#tried to make the flags look vintage-y. did not work.

[genderdryad]

Old Fashioned/Old School (OFOS) Butch + Femme Lesbian flags!!

OFOS: A lesbian exclusive label that refers to the classic butch/femme lesbian dynamic, and the ones who still practice it to this day.

pls credit me if you use- thnx!

[seijorhi]

Can I request for Corrupt CEO Oikawa and female assistant? She finds out he’s involved in shady underground business and tries to quit. Non-con smut, pretty please 🥺 I love your fics! I enjoy reading dark content. Your smut is amazing I’m addicted💖

Let me preface this by saying there will probably be a part 2 to this fic

Oikawa Tooru x female reader

TW implied non-con, blood, violence (nothing too graphic I don’t think?)

The Lion’s Den

The invitation to dinner should have been the first red flag.

You’d left the letter on his desk next to his morning coffee, stacked neatly on top of the reports and documents he’d asked you to prepare the night before. Impossible to miss.

You weren’t exactly sure what kind of a response you were expecting - a call into his office, cool indifference, security guards showing up at your desk to promptly escort you out - but the innocuous calendar invite that flashes across your screen twenty minutes after he arrived wasn’t it.

8:30pm, Da Graziella. Don’t be late x

The name was familiar - upscale, Italian and one of Oikawa’s favourites. He knew the owner, or so he’d told you, always got treated like royalty whenever he set foot inside. You used to wonder about that, why certain people seemed to bow and simper and scrape whenever he was around. Initially, you’d assumed it was because he had money and with money came perceptions of power. Of course, now you know better. It’s the reason why you wrote that letter - the reason why you should decline the invitation as politely as you can.

But you don’t.

Not because you’re scared of him - you’re terrified - but you want this to go as smoothly as possible, and there is absolutely no reason for you to be scared of Oikawa Tooru.

Not unless you knew the truth, and knowing the truth would put you in a very precarious position. 

The cursor hovers over the invite for a long moment when you feel a prickle at the back of your neck. Sure enough, when you glance up, there’s a pair of dark brown eyes staring at you from behind the glass wall that separates his office and yours.

Swallowing tightly, you click accept.

Oikawa smiles.

***

It’s a prestigious role, being the personal assistant for the CEO of Seijoh Industries, but it wasn’t the one you’d signed onto the company to do. You were an intern, fresh out of university, eager to put the last four years of your education to good use. 

They’d put you in the marketing department with six other grads and told you that at the end of the year there would be one permanent position on the team you’d all get to compete for. The first three months had consisted of coffee runs, minute taking at meetings (so many meetings), excel spreadsheets and grunt work the actual team couldn’t be bothered with, and you were almost positive that things were going to continue that way until your team was picked to lead the campaign for the new launch. For a while it did - meetings, minutes and coffee, rinse and repeat. Except now your meetings included the senior VP’s and him - the CEO. Oikawa Tooru. 

Of course nobody joined Seijoh without knowing about its charismatic founder. He was filthy rich, naturally, but he’d built this company from the ground up with his own two hands, made it into the powerhouse that it is. The media adored him, not just for his devastatingly handsome looks, but because he gave back to the community - a philanthropist at heart. He was the perfect poster boy for success in business.

(If only they knew how their poster boy really made his money.)

And he smiled so warmly and thanked you when you passed him his coffee. It wasn’t long until you felt those dark brown eyes seeking you out when the meetings dragged on, the playful glimmer and subtle twitching of his lips saying more than he could get away with - even as the CEO.

Still, you hadn’t expected it when he called you up to his office only a few weeks later to offer you the role of his personal assistant. You can’t quite remember the exact reasons he gave as to why; something about dedication and the diligence you’d shown. You’d caught his attention, and he needed somebody like you since he’d unfortunately had to let his last assistant go.

It was flattering, but being a PA wasn’t the career path you’d wanted at Seijoh. When you’d bashfully tried explaining as much, Oikawa had just waved away your concerns with a pretty smile and a laugh. In marketing, you were a glorified worker drone, one of six. Even if you did get the coveted promotion at the end of it all, you’d still be at the very bottom of the food chain, working yourself to the bone trying to make a mark on a company far bigger than yourself. With him, yes you would still be doing coffee runs and scheduling meetings and all of those mundane tasks, but you’d be working with one of the most powerful men in the country. Oikawa could open doors for you, and he could do it while making sure you received a generous salary for your efforts.

Your parents told you once never to look a gift horse in the mouth. 

How could you possibly say no?

***

After handing in your letter of resignation, the rest of your day goes reasonably smoothly. Oikawa’s gone for most of it. His calendar says he’s in back to back meetings all day, meetings which for once you were exempt from attending. It might have been a cause for concern if it hadn’t been on the agenda for days - some disgruntled shareholder that needed to be pacified, or so he’d told you.

You’re secretly glad for the reprieve; you have four weeks left at Seijoh and you’re still not entirely sure how you’re supposed to meet your boss’s eye without quaking - and the last thing you want is for him to become suspicious. But without him hovering, interrupting your work every five minutes as he usually does, you’re left alone with your thoughts.

Why dinner? 

Why tonight?

You’re a good personal assistant, at least you think you are - Oikawa’s certainly never complained - but it’s not like you’re irreplaceable. You’ve heard of companies trying to negotiate with higher salaries and benefits to keep good employees, but even an excellent PA is just a PA, and the pay Oikawa has you on is more than generous. You’re good at handling his moods and eccentricities, you don’t mind that he gets irritable and petulant when he’s stressed and you know how his coffee order changes depending on what time of day it is, but that hardly makes you anything spectacular.

If it’s an impromptu thank you for the last year and a half or a farewell from your boss, why not wait until you’re actually finishing up? You’ve given him four weeks notice, even offered to train up your replacement if they manage to find somebody beforehand.

Which leaves you with the possibility that he knows the real reasons behind your sudden resignation - a thought that fills you with a biting unease.

But he has no reason to even suspect such a notion.

He couldn’t have known you’d come back to his house that night, or what you’d overheard - what you’d seen. One week later and you still can’t close your eyes without visions of blood and brain matter splattering across the walls, but-

It’s a popular restaurant. Respectable. You’re reading too much into it, Oikawa’s probably just curious about why you’re suddenly moving on from Seijoh. He’s always been a little blurry on the lines between personal and professional - at least where you’re concerned. And it’s not like the two of you haven’t gone out for meals together before, he’s often dragging out of the office for ‘work lunches’ or a celebratory dinner when a project goes well.

People quit their jobs every day. You have absolutely nothing to worry about.

Except when you arrive at Da Graziella and the maître d' takes your coat and leads you inside, you realise that the assumption you’d been clinging to was very, very wrong.

There’s not a soul inside of the restaurant save for Oikawa, watching you from the lone table set up in the centre of the room. Bathed in the warm, flickering light of the nearby candles, Oikawa smiles as you falter, your wide eyes darting around the empty restaurant before settling back on him.

There’s a pit in your stomach, an icy tendril of fear that creeps up your spine. It’s a familiar sensation - you’d felt it back at the mansion too, the moment you’d glanced through the crack in his office door and saw him eyeing the handguns in the open briefcase on his desk. You should have left then, before you’d seen anything incriminating, and you should definitely leave now - but it’s too late for that.

It was too late the moment you set foot inside. 

You’ve walked willingly into the lion’s den, all you can do now is smile and pray that it’s not in the mood to play with its food.

“Ah, wonderful, you’re early. Would you like some wine to start off with, darling?” Oikawa asks. “You look beautiful, by the way.”

The endearment is new, but you can’t seem to focus on that when your heart is hammering against your chest. Easing yourself into the seat pulled for you, you wet your lips, but even then you can’t quite seem to make the words come out. 

No matter, Oikawa chooses for you, murmuring the name of an italian vintage to the maître d' who nods approvingly and disappears, leaving the two of you alone.

“S-sir?” you finally manage to utter, though it comes out as more of a question than a greeting, “I- why is everyone…”

“Gone?” he supplies for you, taking a sip from his own glass. He shrugs leisurely, “I figured that it would be nicer if it were just us two, don’t you agree?”

No.

“Oh, um, yeah… I guess.”

He laughs, the sound like chiming bells and you know that he doesn’t believe you. It doesn’t matter, you’re here and alone and there is very little you can do to change either of those things. “So tense, Y/N. Really, you should relax. I would have thought after almost two years together, you’d know that I don’t bite.”

More images flash to the forefront of your mind; the sneer curling at his lips as he yanks out his pocket squares and uses it to wipe the splatter of blood from his face. One body on the floor, the other squirming away from his outstretched hand. The crunch of bones breaking, pleading whimpers and then-

No, Oikawa might not bite, but that doesn’t set you at ease.

But even now, doubt flickers. He can’t have known you were there, that you’d overheard the talk of shipments and bribes, a deal gone wrong. Nobody saw you come, you have your own set of keys. He can’t know.

He can’t know.

He can’t… 

Oikawa’s grin widens, twisting into a smirk. “Well, that, and I suppose that I don’t particularly think what’s about to be said makes for polite dinnertime conversation. At least not where most people are concerned.”

Fear strikes at your heart, constricting until it hurts to breathe, but you will your tense muscles to relax, force what you hope - pray - is a convincing expression of mild confusion and absolutely nothing else onto your face.

“I’m sorry, sir?”

It’s a wonder that he can’t hear the frantic pounding of your chest as he leans closer, dropping his chin onto a propped up arm, “Tell me something, darling. If I’d invited you back to my humble abode instead of this restaurant, would you have come?” 

You swallow tightly, the tiny hairs on the back of your neck standing on end. There’s a look in those pretty brown eyes, a glint of something darker, something amused - it reminds you of a cat toying with a mouse and it sets you on edge. “You did leave so quickly the last time you dropped by. You didn’t even stop to say hello.”

Ice douses your system as sheer panic spikes. You’re out of your seat before your brain even registers you’ve moved, knocking it clear from the table in your stumbling haste - but Oikawa’s faster. Long, pale fingers seize your wrist, keeping you in place with a deceptively strong grip.

Those fingers, trailing softly along the barrel of the gun. It’s more than cursory, there’s something almost loving and tender in the way he traces the smooth ridges of the weapon before he picks it up, testing its weight in his hand. Oikawa hums thoughtfully, eyeing the crying man kneeling before him. “Beautiful, don’t you think?”

“Sit back down.” His voice is pleasant, but even as adrenaline pumps through your veins urging you to run, to fight - you know better than to believe it’s anything less than an order. “Good girl,” he purrs as you fumble for your chair.

Back at the mansion, you’d been scared. Horrified at the cold brutality of what you’d witnessed, your entire world seemingly falling out from beneath you. But even with your thoughts a hysterical tangle and nausea threatening to overtake you, your only focus had been on getting out unseen.

This, sitting face to face with a mobster - a man you thought you knew - with all the cards laid bare before you… it’s a whole new kind of terror. He could kill you, with his hands wrapped around your throat or the gun he’s undoubtedly carrying, it doesn’t make a difference. You’re not strong enough to fight him off and the only other person you’ve seen since arriving is the maître d' - you might have wilfully walked into this trap, but you’re not so naive as to believe Oikawa doesn’t have him and any other employees working tonight firmly in his pockets. They won’t come if you scream. 

Tears prick at your eyes. 

You are utterly alone and entirely at his mercy, and all that you can do is beg.

