#was originally going to give him glasses but realized how much i hate drawing them

[nyaar0n]

Hi, how much are the art requests? I'd really like Aaron in a doctor coat and a stethoscope please

doc is stressed

[watchmegetobsessed]

ALL IS FAIR

a/n: woohoo!! finally a harry fic! lol sorry i got very into marvel these past weeks but im finally bringing you some harry content! this one was originally requested by an anon sometime and then we kept talking about it until i actually got around to write it! hopefully you’ll like it and if you do, please like and reblog!

pairing: ceo!Harry x ceo!plussize!reader

warning: sexual content

word count: 16.7k

masterlist

“Stop being such a stuck up dick, it’s your birthday, bro!”

Harry rolls his eyes at his friend who walks into his penthouse as if he owned. Niall Horan was so well-known in Harry’s building that he could have easily walked into any homes in the tower and people would still welcome him warmly. It might have a few things to do with the fact that half of the residents in the Compass Tower are women who are hopelessly in love with either Niall or Harry, hoping for a chance to drag either of them into their bed one day. They have a lot more chance to do that with the Irish bloke than with Mr. Styles. Not that Harry doesn’t find them attractive, but he is not the type to have one night stands, something his friend gives him quite a lot of shit for.

“Would you fuck off for twenty more minutes?” Harry sighs, shooting him a look as he covers the speaker of his phone, in the middle of a call.

“You have ten minutes and we are leaving. I’m not letting you work on the night of your thirtieth birthday!” Niall warns him before walking into the kitchen to roam the always full, neatly stocked fridge.

As much as Niall Horan comes off as an irresponsible cocky child, he is quite the businessman himself as well. As the Lawyer of one third of New York’s most influential people, he surely doesn’t have to worry about making a living, enjoying his luxurious apartment a few streets away from Harry’s place on the Upper East Side. It’s not as expensive and impressive as Harry’s penthouse on the top of the tower his father built in the heart of the posh neighborhood most people only know from TV shows, but he couldn’t complain.

“Another designer refused to sign with us, H. We are running out of options,” Lambert’s voice rings through the phone as Harry turns to the floor to ceiling window, staring out to the city skyline in front of him.

“We have quite a few left, right?” Harry asks clenching his jaw.

“Yeah, but I heard that Cometa is planning on announcing something big next week so I think a lot of them are waiting for that to happen.”

“Do you think it’s another collab? But they just had fucking Chanel have a line sold through them!” Harry growls, his blood boiling at even just the thought.

When it comes to fashion in the virtual world, there are two businesses that totally dominate the industry. In the men’s wear, Twisted is definitely the number one selling place. The idea started off as just a freshman school project that originally wanted to sell tech stuff, but a few years into the project Harry met Lambert who was already a rising star in the fashion industry and they joined forces, creating the most classic yet affordable and user friendly online empire: Twisted. Though Twisted mostly features men’s clothing, they’ve been trying to venture to the field of women’s fashion, but it hasn’t been as easy as they thought it to be. And the reason for that is Cometa.

Cometa was originally a website where anyone could sell their own clothes, make their online wardrobe sale. But eventually the business grew itself out and stepped up a few levels, collaborating with various designers and brands, selling exclusive lines and a highly praised seasonal variety four times a year, earning a well-deserved top spot in the online fashion industry. It’s hard to compete with what Julia Bianchi built up through sweat and blood and Harry Styles has been working on stepping up to be a major competition for Cometa in women’s fashion, with not much luck so far.

To top the cake with a delicious looking cherry, Cometa has been trying to set feet into men’s fashion as well in the recent years, bringing out several lines with some mentionable designers, but they never made it be as big as Twisted. The two businesses have been trying to outdo each other for about a decade now, with not much luck so far and Harry’s patience is running low by now.

“I don’t know what it is, but keep an eye out. I’ll call you on Monday, alright?” Lambert sighs through the line.

“Okay, thank you,” Harry nods, feeling a little defeated.

