast an orangish hue across the clouds, kids running around giggling and screaming, parents tossing out candy left and right- he missed this feeling, what it was like to be normal.

He was older now, officially ‘candy handing-out’ age. He used to relish these days, promising that he would dress up for Halloween until he was sixty- now he had much more important things to worry about than what costume he was going to wear. If only his younger self knew how much of a genuine horror his life would become.

“C’mon, twitch, I ain’t waitin’ on you, too,” Jeff called, snapping Toby out of his trance as he watched kids race across the road, some mother yelling about being careful. He nodded, pushing his mask up over his nose, shimmying his goggles off of his forehead and over his eyes. He was still too paranoid to go outright, the covers made him feel more secure, like fewer people’s eyes were boring into him. He felt that swell of anxiety, having to remind himself that people would be far more concerned with Jeff’s look than his. Shoving his hands into his pocket, he took a deep breath- he had to calm down.

He wouldn’t lose himself tonight, he swore it.

-

“Wh- What’d you get?” Toby helped carry Sally’s basket, the thing nearly overflowing with how much she was getting, everyone was loving her costume. They were nearly done with this neighborhood, but Jeff heard some kids yelling about a Baptist church’s trunk-or-treat, and he was more than excited to show up somewhere holy. It was getting late, the sun almost nearly disappeared, so Toby knew it was almost time to wrap things up.

“Lots’a chocolate. Jeff keeps stealing the good stuff, though.” Glancing up, the killer was popping a tiny box of nerds into his mouth, tossing the cardboard onto someone’s yard when he shrugged his shoulders. “You’ve got like, six more of ‘em- you’ll be fine, squirt.”

It was turning out a lot better than Toby had thought, the brunette’s worries nearly washed away as the night grew more crowded. Jeff had spotted some middle-schooler dressed as Slenderman, the killer nearly doubling over in laughter as Toby hauled his phone out to take a picture. The brunette had forgotten just how popular their boss really was, more of an internet spectacle than folklore now. A meme? Yeah, his big scary boss was a meme. Tim and Brian were going to get a crack out of it. 

Teenagers were out now, older kids walking in packs with their friends, not so much worried about getting candy as they were trying to hide the alcohol they were carrying. Toby had forgotten just how much different Halloween was when you got older- girls dressed in skimpy outfits of cartoon characters, guys trying to play cool as some movie slasher chasing everyone around, and then you had the ones who just didn’t dress up at all. It was weird.

“Damn, when did Strawberry Shortcake lose the baker getup and start wearing lingerie?” Jeff snickered, crossing his arms and nodding towards a group across the street. Toby scanned them, the orangish tint of his goggles obscuring them, but he could easily make out who the killer was talking about. He gave the rest of the pack a once-over, their outfits more or less the same as guys clung to their hips, flirty little touches as they all walked.

He almost missed it though, the one in the middle of the group, unaccompanied. Jeff must’ve seen it at the same time because he was slapping Toby’s arm like crazy.

“Oh fuck, isn’t that supposed to be you?” Toby shoved his goggles off of his face, ruffling them into his bangs just like how you had them, looking utterly bored as your group quickly began to get out of his eyesight. The brunette looked down at himself, wearing that same hoodie that every popular image depicted him in, the stripes on his sleeves the telltale sign. There was no mistaking it, you were dressed up as him.

The brunette didn’t know how to feel, didn’t even really know what to say as Jeff’s teasing went unheard beside him. He couldn’t peel his eyes away, couldn’t stop his hands from flexing and fidgeting with utter excitement.

He had to get a better look at you.

“Hey! Where are you going?!” Jeff yelled across the road, Toby shoving the candy basket into the killer’s hands and jogging in the direction your friends were going.

“I’ll catch up with you guys later! Don’t wa- wait up!”

He disappeared into another block, Jeff letting out an exasperated sigh as he took Sally’s hand. “C’mon, kid. We’ve got some Baptists to freak out.”

-

It was already loud inside the house, music thumping against the walls as people tried to shout to hear one another. 

You hung against the wall of the living room, sipping slowly on whatever alcohol-filled punch they were serving in the kitchen. People were spilling out everywhere, the front yard just as busy as the rest of the rooms of AJ’s house.

It was barely even 9 PM, but nearly everyone from your school was here, familiar faces passing by with glances or cheesy small talk. Avery and her friends had disappeared into the crowd near the speakers, couples dancing and talking with one another, the pulsing neon lights, cheers following every finished game of beer pong, and the atmosphere heavy with vodka and laughter. It was nice, a little overwhelming, but nice.

You could feel the buzz in the back of your head, the tipsy dizziness you held making it a little easier to relax, the music swaying your hips gently.

You couldn’t see through the crowd, but Toby rested his shoulders back on the wall across from you, tapping his fingers across his thigh as he surveyed the crowd. He didn’t even have a drink, awkwardly trying to pretend like he was supposed to be here amongst the buzzed-out college kids.

He had followed you there, staying a comfortable distance behind your group and out of your curious eyes. It was hard not to notice the way your eyes lingered on the houses you passed, smiling at the kids who ran by, and pointing out the overzealous house decorations. You really stood out from your group, a sore thumb from the rest of them. 

What was he doing? Why was he even here? Following some girl because she was dressed as him? Toby knew he was popular, Ben reminding him every time some new post went up on the internet trying to debunk his whereabouts. It didn’t bother him, with his job came weirdos who idolized him- he had just never seen it in person before. 

It really was surreal. 

“Oh my god.”

Toby shot up, straightening as he looked to his side, panic sweeping over him.

Lost in his thoughts and the rush of the party, he hadn’t noticed you pushing to his side of the room, shuffling past to get back into the kitchen for more of whatever you were drinking. You had your mask tugged down under your chin, the facepaint on the left side of your cheek standing out against your flushed cheeks. You even had torn tissue paper to make it look realistic- God, he was going to freak out.

Holding your hands out, you look down at yourself and then at him, comparing your almost identical outfits with a bright smile. “Nice costume, man.” 

Of course, you were cute. He was trying to register you, eyes flinching across your sweet face smiling up at him.

Toby teetered, shoulder flinching just enough to make you glance, but not enough to take the excitement away from your face. He also realized he was just staring and not saying anything- “Oh! Yea- Yeah, hah-” The cool metal of his mask pressed against his cheeks, staring oddly at the fabric one you had.

“Oh damn, you’ve got like- the legit facemask. I just got mine from Spirit, it’s pretty crappy.” You laughed to yourself, holding the solo cup awkwardly in your hands, fidgeting with the lid. Toby immediately regretted his decision, wracking through his brain for some way to get out of here- he forgot how painful small talk was. “I didn’t know anybody else even knew who Ticci Toby was.”

God, that nickname. The play on words was supposed to be funny, but its holder didn’t think it was all that humorous. He smiled at you anyway; there was just something about the way you said it, all giddy.

“Ah, yeah. Mine’s pre- pretty old.” He was fidgeting again, unprepared for how you snuck up on him. “I, uhm, tried my best. Haven’t re- really dressed up in a while.” You complimented him heftily, pointing out the ‘fake’ dirt and blood stains across his hoodie, the great quality of his goggles, and even how he got his makeup to that weird milky-gray skin color. To you, it was just a very well-done costume. 

“No, I get it. I don’t usually go all out like this,” Looking down at yourself, you put on sort of a blush, nervous chirping about how niche it was. Toby couldn’t help but smile. “I just have always really loved his story, so I wanted to make one of my last Halloween’s memorable, y’know?” Ah, candy-handing-out age. A million thoughts ran in the brunette’s mind, but he found himself relaxing again, shoulder pressed onto the wall as you rambled. “I’m just glad I’m not the only one who likes him.”

With you, this close, cheery little features continuing to blab on about the rest of the small details of your own costume, he couldn’t help but find himself listening so intently. A fan? Is that what you were? It felt weird to think about it like that, but the brunette found himself blushing at the thought of an admirer.

“-And I fringed the bottom of his hoodie with a lighter. It was hard to get it to look right, but I really liked how it came out. Y’know, for like him burning his house and stuff- I thought it was a nice detail.” Toby was nodding along, surprised by the little burn holes near the pockets of your lookalike hoodie, the attention to detail far more than he was expecting. “That’s really cool, uh-”

“[Y/N].”

“Uh- Toby.” Was that going to give it away-

“Even got the name down too, huh? Man, I see why you dressed up as him- you fit everything to a T.” He relaxed, your obliviousness laughable, but also a heavy relief.

People brushed by, bumping into both of your shoulders and shimmying their way through. You refocused again, pointing back over your shoulder with a shy smile. “Would you, uh, wanna get some more to drink? I was going anyway-”

Woah- You were inviting him to hang out longer? He was about to refuse, come up with some weird excuse to get back to Jeff and Sally, but the way you gleamed up at him, flashing lights and overstimulating music, it felt so odd.

He was going to let himself give in. He was wearing a ‘costume’ after all, so why not play up the act and enjoy himself a little bit? Slender would have him out running these woods by tomorrow, so why not just take the night and at least pretend like he was still a normal kid? Like all those bad things never happened, being a proxy never happened… He was just a kid who grew up, spending Halloween how normal teenagers did now. Yeah, he was going to let himself have this one night if nothing else.

Toby nodded, pushing off of the wall as you led the way, pushing through the mess of wildly dressed people into the kitchen. Behind you, now, Toby could see the way you still stood out amongst everyone, odd glances being cast in your direction. Just like him, almost, a freak in a sea of hateful eyes. You get it.

“I don’t really know what this stuff is, but it tastes pretty good.” You laugh, flipping the nozzle of the jug holding whatever concoction was mixed with red Kool-Aid, pouring some into two cups. You handed it to Toby, the brunette awkwardly swirling the liquid around with a nervous stare. You giggled at him, wrapping your hand around the sleeve of his hoodie, and guiding him out the back door and onto the patio.

The atmosphere was much calmer than inside, the muffled thumping of whatever song was playing giving a nice rhythmic atmosphere as you sat on top of the stairs leading out into the backyard. You both watched friends and couples dare each other to jump into the pool, the chilly autumn air guiding you to believe the water wasn’t much warmer. Toby sat next to you, mask still snug on his face, revealing nothing for your curious mind.

“So, Toby, what’re you doing here?” You sipped lightly on the drink, contrasting flavors of vodka swirling in the fruity punch, the sting of alcohol making you cringe. Toby hesitated, still tapping his fingers on the side of the plastic cup, trying his best to calm his rushing nerves.

“Uhm- well, y’know… Halloween par- party stuff…” Even though you had taken notice of his stutter ages ago, you forcefully ignored it. You knew better than anyone about nerves, you didn’t want the poor guy to feel any worse about it. Still, his answer made you laugh.

“You’re not supposed to be here, are you?” You smile as he shakes his head, leaning back to glance up at the sky, the moon hanging bright and casting a milky glow across the clouds. Toby really enjoyed it when it was like this, made it easier to see where he was going at night. “That’s alright, I don’t really belong here, either.” You enjoyed the moon because it was pretty. Same worlds, different perspectives.

“How come?” Toby leaned back, too, kicking his legs out as he relaxed, easing into the conversation. You rolled your eyes, shaking your head. “I only came because my roommate invited me, I didn’t really want to come. These things aren’t really my deal.” You took another sip, Toby taking in every inch of your face, studying every detail as you spoke. “I would’ve much rather gone trick-or-treating. I guess we’re all a little too old for that now, though, huh?”

The breeze ruffled your hair, wrapping your knees in tight against your chest as the air chilled you. Toby caught himself admiring- it was almost like you were wearing his hoodie, the top just a little oversized on you- he could imagine it. “Nah, I used to love it. Wish it wasn’t we- weird to go when you got a certain age like there’s a time lim- limit on when you can ask for candy.” He smiled, flinching his leg a little.

Toby felt his phone buzz in his back pocket, leaning over to dig it out, flipping the screen up to see a text message from Jeff.

“wtf r u?????” “party. dont wait up.” “😡🖕🙄”

Just to make sure, Toby shared his location with the killer, flipping his phone off and shoving it back into his pocket.

You gave him a sideways glance, smacking him on the shoulder playfully. “You haven’t even drank anything- at least try it. It’s not all that bad.” Clearly, considering you were throwing the cup back to finish off presumably your second glass.

Toby awkwardly cupped his hand onto the metal of his mask, sliding it down below his chin. Thankfully, he had remembered to get EJ to redo the bandages on the corner of his mouth, the gaudy wound becoming irritating to deal with. He wishes it was just cool makeup like yours.

Taking a sip from the cup, he cringed, brows knotting as he shut his eyes. “God- That’s like- straight vodka with fru- fruit syrup- Fuck-” It burned his tongue, your laughter so sweet beside him, resting your hand on his shoulder. He made a funny face, fake gagging on the terrible thing.

He sat straight when you gasped, cupping your hands onto his cheeks and turning his head forcefully. His instincts kicked, hands flexing to grab at you, to slam you down across the pavement below- 

Until you were rubbing your thumb across his bandages gently, flattening out the ends that had become soiled with dried blood. Toby forced himself to relax, his heart thudding in his chest with adrenaline. No one usually got this close- touched him- unless they were clawing for their life. It was like a whiplash, having to condition himself differently for your ignorance.

“Dude, no way you’ve been hiding these all night! Fuck, even these look real- how in the world are you so good at dressing up?” You were taking in every detail of his face, assuming the scars across his lips and cheekbones were merely good makeup skills or a talented friend, Toby trying his best not to freak out with you this close.

You seemed to notice it too, because you were snapping your hands back, eyes blowing wide-

“Shit- sorry- I get real excited about these things… The drinks probably aren’t helping either.” You chuckled, awkwardly sitting back and tucking your knees against your chest, silently cursing yourself for making him uncomfortable with your weird obsession. Toby noticed it, immediately catching the switch-up in your attitude.

Holding his palm out, he levels it in front of you, catching your attention. “I’ve, uhm, got the weird hand bandages, too.” He sheepishly smiled, watching as you slowly lit up again, taking his hand between your own.

“No way…” You picked at the medical wrap clinging around his hand, little bandaids and medical tape snugged tight around his fingers to hide the terrible bite marks and scars he had given himself, that gaudy proxy symbol etched into his flesh. He wanted to compliment your makeup, to say something about how realistic it looked-

Until you both heard a piercing scream from across the patio.

“Tyler!”

Snapping your gaze to the noise, you watched as a tall jockey guy hauled a tiny blonde girl over his shoulders, taking two heavy steps before he jumped into the pool, dragging her along with him. Toby was concerned but was quickly caught off guard when you began to laugh, slapping his arm.

“Avery! Are you okay?!” The other girls on the side of the pool knelt down beside the water, reaching their arms out to help the poor girl back onto solid land. They quickly had a towel wrapped around her, and the guy, Tyler, hopped up onto the side, high-fiving the similar-looking guys accompanying them.

You were still laughing, Toby smiling even when the girl came over to the steps, hurriedly trying to get back inside.

“Ah- [Y/N]? Who’s this?” Your roommate gave Toby a once-over, casting a sideways glance as she noticed you both were wearing the same outfit.

“Uh, This is Toby- we’re dressed as the same thing, see?” You were all cheery, smiling up at her even as she dripped water everywhere. Toby recognized them now, the skimpy group you were walking with, the ones who left you alone almost immediately after getting to the party. You tried to act like it didn’t hurt you, but the brunette had seen it all, catching every time you longingly stared at them through the crowd- the way you still did now.

“Right… Well, I’m glad you guys found each other,” You could hear the sarcasm in her voice, her friends hanging behind her and giving you both funny looks, whispering to one another as she talked. Toby knew you noticed it, too. You were pressing your knees against your chest again, shriveling up into yourself. “Look, we’re leaving. Probably going to finish the night out at some bars if you want to head on back to the apartment.”

You began to nod, giving Toby a half-glance of defeat, taking your empty cup in hand as you began to stand up.

“Uh- Ac- Actually, we’re going trick-or-treating. So, don’t wa- wait up.” Toby stared daggers into the girl, unapologetically snagging your hand in his as he stood, taking his cup in hand. Avery watched him with a sour look, glancing back and forth between you two before stepping up the rest of the stairs. “You two have fun, then. Freaks.”

She definitely said the last part louder than she meant to, because her friends were giggling as they trailed behind her, quickly scuttling into the crowded house. You rolled your eyes, trying not to let it show, but the pang in your chest was heavy.

Toby looked at you, took a firm grip on the solo cup, and closed his eyes. You watched with bright eyes as he chugged the rest, throat burning as he groaned, crushing the cup in his fist and tossing it behind him. You smiled, forgetting that your hand was still tucked neatly into his as you both raced off the patio, pushing through the fence gate, and climbing out onto the road. The street lights were on now, kids dwindling as houses stopped handing out candy, but Toby was determined to get you some.

“Are we actually trick-or-treating?” You laughed, Toby dragging you along with him, pulling his mask back up and over his nose. “Dude, we’re like, totally too old for this stuff, now-”

“And? Just cause I’m older doesn’t me- mean I stopped loving candy.” He hollered. You clung against his side, the breeze pushing through your hair and giving your nose a cute little blush, eyes bright with excitement as you gripped his hand tighter. You tugged your own mask up, shimmying your plastic goggles off of your head and over your eyes, completing the entire look. Toby stalled, heart whirling in his chest as you raced down the sidewalk, excitement buzzing in the air.

Jeff was going to kill him, but it would be worth it.

-

“Trick or treat!”

You held out a plastic Walmart bag, the thing nearly busting with how many pieces of candy it was holding. You both had meant to stop five houses ago, but when you somehow wound up in the nicer neighborhood four blocks over, you couldn’t pass up the full-size candy bars they were giving out.

The tipsiness was really hitting now, you both holding onto one another as concerned glances from parents dumping the rest of their candy into your bag. You always hated those obnoxious people who laughed or talked too loud in public, but now, you found yourself doubling over, cackling at the mean comments Toby was dishing out to little kids’ costumes.