“Please, please, sir, I… I swear I-I didn’t see anyth-”

A single raised finger stops you. Oikawa tuts, shaking his head. “I don’t appreciate being lied to, Y/N. I know exactly what you saw, and I can guess well enough what you overheard. Certainly enough for those irritating little cops to start sticking their noses where they don’t belong if you decided to talk. Do you really think I’d leave my home open for just anybody to waltz in without my knowledge? Please, darling. What kind of a man do you take me for?” he laughs, and you fight back a broken plea, desperately biting down on your lip in an effort to stop yourself from crying.

“But,” he continues, reaching across the table to take your hand once more, “I don’t want you to worry about that, sweetheart. It’s in the past - and not why I asked you here.”

His thumb strokes the back of your palm causing goosebumps to prickle along your arms. Your heart is sitting in your throat, your stomach twisting in knots at the casual, innocent touch. You’re trembling in your seat, on the verge of ears and it feels like he’s testing you, except you don’t have a clue what you’re supposed to say, and you’re terrified that if you get it wrong, he’ll hurt you. “… I-it isn’t?”

Oikawa smiles, “No. I suppose in a way, it’s a blessing in disguise that you saw me for all that I am. It’s forced me to do something I should have done a long time ago.”

After a beat of silence and a gentle squeeze of your cold, rigid hand, you realise that he’s waiting for you to play along. “O-oh, um. What’s that?” your voice shakes, betraying the rapidly rising fear and panic eating away at you, but Oikawa pays it no mind.

“I understand why you resigned after witnessing what you did… it scared you, didn’t it? I scare you.”

There’s no point in lying, not when the evidence is right in front of him, so you nod.

He sighs heavily, but the amused glint in his eyes doesn’t shift. Even now, he’s still toying with you. “You’re a terrible actress,” he declares absentmindedly before his gaze sharpens. “There was always going to be an expiration date on our little arrangement, as much as I might have wished it otherwise.” 

There’s something strangely wistful in his expression as he toys with your fingers, but the words, the gilded implications woven between them, fly right over your head. All you can focus on is the pounding of your heart and the sharp drag of every breath filling your lungs as you wait for the penny to drop. “We can’t go back to what we had before, but you understand, don’t you, darling, that I can’t just have you wandering around knowing what you do.”

Your stomach drops, eyes widening in abject horror, “Please - please, Oikawa sir-”

He continues as if you hadn’t spoken. “If I offered you a choice; come willingly with me back home without making a fuss or I blow your pretty brains across the restaurant here and now, which would you pick?” he muses.

Fear is a funny thing. It makes the logical illogical, turns rational thought to mush, pushes you into a state of instinct that overrides everything else. Common sense would tell you that the threat of torture and whatever other nastiness that might await you back at Oikawa’s mansion was still the preferable option to the certainty of death at his hands should you refuse, but common sense had long since abandoned you. 

As a fresh wave of adrenaline surges through your veins, you rip your hand from his and leap to your feet. This time you don’t give him a moment, kicking off your heels to sprint for the door. Distantly you register the hissed curse behind you. All you can think of is escape, running until Oikawa and the restaurant and everything you’d seen and learned was left in the dirt behind you. You don’t want to die, but you can’t bear the thought of what he’ll do to you if you submit. Will he drag it out, make your death slow and painful? Let you rot in the basement, forgotten by everyone? Will he make you beg and plead for mercy before he ends it?

Fear makes you clumsy - it slows you down. 

You make it five steps before a pair of arms constrict around you, one around your waist, hauling you up from the floor, the other around your mouth, muffling the hysterical scream that rips from your throat. Legs flailing, kicking uselessly at nothing, you’re wrestled back inside. Oikawa’s lips are at your ear, growling something but you can’t make sense of the words over your harsh, panicked sobs, the sound of your frenzied pulse pounding in your ears. 

It’s only when you’re tossed like a sack of potatoes back onto the table, knocking the air from your lungs that time seems to slow and clarity returns. Oikawa’s looming over you, panting, dark pupils swallowing the iris, yet instead of the fury you expect to see written across his face, Oikawa is grinning - wide and delighted. 

“Wrong choice, baby,” he sings, quickly shucking off his jacket before grabbing the top of your dress and ripping. 

Your eyes zero in on the handgun strapped to his chest, just within arms reach. 

“But it’s okay,” he kisses you, moaning as he forces your mouth open, nipping harshly at your lips when you try to squirm away. “I forgive you, always sweetheart, you just have to make it up to me.”

[littlemisslipbalm]

Little Border Town

Summary: It begins with a man and a woman, as it always seems to. One lives in France and the other lives in Italy, technically, but they’re also neighbors. Various issues arise between these two and they can’t ever seem to see eye to eye on anything. Will they ever move past their petty fighting or is the little town they live in doomed to only gossip about what Harry and Y/N are fighting about today?

AKA: Harry and Y/N are neighbors that fight all the time, the whole town wants to know when they’ll just fuck. 

Featuring italrry as well as mustachrry! and running italrry... I hope y’all like! this is just part one, so much more is in store so pls let me know what you think :) lots of love - first fic that’s not named from a quote said in the story I’m shook!! the growth, the range...she has it apparently! side note: i had to change the gif from italrry/mustachrry bc something is whack with the formatting and either the keep reading or the title keeps disappearing so i tried some stuff to resolve it *sobbing*

Word Count: 8.5k | Warnings: swearing, mentions of relatives death, bickering, otherwise tame for now?

Pt. 2

-

There’s a little town that straddles the border between Italy and France. It’s just a little ways from Nice on the French side and Ventimiglia on the Italian side. The population is rather small and the tourists who come are usually either returners or are very very lost. One street you’re in France and the next you’re in Italy. It can be confusing to newcomers, but the locals love it -- for the most part. These streets are easily delineating as French or Italian by the little country flags that hang above all the shops or in the windows.

It’s a coastal town with cobblestone everywhere and bright painted buildings. The water is a soft blue and the wind barely ever brings any waves greater than a foot high. There’s a shop for everything and it seems to be frozen in the past from the outside, thankfully if you step into the tiny bed and breakfast there is wifi. The sun almost always shines down on this sweet piece of paradise, the winter does however bring gusting winds and thunderstorms. Those storms rattle the little town and afterwards you’ll find the residents picking up the pieces that have fallen off the shops.

Now, this little border town, with its streets separated by French and Italian customs, well almost all of them, it seems imperative to mention. There, in the exact middle of the little town, is one street that is split down the middle, half in France and half in Italy. The locals from the French and the Italian sides love that street the most because it has this certain dynamic spark of change that brings them together, makes them unique. Except for two locals that seemingly hate this street. These two locals aren’t actually true locals either. They both moved there a couple years ago.

Harry, from the Italian side, owns the shoemaker and repair shop. He hailed from England and moved to the little town when his great uncle, Joe, had sent him a letter pleading for him to take over his shop so that he could retire. Harry, ever the traveler, hopped on the next flight out to Italy and then traversed by train and bus until he reached his Joe’s home. Like most of the shops, there was a living space above the shop area. Harry lived there with Joe until he passed away a few years back leaving Harry to tend the store alone. He didn’t mind too much, being left there alone. He had always loved Italy and to get to live in the countryside in a little cobblestone town and own a shop was a dream come true. After living there for two years, he had bought a sailboat that he would take out when the shop was closed. He also had bought himself a motorcycle that he would ride to the next greatest city if he was ever in dire need of more of a nightlife as a 26 year old. He loved it, his own slice of paradise… except for his thorn in his side.

Y/N, from the French side, owns the bookstore, which carries lots of vintage books and records. She had moved there after college. In school, she had studied French and taken a year abroad in Paris and had traveled down to Nice for a month. While in Nice she had made a few friends and one of them had come from the little border town. They had insisted they all go there for a weekend. When Y/N stepped foot onto the street she now lived on a few years before, she fell in love. Seeing the little Italian and French flags in the windows and potted plants with a view of the sea had been so endearing to her.

She was drawn to the bookshop and had chatted up the old French woman who ran it. The woman had reminded Y/N of someone but she couldn’t quite place her finger on it. It was strange for her because she often found these connections with older people, she felt like she had known this woman her whole life. Y/N went back into the store the next two days she was there to talk to the woman again, Marie, she had learned. Before she left the little town she left her number with Marie and kept in some contact with her. After about a year though, their communication fell off. Y/N was sad but understood that life can be busy for people and that she obviously wasn’t the most important woman in the little border town bookkeeper’s life. Or so she thought. In the middle of the summer after she graduated college, Y/N was backpacking through Iceland and got a call from who she assumed was Marie. She was ecstatic and answered the call immediately. Sadly, it wasn’t Marie, instead a friend who had been given her will to execute. In her will she had left Y/N the bookshop. Her reasoning was similar to why Y/N had liked Marie so much, she said that Y/N had reminded her of her sister who had died unexpectedly in her teenage years. Being so far from home at the time and completely consumed with love and loss, Y/N had agreed to take over the shop without any hesitation.

She got home and informed her parents of her choice and moved to the little border town as soon as she could. She lived in the little area above the shop that Marie had also gifted to her and she tended the shop downstairs. The living area hadn’t really been cleaned out and Y/N had found an old collection of vinyls in the corner of the bedroom. As much as she wanted to keep them to herself, she thought it would be a good addition to the shop and had made a section for records in memory of Marie. She loved France and the coast, she bought a little car and would drive to Nice every so often or to the more sandy beaches along the French coast. It was quiet and different from the life she had maybe expected, but taking over a bookshop because a kind stranger had gifted it to you as one of their dying wishes wasn’t something Y/N could ever turn down. Her soul was too sweet. At least it was for most people, not for her neighbor though.

Her neighbor was the shoemaker, Harry. Their shops lived against one another even though he was on the Italian side and she was on the French. They were located exactly at the split between France and Italy. With less than a foot between the buildings, they saw a lot of each other. On their first interaction, Y/N had seen too much of her neighbor, meaning she had seen all of him. Their shops were similar to track homes, meaning they were built completely the same only mirrored. This meant that the windows of their bedrooms matched up exactly, she wondered who had thought that was a good idea after her first night. When Y/N had first moved in it was August, she left her window open and without the shade down to let as much fresh cool air in as possible. With her jet lag, she had found herself wide awake at about three am. Pacing around her room in the pink silk tank dress she had decided to sleep in, her eyes froze on her window - or rather, who she saw through her window. The light from her room and the moon were strong enough to illuminate the tanned and tattooed skin of the naked man in the room next to her. He held a bowl in his large hands that he seemed to be spooning cereal into his mouth from.

His half-lidded eyes flickered to the light coming from the place next door. The bookshop had been closed all summer and no one had been living in the upper area for a little longer than that so he had gotten into the habit of leaving his window open. He was half drunk after stumbling his way home from the tiny bar down the street. He had decided a naked cereal run would be a good idea to tide over his cravings. But upon seeing the girl wearing lingerie a mere two feet away from him, separated by the screens on their open windows, he realized that wasn’t actually true. His eyes widened only slightly as he saw her, his drunkenness allowing him to keep his blushing to a minimum. His drunken confidence kept him from covering himself as he lifted a single brow and made a salute with his spoon hand before going back to his bed.

She stayed at the window for a moment after the naked man disappeared and then quickly ran back to her bed. She shut off her light and tried not to think about everything she had seen. She tried to not think about his toned arms that flexed as he moved around his food, or the tattoos that lined every part of his body (the tiger and ferns seared into her mind specifically), or his tousled chestnut hair, or his searing green eyes, or the full mustache that held a little milk from his cereal. She tried, she really did. But how was she supposed to face her neighbor ever again after that. Maybe he wasn’t her neighbor, she reasoned, maybe he was an acquaintance her neighbor had just spent the night with. That wouldn’t be better! Her hands grabbed her other pillow and shoved it over her face trying to force herself to go to bed.