“And happy birthday, man. Go and celebrate!” he chuckles, making Harry’s lips curl up as well.

“Thanks, have a good weekend,” Harry bids his goodbye before the call ends.

Wandering into the kitchen Harry finds Niall with the thickest ham and cheese sandwich between his hands, sitting at the kitchen island.

“So where exactly are we going tonight?” he asks, grabbing himself a granola bar as he joins the Irish lad on the stool next to him.

“Oh, that’s a surprise,” he grins, mouth full as he chews mercilessly. Harry grimaces, not sure how this is the same man who can convince a judge about basically anything, wearing his designer suits, putting on an intimidating and serious act for his cases.

“I have a switch,” Niall once told him when he asked how he does it. “I just turn it off when I’m off the clock.”

“You know I hate surprises,” Harry informs him matter-of-factly, but Niall doesn’t seem to be bothered by his comment.

“You’re thirty now, no one cares what you hate.”

“Says who?” Harry huffs.

“Me,” he grins, making Harry roll his eyes.

The bass is throbbing, red tinted lights illuminating the exclusive bar in the heart of Manhattan where Niall chose to gather some of Harry’s close friends to celebrate his thirtieth birthday. Sitting in the leather couches at a restricted area at the back of the place, they are hidden enough not to draw too much attention to themselves but still feel like they are part of the party.

“Cheers to three decades of this cocky motherfucker!” Niall beams as their glasses meet in the middle, everyone laughing and wishing Harry a happy birthday before they all chug their drinks.

Harry is not necessarily the type of person to enjoy going out too often, but he admits it’s been a while since the last time he let loose. It feels nice to have the evening to himself, leaving the business behind for just a couple of hours before he returns to his busy everydays.

Though the occasion is Harry’s birthday, Niall is surely enjoying the evening a tad bit more than his friend. After Harry sees him send down three tequilas in a row he realizes it’s not gonna end well if he doesn’t get some water into his system as well. Excusing himself from the group he heads to the bar, pushing his way through the dancing bodies until he finally reaches his destination.

Given how it’s a Friday evening, the place is packed and he waits in the line patiently while the bartender is fixing up the order of a group of girls a few stools down from Harry. Leaning onto the counter Harry runs his gaze over the dancing crowd, tapping his fingers against the surface to the beat, even bopping his head a little when he feels a push from behind him.

“Oh, sorry!” A female voice calls out and as he turns around he spots the owner of it, a young woman, her curvy body wrapped in a tight mini dress that leaves very little to Harry’s imagination as his eyes run up and down her figure. He has never seen a curvy girl as confident as her, she is radiating, drawing every male’s attention to herself like she is feeding off the hungry stares and dirty thoughts birthed by her.

Her eyes meet Harry’s gaze and the sly smirk that tugs on her perfectly shaped lips gives it away that she is not that sorry to be bumping into him.

“No worries,” is all he manages to say, the urge to drop to his knees right then and there stronger than anything he has ever had to fight.

“He won’t notice you,” she tells him and his eyebrows knit together in confusion. “The bartender. If you just stand there like that… he will never come here,” she explains.

“I’m not sure I have what catches his eyes,” he jokes, making her laugh and he swears his stomach drops at the heavenly sound.

“May I?” she arches an eyebrow and Harry nods, letting her step in front of him. He stands tall above her, eyes fixed on her figure as she leans onto the counter, the marble pushing her breasts up just enough to spark the bartender’s fantasies when he glances in her way. She waves at him with a charming smile and a moment later the guy is standing in front of her, ready to please her in any way she desires.

“Three vodka sodas and…” she turns in Harry’s way, her lips slightly parted and his breath hitches in his throat. “What did you want, handsome?”

“Just, uhh—Just two water, please.”

Her eyebrows rise, but she doesn’t comment on it, just adds the two water to her order. The bartender nods and disappears to fix up her drinks. Harry takes a deep breath and sticking his hand out to her he introduces himself.

