#i learnt makeup so i feel like i have finally figured out how to be a girl in some ways

[kulliare]

i feel so envious when i see people with top scars and then i wonder what i would look like with them but then i feel like my tits are the best part of my body

[lenreli]

submerge your inhibition

[AO3]

4.6k, Explicit. Models Dream + Hob. Inspired by Ferdie in The Comeuppance BTS.

-

Dream quietly slips into the room, and finds himself relaxing even as the chaos of a photoshoot mills around him. The photographer calling things out, a closed off partition where people are arguing about clothes and makeup, the requisite table of food and crew taking bites from it between running around. 

It’s not his photoshoot, but it still feels familiar. Like coming home, which Dream didn’t think he would feel after― 

But, Lucienne strongly recommended that he get out of his apartment, to be around people that aren’t her. Or his sister. Or his therapist, Matthew. 

So next week he will be having a photoshoot with Robert Gadling, someone that Lucienne seemed to approve of, and he’s learnt the brutal way that he should trust her more. Pulling his black coat tighter around him, he’s been avoiding where the camera’s pointing, re-familiarising himself with everything else first. 

Finally looking towards the main scene, there are many people ― but with just the picture Lucienne gave him, he’s easily able to spot Gadling, leaning against the wall, stare intense towards the camera. And Dream suddenly feels hotter, taking in the brown-and-grey hair and dark eyes, Gadling’s beard looking soft and touchable. 

And most absurd of all, is the ordinary clothes he wears. A brown leather jacket with a grey shirt underneath, belts and jeans and shoes so normal but Dream swallows, brain trying to figure out how this Gadling is the hottest model he’s seen in all his years in the industry, the plain clothes almost sinful. The peek of chest hair from his top, the way the jeans are across the crotch, bordering on obscene, the way it makes Dream’s mouth water. 

Did the man sell his soul to the devil? And he has to be near all that next week?! And function?! 

Any lingering doubts over his libido are quashed as Gadling’s eyes pass over to him, and it feels like the molten core of the Earth bursts in his veins as Gadling moves, settling into a different pose on the wall, hands in his jeans pockets. Dream’s mouth waters as he thinks about sitting in the spot in front of him, hands reaching towards jeans to― 

Apparently, the other people leave, but Dream doesn’t know, eyes stuck on Gadling as they are. Gadling stops looking towards him ― or, the camera, he reminds himself as someone comes over and gives him another jacket, more blood-red leather than the brown as Gadling nods and another touch of makeup gets put on him.

Dream can only watch, spellbound and body tingling as his blood rushes every way as Gadling moves to sit on a chair, intense stare still directed at the camera, and at Dream himself.

Then the photographer calls for lunch and Gadling smiles, lighting up the whole room as he stands up, bouncing on the heels of his feet and Dream blinks as Gadling heads straight for him. “Did our shoot get moved up? Right. Sorry. You can call me Hob, and we’re going to,” Gadling―Hob enthuses, a warm hand brushing onto his shoulder as he gestures.

“No. It is still next week,” he says as Hob breathes, huddling close to him with a soft smile, and Dream thinks that this might be even worse, the warmth from Hob, the bright grin and a faint smell of lemon and bergamot, “I wanted to get the lay of the land first.” 

Hob, still smiling, nods, and Dream doesn’t even feel like protesting as Gadling loosely takes his elbow, guiding them over to the food table. “Ah. Hope you’re still up for it, then!” Gadling says with a particular tone, which Dream’s unable to parse between all the warmth he can feel, the soft smile and brown eyes looking at him as Hob gets a mini custard tart to eat. “Honestly, I was so shocked when you, well, your agent confirmed it that I had to ask my roommate to pinch me, because your work’s so great and―sorry, again. I ramble,” Hob tugs at his ear and Dream blinks. “Also, I keep touching you. Tactile bastard, me,” Hob says with a chuckle. 

Dream blinks and Hob gets another tart, seemingly in no hurry for Dream to speak―”I do not. Mind. It is fine,” he says, surprising himself by meaning it, even with how stilted it comes out as Hob leans against the table, expression intently focused on him and what little words he says. “And you do not mind what―surely, you heard what happened,” he trails off as Hob finishes off another tart, apparently a favourite for him. 

Hob blinks and leans closer, not in a looming way, more for sharing secrets. “I heard bits, but I’m not gonna hold it against you, if that’s what you’re thinking. And honestly, just tell me to bugger off or stop something during our shoot and I definitely will. The last thing I want is for you to be uncomfortable.” 

The way it’s said, like it’s reasonable and okay, floors him as he tries to get his brain together, not helped with how attractive Hob in general is, and Dream tries not to lean closer to him, like he’s not helplessly magnetised. “I. Thank you. For the consideration.”

Hob’s brow furrows and Dream’s fingers twitch as Hob puts some hair behind his ear, “not so much consideration as common decency, I think. So. Curiosity sated, or will you stay to watch me flail about more?” Hob nods towards the area dedicated to the shoot, brown eyes sparkling. 

And. Well. “You do not flail,” he points out and Hob laughs, bright and loud. The sound of it is infectious, and Dream stops his lips twitching into a smile, feeling proud that he got such a response. Even though he’s sure that Hob laughs a lot, freely and openly. “I have nothing else to do.” There is ― fantasy book drafts in his notebooks, scribbled ideas of clothes and fashion, something gothic and avant-garde that he’s on a rough deadline for, but, Lucienne did have a point, much as he didn’t want to agree with it. 

“Oh, now I have to step up my game,” Hob says, a quick brush shoulder-to-shoulder as someone comes over and motions for Hob to return to make-up, which Hob agrees to with a nod. “Can’t disappoint you, after all.” 

Hob leaves him with a smile, and Dream takes one of the tarts to nibble on, settling on the far wall as Hob gets back into the shoot, easy smiles and demeanour melting off for the broody and intensity of the character he’s portraying, Dream’s shoulder gently burning with the long-gone touches. 

-

Robert Gadling, he learns while looking up Hob’s other photoshoots, is also an actor, starring in smaller roles but slowly gaining traction. And on the day of the fated shoot, Dream tries not to think about that one particular photoshoot Hob was in as they get put into suits, Dream a classic black with a red dress shirt and black tie, hair styled into a windswept mess with the help of lots of hairspray.

And Hob in a matching suit, but with a deep purple shirt. The photoshoot that Dream stared at for a very long time while looking up his fellow model involved Hob in a sharp suit coat, leather gloves and pointed shoes, which he eventually figured out was being sold. And certainly not the idea of a Hob Gadling like that stepping on you, which Dream definitely didn’t think about in detail in bed, as he saved the pictures. 

The photographer, one Johanna Constantine, took a look at them and nodded before barking orders with the set, and Dream tugs at the bottom of his suit jacket, nervousness blooming as the reality of it all becomes more solid.

Their makeup is minimal, apart from lip gloss on Dream’s end. With eyeliner on Hob’s, brown eyes even more arresting as they stare at him. Constantine is still working things out it seems, as they sit in the make-up chairs, waiting for the call. “You good?” 

“Yes,” he says after a deep breath, the set, Hob, everything unlike that time, the harrowing time afterwards. Hob smiles and knocks their shoes together briefly. 

“Constantine may be a hard-ass, but she’ll listen. One time with her, well, she may have punched someone out because I kept saying it wasn’t nice,” Hob offers with a shrug and Dream gapes. “They were fine, of course, and she got into trouble for it, but she will take out anything that, you know,” Hob says, gesturing expansively towards the photographer, who Dream can’t stop himself from admiring now, just a bit. “She’s good to us models.”

“I will keep that in mind.”

-

The photoshoot starts off slow, some standing in the same room, white walls and glass tables, and a red chaise lounge. Eventually drifting closer and closer ― then Hob puts a blunt switchblade to the edge of his throat, the blade facing the camera as Dream is given his own blade, to put on the other side of Hob’s neck as the camera shutter constantly clicks. 

Dream can almost see the story unravelling as their blades are taken away, distrust but tension and his heart jumps into his throat as Hob pulls him closer by his tie, the length of it getting curled around his hand as they stare at each other. As Dream grabs onto the knot of Hob’s silk tie, loosening it. 

Constantine’s orders filter through a far-off place, pulse racing as Hob’s eyes become softer, awe and devotion showing as Dream leans closer, his cheek eventually pressing into the stubble of Hob’s chin, soft and prickly, hiding some of Hob’s face from the camera. “Okay, now look down,” Constantine says and he does, looking at his hand on Hob’s tie, at the soft skin of his neck. 

“Good?” Hob asks quietly, a breath against his ear and Dream swallows a shiver, never realising how cold he was, with Hob as a column of heat, almost engulfed with it as Hob’s other hand, not on his own tie, touches his hip. 

“No complaints,” he replies without moving his lips, voice an octave lower as the tension stretching between them as the hand on hip presses in, can feel nails over fabric and Dream turns his head, their noses brushing, lips almost― 

“Break time,” Constantine barks out and Dream almost swallows his tongue, frustration lingering as Hob moves away, dark eyes sharp and bright. Dream resists leaning back in, the cold of the room bracing as Hob smiles, a loose grip on his wrist pulling him along to the food table. 

“Didn’t think we were working that long,” Hob mumbles, letting go of his wrist to pick at some strawberries, and Dream hums. Blood rushing hot, Dream gets one of the cold cold cucumber sandwiches, nibbling it as the crisp cool refreshes him, and as Hob weaves stories of another set he was on, where every minute felt like an hour, not helped by how much of an entitled prick one of the main actor’s was. 

Dream listens attentively as they finish their food and are whisked off to get their make-up touched up, their jackets taken off. Soon enough, they’re back to the set, this time closer to the chaise. And very close, Hob’s body heat making his tingle― 

And then Dream has to put his hand on Hob’s cheek, greying stubble under his palm as Hob’s hands go to undo his tie, eyes dark and focused on his face. Once again, Constantine’s orders go to some distant place, overwhelmed by the feel of Hob, the soft skin and prickly stubble, his hand going down the other’s jaw, to the edge of stubble on his neck. 

Then Hob’s thumb traces up his neck, the touch scalding hot that Dream doesn’t even realise that Hob’s going back down to his shirt. Constantine’s now the top button comes through and something cold runs down Dream’s spine as Hob slowly unbuttons his shirt―then a second button and― 

He’s attracted to Hob, there’s no denying that, but the undercurrent of fear and disgust, of the shape of what he dealt with― 

“No,” someone says, and it takes for a moment to realise that he’s the one that said it as Hob pulls his hand away, Hob’s brows furrowing. The relief is immediate, guilt and disappointment following after, a complex tangle of emotions as Constantine makes a sound. 

“Hobsie, you okay with Dream undoing your shirt?” Constantine barks and Hob tenses, looking towards the photographer and nodding. “Dream?” 

Dream manages to tear his eyes away to look at Constantine, as he nods and takes his hands off of Hob, taking a step back to breathe. “I apologise,” he croaks.

Constantine scoffs, “nothin’ to apologise for. Now, stop slacking off,” she orders, lifting up her camera with an eyebrow raise. 

“What she said,” Hob says, briefly showing a bright smile and Dream rolls his eyes. Taking another deep breath, he steps closer, next breath filled with the lemon and bergamot of Hob’s cologne, of the warm fabric under his hands as they rest on Hob’s chest. 

Hob’s look becomes soft and intense as he undoes the first button of Hob’s shirt ― and he can hear Constantine grumbling, more to herself then them, this might be even better actually―considering Hob’s closer to the chaise lounge, as he gently forces Hob onto it, the awe in those lined brown eyes making him shiver. Or maybe it’s Hob’s hands going to his hips as Dream undoes another button, chest hair showing. 

The tips of Dream’s fingers tingle and twitch as he slowly unbuttons Hob’s shirt, brain caught on the soft patch of chest hair as he sits on top of Hob, thighs pressed against Hob’s hip, the other’s groin against his, a searing warmth under him as Hob reclines onto the chaise. 

Dream bites down a shiver as a thumb manages to get under his shirt, the hot touch of it on the skin under his shirt all he can focus on for the moment. Perfect. Make the people wish they were you, he hears Constantine say, and his first thought is that he wishes he was doing this without a full crew in the same room, as he reaches the end of Hob’s shirt, revealing a dark happy trail going into black trousers. Straddling Hob as he is, he can feel how wet he is and hopes that the other man doesn’t.

His insides clench as he stares at where their bodies meet, and a sound gets pulled from him as Hob’s hand ― furthest from the camera, brushes his jaw, forcing his head up, his eyes meeting Hob’s, and Dream’s own hands rest on the other’s stomach, dark hair under his fingers. 

Hob cups his jaw, thumb brushing his cheek in the same tempo of the one under his shirt and Dream’s mind crashes, his hands travelling up Hob’s chest, feeling hair under his fingers and Hob continues to stare at him, devotion simple to see. He can almost feel it, making his tingle as Hob looks up at him, as his hands go further up and his hands stop. 

Looking down, he can’t see the scars below Hob’s nipples, covered by hair, but he can feel them, a line of scars, reminding Dream of his own. Though, his own had been made more invisible, compared to the one’s on Hob, and he blinks, staring at Hob in surprise, whose eyebrows raise. 

Whatever thoughts he had about the revelation disappear as the hand under his shirt moves, fingers pressing into his lower back as Hob starts to sit up, his crotch pressed flush against Hob’s, as the other’s face rests on his shoulder, prickly stubble brushing against his neck. Constantine says something, but he can’t catch it over his heart beating in his ear, over the way Hob’s breaths take all his attention, the hand on his jaw moving down his throat, brushing against his shirt and eventually resting against his hip. 

“Meet with me after?” Hob asks quietly, and Dream suppresses a shiver at how he can feel Hob’s words from his chest, can feel his throat moving against his skin.

“And if I say no?” He wrangles out, voice low and the hand under his shirt digs into his skin momentarily as Hob moves back to look at him, eyeliner making the brown of his eyes seem even more darker and Dream tries not to lean in, caught in the gaze as he is.

“Then it’s a no,” Hob replies, shrugging lightly. “So?” 

Dream can count on one hand, the times he’s gone through with the simmering tension that’s happened on photoshoots, but this time it seems more inevitable than most, with the way that Hob seems to warm him up to his bones from the lightest of touches. “Perhaps.”

-

Hob’s car is a “silver monstrosity” as described by the man himself, but Dream’s not interested in it, only that it can get them to the hotel Hob’s staying at. With Hob in jeans and bright pink Miskatonic University hoodie that Hob’s wearing, he wants to get his hands on Hob’s scorching skin again, his own black skinny jeans and band shirt feeling restrictive at the thought. Rolling down the window to let some air in, as well as stopping to stare at his reflection as Hob starts the car, there’s only one thing on his mind ― well, two. “Robert. Really?” He asks, skeptical. 

Hob laughs and shrugs, “I started life with a fancy name, when really, I’m just a guy.” 

Dream squints at the other man, “just a guy,” he repeats, still skeptical. Hob offers another shrug, and the conversation swiftly moves on. Well, Hob picks another thing to talk about, the words relaxing him as he stares out the window, listening to Hob’s gossip from a recent acting job he’s working on.

The soft tones of Hob’s voice settles under his skin as they reach the hotel, and as they get into the mirrored elevator, he realises that Hob still has the eyeliner from the shoot on. Reaching the desired floor, Hob loosely holds his hand, pulling him along until Hob stops and gets out his keycard, opening the door to his room. “Tea? Coffee? Or…” Hob trails off as Dream gives him a flat stare, “it’s polite!”

“Or,” he drawls, leaning forward to kiss Hob, the door shutting behind him as he gets his hands on the other’s stubbled jaw again. An oh is exhaled against him as they move towards the queen-size bed, Hob’s hands gripping his waist as Dream straddles him once more as they continue to share messy kisses, with plenty of Dream biting at the stubble around his lips, the soft and prickly feeling against his tongue pleasing. 

“Whatever you want,” Hob says, mouth unoccupied as Dream bites down his jaw, forcing his head back as he sucks marks into the stubble under Hob’s jaw, pleasure fizzling in his veins at finally being able to do so. Hob’s skin is warm underneath him, and he can feel the other’s racing pulse against his tongue as Hob’s fingers dig into his hips. 

A hand goes into soft brown hair as they continue kissing, and Dream feels smug as he pulls away from it and Hob follows, biting into his lips. In between those, Dream tugs off Hob’s hoodie, then the threadbare grey shirt under it to put his other hand on Hob’s chest, hair curling around his fingers as they kiss again. 

Just like before, Hob’s hands trail under his shirt and he shivers, quickly taking his shirt off in between biting kisses, and Dream lets out a happy whine as his chest comes into contact with Hob’s, only just restraining himself from rubbing their chests together. Though, with the way Hob laughs into his mouth, the intent seems clear as he holds onto the other’s hair, flush against Hob’s chest as he slides down and―oh.

A hard feeling against his crotch, thoughts derailing as he looks down, unable to see anything past their chests pressed against each other. Hob gives him a look from under his lashes, chin resting against his collarbone, “had to wear one of those cock sleeves for our shoot, otherwise…” Hob trails off, and Dream lets out a moan as a hand caresses his spine as Hob blinks up at him, skin tingling as he swoops in for another kiss, deeper and filthier as he grinds down onto the hardness underneath him.

Hob’s free hand comes up to his neck, gripping it lightly, a thumb swiping across his cheek as they kiss, sloppy and wet as Dream bites into Hob’s lips, into the stubble surrounding his mouth as his insides twist with heat. He shivers as Hob’s other hand moves to his front, fingers trailing down the dark hair from his stomach, slowly undoing his pants, and he has to break the kiss to gasp as a hand goes inside―with Hob making a triumphant sound as a finger goes inside his cunt. 

“You’re so beautiful,” Hob whispers, beard scratching down his neck, teeth nipping as well and Dream shudders as another finger goes inside him, fingers curling and twisting and making pleasure spark behind his eyes as he desperately holds onto Hob’s shoulder, other hand going to his hair as he melts. “Is this for me?” 

He can only cry out as Hob’s fingers, skilled and so warm continue to curl inside, and he can feel himself leaking even more around them, as other fingers press against his folds, massaging him gently. “Hob,” he breathes, voice cracking as he grinds onto them. 

“It is,” Hob sounds amazed, and Dream opens his eyes, confused when he shut them as Hob ― stares at him, awe and admiration plain on his face as Hob’s fingers reach deeper, the slow steady bliss making it so Hob is all he can feel, the fingers and warth, the body heat surrounding him as he whines, Hob sucking on his collarbones and up his neck. “You feel so,” Hob groans, another finger being put inside his cunt and he shivers, one of his hands scratching down Hob’s chest. 

“Hob,” he keens, fluid leaking down his thighs, still feeling Hob’s hardness pressed against him―but nowhere close enough. “Need you inside.” 

The hardness against him twitches and Hob whines, licking up his throat as his fingers continue to twist and stretch inside him, “not yet.” Fingers brush against that spot inside, other fingers brushing against his clit and dick and he writhes, orgasm meeting him absurdly quickly and he can only gasp as Hob’s fingers press and curl maddeningly, still relentless through his orgasm, whimpering at come he can feel leaking around warm fingers. 

“Inside,” he orders, voice a croak as Hob laughs, licking up his neck―and Hob’s fingers are still inside as there’s an awkward shuffle to get rid of shoes and pants. With more laughter as from Hob as Dream squirms out of his skinny jeans, Hob’s other hand resting on the small of his back and not helping at all, as somehow he manages it while straddling Hob still, settling fully back onto Hob’s lap once naked, feeling hairy thighs and a hard cock pressed against him as he can’t help but kiss Hob more. 

“I don’t have, I wasn’t―” Hob mumbles says between feverish kisses, fingers twisting inside him and Dream groans, his own fingers tangling into Hob’s hair as he nibbles at the other’s bearded chin. 

“I’m clean,” he throws caution to the wind, and Hob stops, pulling back from the kiss to give him a shocked stare. Dream sets his jaw as Hob opens his mouth, shuts it. 

“I mean, I am too, but still,” Hob stutters, hand on his back fluttering with a gesture and Dream resists rolling his eyes, tugging Hob in by his hair for a kiss. Hob shudders, gasping into him and Dream hums in pride. “If you’re sure,” Dream tugs Hob’s hair, and Hob groans, cock twitching against his cunt, which Dream would rather die than to not feel it―”okay, okay,” Hob strangles out, something like fondness in his tone. 

The fingers leave him and he whines at the loss, looking down to watch as the other’s cock enters him, and Dream gasps at the thickness, the warmth of it, can feel Hob shake under him, nails gripping his hips tightly. “Yes,” he breathes, and Hob lets out a strangled swear as he takes the rest of Hob in, slamming down on his cock, and he moans at the feeling. 

“Dream,” Hob keens, a hand coming up to his throat, tugging him into a sloppy press of lips, and Dream moans at the feel of chest hair on his dick as he presses down, pulling himself up to settle into a rhythm, the cockhead inside of him hitting that spot that makes him see stars, warming him up from within as he squeezes around Hob’s cock. “Fuck.” 

Aside from Hob’s exclamations, there’s the sound of skin-on-skin, and Dream can feel sweat gathering on Hob’s chest―or maybe a mixture of sweat and slickness as he chases his the pleasure heating him up, the constant cold he’s been feeling chased away due to the heat from Hob.

Time has only passed by the slowly building pleasure as he continues to ride Hob’s cock, in no hurry even as Hob’s whines become even louder, teeth biting into his throat―and Dream’s next breath is punched out of him as a finger enters him, another―two fingers on the top of Hob’s cock, curling inside, the rest of the fingers pressing against his dick, and he comes with a whine, gasping into Hob’s hair as his walls squeeze the other’s cock. 

There’s a groan as Hob comes, even more fluids filling him, and he can feel it leaking around Hob’s cock, his fingers as they gather their breath. The fingers leave him, making him squeeze Hob’s softening dick tightly, “stay,” he gasps, resting his forehead against Hob’s temple as he throws his arms around the other’s shoulders. 

“Bossy,” Hob murmurs, smiling and Dream’s cunt leaks as Hob puts his fingers into his mouth, licking them clean. “You know, I’d love to tug on your hair too, but I wouldn’t want to break it,” Hob’s other hand goes to the back of his neck and Dream scoffs, almost affronted as he touches it―

And he freezes, nose scrunching as he feels the tacky and stiff hairspray, still in it from the photoshoot. “A shower, then,” he proposes, then frowns, the feeling of Hob, even soft, not being inside him not something he wants to think about. “One more, then shower,” he amends. 

“What?” Hob pouts, arms going around his waist, dark eyes blinking up at him, “how about one more in the shower, a quick one, then we can come back to this?” Hob argues, eyes sparkling even with the harsh hotel lights. 

Dream works his jaw, pulling away from the other’s face with a sigh. “It might be acceptable.” 

“Might be,” Hob repeats, shaking his head and sighing, and Dream groans as Hob leaves him, sliding out from underneath as Hob puts a hand out, “come on. Sooner we shower, sooner we can get back,” Hob says with a wriggle of his fingers, eyes dark and sparkling.

Huffing, Dream curls up on the bed, hiding a smirk behind an arm as Hob’s eyes rove over him, “if you insist.”  

[Fin]

[squidorcuddlefish]

transfem josto headcanon pls.............?

a/n: gay people everywhere

i decided i’d do transmasc!reader with transfem!josto because i thought of more concepts for that scenario :3

cw for some angst, gender dysphoria, internalized transphobia, outdated language for transgender people (no slurs, though) & odd, kinda scary family structures.

SFW

• Arranged marriage… It was super awkward for the two of you at first. Neither of you two knew the other was trans. Or how to come out.

• The first few weeks were hell for the both of you. She had to pretend to be the strong, tough man of the house, and you had to pretend to be her loving, traditional wife…

• She loved to comment on the outfits your family bought for you, saying how pretty they were. You thought she was just being a “supportive boyfriend”, but she was just really jealous that you got to wear them.

• It finally all came out when you caught her sitting at your vanity, trying her best with your makeup. You were shocked when instead of her getting angry and throwing something at you (Like she would’ve done if anyone else had come in), she started panicking and crying instead.

It was sort of hard to word what you were trying to ask her. Assume the wrong thing and say the wrong words and you could’ve been killed. You try your best though, sitting next to her and brushing her hair out of her face. You tell her, “It’s okay. I think you look very pretty.”