“Tha- That’s supposed to be Spiderman? Yeesh.” It wasn’t even that funny, but you nearly hit your knees from lack of air, laughing so hard that your chest was hurting. Toby’s eyes were heavy, neck jerking and body twitching from the overstimulation, his cheeks a rosy color from the swirl of alcohol in his bloodstream.

“Okay, okay,” You raised up, catching your breath as you leaned against his arm, the rusty smell of his cologne surrounding you. “I think if we get any more- hic- we’re gonna be picking all of it up off the ground.” You pointed at the sack, the plastic stretching and threatening to bust out everywhere. Toby nodded, reaching in and snagging a Hershey’s kiss, popping the sweet chocolate into his mouth. You acted offended, holding the bag close as you both laughed.

The streets were nearly empty now, most of the houses’ lights being turned off and decorations unplugged, the only sign of activity from cars driving by or random groups of kids racing back home to review their hauls. You could feel your own room calling to you, your intoxication pulsing sleepiness into your mind.

Toby noted when you yawned, taking that as a silent sign that the night was ending, preparing to part ways with you. He nearly reached back into his pocket, going to give Jeff a call to come pick him up.

“Wanna go back to my place?”

He paused, your heavy eyes grinning up at him.

“Uh- What?” He could feel himself blushing. Was it just the vodka? He hoped so.

“Well, I ain’t gonna eat all of this by myself. Besides, I’m not trusting myself to get back without crashing out in a bush somewhere.” Toby laughed, rolling his eyes as you waited for his answer, shifting your weight nervously. You smiled when he nodded, your arm quickly wrapping around his and dragging him down the rest of the street.

Reaching over, he took the bag of candy from your hands, stuffing it under his arm. You walked slowly, taking in the dulled-out character inflatables and oversized skeletons in people’s yards, pointing out the Spirit Halloween animatronics that you found so cool. He couldn’t help but find himself staring, encapsulated with you. You found such beauty in what everyone else found offputting, admiring what even he would call strange.

“You’re so weird.” He huffed with a grin.

You glanced up at him, rolling your eyes. “You like it.”

Toby couldn’t find a good answer, turning his attention back to the street lights out front. He did like it. 

“So, I never asked about you- Like, really. What do you do when you’re not wearing the best Toby Rogers cosplay ever?” Toby glanced at you, stalling out mentally as he tried to come up with something.

“Uh, I travel a lo- lot. Kinda like an on-call thing. Uhm… Yeah.” You nodded along, but the brunette wasn’t entirely sure you were hearing what he was saying. You were just looking at him, eyelids hanging low as you took in every detail of his face. He smiled, reaching his free hand to tug your mask down under your chin, your sly grin hidden underneath.

“Tell me abo- about you, [Y/N]. What is Ms. Rogers doing when she’s not ob- obsessing over me?”

Toby paused, a dead stare into your eyes as he choked on his words. He slipped up- Did you notice, would you care? He could feel the panic rising in his chest, jerks twinging at the back of his neck, anxiety swelling-

“Woah, easy tiger-” You’re giggling, pushing the strands of hair that fell in your face when you did an unbalanced little bow. “Didn’t know I was in the presence of such a celebrity.”

Toby was already relaxing, shoulders untensing faster than they wound, trying his best to settle his shaky hands. “But, I don’t know. I’m in between jobs? School?” You fidgeted with your hands, your arm still wrapped tightly around his. The weight was comforting. “I’m only still here because it’s where I grew up, but I don’t know what I’m doin’ now…” Your stare was distant, fidgeting with the fabric of his sleeve as you talked. 

He was about to say something, trying to muster up some affirming speech that Tim used to tell him when things got rough. But you were tugging him off of the sidewalk, skipping towards some apartment complex building. “We’re hereee…”

He followed you through the neat hallways, the stout smell of clean and tacky air fresheners strong on the brightly colored carpet. Toby didn’t know if he had ever been in a place so nice, dozens of doors lining everywhere you went, feeling like he could get lost if you weren’t dragging him into an elevator.

Pressing your floor button, he leaned back against the brassy walls, your hands rummaging through your pockets and hauling out a set of keys. Cute little keychains were hooked onto the loop, reaching back into your pocket for your phone, swiping across the screen.

“Here, smile-” You were leaning back against him, holding your hand high in the air to take a selfie, Toby grinning goofily up into the camera. Looking over the picture, you smiled, never moving off of his shoulder as the elevator took you up, Toby’s heart soaring much higher.

-

“How many of those are you going to eat?” You gasped, tossing another Skittles wrapper onto your floor, adding to the mess that you swore you were going to clean up.

Alternatively, you were lying on your back, laid out on your even messier bed, stuffing your face with possibly the most unhealthy amounts of sweets. Toby sat on the floor, his back pressed against your footboard, rummaging his hands through the sack and tossing pieces up to you. 

He looks really good in just a t-shirt, you thought, catching yourself staring at his toned shoulders.

“As many as I want.” He grinned, popping another jawbreaker into his mouth. Your twin pairs of goggles and masks lay scattered on the floor, hoodies bunched at his feet. Toby was in bliss, the sweet smell of your perfume and clothes soaked in all around him, pieces of you everywhere he looked. Posters of your favorite bands, corkboard full of keychains and polaroids, even your wall-mounted TV playing some older murder mystery documentary. He loved how normal it felt, how comfortable, and different.

In his mind, he could see you going through the motions every day, the boy longing for even just a taste of that. In the way you admired his weirdness, he admired your normality. Same worlds, different perspectives.

“I’m officially cutting myself off until Christmas.” You huffed, climbing off of the bed and staggering to your vanity. Toby watched as you fiddled through your makeup, popping open the box of makeup wipes and taking one out. Pushing your hair behind your ears, you began to wipe the design on your cheek off, rubbing the wipe over your eyes and cleansing your skin of the fake deep-set eyes. The brunette was lost, mesmerized by how your rosy cheeks looked so sweet in the warm light of your bedside lamp, eyes brighter than ever.

Sitting off your chair, Toby sat up a little when you grabbed another wipe, kneeling next to him. “Your turn.”

He stuttered, glancing from your now-clean face to the wipe in hand, nervousness creeping up in his throat. The wipe was cold, pressing it against his as you tried to clean him off, Toby watching through worried eyes when your face started to contort, confusion heavy in your features. “Dude, like, none of this is coming off. What kind of makeup did you use?”

“Hah- Uh, the good stuff, y’know?” He could tell you weren’t convinced, scrubbing just a little harder on his cheekbone until the grayish skin became littered with red irritation. You sat back on your heels, cupping the side of his cheek with your free hand, running your thumb across the skin under his eye. Toby flinched, your other hand coming up to cup the other side of his head, eyes tensed in focus. 

Fuck, here it goes.

“This isn’t makeup, is it?”

Toby cringed, refusing to look you directly in the eyes. His fingers flexed, the outline of his pocketknife pressing against his leg, a silent reminder. He didn’t want to do it, God, he silently begged not to, prayed for you to brush it off so he could get out of here. The room felt so small now, your closeness becoming increasingly irritating the longer you stared.

But the brunette knew that if you reacted how everyone else did, with panicked screams that would have your curious neighbors come knocking, he knew what he would have to do. Even someone as awestruck as you couldn’t keep him from the inevitable.

He clenched his jaw when you dropped your hands, parting your lips like you wanted to say something, but getting tangled in your own thoughts.

“[Y/N]. I’m- uhm- I’m him, okay?”

You just kept staring, “I get it, your costume was good- okay? I don’t-”

“No, I’m not- Jeez,” He slid his hand up the side of his thigh, finally forcing himself to look at your confused face, eyes snagging onto every detail. “I’m Ro- Rogers. Like- Toby, Toby Rogers… I’m Ticci Toby.”

Tapping his heel on your carpeted floor, the brunette waited, collecting every twitch of your eyes or shaky breath that you took. He was ready for the yelling, the panic, taking calculated measurements in his head of just how many steps it would take for you to get to your bedroom door. He had done it a million times, ended someone’s life a million times. He would force this time not to be different.

His hand flexed around the indent of his pocketknife, ready to flip the metal open as you sat up onto your knees.

Your hands moved slowly, following the same motion you had been making all night, but this time it was more meaningful. Toby flinched as your warm fingertips brushed along his jaw, wrapping gently around his cheeks as you said nothing, the brunette trying to keep the floodgates of panic from cracking open in his mind.

That’s when he felt your fingernails picking at the bandage on his cheek, pinching the edge, and slowly, carefully removing the sterile cloth underneath, the fabric spotty with dried blood. Toby let his eyes shut, his facial wound now on full display, slowly ticking the seconds of silence by in his mind, relishing in the fleeting feeling of his ‘normality.’

He was a fool to ever think he could have something so nice-

“The pictures on the internet do not do you justice.”

The rush came to a stop, eyes slowly flinching open as he looked at you, his brows knitted in confusion. “What?”

“There’s these pictures on Twitter, really blurry, but still- of you. They don’t make this thing look half as cool as it really is.” As if to confirm it for yourself, you brushed your thumb across the edge of his skin where the flesh broke off in torn tissue and exposed the side of his gums. You watched to see if he would flinch, carefully pressing the softness of his cheek to watch the skin stretch and move- it was real.

Toby watched as you sat back, setting your hands down in your lap. It was strange how the brunette found himself missing the warmth of your touch, already.

“Toby… Toby… How the fuck did I not see it sooner?” You repeated his name over and over, rolling the syllables off your tongue and stapling them in your mind. “How did I not notice? I’ve seen your face a million times.”

Toby could barely register any of it, his heart thudding a mile a minute as you carried on like everything was normal, more angry with yourself for not noticing it was him than anything. It was almost a blur as you scooted forward, leaning in close to wrap your arms around his neck, hugging him in so gently. 

He could feel himself melt, hand unraveling from his knife as the panic dissipated, the sweet, lovely smell of your perfume heavy in his nose. He had to be dreaming, he thought, slowly coaxing his hands around your back and pulling you in closer, forgetting the last time he had even had a hug at all.

But then it ends all too quickly, your hands pushing back on his shoulders, a panicked look in your eyes.

“I must seem insane.” And then you’re standing up, running your hands through your hair, pacing back and forth across the messiness of your bedroom. Toby shakes his head, standing off the ground, reaching out to you. “I’ve been going on and on about you all night- I must seem so psycho and crazy. This is so embarrassing- What the fuck?” 

He’s grabbing your arms, pulling you back over to the foot of your bed, and sitting you down, an exasperated smile on his face. He was so worried about you freaking out or becoming terrified that he completely forgot who you were. You had been rambling about him all night, unknowingly complimenting the boy right to his face, and Toby was scared you wouldn’t like him. Just like how you’re worried about looking crazy, embarrassment flooding your face as you hide your palms in your hands.

“[Y/N], lo- look at me.” He tugs your hands away, sitting beside you on the bed, leaning down so you’re forced to look at him. You nervously hold his gaze, face so red and flustered, he’s smiling at you like a little kid. “It’s cute.”

And then you’re flopping back onto the bed, screaming into your hands as Toby laughs, running his hands through his hair.

Is this what it’s like? Teenagers hiding out in their rooms, casting sheepish glances at one another all night until one of them cracks, everything flooding out. He should be taking a priority, getting the hell out of your room and out of your life before he gets mixed up with something he can’t pull himself away from. But the flirty touches, teasing, and everything else that got him here clouds his judgment.

Then you’re sitting back up, scooting closer, and throwing your arms around his neck, abandoning every thought he was just brushing over in his mind. He holds you close, your face hiding in the crook of his neck, taking uneven, steady breaths as you try and rationalize it all, before giving up. “I’m sorry, Toby.”

And now it’s his turn to be confused, leaning back to look you in the face. “For?”

“Everything. The things even I couldn’t have controlled, the things that made you this way- Nobody’s probably ever told you before, so I will: I’m sorry. I’ve studied your story so many times, went over every detail, ran your perspective in my dreams- but even still, I can’t possibly imagine.”

The brunette can’t feel pain, he doesn’t understand the cut of a knife or the sting of a bullet. But the pang that snags in his chest, this heavy weight that feels like all the pain he's ever missed out on- that hurts worse than anything. But looking into your eyes, his hands planted firm on your skin, the solid weight beside him- It’s like it's all never even mattered in the first place.

For the first time in his life, he’s being seen. Viewed as more than just a weapon.

Screw the different perspective, screw the polar opposites, he’s in the here and now. It doesn’t matter if he’s been pretending tonight or his entire life, right now is real. He’s not going to lose it.

“Ca- Can I kiss you…?” It’s nearly a whisper, his voice so quiet and nervous as he leans forward on your bed.

You glance from his eyes down to his lips, heart thumping so loud you’re scared he might be able to hear it. You nod anyway, blinking slowly as you hold his gaze. “Y- Yeah.”

Toby brings his hand up nice and slow, cupping the side of your cheek as he leans in, fingers trembling against your skin. Your hand reaches to cup his, warm fingers relaxing atop his, a satisfying weight that has the boy swooning. Then you’re leaning in, too, slowly fluttering your eyes shut.

And then your lips touch, and everything just holds for a moment.

All the rush of the night, the nervousness, the excitement, it stops for just this one second.

You’re leaning into his touch, soft lips pressed firmly against his rough ones, slowly twinging your jaw to coax him deeper. He feels like he’s melting, skin so hot to the touch when you reel him in, your free hand snaking up the backside of his neck and into his messy curls.

He groans into your mouth, breaking the kiss and leaning back, breathing heavily. Your face is so flushed, cheeks a deep vermillion that makes Toby smile a little, grinning as he still cups your cheek. Your fingers brush through his hair, coaxing his head into your hand with such gentle touches. It’s so sweet, so calm, a complete turn from what the brunette is used to.

He knows pain, and rough, and cold- but you- there’s only sweetness, and caring, and warmth behind those eyes. He wants more of it, to feel more of it, he has to have it- to have you.

It doesn’t hit him what just happened until you’re giggling in front of him. Then that hold snaps, his conscience rushing back into him, and he’s leaning back further-

“I’m so so sorry- Oh my god- I don’t kn- know what I was thinking- I- Gah- I’m so sorry-”

“Toby.”

“If I should go- or- Oh, my god- I’m sorry- I should-”

“Toby.”

“I’m just so-”

And then your hands are wrapped into his hair, pushing forward until your lips collide, hurried, loud kisses that have the brunette spiraling, eyes fluttering shut again. There’s that warmth, your body leaning in to press close to his, arms wrapping around his neck, he thinks he might pass away.

You pull back, taking a deep breath as Toby collects himself, brushing his bangs out of his eyes. He’s a mess, brain running a mile a minute, his body having a hard time catching up as he twitches and jerks. 

Throwing your leg over his, you straddle his thighs, wrapping your arms tighter around his neck and holding him close. He’s swallowed by the sweet smell of your perfume, resting his chin on your shoulder as he wraps onto your back, heart thumping against your chest. He finds the thoughts flooding, dissipating the more he breathes, disappearing into this blanket of quiet.

“You alright?” You whisper, brushing your fingers through the back of his hair, his skin tingling with your touch. He hums low against your shoulder, running his fingers up and down your spine, the touch making you sigh. He could live forever in this moment, could die happy right here.

But when his fingers mindlessly dip a little too low, brushing your lower back right above the waistline of your jeans, Toby mewls at the way you grip onto tufts of his hair. It’s abrupt, a reaction, but he feeds into it anyway. He brushes that spot again, right above your tailbone, and you’re taking a deep, shaky breath against his neck. He likes that a lot.

Gently, he tugs the hem of your shirt up, just enough to see a peak of your skin. You pause, hitching a breath when you feel his cold fingers wind up under your shirt and press against your back.

“Toby-” He promises he’ll stop if you ask him to, making sure you know that- but you’re shaking your head, gripping onto his arm as he pushes his hand higher, snaking his fingers along the bony press of your back. You let out a low groan, quiet, but just enough to have Toby aching for more. He stops when his fingers brush the strap of your bra, dipping back down to caress the curve of your skin, studying every detail you’ll let him get.

“You’re so pretty…” He whispers, the dull lamp glowing across your flushed face making him blush, your body relaxing against his hold. Your noises are like a drug, he wants to hear them over and over, the softness of your voice so intoxicating. But more than that, he wants you. If this is all he gets, he’ll cherish it for the rest of his days.

Wrapping an arm around your back, he’s flipping you over, pushing you up to the center of your plush bed and towering over you. “Toby…” He drinks in your sweet gasps as he intertwined his lips with yours, tasting how sinfully delicious you were with a swipe of his tongue across your lower lip. Toby’s hands wandered the expanse of your body, cupping your head to kiss you deeper, snaking down to rub your waist. It’s so greedy, so hurried and eager, but doesn’t know how much longer he can hold out.

Your fingers run through his curls, following his head as he moves off your lips, slowly pressing a trail of gentle, open-mouthed kisses down the side of your neck. You’re gasping, running your hands across his shoulders, digging your nails in when he kisses just above your collarbone- but then he’s sitting back, pushing up and off of you with a worried look.

“Fu- Fuck, I’m sorry-” And then you’re sitting up on your elbows, a concerned look on your face. “I’m not be- bein’ myself tonight- I don’t know what’s wrong. Shit, [Y/N], I’m sorry-”

“Toby, it’s alright-” You laugh, pushing up to sit in front of him, reaching out before he takes your wrists in his hands, holding them down.

“No- I just, never do any- anything like this- It’s like I can’t stop-” Even through his apologies he’s staring at your lips, that hunger pooling in his chest for another sweet taste.

“You’re telling me I get to kiss the boy I’ve had a crush on for years, and he’s worried about not being able to stop?” Exasperation was heavy on your face, it’s almost laughable how much playful irritation was in your voice. Toby caught that last part though, the words going straight to his head.

“You gotta crush on me?” He smiles, redness tinting his cheeks. He’s still holding your wrists, your eyes slowly widening as the heat settles on your face.

“I, uhm- Well, you see-” You’re scrambling for words, the cheesy smile on Toby’s face not helping your case at all. “I mean, I thought it was kinda obvious. I dressed up as you for Halloween, man.”