“I’m Harry, by the way.” She takes his hand, shaking it firmly.

“Y/N. Nice to meet you, Harry. Are you here alone?”

“Um, no. I’m here with a few friends,” he replies nodding towards the back of the place. “Are you here with someone?”

Please don’t say your boyfriend, please!

“A few of my girlfriends,” she smiles, brushing her hair over her shoulder, flaunting a better look at her naked neck and just one glimpse is sending a whirl of dirty thoughts into Harry’s mind. He wonders how soft her skin would feel under his lips, what her moans would sound as he sucks on it, leaving a mark on her, letting every man in the house know that he made her feel good.

“Are you guys celebrating something?” Y/N asks, a knowing smile on her lips as she most definitely saw Harry staring at her.

“Actually, yeah,” he chuckles a little nervously. “It’s my birthday.” Y/N’s eyes brighten up as she beams at him.

“Really? Happy birthday then!”

“Thank you,” he smiles shyly. “Are you guys celebrating something too?”

“Well, I…” she starts, her thoughts wandering off for a second before she continues. “I kind of got promoted,” she explains and Harry smiles down at her warmly.

“Congrats then!”

The bartender returns with the drinks and she is already about to get her card from her little clutch when Harry pulls his card out, handing it over to the guy behind the bar.

“Birthday boys shouldn’t pay for others,” she smirks, but doesn’t try to fight him that hard.

“You can pay me back later,” Harry shrugs with a suggestive smirk on his lips. He doesn’t want to part ways with her, but she is obviously expected to be back with her friends and he needs to get back to Niall as well before he absolutely loses control. Stepping closer to him, Y/N slides a hand up his chest, her palm resting at the base of his neck as she leans to his ear.

“Save me a dance, birthday boy?” she murmurs into his ear, her lips brushing against him for a split second before she steps back, grabs her drinks and winking at him one last time she disappears from the bar. Harry stands there for a few more seconds before the bartender hands him back his card and snatching the waters from the bar he heads back to his friends.

 Luckily, Niall is slowing down a little, The water does him well and Harry finally doesn’t feel like he’ll have to take care of him, dragging him home once the night is over. Sitting by the table Harry is trying to focus on the conversation, but his gaze keeps wandering over to the dance floor, looking for one particular curvy figure in the sea of dancing bodies.

It takes him some time to spot her, but when he does, he is not able to tear his eyes away from her.

She is almost perfectly in the middle with her friends surrounding her, lips and shoulders swaying to the rhythm perfectly. He catches her chug down the last sips of her drink before she disregards the glass and gets back to dancing. Watching her every move intently, Harry feels his lips slightly part at the sight of this angel who is for sure a devil in the sheets. He can’t stop himself fantasizing about what it would feel like to dig his fingers into her thighs, kiss her neck, her cleavage that’s on show now, how her curves would fit into his hands perfectly. He wants to praise this woman, make her feel good and not just because he wants to be selfless and please her, but also because seeing this woman reach her high because of him would be the biggest ego boost for him and he just needs that.

“Go dance with her!” Niall wiggles his eyebrows at him when he catches Harry staring at her.

“What? No, I’m not a dancer,” he shakes his head, shifting his eyes away from the dancing goddess on the dance floor.

“Oh come on, don’t be a pussy!”

“I’m not a pussy, I just—“

“You’re a pussy. I saw her looking in your way as well, she wants your dick!”

“Jesus, Niall!” Harry whines rolling his eyes. He doesn’t like it when he gets so vulgar, but luckily no one heard their conversation. Glancing back in Y/N’s way Harry sees how men are eyeing him, probably building up the courage to go up to her and that has his blood boiling. He needs to be the one to touch her.

Chugging down the rest of his drink he snaps the glass on the table before standing from his seat, ignoring Niall’s cheering as he makes his way into the crowd.

Harry didn’t lie when he said he is not a dancer, he feels uncomfortable, awkward and uncoordinated most of the times he tries to dance, but he is pushing all of those to the back of his mind for now as his eyes are set on one person in the crowd.