She’s still for a while, but eventually clings to you and cries into your chest. Through sobs, she apologizes and says she’s “A perv.” You assure her she’s not.

With a lot of consideration, you finally ask if this is just a sexual thing, or if she has these feelings outside of sexual fantasies. She’s silent for a moment, nothing but the occasional sniffle from her. If saying that had pissed her off, you would’ve known by now, so you figure she’s just thinking about it.

“This is so wrong,” She says. “I can’t just be a woman. I’m supposed to take care of you, and my family, and our business, and…” She trails off.

“If it’s how you feel, hun, then it’s okay.”

“I wasn’t born a woman. I can’t be one. I won’t ever be one.”

You press your face into her hair and rub her back gently. “Can I tell you something?”

She looks up at you, her mascara streaking down her face.

“I know exactly what you’re thinking right now. Because, I,” You words get stuck in your throat for a moment. “Well, me too.”

That brings out the waterworks. She sobs and squeezes you close. She’s finally being understood. It’s been so long.

• The previous conversation brought you two closer than you ever would’ve thought. You really thought you’d be stuck with some cocky, misogynistic crime boss. She was, but you learnt that it was just an outer shell of her. A gimmick.

• It takes a long time for her shell to crack. She had spent so long building it up and didn’t really know how to break it down. She really appreciates your help, though. She especially likes when you let her try on your outfits.

• She loves to sit on your lap while you do her makeup. Sometimes you’ll hold a mirror up and let her watch what you’re doing so she can learn.

• You started gifting her ties with more feminine colors and patterns. If she can’t wear a skirt, at least she can wear a tie with some pretty flowers on it. Plus, it reminds her of you throughout the day.

• Wedding day was awkward… So much family nonsense. So much dysphoria.

Despite this, you two made it work. You dealt with the odd wedding shenanigans before settling into your hotel room for the night. You two had planned this weeks before. The two of you exchanged outfits and reenact the day. Exchanging vows and rings, the kiss, and dances. Watching her twirl around with a smile — a real smile, which was extremely rare from her — had to have been the prettiest thing you’d seen your entire life.

ok enough sappy shit

NSFT

• Matches her tie with her lingerie under her suit. She doesn’t leave too much for imagination. :3

• Calling her “Good girl” or “Pretty girl” will literally melt her in your hands like putty.

• She keeps a small dagger in her garter sometimes.

• Laying her over your lap and fingering her is the best thing she had ever felt. And she definitely will let you know, too. She’s a moaning mess, whimpering into the sheets under her. If you get an angle just right into her, she’ll cry and kick her feet against the mattress. She whined and cried so much that you were genuinely worried for her, so you slowed to a stop and asked if she was okay. From a side eye, she said if you stopped before she finished she’d kill you. She didn’t mean that literally. Or maybe she did… You weren’t going to find out the hard way.

• She has a slight preference for bottoming, but she does like to top, too. She loves to watch your face when her hands are squeezing your hips while she’s pounding you.

• After a long day, she comes home exhausted and frustrated and just needs to get it out. She changes into her favorite set of lingerie and lets you play with her, but it’s just not enough. Soon, she’s on top of you and thrusting into you.

On a particularly stressful day, she goes on a bit of a tangent about how disappointed she is that you can’t fuck her.

“I always have to do everything around here, hm? Yeah? Fuck, you're lucky you feel good around me."

You wanted to snap back and tell her that you don’t even need to fuck her, just fingering her will have her a drooling mess for you. But she’s going way too fast for you to even form a sentence. It mostly comes out as “Wh- Well, well you-“

She just tells you to be quiet, putting a hand over your mouth. She says “If I’m going to be fucking you, at least just shut up and take it.”

Afterwards, she feels a little guilty. She pulls you close and brushes your hair with her fingers, whispering a “Sorry.”

a/n: okay, well i had WAY too much fun with this and i still feel like i could write 1000 more words for her. sorry if this is a little messy, i was just kinda word dumping and didn’t really know how to fit everything together LMAO

[kart0]

Let's talk shall we ? I have big news

Hey guys, it's been quite some time since we chatted huh ?

Well, I have something I need to confess. Ever since I was a kid I never really cared too much about gender, and roles, and how we played. I was just a kid. I liked and had lots of fun dressing up as a man, wearing ties, being shirtless and on diapers. But also wearing my mom's heels and putting on her lipstick. It didn't matter

I'd do what I wanted, when I wanted.

Things started to get more serious as I grew up though. On my early teens I decided I wasn't interested on makeup, at all. And I wasn't "like the other girly girls". I hung out with a bunch of boys and we'd have fun too. But I felt weird at times. That's when I got closer to my girl friends. They were awesome and we were very, very close, for some time as well.

But I never felt home. Accepted. Comfortable. I never felt like I belonged for real, anywhere at all, and I still do have problems with that...

And then I was a teen. Started to learn more about the world, about lgbt culture. I learned about different genders. And that's what we're going to talk about on this post.

This is my coming out letter.

When I was 12 I read the Percy Jackson series. I was never truly interested in reading as kid. But my Portuguese teacher said we had to read it for class so I did. And I fell in love. And I was an avid reader, I learnt. I read one book per day. Everyday. I was amazed with Percy. He was incredible. He was everything I wanted to be.

He was everything to me.

But.

I felt something so deep, a crushing feeling I couldn't describe, that it hurt so so so much, whenever I read fanfics or saw too much fanart, or tried to be a part of the fandom.

Then later I found out it was envy. I wanted to be him so bad it hurt. I wanted to be like him, but not only have his personality, no, I wanted to look exactly like him.

I had to distance myself from the fandom and the books and I was fine for some time.

I forced myself not to care about my looks. I pretended that I didn't know what I wanted. I tried to be edgy and cool. Then I tried to look sweet and innocent. 2023 I really, really put an effort and learnt how to do makeup. I wore foundation and glittery eyeshadows and lipstick. And I felt pretty.

But. It wasn't enough for me. I felt ok most of the time, like it was acceptable. It bothered it annoyed but it was fine. In reality though I knew what I wanted.

And well, I'm bringing up Percy Jackson again. I really really liked the books. And now the series is streaming on Disney. I refused to watch it for some reason.

I think I forgot, y'know. Why I avoided and stopped liking it.

But, curse you TikTok, it started appearing on my fyp and ugh, I liked some of the videos. And now because of the algorithm it's only showing me pjo tiktoks.

Maybe I knew, deep inside, that I had to go through this discomfort. This pain, yet again. I needed to accept myself. So I kept on watching, and scrolling, until I was sobbing, lying on my bed. Feeling extremely upset.

Why wasn't I born a man. Why do I was born with curves, and boobs. Why. Why why why why why. And I cried and cried, all the pain I felt accumulated all these years.

I am coming out today because I feel finally ready and brave to accept this part of me.

I am transgender.

So are you a man ? Hm, honestly, I don't know for sure. I think I'm a girl too, sometimes. Like it doesn't bother me too much. I feel like I still need to learn and read a lot to comprehend what I feel and who I am. But for now, I'll go for unlabeled and just say I'm nonbinary. Crazy huh ? Took me 21 years to figure it out.

I'm not coming out to my family, I will never. They won't understand, and won't try to. They won't like it. And I love my family more than anything in this world. I don't want to lose them and I don't want them to look at me differently. I don't care if I'm still their little girl. I will keep being their little girl forever. Doesn't bother me.

I don't care that my friends or my irls still refer me as a woman either. Cuz sometimes I feel like a woman. I dress like a woman.

So... What will change then, you may ask ?

Firstly, hm... I don't think much will change. I will refer myself as a man on social media. I will use he him pronouns and I will say I have a massive, huge fucking dick. Heh. Makes me laugh.

I think what mattered to me first was just coming to terms that yeah, I am trans. And this is how I feel. And who cares if nothing changes. It's my own fucking life.

I'm scared of medical procedures and I don't want to transition. For now. As I mentioned before, I don't want to scare my family. I don't want to lose them. Do I wish I was born a male ? Yes. Do I wish, I looked like a man ? Of course. But for now, looking like a woman will have to do the job.

But what's fun is that I'm on art school. Everyone's fucking gay !!!!! And nobody cares how you dress ! So this will be fun now that I feel free. I can do whatever the fuck I want.

This post is too long and I'm so sorry. I wish I could thank Percy for giving me the "splash" haha and making me learn more about myself.

And now I can live my life without the guilt I carried before.

Happy 2024 everyone

[shibaraki]

Relationship headcanons

Character: Midoriya Izuku

Genre: SFW, Fluff

A/N: Yes I finally got around to posting this IM SORRY. I'll be following this post with boyfriend texts as I did with todoroki and bakugou! Enjoy! GENDER NEUTRAL

In the beginning of your relationship he is all over the place. So overjoyed that you return his feelings, but doesn’t know when and where he can touch you, if he can kiss you, wants to hold your hand but he’s nervous, wants to call you his partner but do you guys have a title? Too scared to ask you, too scared to hear the answer.

Dating Izuku is something that happened very gradually. You had both slowly gravitated toward each other, starting out as good friends and eventually he asked you on a date. You are the ball that gets your communication as a couple rolling by simply asking “Midoriya, is it ok for me to call you by your first name now that we're partners?” - he stopped breathing for a few seconds to process your question and you definitely noticed. “Y-yes, absolutely. Then I should call you by your first name too!”

The first time you held hands his grip was firm to disguise the shake in his fingers. He could do nothing to hide his trembling when he first kissed you, though. But he felt much better after you had admitted that you also got nervous when being affectionate with him. He often worries whether or not he’s given the right response or action, and feels very insecure about his ability to make you happy, so you learnt early on to just air out your lovey embarrassing thoughts shamelessly so he had no room to doubt. “I love when you squeeze my hand” “I like when you walk close to me” “you make me feel really special, Izu” “I feel safe just being beside you”

Truth be told, he did feel a little insecure about his scars when you started dating. He wondered if you hated how they felt when you held hands or when your arms brushed. But you never recoiled, and sometimes even traced your fingers along them gently. You made it a point to remind him that they were evidence of his growth, almost like stretch marks in a way. They're proof that he persevered. He stopped worrying after that.

You learned to understand his muttering. He mumbles so low and so quickly it can be hard to catch but you always make a conscious effort to listen, because he always looks at you with such love and surprise when you answer one of his hypothetical questions. He’d gotten so used to nobody listening and everyone finding it irritating, it makes him emotional that you care about his thoughts even when they’re going at 100 mph. Its important to you that he feels heard, and that he knows his thoughts are valued in the relationship.

Publicly, he isn't overwhelmingly touchy with you. But he can't keep his eyes off of you. His gaze will always be on you, following your figure as you move around the room, with a lovesick expression on his face. At events he will follow you like a puppy. He doesn't initiate PDA with you but if you kiss or touch him in front of others he will combust. Secretly loves when you're possessive, but has never purposefully tried to make you jealous.

Izuku is so so sweet on you. Even after all the time you’ve been together, his cheeks will still darken when you welcome him back with a kiss. He always makes an effort to maintain eye contact when you’re speaking to him or a group, if someone talks over you he’ll interrupt and say ‘what were you talking about before, y/n?’. He writes down every time you mention something you like, whether it be a show, a song, a piece of clothing, a makeup product, a type of skincare, just know he’s got it in his notebook for future reference. His favourite thing is listening to you talk about something you're passionate about. Your eyes are bright, your hands moving as you talk, your head tilting adorably, you glancing over to him to see if he's bored. He loves it, and memorises all of it. That’s not the only thing he makes sure to write down - he has your birthday, your family members birthdays, your anniversary, your workout routine, your- well. You get the point.

He was especially worried you might find it strange that he writes so many personal things down about you, but you made sure to comfort him. ‘I have an izuku notebook too, you know’ you grin. His eyes widened and bounced around your room looking for it, ‘you do?!’ ‘Yeah!’ You laugh, then tapping your head. ‘It’s all up here’

Surprise gifts. He has a list of things you've mentioned wanting but those are for birthdays and anniversaries, these gifts are 'just because he loves you'. Will come home with flowers, with plushies, with pastries, with jewellery, just for the hell of it. The 'everyday is valentines day' type.

He wants to make you proud, keep you safe, and see you happy. You are a big source of motivation for his hero work, he can grin and take any villain down if it means you’ll be out of harms way another day. He’s fantastic at his job, he's born for it, and if you’re working together during a patrol he never lets his focus drift to you while a crime is happening.

Another one who loves when you wear his merch, except it’ll make him emotional no matter how many times he sees you in a green Deku hoodie. The love doesn’t just end with his merchandise, though. Wear any of his clothing and he’ll feel a little breathless. He’s bigger and broader than you, his clothes hang on you still even years into adulthood, and he loves it. Deku loves how small you look, he loves wrapping you in his embrace and looking down at your face, he enjoys feeling like he’s your protector in those moments. Despite what people may think, he’s actually pretty possessive.

Yes you wear his merch but... he also wears yours. He is almost obnoxious about it, pointing to whatever merch of yours he was wearing if a reporter caught a photo of him. You both use the same designers, and everyone has a soft spot for him, so he always manages to get new shirts and hoodies before they're released. He's basically a walking, talking, advertisement for your hero brand. Though his phone case is still all might... at least you were his lock screen.

Meeting his mother had been a pretty important step for you both. You knew in your heart that he truly valued what his mother thought, and that if she didn’t approve of you it would be a big obstacle for your relationship. But she had loved you immediately, emotional that her boy had found someone he treasured.

Izuku has a number of pet names for you, some he will only use in private and some only when you're being intimate. He calls you honey, bunny, baby, sweetie and lovey. He loves when you give him pet names, they make him feel so gooey and warm. After agreeing to use first names he resolved to never hear you say his surname again, if you do he gets anxious that he's in trouble. So you call him sweetheart, darling, hot stuff, my hero and baby.

Hates worrying you. Given his job it's impossible not to cause you some degree of worry, but if he's injured or if he's a hero on scene at a large scale incident, he's always frantic about getting in contact with you to make sure you know he's okay. If he needs to go to the hospital, or his phone is broken then he's grabbing Todorokis sleeve as he's being lifted into the ambulance, telling him to contact you about his condition.

Sparring is a couples activity for you two. Everyone else in the gym will leave as soon as you both enter because they know it's about to get weird in here. It's almost like foreplay for you both, as the session goes on he will start using cheaper, dirtier tricks to one up you and you'll do the same. Eventually you'd end up tangled together on the mats thankful there's no one else with you. He loves showing you his new moves, explaining it thoroughly and asking for your opinions on it. Will always take on board what you say, as he really values your thoughts.

Texting with Izuku is consistent. If he thinks of something new or sees something interesting, well you're the first to know. He mainly uses texting to send you sappy, mushy messages about how much he loves you. He doesn't really message you about work during the day unless it's because he was injured, he likes to save that for when he's home with you. Enjoys phone calls the most especially if he's away, he loves your voice and loves hearing it so close to his ear. If he's not with you then he calls you before he sleeps.

Arguing is rare with Izuku. You're a very open, communicative couple. You tell each other everything and understand each others outside commitments. If an argument does happen, you don't yell at each other (it's rare) and usually take it in turns saying what you're upset about. Surprising to many, he does not cry when you guys are fighting. Instead he floods the apartment with tears once you've made up.

The first time Izuku tells you he loves you is when you're out on a date. You are both in civilian clothing, it's the early evening and it's still warm out. You'd decided to take a walk through the park together instead of heading straight home after your meal. A couple of kids run up to you and squint, obviously struggling as you're not in your hero costumes. Upon recognising you both, they beg for autographs and pictures. Behind them is a very small girl and her mother, she can't be more than 5 years old and she's holding a piece of paper to her chest. You beckon her over with a soft grin and she looks to her mother for courage before running to you. She hands you the paper and upon a closer look, you see it's a crayon drawing of yourself in your hero costume and the little girl holding hands. A little emotional, you run your fingers through her hair and promise to frame it in your office at the agency. Izuku watches the interaction with an overwhelmingly fond feeling in his chest, holding his hand out to you when you join him again and the little girl returns to her mother. "I love you," he confesses, pressing a kiss to your hair.

Overall, your relationship with Izuku can be defined by encouragement, endearment and optimism.

[blu-joons]

You Get Jealous ~ Kim Namjoon

Your eyes lit up as soon as the boys reappeared in the dressing room having completed their rehearsal for the show tonight. Namjoon’s eyes looked straight for you as soon as he walked in, throwing himself down beside you and resting his head in your lap.

Your hands moved to run through his hair, instantly regretting it when you felt the damp beads of sweat that sat in his locks, wiping it off over the material of his shirt.

“That’s disgusting,” you sighed, shaking your head at the teasing smirk that appeared on his face, “I can’t believe you didn’t warn me.”

Since you’d arrived backstage that morning, he’d been unable to hide the smile on his face. It was the first time you were attending a show of the current tour tonight, and Namjoon was beyond excited to finally have you there supporting him.

“It wouldn’t have been funny if I told you,” he finally replied, sitting himself up properly beside you. “It’s easier to just leave for hair and makeup to sort out rather than me fix it.”

“Hair like that is going to need a lot of fixing.”

Only a few moments later, the stylists appeared in the dressing room to start preparing for the show after the rehearsal. With a quick peck on your cheek, Namjoon excused himself so he could get his hair fixed. You caught on quite quickly to how close one of the stylists were to him, how she’d smile at everything he said or did.

“Everything alright?” Jin asked, taking a seat beside you, following your gaze. “Don’t worry about it.”

It was much easier for him to say than for you to do as you continued to watch everything she did. Whilst Namjoon didn’t react, it still unsettled you to see someone so close to him without any regard for the fact you were in the room.

“She’s always been this way,” Jin added, sensing how uncomfortable the situation was making you. “I know it’s easy for me to say, but please don’t let it get to you,” he added, resting his hand cautiously against your shoulder.

“Am I just invisible or something?” You asked him, feeling the anger inside of you grow. “Did Namjoon tell everyone I was coming today? Do they even know that he’s got a girlfriend?”

The silence that came from Jin in response told you everything you needed to know. You scoffed loudly, looking away from the two of them in search for your phone beside you. Jin quickly reacted as you stood up from the sofa, positioning himself in front of you.

“I just need some space,” you assured him, taking a step to the side so you could walk out of the dressing room, not even acknowledging Namjoon.

The reflection in the mirror of your figure walking out caught his attention, he glanced back at Jin who simply shrugged, knowing he had no place to really get involved. Namjoon quickly stood up from the stylist’s chair, removing his apron despite her protests that he needed to finish.

“What happened?” He snapped at Jin, placing the blame firmly on him. “You can’t just let her walk off on her own in this place, it’s huge and she has no idea where she’s going. I thought I could trust you guys to look out for her?”

His attitude struck a nerve with Jin, who pushed lightly against his shoulder. “Have you ever stopped and thought that maybe you could be the problem? Look a bit closer to home Namjoon for the reason that she’s left.”

“What am I supposed to have done?”

“Did you tell the stylists that you have a girlfriend?”

“No,” he sighed, finally realising what had gone on. “I’ve been such an idiot.”

Before anyone had the chance to respond to him, he ran out of the dressing room, turning left and right for a sign of you. Instinct carried him left as he ran down the corridor, stopping when he finally saw you sat in the cafeteria.

“Y/N,” he sighed, standing beside the table that you sat at. Your head slowly turned up to look at him, using the sleeves of your shirt to quickly wipe under your eyes before he had the chance to see that you’d been crying.

After a moment of silence, he sat himself down opposite you, refusing to walk away from the situation and let it continue.

“Jin told me what happened, and all I can say is I’m sorry,” he began, resting his arms across the table, “I can’t begin to imagine what the situation looked like to you, especially when she’s still under the impression I’m single. I guess it just never came up in conversation with her.”

Your eyes rolled, continuing to look away from his glare that was firmly on you. Your whole body shook as you desperately tried to maintain your composure, refusing to let Namjoon see just how upset you were.

“What can I do to make this right?” He asked you.

“How do you think this looks to me Namjoon? Do you get that?”

“Of course,” he acknowledged, “it probably looks terrible to you, but I promise you that’s not the case. She’s flirty with everyone, it’s nothing to do with me.”

You didn’t care at all how she acted around the other members, the only thing you cared about was how she reacted around your boyfriend. You understood some people had flirty personalities, but even they could tune that down, if they only knew the person, they did it with had a girlfriend.

The overwhelming feeling you had was shame, trying to figure out if there was a reason Namjoon hadn’t told people about your relationship. Was he embarrassed of you? Ashamed to admit that he was dating?

“I’ll go back now, and I’ll introduce you to everyone, as my girlfriend, if it will put your mind at ease. I don’t want to argue over this Y/N when nothing really happened. All I can do is apologise; can you at least accept that?”

“I can, but why didn’t you tell everyone?”

“I really don’t know.”

Finally, your eyes looked across at him, resting your head in your hands against the table. “Do you want to keep us a secret? Is that what this is about?”

“Absolutely not,” he quickly assured you. “You drive me crazy in the best possible way, I’d love to shout it from the rooftops how in love I am with you. It’s never been about keeping it a secret, it really just never came up in conversation, it would have seemed strange if I just randomly told her about you.”

���But it would have stopped her acting the way she does around you, so when your girlfriend finally came to visit you, she wouldn’t have to see her carry herself around you like she does?”

It was a lesson learnt for Namjoon; a mistake he knew he’d never make again. He hated how he’d made you feel and how inconsiderate he’d been towards your feelings, and whilst nothing could change what had happened, he just hoped he could make it up to you.

“All I want is you, yes, I get a lot of attention sometimes, and there might be thousands of females around me at times, but that doesn’t change the fact that you’re the one for me. You never have to feel jealous of anyone around me.”

“I don’t get jealous.”

“Y/N,” he giggled, “there’s only one way to describe the way you acted right now.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but words failed you, as your heart reminded you that you were most definitely jealous of her.

“I’ll continue to reassure your mind forever if I have to but trust me when I say there is nothing for you to worry about.”

“You promise?”

“Of course, I’m yours, forever.”

---

Masterlist

[spideyspeaches]

We always have been ↬ fem!p.p

A/N: AHHH I love genderbent Peter skjkjhjka and I’ve only seen @justme--emily​ write for her so far so I wrote one of my own 😤

Summary: It was not every day you crash into your ex boyfriend in a Stark Gala, was it? Your ex boyfriend you dumped right after your senior prom? It was probably her Parker luck striking, never a good sign, she learned that from experience. 

Warning: um cursing lol.

Pairing: female!Peter Parker x Harry Osborn

WC: 2k

When Mister Stark had asked her to attend one of those glorious charity galas, Penny had been elated, internally (and externally) jumping at the thought of wearing fancy gowns and walking past pretentious rich bureaucrats and business people.

She was practically lost in paradise when Miss Potts had accompanied her to shop for her dress, a beautiful blue and red full length gown, hugging her in her curves with a chinese collar neck and embroidered bust (very on brand of her). 

“Is your dress comfortable? Oh god I think I should have altered it myself, it’s not too tight right?” May fretted, fixing her hairdo and last minute make up she learnt from makeup hacks videos. Groaning, Penny nudged May by her shoulders, sitting her down on her twin bed, holding her aunt’s cheeks.

“May, the dress is comfortable! Miss Potts made sure that it was altered to my size okay? Now calm down, it’s just one night.” She smiled, folding her hands under her chest. Her dress was truly comfortable, and she looked undeniably good, she checked (she was a nerd, yes, but she wasn’t blind. Especially now that she had 20/20 long vision due to her spider powers.)

“You know how I feel about you going to fancy parties, baby.” May sighed, making her wince, “the last time you went to prom ended in a disaster. Both of them”

“I know May, but on the bright side, it gained me an actual paid internship. And Mister Stark and Miss Potts are going to be present the whole time!” She reassured, squeezing her aunt’s shoulders. In all honesty, she understood her anxiety, shuddering as she remembered her prom fighting Liz’s dad, and then breaking up with Harry, “besides, I have my spidery powers remember? I’m a big girl May, I can take care of myself.”

“I know you can sweetheart, god look at you all grown up, Ben would be so proud of how much you’ve grown, my little woman.” May sniffed, getting up to caress her head. She shook her head at her aunt’s emotional state, smiling as she bowed her head at the nickname. It was something Ben used to call her- little woman.

“Ben would be proud of you too May.” Penny said, willing her eyes to not water at the sudden rush of sentiment she felt at the mention of her deceased uncle.