He doesn’t let his conscience weigh him down anymore, pulling your hands to wrap around his neck before he pushes you back down onto the bed, swallowing the sweet taste of your lips against him. He can still taste the sourness of the candy you were eating on your tongue, too. He licks at the plush of your lips, drinking in your gasps as he intertwines his tongue with yours. Kissing you like he’ll never be able to again. Because, God, knowing his luck- he probably won’t.

You’re a giggly mess, spreading your knees for him to slot between them, his muscled arms wrapping around the small of your waist. “And I’ve nev- never seen someone be able to pull off my go- goggles so well.” He prays you won’t be able to feel the bulge he’s sporting, but when your legs wrap around his hips, he loses all hope.

Your stomach flutters, tingles across your skin as he’s back on your neck, little nips and kisses that have your back arching off of the comforter, arms tightening around him. He would kiss you forever, marking every inch of your skin with a delicate brush of his lips, he could waste his time like that forever. You wrap your legs around Toby’s waist to pull him closer, feeling the outline of his cock. He grinds against you, letting out low groans at the snag of your clothed core. Both of you knew it- he needed you so badly.

But then you’re pushing your warm hands up the back of his shirt, fingers scorching across his toned muscles and scratching your nails into his skin. You push the top off of his shoulders, up and over his head before throwing it to the side, glancing down at the slim but strong figure looming above you. Scars adorn his skin, long gashes or scattered fragments of bullets that have clipped him, not to mention the littered cigarette burns all down his abdomen. He finds it disgusting, blemishes that he can’t stand to look at.

But you’re tracing them with your fingers, rubbing your thumbs across the blistered burns that made him sick, taking in every inch of him. And smiling. Was it possible to fall in love this fast?

“They’re disgusting.”

“They’re so cool.”

He can’t muster the words to fight you as you’re reaching deeper, pushing your hands further down his torso to snag onto his jeans, reaching for his belt. Toby’s body comes to a rushing halt, his heart beating so hard, the feeling of his cock finally getting the attention it wanted.

His hands rest on either side of your shoulders, a dark shadow over you as you slowly undo his belt, unbuttoning his jeans hastily. Hands dipping past the band of his boxers-

He was big- so mouthwateringly big. Flushed a deep shade of pink at his tip, pulsing in your hand so comfortably- every part of Toby was so endlessly pretty to you. He was gasping, eyes trained on how your fist slowly moved, so hot and heavy in your grasp as you pumped him at a steady, methodical pace. “Ah- Shit…”

Glancing back up to you, your face is so red, lips parted as Toby takes your jaw into his grasp, forcing you to look up at him before he bullies his tongue past your lips, little groans slipping past. Your back arches into him as his hands snake up your shirt, parting from your lips only to push the fabric over your head, capturing your kiss quickly again. He thinks he can manage, thinks he can keep his composure- but then your thumb runs over his slit, precum dribbling out onto your finger, and he's moaning into your mouth like he's never been touched before.

He hasn’t, not like this, not this gentle.

“[Y/N]- Oh God-” You’re biting his bottom lip, fingers clenched tight around the swollen head of his cock and pumping gently, his hips twitching and jerking for more. He pushes off of you, the breathless flush of your face so pretty under him, but then he’s glancing down.

And, fuck.

Your tits sit so pretty in your bra, blushed skin laid out beneath him as shaky hands reach to unbutton your jeans, jerky fingers quickly tugging them down your thighs and onto the floor below. And then he can’t believe how he's gone this long without you, or how he'll be able to survive another night if you’re not with him. 

Where you admire his blemishes, he admires your perfection. Not a nasty knife scar or bullet nip anywhere on you, skin so soft and warm, his cold hands running across your smooth hips. “Gorgeous.” It’s the only thing he can think to say, but it doesn't do you any justice.

“Let me- Can I touch you? Pl- Please-”

You don’t answer, just rising up off of the bed to reach behind your back, unclipping your bra so seamlessly as it falls off your shoulders. Toby nearly moans when you toss the fabric to the side, chest rising and falling with shaky breaths, tits so round and heavy- so pretty.

Falling to your side, he’s holding you close, one leg draping over his bony hip as he shimmies his jeans off. Your legs spread wide, hands gripped tight into the softness of his curls as rough lips wrap around your nipple. You’re gasping, skin fluttering with every touch across your abdomen, cold fingers slowly trailing down just below your belly button. He stays there, tongue pressing flat across your nipple as the pads of his digits line the hem of your panties, teasing as you buck your hips up, silently begging for him to go lower.

The brunette’s fingers were now rubbing against your folds through your panties, causing you to jerk at the friction. He playfully nipped at your collarbone before glancing up at you through heavy eyelids. “My turn, pretty girl.”

“Toby- hah- Yeah-” His free hand wraps behind your back, cradling you into his side as he pinches at your unattended nipple, rolling the bud between his fingers. He smiles against your tit, a long sigh of relief when you feel his fingers break past the line of your panties.

His fingers dip into the warm folds of your cunt, dipping down to collect your arousal on his digits, messily swiping across your plushy lips. You’re already soaked just from kissing, Toby popping off of your nipple to snag your lips, kissing you hungrily as you pant into his mouth. His fingers circle your clit, the nub pulsing and jerking at his touch, hips rising and falling as they chase the sensation. “Jesus- You’re soaked.”

Swirling deftly around the sensitive nub, you gasp, heat so prominent on your cheeks. “Don’t worry, I go- got you.” He’s unable to decide between sucking harshly on your poor nipples, or soaking his tongue in the warmness of your mouth, lips glistening with his saliva. And it’s driving you mad, keening and pulling at his soft locks. You’ve never been touched like this before, and Toby didn’t know if he would be able to stop.

Then he’s plunging knuckle-deep in your gummy pussy, the tips of his long fingers massaging your plushy walls. You cry out, breaking from his kiss and giving him a good excuse to snag back onto your tit, gently biting on your reddened nipple.

He’s pumping his fingers rhythmically, curling them in a way that has your eyes fluttering shut, fingers tugging his hair so hard it makes him groan at the pressure. His digits glisten in the low light, hand stretching the fabric of your panties He’s hitting that little spot each and every time., looking like he was absolutely in heaven as he rolls and swirls his tongue against your nipple, lips wrapped tight around the skin.

“Sh- Shit, Toby-” You groan, grinding your hips down as he stuffs his fingers all the way to the knuckle, the two middle digits spreading and pressing against your walls, coaxing your legs to spread wider. His palm bumps against your clit, holding his hand there to press firm against the bundle of nerves, your jaw hanging loose when he leans up to go in for more kisses. He is all over you, barely able to breathe as he ravages your skin, fingers bullying their way deeper until you can feel yourself gushing across his palm. The noises are so lewd, the schlick, schlick of your wet cunt taking him back in, walls clenching around his thick fingers. You can’t stand it, can’t take it anymore-

Toby can see it in your face, in the way you stop kissing him back to let out a long, guttural moan that has him in bliss. His fingers beat faster, fucking your swollen cunt open as his unattended cock throbs and leaks against your thigh, begging to replace his fingers.

“S’good Toby. Fuck. Right there- Don’t stop.” And then your arms are wrapping around his head, cradling his face into your neck as you fall apart on his fingers, pussy gushing and practically dripping with your orgasm. You think maybe you see stars, or it’s just the freckles on the brunette’s skin when he captures your lips, drinking up every moan you feed him.

His cock is wilting, throbbing, and twitching against your leg as you finally settle out, breathy groans that have you both staring at each other through heavy gazes. He slips his hand from your ruined panties, pulling your knee up higher to spread your legs more as he slides the fabric from your hips and tosses them somewhere unseen, taking his cock in his soaked fingers. 

Your breath hitches at the way he drags his swollen head teasingly across your slit, pooling your slick on his achingly hard tip, smearing your juices with his cockhead as he pumps himself lazily. It’s so torturously good, his face disappearing into the crook of your neck as he gently nibbles your burning skin. “Need you so bad, Toby.” You breathe out, nearly panting. “Co- Condom. In the nightstand-”

Despite wanting to feel you, really feel you wrapped around him, he kisses just below your jaw before rolling over. Fishing for a condom in your drawer, he misses you sitting up, fresh orgasm giving you a rush of need as you watch him haul the packet in between his fingers.

Because then you’re pushing his shoulders down onto the bed, straddling his thighs as you snag the condom from him, quickly tearing open the packet. Toby watches with excitement, hands reaching to cradle against the sides of your thighs, fingers digging into your plush skin when you slowly slide the latex down his throbbing length. It’s snug, but thin, able to feel every pulse of your cunt as you take the base of him in your hand, swiping his tip along your folds, wetting himself. It was all the preparation you were going to give yourself because fuck Toby needed to be inside your pussy right now.

Then you feel like you’re being split apart- Toby’s cock was slowly pushing up into your warmth as he presses through the first ring of muscle. Before you can overthink, you’re nudging your hips down gently. So agonizingly gentle that Toby has to stop his hips from riding off the bed. And you can do nothing more than let out barely-audible whispers of his name as you seat yourself on his throbbing cock into your snug cunt. “Ah- Hah-”

You feel so full. So drunk off of the delicious burn of your pussy, hands resting on his chest as he watches you. 

You’re so nauseously tight, gripping his length in a way that had his eyes rolling back, fingers digging red marks into your skin. You’re both breathless, eyes clamped shut and bodies shaky when your hips finally meet his, so utterly full of him. Toby can’t even find the words for it.

That’s when you hear voices from outside your closed bedroom door, Avery and her friends returning from whatever drunken night they had, loud as ever.

In a panic, you push your hands over Toby’s mouth, the brunette’s hot breath fogging against your skin as he smiles, waiting patiently as they all file into Avery’s room, voices slowly dwindling out. Meanwhile, you’re pulsing around him, cunt clenching as you’re forced to wait.

But eventually it's all clear, palm slowly letting off of his mouth, a teasingly smile plastered on his face. You roll your eyes, quietly laughing as you steady yourself, pushing your knees further against his sides. You’re pulling your hips up eagerly, achingly fucking yourself at a slow, sensual pace. His tip kisses your cervix as you roll your hips sensually against his, making sure you feel every vein and twitch against your tight walls.

“Y’looked so beau- beautiful tonight. So pretty dressing up as me.” Toby gasps, running his hands across your thighs, up the sides of your waist as you dig your knees into the mattress. It sends shivers down your spine, ones that go directly to your clit as you lean forward, pressing your chest against his. Sweaty forehead meeting his, he leans up to meet your pitiful kiss, hips still pushing back as your clit rubs against his abs.

Surprised moans get choked in his throat as you rock your hips back and forth, pulling all the way up till his furiously flushed tip is teasing your sloppy hole, slick glistening on his length, just to nudge yourself down again, relishing in that full feeling. 

Wrapping his hands around the back of your thighs, he massages the plushness of your ass, smiling to himself when you wrap your arms around his neck and hide your face into the crook of his neck. “More, Toby.”

“O- Okay…” He breathes, bending his knees to get a better angle, the divot of his cock pressing against that sweet spot and making you mewl. The weight of you on top of him is so satisfying.

Toby starts up a satisfyingly good pace, thrusts get deeper and deeper until he finally buries his cock into you as deep as it could go. Throaty groans spill out of his mouth, he looks over and kisses your forehead gently, taking in every moan and whine you muffle into his neck. “Oh- hah! Yeah, yeah, yeah-”

Even if his body was exhausted, he couldn’t feel it. All he could tell was that your cunt was gripping him so hard his jaw was clenched, grinding his teeth as he fucked himself up into that sweet warmth. “So good- Oh, feels so good-”

“Oh god. Toby, right there-” You gasp out in pleasure, starting to move in shallow thrusts that have your eyes rolling to the back of your head, the curve of his cock knocking that swollen sweet spot over and over, each thrust more prominent than the last. You bounce your ass back on him, meeting every thrust that he delivers so deep into the swell of your pussy, clit aching and throbbing as it rubs against his hard abs. “You’re so- doing so good, baby-” He huffs.

Feeling that very familiar coil in your abdomen, you mewl, “Toby- I’m gonna-”

But then his thrusts halt, hands reaching further up your back to hold onto you tightly, sitting both you and him up as he crawls up onto his knees. He’s got your weight in his arms, cock still nestled so deeply inside of you as you wrap your limbs around him, leaning in to kiss along his jawline sticky with sweat.

He gives up thrusting now, hips rutting and grinding into you in a way that has you moaning deep and long, cunt throbbing with the ache for release. He’s in so deep- so full. 

Kissing against your rose cheeks, he looks at you with fucked-out eyes, trying his best to ride out the last of this moment as he feels his gut pool with warmth. His arms reach around your slender back to dig his nails into the unblemished skin, holding you as close as he physically could. It felt so perfect. Your hips grind back to meet Toby’s, thighs trembling as they cling to his hips. “Shit, [Y/N], I think yo- you were made for me.”

And then you’re capturing his lips, breathy moans as you feel him throb inside you.

“Close?” 

“Mhm…” He sighs, leaning down to kiss along your shoulder.

You grind your hips deeper, chasing that heavy feeling that builds in your gut, clinging onto whatever you can grab of his skin, brushing your hands up into his hair and pulling. “Hngh- Toby. Inside- ” You whimper, overstimulated, and your senses filled with only the brunette, you finally cum, riding it out on his deep thrusts. “Oh, fu- fuck. Gonna cum. Gonna cum, my pretty girl- Hngh-” He moans out as your pussy clenches down on him, finally tipping over the edge as well.

You feel Toby cum in hot spurts into the condom, rasping your name over and over as if it was the only word he knew. He collapses onto you, careful not to crush you with his full body weight as he pants against your neck, slowly tugging himself from your gooey warmth.

As you both come down from your highs, he quickly removes the condom and hugs your sweaty body closer to his, kissing along your neck and up to the corner of your mouth. Eventually, he climbs off of your bed, searching your messy floor for his boxers, tossing you his t-shirt which you happily pull on. 

He fishes new panties from your dresser- quietly spazzing out at all the different colored bras and matching bottoms you had to choose from- and tugs on his own boxers.

Every movement after that is laced with exhaustion, tired, sticky bodies shuffling under the covers as you cling to his side, breathing in his smell like it’ll be the last time you do. He’ll make sure it’s not.

Flipping your lamp off, the only glow is from your TV, dim lights reflecting off of your still-rosy skin. He takes every moment to kiss along your cheeks, brushing your hair from your face, and cradling your body tight against him. He doesn’t really remember how you coaxed him into taking off the wrap on his hand- with the false promise that you would change the soiled bandages out tomorrow- but you do, unraveling the fabric until that horrific proxy symbol contrasted against his pale skin. A mark, a reminder of who he was returning to when the sun rose tomorrow.

He promised to let himself have tonight, but he knew that tonight wasn’t going to last forever.

But then you’re bringing his hand to your lips, placing a sweet, deep kiss right at the center of his palm. And he melts. He wasn’t lying when he said he thought you were made for him, the sour look on his face disappearing when he was cupping your cheeks, pulling you impossibly closer to kiss against your skin.

You kissed against the scar on his cheek, soft lips on jagged flesh, and he knew.

You spend the rest of the night fishing stories from him, things he promised he would never tell, but find your reactions just too good at the mention of Masky and Tim. Your obsession seemed to run deeper than him, but he was your favorite.

-

Toby would have never felt the dip in the bed beside him, or the fingers that messed in his hair, but he did feel the fist that clenched onto his jaw much harder than you ever could’ve.

“Rise and shine, twitch.” Jeff, in all of his ugliness, sat on the edge of the bed, teasingly patting Toby’s cheeks. The brunette sat up, pushing the killer off of him and out of the bed, hoarse little chuckles erupting as he felt you stir next to him.

“How the fuck did you get here?”

“Front door, duh. You sent me your location last night, remember?” Toby noticed through your open bedroom door that your front door was swung wide open, the killer smiling with satisfaction, but his face slowly dropped when he saw you slowly sit up.

“Toby? Wha-” You see Jeff, Toby ready to reach out and clamp your mouth shut, prepping for a terrified scream. But then you’re sitting up, Jeff awkwardly glancing back and forth between you two as your lips part. “No way.”

Toby should’ve known better.

Because then you’re bombarding the killer, sitting on the edge of the bed, and studying every detail of his face, fangirling, of all things. Toby smiles, laughing to himself as you banter on and on about newsletters and obscure websites, Jeff casting you concerning looks as you recount his entire backstory. 

-

It’s well into the afternoon by the time Jeff finally pushes Toby to leave, barking about how he was supposed to have him back hours ago. The killer would never admit it, but they were only there that long because he enjoyed hearing someone harp on how good of a killer he was, complimenting him like he had always wanted.

Jeff’s already in the truck waiting as Toby kisses your face, kissing against your hands as fear courses him, fear that this will be the last time. But then you’re grabbing his phone, typing in your number, and sending yourself a text. A promise.

“For whenever you want to stop by ;)”

Followed by your address.

And then he’s back on the road, Jeff harping on and on about how ‘you weren’t that bad’ or ‘if Toby wasn’t careful he’d snatch you up.’ He couldn’t hear him though, too busy studying every detail of the photo you had sent him, the two of you smiling half-drunk in that elevator. It was already his wallpaper by the time they made it back to the mansion.

And he was already making plans on how he could sneak away tonight to come see you.

God, how he loved Halloween.

Thanks for reading!

Comments and reblogs are appreciated! 𐚁₊⊹

Thanks to my wonderful editors @h3llw1 and @solarbites!

Happy Halloween!

[vlada12r4322]

Just to be raw and honest here's a truth about Book Sirius and James , they were rich classist bastards the only reason they are seen as good people is because they are praised by EXTREMELY biased people who are telling an orphaned child about his parents. The book is from Harry's point of view, so as long as he is stating an opinion and not a visual fact , it is a biased opinion.

James Potter was Draco Malfoy of the marauders era , he was rich , he was perverted , he treated people lower than him like shit and yes he treated Lily like shit too. And no, the only people who said James matured up were the two most biased best friends of James Potter telling an orphan child about his father. The only difference between Draco and James is that the Potters were fighting alongside Dumbledore and raised a spoiled bastard brat . The Malfoy were fighting alongside Voldemort and raised a spoiled bastard brat.