When Y/N spots the man approaching her, she can’t push a pleased smile off her lips, slowing her movements down as Harry finally reaches her, leaning closer to her ear so she can hear his voice over the music.

“Here to collect that dance,” he smugly tells her, making her laugh, though the music is too loud to let him hear her. She just nods and turning around she presses herself up against him, her backside fitting his front perfectly. Harry’s hand snake around her waist, his large palm smoothly moving through the silky fabric of her dress as they start moving together.

She is intoxicating, makes Harry feel like he is some kind of horny teenager, like he hasn’t dealt with women before, but in a way, she makes all of his past flings appear to be only girls. Her confidence in her own body is easily one of her best traits, the way she handles herself, moves her body, the look in her eyes, Harry is getting drunk on just watching her and now he is able to touch her as well.

When he feels himself getting hard in his pants, he knows he should be at least a slightly bit embarrassed by himself, but as Y/N turns around in his arms and he sees the pleased smirk on her lips, the feeling vanishes in a heartbeat. She wraps her arms around his neck as she pulls him close, her lips brushing against his lips.

“Enjoying yourself, birthday boy?” she prompts before pressing a kiss to the soft skin under his ear and he can’t hold a growl back. The friction is almost unbearable, as his hands slide lower on her back, stopping on her ass, he knows he won’t be able to control himself any longer. Luckily, he is not the only one having this inner fight.

Snapping around Y/N grabs his hand and starts pulling him through the crowd towards the hallway of the bathrooms. He follows her eagerly, lucky for them, the club doesn’t have restrooms with several stalls, but single bathrooms with a lot more comfort and privacy. Just what they need right now.

They find the third bathroom empty, pushing their way inside and locking the door before Harry pushes her up against it the moment it’s just the two of them, their mouths hungrily meeting in the middle. He almost grunts against her lips, she tastes even better than he imagined and the way her tongue is the first one to come into action has got his mind blown. His hands roam up her body, running up all her curves until they reach her face and he cups it in his palms, pressing his hips against her. She moans against his mouth when his hard cock pokes against her, both of them desperate to take it further.

Tumbling further into the small bathroom, he helps her up to the counter next to the sing, her legs instantly opening for him, her tiny dress rolling up her thighs, revealing her clothed sex. Harry eagerly kisses his way down her neck and chest, her skin feeling so smooth under his lips. His fingers hook under the thin straps of her dress, tugging them down so he can push the dress past her full breasts and thank God she is not wearing a bra underneath!

“Fuck me, you are so hot!” he breathes out, making her chuckle at his reaction.

“That’s what I’m trying to do,” she cockily answers before Harry’s mouth attaches to her nipple, his hand working on her other breasts before he switches.

He quickly gets down on his knees, pushing her underwear to the side before his lips and tongue meet her sensitive clit.

“Oh shit!” she moans, a hand coming to tangle in his hair while she tries to hold herself steady with leaning on the other one behind her. There’s no time for teasing now and they both know that.

She is so lost in the experience, Harry is licking and sucking just the right spots and she tries to close her legs, locking his head between her thighs. His arms come to curl around them, ring clad fingers digging into her flesh and the situation might be a little suffocating for him, but he doesn’t mind it a bit. In fact, if he died this way, he would die a happy man.

She doesn’t let him finish what he started, pulling him up, his lips still glistening from her own juices as she kisses him messily, wiggling herself out of her underwear while he undoes his pants as well.

“Shit, do you have a condom?” he breathes out when his palm wraps around his throbbing cock. She nods, reaching for her clutch she dropped to the counter and digging into it she grabs the package, smacking it against his chest playfully. “Were you planning to do this tonight?” he grins cockily as he rips the package open and starts rolling it down his hard length.

“No, I’m just smart, unlike you,” she retorts, her sass dripping from her tone and it just riles him up even more.