“Now, shoo before I change my mind and keep you all to myself!” May laughed, fixing the non existent crease near her shoulders.

“Okay okay! I’m going May, jeez it’s like you and Mister Stark are holding a shared custody of me.” Penny snickered, scrambling to wear her uncomfortable heels, the ones that matched her dress.

“Maybe I am, but I get to be the primary guardian!”

Laughing, she gave her aunt a kiss to her cheek, doing a preliminary check of her cell phone and emergency bracelet, blowing her a kiss before walking into the car that was standing outside their apartment.

The car ride was silent, her stomach bubbling with nervousness and excitement. She was practically vibrating in her seat, glad that Tony had sent another driver instead of Happy- he would have teased her incessantly for being so nervous. She had grown close to Happy, the man growing fond of her as well, but he could be an embarrassing dad at times.

The gala was everything she had imagined, brightly lit in an overpriced hall, adorning overpriced decorations with people in overpriced clothes. 

“Hey Mister Stark! Thank you so much for inviting me!” She grinned, skipping towards her fath- mentor. 

“Hey Pen, wow don’t you look beautiful. A little too beautiful, beware of those good for nothing boys you hear me?” Tony smiled, hugging her, a protective hand on her shoulder. 

“Oh don’t mind Tony, hun, he’s only joking.” Pepper said, giving her a kiss on her cheek and doing a once over, just like May had. 

“I’m serious Pep, if those boys even tried anything, you call me okay? I’ll take care of them.” 

“Mister Stark, you can’t just threaten teenagers.” Penny giggled, looking at Pepper with a smirk.

“Barely a teenager kiddo, why did you grow up so fast?” He smiled, a fond look in his eyes.

“I’m nineteen Mister Stark, I think I can take care of those boys themselves.” 

“Hell yeah you can, that’s my girl.” 

Easy for her to say, because not long after that, Mister Stark and Pepper had abandoned her to talk to some prominent dealer about some… deals concerning Stark Industries, she didn't ask.

By the end of an hour, she was already bouncing on her heels, bored out of her mind. Even the Avengers could entertain her only so much, going back to their important work. And 

Penny was an awkward girl, always finding herself in situations she was unwilling to participate in, so socialising was out of question.

She remembered the one time she had accidentally spilled coffee all over Mister Stark’s touch sensitive keyboard, stuttering the whole time. He hadn’t even been mad, reassuring her that he had done that enough times before, hence the liquid resistant keypads. 

And then there was that one time the school nurse had called Tony when she was experiencing period induced fever. That was embarrassing, if not a little heartwarming to know that he cared about her enough to confront Pepper about menstrual problems. She was his daughter in everything but blood, he reminded her that every day, though not verbally.

There was also this one time she had been caught kissing MJ, but none of those were going to top what she was facing right now.

Literally.

“Penny! Penny Parker?” Harry’s chirpy voice rang in her ears, his footsteps sounding increasingly closer as she tried to hide her face behind her (non alcoholic) drink, frantically walking towards the vague figure of Mister Stark as fast as she could with her overly expensive stilettos.

It was not every day you crash into your ex boyfriend in a Stark Gala, was it? Your ex boyfriend you dumped right after your senior prom? It was probably her Parker luck striking, never a good sign, she learned that from experience. 

Finally standing near Mister Stark, she tried to stand next to him, ignoring the weird look he was giving her. Penny was petite, always has been small for her age, so she was glad Mister Stark could cover her with his side. Apparently he got her cue, as he shifted slightly to hide her from whomever’s view.

“What’s wrong Pen? Some pesky boy chasing you? Accidentally met your ex?” He joked, giving the old businessman in front of him a handshake and smirking at her with amusement. 

“Something like that.” She shrugged casually, snickering at Tony’s wide eyes. 

“Penny! Hey it’s me, Harry.” He said, nearly standing behind her. He was either incredibly stupid or incredibly brave, weaving his way through the crowd to stand right in front of her. He probably hadn’t noticed her clinging to Tony, which is why he came forward, a big goofy grin playing on his handsome face, sending her heart into a frenzy, his blue eyes shining under the gleaming lights. 

“Uh, h-hey Harry.” She grimaced, elongating his name with a chuckle. Shuffling forward, she ignored Tony’s raised eyebrows, opening her mouth to speak, but all she could look at was Harry Fucking Osborn standing in front of her, “Um, small world?” 

Her words sounded distant to her, heart heart a lump in her throat. She felt underprepared for these situations. Sure, they had broken off on a semi- good note, but it didn’t make whatever this was any less awkward. 

“Small world indeed.” He said, much softer than before, a solemn expression taking over his face, “It’s not every day you get to meet Penelope Parker in a Stark Gala. Heard of your internship by the way, I knew you were smart enough to get it.” 

“Oh, thanks about that. I guess you’re an unwilling guest here? Haven’t seen Mr. Osborn around.” She smiled shyly, shuffling on her feet.

“Yeah, kind of, I mean you know how he is.” He shrugged.

“How long have you two known each other?” Tony interrupts the two, watching in amusement as both his pseudo daughter and Norman’s son blush under his gaze, as if just noticing his presence.

“Uhm, Hi Mister Stark! B-big fan, hi oh my god Penny I’m standing in front of Tony Stark.” Harry stuttered, shaking Tony’s hand for a little too long.

Staring at him with confusion, he shook Harry's hand back, silently asking Penny the lingering question.

“He’s a bit of a fanboy.” She answered. 

Harry was still looking at Stark with his wonderstruck expression. 

“Well it’s always good to meet my fans, but you didn't answer my question, kid. How do you two know each other?” Tony said, smiling as politely as he could while his hand was still stuck in Harry’s grip. 

Realising that, he instantly let go, standing awkwardly as him and Penny said at the same time-

“I’m her ex boyfriend-”

“He’s my best friend.” 

His eyes widen, realising what he had just said.

“You guys dated? And when were you going to tell me about that Pen?” Tony asked, baffled at the thought of Penny dating a guy, and Osborn’s son of all people. 

“Well, you see, I was going to tell you soon, but then we broke up. You know? We haven’t talked since.” Penny said, the last sentence directed towards Harry. She was looking at him now, gritting her teeth.

“Well did you expect me to call you after you dumped me? During prom nonetheless? I was ashamed, Pen, I couldn’t do it.” Harry said, looking apologetic. It made her heart clench, inherent guilt building up in her tummy. It was her fault, technically. 

“Yeah but, Harry you were my best friend before my boyfriend, and I missed you okay? You could’ve at least called.” She defended. Tony was good at reading the room, so sensing a banter building, he quietly left the area, not wanting to witness the misunderstanding.

“I really missed you too Penny, I- I didn’t think I was good enough for you, gosh I really fucking love you.” He said, immediately stiffening. 

Even back when they were dating, they had never said the L word to each other, not even when they were best friends, and now? Well he had just made the air more thicker than before. 

“You- you what?” She asked, voice small as her heart jumped. She moved closer to him, holding her hands out, reaching to touch his shoulders. Her hands set on his silky tuxedo, she stroked her hands in a slow motion, dropping them immediately when she realised she was touching him.

“I really fucking love you Penny, even if you don’t want to get together, can we still be friends? Go back to our movie nights and lego sessions?” He asked, furrowing his brows as if to keep himself from crying. 

No words left her mouth, her breath hitched when he moved forward, chest stuttering. With a sudden confidence she didn’t know she had, she leapt forward, capturing his lips in hers. Their lips moved with a sync, his familiar ocean scented deo invading her nostrils, his soft skin against her. The world around her melded in a technicolour blob, the only thing she could focus was his heartbeat echoing in her ears.

“I really fucking love you too by the way.” She said, pulling away from the kiss. She vaguely spotted Miss Potts in her periphery, shaking her head with a smile as she held back Mister Stark.

“So, are we friends then?” 

“Harry?”

“Yeah?”

“We are more than friends, you dumbass. We always have been.” 

I’m a thirsty bitch, pwease give me feedback? 🥺🥺

[amjustagirl]

Chapters: one. ~ two. ~ three. ~ four. ~ five. ~ six. ~ seven. ~ eight.

Wordcount: 2.7k

Summary: Being with Miya Atsumu is like chasing a storm - equal parts exhilaration and danger. After all, it’s impossible to tame a storm.

Masterlist here

AO3 Link here

Playing volleyball in Milan is everything Atsumu dreamed of and more - the lights are brighter, the crowds are bigger, there are no distractions, no nagging to ignore, no pending errands to run - nothing to detract from the rush of exhilaration when he executes yet another perfect set. His teammates introduce him to the joy of soaking in the sunset over aperitivo by the Navigli canals, and he develops a liking for cheese and cured meat -  prosciutto, salami, bresola, sending pictures of the street markets to Osamu even though he receives no reply.  

But it’s not long before the novelty of living alone in a foreign land fades. He’s never been particularly good with languages, so he’s unable to get across the language barrier preventing him from socialising outside of his teammates. So Atsumu finds himself falling back into habits he learnt at home - buying take-out pizza on Friday nights from the pizzeria down the street, ordering extra because the pizza in Milan is thinner, crisper and infinitely less filling. There are no aquariums in Milan, no museums with dinosaur bones, so he measures his steps on cobblestone streets to the park every Sunday to sit on a bench too large for him alone, watching the birds and clouds in the sky. 

He tells himself to be content with watching his baby grow through the frame of an eleven inch screen, recording every one of her babbled words and chuckles onto his phone until it runs out of space and has to call Suna for technical support. He becomes a regular at the post office, mailing packages of dolls and nutcrackers, chocolates from his favourite sweetshop and handmade baby dresses from wizened oba-chan he learns to air kiss on both cheeks. 

‘Home, Oto-san?’ Shino asks during one of their calls. His voice breaks when he has to tell his baby ‘sorry, darlin’, not yet’. It’s the only time he opens up the webpage to check if he can book a flight back home. 

He starts rushing to the locker room right after matches end to avoid seeing his teammates’ faces light up when their families congratulate them with kisses and warm embraces after every match. When his teammates ask about his family (he drives away the thought that they’re asking out of pity), he whips out his phone to show them his favourite picture of Shino, her little face screwed up in confusion when they loaded her back with the giant mochi for her first birthday- ‘such a trooper, didn’t even cry when she fell down’ he tells them proudly. He’s quick to swipe past any photos of her. 

He doesn't need the memories, he really doesn’t.

Well - he might not  need  the memories, but it’s not as if they disappear. He wakes up to find himself on the other side of bed. ‘Sorry, darlin’ he mumbles sleepily (because he knows he tends to invade her space, and she’s likely to kick him bodily off the bed if he doesn’t apologise quickly enough) - before snapping awake with a thin sheen of cold sweat on his forehead remembering he’s five thousand, nine hundred and sixty miles from home. 

Not that he’s counting. He really isn’t.

He’s ashamed to admit that he heads to the club that night to pick up someone - anyone to warm his bed, but he’s not sure if it’s the burn of alcohol or the flashing lights (or that prick of something in his chest - it can’t be his conscience, he’s pretty sure only Osamu has that) because his stomach churns whenever pigs with their painted faces and false smiles approach him, and soon gives up, returning to his apartment cold and alone. He’s pretty sure it’s the alcohol because he pukes his guts out in the morning and swears off from ever going to a club again.

“MIYA !’ 

He only has time for a brief flash of shock between hearing his coach shout his name and feeling the impact of his teammate’s full weight against his shoulder that sends him sprawling across the floor. There’s a collective gasp from the crowd, but it’s not loud enough to drown out the sickening snap of bone ringing in his ears as he’s lying on the ground. 

The sharp burst of pain stabbing his shoulder is enough for him to know what the doctors later confirm - a shattered collarbone. Complete rest for at least eight weeks is prescribed for a full recovery. 

‘What were you thinking, Miya?’ his coach asks him exasperatedly when he’s discharged from the hospital. 

‘I goofed’, he replies lamely. ‘Sorry, sir’. 

It wouldn’t do to tell anyone that for a split second, he was distracted by the sight of a dark haired woman with bright eyes cheering at the top of the stands, a plump toddler balanced on her hip. 

It’s close enough to the end of the competition season that his coach figures it’d be better for him to just cut his stay in Milan short and return to Japan early to recover properly. So he lands in the Osaka airport amidst a haze of rain, arm tucked in a sling. The airport staff are kind enough to help him wheel his bags out to the arrivals gate where he’s surprised to find Osamu waiting with a bored expression on his face. 

‘I thought ya weren’t talkin’ to me’, Atsumu says.  

Osamu snorts, taking hold of his bags. ‘Mum made me come and get ya, since you're useless with that busted collarbone of yours.’ Then he turns on his heel and matter of factly adds as he walks off - ‘Besides, you’ll end up stayin’ with me anyway - it’s not like you have a home of yer own.’ 

Atsumu opens his mouth to retort but shuts it with a snap. 

‘You better hide in the kitchen if ya don’t have the guts to show yer ugly mug around her’, Osamu tells him at half past six in the evening, not even looking up from the tuna and spring onion onigiri he’s forming in his hands. 

But Atsumu doesn’t. He tells himself it’s because he can’t bring himself to leave Shino’s side for a second more than he has to, not when he’s still drinking in the sight of her grown so, so big in the span of just a few months. The little girl had been confused at first, when both he and Osamu turned up at the childcare centre to pick her up, but after several minutes of coaxing her to recognise which one of them was Oto-san and Oji-san (the hair colour probably helped) and the bribe of a very elaborate doll (probably the main reason), she’d warmed up to him and refused to let go of his hand. 

She pushes open the door to Onigiri Miya with a gentle smile on her face when Shino shrieks ‘Mama!’ at the top of her little lungs and rushes over to her, though it vanishes the instant she notices that it’s not Osamu playing with the little girl. He tries his best to ignore the stab of guilt in his chest when she takes an instinctive step back to yank Shino behind her legs. 

‘You’re back’, she finally says, glancing at his arm resting in its sling.   

‘Yeah…’ he responds, starting to sweat like he’s standing under the hottest stadium lights. ‘Ya look good’.

‘I know when you’re lying, Atsumu’, she sighs - and if he's being honest, she’s right. To the untrained eye, she looks perfectly put together, dressed in a pencil skirt and heels with her hair neatly tied back, but he knows her too well to be fooled. He can spot the pallor of her skin beneath her makeup, the droop of her shoulders, the downward tilt of her lips. But before he can formulate a response, she grabs Shino’s hand and turns to go, the little girl waving goodbye at him until they’re out of sight. 

‘Wow. That was awkward.’ Osamu quips from over the counter. Atsumu can’t even find it in him to respond.    

Osamu makes him work at his store in between his sessions of physiotherapy. ‘To keep ya out of trouble’ he says, and Atsumu doesn’t really mind, it still leaves him plenty of time to pick up Shino from childcare every day, and it certainly gives him the excuse to hang around Onigiri Miya when she stops by in the evenings. 

He tries to make conversation with her - ‘That’s a new dress you’re wearing’, but is always rebuffed - ‘I bought this old thing years ago’, to Osamu’s endless amusement. She’d always enter the store with a fond smile on her face for Osamu (it makes him want to puke), and would immediately drop it the moment she meets his eyes. 

He tells himself it’s normal, she used to be cold and standoffish to him before they started dating, that she’d come around after a while. But even when he tries a different tack (perhaps compliments don’t work on her like they used to before), asking her ‘how’s yer day’, she shoots him a look of distrust that cuts right through his smile - ‘Just tell me what you want, Atsumu. You’ve never bothered asking me that before’. 

Osamu actually roars with laughter at that. Traitor. 

‘Need help with that?’ Osamu comments after watching Atsumu struggle to reach the exercise tape on his back with his one good hand, stepping in after Atsumu gives a reluctant nod. But he immediately yelps in pain when Osamu decides to abandon all pretense of being gentle and yanks on the exercise tape viciously.

‘Just take off my skin while you're at it, why don't ya’ Atsumu whines. ‘It never used to hurt that much when  she  would help me after physiotherapy’. 

‘She’s always been nicer to ya than ya deserve, fuckin’ scrub’. Osamu retorts, pulling at the remaining tape with increased vigour. 

Atsumu bites his tongue through the pain, picking apart his brother’s words before replying - ‘Hey ‘Samu. She’s still really mad with me, isn’t she? D'you think she’ll ever forgive me?’ 

‘Have ya tried apologising to her, for starters?’ 

‘What?’ Atsumu asks, bewildered, before yelping - 'Wait - ouch!! What the hell that bloody hurt!?!?!' 

‘You know - saying sorry? Owning up to your mistakes? Asking for forgiveness? You abandoned your wife and child for months - but I suppose that concept must be alien to you, shit stain.’ 

Osamu doesn’t give him a chance to respond, shaking his head as he walks away. 

His pride is an ugly, misshapen lump in his throat that's so inflamed it's almost impossible to be swallowed, but he does so anyway, asking her if they can speak for a short while in the alley behind the shop, away from Osamu’s eavesdropping ears. She furrows her brows at his request, but follows him out without complaint. 

It’s only when she’s standing before him in the dimly lit alleyway, the dying light of the setting sun reflecting a halo above her head that it hits him like a blow to the back of his head that he’s a fuckin’ idiot - how did he manage to convince himself to blame her for trying to get in his way of chasing his dreams. This is what he missed when he was living alone in his cold studio apartment in Milan - being able to return after trainings and matches to a cosy flat overflowing with her cheeky banter and his baby’s laughter. 

Gods, he wants his family. He wants to come home. 

But before he can pour out the apology he’d been preparing with Osamu’s help, she interrupts him by slapping a brown envelope into his chest. 

‘Look, I’m not sure what you have to say to me, but frankly, I’m not sure we have much to say to each other anymore,’ she tells him impatiently, as he opens the envelope, a tidal surge of dread overwhelming him. 

‘What's this’, he says blankly, even though the title on the very first page of the stack of papers trembling in his hands sets it out clearly -  Rikon-Todoke. i.e. Divorce papers. 

It spells out in clinical, cold words the terms of the proposed separation - dissolution of marriage by mutual consent, no request for alimony or compensation, legal custody to be granted to her with ample visitation rights for him. He would think it fair, if it were to apply to anyone but him.  

‘But why?’ he rasps, chest burning from the knife that pierces him right through his heart. 

She shifts forward, and the neon lights from the buildings surrounding them melding together to throw her face into sharp focus, her mouth curving upwards into something much harsher than a smile. It’s as if his departure acted as a whetstone, sharpening her edges, shaping her into a woman with hard eyes he can’t recognise. 

‘You and both know it’s been a long time coming, hasn’t it Atsumu? You’ve made it quite clear that this marriage isn’t what you want out of life. In any case neither of us have really been happy even before you left, so we might as well be free from each other.’ 

At this, he shakes his head, parting his lips to object but she continues ruthlessly, her words slicing past his tissue thin excuses. 

‘If anything, my time with you has taught me that it's impossible to stop the storm from destroying everything in its path. You can only try your best to outrun it, and  this' - ’ she stabs a finger at the stack of papers shaking in his hands -  ‘this is my attempt at outrunning you.’

It feels as if his world has somehow shifted, tilted upside down, turned inside out, his assumption that her taking him back would be an inevitable conclusion now disproven by the papers burning in his hands. He knows he’s hurt her beyond measure, but he never thought that his choice to chase what he thought were his dreams would leave him without the ground beneath his feet. 

‘You don’t need to do anything else - just sign it and give it back to me soon. I think it’s better for all of us - you, me and Shino, if we divorce formally and lead our own separate lives’, he hears her say, turning to go. 

Acting on instinct, his hand shoots out to grab her wrist and she flinches, the steel in her eyes crumbling to leave only frozen terror behind. 

I could never hurt you, he wants to say, but doesn't - because he knows it's a lie. 

Numbly, he releases his grip, letting his hand drop to his side. 

He hears the door close behind him. 

Osamu finds him hours later, crouched on the back steps to the shop, papers clenched in his hands. He takes the papers from him and mouths to himself while scanning through it, but there is no spark of surprise in his eyes. 

‘Did ya know she planned on divorcing me, ‘Samu?’, Atsumu asks, swiping his eyes with the back of his hand. 

‘I had a pretty good guess it was coming’, Osamu replies heavily. 

‘Fuck’, Atsumu groans, dropping his head between his legs. 

Osamu prods his side with the tip of his shoe. ‘It’s not that I want to kick a guy when he’s down, but she's your wife, not a toy you can toss aside and come back to after a few months, shit for brains. And if I’m being honest, it looks like you’re acting like a brat who only wants his toy back when someone else picks it up’.

Osamu’s response lights a fire in his chest, and he whirls to his feet, grabbing his twin by the front of his apron growling - ‘Whose side are ya on anyway?!’ 

Osamu looks at him calmly, uncharacteristically refusing to take his bait. ‘Well, it's not as if ya don't deserve it. You walked out on her and Shino for almost a year, Atsumu. I’ve been the one cleaning up yer mess like I’ve been doing my whole life - I’ve been the one picking Shino up from childcare, I had to accompany yer wife to the hospital when yer kid was down with a high fever - d'you still have to ask whose side I’m on?’

‘D'you love her, ‘Samu?’ Atsumu asks after a pause. 

The twins stare at each other. 

‘I love her like a sister, you asshole. And I hate that it’s my own brother causing her pain.’ Osamu eventually says, pushing him away.  

The door slams behind him again.  

The dark clouds above him rumble ominously. It starts to pour. 

[wizkiddx]

i saw that you at least used to write for harry could u do another? like maybe im just a basic bitch but 'only one bed' trope or sm

Summary: honestly just me shitty attempt at the only one bed thing ahah with Harry Holland x reader

no warnings I don’t think apart from my ramabling :)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

God you were groggy. It had been a long 16 hour flight and you were well and truly completely over this day. Once you’d had some proper sleep, no doubt you will be beyond excited to explore the forest and beaches of this remote island in Indonesia. You were certain it was beautiful, even if you’d arrived in the dead of night so you couldn’t see any of the majesty yet. It was one of the joys of being Tom’s makeup artist - travelling the world and being paid for it? A literal dream. 

Except maybe the previous 24 hours. The Holland name carried a lot of weight in the world, but not enough to control typhoons across the tropics - there were some limitations to his power. And yes first class lounges were nice but none had beds to crash on during the 6 hour weather delay. The four of you (Tom, Harry, Andrew and yourself)  ended up camping out in a out-the-way corner. Tom got the long sofa; Andrew in one of those weird egg line chairs; you and Harry splayed on the floor. Why you’d had to get up at 4 am to catch a flight that was now not departing till 12 hours later actually hurt to think about - especially because you’d all gone out for a meal the night before that had inevitable went a lot later than planned. 

Two connecting flights with a very angry baby later, the four of you were checking in to the only hotel on the island - which was now almost exclusively filled with the production team for Tom’s newest movie. It wasn’t especially big-budget with massive million pound overheads, instead a smaller scale indie film (that you privately thought might earn Tom a number of accolades). But yeh, shooting on an island that received almost no tourism meant everything was different to the usual. None more so than for Tom and his team (including you) who he normally would look after very well, with the nicest hotel rooms or rental homes. 

The hotel was basic, you’d known that before you arrived but seeing is believing is it not? Most entertaining though, was seeing Tom’s face. Andrew was a well travelled older guy, he had stayed in some shitholes in his life. Equally you and Harry had both travelled when you were younger (you through inter railing and him in australia), so had stayed in hostels before. But for Hollywood star Tom Holland? The way he tilted his head to the side as if to say ‘really this place?’ did lift your spirits momentarily. 

Andrew had got his key first, bidding you all good night with a grunt, then Tom - who still seemed confused as to the whole arrangements. It left you and Harry at the small dingy reception, the warm glow of an old lantern-esque light fixing illuminating the place. The guy behind the desk was a smiley local and greeted you warmly, if incorrectly.

“Ah and finally the couple I see!” He spoke with a thick accent but still very clear English which had you questioning if this was just a translational error. Harry looked at you instantly, his eyes wide which made you scoff - him joining in, shaking his unruly curly mop emphatically.

“No no we um… we aren’t together.” All the while Harry pointed between the two of you, communicating through actions rather than just the language, given that you were both the very typical Brits abroad who hadn’t learnt the language of the place they were visiting. 

“Still under Holland name?” The guy asked in a perplexed manner, flicking through a book filled with cursive scribbles and scanning to see if he’d made a mistake. He checked one, then looked up nervously before checking the same page once again- you saw where this was going. ”We, we only have couples room down for you though? 3 double rooms is the booking for Holland.” 