Sirius black was canonically not a purist only because he hated his parents. He was raised in an abusive household where he was always jealous of his younger brother. There is no proof that Regulas ever did anything against him, and the only thing he ever stated was that Regulas was considered a much better son.

Sirius Black is repulsive and always took his anger out on random people hexing and torturing them.

No, there is no canon mention of a death eaters Slytherin gang that the marauders used to fight against only Sirius' very much biased words. The people Sirius does refer to are Lucius, Avery , Mulciber, and Snape mainly . Lucius is 5 years older than Snape and even though the age group of Avery and the rest are not mentioned, it is only canon that Lily mentions them as Slytherins, there is no canon gang possible given their age groups and even if there was, Snape has got to be the young boy they were grooming.

There is no mention of Snape ever attacking the marauders until after James molested him, and that is also a biased opinion about Snape fighting back to James and Sirius.

He may have been a very loyal friend to James, but literally, everyone, including Remus, was ready to believe he betrayed the Potters. Do you see the kind of reputation he had for everyone ?

Also, Sirius black tried to murder Snape using Remus as a murder weapon, and there's not a single person that ever mentions the fact that Sirius wanted the person he always tormented to be mauled by a werewolf and he chose his own friend to be the one comiting the murder.

[xoxochb]

⋆·˚ ༘ * a light that never goes out

warnings: none pairing: luke castellan x daughter of apollo a/n: I’ve decided to stop writing in all lowercase because it’s becoming a bad habit and I need to break it

Luke Castellan was the center of your thoughts along with many other girls at camp (specifically aphrodite girls. You assumed because they were gorgeous and he was gorgeous so it was ‘a perfect match’). But you often wonder what made you so special. Out of all the pretty girls at camp Luke could have he chose to talk to you of all people. You were simply just a daughter of Apollo, nothing special- the best you could do was archery and that’s not entirely helpful for much

However- unbeknownst to you- Luke didn’t care if you were great at archery and sucked at everything else, it had to have been at the bottom of the list of things he cared about. All he knew was that you were on the very top of the list and you weren’t going to leave it

Your gaze lingers on the son of Hermes for quite too long to be classified as friends. But you were. Your longing lovestruck gaze a clear sign to absolutely everyone that you were in love with him. What were your chances though? You didn’t have many. You still woke up everyday with some hope that Luke Castellan would reciprocate your feelings

From across the pavilion your eyes meet the very boy taking up your thoughts. Your cheeks turn pink and you avery your gaze to your plate, pancakes and a few strawberries

“You are insanely obvious” Will Solace points out

you glare at him and return to your pancakes, taking a stab at a piece to eat. “I don’t know what you’re talking about”

Will scoffs. “You’ve been eyeing Luke since we sat down. Why don’t you just go sit with him? I’m sure he won’t mind”

“I have not been eyeing him, I was thinking and my gaze just happened to land on him” you defend

“Okay. Suit yourself” Will takes a strawberry from your plate and before you can stop him he bites it

You roll your eyes before looking back at Hermes table where you frown at the absence of the counselor. You consider asking Will if he had seen where he went but you knew it would end with a ‘you were looking at him’ talk and Will always wins those

Just as you were about to leave you feel a presence sit before you and to your surprise when you look up your eyes are met with dark ones- belonging to the boy in question

Luke grins and slides a mug towards you. “I saw you didn’t have your coffee yet. Milk and three sugars right?”

Oh gods he knows how you take your coffee! Could he be any more perfect?

you nod, mirroring his expression. “I tried to get some earlier but they were out so I was just going to go back later. I see they found more though”

“Yeah, they’re pretty quick with that” Luke says, playing into your thoughts. They didn’t find more coffee though, he kept an extra stash in his drawer for you incase the camp was ever to run out- he knew you loved your coffee

Will takes notice of the tension and leaves you two alone. Luke doesn’t let the silence last more than a minute,

“What’re you up to today?”

You take a sip of your coffee before responding, “Well I have archery practice after breakfast but after that nothing much. I’ll probably go back to my cabin to read for a while”

Luke nods to show full attention. “I don’t have much on my schedule either. Maybe I could stop by after practice and we can paint? I know you love painting”

“I’m not very good” you laugh softly

“Don’t be ridiculous. you’re great I’ve seen your work”

Your cheeks turn a darker shade of pink, almost red. You assume Luke takes notice of this because his smile grows wider

“I guess we could paint for a little while” you agree

“It’s a date?” Luke suggests

your eyes widen. How oblivious could you have been to not realize he was asking to hang out with you as a date?

“yes- yeah, it’s a date!”

Luke laughs at your flustered demeanor and stands up from his seat. “Great, I’ll see you after!”

You nod and watch as he walks away. You later skipped your way to archery practice while Luke had been rambling to Chris about how he asked you out- a wide smile adorning both your faces while doing so

[violetvines]

hey can u do averyjameson as parents hcs? or them generally parenting teens or something(a fic)

averyjameson it is!

avery & jameson hawthorne as parents ♥️

- before the gender reveal, they played a game and said that whoever won would get to name the baby while whoever lost would not be able to say a word about the name the winner chose (the loser could give the baby their middle name tho)

"You sure about this, Hawthorne? Don't complain when I win... because I'm not going to lose, not this time."

"When have I never been sure? You know I love to take all kinds of risks... and risky gambles are my favourite kind. They have been for a very, very long time."

Jameson looked at her, stared into the depths of her soul, as if begging her to understand what he meant, and Avery did know what that meant. "You are my favourite very risky gamble."

But she also knew that deep down, Jameson would never treat her as a gamble, or a puzzle, or a game – never again.

- this whole thing was jameson's idea, and avery went along with it bc she was sure she would win – and also bc she knew jameson would name the baby something unconventional and she already had an idea of what it was going to be bc of a previous conversation...

Avery knew that when a 911 was called, Jameson would have to drop everything he was doing and answer. Not answering had its... consequences.

Which is why when 911 was called that night, when they had been in the middle of their weekly unwrapping sessions where they would tell each other the most memorable things that happened to them that week, when they would talk and laugh and fall in love all over again, she had let him go.

She had to admit it, she didn't know when Jameson would return, but she still stayed up to wait for him. When the clock struck 2 in the morning, Avery, having fallen asleep on the sofa, was woken by heavy breathing right next to her ear. And pressure on her right shoulder. Someone's head was resting right on it, and judging by the scent of that person, it was no other than Jameson Winchester Hawthorne.

He also smelled of alcohol. Lots and lots of alcohol.

Avery's eyes flew open. "Jameson!"

He didn't budge. She nudged him lightly on the shoulder. Still no response. She called again. "Jame–"

And then he said something, whispered it in her ear, without so much as a warning.

"I know what I want to name our baby."

Under different circumstances, her heart would have warmed with that revelation. She and Jameson had not touched this topic outwardly before, but knowing that he could see them with a little kid of their own almost made her melt like a puddle on the floor. The only issue was the fact that he was intoxicated. But she still played along anyway, because that's what the two of them liked to do.

They liked to play, and when they did, they were a force of nature because they never played each other – they played with each other. Of course, there were also times they played against each other, but Jameson almost always yielded to her.

"Oh yeah? What's that?" She tried to stifle a laugh.

"Don't laugh at me, Heiress..." he slurred, "...I'm being sssserioussss..."

A few seconds of silence.

"I want to name him... brandy."

"What? You want to name him after a brandy?"

She found it quite amusing, seeing as the name Jameson was a brand of whiskey.

"Nooo, noooo..." he trailed off.

"Brandy. Let's call him Brandy." He started chuckling at that moment, and Avery could not tell if he was joking or not.

Brandy Hawthorne? What kind of name was that?

"Jameson... you don't know what you're talking about."

"Shhhhhhhhh!" He put one finger to her lips. "He's going to get offended and–"

"You shhh!" She retorted, gently pushing his hand away and getting up to adjust the pillows on the sofa. He pulled her back down in one swift movement.

With a huff, she turned to face him, only to find that his bright green eyes were inches from hers. She asked the question anyway. "How do you know we'll have a boy?" She let it hang in the air.

After another few seconds of silence, there was finally a reply.

"Heiress," he began, "have I ever told you that drunk Jameson is a psychic?" And then he started snoring.

- avery did NOT like the name he drunk-picked and after she told him what he said that night, he laughed and said it wasn't a bad name

- of course, jameson was only doing this to annoy her more bc he loves the thrill of getting her to laugh and still kiss him even if she's annoyed with him (he thinks that it's a win)

ok i'm actually gonna do the hc for them as parents now

- avery gives birth to a... daughter! which means drunk jameson is not a very good psychic after all

"Still am," Jameson replied, a twinkle in his eye, "a psychic for saying the exact opposite."

- her name is [kylie], after avery's middle name, and after kaylie, hannah's sister because avery knew how much kaylie meant to her mom

- before telling jameson the name she picked, she joked and asked if he thought of the name virginia (back to the whiskey brands thing again LOL)

- as a baby, kylie loved touching people's hair and jameson always let her touch his, which is why every time he goes out, his hair would be naturally messy and he always jokes that his hair stylist is his little girl

- avery played with kylie the same games her mom played with her and she feels very nostalgic about it and holds those moments close to her heart

- when she was little, kylie loved playing hide and seek, and she had a habit of hiding in the most obvious places, but avery and jameson always pretended like they couldn't find her just so she could be happy

- somehow, when it comes to taking risks and chasing danger, kylie takes after jameson, but to be fair, he taught her to take a lot of risks when she was a kid and to never fear danger

- of course, avery is always nearly getting a heart attack because she now has to take care of two "uncareful" people

- when kylie was old enough, and the three of them were sitting at the table for dinner one day, she asked about how they met and jameson told her the story

- so that's how kylie's fantasy of randomly inheriting billions of dollars started, "just like mommy"

- but afterwards, she couldn't help but feel a bit angry with uncle grayson because of how he treated avery in the beginning (jameson may have exaggerated some things...)

- kylie inherited her looks from jameson (lucky girl) and her personality from avery which means that she loves mathematics and solving things and she does it with a cheshire cat smile (that smile will go on to be the most attractive smile on earth)

- and when she was old enough to get on a plane, the first few places they brought her to were tahiti and prague

- when she was a young teen, she had quite a rebellious phase... sounds familiar? – and she once made avery cry

- jameson definitely lectured her afterwards, and when she asked him, "weren't you the same in your early days too?" he replied with, "i was, but that was before i met your mother. she made me a better person."

- he went on to talk about how she shouldn't be how he was in the past and the only thing he can do now to fix any mistakes he regrets making in the past is to make sure his daughter doesn't destroy herself and the relationships around her

- so yes, jameson has a lot of deep talks with kylie and they're sort of like besties too! they even have a secret handshake and games they made up together

- kylie got really sick once so avery decided to take a whole day off work just to spend time with her

- when avery wasn't sure how to go about parenting kylie, she would always call libby and libby would give such good advice

- in fact, every year on kylie's birthday, avery would bring kylie to libby's house and they would spend time together (girl things)

- avery might be super busy, but she always makes time for kylie (much to jameson's delight, because spending time with kylie means spending time with him)

- they have family game night every sunday

- when kylie got her first boyfriend, jameson spoke in riddles the whole time when she brought him to meet her parents

- avery was kinder about it but she was still particular about her daughter choosing the right person – she asked kylie a similar question to what max asked her: you're standing on a cliff overlooking the ocean... are you able to picture yourself with him?

- the three of them are a tight-knit family, and kylie isn't afraid to tell her parents what she thinks about things and also rant to them bc she knows they will always be there for her <3

[cellophaine]

Chapter XII: DEUCE

Masterlist

Pairing: Art Donaldson x F!Reader.

Warnings: Fluff, brief description of smut.

Author's Note: AHHHHH I can't believe this is the last chapter of A Languor Spell!!!!!!! Truly insane!!! Thank you to everyone who have stuck with the series to the very end, who have been so patient throughout my inconsistent schedule, all of the mental gymnastic I made you go through, and all the angst. I'm grateful for those who have liked, reblogged, commented and given me your thoughts on the series! You are amazing and you keep me going. You're the reason why I work through my sickness.

With all of that said, I'm feeling bittersweet as this series comes to an end. This is probably one of my favourite works, and a completed series at that. I've learned a lot from working on this, and I feel like it has given me a better sense of my voice as a fanfic writer. Still, I'm excited to move on with ALS completed, and I'm happy to say that I have another idea for Art at work atm!! (more details on that later)

I hope you will enjoy the last instalment of A Languor Spell 🫶

GIF Source

2021. San Francisco.

In a room full of people, amongst the comfortable quiet and the rain's patterned knocks on the window panes, your voice gave sound to the words you wrote. The rain was fitting for a reading of your newest novel, considering how it was inspired by what had transpired after that fateful day fifteen years ago. You still remembered how it felt, walking away from Art in the aftermath of the storm, feeling intrigued by the possibility of your future, none the wiser about the way things would turn out.

The indie bookstore was small, but it made it easier for you to look at your supporters when you took occasional breaks from the pages. Everyone's eyes were on you, but instead of discomfort, you felt at ease. Reading these words to the readers who had supported your works still felt unreal after four releases and all these years since you first became a published author. Your heart swelled in your chest as your eyes swept over all the people who gathered here for you. They looked up to you, they found solace and comfort in your books. That made you realize you weren't alone in your feelings, despite the perpetual solitude that you chose for yourself after Isaac.

Your reading ended, followed by answering questions, and signing. You got to meet wonderful people who expressed their love for your books and talked about your newest release. No one knew the idea was drawn loosely from your own experience. It was the truth that you held close to your heart. The idea of being capable of loving more than one person in literature wasn’t new. And like most, it usually tailspinned out of one's control. You knew it well, and you put it into your own words. In the end, your protagonist walked away from everything, freeing herself of the entanglement. It stemmed from your understanding of your own role in the circumstances. Loving Art and tolerating everything that was attached to him was an inescapable loop once your connections had intertwined so deeply that neither of you could unravel. You accepted that you and Art were nothing more than a missed opportunity, and maybe, in another lifetime, you would find each other again. But in this one, you chose to move on.

Avery helped you wrap up the signing, and when you were about to walk away from the table, a familiar voice caressed your ears.

“Do you have time for another autograph?”

You could recognize him from the first consonant he uttered. You turned your head and were greeted by his warm and familiar gaze. There wasn't a need to run, to hide like you did two years ago. You felt nothing but a quick skip in your heart before returning to its normal pace. From this distance, you could see the subtle fall and rise of his chest that made him look slightly out of breath. The white tee he was wearing was speckled with raindrops, making it cling to the definition of his torso better. He had let his hair grow out since you last met, the damp curls held tension at the nape of his neck. His eyes held yours, and you were taken aback by its intensity and familiarity. The colour was a muted blue under the artificial light of the bookstore, and the speckle of light brown remained.

Avery spoke up before you could.

“Sorry, but signing hour is over.“

You touched her shoulder.

“It’s okay. I can do it. I’ll be done in a minute.”

Avery gauged your face, looking for a sign of uncertainty or discomfort. You nodded and assured her you'd be alright, only then, she left you alone with Art. You lowered your voice, not wanting other people to hear.

“Sure, I can sign your book.”

Art blinked as if he didn't expect you to actually indulge him. He retrieved the books from the bag on his side and placed them on the table.

“I wasn’t sure which one I wanted to get signed, so I brought a few that I have.”

Four copies of your books, from the debut to your newest, spread out before you. You took your time flipping over each of them, your eyes tracing over the faint underlines on the sentences you wrote. You imagined Art's own hand turning the pages, carefully underlining what he liked, what resonated with him. The books looked like they were read over and over with frayed edges, worn pages, and slight curls on the corners. You quieted the voices in your head, questions echoing in the chamber of your mind and picked up a pen. You opened your new release and looked at him expectantly.

“What do you want me to write?”

“Anything you want.”

“When you say that, do you mean the literal sentence ‘anything you want’ or …”

You trailed off, watching a smile slowly make its way to his lips, mirroring yours.

“Anything your heart desires.”

“Alright. ‘Anything your heart desires’ it is then.”

You placed your pen on the page and made a move to write it, but he stopped you by touching his fingers on the splayed book.

“How about ‘yes, I would like to go out for dinner with you’?”

You considered him. The playful smile was still on his lips, but from where you were standing, he seemed pretty serious.

“Is that a real invitation?”

He nodded.

“I mean it.”

You straightened up and looked at him fully for the first time since he made his presence known.

“I came to San Francisco just to see you.”

“Why?”

“Because I can’t seem to get over you.”

His unexpected honesty was so brutal that it almost took your breath away. You parted your lips in bated breath, not daring to say another word that could ruin the trance he seemed to cast over you.

“You're always on my mind. I haven’t stopped thinking about you ever since you left.”

“Art …”

You swallowed the lump of emotions that had gathered in your throat, unsure of how to respond to his admission. Art looked at you with an understanding, telling you that he didn't expect you to say anything back. The boy you fell in love with years ago, now standing in front of you, had stripped his soul bare and laid it out in front of you. The downpour of your emotions swirled together, seizing your heart in a tight grip. It made your skin bloom in heat. You saw Art's mouth move before you could process the words themselves.

“I will be here for another week. Please, I would like to see you before I leave.”

He extended a piece of paper towards you, and a sense of deja vu hit you. History had the tendency to repeat itself, and here you were, with the man who once was your everything. He looked at you like his sole purpose was to please you, to do whatever you wanted him to.

“Are you here because I’m the second best thing you can get?”

You asked in a self-deprecating tone.

“No, I’m here because I want to. And you’ve always been the best thing that has ever happened to me.”

You blinked at the sheer honesty in the way he said it. No hesitation in his voice, and no humour in his eyes. But words could only mean so much. Actions eclipsed everything else.

“What about Tashi?”

“We’re not together anymore.”

You nodded, feeling that there was more to it, but it was neither the time nor the place. You took the folded piece of paper from him, and before he let you have it, Art said.

“Anytime. Anywhere. We can meet up and just talk.”

You stayed silent. Art continued.

“And if you don’t want me, I will leave in a week and never come back or contact you again.”