The next day, she had been working out front of the bookshop, beginning to repaint the windowsills of the shop with some navy paint she had found in the back to give it an updated look. It was early and she hadn’t expected to see anyone at all. Her jet lag still ailed her and caused her to be up bright and early. This was her second run in with the shoemaker, this time though, both to her dismay and joy, he was fully clothed. He wasn’t watching where he was going and almost toppled the both of them over as he left his store front, locked the door behind him, and then set off down the street. His large body, covered in short black running shorts and a mesh grey tank top, bumped into her almost immediately. He was still fiddling with his music on his phone as he began his run. She jumped back and dropped the paintbrush from her hand. She yelped as his body collided with hers and he stopped in his tracks. His eyes scanned her and took in the light wash cuffed jeans and moss ribbed tank top she was wearing. They widened when he recognized her face, the expression of shock similar to that of last night when she had seen him in his bedroom. He smirked and took out one of his earbuds. She grabbed her paintbrush from the ground as he extended his hand to her.

“I’m Harry,” his hand is greeted with hers. He speaks to her in English and she decides it’s probably best to follow along with whatever someone else began with. She worried that she’d run into a lot of Italians who didn’t know French or English and she’d have some trouble. His eyes flicker to the bits of blue already littered on her hands and in her hair.

“Y/N.” She nods, avoiding eye contact with the man she had already seen too much of. At least he’s not your neighbor’s lover, he’s just your neighbor. She also notices how he doesn’t apologize for running into her.

“You were spying on me last night,” his hand returns to his side and his smile quirks up again as he watches her face flush. His nicely groomed mustache twitches, trying to contain his laughter.

“I was not!” She finally looks up at the taller man and takes in his tanned face that is even more attractive in the morning light and up so close. The hat he wears is funny, a blue trucker’s hat that read “If you ain’t a fisherman, you ain’t shit!”, and she would laugh if she couldn’t already tell he was going to be extremely annoying.

His smirk continues and he barks out a laugh. He removes his sunglasses to really look at her now. “It’s alright, I work hard for this,” he gestures to his body, “glad someone appreciates it. Just means I’ll need to be installing a shade now, I guess.”

“You don’t have a shade and you walk around your room naked?” She ignores his first bit of conversation. She can’t think about his body or how it had looked last night. She sets down her paintbrush and folds her arms across her chest, trying to figure the man in front of her out.

“No… but it’s not all my fault. You had your shade open too! Who’s willingly up at that time of night anyway? I was just fixing myself a snack after the pub.” He raises his brows triumphantly at her, feeling confident that he has gotten the upperhand in the conversation.

She narrows her eyes at him as she finally registers that his accent isn’t Italian or French. He’s British and she wonders what he’s done to get himself in this little border town. He also seems to own the shop beside her since he locked the door behind him. He was peculiar, but she couldn’t dwell on what she thought about him since he had just accused her of being a peeping tom.

“Someone is up at that hour because she just moved and has terrible jet lag and can’t sleep. The place has been completely closed up for months and I needed to get as much cool air in as possible before the hot day. That’s why I was up and that’s why my shade wasn’t down.” She stands up straighter and rolls her eyes at him, muttering something in French to herself about annoying men. She smiles to herself when Harry doesn’t seem to understand. He obviously can tell she said something, but he doesn’t know exactly what. He could understand a good bit of French and he could speak some, but if someone spoke quickly and quietly, like she had just done, he wouldn’t be able to make it out. He figured it was something rude, though, with the way she sounds and begins to turn from him.

“Are you here to stay?”

“Yes.”

“Well, welcome to the best place in the world. It was so nice, two countries couldn’t decide who got to keep it and decided to split it.”

His arm sweeps out around him, gesturing to the street around him. She smiles up at him before following his arms movement. His arm had more tattoos than she had realized from her eyeful last night. She noticed the intricacies of all the black ink and again she had a million questions that she had to keep to herself. He was arrogant, conceited, impatient and a little bit odd and she knew all of this after barely one conversation. At least they could agree on one thing, they loved this town.

He looked back at her after scanning the street and saw her smiling in wonderment at everything around her. This brought a fleeting genuine smile to his face, knowing she was happy to be there. He had known Marie and was sad to see her go less than a year after his great uncle. He had always thought that Marie and Joe were both secretly pining over each other. Constantly stopping into each other’s shops and waving from their windows at each other, but Joe had always shaken his head at Harry when he mentioned it.

His smile faded when her eyes came back to his fac face face. Her smile disappeared as well. “Right, so, see you around…?” He said, already forgetting her name. She scoffs when she realizes what happened and then repeats her name. He nods curtly before replacing his sunglasses and single airpod and starts running again. She calls after him, “Thanks for the apology!” and then mutters to herself, “le con” knowing she shouldn’t shout that down the street where other people speak French. He doesn’t hear any part of it, his music up high enough to drown out the sounds of the world.

-

Y/N settled into the bookshop fairly easily, but she never failed to mention how unhelpful Harry had been:

“Yes, well, it’s been going pretty good...except for this one man. Well, I’d hardly call him a man -  a boy. My neighbor, actually, he owns the shoe shop...no, nevermind that, he practically made it his mission to make my move the hardest thing in the world...Harry -- yes, that’s his name, Mama… well I don’t know, It’s just Harry. - it doesn’t matter! He’s been in my way at every turn… yes, both physically and metaphorically...I’m not kidding! And I’m not being dramatic… Well, It was nice talking to you. Love you, talk soon.”

That was her first telephone conversation with her mother since arriving in the little town. Maybe ten days after she arrived. Naturally, she had it in the downstairs area of her home, the bookstore. And naturally, Harry had wandered in, to discuss one of their shared planters, and overheard her entire side of the conversation and gathered the rest from his own imagination. When she had laid eyes on him after setting down her phone, she rolled her eyes at the smirking Chesire cat look on his face.

“You would be the kind of man to eavesdrop, hm?” She restacked a group of books that were already in order.

“Thought I was a boy?” his smirk remained on his face. He strided closer to the counter she stood behind.

“Like I said...What can I help you with?” Her voice drips with venom as she finally turns her eyes to look at Harry. His smirk still remains on his face now that she is making eye contact with him. He’s clad in a t-shirt that has some baseball team on it with burgundy corduroy flared jeans. She notices the strain of the shirt over his chest and biceps and avoids the scoff of how vain he must be to keep himself in that good of shape for tending a shoe store in the South of France, or rather Northern Italy…

“Right, Thought I’d pop in and tell you that one of our planters is shared. So you’ll have to talk to me before replanting anything. I noticed you coming in with tulips the other day.”

“The ones on the front of the street?” He nods as her head turns to glance out the front window. “Why the hell do we share a planter?”

“Because, my late great Uncle Joe and Marie fancied each other.” Her eyes went wide at his words, trying to think of Marie having a crush on someone. “They were never together, never admitted the fancying, but they always did the planters together. They each had one of their own and then bought the third together, said it made sense to make the shops look nice...I know it was just so they had more to tend to - together.”

She hums, taking in everything that he said and how his eyes shine slightly just at the mention of his uncle. His voice had perked at the story he had just spun for her and she smiles thinking about the idea of love and loving someone so much that you’re content with simply planting flowers together. It seemed really old-fashioned to her, but it also brought even more charm to the town she now called home. Romance was still alive here, or so she hoped.

“Okay, I’ll make sure to let you know when I’ve decided what flowers I want to put in there.” She turns around, assuming the end of the conversation and getting back to work. She doesn’t really find a reason to entertain Harry anymore than necessary. Like she told her mother, he was constantly in her way or being naked in his room, something she had chosen to leave out of her conversation with her mom.

“You’ve misunderstood me. Maybe my English is getting rusty, I rarely speak it since everyone else knows Italian.” She flips around at his rude comment, eyes alight with fire once again. “If you want to replant anything, which I don’t understand why you would, the flowers I put are wonderful, we’ll have to discuss it. It’s not you just telling me you’ll be doing it. We own it equally and I won’t let you bulldoze my hard work.”

“On a planter?!”

She sticks on a sickly sweet smile as she tries to refrain from laughing. “I guess the countryside really can make some people enjoy the simpler things in life…” With that she walks to the back of the shop, leaving the stunned Harry to see himself out of it. When the little bell rings, her stifled laughter can be heard among the books.

-

It doesn’t matter what it is, Harry and Y/N are able to make a fuss about anything and the whole street, if not the whole town, had quickly figured that out. No one had a problem with Y/N, they welcomed her with open arms. Marie had told the entire French side and a good amount of the Italian side how wonderful and tenacious she was. How Y/N reminded Marie of her sister and upon meeting her, many agreed. But the first time Harry and Y/N had a public row, at the bakery in the center of town, on the French side, everyone was quick to realize that there was bound to be trouble between the two. It was a stark contrast to the loving comments and endearing looks the previous owners had always engaged in when they were still alive. This fight was maybe a few days after the planter business and Y/N had tried in the following days to get him to change the planters to no avail so she was in an especially pissed off mood towards Harry.

“Could you be taking any longer?” Y/N rolled her eyes as she stood behind her tall neighbor, her foot impatiently tapping a beat against the stone floor.

Harry stood hunched in front of the display case, scanning for exactly what he wanted and desperately trying to remember what he had come here for. He was a bit more dressed up that day, his mother had been coming to visit him for the first time in a while and he wanted to look nice and have a special treat for her when she arrived. His trousers were a deep navy that matched the navy of the stripes on his sweater vest, the blue pinstripes of the button down underneath was a slightly lighter shade, but blue nonetheless. He had rolled up his sleeves past his elbows, showing off his various tattoos and sinewy arms. As his eyes scanned over the case again, he ran through his mental list and bit at his lip, knowing he was forgetting something. He barely even heard her drawl out her insult, the tapping of her foot eventually getting his attention due to its faltering.

She straightened upright from her hip jutted position when he didn’t even bite at her unkind words. Her foot stopping its melody. As she was about to give another go, Harry turned around and she gave him her full look of displeasure.

“Country life requires a bit of patience. I doubt you’ve ever had to wait your turn in your life, but you’ll have to get used to it here.”

Her eyes roll instinctively. She noticed that they seemed to do it just at the mention of his name or the sound of his voice. She had always thought herself a lover of the British accent, citing Downton Abbey and various famous musicians - Freddie Mercury, George Harrison, Elton John, etc. - as members of that little island who were formative to her identity, loving them for their talents as well as their accent. Yet with Harry’s deep meandering British voice, she found herself wishing to be anywhere but in its presence. She found that he took so long to ever get out an actual full thought and when he did it was barely coherent. He also never failed to let his sarcasm or smugness drip into his tone, causing her to audibly be aware of the smirk on his face even if she couldn’t see it. The image flashing across her mind no matter what.

“You’ll have to let me know when you’ll be here again…” His eyebrows quirk at her odd response and it’s her turn to smirk up at him. She’s already satisfied with her quip even though she’s only gotten half of it out. His mouth opens to question her, but she finishes her thought. “That is, so I can plan around you. If I have to alot a whole day to the boulangerie just waiting for you… I’ll never get settled.”  

Harry scoffs and a fleeting expression of actual offense flashes across his features before turning around to finish his order. The others in line and the worker are all equally wide eyed and she hears some hushed whispering behind her, but it’s in Italian so she can’t make it out. The worker eyes Y/N as she rings up the rest of Harry’s chosen items. The worker smiles softly at Harry, feeling for the man she had known long enough to know that he wasn’t as rude as he was being with Y/N. She was also taken aback at Y/N’s response, but hadn’t seen her be rude otherwise so she had to assume it simply had something to do with the man.