It was late, you both stunk of a combination of plane and BO, you both just wanted your individual and respective beds. 

“Well can we get another room then?” Harry didn’t quite snap but there was still an impatientcy to his voice, which came out whenever he was a little agitated. Seeing the slightly worried look the mans eyes, you leaned onto the desk with a genuine smile. 

“Sorry we know its last minute and its not your fault, we’ve just had a really long flight.”

“I am terribly sorry miss but we are only small hotel and Hollywood has filled us up. I have no other rooms. I am truly sorry sir, ma’am.” The guy went from looking worried to terrified as Harrys jaw tensed up, you naturally squeezed his arm to try and ground him, instantly deciding that you’d just work it out. 

“No no it’s not your fault, don’t worry we’ll figure it out. Can I just get the key?”

Harry stepped back and let youtakeover proceedings, signing all the insurance documents etc and asking the man about the breakfast arrangements and such, though you saw him furiously typing on his phone and by the buzzing in your pocket- presumed he was messaging the group of you Tom, Andrew and himself. 

Once finished the guy pointed you on your way, up two flights of stairs and down a hall. The whole time Harry was muttering about how useless the other two were for not replying and also for making the wrong booking in the first place. If only you hadn’t been the last two to checkin, then it would’ve been someone else’s problem.

He felt especially guilty just because you were the only girl-  he didn’t want you to feel uncomfortable, hence why he was trying to locate his brother so they could share tonight till they got it figured out. The tension, combined with sleep deprivation, was palpable as you both walked in silence toward the room - Harry was trying to formulate a plan in his head as they did so. And honestly? You just couldn’t be bothered to deal with it. So, once you reached the door 57 holding the physical key (old school, rather than a key card) you just decided to address it. 

“Will you chill please?” 

“Well if my idiot broth-“

“Oh leave him be for god sake. If you’re okay with it I really don’t mind sharing with you tonight?” Not bothering to laugh at his slightly shocked expression with mouth hanging a little open, you fiddled with the key until the lock clicked open. From the entrance you had a pretty clear view of the whole room and… well, lets just say dated would be a fair expression - when compared to what you were used to? The floor was tiled and the bed was a small double, with some funky and slightly washed out prints of blue and red on the cover. The pillows looked a little limp, more like glorified pieces of cardboard than anything fluffy and comfortable. The walls were that yellowy magnolia shade that everyone in the UK had gone insane for in the 80s and there was an old school wooden wardrobe in the corner. 

Home for 5 weeks. 

With a shrug of your shoulders you entered, dumping your personal and work suitcases by the far wall carelessly - the higher priority action being to collapse on the bed. Doing so with an overdramatic huff, you let your eyes close but payed special attention to the delayed footsteps of Harry as he entered, then the slight creaking noise as he perched on the other side of the bed - no doubt looking at you, at least slightly fearfully. 

The relationship between you and Harry was complex to say the least. Well no… it should be, not on the face of it. You had met through work and made friends. And you wished it was that simple but alas, nothing ever really is. When you’d first worked with Tom you were in the tail end of a relationship you had long since forgotten about - literally meaningless, not worth the time and effort you’d put into it. From the start you’d had a feeling Harry was more interested in you than the average co-worker (even if your job and therefore co-workers were anything but normal and average) but you were in a relationship so nothing ever came. 

Then almost as if synchronised, just as you got out your relationship, Harry threw himself in the deep end with a girl he’d met through his family friends. Then the roles were somewhat reversed, you now spent a good chunk of your day just entertaining yourself with thoughts of the curly headed, slightly awkward, very-passionate-about-tea-making Holland. The cliche is so real - your always want what you cannot have. 

However, a couple months ago his relationship had fizzled and faded away leaving both of you in a sort of no mans land. The sort of not wanting to ruin the friendship situation. The subject was never broached by either you - except you assumed he was being tormented in a similar way to how you were by his big brother and Andrew. Never publicly, yet whenever you found yourself alone in a room with one of them (being Tom’s makeup artist that happened often enough) there would always be a sly dig. The chemistry was  so ‘obvious even a blind man could see it’. Somehow though, weeks of this and your were still stuck. Stuck in the middle. 

“You sure you’re alright with this?” His voice was gruffer and hoarser from the long journey but you could hear the self-consciousness and naivety in his tone, without having to peel your eyes open and look at his face. 

“I know your not a murder and plus, we shared the airport floor this morning… this is pretty much the same.” He hummed in acknowledgement so you carried on “and plus your pint sized.” That earned you a playful shove in the side as you sniggered, before pulling yourself up so you we now sitting next to him, legs hanging off the edge of the bed. His brown eyes searched deeply into yours, as if physically checking for any hint of regret or hesitation. “Don’t even dare offering to go on the floor.” 

“Okay okay okay!” Holding his hands up in surrender, you both laughed, breaking the peace of the late night of the remote Indonesian island. Once an impressive yawn interrupted you though, Harry proclaimed it was time for bed and shooed you into the bathroom to get changed and sorted. 

Honestly you were too tired and lazy to dig out your cleanser and skin stuff, instead opting to just splash a bit of water on your face before swapping into your pj shorts and an old tattered oversized tee. Once done you and Harry swapped, him coming out a couple minutes later in basketball shorts and a black loose fitting tee. 

It wasn’t awkward so to speak, more a sort of excited-tense atmosphere, which there was no doubt Harry was mainly responsible. The boy was jittery and on edge, which to put simply, you didn’t have the energy to reciprocate. 

With a quiet wish of goodnight to each other, Harry flicked off the bedside lamp and you both rolled to your respective edges of the bed, a large space of no mans land between you. In the middle. You know the first time you share a room with someone and you overthink everything? When you don’t want to move about or fidget too much in case it disturbs the other? When your listening intently to their breathing, in the hope it’ll even out and only then will you feel able to fall asleep yourself? 

Well it doesn’t work when both of you are doing it. When both of you are professional over thinkers. 

God knows how long it took till you gave up, favouring sleep over your worries and concerns. So you flipped over, no doubt rocking the whole bed, turning to face his back that was still huddled almost teetering off the edge of the bed. The only light within the whole room was that coming under the actually scarily large gap between the floor and the door to the hallway. It was just enough to see the back of Harry’s curls and you must’ve fallen asleep trying to trace all the torturous and windy routes of the strands.

///////////

In the morning the process of waking up didn’t come easy to you as normal for many reasons; the long day prior; the jet lag; the weird surroundings. So you stayed in this sort of blissful haze for probably longer than you should. Half aware but not really; half asleep but not quite. In the middle  of sleep and alertness. Therefore it took you longer than it should have to notice the extra weight on the dip of your waist. Not anything alarming, just a presence you were absolutely not used to. It was only when you shifted a bit to lie further on your back, that enough of a stimulus from the added pressure made you actually open your eyes blearily. And sure enough, a limp hand looked to have casually and unconsciously been thrown over your side. 

As if in slow motion, you traced the arm backwards - first with your eyes, but then having to twist your neck too. Only then could you fully see the browny ginger haired boy who was lowkey spooning you? It was certainly a way to fully wake you up, breath halted to a stand still in your lungs, in fear of disturbing him and having to confront what would almost certainly be an awkward situation. 

There was still a safe hands width distance between the two of you except for the rogue arm. Harry’s head was placed to the edge of his pillow, mouth slightly parted as his breathing slightly tickled the wispy hairs on the back of your neck. He looked so peaceful and calm - a difference to the normal Harry who, even on a good day, took great pleasure in meticulously picking things apart and being a bit cynical. It was part of his ‘charm’; but seeing him like this was a type of vulnerability he rarely chose to show. 

To be fair he was asleep, he dint realise he was exposing himself in this way.

Finding yourself a little transfixed (a bit creepy but hey) on the natural curves and definition of his face, you ever so carefully rolled over in the bed to face him. It stopped you from craning your neck and gave the sleepy boy a slight nudge, making him tense his arm a little more tightly round you. 

He settled quickly though, giving you ample opportunity to just observe what was going on . Both right in front of you… and what the hell was going on in your head. Because to be honest it was an overwhelming amount of emotion thoughts for the early morning. 

Somehow you must’ve eventually drifted off once again because the next thing you were aware of was a shuffling from immediately next to you. This time though, you were instantly aware of exactly the situation you found yourself in and chose to keep up the pretence of sleep - a little interested in how Harry would play it. 

You heard a small gasp, having to suppress a chuckle at what you imagined Harry’s sleepy and panicked face looked like. That lasted a couple of moments, before you felt him painstakingly slowly peel his hand from your waist and if you were being 100% honest… you heart sort of sank. 

What you had been expecting?- you don’t know and really there was really no reason to be disappointed. Yet, you still felt this deflated and disappointed feeling, hit your chest especially hard. Perhaps it was because of your focus on that emptyness that you forgot you were supposed to be pretending to be asleep./.

Because when he had delicately brushed the side of your face to tuck a rogue bit of hair behind your ear - your eyes flickered open.  Like a rabbit caught in headlights, Harry froze, his hand still hovering over your jaw. Equally, you didn’t know what to do. Because really… do friends tuck hair behind the others ears? And do friends look at each other with this matched expression of confusion and fear? 

It took a painfully long time (though in reality was probably only a matter of seconds) before the boy retracted his hand, suddenly sitting up from his reclined position down at you. Mirroring his actions, you both ended up sitting, facing the opposite wall, bodies closer than they needed to be in the double bed. Both still very much in the middle. 

“I er-“

“-No no don’t… was nice of you” He had been about to apologise which you didn’t want to hear. You didn’t want to hear ‘ I didn’t mean it’ - you wanted him to mean it. In response Harry nodded jerkily, and from your peripheries, noticed he was searching your face for any sign of emotion.

“Still can’t believe this all happened… I-I didn’t disturb you too much did I?” He sounded really nervous. You were never like this with each other. So static and forced. 

“No no… I slept really good actually.” Your register was quieter, waiting till you’d finished speaking before looking over at him with a self conscious smile. 

“Ah I’m glad… I um-I did too.” The silence returned and the atmosphere just felt sharp. It felt like you were quite literally walking either side of a knife edge. It made you chew on your bottom lip, playing with the slightly frayed edges of the vintage quilt. 

“Y/n- I look…” He’d bolted upright and voice was more raised than normal for the morning. “This is gonna sound so fucking weird, especially cos we’re literally in the same bed but... but I was thinking we could maybe go on a hike or something together?” What he seemed to be suggesting didn’t match the level of panic that was conveyed in his body language which confused you. And what the bed had to do with it… was yet to make sense in your head. 

“I think Andrew said we’re getting some tour of island this afternoon so-“

“ I kinda meant just you and me.” 

The penny dropped and it had you focusing all energy on processing what was happening - understandably causing Harry to only worry more with the lack of response. “I’m sorry if I’ve ruined ever-“

“No I-I….I’d really like that too.”

“Oh er… well… really?” The sheer shock made you giggle, feeling the two of you sliding back into the normal dynamic.

“Normally a boy has to buy me a drink before he gets in my bed but….” A mischevious smirk that spread across your lips gave Harry the final confirmation that just maybe you were interested too, making him scoff and quietly chuckle.

It was odd; mainly because this was the two of you being incredibly vulnerable and honest with each other - something that you hadn’t allowed yourself to be for fear of messing things up. And then one lazy morning, both with morning breath and slightly puffy eyes, it changed. For the first time when you looked at him, he really saw - and vice versa. You were still in the middle of something, yet it was completely different. 

This time you were in the middle together figuratively as well as literally. In the middle of the bed, closer than you needed to be, but not wanting to retreat - while you both just looked shyly and bashfully at each… Eventually you lips hesitantly met in the middle. 

[xwing-baby]

Impulse: Remedy (Javier Peña x Reader)

Summary: Top of your class, the DEA have sent you to Colombia to be the poster child for their new ‘placement program’. You’re thrown in at the deep end into the drug war. With Agent Peña as your mentor, what could possibly go wrong?

Warnings: Rookie has really terrible coping mechanisms. Drug use, alcohol, swearing, derogatory language, smoking, mentions of murder(?)

Word Count: 3.5k

A/N: Sorry for the delay lads, for some reason this chapter did not want to be written! As always don’t sleep with your boss and don’t do drugs unless their prescription :P

<-- Previous Chapter  // Masterlist //  Next Chapter -->

-- 

You were exhausted. You hadn’t slept for more than an hour after leaving Javier’s apartment. Not for lack of trying, you thought your previous activities would have worn you out. But no. You were too scared to sleep, not wanting to deal with any nightmares that might occur so you sat on your dusty old couch, drank a vat of coffee and waited until the rest of the city woke up. 

You cursed under your breath when you saw Steve’s truck had already gone by the time you got downstairs. It was Connie’s volunteering day at the hospital, he always took her early. You had to go with Javi. You sat on the wall outside the apartment, smoking a cigarette and waiting for Javier to come outside. You had no idea what you were supposed to say to him, how were you supposed to act. You couldn’t really pretend like nothing had happened, sleeping with him like that was not something you could brush under the rug. But you didn’t want to talk to him about it, that would make it real. A real action with real consequences. If anyone found out that would be the end of your time here, and quite possibly the end of your time in the DEA entirely. 

Eventually Javier came outside, spotted you on the wall and waved. You got up, chucked the packet of cigarettes in your hand to him before you stubbed out your own and got into the truck. 

“So, do you want to talk about last night?” He asked as he lit a new cigarette.

“Not particularly. There isn’t really much to say is there?” 

“Not really,” He shrugged, “You’re not in love with me now, right?” 

“In your fucking dreams Peña. You weren’t that good,” You laughed at his audacity. You were lying, he was very good at it. But you weren’t in love with him. No, you couldn’t allow yourself even if you were. 

“You bitch,” He tried to be serious but your laugh was contagious. 

Javi immediately felt relieved, he’d spent all night worrying about you. He really didn’t want the sex to ruin everything you had going as a team. He was a little scared he had scared you off entirely but now you were laughing in his passenger seat as if nothing had ever happened all his worries were laid to rest. 

“It happened and that’s it. We don’t need to make it a thing,” You said.

“Agreed,” 

“Awesome, let’s go to work then,” 

And just like that, it was like nothing had ever happened. Back to piles of paperwork, chasing up lazy cops for their reports and trying desperately to avoid Carrillo. It was going to take time to get over what you had seen him do. You didn’t want to see him, let alone be left alone with him. You’d pushed all responsibility for anything related to him onto Javier, who in return passed you more of his paperwork. It was a fair trade off. 

At your desk, hummin away to yourself you could almost convince yourself you were fine. Thanks to the never ending cup of coffee and the sugar doughnuts you found for lunch, your energy levels were back up high. All reminders of the night before were out of sight and you were so consumed in work you didn’t notice as the day came to a close. 

“Good night last night?” Steve asked across the desk.

“Huh?” You looked up from your work. Steve motioned to his neck, and you immediately cringed. You had forgotten about the hickey. “Oh, um yeah I guess,” You pulled your jacket back on, despite the heat, as the collar would cover the mark again. 

“I thought you and Peña were out in the jungle for that lead. You would have got back super late,” Steve said. 

“Everyone’s got their vices, Murphy,” Javier reappeared, jumping to your aid. Steve looked suspiciously between you and Javi. 

“Guess you two are becoming more similar by the day,” He chuckled to himself, shaking any ideas from his mind. 

“Guess so,” You agreed. You and Javi shared a glance while Steve looked away, both of you well aware of the shit storm that would kick up if Steve found out. He loved you and Javi a lot, but there is no way he would just skip over such an event. You flashed a smile, silently thanking Javi for stepping in for you, before he went back to work again. 

To avoid any further questioning, you kept your jacket on for the remainder of the day, rather enduring the heat and cursing Javier for leaving a mark, than having anymore prying questions from Steve. When you finally gave up struggling with your mountain of paperwork, Steve offered you a ride home which you took gladly.

“You and Javi slept together last night, huh?” Steve asked as you rolled out of the embassy. Startled, you immediately went on the defense and laughed.

“Wh-what no!” You spluttered.

“I’m not an idiot, Rookie,” Steve raised an eyebrow at you. You didn’t know what to say, so shook your head and shrugged, “So Javi was talking out of his ass earlier?” He said. Your stomach immediately dropped. 

“Who’s he been talking to?” All laughter was gone from your voice. If Javi had said something that was it. Why on earth would he say anything? 

“So something did happen?” Steve exclaimed, happy that his hunch was right.

“Steve,” You sighed heavily. Relieved for only a moment before more dread piled on. 

“I can’t believe you two,” He said shaking his head, “I mean I was kind of expecting it with Javi’s reputation but I thought you had some standards at least,” 

“You weren’t there, you don’t get it. It wasn’t anything meaningful just- things happen sometimes,” You sighed, “Did he actually say anything to you?” 

“No,” He spoke more sympathetically now, “but I figured something was up, you’ve been acting weird all morning,” 

“That’s more to do with the lack of sleep,” You explained, “Yesterday got a bit… dark. I don’t think I slept at all,” 

“Carrillo?” Steve asked. You nodded solemnly, “You’ll get used to it,” 

You didn’t get used to it. That night haunted you. You couldn’t sleep, every time you shut your eyes the tortured man's face stared back at you. You were practically intolerable come the end of the week. You’d fallen asleep at your desk on multiple occasions, snapped at everyone in the office, and drank enough coffee to fill an Olympic swimming pool. You made a secretary cry by snapping at her over some missing evidence and, had broken the phone on your desk. 

As bad as your week had ended up being you still had to go out at the end of it. Instead of curling up with a movie and takeout you had to attend María’s family’s party. You didn’t know why you were invited but you definitely couldn’t back out of it. You’d hoped by now you would have cheered up, that you would be excited to let loose but you were miserable.

The party itself was gorgeous. Set out in the countryside, an hour from Medellin, the hills made for a beautiful backdrop. The Parreño’s summer house was exactly as you had expected, lavish and decadent. Courtyards filled with marble statues and paintings by various famous artists covered the walls. Lights were strung up around the garden between the pool house and a gazebo creating a colourful glow out onto the golden sky. 

The air was full of conversation and music. Even though you were surrounded by people who would kill you if they found out who you really were, somehow with a drink in your hand you felt a little more relaxed. María had leant you a dress, a simple little black number, and fixed your makeup in the car ride here while excitedly telling you about her cousin from Argentina she was going to set you up with. You were at the very least, on the way to being happy. 

María dragged you around introducing you to so many people you couldn’t remember their names. You gave up trying after ten different people María introduced as her auntie. You smiled and politely complimented their outfit or their hair and moved on. That was until you finally recognised someone. Senator Parreño, a regular face in your life. You prayed he wouldn’t recognise you, you had only met him once, sitting in the back of the ambassador's office while they spoke about something. Like most people, he ignored you that day and hopefully he wouldn’t have a clue now.

“Dad this is my friend, Isabela,” María introduced you. You were taken back for a moment. You knew her family was rich, but a senator for a father made them powerful too. Far more influence and scandal with their new link to Escobar too. 

“Nice to meet you,” You smiled and shook his hand. The senator looked puzzled.

“Do I know you from somewhere?” He asked. Your heart skipped a beat. 

“Oh stop it Dad I talk about her all the time, she’s been to our house a lot,”

“No, no it’s from somewhere else,” He squinted at you, looking you up and down. You could feel yourself sweating as you nervously took a big gulp of the cocktail in your hand.

“Isabela works at the American embassy papa, maybe you’ve just seen her there,” María said.

“I am a secretary,” You added quickly, “Usually running around the place, you probably saw me then,” You laughed nervously. Outwardly, you knew you looked normal but inside you were panicking massively.

“Ah I see,” He nodded, not entirely convinced. Luckily before he could interrogate you further or work out who you actually were, María linked arms with you and pulled your attention away.

“Come on, I just spotted Carlos. You will love him,” 

--

Three things you had learnt about Carlos. One, he could and should be in a magazine. He was stunningly handsome in a shirt with far too many buttons undone you were practically drooling over him. Two, he was smart. An engineer. A very upstanding career especially compared to the occupation of most of the people at the party. And three, he really liked cocaine. That part did let him down quite a bit.

Hidden away from the prying eyes of parents and older generations, María, Diego, Carlos and multiple others you did not remember the names of, sat around listening to Carlos rave about the new recipe his friend had told him about. You listened carefully, if your hangover didn’t delete this information in the morning it would be great. Could finally have something to show for your weeks with María. 

Carlos pulled out a pack of the new cocaine and poured out a good pile. You watched them all take a line. Part of you was interested in seeing what it was like. It must be good if everyone was so addicted to the stuff. You handled some much of the powder on a daily basis but you’d never even tried it. Seemed almost ridiculous. Maybe it was what you needed to finally relax a little, the alcohol wasn’t hitting the spot. One line wouldn’t kill you.

“Want some?” María offered, wiping her nose of residue. You shook your head. 

“I’m going to the bathroom,” You announced, standing up from your seat on the couch. You climbed over María out of the circle of people. You could use their distraction to your advantage now. Now María wasn’t holding on to you you could actually go and investigate. Now with two Narcos connected attendees at least and the revelation that Senator Parreño was María’s father, any information you could find giving a definite link would be huge. 

“Don’t be a pussy Isabela!” Diego hollered. 

“Oh leave her alone, she’s only going for a moment,” María shoved her boyfriend playfully, “She’ll do it later,” 

“Pacing myself,” You agreed with a smile. 

“Miss you already!” María called after you before dissolving into fits of giggles.

Inside, the house was quiet. Only a couple of people sat in the living room downstairs and they paid no attention to you as you walked inside. 

You walked up a set of elegant marble stairs, deciding upstairs may be your best option so not to get caught. Two long corridors led off the stairs, with doors leading off each side. You were looking for an office, that would be the place any paperwork would be kept. You would need letters, or meeting schedules. Something to prove a link. 

You turned left, and hit the jackpot with the first try. Senator Parreño’s home office.You pushed the door open slowly, checking nobody had followed you before going inside. The office was immaculate, just as grand as the rest of the house. A large portrait of Maria’s family hung over the back of the desk, all of their eyes watching you as you searched through the room. 

The room was full of things. One wall taken up by a set of shelves full of books and photographs and different trinkets of different sides. A leather couch sat in the window overlooking the gardens. 

You came to the desk last. The top was clear of anything bar a photo of his wife, a line of pens and a rolodex. You flicked through it, found nothing of interest. 

You stood up to find something you could use to pick the locks when you heard heavy footsteps from outside the door. You stood still for a moment, hoping to hear the footsteps go in the opposite direction down the hall. They got closer. 

Before you were caught red handed, you made your escape. Racing to the door, you hoped you would have enough time to slip out without being caught. Quietly as possible, you opened the door.

“Isabela,” María’s father’s voice came from behind you as you shut the door. You turned around quickly, smiling innocently.

“Hi Mr Parreño!” You exclaimed, “Do you know where the bathroom is? I can’t find it?” 

“It’s not in there,” He looked at your hand on the door, which you quickly removed and stepped away from.

“You’re house is just huge. I can’t ever seem to remember where I am going here,” You laughed nervously, “I’ll try down the hall,” You turned around and began to walk away, your 

“I’d learn to be more careful, Agent,” The senator said after you. Your heart stopped. Slowly, you turned back around to face him again, “I guess you are here for my daughter’s stupid boyfriend?” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” You said slowly, your mouth slow to catch up with your brain which was already working out the multiple ways to get out of the house safely. 

“You can quit your act, I won’t say anything,” He laughed dryly. 

“No act,” You shook your head, “I didn’t lie, I really don’t know what you are talking about. I am not here investigating Diego. María invited me” 

“I remembered where I saw you. You were with those DEA agents,” 

“I work with them sometimes, we’re friends,” You shrugged. 

“You’ve got an answer for everything, don’t you?” He was on to you

“I’m sorry but I really do need the bathroom, if you could direct me there that would be great. I’ve had far too much to drink,” 

“Down there, fourth on the right,” 

“Thank you,” You walked away quickly, heart thumping against your ribcage at an alarming rate. He knew who you were! He knew exactly who you were! 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” You cursed under your breath. 

You quickly spiralled, thinking off all the worst possible things that could happen now. Parreño would tell someone else who you were, maybe he would do something now. You were alone, neither Peña or Murphy knew where you were, out in the middle of nowhere it would be pretty simple to get rid of your body. You didn’t even find any evidence, you reasoned with yourself and he wouldn’t want any suspicion to his name. He probably wouldn’t kill you. 