You nodded, showing your understanding. You crouched slightly to sign his book, and when you gave it back to him, your hands touched, and it sent a touch of thrill down your spine. You left the table and not once looked back at Art. He didn’t know it then, but you still had his number saved on your phone. After your encounter two years ago, you couldn’t bring yourself to delete it.

/

The next two days were spent with you thinking about Art’s offer and pondering the outcome of your choices. What would your decision say about you as a person? Going back to the man who had hurt you wasn’t something you wanted for your character, that was why you ended your book the way you did. But you also knew the matter of the heart was more complicated than that. Not everything could be sorted as black or white. The definitive decision to choose one over another, because it was viewed as the right thing to do, was a conformity of normality and a complete rejection of nuances and consideration for perspectives that didn’t align with what was deemed morally right. What you ultimately decided would be the culmination of your experience alone, of the connection you had with Art, Tashi, and Patrick, and not a reflection of your morality. What applied to others might not apply to you, and vice versa. Each person in a collective could have wildly different experiences, none were the same. And you didn’t have to justify yourself to anyone.

You opened your contact and scrolled until you reached Art’s number. After a deep breath and another moment of waiting for the rational part of you to scream profanities at your decision, you clicked on his contact and pressed call. You waited patiently, listening to the calming beat of your heart. Anxiety perched at the corner of your mind, ready to jump in at the idea of Art not picking up his phone, and him showing up at your book signing event was his way to toy with you. But Art shut out all of the background noises when he picked up at the fourth ring.

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

He sounded out of breath, and in your head, you imagined how he must have run to his phone and hoped it was you who called. You bit the inside of your cheek at the image and realized that he was waiting for an answer from the other side of the line.

“Where are you staying?”

“The Ritz.”

"Between Pine and California?"

Art confirmed with a quiet 'yes'. You wanted to tell yourself no, that this was a bad idea, but these thoughts wavered the more you wanted to look upon them further, to dissect them into bits and pieces. The absence of the self-loathing that you were so used to was noticeable. After a moment of contemplation, you breathed out and said.

“I’ll be there in an hour.”

"I can pick you up."

You shook your head before realizing he couldn't see you.

"There's no need."

“I’ll wait for you in the lobby.”

You went through the motions, getting dressed, and getting into the car and backed out of your apartment's complex's parking lot. Your fingers drummed on the wheel restlessly as you imagined what might happen, what you would say to him, what you would ask. Should you feel shame? Guilt? In the empty vastness of space between you and Art, you tried and tried to fill it up with excuses. Anything that would make you turn around. Yet, the car still moved forward, and it didn't stop until you reached the Ritz-Carlton hotel.

/

You found Art waiting in the lobby, just like he said. You went to the bar of the hotel together and ordered yourselves drinks. You sat in the plush chair across from each other, the distance between you comfortable and not at all suffocating. You took your time, taking notes of something new about him that you hadn't noticed before. And Art seemed to have the same idea. Finally, you broke the silence first.

“Did you actually read all of my books?”

“Of course. It was the only way I could be close to you.”

You remembered what Tashi told you, and tried to tame the bashful smile that tugged at the corner of your lips. At that, an amused expression touched Ar's face.

"What?"

"About two years ago, the night before your match against Patrick, Tashi told me that you read my books, even annotating them. I didn't believe her at first. Then, I realized that she must have told the truth because even though she didn't gain anything from telling me, she did it anyway."

Art nodded, his eyes looked away as if to contemplate the thought.

"Did it make a difference for you?"

"A little bit. But it didn't matter. You were still with Tashi."

You admitted in a casual tone and took a sip of your drink. Art looked down at his, turning it in his hand.

“How did you know I was at the bookstore?”

Art looked at you through his long lashes.

“Your website. It said you'd be there for a reading and signing event.”

You inclined your head. Art, in his own way, was guileful and at times manipulative, but this time, you couldn't blame him. Your participation at those events was public information, and Art used that to his advantage.

"Why now?"

"I had things that I needed to sort out first before I could be good enough to reach out to you."

You thought about what Art said at the bookstore.

“When you said you and Tashi were no longer together …”

“We're divorced. Been that way for almost two years.”

“Was it mutually agreed upon?”

“Not at first. I … initiated it.”

You took a moment to absorb that information. Finally, you said.

“I’m surprised.”

“Why?”

“You loved her a lot. And yet, you were the one to ask for a divorce. You stood up to her.”

Art shifted in his seat and leaned on the table, touching the outside of your hand on the stem of your drink.

“You made me realize that I was always second to her. Tennis has always been her first love.”

You allowed him to take your hand fully in his. The warmth of his palm spread to yours, and it made your heart pound. Art picked up where he left off.

“I believe that at one point, she truly loved me. But it turned into something else, with all of the buildup of resentment and time she couldn't take back and mistakes she couldn't undo. And you were right. Her shortcomings weren't mine to bear."

Art told you about what happened during the match in 2019. Patrick's signal, serving like Art, was a way for Patrick to rub it in Art's face that he slept with Tashi the night before. Your heart broke for him, having to find out about it that way. You reached out with the other hand, rubbing back and forth along the length of the arm that was holding you slowly. You stayed like that for a while, until the weight of the moment had dissipated into the air, only lingering on the outside like a distant memory. Art's voice was rough when he spoke up.

“In the end, your protagonist …”

“What about her?”

“She walked away from everything. And … here you are, with me.”

“I am.”

“What does that say about us?”

You took a deep breath and mulled over his question. The answer surprised you, even though you were the one who made it real.

“That our story doesn’t end there, two years ago, when it should.”

The two of you had shifted closer to each other, and from this distance, you could see the beautiful swirl of colours in his eyes. He closed them when he pressed a kiss into the palm of your hand as if to savour the sensation. You caressed the smooth skin on his cheekbone as he whispered.

“I meant what I said at the bookstore. I have never stopped thinking about you ever since the day I met you. You're constantly on my mind.”

You felt your body go weak at his words. You murmured, afraid of the quiver in your own voice.

“It's been a very long time.”

"I know. Even though I was with Tashi, if you called, I would've dropped everything to come to you. I will always be at your disposal."

“Even now?”

“Especially now.”

/

The ride up to his suite was quiet, and it stayed like that until you were tangled in a passionate embrace like there was an invisible force that drew your bodies together. Art took his time in exploring you, reacquainting himself with your body, and you with his. You needed each other's touches and heat as if everything could end right then and there. His lips trailed all over your body, paying extra care to your sensitive spots and laving up your scent, leaving faint love marks on your skin. You glowed in the attention he bestowed upon you. Your nails scratched up his back, complimenting the loving bites you left on his pale skin. You gave into the throes of euphoria, neither of you holding back. When he slid home inside you, you felt a relief like never before.

Your blissful moans and unabashed grunts of pleasure last for hours into the night. Later on, you lay in Art's arms with your head on his chest, listening to the gentle beat of his heart and the muted sound of the world from the other side of the window. A sense of tranquillity washed over you, and in your mind, there was no doubt or regret. But you had to make sure that he felt the same.

"Are you regretting this, yet?"

You asked with a small touch of humour, trying to mask your worries. Art tilted your face up to look at him, and you could only find earnestness in his eyes.

"Never. I've never felt happier. Do you … regret this?"

You placed a kiss on his chest, your hand squeezed at his side.

"No, I don't. I can't think of a time when I felt like this with someone else."

And you didn't hate yourself for admitting that out loud. The look he gave you was pure adoration. After everything with Isaac, being here with Art felt like everything had finally clicked into place. Art sighed, trailing his hand along the side of your arm.

"Me neither. I mistook competition for love and worthiness, and accepted the constant stress and worries that I'm not enough as something that just came with it. It should've been like this."

You cradled his face in your hand, your eyes locked and intertwined in the pool of emotions.

"You've always been enough for me."

Art moved his head to kiss you deeply, and you relaxed into it. After everything, you had become different people who found their way back to each other. When you were together, there was no expectation. You didn't have to be someone else for him, and he didn't have to fulfill the role others had expected of him.

You lost yourself again and again in Art's arms. Just like your protagonist, you were free in the end, albeit in a different way. But that was the beauty of it. Your happy ending didn't have to be like hers. It was yours to mould and shape. And you chose to have it with Art, the only man you had truly loved, who had always known you in the way nobody else had.

Your future with Art was an unknown territory, but you thrust yourself into it. You knew you would be okay, with him being truly yours at last.

Likes, reblogs, and comments are greatly appreciated! I'd love to read your thoughts on the story!

For updates, please follow @cellophaine-archives

[querenciasturniolo]

just a guy ⮕ m.s.

word count: 997

warnings: angst, crying, unrequited love, sad ending

summary: matt’s just a guy, you couldn’t help falling for

a/n: avery lynch is a lyrical genius, and i am an absolute mess

The nights he chose you were the same.

The two of you would stay up into the early hours of the morning, talking about everything and nothing all at once, holding onto one another like the other was going to dissipate into nothing. The both of you laughing harder than you’d ever laughed before, at things that could only be funny with the delirium of the night clouding your minds. He was all you ever wanted, but you weren’t his.

“I love you, Matty. You know that, don’t you?” You’d whisper, hearing his even breathing as his head rested on your chest. He was asleep, he was always asleep when you told him how you felt. You’d stare at the ceiling, tears in your eyes and let every single thought about him out into the open. The next morning, the two of you would get up, and live your lives like you didn’t break your own heart the night before.

He’d look at you, and you could have sworn there was something there. Something swimming in the blue of his eyes, something that made you keep going back when he called. You kept telling yourself, every time he pressed his lips against your temple, that he loved you. Every time his eyes scanned over your face while you spoke, he felt the same way. Every time his name would pop up on your phone, he was thinking about you all day.

With your fingers carding through his hair, your eyes on the ceiling, you let yourself crumble. Sobbing silently, praying to any god that was listening to make the pain go away. The only thing keeping you grounded, was his soft breathing, his warm breath against your skin. He had to love you, you don’t look at someone the way he looks at you if you don’t love them. You’d talk to him tomorrow, you decided. While the two of you were waking up fully in each other’s arms, before you let him kiss the top of your head and say his goodbyes, you’d ask him why.

Why he never held your hand in front of his brothers. Why he never took the time to ask you how your day was. Why he never brought you to parties with his friends. Why he kept you on the shelf for his convenience.

It was hard waking up, bringing yourself to the harsh reality. You knew the routine all too well; dress in silence, let him kiss the top of your head while longing for his lips to press to yours.

“Matty?”

He hummed and blinked his eyes towards you. He was sitting at the end of his bed, only a pair of gray sweatpants adorning his legs, scrolling through his phone.

“I have a question.” You said. He nodded and furrowed his eyebrows, locking his phone and tossing it further up the bed. He was all you wanted, sitting there. Sleep was still clouding his eyes, his lips dry and smooth as his tongue peeked out to wet them.

“You love me, right?”

A confused smile adorned his lips. “Of course I love you, why would you ask me that?”

He looked entirely too comfortable with his answer, and it made your chest ache.

“How do you love me?” You asked, swallowing the knot in your throat as you fought off the little voice in the back of your mind, screaming that you already knew the answer.

He huffed a short laugh and shook his head. “What kind of question is that?”

It’s an important question, you wanted to scream in his face. A question that I’ve been dying to ask you! A question that’s kept me from sleeping for months! A question that You should know how to answer! A question that I know my answer to!

“You feel like home, Matt.”

His smile dropped, more confusion clouding his face. “I don’t understa—”

“You feel like home. Spending time with you, feeling you kiss my forehead, hearing your squeaky laugh at four in the morning, feeling your arms around me, feels like home.” You said, your voice shaky as your eyes never left his. “That’s how I love you; you feel like home.”

It was a few moments before the realization hit him, his mouth opening just slightly and the apples of his cheeks dusting pink.

“Oh.” He whispered, his eyes dropping to the mattress. Your heart sank, a dull, aching pain flowing through your veins as you stood up.

“But that’s okay.” You said, the tears you refused to let fall blurring your vision as you smiled through the gut wrenching grief and shook your head. “I shouldn’t have assumed, right? It’s not like you ever asked me out, you know? I’m gonna head out, okay? Okay.” You said, holding back the pained whine as you sniffled and rushed for the door.

“Wait—”

You didn’t stop, practically sprinting from his room and down the stairs, grabbing your keys off of the table on your way out. You barely acknowledged Chris’ sleeping form on the couch as you descended the stairs, needing to get to your car before the dam broke and you lost any control over this situation you had left. It took ages to get the keys into the ignition, your hand shaking violently as you finally turned over the engine, threw the car in drive, and left.

Tears streamed down your face, a sob wracking your body to the point where you needed to pull over until you calmed down. How could this hurt so much? You already knew he didn’t feel the same, so why were you crying? He never talked about his feelings towards you in any way but platonic, so why did this hurt so badly? He’s just a guy who gave you some attention, so why did you love him?

tags: @strniolo , @ssturniolo , @thetriplets3 , @stvrni0lo , @gabbylovesreading , @dwntwn-strnlo , @tylerscreat0r , @toyourloves , @lvrsparadise , @angelcake-222 , @20nugs , @obsessivencrazy , @lollibumblebee , @stargirlv0id , @jellybeanbby , @idontexistman , @emssturniolo , @soursturniolo , @floofparker , @recklesssturniolo

[swiftsdelucaa]

Hello!

I was re-watching greys firsts seasons and saw that scene with izzie and george when she hugs him and says "i want you to be happy, if callie makes you happy then go be with callie".

So maybe you could could make a jackson avery finding out that his ex is getting married to alex karev and he feels like his world is falling apart?

Maybe they broke up because he was falling for kepner and she started hanging around with alex and he was like "i would never let you go if you were with me"

Alex and y/n are engame :)

❛ 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝒐𝒏𝒆 ❜

𝙋𝙖𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜: Alex Karev x reader ♡

𝘼/𝙣: Yes omg sorry I haven't died, I'm lowkey back now 😭 Hope you like it btw !

Since the day you and Alex decided to get married every day seemed to be so good for you. Believing it was still difficult, but indeed it was all real and you were so happy.

Alex Karev getting married? Hell, you must have really changed him. When you and him started to hang around and getting close he made you feel like the luckiest girl ever, which was difficult to believe. It was a moment where you were still feeling so bad from your last relationship.

Jackson had been one of the most important people in your life, of course you couldn't forget it. But he chose someone else. And that hurt you a lot.

You found so much comfort in Alex that actually you didn't even think was possible, but he suddenly became so important to you. At first it wasn't really easy, you knew he wasn't really a people's person, but you found a way with him and he was always the best with you.

The moment where everything started was maybe one of the cutest that you could've never forget. It was a late evening and you both have had a long ass shift; between random but nice talks he couldn't stop listening at you yapping even if he was so tired, he just loved that, he loved every simple little detail of you.

“Damn, I would never let you go if you were with me” those words had came out of his mouth in such a spontaneous way that you finally understood he was the one, well just the one you really needed. And look at you now.

However, the news had already spread in the whole hospital and everyone looked so excited for you two. Everyone but Jackson. You couldn't understand why as you both moved on, yet his reaction was so... cold. You decided not to touch the topic, after all it would have been useless. This was a new chapter of your life that you clearly wanted to enjoy.

When Jackson had heard about you and Alex he couldn't exactly describe what kind of feelings started to manifest inside him. All that you had was perfect and he screwed up everything, he knew that. And right now it seemed like if the idea of you with someone else was unacceptable.

Today you had to scrub in together in a surgery, it didn't bother you that much. Luckily for the whole time in that room everything stayed professional. Just silence and medical talks. Until the end of the operation.

“So” he started as you two were still scrubbing out “You and Karev...”

“What?” he did it. He had started with that and you couldn't believe that.

“Nothing, just... I'm actually happy for you guys. But don't you think you're rushing a bit too much?” he went straight to the point.

“No. He really loves me Jackson, and so do I” you simply replied. You could still feel his gaze on you. “And you are the last person I'd rather to talk about this honestly” you then said.

“I didn't mean anything else with that Y/n, I just want you to be happy. And if Alex makes you happy then go and be with Alex” his tone sounded really honest as he pronounced those words.

“Well, thanks, but I didn't need your permission. Like you didn't need mine to run to Kepner. But what matters now is that we are both happy I guess” you took off your scrub cap. “See you around” was the last thing you told him before leaving the room. As you walked out you let out a deep sighed, thinking about the last five minutes. You and Jackson never had a real conversation after the break up, so this felt almost right. Maybe you needed it.

Jackson watched you leave, knowing well he couldn't do or say anything else. He couldn't accept the fact he was losing you, but he had already lost you.

After your shift was done you came back home to Alex, who was already there. He smiled at you when he saw you walking in and got up from the couch. He greeted you with a soft kiss that you reciprocated. Then he looked at you, noticing a hint of overthinking in your face.

“Is everything ok?” he asked.

You looked at him, your lips curved into a smile as in that moment you were able to forget the whole day. “Yes... Just tired” you gave him another little kiss.

For the rest of the evening you've been laying in bed together and dicussing about some details for the wedding, you two had so many different ideas, but it was funny. That was definitely the best part of the day.

[jkriordanverse]

Jameson Hawthorne hcs

Everytime he got into a fight with Avery he'd buy her things to win her back. And if that doesn't work he starts hitting the old British love confessions. It wins everytime. (most of their fights are about Sk*e tho because you can't tell me she's still somewhat involved in the Hawthorne's lives).

Kisses to her knuckles when she's nervous <333

Whilst Avery doesn't like dogs, she loves him enough to let him keep a few in the house.

When he's nervous his eyes gets all itchy and he just wants to stratch them over and over so Avery likes to kiss his eyelids and it makes him stop.

When he was younger he had an imaginary friend called "Stanley" for the sole purpose of having an extra cookie during desserts. That and because he was also a bit lonely.

When he was a kid he loved watching interactive shows and sometimes he'd respond back. Once a man on TV asked which pattern should he decorate the box and Jamie said polka dots. The man on TV coincidentally chose polka dots and for a while Jameson thought people on TV could hear you.