When Harry is all set, he turns to leave and pass Y/N again. His eyes narrow and his words once again are turned nasty. “I wouldn’t mind if you never got settled,” he said before muttering something in Italian under his breath and leaving the store. She assumed it to be nasty as she eyed the couple behind her giggling, before walking to talk with the worker.

She shook her head trying to rid herself of her cold exterior that she kept having to conjure up for Harry. Now smiling, she asks for her items in French, happy to be speaking the language that brought her so much joy rather than English which seemed to be reserved only for Harry now. She hadn’t gone to the Italian side very much yet and the people she had met over there so far had spoken French to her once she had introduced herself.

As the worker finished with Y/N’s order, she asked in a hushed tone, in French, “How do you know Mr. Styles?”

“Harry?” Y/N guessed, not actually knowing Harry’s last name until now. The girl behind the counter smiles quickly before nodding. “Mon voison” she sighs and contains the accompanying eye roll when she sees the girl blush at the idea of being neighbors with Harry. “He’s a brat,” she continues and the girl laughs lightly before saying, “I think he’s rather sweet… not bad to look at either.” She looks out the window of the shop wistfully, like Harry’s still there and Y/N whips her head around, afraid he knew that she was talking about him. Thankfully, he was gone and Y/N laughs to herself when she feels the anxiety that had gripped her for a moment dissipates. Shaking her head at the girl, she grabs her items and change from her before making a break for the door.

It was soon after that incident that Harry and Y/N’s squabbles became notorious throughout the little town. Drama wasn’t common there and any sort of excitement was the talk of the town. It made sense that this was snapped up by the gossipers from the French and Italian sides alike.

Anne, Harry’s mother, was stopped the next day, when she was out for coffee and Harry was still at the shop, and was asked why her son was so angry at the new bookshop owner. She thought it made sense for her to drop into the bookshop next to her son’s shop after hearing that. Walking into the shop, she was greeted with the smell of lavender and the sweet melody of a love song. She immediately smiled at the charm of the bookstore, feeling like there was a bit more life in it then there had been the last time she had come in. Harry had told her that Marie had passed, but not that someone new had taken over and she was eager to meet them, especially now that she had been told about the town gossip.

A messy haired, but bright eyed Y/N came trotting out of the bookshelves at the sound of the door opening. A smile beamed on her face when she saw the mature brunette woman standing just inside the doorway. “Bonjour! Bienvenue!” She greets as she smooths some of her unkempt hair. Y/N had been digging around the back shelves of the store searching for a specific book one of her other customers had asked about yesterday. And much to her dismay, she wasn’t being very successful. When the woman only says “Bonjour” and makes no inclination that she plans to speak more French, Y/N believes it’s safe to assume she’s a tourist and switches to English. “Can I help you?”

Anne laughs happily to hear English and walks over to the counter that Y/N had walked behind. “Yes, Hi! My son lives here and I’ve just come to visit him. He didn’t tell me someone had taken over Marie’s shop.” Y/N perks at the name of Marie and she smiles sincerely at the woman now. Not quite a tourist, yet not quite a local, she noted for herself.

“Yeah, I’m Y/N. I was a friend of Marie’s, so to say, and she left me the place.” Pausing, Y/N turns over the vinyl that had just finished side A, and then returns to her place at the counter. “I’m still really new, but it’s a small town. I don’t know of many other people who weren’t born here who live here, though, who’s your son?” She rests her elbows on the counter and leans on them while staring at the kind woman. She had noticed the British accent, but hadn’t connected the dots yet. It wasn’t uncommon for people to have a British accent when they spoke English so it didn’t necessarily mean she was from England. But maybe Y/N should have noticed the light eyes and brown hair, maybe that should have been an indicator as well. Or the way she had said ‘my son’ and nodded in the way of the shoe shop. But no matter what, it came as a shock when the woman with the coffee in hand said what she said next.

“My son is your neighbor! He runs the shoe repair shop. His great uncle, my ex-husband’s uncle, left it to him a couple years ago.”  Y/N’s eyes widen so much so that she has to blink a few times to assure herself they haven’t popped out of her head.

“Harry...is your son?” She speaks slowly and Anne smiles at the girl. She nods and Y/N nods back, taking the news in. He has a mother...she guessed she should have expected that. It had been unlikely that her theory of him being sent straight from hell to make her life just like it was accurate.

“Here you are mum! What are you doin’ in here?” Harry rushes through the door when he sees his mother inside from the window. Y/N rolls her eyes on cue, but still notices the soft adoring look on his face while he gazes at his mother. She supposes she can concede that he isn’t the spawn of satan now. His look hardens when he turns to Y/N, who has straightened up to her full height upon his arrival.

“I was just meeting the new bookshop owner, Y/N!” She looks between Harry and Y/N. “What’s this about you being angry with her?” She asks more to Harry, but Y/N hears easily. Harry’s eyes flash at Y/N and her eyes widen once again, but shrugs to Harry, having no idea where his mother had gotten that idea.

“What did you say-”

“I didn’t say anything! I’d just realized she was your mother right before you walked in!”

“It’s true. Someone said something about it to me at the coffee shop. Of course, I didn’t even know the book shop even had a new owner, so I decided to come by.”

“It’s nothing, mum,” Harry insists.

“Harry and I...we just don’t exactly see eye to eye. But, I’m sure we’ll warm up to each other eventually,” she easily lies through her teeth, knowing she really couldn’t see herself ever being friends with this prick. “Feel free to look around the shop, it’s not exactly to my liking yet, but then again, I am just getting settled. Otherwise, you two should enjoy your time together. I’m sure it’s not often you can make the time to journey all the way out here.” She smiles sweetly at Anne, choosing to ignore Harry completely.

“Thank you, Y/N. Harry can be an acquired taste for some, but just below that exterior of his, he’s a giant softy.” Harry groans at his words, Y/N’s smile only grew.

“Au revoir! Good Day!” She calls when they leave the shop rather swiftly. It seemed to her that Harry was desperate to get his mother out of the shop as soon as possible, while Anne was happy to browse and look at what had been changed in the shop.  

-

Their early unhappy encounters were now months ago. But encounters of a similar caliber happened at least once a week. It’s hard to avoid a neighbor who you seem to find anything they do to be an annoyance, even their existence. They saw each other around town and at their shops and in their bedrooms. Even though they didn’t particularly like each other, hated was actually the correct word, the drawing of the shades was a near impossible task with the heat that plagued the little town between August and Mid-October.

They had fought over who could leave their shade open and who couldn’t because Harry believed only one of them had to close it to maintain privacy but then he wouldn’t settle on an agreement on taking turns closing shades. Y/N argued that they could both leave them open if he would agree to stop walking around his room naked all the time, but he refused that as well, at first. He conceded after a week of having his shade drawn that he would wear boxers. Therefore, practically every night, Y/N and Harry would see each other before bed since they actually seemed to have the same sleep habits. Sometimes she would have to yell at him to close his window if he came home with a guest and he would yell at her to turn off her light if she was reading or watching television in bed too late.

Thankfully, it was approaching the end of October and the weather would begin to change. There wouldn’t be a reason to have the window or shade open and they at least wouldn’t have to see each other right before bed.

This morning, Y/N is up early, she found it amazing to wake up early here, something she had never done before this little border town. It was teaching her new things about herself and changing her, but she liked it. In deep forest green flared pants and a long sleeved rainbow striped shirt, Y/N is watering the planters in front of her shop as well as the little ones attached below the windows. It was always a little cool in the mornings, but she had checked her weather app and seen that it was actually going to be the first cold day of the season. The first cold day since she had arrived actually. As much as she liked the sun, she also loved fall and winter, so she was excited to experience them for the first time in the little border town.

She smiles to herself as she moves around gracefully. In her back pocket, her music plays softly, Paul Simon sings lovingly to her. She hums along and moves to deal with the planter at the edge of the sidewalk. But she’s foiled by a man she seems to think about far too much for how much she says she dislikes him. Harry jogs back a half step upon realizing he has run into her yet again. One would assume that one of them would either change their routine or know to step out of the way or really just be a little bit more aware of their surroundings with how many times this has happened since Y/N’s arrival. Of course, their stubborn personalities actually require them to be unrelenting in this area of their lives as well. Much like the shade debate, the who was in the way of who debate is still majorly undecided.

“Oi!” He looks down at his shirt and it has a substantial wet spot on it. She had spilled some of the watering can’s contents.

“Excuse you!” She says simultaneously, not realizing she’d gotten water on him.

“I’m not the one who just threw water on someone.”

“Neither am I. You ran into me, it’s not my fault you never look where you’re going.”

“You’re just always in my way. This has been my route for ages, I’m not going to change it just because you moved in next door.” His hands fly around in annoyance and anger.

“You’re unbelievable!”

“Well! I can’t stand you!

“Clearly!” “Cleary.” They’re both huffing out insults that don’t seem to really be going anywhere. Harry has straightened his posture for once and she actually finds his true height slightly intimidating. They both breath for a moment, finding no other words to fill the tranquil morning silence that they had just disturbed.

“Are we ever going to have a conversation where we’re not at each other’s throats?” She sighs, feeling upset that the nice Fall day was suddenly ruined for the rest of time just because of this.The bickering with Harry was tedious and she couldn’t keep going like this. Being in a completely new place and running a small business was hard enough as it is. Something snapped in her just then, hoping to squash a part of her life that is causing her stress and exhaustion.

Harry’s expression falters, his eyes losing that glint of angered passion for a moment, he wasn’t expecting that response. It wasn’t necessarily mean, it was more like she was resigned. Simply done with the conversation. He felt his anger and annoyance slip away rather quickly at her question. She sees his mustache twitch, which she realized happened when he was either amused or confused. She didn’t think what she said was funny so she presumed he wasn’t sure what to make of what she had just said. Her head tilts to the side and waits for his response. Her watering can falls to her side now, making herself a little more comfortable and leaving only a small amount of air between her and Harry.

“Tired out already? Thought you were more of a competitor than that.” He mirrors her by tilting his head as well.

“I didn’t realize we were in any sort of competition.” She stepped forward and straightened her posture a little, feeling challenged by the tone he had taken. She may have a kind and soft exterior for most, but she was nothing if not fierce in her core. She was an Aries afterall. She wondered what Harry might be, she wasn’t super into astrology, but she was sure that he wasn’t an Aries. Aries were fiery and passionate and were very unwilling to admit defeat, so he had just hit the exact right note to keep her from squashing their now long-standing quarrel.

“We’re not. I just thought I had met my match, guess I was wrong.”

He looks off in the distance to be nonchalant, like he wasn’t trying to bait her even if that’s exactly what he was going for. Sure, he found her annoying, for whatever reason. But he had realized when she had posed the question, that he hadn’t had this much excitement in a while. Nothing and no one really challenged him in the little border town, his work was easy enough, money wasn’t tight, friends were easily made, and partners for the night were easy to find. He didn’t dislike any of those facts, truly, he counted himself lucky and was overjoyed that he lived there. But the verbal sparring he engaged in with Y/N fulfilled a need he hadn’t realized was going unsatisfied. He would never admit it, but she was often a highlight of his day. Getting into a little quarrel with her brought a smile to his face when he recalled it later. The bird she had started to flip him before bed made him genuinely laugh. He liked it, so when she seemed to want it to end, he did what he knew would make her change her mind. Tease her.