Taking another deep breath as you tried to calm your rattling heart. Your hands gripped the cold porcelain of the sink and slowly you relaxed again. You couldn’t go back out looking like you were scared, that would give you up entirely. You looked at your face in the mirror, at least outwardly you didn’t look too bad. Your makeup had shifted a little but you still looked ok. You were fine. 

After another round of deep breaths and a pep talk to yourself, you stepped out of the bathroom and put a game face on. 

“Isabela! You’re back!” María exclaimed as you returned to the group. “Are you okay?” 

“Yeah,” Your voice was not convincing as you watched the senator walk past. He looked at your briefly, a knowing glint in his eye as he clocked you. “Can I have some?” You nodded to the coke on the table as an impulsive and reckless idea came into your head. There was no way he could continue to think you were DEA if you did this. Either that or he would just think you were an idiot and not press you again. 

“Finally you stop being a complete baby! Come here!” María cheered. 

You stood up and stepped over to where María was knelt. You joined her on the floor, watching carefully as she lined the powder up with a card from the table. She presented it to you with a flourish, laughing again. 

Surprisingly, you were not scared. The adrenaline of the close call was pacing through your veins. Your mind was so full of fear and anxiety, the idea of finally getting some relief was enticing.

You felt calm, no anxiety in your body holding you back anymore you took the drug from the table. You made a face of discomfort and spluttered a bit when it hit the back of your throat. The people around you laughed, but you didn’t feel embarrassed. It took a moment, but soon you felt the effects. All inhibition and anxiety left your body, you felt lighter and buzzing with energy. 

“See, it’s good right?” Maria smiled. You nodded enthusiastically. 

--

You woke up the next morning, tired and hungover. You couldn’t remember much of the night, but turning over to see Carlos naked next to you gave you a good idea of what had happened. He drove you back to Medellin a few hours later, his sports car was a very nice change from the cars you usually drove in. He was a sweet guy and you talked the entire journey home.

“Will I see you again?” He asked as he pulled up a little way from your apartment. You pretended to think about it for a moment, before breaking into a smile and nodding. “Perfect,” He smiled. You got out of the car, the happy smile not leaving your face as you waved and walked away. 

You watched his car pull away before turning in the direction of your apartment. You still had an identity to hide afterall, even if he was nice you couldn’t let him see where you actually lived. There was still a threat of Parreño exposing you, if Carlos knew where  you lived too it was only a matter of time before everyone would be in danger too.

“So that’s where you were,” Javier called out to you across the street as you approached. He sat on the steps of the apartment building, enjoying the sunshine, smoking and drinking a beer. “Getting laid,”

“Not jealous are you, Javi?” You smirked. 

“No! You’re an adult you can do what you want,” He said with a laugh. A jealous twinge in his chest caught him off guard but he couldn’t let you know that, “You look nice by the way, it’s a cute dress,” 

“Thanks,” You blushed a little. He shuffled out the way to let you pass him and climb the stairs. “I’ll be upstairs if you need me,”

“Sure,” You shut the door behind you leaving Javi alone again. He sighed heavily, blowing out his smoke. He never got jealous, but you had done something to him.  He initially put the feeling down the worry. He was concerned for you, going undercover was not something you should be doing at all and from the small amounts you had told him it could be more dangerous than you had first thought. But seeing you step out of that car, seeing you kiss the driver, he knew it was jealousy. 

He wanted to have you close all the time, to protect you. You were perfectly capable of protecting yourself, and had shown that on many occasions but the idea of someone else holding you the way he had made him feel sick. That feeling in turn made him angry. He shouldn’t be feeling any type of way towards you, you were a team mate. He was your mentor. 

He’d brought it all on himself, he shouldn’t have ever invited you in that night. He would have to suffer through the feeling until it went away, you could never know.

--

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[giorno-plays-piano]

Long & Lost

Pairing: Leone Abbacchio x Reader

Warnings: yandere-ish Abbacchio, obsession, stalking, mentions of violence, allusion to kidnapping and forced marriage.

Words: 5445.

Summary: You needed to call him, you told yourself firmly and grabbed the phone, trying to stay determined. You needed to at least figure out if Abbacchio were alive and well. In the end, nobody forced you to tell him he had a son in that very moment, right? You'd tell him if he proved he deserved to know.

_______________________

Holding a crumpled piece of paper with Libeccio's number on it in your hand, you looked at the phone in front of you and sighed, unsure what to do. You'd heard Abbacchio was seen in that restaurant multiple times, so there really was a chance of you finally finding him, but you didn't know if you needed it that desperately. You knew what he had been through, and you doubted there was anything left of the man you loved once. But then you glanced at the photo of you little son on your desk and thought that your child deserved to have a chance to know his father - that is, if Leone would be willing to see his own child. Otherwise you'd have to come up with some sad story of your lovely boyfriend dying before he could get to know his son just like your mother advised you multiple times.

You little boy Dante was two years old now, and despite all the hardships related to raising him on your own, Dante still was your joy and pride. You realized you were pregnant almost right after Leone broke up with you: that time you were just a student with little to no means of support, and it hit you hard but you decided to keep your child, nevertheless. You couldn't bring yourself to get rid of him, and now you were thankful to that innocent young girl for the decision she made. Dante was your world.

But the older he got, the more you thought what would happen when one day he would ask you where's his dad. All children have a dad, haven't they? Then he should have one, too. You feared that moment, knowing you barely could tell your son the truth: your father doesn't even know about your existence.

By the time you decided to keep your child, Abbacchio already got himself in troubles, getting mixed up with some street thugs. You heard his partner even died because Leone couldn't pull the trigger, afraid those thugs gonna report him to police. Was it all true? You wanted to know it so desperately you went to see him in a detention facility, but Abbacchio you met weren't his old self. He was just a shadow of a man he'd been once, and despite all your efforts he remained broken, silently awaiting for the court to give him the punishment he deserved. You realized you were going to raise your child all alone, but it didn't deter you. In fact, when Leone finally got out, you even tried contacting him again and sending him some money until he figured things out. Of course, when you found out he spent all those money on cheap wine, you stopped doing it - your baby needed you more than him. After that you dropped all your attempts to keep in contact with the father of your child, and he had never learnt about Dante. It's for the best, your mother were telling you over and over again. A child doesn't need a dad who can't take care of himself, less of his family. Besides, was Abbacchio even as good as you imagined him to be? He was as corrupted as all those cops he hated so much while being in a police academy, your mother reminded you. Maybe she was right.

Dropping out of school to provide for your son, you had been through six kinds of hell in the last three years. There wasn't a job you hadn't done: scrubbing floors, delivering pizza, running errands for wealthy families, selling flowers and cheap makeup... and on top of it you had to take care of your child having no knowledge how to do it properly. Thankfully, your mother was there to give you a hand, and you were grateful for her help even if she had been scolding all the time for ruining your life so early. Did you know how hard it would be for you to get married, she asked you all the time while you were getting home late at night, tired to death. Do you realize people are calling you rotten behind your back because your son has no father, she kept saying over and over again trying to make you guilty, but you learnt not to listen. What's done is done. Who cares what people say if they will find a reason to humiliate you one way or the other?

You kept working, changing jobs and slowly getting a better salary, finding yourself a better place: you were now working as a manager in a candy store, its owners a nice married couple old enough to be your grandparents. You earned enough to live decently, and now you could afford buying your son new clothes instead of asking your friends and acquaintances for something their own kids and brothers wore once. Signora Russo, the one who was in charge of the store, treated you kindly, ready to give you some time off if Dante needed to be taken to doctor or somewhere else important. You also worked close to home, and if anything happened you could always storm off, telling the store clerk you'd be gone for a half an hour or so.

Life was good to you, you thought, your baby's bright smile making you feel much better in an instant. Dante had Leone's eyes, his hair of the very same shade.

You needed to call him, you told yourself firmly and grabbed the phone, trying to stay determined. You needed to at least figure out if Abbacchio were alive and well. In the end, nobody forced you to tell him he had a son in that very moment, right? You'd tell him if he proved he deserved to know.

"I'm looking for Leone Abbacchio." You said to the man on the other end of that phone, shivering from the thought you might really hear him the next minute. Shit, you really hoped he wasn't there.

"What is your name, Signora?" The stranger asked politely, and you were ready to drop the phone and run to the other room where your son was already laying asleep in his tiny bed,

Clenching your teeth, you told the man your name. Was Abbacchio really there? You ended up chewing phone's wire, that's how nervous you were, thinking what you were going to say and how he might react. Was he still bitter? Did he finally sort things out for himself? Did he stopped drinking? Was he going to accuse of not supporting him during his worst years?

"He is coming, Signora." The stranger told you calmly, and you felt your heart dropping somewhere to your stomach. Dio Mio, Leone was there. Those rumors were true, he was really there!

But before you mentally prepared yourself, you heard his low voice on the other side of the phone, his tone icy cold as if he wanted to never hear from you again. "Abbacchio."

You slowly got down on your chair with your palm rubbing your forehead tiredly. It seemed he was that very same Abbacchio who walked out the prison a couple of years ago, just a bit more sober this time. Funny, you thought things had changed for him, didn't you? You believed in people too much, that's what both your mother and Signora Russo would say, exchanging glances.

"Hi." You told him quietly, your eyes on the framed photo of your smiling son. "Haven't heard from you for a long time, Leone."

He let out a sound of irritation you knew a little too well, and you're very much aware he thought you're a traitor who left him behind when it had been him who broke up with you years ago. That was his problem, thinking people around had always owned him something, easily forgetting all the good things that were done for him once. You realized you were thinking about the same prior to a break up, wondering if your relationships were going to last if Abbacchio was going to behave the same way.

"What do you want? I don't have much time for you." He snorted, and despite you being so far from him during all that time, it still hurt so bad you clenched the phone in your hand, your eyes almost swelling with tears at his words. Did he felt better hurting you? You bet he did, having his revenge over someone who had nothing to do with him choosing his path. "Bucciarati's waiting for me, so be quick."

Bucciarati. He was referring to the man who had been seen with him, but you hoped it was just a rumor, too. You were well aware who Bucciarati was: all delivery guys and girls knew him and many other men with whom you shouldn't get mixed up. Passione was a power to reckon with even if you were talking about some low profile gangster who just got into a gang.

So, all those rumors were true. Abbacchio changed his side completely and joined mafia just like many other broken men before him. The next moment you realized how futile were your attempts to unite what you called a family in your dreams: were you really trying to let your child meet his father, a damn criminal who was probably murdering other people? Selling drugs? Beating the shit out of Passione's debtors? That was the man you wanted to entrust your beloved child?

"Sorry for bother." You said calmly, letting out a phone's wire you were getting close to torn into pieces. "I just wanted to know how you were."

"I'm good. Thanks for your concern." The man said before hanging up, and you staid frozen in your chair, listening to a dial tone. You were both sad and relieved at the same time, thinking how you had just saved your boy from so many troubles that would definitely arise if Leone knew he had a son. No, Dante didn't deserve a father like this. It wasn't his fault Abbacchio was long gone, and you weren't gonna spoil your child's life even if people would continue whispering your son was someone's bastard.

__________________

You didn't know the man got suspicious after your call, thinking you were up to something: he thought as low of you as of anyone he met prior to his encounter with Bucciarati. In Abbacchio's mind you all had betrayed him when he needed you the most, quickly disregarding your attempts to help him stay afloat with little money you had been sending him. Being extremely bitter, he felt the urge to dig up something about you, hoping you were in such deep shit you needed a help of a man like him. He was sure you were well-aware of his change of occupation, and it brought him a twisted satisfaction thinking of you whoring to him for his help. The only thing he found odd was that you didn't voice your plea. Did you get so scared of him you decided not to ask him for a favor? Abbacchio desperately wanted to know.

Finding out where you worked was an easy thing, and soon Abbacchio knew who you were now and how much you earned. It surprised him that you worked in a candy store: Leone remembered you were preparing to become a teacher. Did you drop out of university? He discovered you did. It was odd to him, remembering how eager you were to study. Why?

He found out the reason when he saw you walking with your baby boy during the weekend, Dante's tiny arm in yours as he was hurrying to the toy store window, then pressing his palms to the glace and watching a beautiful red toy train moving behind the window. The boy had his hair and his eyes. It wasn't hard to realize whose son that cheerful little boy was.

Abbacchio admitted with shame he wasn't prepared to it, quickly getting away as far as he could as if he couldn't look at the face of his own child. He had never thought something like that was possible: him? Being a father? Sure, Abbacchio wasn't a virgin, but the thought of someone having his child had never crossed his mind. At first he even tried thinking the child couldn't be his: how old the boy was? Wasn't he too young to be his son? By the time he was born Abbacchio had already been imprisoned.

"Doesn't mean she couldn't get pregnant while we still dated." He thought with shame, finding out Dante's birth date and realizing it was very much the reality.

Besides, his boy looked so much like him it was silly to pretend Dante wasn't Abbacchio's son. A part of him instantly got enraged with your decision to raise the boy on your own, not even letting his father know about his existence, but the man quickly cooled down, perfectly understanding why a drunkard he was then wouldn't make a good parent. You did nothing wrong. You even sent him money while you needed them much more than him.

Abbacchio still couldn't understand why you didn't abort an illegitimate child you weren't ready to bring up on your own - he wouldn't judge you if you did. You had been so young, almost a child yourself, barely able to take care of your own life while you had to provide for your son now. Your family wasn't rich, and he could imagine how much you struggled to stay afloat. Still, you kept your baby, your little boy you had been taking such a good care of: Abbacchio spied on you, stalking you while you walked with Dante or played outside, watching through your windows how you cooked and read him fairytales and tucked him to sleep. You were a good mother.

When Leone thought the only reason you called him was to let him know he had a son, he was ready to bang his head against a concrete wall. He knew why you ended up keeping quiet: he failed the test, talking to you as if he hated you to death and then mentioning Bucciarati's name. Bruno had been well-known in your area, and now you knew Abbacchio became a gangster. No mother would entrust her child to someone like him, and it had been his fault all alone, he realized that.

But he just couldn't leave you and his child without even acknowledging he knew he had a son. Even if Abbacchio wouldn't be the best father, he could still try his best: after Giorno became the next Don, he made Bucciarati's gang his own Unità Speciale, and Abbacchio was now a respected member of Passione with a fat wallet. With his help you could afford much more, moving to a more comfortable place, having better food and clothes, getting Dante to a better school once he grew up a bit. In the end, Leone could protect the both of you much better than you, just a simple woman who had to raise her son in a city full of criminals. He wasn't a drunkard with no goal but to drown out his day anymore.

That's why one day he showed up near the building where you lived, watching your mother taking her grandson and leading him to the apartment where you all lived while you hurried to the store to buy some food. He barely stopped himself from calling your mother, eager to take his boy in his hands, see his smile and chubby cheeks, ruffle his light grey hair and hear him laughing. No, Leone had to talk to you first, and it wasn't going to be easy.

Once you came back, a grocery bag in your hand, your face tired, he was waiting for you near a bench, and you flinched upon seeing him, your eyes getting wide. You surely didn't expect him to be there, least to give you something that almost looked like a smile.

Oh, you had a bad feeling about all that. Your hateful ex wouldn't just show up for no reason, you knew.

"Hello." He said surprisingly politely, and you started nervously chewing your lips. What did he want?

"Hello, Leone." You tried to keep your tone neutral to appear calm. "Good to see you looking well. Sorry, I'm in a rush, let's talk some other time."

Continuing to walk, you did your best passing him to hide in the hall of the building where you lived, but no one could brush off Abbacchio easily.

"I know." He said loudly as if he were afraid you would disappear before talking to him, almost ready to grab your arm but staying on his place when you stopped. "I know about him. About my son."

"He is my son." You roared like a lion, your hands clenched into fists when you turned your head to your former lover, but instead of getting intimidated or irritated the man felt proud: you were the best mother for his child Abbacchio could wish for.

"Of course."

There was no threat in his voice, and you relaxed a little, taking a deep breath and coming closer to the man still waiting for you near the bench. You didn't want to start a war, not with a man of Passione, unless Leone was going to take Dante away from you. You had to figure out what Abbacchio wanted.

"I haven't come here to steal the boy from you." He said, and you exhaled loudly, your palms shaking lightly. "I know you're a good mother."

You wanted to feel relieved, but something on the back of your mind told you Abbacchio wasn't there to compliment you and go away. He wanted something. What? Even if he knew you gave birth to his child, he had little to do with him now.

"I am." You admitted, unwilling to pretend to be polite anymore and hoping you'd get things sorted out before your mother started worrying about you. "Leone, what do you want?"

Your voice sounded harsh, and the man straigthen his back, getting closer to you: Abbacchio knew it wasn't going to be easy, but it wasn't your fault you wanted your child to be safe, thinking his father was a threat to him. It was up to Abbacchio to prove you he wasn't, eager to keep his boy safe and sound.

"Please, let me see him." He asked you, and you heard a plea in his voice. You couldn't remember when was the last time it happened. "I know what you think of me, and you're right about many things, but I want my child to know me."

"And what is he going to do with this knowledge?" You narrowed your eyes at your ex-boyfriend, rage boiling deep inside your chest. "What's it to Dante?"

"I will take care of him. And you."

Smirking, you shook your head, unable to believe him. Look, that son of a bitch was being so sweet to you now, pretending like meddling with his son's life wasn't a question of his enormous ego, that's what you thought. Did he really imagine you'd let him get close to Dante after you found out who he became?

"We don't need your help, thank you very much." You snorted, your fists clenched so tight it hurt you, nails digging into the skin.

"Then why did you call?"

Your eyes were getting wet as you chewed your lips to pieces, eating your lipstick and trying not to show the man your crying face. Abbacchio didn't deserve to see you like this. Of course, you shouldn't have called him. You desire to make things right only brought you more problems, as usual. It was even worse since now it concerned not only you but your baby, too. Dio Mio, why did you do it? Why did you try to talk to Abbacchio before finding out what he was doing now?

"To see if you got better." You said sarcastically, shaking your head in disbelief. "I thought I might tell you that you have a son, you know, if you sorted things out for yourself."

"I did." His voice sounded louder again when the man was getting emotional, both desperation and anger on his face. "I don't have an issue with drinking anymore. I don't even remember the last time I got drunk."

Taking a step back when he was dangerously close to you, you snorted, "Yeah, you just kill people now. Being a mafia's guard dog is so much better than being an alcoholic."

You could see Abbacchio getting furious, but you couldn't back down now when he was obviously determined to meet Dante despite all your warnings. Had he thought what it meant to be a son of a gangster? Did he imagine what his boy would have to go through just because his father belonged with Passione? You didn't care about his money or what Leone could give you, you were able to provide for Dante yourself. You couldn't, however, protect him against criminals who would come after him and you to have their revenge against Abbacchio. You'd have to watch your back all the time, but they would find a way to get to you, you were sure of it. Why didn't Abbacchio think about that? Was he so full of himself he thought he could protect your son at all costs?

Of course, it was his enormous ego again.

"I'm not gonna pretend my job has nothing to do with murder, but I'm not some Passione soldato anymore. I work directly for the new Don, and nobody gonna touch you and Dante once people know."

"Leone, please stop. I watched two delivery guys getting shot by men of Passione." You could barely hold your tears. "Don't you tell me my boy will grow up knowing that's what his dad is doing for life. Leave him alone for his own good! Let me give him a story about his policeman father getting fatally shot while on duty, and he will know his father was a hero."

Watching your eyes swelling with tears, the man in front of let out a sigh: he still couldn't watch you cry despite spending years apart. He fought the urge to come closer and touch your cheek, offering you some comfort, but he realized you would brush him off, not wanting the long lost intimacy. You weren't his beloved. Funny enough, he broke up with you himself, although now Abbacchio couldn't even remember why.

"He can have a true father instead of some fake legend." The man whispered, watching tears finally streaming down your cheeks.

"Give him a privilege to stay far away from this filth." Even though you kept wiping your face with the back of your palm, tears didn't stop falling, leaving dark spots on your pretty blue blouse. "Please, Leone. We both pay our experiences on our skin, but he isn't at fault just because he was born to us. Please... give him a chance to become a good man."

Abbacchio realized he wasn't able to get his way with you after what you had said. He just couldn't, knowing you were right. His son didn't deserve this.

_____________________

From that day he left you alone just as he had promised. Sometimes you got gifts with no notes, but you didn't need them, knowing where they came from: Abbacchio sent Dante expensive toys, the first one being that very same red train your boy wanted so much; then there were clothes, pretty little shoes, once you even got a new bed for him. Some stuff was for you, like that box of chocolate you loved once or a pair of golden earrings you had never worn. You wished he didn't send you anything at all, but receiving gifts from time to time was still better than having Leone at your door, willing to take your son away from you. Anyway, it wasn't Abbacchio himself delivering those things. No one was gonna make a hustle over something so inconsiderable, that's what you thought.

Silly you, thinking his enemies were stupid enough they couldn't trace those little gifts Leone had been sending someone over and over again. It was so much out of his character it was obvious the person had been important to him, and once they found out it was a young woman with a child who looked so much like him, it wasn't a secret anymore.

As the days passed, nothing changing in your life drastically, you had finally relaxed, thinking of taking a vacation and leaving the town for a week or two; your mother would certainly appreciated it after all this time. You were walking down the street with Dante's hand in yours when it all happened, a large white van stopping near you, a man getting out of it so quickly you had no time to react, looking at the gun he was covering with a newspaper.

"Get in there." The stranger growled, his eyes darting towards your baby boy. "Him too."

Freezing at your spot, you grabbed Dante's hand so hard he was going to cry, watching you and some man he didn't recognize staring at each other intensely. You wanted to shout, yell loudly so the whole street would hear you, but you were staring at the black gun's muzzle, and everything inside you got cold from the thought that man would shoot without a second thought, throwing your child inside the van once he'd be done with you. You certainly weren't immortal to withstand a few bullets from such distance.

You got inside without a word, holding Dante in your hands and trying to see in the darkness: the van had no windows on the back, and everything there was pitch black. It didn't matter, though, as once you turned up inside somebody had injected a syringe deep into your neck, and the world turned black in a couple of seconds, your baby's scream ringing in your ears.

Your poor little boy. You knew one day it would happen to him even if Abbacchio stayed away from the two of you.

By the time you woke up in some unknown place on a large, comfortable bed, it had already been late night, the moon shining bright in the night sky. You tried getting up immediately, but the dull headache made you groan and almost fell down the floor before somebody's strong arms caught you, carefully placing you back on the bed. You saw Abbacchio's worried face inches from yours, his brows furrowed as he watched you, afraid you might be in pain.

"Are you alright?" He managed to say, but you didn't bother answering him, your hand grabbing his as you tried getting up again only to be pressed into bed.

"Where's Dante?" Your voice sounded hoarse. "Where's he?!"

You remembered what had happened even despite that headache: a street, a van, the man with a gun wrapped in a newspaper, the lack of light on the backseat. Somebody had kidnapped your son and you, and nothing was making you go more mad than the absence of your baby, probably brought God knew where by the criminals. Shit, what had they done to him?!

"Calm down." Abbacchio's voice was both caring and strict as he clenched your wrists, pinning you to bed. "You will wake him up if you scream."

"Is he here? Is he here?" You kept asking, your body shaking from the thought Dante could be severely injured.

"Yes, he's safe. Nobody touched one hair on his head." Carefully helping you sit on the bed, Abbacchio pulled you to him, letting you rest your head on his half-naked chest, his skin becoming damp from tears streaming down your face: you were in deep shock, shivering, unable to pull yourself together, but nobody could blame you. "Narancia's with him now in the room next to ours. He's perfectly alright."

You couldn't utter a word, crying so hard and wrapping your arms around Leone as if you were drowning in the sea, and he was your lifeline. You needed him so desperately you couldn't let him go for a couple of minutes, weeping quietly against his chest. When was the last time it happened? Abbacchio couldn't remember, but the feeling of you needing him awoken something in the man, something he had long forgotten. Leaving a soft kiss on your forehead, he snuggled you closer to him, whispering words of comfort into your ear as if you were a little girl, and then started gently stroking your back.