[pasukiyo]

Hi! Not sure if you are still taking requests but I had an idea and so I was curious like Tom has no interest in Quidditch at all, a big zero but! How would Tom react when he comes to the play for the first time, because he promised reader that he would come and watch her play and then something goes wrong and he sees her gets badly hurt?

𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐢𝐭 𝐛𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥 | tom riddle

tom riddle x f!hufflepuff reader 5,694 words warnings: fluff (for once) slight angst summary: tom riddle wasn’t one for quidditch. or love. but everything he thought would be questioned the moment you convince him to come to a quidditch match, and he nearly loses you. it all feels like a dream.

 Tom Riddle remembered the day he began to fall in love all too well.

 It started off a day like any other, he remembered sitting in the Great Hall for breakfast, Tiernan Lestrange and Clarence Avery at his sides, the others on the opposite side of the table. The two of them were bickering back and forth about some Slytherin girl they both seemed to fancy, the others snickering behind their goblets while Tom remained silent, frankly quite uninterested in the topic as he chose to instead engross himself in his Astronomy book. 

 “She always sits nearest to me in Potions,” Tiernan was saying, leaning forward to glare at Clarence over the table. “It must be true love then, right Lestrange?” Liam Mulciber sniggered from behind the rim of his cup, and Tiernan turned to curl his lip at him. 

 “Well, she let me borrow her Divination book,” Avery replied, a smug look washing over his pale face. “I don’t suppose she lets you borrow any of her things?”

 “Divination?” Dolohov snorted across the table. “You don’t need the book for that class, all you have to do is make stuff up. Really, Clarence, she probably just thinks you’re stupid.”

 Lestrange’s body trembled with the force of his laugh, and Tom narrowed his eyes, trying to will his mind back on the black, inky words of his Astronomy book.

 “That’s not true,” Avery hissed, cheeks seared with scarlet flame. “I’ll have you know that I have top marks in—“

 “Would the two of you be so kind as to take your argument elsewhere?” Tom’s eye twitched and he tore through the conversation like a knife, leaving the others to tighten their lips, not daring to make even the smallest of sounds. “I am trying to read.”

 For a moment, all was silent, and the group blinked at Tom as his shoulders heaved in a sigh, attempting to re-immerse himself back in his book. Lestrange swallowed the boulder-sized lump that had formed at the base of his throat, bowing his head, the others following suit. “Yes, of course. Sorry, my Lord.”

 They didn’t dare utter a word for the remainder of breakfast and eventually, they all up and left, leaving Tom on his own at the Slytherin dining table, save for a group of third years at the end. At last, he could read in peace without the others breathing down his neck or arguing over something as silly as love in his ear. 

 Just as he flipped to the next page of the book, the doors to the Great Hall slammed open, laughter and conversation pinging off the stone walls of the large room, Tom’s focus all at once being thrown off course. His eye twitched again as he snapped his head up to the source of all the noise, his gaze following the mass of yellow Quidditch uniforms as they made their way over to the table on the far side of the Hall. 

 And just at the head of the group was her, hair swept back into a ponytail, her eyes locking onto his even from all the way across the room. Her face split into a brilliant smile and she raised a leather-clad hand above her head, wobbling it in a wave. 

 Tom Riddle blinked. 

 It was classic. It was her. 

 He should’ve anticipated this. She was always there, and for a reason unbeknownst to him, he was always drawn to her, could always feel her presence in a room, could always find her in a crowd. It was frustrating. It was irritating. It was disgusting. 

 He remembered watching as she sat to join the other Hufflepuff Quidditch players at their table— they must’ve had an early morning practice. He wasn’t sure why he felt inclined to care—after all, it was no secret that Tom Riddle loathed Quidditch. 

 He could never understand the interest. Why watch a bunch of fools fly around on broomsticks and toss balls into hoops when there were more beneficial ways to spend your time on? To be quite frank, Tom saw Quidditch as nothing more than a waste of time. 

 But even then, he still couldn’t bring himself to tear his eyes away from her. Seeker and Captain of the Hufflepuff Quidditch team— he’d heard she was actually quite good at the sport, but a series of losses seemed to muddy her reputation. He’d heard other Houses snicker about it before— “Hufflepuff’s Captain caught the Snitch again, but the team was still down nearly two hundred points, and they lost anyway. Honestly, how unlucky can you be?” 

 How unfortunate, indeed. 

 Even then, she seemed content with her team, her House, everything. Tom couldn’t seem to understand how someone could be so happy, so fine with having to settle with everyone else’s ignorance. Nevertheless, there she was, laughing and cheering with the rest of the Hufflepuff team, as if they weren’t the worst Quidditch team Hogwarts had seen in years. 

 She must’ve felt Tom’s stare on her, for he could see even from all the way across the Hall how she blinked and turned her head, her eyes quick to find his. Her face lifted into a grin and she raised her hand to wave again. 

 Tom pursed his lips and slammed his Astronomy book closed. He needed to leave. 

 Tucking his book under his arm, he pushed himself away from the Slytherin dining table, striding towards the double doors of the Great Hall. He could feel eyes beading into the back of his head and he sniffed at the feeling, willing himself to keep his head forward. 

 He couldn’t understand why she was capable of getting so into his head. No one had ever had such an effect on him before, so why her? They were polar opposites— she loved Quidditch, she loved being around people, she was outgoing, fun, and he was… well, quite introverted. 

 People adored him, even he, himself, knew it. He guessed it came with being Head Boy, along with his services to the school. But Tom was less than appreciative towards the attention he received— he wanted nothing more than to be left alone, whether it be by the other students or the teachers. Professor Slughorn, in particular, was one of his biggest obstacles. Even his followers were as burdensome as they were irritating, more times than not. 

 All Tom Riddle really needed was himself. He didn’t care for anyone else, and he never would. He had come this far without trusting anyone— so why did he feel like that all could potentially come crashing down because of her? Why did he feel a pull towards her, like metal to a magnet? 

 The irritation with himself grew like a weed inside of him and with each angry step he took up the Grand Staircase, he tore through his annoyance with a blade. He needed to get a grip on himself, and as he made his way down one of Hogwarts’ many long corridors, he chanted the same phrase over and over again inside of his head:

 You do not need anyone else. 

 He spent the latter half of the morning and the beginning of the afternoon in the Library, forcing his mind into the hardcover spread on the table before him, his fingers gripping either edge of the book like it was the only thing anchoring him down to the inky, black words on the pages. Still, he could not rid his mind of the Hufflepuff girl— but why? He tried to remember every interaction he had ever had with her, if there was anything she had said that seemed to stick with him. Instead, the image of her smile and the memory of her warm, benevolent words made his insides twist with a feeling he didn’t even want to acknowledge. 

 He’d tried his best up to this point to make himself as unlikeable as possible— but even being short with her or brushing her off altogether never seemed to steer her off course. She was always just there, finding him even during the rush of lunch or dinner, asking how his day was or wondering how he felt about his classes. She seemed to try to find anything to say that may keep his attention. 

 She was nothing if not for her persistence. 

 And no matter how hard he tried to convince himself that she was annoying, he still found himself thinking of her, his mind burning with the way her face would split into a smile when she saw him, how happy she always seemed to be to see him. 

 He hated how fluttery his heart would feel at the notion that perhaps, she fancied him, his stomach doing somersaults at the idea of a relationship with her.

 Tom blinked down at his book. 

 This was really getting quite annoying. 

 For the second time that day, he slammed his book closed and sighed, leaning back into his seat, absentmindedly staring at the old hardcover. Perhaps a walk would suffice in clearing his mind— yes. Maybe all he needed was some fresh air in his lungs. 

 He pulled away from his seat and tucked the book away in his knapsack, nodding his head in acknowledgment to the old Librarian as he pushed the doors of the Library open. Keeping his lips pressed tight together, he clasped his hands behind his back as he ventured down the hallway towards the entrance to the Hogwarts Grounds, breathing the fresh air into his nostrils when he pushed the doors open, the afternoon sun kissing his pale cheeks. 

 The Grounds were bustling with students, which made sense, considering it was a Saturday. He just hoped he looked as unapproachable as possible— the last thing he needed was for someone to bother him, and he desperately hoped his followers weren’t around. He wasn’t confident he’d be able to bear their company without snapping at the moment. 

 It was warm today, the breeze adding the perfect amount of chill. The sky was a bright blue, and only a few wispy clouds painted its canvas. He thought for sure his mind would clear in no time—it was a beautiful day, after all. That was until just up ahead from the North exit of the Grounds emerged a group of students in bright yellow uniforms, their leader being none other than the very girl he had been trying to rid from his mind. 

 And of course, she was looking his way, and of course she was trotting up to him, that damned face illuminated with that damned smile. 

 “Tom!” She exclaimed as she jogged up, and once she was in front of him, he could see the faint traces of dirt on her cheeks, as well as the way the skin on her hairline glistened with a thin layer of sweat. His gaze flickered to her lips as her tongue swiped between them, and for a moment, he eyed the way her chest heaved as she caught her breath. 

 He could practically feel the knot tying itself at the base of his throat. 

 He cleared his throat and murmured her name in acknowledgment, nodding his head. “It’s a fine day today, isn’t it?” She asked, squinting her eyes as she gazed up at the sky. “I was lucky to have reserved the pitch for practice this morning. Finally beat your Neil Lament to the punch, for once.”

 He blinked— why was it that he suddenly seemed interested in Quidditch so long as she was the one talking about it?

 “Yes, I suppose,” he replied, his voice sounding void of emotion. This would usually be enough to scare anyone away— but not her. 

 “You know, I wish you’d come to our Quidditch matches, at least every once and awhile,” she leaned in, nudging his arm with her elbow. Tom tensed at the touch, the little hairs on the back of his neck standing erect, his skin erupting into flame in her touch’s wake. “We play Slytherin next Saturday, and we looked really good at practice today. Perhaps we’ll even have a shot at getting our first win of the season!”

 She trailed off, suddenly looking anywhere but at him. “I’d… I’d really love it if you’d come.”

 She blinked up at him, and she seemed to flush when he met her gaze, clasping a hand over her wrist. Tom could hear his heartbeat thundering in his chest at the realization that for some strange reason, he felt he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he disappointed her. His voice hardly felt like his own when he said, “perhaps, I will.”

 She blinked once, twice, thrice, as if she couldn’t quite believe what she was hearing. Tom, himself, couldn’t quite believe the words that had tumbled from his mouth either. 

 “Really?” Her lips curved into a grin and she sucked her bottom lip between her teeth— Tom hoped the swift glance he stole to her mouth was as discreet as he intended it to be. She grasped the handle of her broomstick with either hand and she turned her head to glance over her shoulder at her team where they stood waiting, calling out her name and waving her back.

 She tried to conceal her smile as she began to back away from Tom, hugging her broom to her chest. “I’ll hold you to your word then,” she said. “I expect to see you there!”

 Tom watched as she turned and bounded back to her team, peering back over her shoulder at him as the others dragged her away towards the castle. 

 Tom couldn’t believe he agreed to go to a Quidditch match— something he’d avoided altogether for seven years— all because she said she wanted him to. Tom swallowed a lump of saliva back down his throat— strangely enough, he found himself looking forward to the match next week. 

 He didn’t think the Quidditch match that next Saturday could come any sooner. Of course, he’d seen her around the castle, but something within him couldn’t quite wait to see her reaction when she noticed him in the questionable Quidditch stands. 

 Course, he still didn’t understand why he felt the urge to go in the first place. Why was it that he hated the idea of letting her down if he didn’t show up?

 If Saturday had only crept up on him, then the time for the match to begin made a break straight for him and sent him pummeling to the ground— and it was only when he entered the empty Slytherin common room that he realized he was running terribly late. 

 He made haste for the common room exit, failing to notice the group of boys looming in the corner until they were right on his heels, and he stiffened at the sound of someone’s voice.

 “My Lord, we’ve been waiting for you all morning.”

 He turned to gaze at his followers, expression as hard as stone. Liam Mulciber was at the head of the group, and the ball at the base of his throat visibly bobbed when he swallowed, realizing nobody else was going to speak up. 

 “Forgive me for asking you of this, my Lord,” he murmured, wetting his lips with his tongue. Tom only looked at him, not bothering to feign interest. “Well, I… we… were wondering where you were going,” Liam managed at last, his shoulders now lax as he inhaled. Tom sniffed, “since when did my whereabouts become your business?”

 Liam Mulciber’s body tensed again, and the others seemed to be more interested in the floor than Tom. Mulciber’s lips moved to speak again, but the ticking of the mental clock in Tom’s mind was thundering now— he was late. 

 “If you all are done interrogating me now, I’d like to get moving,” Tom said simply, turning to push open the door of the common room. “I have somewhere to be.” 

 Tom left them in the common room speechless, the sound of the door slamming shut behind him echoing in the Slytherin dungeons. His heavy, methodical footsteps were next to permeate the stone corridor as he strode to the exit, pushing open the next set of doors until he was on the steps of the Grand Staircase. Seeing as nobody else was around, he fell into an uncharacteristic sprint up the stairs. 

 “Is that Tom Riddle?” One of the paintings on the wall asked somewhere behind him.

 “I suppose it is! Hah! Never seen that boy run a day in his life. Always so aloof, that one is,” he could hear another one say. He didn’t allow himself the time to even scowl at this remark. 

 He bursted through the doors leading to the Hogwarts Grounds, and just over the stone walls on the far side of the yard, he could see the top of the Quidditch pitch, a flurry of yellow and green uniforms every once and awhile peeking from behind the stands. He could hear the muffled cheers and chants even from all the way down where he stood and he huffed, making a break for the North exit. 

 When he finally arrived, he clambered up the first set of stairs leading up to the nearest green stand he could find, dusting off his robes and huffing when he reached the top. 

 So this is what the Quidditch pitch looked like, he thought to himself. He’d never been up in the sketchy wooden stands, never been on the pitch itself, never even been within feet from the bleachers. He could feel hundreds of eyes on him as he sat in the nearest available seat in the front row, pressing his lips together and clenching his jaw, ignoring the murmurs behind him. 

 “Jason Wilbrook scores another ten points for Hufflepuff! Hufflepuff is now up eighty to thirty!” 

 The Slytherin students around Tom all grumbled, the stands on either side erupting into cheers, chanting for Hufflepuff. He blinked— although he knew absolutely nothing that was going on in the game itself, he knew it was an absolute rarity that Hufflepuff was actually winning, and against Slytherin for that matter. 

 He scanned the air and the different players in yellow uniforms until he saw her, dormant where she sat on her broom, her ponytail whipping behind her as she searched— more than likely for the Snitch. But when she looked down and her line of vision seemed to aim straight for him, he knew the little golden ball wasn’t the only thing she had been looking for. 

 Even from all the way down where he was, he could see the way her skin lit up as her lips curved into that bright smile of hers, and he could already see her leather-clad hand raising above her hand to wobble down at him in a wave. Tom didn’t make any moves to reciprocate, but he couldn’t seem to peel away from her either. Not even when something small but shiny whipped by her and she gasped, squeezing the handle of her broom with either hand as she leaned forward in pursuit of the Snitch. 

 “Oh! It seems Hufflepuff’s Seeker has spotted the Snitch!” The announcer’s voice bellowed from the amplifier in his hand. “Hufflepuff scores another ten points, making the score ninety to thirty but— uh oh, it seems Slytherin’s own Seeker, Neil Lament, has spotted the Snitch as well!”

 It was all happening so fast, but still, Tom’s eyes were trained on her and the way her yellow uniform whipped behind her as well as her hair while she chased the Snitch. Neil Lament, a burly seventh year with olive skin was at her side, his lips curled in a snarl as he rammed his shoulder into her, nearly knocking her from her broom. 

 Tom could taste bile on his tongue and his brow deepened with a scowl. The other Slytherins around him were chanting Neil’s name, yelling foul things about her, things that he hadn’t even realized were making his blood boil until he felt his cheeks warm with vexation. 

 “Hufflepuff scores another ten points and— oh, Merlin! Neil Lament has shoved the Hufflepuff Seeker and—“

 Tom needn’t hear more. He saw it as it happened. 

 Neil was seething, and seemed to have enough with this race. Gripping the handle of his broomstick with black leather gloves, he used all of the strength he could muster in his body to throw his shoulder into the girl beside him and her fingers slipped from her broom, just barely managing to latch back on before it was too late. 

 With her heart thudding against her chest, she willed her balance back onto her broom, exhaling a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding as she looked up and—

 —everything went black. 

 Tom’s lips parted as he watched the large, mud-colored ball ram into the side of her head before dashing away as if nothing had happened. He watched as her fingers unhooked from around her broom and her eyelids fluttered closed, her consciousness slipping away from her as she fell slack, her body limp as it fell from the broom and began to make its long descent for the ground. 

 Tom’s fingers were curled around the wand in his robes before he could even wrap his head around what was happening, his lips parting and forming the word “Levioso!” just before her body could hit the ground below. His blood was running cold, frost icing over his lungs as he guided her down into the green of the pitch, and he released his breath as soon as she was sprawled on the grass. 

 Everything after was a blur. 

 He barely remembered the trip down the wobbling wooden stairs of the stands, hardly remembered searching for the entrance to the pitch, but he did remember when a group of teachers emerged from beneath one of the stands, her body limp in the arms of Albus Dumbledore. 

 His feet were moving without his brain willing them to, and it wasn’t long before the professors acknowledged his presence. 

 “Tom, my boy,” Professor Slughorn’s lips curved into a smile as he grabbed his shoulders, locking him in place as her body was being taken away. His eyes couldn’t leave her. “That was you that casted the Levicorpus charm on her, yes? I must say, I admire your quick thinking and—“

 “Apologies, Professor. But I wish to see to her—“

 “Not to worry, dear boy,” Slughorn clapped his shoulder, brushing a piece of lint from the black of Tom’s robes. “Rest assured, Madame Everleigh will see to it that she’s nursed back to full health. Now, in the meantime—“

 Tom couldn’t bear to hear whatever it was Slughorn had to say next. He was tearing away from the professor’s grip and making long strides toward the castle where Albus Dumbledore, along with the rest of the teachers, disappeared into. His feet were on autopilot, making a beeline for the Hospital Wing. 