“I see...bonne journée, cul.” She decided to bid him farewell, knowing he didn’t plan on apologizing any time soon. She turned her body from him and Harry understood enough French that she had ended the conversation with a “good day”. He also knew that she had called him an “ass” as well. His brows raised for a moment at the insult before giving a flicked salute in her direction and jogging off for his morning run.

For some reason, after a moment of knowing Harry had gone she glanced up in his direction and watched his retreating figure. And for some reason she found herself looking back down at the flowers and smiling to herself. Somewhere inside her she was glad Harry hadn’t given into her veiled request to stop fighting. It was a strange sensation because as tiring it was to bicker with him, she feared if they stopped then they would stop talking at all and her heart panged at the thought. She didn’t know why and she didn’t care to know why either.

-

The bell of the book shop chimes and Y/N pops up from behind the counter. She had been crouched out of sight trying to organize the books of notes on customers Marie had left that Y/N had only just found. She hadn’t realized the cabinet existed in the counter so when she accidentally slid it open she was a little taken aback. Still, she was quickly distracted by the new customer. Her cream collared shirt was unbuttoned to where her collarbone and decalotage were on display, some gold medallions hanging around her neck today. Her worn light wash blue jeans were barely visible behind the counter due to her height. In her hair was a classic red bandana, pulling back her hair out of her face save for the strands that worked themselves free on their own accord.

Her smile was wide, happy to see the first customer of the day as she pinched at her shirt to make sure it was in place. Her posture slumped immediately when she realized that her first customer wasn’t a likely customer at all, instead who else but Harry. A mischievous glint in his eyes as he strolled in and right up to the counter. He leaned his large body down to rest his head in his hands and look up at her. He crossed one ankle over his other, getting comfortable as he stared wickedly up at her.

She wet her lips and took a step back. It was her first look at him today, apparently missing him on his morning run. Maybe she should have thought something of that after their encounter yesterday, but she didn’t. Like most days, his trousers were high waisted, Gucci likely - how he afforded them, she had no clue - and his usual shirt had now been accompanied with a striped red, black, and yellow open cardigan. His hair looked wet like he had just taken a shower, most of it was pushed up but a few strands fell over his large forehead. His mustache looked freshly trimmed and the rest of his facial hair had yet to leave any shadow after his obvious shave.

“Harry.” She says definitively, regarding him with even contempt.

“Ice Queen.” He levels, eyes narrowing.

She scoffs immediately. “At least give me something original...or accurate maybe. I may not like you, but ice queen? Hardly.”

He genuinely chuckles at her quick response and nods, agreeing easily with her for once. “You’re right. It was weak, I’ll admit. Feel like you need a nickname though, thought something really rude might upset you.” He smirks cheekily. His agreement doesn’t make her feel like she’s won at all, unsurprisingly.

She rolls her eyes at his comment. “Care to let me know why you’re gracing me with your presence today, Mr. Styles?” Moving around the counter, she begins to walk to the back of the shop, assuming Harry would follow her if he needed to. He apparently did and walked after her after realizing she wasn’t coming back.

He gives a half-laugh, “Yeah, I came in for a new record. I saw you decided to restock them...thought I’d pop in. It’s easier to get them here than order online...Curtain-hater.” He adds the name as an afterthought.

She glances at him from the bookcase she’s standing at, her eyes shifting to meet his. A smile fades into her features as she can’t contain the giggle at his new attempt at a nickname. She then wrinkles her nose, “That isn’t good either, but proficient try, I guess.” She gives him points for actually relating the name to her in some way, but it still doesn’t incite any anger in her which she knows is what he is going for. She probably should question herself why she’s helping Harry to nickname her something rude, but alas, she doesn’t. He nods solemnly, knowing she’s right again. He needs to find a nickname for her and he doesn’t know why, but he’s glad she seems alright with him giving her one, so long as it is fitting.

Her body shifts from the bookcase over to the boxes she had gotten to hold the vinyls. She had a small collection since the place was small overall, but Marie’s old collection had sold successfully so she had restocked afterwards, this time choosing some of her personal favorites.

“I’m not sure of your taste...I know you bought Marie’s Ella Fitzgerald album last time.” She sifts through the records, trying to find something she thought he might want. Like she said, she didn’t know what he liked, but she prided herself on knowing music and as an owner helping a customer, she wanted to please Harry. She knew he liked Ella from his previous purchase and she knew he liked Marvin Gaye in the evenings when he had guests - how very cliche she would add. “I mostly got in 70’s/80’s rock...Elton, Queen -”

“Got any Paul Simon?” Harry cuts her off and she looks at him surprised. Her fingers stopped when she looked up at him, their tips placed on the peaks of the albums covers. “Thought I heard it here the other day?”  

Her face perks up at the mention, she loved Paul Simon. “That was on my phone, but I do actually. Well, it’s Simon & Garkunkel. I can order something from just Paul Simon whenever I have to order again if you want?” Their gazes are holding each other’s, her fingers still rubbing over the pointed edges of the two albums she had between her hands. Harry’s watching her and leaning against the table the boxes sit on.

He nods after a moment. “That’d be great.”

“You’ll have to tell me which records of his you already have so I can order something new for you.” She grabs the Simon & Garfunkel album and flips it to Harry so he can look it over.

He regards the Parsley, Sage, Rosemary & Thyme cover reading over the fine print with all the tracks listed on the bottom right. “Thanks,” he mutters out after another moment of silence. It was rarely this quiet between these two, so it was different. “I’ll take it, Shrimp.”

“Oh my god!” She gasps before bursting into a fit of laughter. He had actually made her laugh and his eyes widen at the sound, almost confused that she hadn’t scoffed. Her laughter was far louder now then the half-hearted chuckle she had given earlier, which really was probably just another scoff. This laugh was loud and unbridled, but melodic and fun. In the back of Harry’s mind, he noted that he liked it. The first bullet point on a list that was likely to grow.  “That works, just the perfect amount of rude. I love and hate it at the same time.” She finishes before walking back to the front. Harry saunters after her, pleased with himself.  

“I’d like to say I wasn’t looking for your approval, but I guess I sorta was,” he ponders out loud as she takes the record back from him to type in the correct spelling into her relatively new computerized system. She twists her mouth to the side of her face to refrain from smiling anymore and then hums. Her eyes flit back up to Harry’s triumphant smile and for once she doesn’t want to slap it off of him.

“People-pleaser…” She prods him easily. His smile falters only slightly, not out of unhappiness, but of borderline jealousy.

“How do you come up with that so easily? It just rolls off the tongue,” He asks seriously, confused by the woman before him. This time she laughs as she hands him back the record and a copy of his receipt.

“I’m well read, that usually helps, but maybe it’s just my intrinsic wit that gives me an edge,” she raises her brows slightly, before beginning to walk off now that their exchange is done. She’s surprised she doesn’t want to rip her hair out after that encounter, but she figures she should simply count her blessings. “Au revoir, trouser-boy!”

He rolls his eyes as he turns on his heel and exits the shop, amused rather than annoyed with the bookkeeper.

-

enjoy! lmk what you thought :) part 2

[mulderist]

Wicked Game

Chapter 1  // Chapter 2 // Chapter 3  // Chapter 4 // Read on A03

Washington, D.C - 1948. Fox Mulder is a detective on the top vice unit; scandal, corruption, and lies come with the territory. He is forced to investigate a fellow officer and finds the lies go much deeper than the truth.

tagging @today-in-fic​

CHAPTER 5

The phone rang three times before she answered. My jaw ached as I tried to mask the slur in my voice when I told her who was calling. I realized it was a long shot ringing her number but I needed something to get my head on straight. I told her I was in Georgetown and as luck would have it she did not have a shift at the hospital that evening. She accepted my invitation to have a drink. I confirmed her address and I said I would wait outside the building to meet her, adding to look for the forlorn gentleman with a grey fedora. We disconnected and I exited the booth then walked to the curb to hail a cab. 

Scully’s apartment building was tucked into a quiet tree-lined block on Q Street. In a town built on history this neighborhood dripped vintage charm with neat colonial rowhouses and brick sidewalks. I paced a slow line in front of the staircase then stretched a foot on the bottom step. The sound of a door opening and heel clicks on brickwork caught my attention. There she was. A vision in a short-sleeved olive green sweater with a high neck, wide-leg trousers gave way to dark t-strap shoes that peeked out from under her pant cuffs. Her ginger-red hair was pinned up halfway and decorated with a small flower. I straightened up and tried to smile as she landed on the last step. 

“God, what happened to you?” she questioned before I could even greet her properly. 

“And hello to you too.” I replied.

“Oh, your cheek,” Scully frowned, “This reminds me of when we first met.” She inspected my face without laying a finger on me. I tipped back my hat slightly so she could get a better look. In the afternoon sun her eyes processed a diagnosis and she reached out a caring hand to touch my jawline but withdrew it quickly. Fingers formed a loose fist instead as her hand dropped slowly towards her hip. I cleared my throat.

“Serves me right for interrupting someone’s lunch, huh?”

“Must have been someone important for them to leave a mark like that,” Scully said, stepping back and adjusting her handbag. I shrugged then said,

“No, just me being a nosy cop.” I found myself staring as she smiled.

“So now that we’re here, where are we off to?”

“There’s a little place I visit when I’m in the neighborhood.” I slipped my hands in my pockets and gestured with a nod down the block. She joined me at my side and we strolled for a few silent moments. Her presence helped to mute the extra noise in my head. Though with each intersection we crossed I was still checking my corners, making sure we weren’t being followed. After the little scene I caused at the restaurant my guard was up. I knew I could never be too comfortable with my surroundings and I certainly didn’t want to put her in danger.

We walked farther down Q street and crossed over to 33rd to a small bar named The Blue Note. I opened the door for her and followed inside. It was your standard set-up with a small stage on the side arranged for a jazz combo. Too early for a gig, so the jukebox in the corner played the matinee performance. Regalia from the university littered the walls but in a more dignified fashion, like the proprietor was trying to distance the establishment from looking like a run-of-the-mill college bar. Still, it was dark, smoky, and my kind of familiar. Only a couple of bar flies had landed to start their day-drinking. I ushered her through a fresh haze of cigarette smoke to an empty spot at the far end of the bar. She took a seat and I adjusted my barstool, sitting close but not too close. Scully caught the attention of the stout bartender.

“I’d like a vodka tonic and my friend here will have?”

“Whiskey.” 

The man nodded and scuttled back to fix our drinks. I put my fedora on the bar and ran a hand through my hair.

“Can you tell me about this case you’re working on?” Scully asked as she placed her handbag in her lap. I thought about how much I wanted to divulge so I kept the names and places to a minimum.

“It involves a drug ring, fairly standard for the vice unit. However the fly in the ointment is that it also involves an investigation into my partner.”

“Wait, the one who was buried at Arlington?”

“The very same,” I answered as the bartender delivered two short glasses. I grasped the drink and raised it, she mimicked the motion. “Cheers,” I said before taking a long sip and swirling the ice cube around. Scully sampled her drink as well and I continued.

“The papers painted it that he was killed in the line of duty. Now, I was there that night. It was the same night I got a hot lead kiss on the shoulder and I think my partner was bumped off in a deal that went sour.”

“Your partner was a hophead?” she asked as she twisted the bottom of her glass on the bar napkin.

“I didn’t suspect he was a hophead,” I said after I downed the last of my whiskey, “but the medical examiner ordered blood work that confirmed he was sky high.”

“Did you see who shot at you?” she asked after a beat, tracing a fingertip along the edge of the highball. 

“No, but we did get a match on the weapon. So all I need to do is take him in .”