He missed it. He missed somebody's warmth as much as you missed it, too, but you had your dear boy, and Abbacchio had no one. Of course, he would die for Bucciarati, and the gang became like a family to him, but a having a family with you was something much, much different. Waking up next to you, snoring lightly in your sleep as you hug your pillow, and nuzzling against your soft, warm body until your boy wakes up the two of you, and you hurry to feed him while Abbacchio is helping him dress. He would let Dante sit on his shoulders while all of you walk, and you'd laugh, watching the man nag when the baby was going to grab his hair too tightly.

He'd see his boy growing up, always there to give him a hand when he needed it the most, and help you to take all that weight from your shoulders you had been carrying for years. You didn't deserve living like this, struggling to raise Dante on your own just because you happened to get pregnant from a useless man like Abbacchio. He wouldn't make you go through all this alone when he was perfectly capable of taking care of both you and his son.

Especially now when you had been attacked so suddenly, and if he wouldn't be close, stalking you like he always did week after week, Leone was afraid to think what would happen.

"You're safe, principessa." He muttered, leaving on more kiss on the top your head, and you smiled weakly: you still remembered him calling you like that when you two still dated. "And Dante's too. I will ask Narancia to bring him to you if you promise to be quiet. It's very hard to make your baby sleep, you know that?"

You chuckled at his attempt to humor you, trying to wipe the tears away. "That's because he has your genes, and you're stubborn like a mule."

"Very much so." Abbacchio chuckled, too, and carefully stood up, motioning you to keep quiet as you stared at him nervously.

When he returned with Narancia gently cradling your boy in his arms, you covered your mouth with your palm, instantly getting of the bed and watching your baby sleep soundly - the guy holding him looked like a baby, too, but you admitted how careful he was with Dante, humming something quietly to keep the boy asleep. Although you wanted to take Dante in your arms, you knew you risked waking him up, and he certainly didn't need more stress after today's events. Nodding to Narancia and mouthing him thank you, you returned to sit on the bed, waiting for Abbacchio. He came back right after closing the door after the guy carrying Dante.

"Thank you." You mumbled, your eyes puffy from crying and rubbing them, your eyes looking down. "Thank you so much for saving him."

"What are you saying?' The man landed next to you and enveloped you in a hug, letting your head rest on his shoulder. "You are my family. I won't ever abandon you."

No, he wouldn't. Soon enough he'd convince you that living on your own was no longer an option, and after you'd move in he would find a way to convince you to marry him, giving both you and his son the family you deserved. He was sure neither Giorno nor Bruno would be against it as both of them were going to get married, too, and they could understand what it meant to take care of their loved ones. Abbacchio would keep you safe, ready to provide you with everything you needed so you wouldn't have to worry about working or spending your time elsewhere but home.

Abbacchio would give his son a chance to become a good man, but he didn't need to become a shadow from his son's past. He had a family to take care of, the ones who needed him much more than anyone else ever did.

[goldenretriever-nicknelson]

Pieces of us [H.O]

A/n: Happy Valentine’s Day! I was determined to finish a fic for today and even though it’s super late I did it!! This idea was given to me by the lovely @glowunderthemoon about a year ago now and I finally got around to writing it.  Thank you for the idea Fay and I really hope you and everyone else likes it! 

Warnings: tooth-rotting fluff, unedited writing

WC: 2.4k

Your heart was drumming in anticipation, fingers tapping on your leg as you waited for your phone to buzz. You gave another look in the mirror and tried to occupy yourself even though you had been ready for the past 15 minutes. Your dress was perfect, hair styled to match and makeup complimenting everything nicely. 

A few years ago when you were single you might’ve hated Valentine’s day but your boyfriend always made you feel the most special on his favourite holiday. He always spoilt you with flowers and cheesy gifts. Suddenly the day didn’t seem that bad anymore. 

Unfortunately, you had to work this Valentine’s day which meant missing out on most of the day with Harrison. He still made you breakfast in bed and sent you cheesy texts but you were sad you couldn’t spend the day cuddled up and watching sappy movies with him. It saddened you even more when you came home and to an empty apartment but the moment you saw the cute note and the chocolates, you knew Harrison had something up his sleeve. You had smiled as soon as you saw the dress laid out on the bed, knowing it was your boyfriend's favourite. The little note attached told you to get ready for a date so you did but you hadn’t expected Haz to make you wait so long.

Just as you were straightening down your dress for the fifth time, your phone buzzed on the table. You rushed to look at it, smiling as you saw a text from Harrison but your expression soon fell into confusion as you read it. 

My darling, tonight is no ordinary date. It’s been a whole year of us and it’s been the best year of my life. Start by looking at the place where I first said those three little words.

You furrowed your brow and gave a small laugh, knowing your boyfriend was up to something. You thought back to when he had first told you he loved you and knew to look around the couch. 

It had been one of your classic movie nights; popcorn, drinks and a movie that you never paid much attention to. His lips were on yours, his arms around your waist as he held you in his arms before he whispered those three little words against your lips. He almost apologised, thinking it was too soon before you shut him up with a kiss and repeated those words back to him.

You smiled at the memory before finding a photograph on the cushion. It was one of the first you and Harrison had taken together, smiling cheekily into the camera with his hand wrapped around you. You remembered thinking about how cocky (and cute) he was that night when you went on a night out with him and your mutual friends. He was even cuter drunk. 

The photo made your heart race faster but did nothing to ease your confusion. 

On the back of the photo there was writing, scrawled out in Haz’s messy writing it read: Being with you is the easiest thing in the world and nothing, no one makes me happier. So for your second clue, remember when I stepped on your shoe. 

You laughed out loud and paused in confusion, trying to figure out his riddle before realising there was something else written at the very bottom in small print. The title of yours and Haz’s song. The one that always made you smile when you heard it because it made you think of him. And then suddenly it clicked. 

You remembered how it had become your song. It was midnight and you felt exhausted as you looked around at the messy kitchen, boxes and bags were everywhere. Haz carried in the last box and set it on the floor before leaning against the counter next to you. 

There wasn’t much in your new kitchen besides what was already there and an old portable radio. Haz turned it on to a random station and Just the way you are by Bruno Mars started playing. He smiled and took your hand, pulling you into the only clear space in the room and starting to dance with you. 

Suddenly you didn’t care how tired you were or what time it was, all that mattered was Haz and this new life you were starting together. He twirled you around making you both burst into laughter as he accidentally stood on your toes. It was one of the best nights ever. 

You hurried to the kitchen and looked around, noticing a single rose on the countertop next to a picture of you and Harrison kissing on a beach. You smiled wide as you remembered the day, it was your first weekend away together and Harrison had whisked you away to a tropical sandy beach, staying in a cosy beach house. You didn’t get much done that weekend but it was still one of the best of your life. 

You looked at the photo before turning it over and reading Haz’s writing: The views that weekend were nothing compared to the view I had in the bedroom ;) It was the best vacation and now for the third location. Outside is where you should go, specifically where I first kissed you slow. 

Your first kiss, of course. You let out a giggle and took the rose, smelling it’s sweet scent before grabbing a coat and heading outside, following your instructions. Harrison had first kissed you on your first date, you still remember feeling his lips against yours for the first time, a feeling you would never tire of. 

You arrived at the arcade and looked around, so many memories flooding back to you. It had been too long since you’d come back here. The place was fairly empty apart from a few couples playing games together and a group of friends cheering loudly as someone got a high score on the dance dance revolution game. Haz had fallen over twice on that game but his true skill was air hockey and he got so competitive when you both played that night. 

He’d even won you a teddy bear with his tickets from the games and that’s when he’d took his chance to make his move and kissed you. It had caught you by surprise but you were soon locking lips with him and holding him close in the middle of the arcade, without a care in the world. 

You found a bear similar to the one you still kept at home sitting on the air hockey table and your heart melted that Haz had remembered. It held a heart saying ‘being mine’ with a photo attached to it. The photo this time showed you and Harrison kissing when you were both drunk, a memory one of your friends had captured. You giggled and flipped it over to read the clue. 

For your fourth and final clue, look for where we first met as two. 

A smile lifted on your lips as you remembered in an instant the location you needed to go to. You tucked the photo in the pocket of your jacket along with the others and thought about the time you had been with Haz and of the photos that signified your relationship. Of course there were many more than just the ones in your pocket but Haz had picked these ones for a reason. 

You drove to the park nearby where you had first met your boyfriend. It was a late autumn afternoon, the leaves crunching underneath your feet as your dog led the charge and sniffed at the beautiful scent of nature that surrounded them. You were wrapped up in the same coat you were wearing now with a hot drink from your favourite cafe that spread warmth to your hands. You furrowed your brow as your dog started barking and pulled you along at a faster pace to go and sniff another dog who was barking back at them. 

The dog was beautiful and once they met in the middle, having dragged both owners along, they started to nuzzle into each other and lick. You giggled and sipped your drink before looking up at the owner hoping to share the humor and make a witty joke about puppy love but instead you almost choked. The owner of the beautiful dog was even more astounding. He had sandy blonde curls and blue eyes that caught you off guard as they matched the sky above. 

“Talk about puppy love huh?” He commented, a cup similar to yours in his hands as he smiled at you and for a moment you forgot what air was. 

“Hey that was my joke.” You giggled as he laughed and apologised. The conversation after that continued to flow easily and whilst normally you hated meeting strangers, you had to admit that handsome tall blonde guy wasn’t so bad. Even after you learnt his name and swapped numbers, that was still his contact name which he never missed an opportunity to tease you about. You met up after that under the excuse of more puppy play dates before the dogs weren’t the only ones going out on dates and the rest, as they say, is history.

You pulled up to the park with a fond smile and got out of your car, turning off the radio which had just been playing your song. The short walk from the car to the park wasn’t enough to prepare yourself for what you saw. A soft gasp emitted from your lips as you spotted the gazebo in the middle of the park lit up with fairy lights, a picnic blanket and food laid out for two. A violinist was playing next to it with a familiar tune that you had just heard on the radio; your song. 

And then you spotted him, standing in the middle of the gazebo in a suit and tie with a large bouquet of roses and the smile that had made you fall in love with him. As you walked closer, you started to tell he was nervous with the way his hands shook slightly and whilst you didn’t know why it was still as cute as ever. You just wanted to hold his hands in yours and tell him everything was going to be okay. 

He was holding a hand behind his back as he greeted you and kissed you softly. “Happy Valentine’s my love.” 

You smiled and took the roses, looking at Harrison with so much love and a few tears in your eyes. “You did all of this for me?” 

Harrison took your hands in his and gazed lovingly at you, “Everything is for you Y/n.” 

You wrapped your arms tightly around him and sniffled, letting out a giggle as he picked you up in his arms. It wasn’t until you were here that you realised how much you had missed Harrison even in the short time you’d been apart. 

“I love you. Thank you for this baby.”

“I love you too my beautiful rose.” He kissed your nose and made you giggle again before pulling away slightly. You pouted and tried to follow but he only smiled and shook his head. “I’m sure you’re wondering why I sent you to find all those pictures and clues.” 

You nodded and bit your lip, trying to contain your excitement. Haz smiled wide but you could sense a bit of nervousness behind it. You knew him too well. Just as you were about to ask what was going on,  he picked up a book from behind him and gave it to you. 

You hummed in curiosity and looked at it. You quickly realised it was a scrapbook titled Our adventure which reminded you of one of your favourite disney movies, Up. Harrison encouraged you to open it and as you did you saw all of your favourite pictures. Some were from special moments in your lives like the ones you had collected and others were silly photos you and Haz had taken through the years. 

You could feel your heart melting into a puddle as you looked through the pages. “Haz this is-” You paused and took a deep breath, at a loss for words. “This is beautiful.” 

“Keep going love.” Haz encouraged, wiping a tear that fell on your cheek and admiring how beautiful you looked in that moment as you fondly remembered the memories you shared together. He was so glad you liked his final gift, he preferred homemade things and this had taken him the longest and most effort to put together. 

He waited until you were right near the end before finally putting his last piece of the puzzle into action and stepping away. He pretended to go down and tie his shoelaces and waited until he heard a small gasp come from your lips as you saw the last page. 

There was a polaroid of an engagement ring along with the words Will you marry me? 

“Haz-?” You looked up, your face full of surprise and shock as you saw Harrison down on one knee with the engagement ring from the picture in his hand. The tears that had been threatening to fall since the hunt started finally found their way down your cheeks as you realised what was happening. 

“Y/n L/n, my love, my soulmate. Will you marry me?” 

Harrison’s sparkling blue eyes looked up at you with hope and nerves as he felt his whole body about to explode from the suspense. You didn’t even take a breath before nodding your head quickly, “Yes!” 

You kept repeating your answer as you tackled your new fiancé with a hug and kissed him everywhere you could reach. He laughed and wrapped his arms firmly around you, never wanting to let go.

And he never did. 

The scrapbook became a part of your relationship as much as your vows did on the day you got married. There were 4 pages full of wedding photos and 2 of photos from your Honeymoon to Hawaii where you recreated the beach picture from your first weekend away together. 

The final piece of the puzzle however, was the sonogram photo you got from your first scan showing the newest addition to your family. A new scrapbook was made after that titled The Osterfield Family Adventure. 

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

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[cafedanslanuit]

↪ commissioned work! for more info about my commissions, check my blog ♡

summary: it’s been a while since you arrived at devildom and made yourself feel at home, but asmodeus still can’t figure out why you always looks really tired. a late night visit gives him the opportunity to solve the mystery once and for all.

pairing: asmodeus x reader

warnings: none <3

words: 2k

Asmodeus sat in front of his giant boudoir and let out a long sigh. He stretched his arms to the ceiling, feeling tension release with a few cracking sounds from his back. He grabbed one of his makeup remover tissues and started softly wiping the makeup off his face. His mascara faded a little under his eyes as he did so, making it appear like he had bags under his eyes.

He couldn’t help but think about you.

At first, he had thought they were hereditary. Your eye bags were the first thing he noticed about your face. Your face structure was beautiful and your eyes gleamed whenever you laughed, yet the thing that first struck him was how tired you looked. His hypothesis of it being hereditary crumbled down when he noticed you falling asleep during classes, almost matching Belphie in how many times Lucifer had had to loudly clear his throat to make you wake up with a youepish smile.

Once his face was clear of makeup, Asmodeus threw the tissue away. He grabbed his bottle of tonic and put some on a cotton pad, softly patting his skin. Knowing you were into the same videogames Levi was, he figured you may have been spending too much time after hours playing them. 

His second theory was disproved when weeks later, after sharing a table with the third oldest and you, he overheard Levi complaining about how you didn’t have time for him anymore and warned you you would lose your ranking in the game if you kept missing your daily missions. You excused herself and blamed it on the amount of French homework you had. Asmodeus stayed silent, even if you were taking the same class he was and he knew for a fact there hadn’t been any homework for weeks. He still wasn’t as close to you as he was now, so he decided to indulge you a little and keep your dirty little secret.

That was how his curiosity started. Even if he wouldn’t tell anybody, he had to know what were you hiding. What was that you desired that was enough for you to lose sleep.

Asmodeus set the toner aside and grabbed his vitamin C serum. He poured a few drops on his palm, rubbing his fingers together before applying it to his skin.

He started to spend more time with you in order to discover what was going on. Even if that was his plan from the start, he ended up befriending you and enjoying the times they got to be together. Not realizing he was actually following you, you had started feeling more at ease with him, and shared stories about your life back on Earth. You had apparently been a very diligent person and were in charge of a lot of activities in the different groups you were a part of. One day, while having some ice cream after a long day of class, you confessed to him you had two younger siblings, a pair of twins that were four years old and the apple of your eyes. It suddenly made sense how motherly you were to the demon twins, always making sure there was enough food for Beelzebub and sharing your lap when Belphie was sleepy and wanted to take a nap while you were reading in the living room. He learnt you were very mature, always providing Satan with advice to manage his temper and had even shared conversations with Lucifer, helping him with time management.

Asmodeus days with you were filled with laughter, tea, ice cream and, of course, your tired eyes that remained a mystery. He took his eye cream and started applying it, pursing his lips in frustration as he hadn’t found out the reason behind your tiredness. He was about to open his moisturizer cream when he heard soft knocks on his door. He walked to the door and opened it to reveal you wearing your pajamas with a shy smile on your face.

“Hey Asmo,” you greeted. He smiled back at you.

“Hey beautiful, what’s up?”

“Uh, I remembered you mentioned you had lavender candles? I was wondering if you could lend me one,” you said, putting your arms on your back and softly swaying your body.

“Sure, sure,” Asmo said, letting you inside his bedroom as he walked to the shelf filled with different candles. “I never knew you were into candles as well”

“Oh, I heard they were relaxing so I wanted to try it out,” you shrugged, sitting on the edge on Asmo’s bed. You bounced a little, giggling at how soft it was.

“Having trouble falling asleep?” he asked, trying to sound as casual as he could. His eyes were still occupied looking for that candle, so even though he missed your expression, the silence after his question let him know you were preparing a lie.

“A little? It’s okay, though, I just promised Mammon I would try and jog with him tomorrow so I wanted to be able to rest before that,” you said, a soft chuckle escaping your lips. “It’s okay if you don’t have the candle, though, just thought it would be nice.”

Asmodeus finally found the lavender candle and turned on his heel. He walked to the bed and sat beside you, holding the item in his hands.

“Are you sure?” he asked, cocking his head to the side.

“Yeah,” you smiled, your eyes not meeting him.

“You know I can sense when people really want something, right?” he asked in a teasing tone. “I feel you really desire something right now. And my gut tells me it’s not my lavender candle.”

Asmodeus noticed you tensing up for a couple of seconds before letting go with a long sigh. You passed your hand through your hair and finally looked back at him, your smile no longer bright but rather sad, as if you had finally been found out after doing a prank.

“I haven’t been sleeping well recently, to be honest,” you admitted. “I’ve tried almost everything and nothing seems to work. Seems nothing can replace it-- I mean,” you quickly corrected yourself, your face burning. “Nothing can help me with it. The falling asleep part,” you clarified, your eyes again on the floor.

“I heard you!” Asmodeus teased you, scooting closer. “C’mon, I won’t judge you. You know me,” he said, a friendly smile on his face. You turned your head at him and sighed once more.

“I… I always slept with a teddy bear a friend won for me at a fair. And… when I came here I realized it was really pivotal in helping me sleep,” you said, your words too fast and low, but good enough for Asmodeus to listen. “But I’m okay! It’s just my head messing up with me. It may be the bed, I can ask Lucifer if I can somehow change the mattress and--”

“I know what could help,” Asmodeus interrupted you, a knowing grin on his face. He quickly got up the bed and walked back to his boudoir, taking his softest brush and then kneeling on his bed behind you.

With care, he passed the brush across your hair, earning a pleased sigh from your lips. Contently, he did it again, taking his time to detangle your hair as soft as he could. His brush made your hair shine and turn soft in a matter of minutes, but he kept brushing it for quite longer. You were quiet, and he noticed how you were nodding off at his ministrations, too focused on relaxing under his touch. He then let the brush on the bed and started massaging your scalp with his fingertips, loving the way your head seemed to lean into his hand, your shoulders way more relaxed than they were when you first got into his bedroom.

“This is so relaxing,” you mumbled in a haze. Asmodeus smiled behind you, feeling accomplished.

“And I’m not done yet,” he announced with a giggle. He put the brush back in his place and then took his items from his nightly skincare routine. Sitting next to you again, he grabbed a cotton pad and poured some of his cleanser. Even if you weren’t wearing any makeup, he wanted to make sure your skin was as fresh as possible. You chuckled as he took his time taking care of your skin, letting him use all the creams and oils he had brought to the bed. You weren’t sure what most of them were for, but you did notice the difference when he was finally done. Your skin felt clean and so soft you kept running your fingers across your cheek to feel it.

As a response, Asmodeus took your hand and started massaging it with some moisturizer.

“Don’t touch your skin so much or you’ll get it oily again,” he teased, massaging  the pulse point between your index and thumb. You hadn’t noticed your hands had been to tense before.

“You are the best, Asmo,” you breathed out with a content smile. He winked at you, earning a chuckle.

It was almost half an hour later when Asmodeus finished pampering you with his different creams. For the first time since you had arrived at Devildom, your eyes were getting tired with every minute that went by. You finally let out a yawn and stretched your arms in front of your chest.

“Thank you, this was what I needed. I feel so relaxed I don’t want to walk back to my room,” you pouted. Asmodeus was putting back everything to its place when he listened to you, and an idea struck his mind.

“You can stay here. This isn’t a queen size bed for nothing,” he offered. You looked back at him and he loved the way your cheeks were noticeable red. Even if what you were thinking wasn’t an idea he would be opposed to, he wanted you to know it wasn’t his goal for the night.

“What? Really?”

“Definitely. C’mon, it’ll be like a sleepover,” he said. You stayed in silence for a moment, considering your options, the demon staring back at you with a small smile.

“Okay, I’ll stay tonight,” you accepted. Grinning, Asmodeus turned off the lights. His night lamp was on, giving his room a cosy ambience. 

Both of you got under the sheets, a small distance between you. You sighed happily against Asmodeus’ soft pillow.

“Thank you for not laughing at me,” you whispered, your eyes closed.

“I would never,” he replied, turning to face you. “If you need to snuggle anything, I smell good and love late night cuddling,” he added, your eyes opening wide immediately.

“Don’t make fun of me!” you pouted, covering your face with your hands.

“I’m not!” he assured you. “I mean it. We both smell like fancy cream and our skin is as soft as it can be. If you were used to hugging your teddy bear back home, I have nothing against you snuggling up to me. It would definitely help me sleep better too,” he said. You peaked between your fingers and saw Asmodeus’ honest smile. You took a deep breath and uncovered your face. Looking at his eyes, you nodded and got closer to him.

What started as a shy hand on top of his chest turned into a full-body hug once you fell asleep. He knew you needed your rest but was still surprised it had happened so fast. You must have been really tired. With his free hand, he put a rebel strand of hair away from your face, not wanting anything to disturb your sleep.

You were strikingly beautiful. He had always thought you were, but somehow seeing you in your most vulnerable state, your arms and legs wrapped around his body made him see you in a tender light he hadn’t noticed before.

Asmodeus grazed his lips against your forehead and whispered an almost inaudible good night wish. The smile you had painted on his face lasted until the very last second before he fell asleep as well.

[isitgintimeyet]

Just A Friend

Previous

AO3

Another Sunday, another chapter. Hope it’s a good weekend for you all, despite these uncertain times. I always intended this story to be a bit of fluffy light relief from the real world. Thanks for all the support for it.

There will probably be another 3 chapters after this, depending on how the characters behave. I cant seem to make them do what I want sometimes!

Thanks to @wickedgoodbooks for the beta

Chapter 11: From Marriage to Mackenzie

It’s 1pm and I’m in a hotel room, still in a bathrobe, sipping Buck’s Fizz whilst a hairdresser wrestles with my wayward curls, finally managing to corral them into some sort of recognisable hair style.

Geillis is sitting on the edge of the bed incongruously dressed in tiara and bathrobe, her hair arranged in an elaborate updo. I catch her eye through the dressing table mirror and smile before my vision is obscured by a miasma of hairspray.

A few final tweaks of my curls and it’s done. I am just amazed that my hair can be cajoled into such glossy, bouncy curls, held behind one ear by an ornately decorated comb. With suitable compliments and thanks, Geillis and I bid goodbye to the hairdresser.

The bride stands up and adjusts the belt of her robe. She seems the epitome of calm.

“Are you not nervous, Geillis? You’ll be walking down the aisle in about an hour’s time.”

“Weel, I am a wee bit worried about a couple of things,” she admits. “I dinna ken how ma cousin Janie will behave. She may try tae proposition every man under the age of seventy five. And as fer Dougal’s Uncle Eric—he has been known tae get steamin’ drunk and puke in the rose beds. But about the marrying? Nah, I dinna have any nerves about that. I want tae spend ma life wi’ Dougal and that’s what today is all about. I have nae worries about making that commitment. He’s the one fer me. When ye ken, ye ken. Trust me, Claire.”

The pocket of her bathrobe begins to buzz. She quickly pulls out her phone and reads the message.

“I’d best go. That was Mam, fretting about something or other. Are ye ok getting dressed on yer own?”

“I’ve managed for the past twenty nine years or so. I dare say I can manage another day.” I sigh theatrically.

“I ken. Ye can manage on yer own. Ye always do. But thanks fer being here with me today. It means a lot tae have the people who mean the most tae me around,” she leans over and gives me a kiss on the cheek. “But remember what I said, Claire, when ye ken, ye ken. Dinna ignore it.”