 When he finally arrived, she was already settled onto a bed, Dumbledore and a few other teachers talking amongst themselves as the Matron, Madame Everleigh, tended to her. Albus Dumbledore caught Tom’s eyes where he stood at the entrance to the infirmary. He excused himself from the other teachers and sauntered over to where Tom stood, hands clasped behind his back. 

 “That was some quick thinking you had back there,” Professor Dumbledore praised, but Tom was hardly comprehending his words. “Is she alright?” Was all Tom could bring himself to ask, and Dumbledore turned to glance over his shoulder before turning back to Tom, pursing his lips and nodding his head. “She’s unconscious, but she’s stable. She’ll definitely wake up with a ghastly headache, that’s for certain.”

 Tom blinked, expressionless. He wasn’t one for humor. Perhaps Professor Dumbledore already knew that. He wouldn’t question it, for now. 

 “I’m sure Madame Everleigh will have nursed her back to consciousness soon,” Dumbledore said. “She needs rest. I wouldn’t suppose Mrs Everleigh would find any issue in you keeping her some company, so long as you stay out of her way.”

 Tom bowed his head, and Dumbledore reciprocated as he watched the Head Boy pass by, noting the concern the boy had for the girl lying on the hospital bed. Interesting, Albus Dumbledore thought to himself before ambling towards the exit, pushing open the door in front of him. 

 Madame Everleigh paid him no mind, most likely not even realizing he was there at all as she fluffed the pillow beneath the girl’s head, making sure it was well supported. The other teachers had since dispersed, leaving the only ones left in the infirmary Tom Riddle, Madame Everleigh, the Hufflepuff Captain, and a young Gryffindor on the opposite wall, groaning into a large tin bucket. 

 Tom cleared his throat and it was then that Madame Everleigh acknowledged his presence, blinking up at him. “Excuse me, Madame Everleigh,” he began. “You wouldn’t mind if I stayed and kept her some company, would you?”

 Madame Everleigh shrugged, her small frame circling the bed to reach for something from the table on the other side. “So long as you stay out of my way, I see no problem with it.”

 Tom Riddle spent the afternoon sitting in a chair at her bedside, letting Madame Everleigh tell the other Hufflepuff Quidditch players her condition when they finally arrived, a somber air around them as they grumbled about their loss when the game had started off so promising. 

 It wasn’t until after dinner that the girl on the bed finally began to stir, and Tom pushed himself up on his seat, blinking down at her as her eyelids began to peel open. She grumbled something incoherent as she cradled the side of her head, the very one the bludger had hit hours before. 

 When she finally came to, she squinted over to the boy at her bedside. “Tom?” Her voice was low in a hoarse whisper, and Madame Everleigh was quick to join her at her other side, holding a cup of water to her lips. 

 “You will be sore for a while,” the Matron informed her. “It’s best if you stay here and rest for the time being. You’re lucky you weren’t unconscious for days.”

 She waited until Madame Everleigh was gone before turning back to Tom, even in pain, her face splitting into a smile. “Quite the first Quidditch match for you, wasn’t it?” 

 Tom, with his expression as hard as ever, leaned back in his seat and scoffed, not a hint of amusement on his face. He couldn’t believe she was cracking jokes when she was in pain, when he was over here worried for her. Her ignorance was astounding. 

 “You were hurt,” he replied, voice deep and rumbling. Her smile dropped and she frowned, furrowing her brows. “But I’m alright now,” she replied, narrowing her eyes at him. For a few moments, neither said anything. Her gaze was penetrating, as if she were trying to see through him. 

 None had ever tried and succeeded before. 

 “You were worried for me, weren’t you?”

 Until now. 

 Tom blinked, his eye twitching as he tore his gaze away from her, choosing to instead peer out the windows on the far wall. It was all becoming too real, this ever-growing feeling inside of him for the girl before him. Up until now, he could’ve played it off as being all in his head. But now that she was saying it aloud— it was too much. Too real. 

 She released a breathy laugh, and she reached to prod a finger against his forearm, his skin tingling with the phantom of her touch. “You were totally worried about me,” she tittered. “How lucky am I to have Tom Riddle, Hogwarts’ very own Head Boy looking after me?”

 Tom sunk his molars into the flesh of the inside of his cheek and he sniffed, shifting in his seat. “Do you want an award or something?” He questioned, and she chuckled. “Now he’s making jokes?” She raised an eyebrow to her hairline. “You’re full of surprises, Tom Riddle.”

 “It’s called being sarcastic.”

 “Is it?”

 Tom pressed his lips together to form thin, white lines and after a few beats, she turned back to look at him. “What happened after I got a bludger to the head?” She asked, noting the blackness outside the hospital windows. Tom shifted in his seat. “I left after you were injured,” he replied. “Your teammates came to visit.”

 She perked at this. “What did they say? Did we win?” She asked, and Tom shook his head. “They said they substituted another Seeker in for you. Hufflepuff lost one hundred to two hundred and forty.”

 She groaned and banged her fist against the mattress, spatting a “damn!” She grumbled, “if not for that blasted Neil Lament, I would’ve had the Snitch and we would have actually won for once.”

 Tom scoffed at this and she eyed him from the corner of her sockets. “What?” The wrinkle in her brow deepened at this. “Last I checked, you don’t even care for Quidditch. Why should you care if your team gets another measly win?”

 Tom rolled his eyes, “I don’t care about Quidditch. It’s the fact that you’re fussing over a damn sport when you’re lying in a hospital bed, injured.” 

 Silence swept over them like a wave and she blinked over at Tom who couldn’t bring himself to look at her anymore, staring out the windows instead, his arms folded over his chest. She eyed his pale skin, the sharpness of his jaw, his full, pink lips as they pursed together, his piercing, dark eyes as they looked anywhere but at her. 

 She could feel her heart as it drummed in her chest, a warmth washing over her that she’d felt many times before. She ached with affection for him, ached with want, with desire. And now that he was sitting here, her only acquaintance in the otherwise empty hospital— save for the small Gryffindor boy now sound asleep on the other side of the room— she felt a burning in her chest, a burning of hope that he felt the same way too. 

 After all, why else would he spend his entire day sitting with her until she woke up when he was always so insistent on using his time for other more important things? With the clearing of her throat, she mustered all the confidence she could to her mouth as her words formed on the tip of her tongue. 

 “You know, if I didn’t know any better Tom, I’d think you were falling for me.”

 Her heart was racing, especially when he turned to gaze back down at her, that murky, black stare of his piercing right through her. She felt like she was suffocating the longer he made her wait for his response, she could feel the crimson heat as it crept to her cheeks. 

 Tom Riddle was usually calm, cool, and collected, always knew what to say and when to say it. This was the first time he could remember being rendered speechless. 

 It was real now— never had anyone been able to see through him before, no one had ever been able to see him, to slowly begin to figure him out. But she did. She somehow knew about this strange and foreign feeling within him, something he wasn’t sure what to name. Attraction? Desire? Infatuation? Love?

 Could this be love? Could love be this sudden, this unexpected? Could this be what love was, to care so deeply for someone without even fully understanding why? To burn for someone else, to have your heart beat erratically at just the idea of them? Was love something else?

 Tom didn’t know. But perhaps, this was what it was like to fall in love with someone else. This was a day he’d remember all too well. 

 Tom straightened in his seat and cleared the heavy lump in his throat, his lip quivering as he opened his mouth, although unsure what to say. “Perhaps, I am.”

 Her lips parted and her brows knit together, and suddenly, she didn’t feel like she’d just taken a bludger to the head, or that she had nearly fallen to her death only hours ago. Suddenly, she wanted nothing more than for Tom Riddle to kiss her. Her lips were practically throbbing with the idea of Tom’s on them. 

 “I don’t know whether or not I’m dreaming right now. And I really, really hope I’m not,” she murmured, losing herself further into the darkness of his eyes until she couldn’t tell when she ended and he began anymore. “Perhaps I’m dead and this is all just a hallucination,” she whispered, breathless. “Whether or not this is real, I’d really like for you to kiss me right now.”

 Tom could feel warmth surge through him at her words, his lip quivering as he leaned forward, their faces now so close, their lips but mere wisps against one another. “I hope you aren’t dreaming either,” he murmured and she trembled, feeling her lungs shudder in her chest. 

 And then Tom’s lips were on hers, and she was sure this was real. 

 Tom Riddle’s lips were on hers, soft and pliant, kissing her with an urgent, tender need. If she was a candle, then he was her flame, and she was melting like wax, sinking further and further down into the plush of the hospital bed’s mattress. If it weren’t for the pain in her head, she’d follow his lips when he pulled away, blinking down at her. Her gaze met his and his irises were so dark, she couldn’t quite tell when his pupils began or ended. 

 All she could feel was his hot breath as it lingered like an ember on her skin, and she shuddered as she exhaled. “If I’m dreaming, please don’t pinch me,” she whispered, and Tom breathed, the closest she’d ever heard him come to a laugh. “Wouldn’t dream of it,” he murmured back and the corners of her lips curved into a smile, a giggle slipping through the cracks. 

 Tom Riddle was making a joke. 

a/n; i literally just finished writing this like twenty minutes ago and i shit you not, i wrote the last like 3k words of this in one sitting 😭 not sure how i feel about the beginning, but i think i feel good about my writing at the end for once. and i actually wrote fluff and not smut for once!! look at me!! anyways, IM NOW CAUGHT UP WITH REQUESTS! so feel free to send in more if you’d like lol

| 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 |

@darkmoviesquotespizza @lyis @upsidedownspidey @michelle-26

[pamsimmerstories]

He loves getting home to his family after a long day after work.

previous || next

-

[freya chuckles and stop. starts chuckling again]

[collin]: what is it?

[freya]: nothing...

[freya chuckles again]

[collin]: i’m really curious right now, freya

[freya]: i’m sorry. i’m interrupting you...

[collin]: just... tell me what it is

[freya]: fine. look at this. they made a fan club for me. because they think i’m lucky to have both of the hottest middle-aged men.

[collin]: is this for real? or is it like a prank or something?

[freya]: i don’t know. but look at these editings they did...

[collin]: *reads* ... and collin is getting even hotter with time, as for his brother he is...

[collin]: oh my god! did they really write this about avery? he’s going to freak out!

[freya]: i know. thank god he hates social media

[collin]: this is hilarious

[freya]: i know, right?! although i don’t agree. you two are equally aging like fine wine to me.

[collin]: it’s funny how people are starting to see me differently now that i’m older. he was always the handsomest twin, even if we’re just the same.

[freya]: i always thought you were attractive, but you were my friend...

[collin]: that’s my point, avery was your friend, too.

[freya]: we had a frenemy situation, because of you. you were the reason avery and i used to hang out. he always followed where you were. i hate that you always felt like his shadow when he always just appreciated staying close to you. if we’re together right now it’s one of his proofs of love to you and to me

[collin]: it never bothered me, to be his shadow, freya. maybe you see it like that, because i’ve always loved you and because you were with him and not me. however, it never occurred to me to feel jealous of the attention he always has gotten from everyone. i love my brother and even when we were both discovering our feelings towards you, we never fought about it. Instead, we always pushed you to the other.

[freya]: *chuckles* like if i were a thing and not a person capable of making a choice

[collin]: well, it was clear to me that he chose you, he was just being foolish... really foolish.

[collin]: and he’s a better person than i am, because if i had a chance to be with you from day one, i would and i’d say thank you.

[freya]: i’m sorry it took this long to realize how much you mean to me.

[collin]: it is what it is... i’t’s in the past now

[freya]: still... i feel like we lost too much time

[collin]: perhaps... perhaps if we weren’t this old, we wouldn’t have been this mature to deal with this type of situation.

[freya]: you’re probably right.

[collin]: enough with the talk, because you’re looking pretty in my bed and i’m having some thoughts...

[freya]: oh really?

[collin]: every day with you is a dream coming true, freya

[collin]: and i don’t want to ever wake up. every day when i wake up in the morning i feel like i need to check if everything we’ve been living is still real. that you’re mine, that we have a son together and that my brother still loves me

[collin]: and when i get the confirmation that you’re indeed with me, that we have a family together, it just makes me whole.

[freya]: oh collin...

[collin]: i know... i’m being sappy again

[freya]: you are... but this is so beautiful. i love you.

[freya]: i love when you kiss me like that

[collin]: i’ll kiss you like that until i can’t do it no more. i’ll love you until the day i die, freya.

[freya]: i love you, collin. so fucking much.

[collin]: now, c’mere here

*giggles*

[littlemissmentallyunstable]

title: crazy little thing called love

pairing: grayson hawthorne x (first person) reader

synopsis: you are avery’s little sister and you carry around a deadly secret. if anyone finds out you’re in love with jameson, things will get messy

warnings: love is a bit confusing…

a/n: thanks for reading 🤍🤍

tag list: @tornqdowarnings @whatsamongus @wish-i-were-heather @inmyheaddd @never-enough-novels @stqrsbythepocketful @lxvebelle @xoxo-vee @emelia07 @f4iry-bell

I was sat on the grass under a tree. It was a pleasant summers days, the sun was shining and it wasn’t too hot. I leant my back against a tree, a book situated happily in my hands. And although everything was perfect… it didn’t feel perfect. I couldn’t focus on a single word on that paper because my eyes were too busy glued to another scene. Unfortunately for me, not a scene of fiction. My sister stood laughing in her boyfriend’s arms. Jameson Hawthorne. Ever since I’d laid eyes on him I’d fallen hard and since I’d gotten to know him the falling hadn’t stopped. But he chose her. It’s not like I was surprised or anything. Avery was Avery. She was stunningly gorgeous, naturally intelligent far beyond her years and was strong, independent. Who wouldn’t want that?

And even though I loved my sister to pieces, I couldn’t want Jameson any less. No matter how hard I tried to forget, to stop, to feel for someone else, it never happened. I mean I supposed it made sense, me and Avery with the same type. We were sisters after all but… but why did it have to be him? It’s not even like I could escape. I’m stuck watching their happily ever after plays out waiting an eternity for my turn.

“What are you watching?”

My heart skipped a beat, “do you alway sneak up on people like that?”

I turned around and met a pair of sharp silvery grey eyes only inches from my own.

“Depends,” Grayson murmured, sitting beside me now, “what are you watching?”

He repeated the question I was avoiding answering and looked at me expectantly. I hated it.

“Nothing,” I shrugged in response, focusing back on the book I was supposed to be reading.

“You seem awfully concentrated,” he said.

Clearly he didn’t take my ‘I’m pretending to read so I don’t have to talk to you’ gesture. So I looked up and stared at him blankly.

“You seem awfully fixated on my concentration,” I replied, mocking his tone slightly in an attempt for him to just drop the subject.

“Them?” he asked.

As soon as the single word left his lips I knew exactly who he was talking about and I wished I didn’t. Grayson Hawthorne knew what he was doing but I wasn’t going to let him do it. My eyes flickered to my sister and Jameson once again, a familiar pain in the left side of my chest returns.

“What about them?” I said, nonchalantly.

“You’re watching them,” he clarified, getting to the point after seeing my unwillingness to talk.

“No I’m not-“ I began to say.

“Me too,” Grayson interrupted me.

I was far too stunned to reply. That was not at all what I was expecting. I was suddenly caught off guard. The confession was somewhat an attempt of gaining my trust and my willing to be in the conversation. It worked. Damn you Grayson.

“You are?” I blurted out, my brain not acting quick enough to filter the words.

He nodded, his eyes still pinned to Jameson and Avery. The way he looked at her reminded me of the way I looked at Jameson. Doe-eyed and dopey, like I’d had a little too much to drink. He had that same smile on his lips, the one you have when you’re in love and you’re just staring at your person because they’re them. Never had a seen Grayson look so… relaxed.

So I took the opportunity to ask the burning question, “do you love my sister?”

He took a moment before replying. I don’t know whether he was trying to figure out what to reply or how to reply or either. His face didn’t give away a single thought so when I attempted to read his body language the story was uneventful.

“I think I do,” he replied, after a while.

“You think?” I said. I’d always thought as love as something you knew. You were sure that you were in love and that person was your person. There was no decision or question about it, it was like a second instinct that you loved them.

“My experience of love hasn’t exactly been something that lead by example so I don’t know…” he trailed off, looking back into the distance. He hesitated slightly before continuing, “but she makes me feel right when all I know is wrong.”

I stayed silent but my mind was racing. Grayson likes Avery, but Avery likes Jameson and I like Jameson but Jameson likes Avery. It was a vicious circle and I wanted to break free, but I was still trying to work out how. I was like a hamster on a wheel, running and going nowhere.

“Why are you telling me this?” I asked him, suddenly curious. Why choose to offload this information onto me? Why here? Why now? What game is he trying to play with me?

“You asked,” he shrugged simply.

“Just because I asked didn’t mean you had to answer,” I replied, staring at him quizzically, silently telling him I’m not as stupid as I may seem.

“I trust you,” Grayson said quietly, meeting my eyes for a brief moment before wandering astray. Why did he trust me? Just because I’m Avery’s sister doesn’t mean my intentions are honourable. Just because I don’t get into trouble doesn’t mean I won’t. Just because I seem naive doesn’t mean I am.

“You shouldn’t,” I scoffed. I wasn’t lying, some days I didn’t even trust myself.

“Do you love my brother?” he asked suddenly, the topic of conversation swerving, nearly causing me whiplash.

My heart pounded loudly in my chest, thumping through my eardrums. He kept throwing curveballs into the mix I never would have predicted. He was trying to make me nervous, I concluded at the time. I didn’t know what to tell him. I wasn’t even sure if I knew the answer.

“It’s… complicated,” I finally said.

“I don’t think it is,” he replied.

“How would you know?” I furrowed my brows.

“I just would,” he said, his tone annoyingly calm and civil.

“Would you now?” I gritted through my teeth, staring back down at the seemingly empty pages on my novel.

So he asked how I felt and then claimed that he knew better? How could he know my feelings better than I did? Why did he even ask if he knew so much? Of course, leave it to a man to assume he understands everything.

“You seem offended,” Grayson noted.