“Let me guess, that’s who gave you the bruise.”

“Very perceptive Scully. It was one of his goons actually.” I said as I rubbed my left cheek and glanced reflexively over my shoulder. She held her glass close to her lips and thought for a moment before taking another sip to finish it off. Scully pressed her lips together and focused on her now empty glass. I caught the change in music from the jukebox; a heavy piano piece that fit the tone in our little corner of the bar. I flagged the bartender and ordered another round.  She was hesitant at first on the refill but I guess she didn’t mind my company and decided to stick around. Time seemed to slow to a halt, dripped down like molasses on a winter day.

“Enough about me and the DCPD, I want to know your story.”

“My story, Mulder? I don’t think I’m as interesting as all that,” Scully said as she glanced at her hands, admiring the tidy red varnish on the nails.

“Try me,” I replied as our second round arrived and my attention was now only on her.

“Let’s see...you already know I’m a nurse,” she began with a gesture, “I’ve been one since before the war. Schooling was no cost and once the conflict started I opted to stay home in Maryland to fill the nursing shortage. My brothers had gone through the gauntlet at the naval academy and were sent to San Diego then the South Pacific respectively. It would have broken my mother’s heart if I joined up and got shipped off too” She paused and took a drink. “My sister and mother stayed in Annapolis but in ‘45 I headed to Washington to continue with medicine. There was more I wanted to learn and more ways I felt I could help.”

“And that’s how you ended up in Georgetown?”

She nodded and softly exhaled.

“After I buried my father, I buried myself in studies, work, and other hobbies. I figured if I kept myself busy enough I wouldn’t have time to think about the loss.” Her shoulders shrugged and she absentmindedly toyed with a strand of hair then swept it behind her ear.

“Any travel in that time?” I asked, hoping she had an answer. I was shit at small talk when I wasn’t using my badge.

“California after the war ended to see my brother Bill and his family for Christmas, then last year I took the train up to New England for a change of scenery.”

“Ah, I’m familiar with that area. My parents live on Martha’s Vineyard.”

“It’s really lovely. I was fortunate to visit in the fall.” A hint of a smile crossed her lips as she recalled the memory. A pleasant silence then fell between us. More small talk followed, less personal this go around. Filler subjects like the weather and sports weaved their way into conversation. I was pleased to learn she was a baseball fan and was hoping for a better season than last year. 

The bar was getting more clientele and as much as I wanted to stay and extend my friendship with Mr Jack Daniels, I figured we should make it last call. I paid our tab and escorted Scully outside, placing a featherweight touch on her shoulder as I guided her through the open door. The air felt cool as the sun hid behind passing clouds, setting up for another storm. She thanked me for the drinks and though she was a captain’s daughter who could certainly hold her liquor, I offered to walk her home. 

As we turned the corner and walked back up the block I still felt that we weren’t alone. I kept a close stride next to Scully as we neared her building. She ascended the steps and I joined her at the door. This time her hand found my cheek. 

“I hope to see you again,” she said as she gently stroked my jawline, “But next time without any occupational damage.” 

“Can’t make any promises, doll,” I said moving closer, feeling her fingers twitch, catching a flutter of her eyelashes as she exhaled. My gaze was soft, hypnotized by her features. She grazed the stubble on my skin then Scully raised her chin and placed a soft sweet kiss on my injured cheek. 

“Take care of yourself, detective.”

Through the narrow pane of glass on the building’s door I watched her walk up the stairs, she looked back over her shoulder giving me a final flash of that flower nestled against her red hair. As I turned and walked down the steps I noticed a car parked across the street and a man with a sharp suit and glasses leaning against the side.

“Are you following me?” I called out once I was on the sidewalk, my hand on the butt of my weapon.

“This is your surveillance detail?” Skinner questioned.

“Chivalry isn’t dead yet, Captain.”

“Something’s come up. Get in,” Skinner said as he motioned to the car. I walked around the front of the cruiser and opened the passenger door joining him inside.

“I heard about your incident with Carlo Lodi today.”

“Word travels fast.”

“You’re damn right it does, Mulder. This city is more connected than ever. I had a conversation with our friend Alex Krycek when he returned the squad car you lent him. Seems that he was privy to information regarding a Vincenti heroin shipment tonight.”

“Ha! What did you have to trade for that info?” I asked. He tensed his jaw then said,

“Continued protection. It appears he’s been sitting on this since we first interrogated him.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“There will be a boat arriving at the Navy Yard tonight. Small crew. They are going to make a transfer to one of the warehouses, but it’s up to you to find how they’re moving the shipment from there.”

I took a moment to process the details of my assignment. 

“Will I have back-up?”

“Via radio. Do not engage after you make the mark. Follow standard tailing procedure.”

“If you’re going to send me on a suicide mission, can you at least drop me off in Alexandria. I could use a shower and something to eat.” Skinner gave me a sideways glance and turned the key in the ignition, bringing life to the cruiser. He shifted into gear and we were on our way back across the Potomac.

[wroteasongabouther]

fratboy!harry - part 4

thank you all so freaking much for the feedback/love on fratboy!harry so far it’s really sweet... again, feel free to drop any questions, blurb ideas, etc into my ask box whenever!!!

fratboy!harry tag >> story page

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you say while watching James lean over and delete a few things from your notes. Of course you had gotten some things mixed up during a lecture earlier this week.

“To be honest, I didn’t quite get it at first either,” James states.

“You’re just saying that to make me feel better,” you say while tilting your chin up and pouting out your bottom lip.

“Maybe,” James admits, giving you that nice toothy grin again - but it was nothing like a pair of dimples. You shake your head slightly as you catch yourself comparing James to Harry.

Last night after you ate some good old ramen noodles and got set up at your desk, you nearly finished your whole assignment. Just leaving it to be revised by James today after class. As you were finishing up your work - around midnight - was when Harry texted you. Red flag for inappropriate time, anything after ten could pretty much be classified as a booty call - it was simple college logic. But nothing about Harry’s texts were really booty call related.

Sorry about the guys today, hope you got your assignment done without my smarts

It’s alright, my butt hurt from the couch by then anyways.. and I managed just fine, shocking I know

Sure you got quite the brain in ya, little bird, was only joking

Oh I know.. it’s late, I’m going to go to sleep now I think

Alright, goodnight y/n

Night H

Then you slept soundly, your dreams consumed by green eyes and strange tattoos. But now you weren’t looking into the eyes you dreamt of, instead you’re looking at James’ boring brown ones as he tried to flirt with you - again. He didn’t seem to get that you weren’t interested. James was still a nice guy though, so you kept smiling at his flirtatious comments and tried to get your work done.

“That’s it,” you smile while typing out the last bit of your assignment, “all done,” your smile turned to a grin as you realize you had managed to finish an entire assignment within like 12 hours.

“You’re doing a lot better then you give yourself credit for,” James says while gathering his own notes up from the messy table you two had taken over at a diner on campus.

“Well, you were helpful too,” you inject. James grins again, and just then you glance over his shoulder and see one of your good friends walking towards you - Thomas. Everything about his facial expression spoke clear of jealousy as he saw you sitting with another guy.

“Hey,” Thomas says as he stands beside the table.

“Hey what’s up?” You smile.

“Nothing really,” Thomas shrugs before tossing his backpack at the floor and sitting down beside you. You’re a little thrown off by him welcoming himself to sit, and when you look at James you see he is too. “Who’s this?” Thomas asks, picking up one of your left over fries and popping it into his mouth.

“James,” he introduces himself as you just look at your friend in utter shock. But more of a eyes narrowed and lips firm while staring at him.

“Oh, so not Harry,” Thomas chews with his mouth open while mentioning the other boy he was jealous over. Good old Thomas.

“Harry?” James questions, looking at you now.

“A friend,” you answer shortly and bring the straw of your coke to your lips.

“Anyways,” James clears his throat, “I was going to mention, there’s this party this weekend and I was wondering if you wanted to come-“

“Y/N doesn’t really party,” Thomas states, cutting James off nonchalantly. You roll your eyes and give Thomas a quick ‘thats enough’ look.

“I do,” you clarify, “sometimes,”

“Alright,” James trails off, looking between you and Thomas - clear just as confused you were. “Well, I’ll text you about it, it’s tomorrow so hopefully you can make it,” James smiles while standing from the table.

“Okay,” you nod, “thanks again for your help, and for lunch too,”

James grins before saying his goodbyes and walking out of the diner. The moment he’s out the front door you turn and smack Thomas on the arm. He flinched and gasps dramatically. You hit him again for good measure.

“What the hell?” Thomas exclaims.

“What was that about? It’s not like that with James,” you state.

“Oh whatever, the guy’s totally into you,”

“Doesn’t matter, I’m not into him,”

“So are you gunna go to that party?” Thomas questions, stealing another fry off your plate.

You shrug, “I don’t know, maybe,”

“Right,” Thomas mutters before finishing off the plate. He brushes off his hands and stands up from the table you had been at for quite a while now. “Wanna go look around the shops or something? I’m bored,”

“Fine,” you sigh and stand from the table as well. After getting all your things together, you follow Thomas out of the diner and out into the sunshine. “I swear it keeps getting hotter here,” you groan.

“It’s Arizona, what did you expect?” Thomas chuckles.

You bump into Thomas, causing him to nearly loosing his footing and fall on the sidewalk. Now that was funny, you laugh so hard you have to grab you stomach. Thomas had been a clumsy guy since you first met him here a college, literally tripping over some wires from a projector and dropping his things in front of the whole class. Then he took the seat next to you, and a friendship began. A year later and Thomas still was a good friend to you.

Thomas and you ended up inside the vintage shop. There was a mess of pretty much anything you could want. From old vinyls to shirts or even some old nick-nacks. You were laughing as Thomas held up a vinyl for Madonna, singing in a high pitched voice. Again you had to hold your stomach as he made you laugh so much.

“Thomas, stop,” you say between your laughter. He keeps on acting out as Madonna, so you step forward and take the vinyl from him, leaning into his body while you both laughed.

Thomas quits laughing as he looks over you, eyebrows pulled together at something. Or someone it seemed. You turn around and see Harry standing there with a brown paper bag in hand and a similar face that Thomas had. What were the odds…

“Harry, hey,” you breathe out while stepping away from Thomas.

His eyes stay glued to Thomas while you take in his appearance today. Same black jeans, a pair of brown boots and a grey tshirt. Not that it was any shock, but he looked hot.

“Hey,” he nods.

“Whatcha doing here?” You ask, genuinely intrigued for an answer.

“Just picked something up,” he responds while lifting up the paper bag. It must’ve been for someone else, cause you really couldn’t imagine Harry geeking out over this old vintage stuff. You notice his eyes are back on Thomas, narrowed for a second before his expression turns smug.

“Uh, Thomas this is Harry, Harry this is Thomas,” you introduce the two ridiculous young men.

“Nice to put a face to a voice,” Harry says, still as smug as ever.

“Yeah,” Thomas narrows his eyes.

“Anyways,” you draw out and put the Madonna album back down.

“I have to get going, I’ll see you ‘round,” Harry blurts out before turning away and walking right out the front door. You stand there a bit surprised, staring out the window as you watched him get into his car. What was up with him?

Thomas sighs and leans back against the wooden table the vinyls were stored in. You already know he has a million things to say. So you roll your eyes and look towards him.

“Didn’t think I’d be meeting both the boys in your life today,” Thomas says.

“Oh shut it,” you nudge him gently before looking through the vinyls again.