Pausing at the interconnecting doorway, she does a quick body shimmy and grins. “Woo hoo! I’m getting married. Canna believe it’s here now,”

From the adjoining room, I can hear a shouted response. “Geillis Duncan, ye get here now. Yer mam reckons that makeup lassie has done her eyeliner wonky. It looks fine tae me. Can ye come and talk some sense in tae the daft cow?”

“Alright, Da, I’m coming.” Geillis yells back before leaving to deal with her parents.

I sit down and study my bridesmaid’s dress, now hanging on the wardrobe door. I’m getting excited about the day ahead. Probably not as much as Geillis, obviously, but a host of butterflies appears to have taken residence in the pit of my stomach.

I’m truly thrilled for Geillis to be marrying Dougal—they love each other so much. But, also, it’s scary to me. She is willing, eager even, to commit to one person, to base her future life, her future happiness on one man. If they should ever leave…well, I’m not sure I’d be able to cope with that. If you love too hard, you can hurt too much. Trust me on that, I know. People leave you. Don’t give your heart to anyone, keep it hidden away, protected…intact.

The ping from my phone diverts me from this somber train of thought.

I’m downstairs at the hotel. Can you come and say hello?

I quickly type:

Come up to the 2nd floor. I’ll meet you by the lift.

Making sure the keycard is in my pocket, I slip my feet into the hotel’s complimentary slippers and shuffle out to meet Jamie.

I’m already waiting as the lift door opens and he emerges. My first thought is oh wow, as is my second...and third. He has made an effort for this wedding, and it’s certainly paid off. Eschewing the more formal Prince Charlie style, he’s wearing a charcoal grey jacket and waistcoat, perfectly matching the grey in his kilt. A crisp white shirt and burgundy tie complement the secondary colours in the tartan. His sporran is black leather, heavily etched or embossed. I can’t quite make out the detail. Then I feel myself blush as I realise I have been clearly staring at his...er, lower body. I look up quickly.

Fortunately, he doesn’t seem to have noticed. He looks me up and down and smiles. “Nice outfit,” he comments drily. “Is the bride wearing white towelling too? What’s the theme? Salon chic?”And is that part of the design?” He points to an orange stain on the front of my robe. I pull a face and tie the belt tighter, trying to tuck the offending piece of material out of sight.

“Must have spilled a drop of my Buck’s Fizz.”

“Drinking already? Dinna be staggering down the aisle.”

He reaches out towards my hair and pauses for a second before making a random circular motion with his hand. “And this…I like yer hair. It’s verra…verra…” he searches for the word. “... asymmetric.”

“Thank you,” I hold the ‘skirt’ of my robe and bob a little curtsy. “That’s totally what we were going for—asymmetric.”

He laughs. “Nah, seriously. Yer hair and yer makeup look grand. I’m sure ye’ll look lovely in yer dress.”

I gesture to my room. “I’d best finish getting ready.”

“Aye, I’ll see ye downstairs.” He presses the button for the lift.

“By the way, you look grand too.” I try to say it in an understated way. It’s true, but I don’t want him to read anything into the statement.

The lift arrives and he steps inside. As the doors close, he fires a parting shot. “Especially the sporran, eh?”

*********

Now in my bridesmaid’s dress, I practice a couple of pirouettes in front of the mirror before hearing a quick knock on the door to the adjoining room.

“Ye ready, Claire? Mam’s jes’ gone down. Only us three left.”

I walk through to the other room to be met by a riot of open suitcases, bags and boxes. A variety of towels, dressing gowns and footwear seem to be carpeting the floor.

“‘S ok,” Geillis’ voice comes from behind me. “It’s no’ ma problem. I’m no’ sleeping here tonight. I’ll be in the bridal suite. This’ll be Mam and Dad’s room.”

I turn to see my best friend now fully dressed and ready. Her father is hovering next to her, clad in kilt and full formal regalia. I always knew she would win that battle.

As beautiful as she looks, the thing that really strikes me is the way her father is watching her, with such love and pride. She returns his gaze and brings her forehead to rest against his cheek.

I swallow hard, fighting the desire to shed a tear. It’s such a precious image, so intimate, but also, I realise that, since Lamb died, I have nobody, no father figure, to share something like this. I feel a momentary pang of, not jealousy, but a feeling of regret over an emotion that I will never get to experience.

And then, just like that, the moment passes.

It always does.

Geillis passes me a creamy white posy tied with a simple ribbon and gathers up her bouquet of peonies, roses and fragrant eucalyptus.

“OK,” she takes a deep breath and breaks into a huge grin. “I think I’m late enough tae get Dougal jes’ a wee bit nervous. Time tae roll.”

*******

The hotel’s orangery provides a perfect setting for the wedding ceremony. Softly diffused sunlight filters through the white muslin drapes at the large windows. A slight breeze wafts the fabric gently, giving tantalising glimpses of the formal gardens outside.

At the end of the room, Dougal and Angus stand beside a large arch of succulent green foliage, staring straight ahead as Geillis and her father begin the procession down the aisle with me following.

Even before he turns to look, I can spot Jamie — his auburn curls are head and shoulders above those around him. He stays still at first, but as we draw near he turns around and grins before doing his funny blink, screwing up his face and closing both eyes, which I have learnt, is Jamie’s attempt at a wink. I return his smile before focussing on the arch getting ever closer.

Dougal appears rooted to the spot, but Angus turns around and watches for a moment before giving me a perfectly executed wink. I smile politely even as I shudder inwardly. The sheer self confidence of that man is beyond belief. Then he disappears from my thoughts as Geillis reaches the arch and passes me her bouquet to hold. The joy on her and Dougal’s faces as they prepare to make their vows is wonderful and I’m so happy to be a part of it all.

***************

They say the sun shines on the righteous. Well, Geillis and Dougal must be exceptionally good, as it’s a perfect summer afternoon. It’s beautifully warm, but not too hot, as all the guests mingle in the gardens, admiring the beautiful surroundings whilst drinking chilled champagne.

The photographer has finished with the formal photographs, so I’m allowed to relax and enjoy a glass or two. I can still spot him wandering around, ready to take more natural, candid shots of the proceedings but nobody seems to mind.

I was initially worried about inviting Jamie to the wedding for a couple of reasons. The first was my friends. Of course, my friends are great, but Anna and Mary can sometimes have an issue with boundaries and I had visions of the ‘conversations’ they might try to have with Jamie — ‘nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition’ unless Anna and Mary are around.

The second reason was that Jamie would literally know only one person at this wedding —me. And that, when I was off doing official ‘wedding stuff’, he would be on his own, billy-no-mates. But, as I look around, I realise I had absolutely nothing to worry about on that score. He has the knack, it seems, to get on with everyone.

At the moment he’s talking to Geillis’s father, laughing and joking like they’re old friends. He notices me looking at him, lifts his empty glass up and points to me. I hold my glass up and nod. He excuses himself and strolls towards the bar.

There’s a slight touch on my elbow. “Hello, dear.”

I draw my attention to the old lady standing next to me—Geillis’ great aunt Frances. I’ve met her on a couple of occasions before and have always enjoyed her company. She’s a straight talker and makes no bones about it. “When ye get tae my age,” I remember her commenting to me “ye dinna have time tae beat about the bush, ye need tae say what ye think.” I like that in a person.

“Hello, how nice to see you.”

“Ye too,dear. I must say ye’re looking awfa bonnie in that dress. It’s a fine colour on ye.”

“Thank you. And you’re looking lovely yourself.”

Frances makes a self deprecating ‘hmph’ sound, dismissing my compliment with a wave of her hand. “Away wi’ ye. Ye do yer best wi’ what ye’ve still got. Which isna much in ma case.”

I shake my head. “Not at—“

But she decides to change the subject and moves on with her next question. “Is that yer young man over there?” She points at Jamie, heading towards us with two glasses of champagne. “He’s a handsome chap, is he no’? Mind ye, that’s no more than ye deserve. Sae, mebbe ye’ll be next?”

“No, we—“

I have no chance to say anything more, before Jamie is by my side and handing me one of the glasses. I take a sip as he notices that Frances has no drink and, without hesitation, he passes the second glass to her.

“Aren’t ye kind… er?” She accepts gratefully.

“Jamie.”

“Weel, Jamie, let me tell ye. It’s been a long while since a good looking young man has brought me a drink. I should make the most of it. Anyway, I was jes’ saying tae our Claire here, how bonnie she looks today. Does she no’?”

She fixes her gaze on Jamie, demanding an answer.

“Aye, she looks lovely.” His eyes meet mine for a second, before I look away and try to change the subject.

“Don’t you think Geillis looks beautiful, Frances?”

But, it seems that Frances has one line of conversation that she is keen to pursue. “Oh aye, she does. But, Jamie, I was jes’ saying tae Claire that mebbe she’ll be next. What d’ye think?”

Fortunately, I’m spared any response as a gong sounds and the maître d’ announces that dinner is served and that everyone should make their way inside to the dining room.

****************

Having narrowly avoided any embarrassment, I am somewhat apprehensive to see Frances at our table. Fortunately, Geillis’ cousin and baby are enough to divert her attention away from any matrimonial prospects that may or may not be on my horizon.

With Jamie sitting by my side, I catch him up on all the behind the scenes activity of my day and we fall into our pattern of easy conversation and gentle banter. From time to time, I can see Frances, opposite, watching us with a look of approval on her face, but she says nothing.

Once the speeches and toasts are over, there’s a palpable change in the guests. Jackets are draped over chair backs, sleeves rolled up and waistcoat buttons undone. I can spot more than one woman moving awkwardly in her chair, struggling to locate the shoes that were eased off out of sight under the table. Cheeks become flushed with an abundance of rich food and tongues become looser with a surfeit of fine wine.

I sip my whisky, savouring its peaty smokiness. Jamie is in a serious rugby related conversation with his neighbour. A rustle of fabric behind me announces the arrival of the bride, a look of frustration on her face.

She greets the table politely before whispering “Can I borrow ye, Claire?”

I make my excuses and follow her into a quieter room.

“What’s up, Geillis? Is everything alright?” I’m concerned that there’s something genuinely wrong.

“It’s his bloody family,” she hisses. “The Mackenzies, if ye give them an inch, they’ll take a fuckin’ mile.”

She takes a deep breath and continues. “Dougal invited his second cousin Gary and his wife tae our evening do. Jes’ the two of them mind. Sae they turn up an hour and a half early and try tae cadge dessert and brandies from the waiters.”

“Where are they now?”

“Och, they’re sitting outside wi’ a couple of spare bottles of wine.” She gestures angrily to the gardens visible through the window. “And they’ll be first in the queue fer the buffet this evening, nae doubt. And what's more, they took it upon themselves tae bring their three bairns too. Weel, I say bairns, but they’re all in their twenties so it’s no’ as if they dinna have a babysitter.”

She finally sits down and lets her shoulders relax.

I take her hand and try to look serious. If this is the worst thing that happens today, that’s not so bad. Although clearly, in Geillis’ eyes, this is a catastrophe. “It’s not going to spoil anything really is it? They didn’t gatecrash the meal or the speeches,” I speak in a soothing tone. “Are you ok now?”

She nods. “Happen ye’re right. I jes’ wanted tae get it off ma chest. And I kent what I was getting in tae wi’ his family. But tae drag Gregory, Alicia and Laoghaire uninvited wi’ them jes’ pisses me off.”

I stare at her. “Laoghaire? Laoghaire Mackenzie?”

“Aye, that’s right. Unusual name, is it no’? Ye dinna find many of them around—thank god.”

[peeterparkr]

perfidy;tom holland|6

chapter 6: the frame

enemies to lovers au/enemies with benefits

story summary: Tom and you have been sworn enemies since you were young. However, you happened to be best friends with the twins. When one of your friends challenged you to break Tom’s heart, you immediately accepted to get back at him for all the times he’s hurt you. Old feelings might come back, while both of you try to go past your pride and your lies.

chapter summary: how do you make someone fall in love with you when they’ve hated you their whole life? 

pairing: tom holland x y/n

warnings:  swearing, timmy, mentions of sex, didn’t proof read 

word count: 5.8k

here’s a playlist

TWEETS:  read them before you read this.

previous chapter next chapter series masterlist

wanna be tagged?

No one should ever have sympathy for the devil. They’re the devil for a reason. But somehow, you understood a lot of things about Tom. Going through his schedule had you already on your feet, no wonder why he was always tired. You had been avoiding any kind of confrontation with anyone as your hands were hovering through the mouse as the light from your laptop was washing white through your whole room, you hadn’t slept and you had a cup of coffee as you waited for your alarm to go off so you could officially start the day. 

Your first day as an assistant, it didn’t sound exciting but it had you on the edge. That wasn’t the reason why you hadn’t slept, though.

Timothée and you hadn’t solved anything, both of you needed to think things, you’d asked him for more time to go through and about everything. Because honestly, you didn’t know if you wanted to go back to a relationship where you knew you weren’t the same. But you were still in love with him. You knew he loved you, too. You can  easily tell, you know? when someone is in love with someone else. Yet it seemed like he had been so distant, even if he had only been 3 feet apart. 

.And it was hard, because you couldn’t be thinking about it, but you had the right to cry about it, didn’t you? But you knew that at some point you’d break. You didn’t have the time to think about it, not now. You had already opened the document, the script you so feared of writing. So banal and stupid and typical, a script that had no meaning. And you were wondering if you really wanted to do that, you could easily just text Alessandra you were not up to write something as vain and stupid, especially because you knew you’d end up hurting yourself. This meant emotionally investing in something, and although there was no way you’d ever wake up past feelings, you knew you could end up hurting more people than planned. 

Besides, you were certain it was impossible, Tom wouldn’t fall in love with you. So you maybe needed to change this, seduce him? But you felt so dirty. 

It had been good, though, relieved some stress, some tension. But then, you’d seen Timmy. And everything had tumbled down. Because you were proving his point. Though the conversation had gone very normal. Timmy had understood that you needed time, you hadn’t told him what for. 

It was wrong, it felt like cheating. Cheating on your heart, at least. But you looked at the little annotations you had for the script. 

You hadn’t slept because you were wondering if you could ever make someone like Tom fall in love with you. Because really? What makes people fall in love? It had you thinking. And maybe you could turn this into a guide, how to make your number one enemy fall in love with you. Was there really only one fine line in between love and hate? Can one fall in love with someone you know so well? 

How does one make the devil fall in love with you? 

And you’d asked Timmy, “What made you fall in love with me?” As if it was a question like “what’s your favourite colour?” or “what have you been doing these days?” 

He hadn’t answered, not really. Only gave you a smile.

You closed the script, maybe the answer was in between your past, and you scrolled through your files until you found them, your old videos. 

You stared at the names, and randomly clicked on one. 

“Okay, Y/N… Want to dance with Tom?” Nikki said behind the camera. The movie was messy, and she was trying to focus on both of you. A young y/n was on the floor, her mouth covered with chocolate ice cream. A bow on her head, and a very nice white with cherries dress, now all covered, too with chocolate ice cream.  

You chuckled as you watched yourself, you had the rest of the ice cream on your hand. 

You were barely 3, it seemed. Your brother, probably 8,  was sitting on the couch as he was too busy nibbling on his own popsicle. A young Tom was giggling to the camera, covered in ice cream too, as he danced to the music playing in the background, ABBA, your mother and Nikki used to play ABBA all the time. 

“Y/N you don’t wanna dance with Tom?” Your mother walked into the view, as baby y/n looked up to her and shook her head. However, your brother, James walked over to you and helped-forced you to stand up. He took your hands and made you dance with him, you grinned. 

Your mother and Nikki started to clap as you danced, and Tom, of course, wanting to get back the attention, pushed away your brother and took your hands instead, dancing with you. 

The video was rather something quite adorable and stupid, you were both dancing to the song. 

You laughed to yourself, because there was probably a similar video when you guys were older, but now drunkenly dancing to ABBA. 

The kids were dancing, and you ended up kissing his cheek. 

“Adorable!” Nikki said. 

Of course, the sweetness ended as Tom pushed you back, making you fall to the floor. Tom laughed and then you cried. 

“Thomas! Don’t do that!” Nikki said. 

“Y/N, love it’s okay, don’t cry,” your mother said, as she rushed over to you. 

The video ended. 

You rolled your eyes, that video was the perfect definition to your relationship nowadays. Except you didn’t like him. But you had to, for your own sake, you had to put up with him. With the devil. 

He was the devil in disguise, you could see it. Even when he was younger, little devil, disguised as an angel, with a beautiful smile and angelic eyes. This was wrong, so wrong, you knew he could hurt you more than you could hurt him. How could you ever make him fall in love with you? If you hadn’t succeeded before what made you think that you would win now? 

It made you feel guilty, even, because you were playing with something where you knew you had a lot to lose. You were risking your heart, and you knew that this was leading to your doom. It was no secret that you had once wanted him. 

And even with everything, you didn’t want to hurt him. And you had circled around it, how you could try to ruin him. But you really didn’t want to. But how did you make anyone fall in love with you? Because it was written in the stars that you were both destined to hate each other. 

Or maybe you had only been destined to love him once, or twice but he was meant to hurt you. You couldn’t rewrite destiny, no matter how good of a writer you were, you couldn’t rewrite the stars. 

Was there an answer? Did you have to dress a certain way? Did you have to sing? Maybe makeup. And you started to think about it, maybe you couldn’t rewrite it but you could write a new story. 

What had made you fall in love with anyone, really? And you thought about Tom, the first person you’d ever been in love with, the chaos he was. Like a busy rainy morning in London, with hopes of the sun finally coming out. And it didn’t make any sense. Maybe that was you needed to figure out how to make something senseless turn into something important. Falling in love with the devil. And you’d already sinned. 

But you started writing, and before you knew it, you were already waiting for him with a coffee and a tea and a printed schedule. Tom would be picking you up. 

“Morning,” you said but he hadn’t answered. 

And there it was, the long-expected cold shoulder he’d be giving you. You hadn’t expected any less from him, of course he was now pretending nothing had happened. A black t-shirt and a pair of grey sweats. 

“Here’s your tea—And-are you excited?” 

“We don’t have to talk,” Tom said. “It’s too early.” 

You raised your brows. “Alright.” 

He remained quiet. But you watched him, the sun was making him a favour. The freckles on his skin were perfectly placed on his nose, it seemed like they were stars poured over. The damn boy was perfect, at least you could get something out of that.

You didn’t know if he had noticed your staring. 

He was too good to be true, honestly. He was very attractive, too bad he was such an asshole. Why had he never liked you back? 

And there it was, that feeling you’d always be feeling. The feeling of not being enough, or the feeling that you’d done something so wrong. But you’ve learnt better. You knew this was Tom being whom he was. Probably Haz had heard something and Tom had denied it and then he was giving you the cold shoulder to not raise any concerns. 

This would be difficult, having to deal with him and try to make him fall in love with you when he clearly didn’t like you at all. It was good you didn’t like him either. 

But you did look at the mirror and wondered if you looked bad, or ugly, or if it had been your voice, or maybe he didn’t drink tea when he was going to film, or what had you done wrong? That feeling would never go away when you were with Tom. What did you do wrong? 

However, you needed to go through the Schedule, even if your thoughts were messing with yur brain. “We will go straight into makeup and—“

“You think I don’t know that?” Tom rolled his eyes. 

You rolled your eyes. “Thomas I’m simply doing my job, alright? And if we want to work this out—And I’m just trying to be nice, okay? I don’t like you, I really really can’t stand you but I’m doing my best effort to try and be nice, and decent. We are gonna be doing this for two months and you know what? If you don’t get your shit together I might just quit right here right now and good luck finding an assistant in ten minutes, so you better not be pulling that attitude with me right now.” 

He blinked as he cleared his throat. “Sorry.” 

“Good, now I need—“

He smirked. “That was pretty hot, though.” 

You closed your eyes with desperation as you turned to glare at him. “What?” 

He grinned as he turned his head just slightly to wink at you. “I’m sorry after that night—Apparently that kind of stuff turns me on.” 

“That night didn’t happen,” you cleared your throat. 

He clicked his tongue. “But it did, and we were very chill after that, and that was hot.” 

“You’ve got some weird kinks going on there, first the praise kink and now this?” You sassed with poison. 

“The praise?—I don’t have a praise kink,” he frowned. 

You laughed. “We’ll see about that, now we need to—“

“Oh we will see?” He smirked. “So you’re saying you will prove it to me?” 

You fumed red as you glared at him. “You’d love that, wouldn’t you? I’m sorry to inform you but I’m a professional and that will never happen again.” 

He grinned. “Oh c’mon, y/n.” 

“What now?” You crossed your arms. 

“You can’t… you can’t pretend it didn’t mean anything.” 

“It didn’t feel anything. Did you feel anything?” This could lead somewhere.  

“No. Well… I’m not saying that I felt anything, but it does mean something.” 

You sighed. “I’m… No, I’m sorry I got caught up in the moment, that’s it.” 

He laughed. “Hm, bummer, and here I was thinking about bringing yellow flowers.” 

You looked away. Yellow flowers. “You wouldn’t even if you’d felt something,” you said with poison, not even wanting to think of yellow flowers. “And if you dare to mention that night again, I’m gonna quit for that too.” 

“Nice, I love it when you talk dirty to me,” he snickered, but then quickly regretted it as you smacked his head. “Ow! Hey! I’m just messing with ya, y/n.” 

You frowned, feeling your empty stomach slowly pulling down. 

“I hate you,” you stated. 

“I hate you more, boo,” he grinned.  “I’m sorry, y/n, it’s just pretty early…” 

“And? I hate waking up early too, I didn't even sleep last night.” 

“Why not?” 

Because you were broken-hearted, because you had to write a script, because you had to work for him, because you needed him to fall in love with you. But you wouldn’t tell him that. 

You shrugged, not giving him an answer. 

“I saw your tweets,” he pointed out. “What happened with Mr. Boring?” 

“He’s not boring, and it doesn’t concern you.” 

“Y/N, he is like actually super boring,” he pushed. “Like what did you even see in him?” 

A lot, a lot of things. He was charming, fun, nice, intellectual and he supported your dreams. And he never got into your nerves. 

“He was dreamy.” 

“Dreamy?” Tom frowned. “He is boring.” 

“He’s not.” 

“That’s why you broke up, right? Don’t tell me you got back with him? He’s so boring y/n and he’s—“

“That doesn’t—Look, don’t even—This is strictly professional and we shouldn’t be discussing any personal matters okay?” 

He chuckled. “Fine, let’s get into professional matters.” 

-

And there you were, walking behind the big movie star as people boarded him, the director, other actors, everybody wanted to speak to Tom and you were only following after him, writing stuff down that you thought would be important for later, as you tried to follow up with everyone. You had made sure the catering had gotten Tom’s snacks right, and the water, and then the menu for later, and everything that Harry had told you to, and then you were leading the way towards his trailer, and then after setting up you’d go to makeup. 

The set was big, and you felt butterflies just thinking that someday maybe you’d be writing or directing something of this sorts. The film world was fascinating to you, sure, television was amazing, too but this was just where you needed to be. Not exactly as an assistant but it got you closer to wherever you wanted to be. 

You were approaching Tom's trailer, as you were trying to explain to him the schedule that would be going on down today, while your mind was going places as you tried to come up with times where you could be alone with Tom so you could at least start your investigation on knowing what made him fall in love with anyone, and you had to start flirting with him, although, he had already started on that. Very unprofessional. If you were honest, that was the least that concerned you, you were too busy imagining the day you’d finally direct your own film,  but before you could even continue with your film fantasy, you saw….him. 

Timothée. 

You’d never had a heart attack, but you were sure you had just experienced one. 

Timothée. 

With some headphones around his neck and a pencil behind his ear, just outside Tom’s trailers as he was leaning over to read something on the person beside him.

Timothée. 

 He looked calm, and unaware that you were there. A white t-shirt, pair of jeans, and his curls flying. 

Timothée. 

You stopped abruptly, as Tom bumped against your shoulder. You froze, everything was getting blurry. This jeopardized everything you’d planned. 

“Y/N--What?” Tom frowned as he followed your gaze and then he saw him. A frown appeared upon his face. “Is that mister boring?” 

“Yes shut up I’m freaking out,” you snapped. 

Tom scoffed. “You’ve got to be kidding me. What were the odds?” 

“Sh.” 

Tom watched you, and mockingly laughed. “What?” 

“Oh my god, I can’t…” 

“God look at him, he looks so boring,” Tom pointed out. 