“How very perceptive of you,” I spat, sarcasm latching onto my tongue. My voice was so bitter and sharp, that it could cut through the thick tension coating the air between us.

“What did I do wrong?” he asked me.

“You can’t just claim to understand me, we’ve barely met,” I said, staring at him with fire in my eyes.

“I’m just saying I know what you’re going through, you like Jameson-“

“I don’t know what I feel about Jameson,” I snapped, interrupting him, “and even if I did, that doesn’t mean you know how the hell I feel.”

“People like us tend to want what we can’t have,” he said, sounding so gentle as if I were a fragile piece of glass about to shatter.

“People like us?” I asked, my jaw dropped and eyes wide, “you don’t know me Grayson Hawthorne.”

“I think I know you better than you think,” he murmured, his words so confusing it took me a moment to designee them.

“Well I think you’re mistaken,” I said bluntly and viciously.

I harshly closed my book, the bang of the cover hitting the pages bouncing in the empty air. I stood up and turned my back on him beginning to walk away. I’d truly had enough of a conversation that I never wanted to have in the first place.

“Don’t leave,” I heard Grayson say, a rustling behind me telling me he too had stood up.

I turned around, my eyes narrowed and my jaw tense. He walked closer towards me, something in his eyes pleading me to listen, to try again. I ignored it.

“You utter a word of this conversation to anyone and you’re dead to me Grayson,” I snarled, with intense eye contact, “goodbye.”

I spun in my heal and walked away. Fast. And I didn’t look back at him.

***

I often dreamt of a Hawthorne at night but when I awoke in the middle of the night Jameson wasn’t the main character of my scenario in my head… it was his insufferable blonde brother. But somehow I was still feeling the way I usually did after dreaming about Jameson, butterflies in my stomach and a warmth in my chest. Did I like Grayson Hawthorne?

Shit.

a/n: TIG masterlist

[reyreadersblog]

YK WHAT I HATE THE MOST?

Gender inequality. Even in the books.

Okay, so this might sound stuqid, but you'll get where i'm coming from..(if you don't then i'm an idiot and don't mind me)

As an exa

i'll use TIG book series as an example. I love all Hawthorne brothers, truly i do (and i wish they were real) and if i'm being honest they might be one of the best book bfs out there, my main problem is how overshadowed FMC, Avery Grambs, is by them. So you meant to tell me you find many flaws in her character but don't find any in the brotherss??? Hey i love them all, but they made mistakes, many mistakes too, starting from Xander (i'm not sure about him) and ending with Nash.

"Oh..Avery was boring.." "She shouldn't have donated that much money" "she doesn't listen to anyone" "Avery was dumb" "Avery was meanie" STFU. First of all she is one of the most intersting characters, it's her money and she can use it however she wants, she was naturally smart girl and EVEN THOUGH she made mistakes she is still the best character in the books. I HATE the way fandom ignores every mistakes the boys made, Like..let's take Jameson as an example..i love him, but he also made bad desicions, like..using Avery..hiding the truth..and more.

Avery Kylie Grambs is an icon and she's better than any Hawthorne brother. Here i said it.

Now let's move on to Alisa (you can not make me hate or dislike her) she made mistakes for sure, she was mean to Libby (on my previous posts i explained why i think she was rude to her..but anyway..) but that's the thing again.. GRAYSON? He is litearlly my favourite character but i can admit he definetley messed up in certian situations, if you're saying Alisa was mean to Libby...then Grayson's behaviour staight up deserves jail, bcs he litearlly threatened a heiress...

How i wish that to be his only mistake but he made tons, TONS of them and majority of the fandom chose to ignore, (bcs he's hot), but when it comes to Alisa..when she made a mistake, by being slight rude towards Libby, out of jealousy...fandom goes crazy, saying she's very bad character, a meanie, insicure. And why? Bcs she's not a hot male character, in fact she's a independent female characater..and of course she's going to get hate on her every move..

And the sad thing is this happens in almost evey fandom, female characters who are independent, headstrong..have their own mind and opinions, ALWAYS get hate, Avery Grambs, Alisa Ortega,Donatella Dragna, Pip fitz-Amobi, Annabeth Chase, Wren Greenwrock, Nina Zenik, America Singer..

this no hate post, i respect your opinion, and i do love Hawthorne brother, this is just something that needed to be said.

[luveline]

if you’re ever in the mood to write for kbd again i’d love to ask for an argument fic! i’m a huge hurt/comfort fan and i feel like the arguments you write always feel so realistic and healthy(?) in a way? ily

thank you for your request! im glad u like how i write arguments bcos i find it so difficult, I hope this fills your hurt/comfort needs! kbd | dad!steve x mom!reader

You're tapping your foot on the kitchen floor, annoyed and upset and not sure if you should say anything about it. 

Dove said her first words today. And you found out through Avery, who sits on the kitchen table in front of you with her legs dancing over the edge, clearly unhappy that you're unhappy, her hands stroking your cheeks affectionately. She's only six. You feel terrible that she can tell you're upset. 

"Mom, how can I make you happy?" she asks.

It's something you've said to her a thousand times. She cries, and she's finally at the age where you can ask her what solution she needs. 

You love her, but your patience isn't very strong today. You remove her hands from your face gently and give her a weak smile. 

"I just need to talk to daddy, that's all." 

"I'll go get him!" she says, clambering onto your legs and down onto the ground. 

You don't really like the idea of summoning him for a scolding, and you've been with him long enough to know how to navigate a disagreement without a fuss. But you aren't perfect, and neither is he. When he arrives in the kitchen with a broken baby doll in his hands, he looks so comely, so homespun, and you're still mad. 

"Why didn't you tell me Dove said her first words?" 

His eyes light up, but he swiftly fixes his expression into a more neutral one. "I– sorry, yeah, she said daddy." He grins like he can't help it. He probably can't. "Oh, you should've heard it, she couldn't have sounded less excited to say it, what a doll." 

"But why didn't you tell me?" 

Steve seems to clock where this is heading, then, and puts the doll down on the kitchen counter. "It slipped my mind." 

"Really? Her very first words slipped your mind? Like, that's not extremely important to you?" 

"Of course it's important to me." Steve's eyes narrow, and his eyebrows start to rise. It's not an angry look nor is it cruel, but it rubs you the wrong way. It's sceptical. "But I'm busy all of the time. Which you know."

You're getting more and more irate. It's not his fault, but it feels like his fault in the moment, and you don't like how he's talking to you, and your head hurts. 

"I didn't say you're not busy, but I still think you should've told me when I came in."

"I just– I don't know, I had to give Bethie a bath, and then Dove was fussing. And now her doll's broken. I was busy." 

You sigh. "Sometimes," you say, more depressed than mad, "you act like they're not even mine. You act like they're just your girls. I'm their mom." 

"Do I do that?" he asks, incredulity leaching into his words.

"Steve, you should've told me straight away. She's my baby, I should've found out from you, and not Avery, like an afterthought." 

"I told you, I forgot." 

"I don't care if you forgot– actually, I do, because that's the problem. You shouldn't forget to tell me when my own daughter starts talking–" 

"You're acting like I chose not to tell you. I wasn't not going to tell you, but I have other things on mind! I have a lot to do, in case you forgot!" 

"Like I'm not busy too?" you ask. "Like I don't work all day every day to come home to you. To make sure there's a home to come home to." 

"You're throwing that in my face?" he asks, crossing his arms over his chest.

"No! No, I'm just saying that I'm busy too, you're not the only one who has to do things, Steve, but the difference is that I would never forget to tell you something like that!" 

"Maybe if you were home, you wouldn't need to shout at me about it. You feel guilty and you're taking it out on me." 

You don't see red or anything so aggressive —no. You just feel like he's slapped you, like he's reached right into the centre of your chest and said the thing that's going to hurt you the most. 

You don't want to cry. You know how it looks, like you're losing, so you're crying, so he'll feel sorry and make you feel better. Steve has known you and loved you for years and he knows the look on your face before tears have even welled up. You twist away from him and cover your face with your hands, your skin hot as a burning hearth. 

And the tears are pathetic. Sniffling, quiet, high-pitched in the back of your throat. It's not fair. It's not fair, you want to stay home too, you want to see their first moments, and you don't get to do it and he's shouting at you and you just want to shrink into nothing right then and there. You're tired, and you're embarrassed at yourself for speaking to him like that. He doesn't deserve it.

"Honey," Steve says, all malice gone. "Honey, don't. It's okay." 

"I'm fine." 

"No, it's okay," he says, putting his hand on your shoulder. 

"Ignore me," you say, "I'm not crying to– I'm just mad." 

"Don't cry," he murmurs, pressing his lips to your crown. "Don't. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you cry." 

Love is so unfortunate, sometimes. He's the only one who you want comfort from, but you're so mad at him. Even if he's right. The anger is as illogical as the love; you want him to go away and you need him to rub your back as you snuffle. 

"It's not fair, Steve. You can't just say that."

"I know. I'm sorry. I know you can't be home. I know I'm the lucky one. I know how much you've given away to let me have what I want," he says, moving so he's face to face with you. 

"Now you'll think I'm crying just to be the one upset," you say with a sob. 

"Only a little bit." He laughs fondly at your frown. "I'm kidding!"

You cry so much he has to wrap his arms around you to keep you together. It's not his fault, but suddenly everything breaks the surface, how guilty you feel for missing out, how annoyed you are at him for knowing that and still giving you a hard time, how annoyed you are at yourself for shouting at him over something he can't control. You cry because you miss the girls, you miss him, and you're tired. There's hundreds of tiny reasons. 

Steve sounds a little emotional himself when he says, "God, I'm sorry." His cheek pressed hard to your ear, his hug tightening. "I'm a dick, making you cry." 

"I'm a dick. I'm sorry," you say, head heavy, tears slowed. 

"It's okay. I know why you're upset. I promise I know. I shouldn't have got so defensive… but I really did forget, honey. I'm sorry, but I did." 

"I know. I'm sorry for being a bitch about it." 

He laughs and pulls back to cup your cheek. "You are not a bitch. You got upset, you're not the antichrist." 

You sniff. Steve pulls the corner of your mouth into an uneven smile and then, slowly, leans in to dot a kiss there. When he moves back, his face is slack. An unhappiness lingers in his lips and his eyes where they're trained on your tacky cheek. 

He moves in for a second kiss. This one is firmer, longer, and you reciprocate with relief. 

"Do you really think that? That I act like they're just my girls?" he asks when he pulls away. 

You duck your head so you don't have to look at him, or face the mean things you'd said. Not just mean, either, but the things you're embarrassed to have thought. 

"Not really. Sometimes I feel like…" You don't want to say it aloud. You rub the skin of his wrist in a fidget. 

"Go on," he says. 

"I worry I'm not choosing the right thing. I would never ask you to give this up… I really wouldn't. But I worry I'll regret not being here."  

Steve wraps his hands in your t-shirt and pulls it toward him. You're becoming more and more intertwined as the conversation progresses, your faces much too close. 

"We've always said," he says slowly, "that you could change your mind. That you could come home, and that I would work. We've always said that. You don't have to be afraid to tell me you've been thinking about it." 

"I haven't." You sniff. "I don't even think I could do it." 

"Are you kidding?" Steve asks. 

A rogue tear races down your cheek. If you speak, you'll sob, so you shake your head and hold onto his wrist for dear life. 

"You're the best mom they ever made," he says, easing closer still, his face imploring, pleading with you, "why would you ever think you can't do it? It’s different to when you’re home, being alone with them, it's fucking hard, and I think you'd struggle to get used to it at first because I still struggle now, but you could do it. I know you could. You could stay at home and look after them if you want to, I want you to do that if it's what you need." 

"This is silly," you say. 

"It's not silly." 

"I've made this all about me. I was angry at you and now you're comforting me." You stroke his cheek with your knuckle. "I'm the one who should be comforting you. You race after the kids all day and then the wife comes home and grabs you by the ear."

"I think I'd kinda like it if you did," he says. 

You both laugh. 

"I'm sorry," you say. 

Steve nods. "Yeah, me too." 

You bite back everything that's hurting. It's only a temporary pain. You'll figure out what you want, and you have your best friend in the world kneeling in front of you, willing to do anything if it'll help. 

"I should be nicer to you," you murmur. 

"You're plenty nice. But if you're still feeling guilty, I'd die for a kiss, sweetheart." 

You wipe your face with your sleeves, wet cheeks, snotty nose, and brush your hair away so you look like someone worth kissing. "Do I look okay?" 

"You look beautiful," Steve says fondly, leaning in for a kiss. His hands bracelet your wrists. "So pretty," he says between kisses. 

"Don't," you chastise lightly, "this is why I keep getting knocked up." 

"In that case," he says against your lips. He deepens the kiss against your charmed laughter, his hand sliding to the back of your neck, holding you still in the face of his ardency. 

You part before things can get heated and he lets you apologise again, though he insists it isn't necessary, your arms over his shoulders, your nose in his hair. He's always been so good like that —Steve doesn't hold a grudge with you (though others may not be so lucky). He stands you up, brushes you down, even wipes your cheeks with a washcloth. It's why you could never send him to work. He's a caretaker down to the bone. 

Bethie, sweet girl as she is, appears as he's wiping your puffy eyes. She's almost three and a half, and she's the cutest girl in existence if Steve is to be believed. He visibly softens at her entrance alone. 

"Hello, Bethie-baby," he says, "we were wondering where you were. Did you finish your crackers?" 

She's a daddy's girl and she always has been, so it surprises you when she pretty much ignores him and holds her hands up to you. You pick her up, let her settle against your chest. 

"Hey, Beth." 

"Missed you," she says. 

"Oh, you did?" you ask, overjoyed. You sniffle the last of your upset away and lock it down tight. 

She's a quiet baby. You worried she had developmental issues at first (which wouldn't have mattered in terms of love, but worried all the same), though these days your theory is that she doesn't want to speak very much. She likes to communicate in other ways, namely affection, and her face brushes yours as she hugs you. 

You pat her back like she knows she likes. Steve smiles at you from over his shoulders. You wear twin expressions —I'm sorry, I love you, isn't she lovely?

[violetvines]

Hi , I've seen your HC about LibbyNashs kids . If it not much of a problem I'd like to ask if you could make one of how you think they're gothic wedding is going to be like

firstly, thank you for the support - secondly, ofc, this is an interesting one! i'll try to do it justice <3

libby and nash hawthorne's wedding 💍

- i say "wedding" but they had two weddings - one in the chapel at hawthorne house and one in the medieval crypt the brothers rented for nash's bachelor party in "what happens in the treehouse"

- the wedding in the chapel [the chapel wedding] was mostly for nan bc she prefers the traditional wedding vibe + the gothic influences were significantly less, only libby was still wearing a black wedding dress + the invitations were black

- to nash's disagreement, they had to send some of their wedding pics to exclusive news anchors (but alisa said that "we have to feed them something so they have something to chew on while we're in london for the private wedding" and that convinced him to release the photos)

- most of the activities were pretty standard in this wedding mostly bc they just needed material to give the paparazzi

- of course, her maid of honor was none other than avery – no bridesmaids because who needs bridesmaids when you have such a wonderful maid of honor?

- nash could not choose a best man (he had three best men)

- they travelled to london for the actual gothic wedding [the london wedding] – yes, nash rented the same place and libby had never seen it before so it was also a surprise wedding gift

- how did nash rent the place? actually... he had help from alisa (she offered to help with that)

- there were more wedding guests for the chapel wedding than the london wedding (they only invited a few select people to london - avery, the hawthorne brothers, max, rebecca, thea, alisa even, because she also wanted to come along and by this time, she would have already been genuinely happy for libby and nash) aka the london wedding was a very intimate affair

- in this wedding, libby wore another elaborate victorian inspired black dress with black sparkly cowboy boots (libby insisted on wearing the same dress she wore for the chapel wedding but nash and avery wouldn't have it – in fact, avery went dress shopping with her to pick out another one after nash managed to convince her)

- avery, max, thea and rebecca handled the decor, according to libby's preferences – the vibe of the place was eerie but also magical, and most of the light came from candelabras set in the centre of the tables

- the tablecloths were black and there was a dark blue carpet leading up to a platform where the bride and groom would stand on

- libby's wedding bouquet consisted of black and dark blue roses (matching her hair)

- since the chapel wedding was already officiated by the priest, nash and libby chose xander to officiate the london wedding (youngest brother privileges) – ok they actually asked all three (grayson, jameson and xander) but they all agreed xander was the better option

- which means that xander would stand on the platform together with libby and nash

- they had already recited their vows and exchanged rings in the chapel wedding so they didn't do that again...

- ... but what they did do is exchange stories about each other and laugh together and you would think a gothic wedding would have such a spooky vibe, but no, it was the least degree of spooky ever – it was heartwarming

- grayson, jameson and avery then surprised the lovely couple with a video slideshow of pics of both libby and nash when they were little kids

- and when the video ended, xander started (he tried) serenading them but was stopped when thea nearly screeched for him to keep his mouth shut before the champagne flutes shattered (they were expensive and she got them for libby)

- black champagne and a black wedding cake

- when it was time for libby to toss the bouquet, everyone (girls and boys) gathered in the centre of the room (they had to force grayson to stand in the centre of them bc he didn't see the point in grappling over a bouquet)... and right before the bouquet was above their heads, they all parted leaving grayson confused, and ofc due to reflexes, he reached up to catch it (they planned this on purpose)

- ofc there was a slow dance, and towards the end, avery and jameson edged toward libby and nash dancing in the centre (libby had her eyes closed and was resting against nash's chest – jameson sidled up to nash's side, carrying a special something and passed it to him)

- by the time the dance ended, libby found herself with a black sparkly cowboy hat on her head, matching her boots <3

- all of that aside... there was obviously a hawthorne-esque tradition (a treasure hunt with a surprise at the end for the wedded couple, courtesy of grayson, jameson, xander and avery)

- the end found libby and nash, still in their wedding attire, outside westminster abbey (a tourist attraction libby had always wanted to visit bc of the gothic architecture)

- anddd a professional photographer was ready and prepared to take some candid wedding photos of them two <3