You didn’t correct him. Because it was the first week of your second year in college and somehow you had two boys you were thinking of already. One was smiley and kind while the other was smug and had your head spinning a million miles an hour. Last week you were ignoring boys existence and babbling on about how boys suck - this week you were more confused than ever.

“I think I’m going to buy that old Harley Davidson shirt back there,” you state, changing the topic while walking over where it hang. 

Once you’ve paid, you and Thomas leave the shop. You convince him to stop for a smoothie before asking what he wanted to do next. Movies at your dorm ended up being the plan, only because Thomas offered to order pizza. So you two pick up the pizza and get to your dorm.

Thomas launches himself onto your double bed, taking up one side while you grab your laptop and set down the pizza between you two. As some new Netflix show plays on your small MacBook screen you really realize how much you needed a tv in here. You’re munching on your second piece as your phone vibrates.

“Five bucks it’s Harry,” Thomas says before you pick up your phone. You roll your eyes at him and grab your phone.

“It’s James,” you state while having another bite of pizza.

“Ah shit, it was a 50/50 chance,” Thomas gives you a smirk while you narrow your eyes at him.

Hey, what’s up?

Hey! Just watching some Netflix wbu??

Bored, just making some dinner

Yum, whatcha making??

Pasta, it’s bulking season

You have to hold back from making a face. But as Thomas snorts beside you, you know you failed on doing so. You try to ignore how stupid James sounded and read his next text.

Think about that party?

Yeah, I’ll have to ask a friend if she wants to come with or not first..

Fair enough, more the merrier.

“Stop making that face,” Thomas says with food in his mouth.

“Stop talking with your mouth full,”

Thomas sticks his hands up before focusing back on the show. Your phone vibrates again in your phone, this time it’s a Snapchat notification - from Harry. Your lips tug just a little, you literally have to fight off your smile.

You open it quickly, not caring if it seemed weird, and look at the snap video he sent. It was in the kitchen of his frat house. Eddy has two cans of beer in hand, then suddenly he’s smashing one into his mouth and the crushing it in his hand as he drinks it - doing the same with the second one. There’s obviously quite a few other guys around as many guys cheer as Eddy throws down both cans and yells. Harry flips the camera and widens his eyes, you can’t help but chuckle at his expression.

You send back a selfie, brows pulled together and lips pursed out a bit. You caption it ‘what in the world?’ and add a sticker with the time on it - it was only 6:30 in the evening after all. Frat boys were weird. After you send the snap, you look up and see Thomas is watching you.

“What?” You question.

He shakes his head, “nothing, I’m not gunna say anything,” he says and looks back at the show again.

You narrow your eyes at Thomas and lean back on your headboard. Harry snaps you back a selfie, reading ‘frat things, don’t dare eddy anything he’ll do it’ you shake your head and smile. Instead of a selfie this time, you send one from the front facing camera. There’s your computer, the pizza, and Thomas’s back in the shot before you type out ‘noted, you guys are totally crazy’

Harry opened the snap. But he didn’t reply. He posted on his story ten minutes later too. You bite on your bottom lip and debate snapping him again. First his weirdness at the vintage shop and now this - damn, when did you get this desperate? You let out a small sigh and put your phone down.

“Do I need to beat anyone up?” Thomas asks, not looking away from the show as he takes another piece of pizza.

You lean forward and grab another piece as well, “no,” you mutter.

“Just,” Thomas pauses and looks back at you with a small smile, “just be careful, Y/N,”

You look at your friend and try to register what he’s saying. Thomas would always be jealous, wishing it was him you were blushing over. But you always thought he had it better than whatever guy you were talking to. He sat here in your bed, eating pizza, more often than any guy you ever spoke to before. Despite being put in the friend zone, Thomas was around a lot longer than any other guy.

You decided to just give him a smile and nod in return. Then you two go back to watching your small computer screen and eating pizza. Soon enough Jessica shows up and joins you two, wedging herself between you both. And that was how you ideally liked to spend your nights here at college, with your friends watching pointless tv and eating junk. It was a hell of a lot better than stressing over school or some stupid frat parties. Which, you’d probably be at tomorrow anyways.

[fangirlingwhileblacktarot]

Normal Song: A Dean and Cassie Story

Title: Normal Song Author: shoetingstar Fandom: SPN Wordcount: 1,863 Rating: MA rated talk, Y rating action-wise Characters: Dean Winchester, Cassie Robinson, some Sam and John mentions.

Genre: romantic angst with some sexy talk Disclaimer: Dirty talk, heartbreak, death, loss, grief Summary: This is a little story about my lovely couple. An “Imagine you…” type story. You are on Cassie’s shoes while dating Dean back in Athens, Ohio. After a LONG bout of writer's block, I found this a few notes I had started maybe a year ago, fleshed it out, cleaned it up and finished it. I have to share before I lose my nerve and I'm tired of waiting until I'm “perfect” - so please forgive any overlooked mistakes.

I appreciate you taken a few moments out of your day read Dean and Cassie’s story. Shall, we begin…?

******

So, let’s imagine you meet a boy.

First of all, he is hot as hell. Male model face with gorgeous green eyes, tall with the wide, strong shoulders you prefer; Bowlegged like your longing celebrity crush, Keanu Reeves….Just a heaping bowl of manly, goodness for your visual and sexual snacking purposes.

Your first impression: he’s a total player, slightly immature, and doesn’t take life serious. You are in college, you have goals and a career path you're determined to follow. You don’t seem to have much in common. But chemistry can not be manufactured, and it is strong between you. The mutual attraction is undeniable. 

You resign yourself to accepting that this will be only about the sex. You are not getting your heart deeply involved with anyone, but a girl does have other needs. And holy shit, it’s the best

sex

of

your

life. Dean is on some next level shit that you’ve never experienced before. He leads you to do things you never thought you would try, let alone enjoy. Yes, even THAT.

Unexpectedly, he sticks around after these sessions and talks. He.likes.to.cuddle for Heaven's sake. He continually surprises you and challenges some of your former decisions about the type of person you thought he was. During these frequent talks you realize there is more to this guy than you originally imagined. Underneath that confident bravado lurks

a

thoughtful,

dare you say,

sensitive,

person? He actually listens to and your crazy rants about school, feminism, the lack racial representation on the local news staff. The very topics you were lead by your Ex to believe were too intense for others. Dean actually tries to get to know you, asking you a lot of unexpected questions. He went with you when volunteered at the local homeless shelter. Helping people by action, not lip service seems to be another thing you have in common. You realize that are both closest to your Dads. Dad owns his own car dealership and is active in your hometown. Dean connects with his Dad through a mutual love of vintage cars, fishing trips (that's what you pretend he meant when he said “hunting” trips), and work. He leaves town. You knew it was coming but you take it harder than you care to admit. You will never see him again, probably,

maybe,

you’re sure

you won't. He is working in “the family business,” which you’re not sure about. Accident claim adjusters - they travel a lot. They investigate accidents for insurance companies. His mother died when he was a kid, and his dad was really messed up about it. He has a younger brother who “abandoned” (Dean's words) the family biz to go to college. He listens when you share your opinion that his brother may have just not done anything wrong by trying something different.  

Lucky for you, there were no commitments made on you part. You’re a realist, after all. He could easily have a girl-in-every-area-code type situation going on. Like the US Military you adopt the don’t ask, don’t tell policy. Again, no commitments were made. Of course, because life could never be too easy,

you can’t

stop

thinking

about

him. You find yourself listening to the classic rock stations, voluntarily…It’s getting as bad as it could get. You press on, throw yourself into school and work. You proudly tell yourself that you hadn’t thought of him, like, all day (!!), as you are thinking of him. You are completely NOT falling in love with this guy. Nope,. Not you. You are too smart to put your hopes into someone so…nomadic in his life, right? Then he calls. “I can't stop thinking about you,” he blurts out, in the middle of a catch-up session.   “Well, that’s nice, Dean. I appreciate that,” is what you imagined saying. However, you open you big, beautiful mouth and admit that you feel the same way about him. Aarrgghh! “Can I see you again?” “Well, of course.” It happens easier than you could have ever believed - you grow closer. He visits for a couple weeks,

leaves,

comes

back,

and leaves

again,

but you make this long- distance thing work. The relationship gets deeper, still. Soon you are telling him things you’ve never admitted out loud: your mom’s racist father who was forbidden from having any contact with you, the asshole who broke your heart and who was now engaged to your former best friend…It pours out as you lay tangled in Dean’s strong, muscled embrace. Of course this was usually after he fucked you **dizzy**, loved your body from head to toe like he was detailing his car. (With anyone else this would be unappealing. But Dean really took excellent, thorough care of his car.). The euphoric high that you created together massaged your emotional courage, causing the inner floodgates to open a little wider each time, and confessions poured out. At times, you could be just sitting in “Baby” (you have semi-mostly-accepted that you are actually dating a guy who treats his car like a woman), listening to the calming beat of the rain poured down outside, cocooned from the rest of the world and he would share little morsels of information about his past, and what he hoped for the future. That was the heart if it all: Hope. The light- bringing that happens in a real friendship.

Graduation was coming soon, and a few opportunities were on the table, back in your hometown and another market. You start to imagine and plan a future, and though you try and test, you can't see it all happening without Dean.

There

were

some

Red flags. His Dad is less than enthusiastic about the relationship and seems to worry that Dean will leave like his brother. And you wonder if he’s really faithful while he’s in the road for days or a couple weeks at a time. Nothing seems quite as stable or predictable as you would like. But God, you love him. Therefore, the eventual cracks appear, as you knew they would.

****** “So, your brother doesn’t know about me?”

He was telling you about Sam possibly asking his girlfriend to marry him. Their communication was sporadic, but his younger brother would inform him about major news, usually after the fact. This time he wanted Dean’s input beforehand and Dean was clear about his position. You were sitting in Baby, a couple hours after he got Sam’s voicemail.

“It can’t work.”

The boy could be stubborn, digging his heels in when his position was challenged.

“They seem to have similar goals. From what you’ve told me he feels supported by her. I mean marriage is not my thing, but Sam is obviously more traditional than we are.” Dean seemed surprised, definitely not happy about what you said “ So you - we- are non-traditional? You don’t want to get married?” Before you could answer or explore his question further, he moves on. “I mean…Forget it. Sam can’t do this. It’s not who we are.” You don’t waste your breath arguing when he’s in this mood. You are intrigued by this situation, however.

“So what does Sam think of you and our relationship” I ask. It was THAT pause that pierced your happy bubble. It was a small hesitation,  but it was there.

“He…He doesn’t take me serious when it comes to, uh, you know- dating.”

“So he thinks we're just casual?” “Do I have to remind you that the communication with my brother stinks?” “Ahhh….So you haven’t told him you have a girlfriend. In fact, maybe you haven’t even bothered to tell yourself.” It was awful timing. Your editor- took credit for your work, and then he had the nerve to imply that you didn't belong in that kind of work. And in spite of being careful with Dean, you had a false positive pregnancy that deepened your speculation about what a future with Dean Winchester would look like.

What kind if Dad would he be?

What kind of Partner/ Husband would he be?

Where would you even live? You were ready to go into your apartment, alone to think about next step. You were a damn fool. (He has to be an Oscar-worthy actor to fool you.) He had never been serious about you. (But why would travel so far and so much to see you? Never once did he complain about driving so far). You were grabbing your purse, hand reaching for the door handle when he said it. “Cassie, I love you.” “What?!” He reached over you and made sure the door was closed. He grabbed your hands, looked you deep in your eyes, and stated firmly, “I love you. And while I’m being completely honest…It scares the shit out of me. I don’t know what I’m doing.” “I need to trust you. I mean what are you doing when you're not with me? Do you know I’ve told my family about you?” “What did you tell them?” He smiled proudly. His enthusiasm nearly made you forget you were hurt and mad at him. “That you were handsome, funny, and that you take good care of me….Everything but the sexy parts.” “You didn’t tell Mom and Dad about that new position we tried last night? Or how big my C…?” “No! Especially, not about you being the biggest I've ever had.” “Well, I like hearing that but your parents knowing would make family dinners seriously awkward Some of the tension is released as you laugh it out.