This was life laughing at you. “Can you please stop calling him boring?” 

“You can do so much better than Mister… ,” Tom rolled his eyes. “Timothée,” Tom poisoned, accentuating each and every letter.  

“Shut up.” 

This was chaos. And Timmy finally looked up and directed his sight at you, those caramel eyes glazed right upon you, and you saw him, and there was that smile, perfect smile that had made you fall in love with him. He looked so divine, so fresh, as if he was floating. An angel. 

How the fuck were you going to flirt around with the devil if your angelic ex boyfriend whom you still loved was going to be around? 

“Y/N?” Timothée mouthed as he dedicated another smile at you. 

You finally breathed in some courage and smiled at him, approaching him. 

“Y/N, what are you doing here?” He asked, softly, as his eyes were only on you. He had his ways making you feel like you were the only person in the whole world. 

“I-” 

“Timmo! Hello,” Tom intruded. “Hey, she’s my assistant, the real question is what are you doing here?” 

Timothée finally looked up at Tom. “Thomas,” he said calmly. “Oh, really?” He turned his sight back to you. “Why didn’t you tell me, love--” he cleared his throat. “Y/N that uh, you’d be working with him.” 

“I..” 

“She doesn’t have to tell you everything, man,” Tom interrupted you for the second time. You nudged him. 

“I just… didn’t think it was a big deal, but what are you doing here?” 

“I’m kind of… an assistant of someone’s assistant, but hey, I’m part of the crew,” Tim grinned at you. 

Tom watched between you both. 

“Hey um, but what about your script?” 

“She’ll have time to write it,” Tom pushed. 

“I can talk for myself Tom, uh, here,” you handed him the keys to his trailer. “Why don’t you freshen up before we go over to makeup?” 

Tom frowned. “Um, no, actually, I need you to come with me, I need to discuss some things,” Tom crossed his arms. 

“Really? Even if we went through all of it?” You frowned. 

“Yes, something just came up,” Tom smirked. 

You wanted to hit him. 

Timothée cleared his throat. “Maybe we can… talk later, okay? Later on a break?” Tim offered. 

“Yeah, for sure,” you smiled at him but then Tom motioned to the trailer. 

He walked in and you were quick to close the door. 

“What is wrong with you?” 

Tom scoffed. “I’m doing you a favour, y/n.” 

“A favour?” You were about to kill him, but you didn’t. You remembered it. You were supposed to start liking him. “You know what? Whatever. Hurry up. We need to go straight into makeup, I’ll wait for you outside. 

You were about to storm off before Tom stopped you. 

“What?” 

“Give me a smile,” he grinned. 

You raised your middle finger at him and then stormed out. This wasn’t going to be easy. 

However, he was rather decent after it, you went through makeup, wardrobe and eventually you were there, watching him walk into the set. You had a bottle of water waiting for him, along everything else he’d asked you. 

He had been asking for a lot of things, every time he was sure that Tim was somehow close, Tom would bring up the most stupid request, and then add ‘please y/n, dear.’ 

He was terrible. 

But you sat down, now ready to watch the scene. The director was giving him notes, and Tom was nodding, listening to him as he was getting ready. One of the things you had to admit that you loved about him, was his commitment, and even if you hated him, you knew he was very good at his job. Even the adorable facade he pulled to the world. You were very aware he was nice, and there were things that made you genuinely smile about him, but of course, he had a whole different persona when it came to you, and that’s when the magic simply stopped. 

But you watched him as the light was falling to him, the frame was him and only him, even if he was not really doing much, you loved how he would change from whatever he was being and turn into an actual professional. And he looked attractive, even if the makeup he was wearing now covered the freckles you loved. And your mind wandered, a spring frame, maybe even beginning of summer, of strawberries and the sun shining, a turquoise bike and a race towards the ice cream parlour. Memories, memories, memories. 

 But you cleared your throat, not wanting to stare too much, even if the tight clothes he was wearing had you thinking. You thought it was ironic, even, 80’s type of clothing they’d chosen, and he… Had you thinking thoughts. Sins. But, honestly who wouldn’t sin with a devil like him? 

But you looked away because you knew yourself, you knew the effect Tom had on you, and hell after that night, the effect had grown stronger. 

You decided to look around, as you were trying to look up for Timmy.

Someone tapped on your shoulder. 

“Hey,” someone whispered in your ear as you jumped in surprise, but finally turned your head to see Timothée standing right behind you. 

“Hi,” you whispered as he grinned. 

“Sorry for… scaring you,” he cleared his throat. “I didn’t mean to-” 

“No, no you’re good, it’s okay, I just didn’t expect to see you here,” you admitted, your voice lowered as you finally laid your attention back on him. 

“Yeah, it’s weird,” he chuckled. “Usually after a breakup, you don’t have to see your ex working with… Well,” he bit his lip, as he motioned for you to walk away with him, further from the cameras and mics. 

“Yeah, with one of the reasons for the breakup,” you clicked your tongue. “But I mean.” You dug your hands into your pockets. Another reason as to why you hated Tom was that he’d been so delicate on trying to push you and Tim away from each other. 

“You saw it, didn’t you? What I meant,” he sighed. 

You looked away. “Tim.” 

“He’s obsessed with you,” Tim scoffed as he shook his head. “And I can’t blame him, honestly, I am completely obsessed with you, too,” he grinned and you just smiled to yourself. “But… Well, it’s not exactly comforting to… you know.” 

“He’s not obsessed with me, he doesn’t even like me,” you shrugged as you turned to see Tom as he was still listening to the director, too focused to know. “He’s… only trying to find ways to bother me.” 

“Don’t you think that’s…” Timmy licked his lips. 

“I can’t blame him, I kind of do the same,” you confessed, chuckling slightly. “Anything to see him angry.” 

He pushed back a lost strand of hair. “Hm, maybe this is for the best, maybe right now we can finally spend time together.” 

But you knew that the distance in your relationship hadn’t really come from actual space, you’d been emotionally distant to each other. However, when you looked into his eyes, maybe everything was forgotten. How could you not get lost into the way he looked at you? 

But you couldn’t think about it now, you had something very important to do. Yet you couldn’t forget it, an autumn frame, with leaves falling down, as you ran towards him and you laughed as the night was fading in, eating cherries, and kissing him, once, twice and forever. 

You coughed, as you avoided his gaze, coming back to normality. 

“Tim, I…” You cleared your throat. “There’s something.” 

“Why do I feel like I won’t like that something?” He scrunched his nose. 

You licked your lips as you turned away, and you noticed Tom, you caught him staring. He quickly turned back to the director. 

“I just really meant what I said, I need time right now,” you gulped. “I don’t think I can emotionally commit to anything, can we… please be friends?” 

Timmy bit his lip but then grinned. “I’ll have to live with that,” he sighed. “But please don’t mind if I stare too long, I can’t help it, y/n. I’m an Icarus, remember?” 

You nudged him. “Don’t fly too close to the sun,” you warned him. 

He smiled. “C'mere, I’ll show you something cool,” he said as he led the way close back to where they were filming. They hadn’t started yet, but you saw Tom. 

Tom gave you another glance and then ignored you. 

You felt guilty, and weren’t sure why. But then you turned your attention to Timmy, who pointed out the lights on the set, and then to some props and explained what they meant and how it revolved around the story, and it was fascinating, knowing that little things that didn’t seem important would turn out to be so important. 

“The story is hidden between the little details,” Tim said. “Like that flower pot, you see it?” He pointed to it. 

“Yeah.” 

“It’ll change through scenes, the pot will get darker as…” Timmy explained. 

“Right,” you grinned. 

But everyone started to shush everyone, they would start filming. 

-

You had been quiet for the rest of the day, you had received Tom’s lunch and hadn’t even said any words to him. You’d been thinking about… a lot of things, really. But mostly Timothée, and how this was wrong. Very, very wrong. But there were worse things you could do, right? 

Tom had decided to have his lunch in his trailer, and he’d invited you over with him. Of course, it probably was only because he didn’t want you around Timmy. 

“Y/N?” Tom called. “Aren’t you going to eat?” He asked as you were biting on your cheek, nervously staring at the food. 

“Hm? Oh, yes, sorry.” 

He watched you. “So… I saw you talking to…” Tom cleared his throat. “Timothée,” he pronounced his name dragging his tongue and pitching his voice. 

“Yeah.” 

He blew his cheeks. “Hey, I can… I can get another assistant if you’re uncomfortable being near him…”

You chuckled. “Trying to get rid of me already?” 

“No… I’m just… I don’t want you feeling sad,” he pointed out. 

“I’m not sad.” 

He shrugged. “Well, you look sad.” 

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Tom shrugged. “And it bothers me.” 

“Does it now?” You questioned. 

“It’s my job making you sad and I’m angry he’s doing it,” he grinned. 

You rolled your eyes. “Of course.” 

“What happened then?” He pushed. 

You looked away. “Nothing, Tom. We broke up, I told him we had to be friends for now, and that’s it.” 

Tom watched you, he seemed calculated. He probably wanted ways to make you feel bad, that was Tom. Amazing memory when it comes to annoy you.

“Why did you break up?” 

Distance. Him. Harry. Timothée knowing you got tired of waiting before and thinking you’d settled with him. Dreams that had to be changed for plans, and plans which involved being away. Timothée pointing out you had had feelings for Tom. You probably did. Timothée pointing out Harry was probably in love with you. You, being aware of it, but deciding to ignore it, or not accept it. Selfish conversations. Jealousy. Long conversations that turned into small talk. Because you felt like strangers. Intimacy was gone. No more sparks. Secrets that you both held. Tom. Because you’d gotten drunk once and said something about Tom that one shouldn’t say when you’re dating someone.  

That was a summary. 

“I… well, it’s too complicated.” A summary he didn’t deserve to know. 

Tom shrugged. “Why?”

There was a part of you that was thinking about how you could make someone fall in love. You thought about Timothée, you loved how sincere he was. Maybe being sincere could help you. Being vulnerable helps. 

“I think we fell in love very quickly and we didn’t stop to see if there was… anything else going on with us, like myself I—he just I dunno, we changed and we were so into the idea of who we were at the beginning.” You didn’t even know what you were trying to say. 

“I’m not following.”  

“I feel like,” you sincered yourself. “At least with me, it started out as… as me escaping from something else you know? I was trying to avoid other problems and it came as a simple solution but in the end I fell in love with him.” You didn’t regret falling in love with him. 

“Meaning?”

“It was kind of a—getaway,” you licked your lips. “Escaping, but not really. I had too many feelings just trying to explode and I— I just let my feelings explode into him, I guess I wanted to love someone and he walked in.”

“A rebound?” Tom questioned. 

“Not really.” Besides, you hadn’t talked about this with anyone, not even with Harry, or Sam. It felt wrong. 

“So you were looking for a fling?”

“Well, no, it’s complicated,” you admitted. “But I just… really loved him, you know? But he’s very observant, and he caught up on it.” 

“Observant, huh.”

“Yes and he pointed out things which I’ve been oblivious to, or maybe not oblivious but I was too dedicated to avoiding them that I forgot about them,” you sighed. 

“What kind of things?” 

“Stuff, I dunno,” you ran a hand through your hair. 

He watched you, carefully. “What do you see in him anyway? He’s boring.” 

You chuckled, slightly. “He’s brilliant, and besides, I can say more about him than that short skirt who asked you out today.” 

He smirked. “Jealous?” 

“What would I be jealous for?” You rolled your eyes. “If anything I’m thankful. I’m hoping she’ll be able to calm you and your horny ass down,” you bellowed. 

He laughed. “She won’t be, I won’t go out with her.” He shrugged with fake shame. 

You frowned. “Why not?” 

Tom clicked his tongue. “Because, she’s…” 

“Dull? Yeah, I noticed that too,” you chided. “Don’t date someone like her.” 

Tom grinned. “I wasn’t going to,” he surmised. “But, please do tell me,  what kind of people should I date?” 

You bit your lip as you gave it a thought. “Someone with layers,” you began. “Fun, and who can put up with all your shit.” 

He raised an eyebrow with a smug smirk. “Hm, sounds like someone like you?”

You laughed. “No, no, sweetheart,” you rolled your eyes. “Someone who can actually stand you”

He laughed as he moved his chair to be closer. “Since when do you care about who I date?” 

You watched him with curiosity. “I don’t,” you cleared out. “What? Did you want me to care? 

He coughed. “I love how you manage to change the subject to avoid talking about how boring your ex is.” 

You nudged him. “He’s not boring, he’s amazing.” 

“He’s not, I saw him explaining bloody props to you,” he laughed. “Props. God, he is boring, why did you date someone like him? He’s literally… Look, I remember this one time when he was rambling about some boring shit, see I can’t even remember what he said? And gosh, everything he says is so poetic, and it’s like bro calm down,” Tom said disgusted. 

“I like that,” you laughed. “Maybe he’s just too smart for you, your little brain cell can’t handle it.” 

He glared at you as he brushed his hand against your leg, you coughed looking at it. “Ha-ha, no, but really y/n, you should date someone fun, someone who can make you laugh.” 

You smirked. “Hm… Since when do you care about who I date?” You said, walking your own fingers through his arm. 

He shrugged. “I’ve always cared about that, don’t be silly,” he looked at you, as his hand stopped your fingers, and then played with your hand instead. 

“Oh, really?” 

“Yes, y/n, because you’ve paraded around with assholes, man, you’re really bad at choosing boyfriends,” he chuckled as his other hand landed on your knee. 

You laughed. “I do have a tendency to crush on assholes, I used to have a crush on you, remember?” You stated with pride as you lifted his chin. 

He laughed as he bit his lip. “Point proven.” 

You gulped and looked away. “But Tim is different.” 

“But he is boring,” he scooted closer, you were barely an inch far away. 

“He’s not.” You looked away

“What did you see in him?” He pushed again and turned your head to him. “Okay, was he good in bed?” He chuckled. 

You blushed. “Oh my god, you shouldn’t ask that.” 

He snickered softly as he leaned over closer. “All I’m asking, y/n, is…”He lowered his voice, you felt his hot breath against your lips. “...if he’s able to get you all flustered only by… playing this kind of game and,” he glanced down at your lips, as he placed a single peck upon the corner of your lips.

You didn’t even flinch. “Are you sure you’re not the one losing, though?” 

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[hippohead]

Happy New Year

Pairing: Blaine Anderson/Kurt Hummel Rating: General Audiences Words: 2071 Summery: This is a Halloween fic. I promise.

Read it on AO3

- - - - -

The thing about being Rachel Berry’s best friend is, it’s a learned skill.  

And Kurt had put in the work. He had looked past the diva-esque antics and the obnoxious Broadway tunnel-vision and the steamrolling, and underneath he had found the Rachel that he loved. The Rachel who would bring him a cup of tea when she knew he was feeling down; the Rachel who pushed Kurt more than he wanted her to but knew he needed it; the Rachel who was kindness and cared – a lot. And it was worth it, for the most part, to have learnt the skill and to have let her into so many parts of himself.

Except for when it wasn’t.

“You’re being pushy,” he warns, and he knows his tone is sharp enough that it would stop most people. Rachel isn’t most people.

“Kurt,” she says just as sternly, swinging around the doorframe of the bathroom so that she can look at him while she continues her delusional lecture, “I just think it’s time that you admitted it.”

He adjusts his cat ears because they’re already giving him a headache. He knows he should have thought of a more original costume idea but time means nothing when he’s juggling NYADA and exams and showcases and auditions and the diner and friends and- god, he’s exhausted just thinking about it all. If all he could pull together for tonight was a pair of black jeans, a tight black long-sleeve, and a pair of cat ears – well, he thinks that’s quite reasonable considering. “There’s nothing to admit.”

Rachel steps out of the bathroom fully now, her makeup finished and her bob wig firmly in place. “How do I look?”

Kurt breathes a small sigh of relief at the change in topic, finally. “You look like the perfect Fanny Brice.” And she does, but the snarky part of him wants to note that she also could have been a bit more original with her outfit. Rachel dressing as Fanny for a costume party? Groundbreaking.

She walks past him, almost dancing, and sings, “That’s because I am the perfect Fanny Brice.”

Kurt sips at the cider that some of Rachel’s older friends from NYADA had left at the loft after their last party and waits for her to come back from her bedroom. By the time she does – a small purse looking like it’s stuffed with emergency night-out supplies slung over her shoulder – he's already feeling a light buzz twirling through his bones. “What time are the others getting here?”  

Rachel checks her phone, “Any minute now.” And then, because she’s the worst and unrelenting and incapable of letting anything go, she says, “I think you should tell Blaine that you have feelings for him tonight.”

“Oh my god, Rachel. I do not have feelings for Blaine.”

It’s the easiest lie when he’s saying it to Rachel, because it usually gets her off his back for a little while. There’s something complicated about the lie when he tries to convince himself. And it’s a lie he’d never say in front of Blaine, because saying it in front of Blaine means removing the maybe in their friendship. It would be Kurt clarifying boundaries he doesn’t want and making a possibility disappear that he always wants there.

And so he doesn’t know who he’s pissed off – karma or fate or the stars or whoever it is that controls the strings and the moments and time – because Blaine, Sam and Mercedes have pulled the door open to the loft just in time to catch his last sentence.

His back is to them but he heard the slide, and he glares at a very guilty, meek-looking Rachel. She bites her lips as if that’s an apology and then clears her throat, “Hey, guys!”

“Hey!”  

Kurt turns around at Mercedes’ voice, and her eyes are big and wild and trying to communicate things with him that he doesn’t have the ability to decipher right now. She’s dressed as Christina from the Candyman music video, and she’s pulling it off effortlessly. He wants to tell her that but the air feels too weird to speak into. Sam is dressed as some Star Wars character he doesn’t know the name of and Blaine-

“Are you... a pumpkin?”

There’s an odd look on Blaine’s face and Kurt can’t figure it out. He lifts his eyes once he realises that Kurt’s question is obviously directed at him - the only one dressed as a pumpkin - and nods, “Yeah. I am.”

Well, it’s good to know that Blaine can be dressed as a pumpkin and still look adorable. It’s desperately unfair, really. Almost as unfair as the fact that Blaine just heard him rather decisively utter the words, I do not have feelings for Blaine.

Sam clears his throat, breaking the uncomfortable silence that’s settled over everyone. “Should we get going? We’re already going to be late getting to Elliott’s.”

It’s enough to remind everyone that they’re close friends and long past the point of standing in awkward silences, so they bundle up in coats and make their way towards the subway station.  

Rachel finds a moment to whisper a quiet, “Sorry,” in his ear once they're on the train. He wants to question her about it – if he was telling her the truth, then there would be no need for an apology. Blaine hearing him say those words wouldn’t be an issue. He wishes she’d just believe him, for once, but then he glances over at Blaine laughing at an impression Sam is doing, a smile growing on his face despite himself, and he realises how transparent he is.

Why doesn’t Blaine?

- - - - -

Kurt is definitely avoiding him.  

He’s actually a little impressed. Elliott’s place is on the smaller side, so there’s not a lot of places for Kurt to be where Blaine isn’t. Yet he’s somehow managing to pick the perfect moment to slip to the bathroom, or to claim he needs a little air, or to gesture wildly at his empty cup as he starts to weave his way to the drinks.  

“What’s up with Hummel?”  

It’s Santana. She’s dressed as Xena Warrior Princess and he’d questioned her about it when they’d arrived – it didn’t seem like her kind of thing, or too stereotypical for her to buy into. She’d set him with an unimpressed stare and said, “It’s Lucy Lawless wandering around with her wife and beating up mediocre men. What about that isn’t my thing?” And, well, fair enough.

“I don’t know,” but he does know. “I think I’ll go see if he’s okay.”

Santana just shrugs, as if her initial question was as far as her concern was going to go, and Blaine starts to move through all of the capes and bright colours and masks. There’s a part of him that doesn’t really want to find him. That means saying things like It’s okay that you don’t have feelings for me and Just your friendship is enough and Let’s just forget about it. The reality is that he wants more than a friendship, but he doesn't know how to risk the friendship to get to somewhere else. And this, this is why he thought they had an unspoken agreement to never clarify what was happening. Because at least if they were living in a limbo that felt sort of hopeful and perfect, the door was closed but not locked.  

Tonight, Kurt had keys and he used them.  

He finds him in the kitchen by himself, nursing a gin and tonic. “Kurt?”

“Oh.” He looks a little scattered and – weary? “Blaine. Hi.”

It sort of hurts, the way he says that, like he wishes Blaine wasn’t there or looking for him or near him. Kurt’s never sounded like that before. “Can we- can we talk about before?”

He sees the panic move through Kurt’s eyes and almost backtracks, but he can’t do this; can’t exist in the world with things being awkward between them. And he can’t even really understand why they’re awkward. There’s so much unpacking to do about that, but for now he just wants to reassure Kurt.  

“Okay.”

It’s a small reply but it’s enough for Blaine. “I don’t really know why things have been a little weird, but I just want to- I don’t know, I guess. Figure out if we’re okay.”  

“I lied.”

He’s suddenly very aware of his heart and that it’s in his chest, beating, faster than usual. “What do you mean?”

“I lied to Rachel.”  

There’s some sort of plea in his rushed words, like he wants Blaine to hurry up and understand and put him out of his misery. So Blaine tries to hurry up and understand and - "Oh.”  

“Yeah, oh.” Kurt deflates a little and looks down into his drink, “I’m sorry I’m being weird and all over the place. I’ve been trying so hard to be careful with our friendship, and now I’ve just ruined it.” And then, because Blaine still hasn’t said anything and the silence is stretching out in a suffocating way, Kurt says, “Gin makes me sad.”

“I’d be lying, too,” because he’s finally remembered how to speak.  

Kurt squints at him, “What do you-”

“If I said I didn’t have feelings for you.”

It takes a moment, but the smile spreads onto Kurt’s face and it’s delicious and adorable and they’re both just standing in the kitchen, looking goofy and happy and risking it all.  

“That’s a very stupid and roundabout way of saying- well, I really like you, Kurt.”

Kurt puts his glass down but doesn’t make a move towards Blaine just yet. “I really like you, too. Like, a lot.”  

Blaine hums and lets that soak past his ridiculous pumpkin costume – he’s still not entirely convinced that orange is his colour despite Sam’s constant reassurances that it is – and into his skin, bones, being. He decides to be the one to close the gap a bit, moving towards Kurt and enjoying how heavy the air is, how he almost has to wade through it.  

“Can I kiss you at midnight?” he asks.

Kurt giggles and it’s silly and Blaine wants to hear it again, and again, and again. “It’s Halloween, Blaine.”

“Mm,” he murmurs, not really sure why Kurt’s clarifying that. They’re both in costumes and there are fake cobwebs covering every surface – of course it’s Halloween. He starts to fiddle with Kurt’s cat ears, “It is.”

“Kissing at midnight is a New Year's Eve tradition.”

“Oh?” and he knows that somewhere in his brain, but he feels like he deserves to be forgiven for forgetting the specific details of which tradition belongs to which holiday because Kurt is very, very close to him and his eyes are sparkling and all he wants to do is kiss him. And so he does, or tries to-

“Wait!”  

Blaine pauses, confusion riddling his eyes because were they not on the same page? But Kurt doesn’t move away. Instead, he keeps them in their tight spot together and pulls his phone out of his back pocket. Blaine can’t really see it and he tries to ask what Kurt is doing, but he just gets nicely shushed.  

And then, triumphantly, Kurt holds his phone up to show Blaine what he was waiting for – the clock in the corner of the screen clicks over to 12:00 and Blaine gets it. Now he kisses him. It starts off sweet and he tastes like Halloween candy. He’s already addicted to the sugar and he starts to lick along his bottom lip. Kurt gasps a little, opening his mouth for Blaine, and that’s when their bodies shift, too. Kurt’s back is pushing into the bench and he’s trying to worry about whether or not he’s hurting him, but Kurt is somehow getting his hands under the pumpkin’s fabric and sliding at the skin on the small of his back. He’s struggling to find that compassion now when all that matters is kissing Kurt, Kurt's back be damned.

And then suddenly he’s not kissing Kurt.  

Because Kurt has pulled away to drag in a breath and there’s an impossible grin on his face and a depth in his eyes that wasn’t there before and it means more, more, more. “Happy New Year, Blaine.”

“Happy New Year, Kurt,” he repeats. And then he laughs because he thinks they’ve just made their own holiday tradition, “Happy Halloween.”