“Here’s the truth. If I tell my little brother that I’m serious about this beautiful, smart, sexy girl, but NORMAL girl, things would never be the same because there will be tragic consequences.“

(Normal?) “Did you grow up on a religious cult?” “No…” “Is it because I’m black.” “Hell NO…” “Then what do mean by consequences?” He was silent, he looked inexplicably grief-stricken. Then something else struck me. In all this craziness I forgot to respond to the most important thing he said (besides the part about me being beautiful, sexy and smart…) “Dean, you wanna know when I knew I loved you and that I was all yours? Tracey’s birthday party. You dressed up in pants of a non-denim quality and wore a tie for my boss's little fancy dinner. That alone was enough to warm my little pessimist heart. Then we get there and you held your own with all their little shallow concerns. But what really got me was the kids.” “Haley and Henry? I mean how could you not feel sorry for a 10 year old with such a Grandpa- esque name?” “I hate to agree, but...Any how, none of them wanted to be bothered with kids and Tracey was stressed out and her husband was frankly useless, as usual. And you, Mr. Tough Guy charmed them, scooped them up took them to the play room and you were so good with them. I was able to imagine…”

Shit, you confessed more than you had intended. “Able to imagine…What?” He prompted. You’re supposed to be a fearless journalist and you can’t just say how you feel??

You take a deep breath and went for it. “I could see us with a house full of family and friends and you being this…Dad. A great one.” “you mean like a DILF?!”

“ Not quite where I was going with it, but total DILF for me. In other news, I could see you being a great Dad.”

“Don’t sound so surprised!” “I’m sorry! So what other surprises do you have for me?” You had no idea at that time about

the

bomb

of a

secret he would drop on you soon enough.. *** Now, here you are.

You weren’t sure he would have the same number, but it was working…ringing right  now. You could feel your blood pressure rise, your heart speed up its beats…You hang up. But there would be no calming down for long while.

Okay, fearless, relatively successful journalist - where were your Lady-balls when you needed them? And most of…Dad. You had to find out what really caused the accident that killed Daddy.

This time you stayed on the line. Dean answered on the 4th ring, sounding irritated, grumpy. “Dean?” Even though you knew it was him. Grief-brain was a bitch. “Yeah?” He was distracted. You felt dismissed, a totally irrational response… “Hi, this is…” “ Cassie?!” “Yes.” You feel relief mixed with nervousness, folded into and the constant mental and physical ache of unexpected LOSS…The tears refuse to leave you alone and to not be cried. “What’s wrong?” How did he know? You can hear the worry in his voice. “Dean, it’s my Dad.“ And here comes the burning eyes, the tears… "He was killed last night.” “God, Cassie...I'm so sorry. I know how close you were.” “Thank you. This will sound completely insane, and I feel silly for even asking you this, but…About your Family’s Business, did you tell me the truth? Is that a real thing?” “Yes, it is, “ he said with finality. You wiped the tears from your cheeks, hold back sniffles before you turn into a mess on the phone with your ex-boyfriend, who is probably still upset at you. "I have no right to ask you...”

“I'm there. Just tell me where.”

And he came.

THE END.

[avengeultrons]

Title: Back to the Future (Reader x Peter Parker) 

Summary: The reader is sent on a mission by Howard Stark to travel seventy-one years into the future to collect all of the information that they can without having their cover blown. Is it possible?

Word Count: 1604

A/N: THIS WAS SO MUCH FUN. I’m actually obsessed and I’m SO PROUD OF IT LOL. I hope you guys enjoy it! and let me know if you want a part two? 

PART 2

–

You were a hero. That’s what they told you as you made yourself as comfortable as possible in the uncomfortable metal chair of the machine. A time machine, to be exact.

You shivered and pulled at the collar of your blouse nervously, fidgeting in your seat as you tried to give a smile, “It’s okay to be nervous, Ms. Y/L/N. I would be too, if I was traveling seventy years into the future,” Howard Stark smiled at you from behind the tinted glass, “Lay low and record everything you can. If someone becomes suspicious, you come right back. Okay?”

You nodded to show that you heard him, but you weren’t really paying attention, “Okay,” you said with a shaky sigh.

“We’ll see you soon, Y/N,”  Mr. Stark counted down and you shut your eyes, bracing yourself for the impact of time travel.

It was unlike anything else you’d ever experienced. Your eyes were filled with fast moving, multicolored stars, like when you squeezed them shut too tight. There was so much noise that it was almost debilitating.

Everything happened so fast, suddenly you weren’t in the year 1946 anymore. You were in the twenty-first century.

You stepped out of the time machine and found yourself in an unknown tower, lit in fluorescent blue light. Pristine white countertops and stainless steel appliances greeted you as you stepped forward cautiously, an uneasy feeling washing over you.

“Uh, woah. Hello?” A man with a pair of safety goggles on top of his head raised an eyebrow, nearly dropping his tools as he peered over at you cautiously.

“What year is it?” you asked, wringing your hands nervously behind your back. You could feel tears stinging your eyes; you were in a foreign year all by yourself and the fear wa starting to bubble up inside of you.

The man’s eyes softened as he looked at you, getting to his feet to get a closer look, “I’m Mr. Stark, but you can call me Tony, really. It’s 2017, who are you? Where are you from?” Tony could tell what era you were from based on the clothes you were wearing, really. He just felt that it would be a good place to start.

You gulped, “You’re Tony Stark? But, where’s Howard Stark?” Tony’s eyes widened at you and his face grew rigid at Howard’s name. An uneasy feeling washed over you as his eyes depicted glass.

“He was my father,” Tony said in monotone, your eyes widening in shock, “I, uh, I’m going to call my friend Bruce in and we can figure out what to do from there, okay?” he put a hand on your shoulder while you stared at him.

“You can’t do that!” your eyes widened in fear as you said it, panic rising in your voice and  Tony’s eyebrows furrowing at you, “I’m on a mission for Howard Stark. Please, no one can know. If anybody else finds out I’ll have to go back and-” he shushed you, nodding his head as if he already understood.

“We can trust Bruce, I promise,” he smiled kindly, looking all too much like your boss Howard Stark, “What’s your name?”

You took a deep breath before responding, “I’m Y/N,” you said, giving a small smile in response.

“Okay, well…We can say that you’re my relative visiting from somewhere. The best thing to do will be to blend in, so we’ll have to get you something else to wear since teenagers don’t really dress like you anymore. I’m sure Wanda or Natasha will have something for the time being…” he trailed off, whipping out a foreign piece of technology from his pocket. You quirked up an eyebrow while he chuckled lightly, “It’s a cell phone.”

So there you were in your pleated skirt and saddle shoes, a teen of the 20th century now thrown into the 21st century. It was hard not to feel out of touch and a little like an alien in a place as high tech as Stark Industries. You tried not to; but you were following Tony around like a bit of a lost puppy dog.

He ended up calling everyone into the same room so they could meet you all at once, clapping his hands together to quiet everyone down, “Okay everyone. We have someone that will be joining us for some time. This is my… first cousin removed however many times. I’m not sure how it works,” Tony shrugged, pointing to different people so you could put names to their faces, “Her name is Y/N, so you’d better be nice to her while she’s here,” he gave an affirmative nod and gave you a smile, “Are you okay with hanging out here for a bit while I go talk to Bruce? It’ll only take a minute.”

You smiled shyly and gave a nod, “I’ll be right back. Make yourself at home!” He flagged Bruce down and they turned to walk back to the lab, already talking in hushed whispers.

You stepped cautiously to the couch and sat down, everyone eying you with utmost curiosity, “I love your skirt, Y/N! My name is Wanda, by the way,” the bubbly girl named Wanda joined you on the couch, resting her chin in her hand, “Where did you say you were from?”

“I-I didn’t, sorry,” you bit your bottom lip nervously, looking down at your shoes, “I’m from Upstate New York,” it wasn’t a total lie, you were from New York… just from a different time.

“Oh, cool! Well, we’re glad to have you,” she beamed, patting your knee before clambering to her feet, “Nat, is Peter here yet?” Wanda wiggled her eyebrows at the woman with fiery red hair, a smirk dancing across her face.

“Peter doesn’t need us to play matchmaker, Wanda,” she smiled a mischievous smile, peeking around the corner in search of the person named Peter. You quirked up an eyebrow at the two of them as they giggled with each other as if there was an inside joke you were missing.

“May I be excused, please?” you spoke up, a smile on your face. To be honest; you  were feeling quite overwhelmed with everything.

Everyone turned and stared at you with puzzled looks, as if no one had ever asked that question before. Your cheeks turned red as you looked down at your hands to avoid the stares.

“Well… of course,” Steve nodded quickly, blinking out of his dazed state. You muttered a thank you and got to your feet, high tailing it to the kitchen. Time travel made you thirsty; you could only pray that you’d be able to figure out how to get a glass of water.

A loud thud from behind you made you start and jump out of your daze in front of the fridge-you were still trying to figure out how to work it, “Sorry,” someone said quickly. You turned to face them cautiously, “Oh, hi. Are you new? I’ve never seen you before,” A boy your age unzipped his backpack and took out a textbook, his eyebrows furrowed at you. You couldn’t help but stare at him as he did so; it was impossible to notice how adorable he was.

You shrugged in response, eying the boy with curiosity, “I’m Peter, by the way,” he smiled at you, grabbing a glass from the cupboard. You were practically a stranger to him yet there he was, his head tilted in curiosity at you as he talked at a speed that only a nervous boy could. You watched carefully as he filled it with water from the fridge, filling your own glass with water as well.

“Y/N,” you replied shyly, a blush burning your cheeks as he watched you intently.

“So, when are you from? I-I mean where are you from? Sorry, I just meant that your clothes look vintage, from a different time. Which is cute-I mean cool. Not cute. Well, it is cute, you’re cute. I mean…What?” his eyes widened and he looked down at his textbook while the tips of his ears turned red, a small smile lighting up your face.

“I’m from New York,” you gave a shrug, gulping down the rest of your water, “I’m Tony’s… relative. One of the cousins,” you fiddled with the ribbon in your hair as you spoke, Peter laughing lightly as you did so.

“Mr. Stark’s cousin? How come I’ve never met you before?” Peter rested his chin in his hand and tilted his head in curiosity at you, a gleefully dreamy look on his face.

“Because, Mr. Parker, your face looks like that,” Tony’s voice made Peter’s face turn red from embarrassment. You looked down at your shoes while your own cheeks turned pink. Why were you embarrassed? You were on a mission!

“Y/N, can I see you for a second?” Tony turned to you with a smug expression on his face, as if he was satisfied to embarrass his youngest team member like a dad would do.

You nodded and followed him out of the kitchen, flashing Peter a smile over your shoulder.

“Remember; you need to stay focused, Y/N. I know that Mr. Parker is great and all but…” Tony said quietly, his eyes both sympathetic and smiling at you, “You’re on a mission.”

“I know, I know,” you assured him, giving a nod, “There’s no need to worry. I am focused and I’ll stay focused, I promise.” You’d travelled more than seventy years into the future, there’s no way you could blow your cover on a teenage boy from a different century.