Grabbing her thighs he yanks her to the edge of the counter, a gasp leaving her plump lips as she tries to find her balance quickly.

“Don’t be a brat,” he growl against her lips before kissing her, while he lines himself up with her, the head already pushing in.

“Then fuck me, birthday boy,” she challenges him again and it’s the last straw.

Harry slams into her, both of them moaning at the sensation before he starts thrusting in a fast pace, needing all the friction he can make to get them to finish as soon as possible. Y/N’s head falls back as she holds onto the back of his neck, her other hand on the counter behind her again and Harry glances down, watching her breasts bounce every time he rails into her, slamming his whole length into her every time their hips meet.

She reaches for one of his hands that’s holding her thigh and she boldly brings it to her core, tapping his fingers to her clit, letting him know that she wants some extra effort. Harry doesn’t say it, but he is blown how she didn’t just do it herself, she made him do it. It’s got to be one of the hottest things he has ever seen.

“Fuck, go harder!” she gasps, wrapping her legs around his waist as he picks the pace up, feeling his orgasm building rapidly with each thrust.

They both are a whimpering, moaning mess, the bass of the music is thumping outside and for a moment, Harry feels like he is finally living his life to the fullest.

“I’m gonna cum!” she breathes out, his name falling from her lips moaning after that and when she pulls him down to kiss him, biting into his bottom lip and tugging it, he loses himself.

He feels himself jerking inside her, still sliding in and out of her as he grunts, releasing himself into the condom. He flicks his fingers on her clit at the same time, creating just enough friction to push her over the edge as well. He is coming off his own high when her walls tighten around his cock, dragging his orgasm out even longer as she basically screams, gasping for air, riding her orgasm out to the last bit.

Leaning down he kisses her again though they are still panting, this time making it a lot less rushed than the time their lips met for the first time. Her legs fall from around his waist and he pulls out, both of them cleaning themselves up in the aftermath of their little session.

“I know this was quite rushed and all that, but can I have your number?” he asks, even feeling a little nervous. She puts her underwear back on, smoothing her dress down as she smiles up at him, cupping his face in her palm.

“I’m afraid we’ll have to skip on that,” she tells him simply, shocking him for sure.

“D-Do you have a boyfriend or something?”

“No,” she shakes her head and now Harry is confused.

“You didn’t enjoy it?” he then asks, trying his best to figure out the reason behind the rejection.

“I did. But it was a one time thing. If it’s supposed to turn into more…” she sighs, grabbing her clutch from the counter. “Then I’ll leave it to fate if we ever meet again,” she shrugs before turning around she just unlocks the door and walks out, leaving Harry stand there in complete and utter shock.

This is definitely a first for him, a woman who doesn’t want to see him again. He is not that egoistic to think that everyone is in love with him, but he never had an encounter similar to this. Not after the most amazing sex ever.

Harry fixes himself up, still not believing she walked out that easily, but there’s not much he can do now. Walking back to his table, he acts like nothing happened and when his eyes scan over the crowd again, he can’t see her anymore.

Harry lets out a tired sigh when Zayn, head of the graphic design department walks into his office with a familiar brown paper bag with the logo of Harry’s favorite Chinese restaurant.

“Has it started already?” Zayn asks, though glancing at the big screen on the wall he can see the stream is still waiting to be started.

“No, I’ve been staring at it for like twenty minutes,” Harry grumbles, pushing himself away from his desk to join Zayn on the couch in front of the screen as he unpacks the food. “What do you think it’s going to be?”

Today is the day of Cometa’s big press conference and no one knows what they are about to announce. It’s been keeping Harry on the edge for the past few days, because whatever it is, it has got to be major. Julia Bianchi is not the type of person to hold press conferences, she is a private person who has managed to keep most of her life behind closed doors. That’s something Harry admires in the woman even though they are competitors in the business. He can relate to wanting to keep her life just for herself, he has been doing the same thing. No public appearances, no lengthy interviews, no photoshoots. He likes to let his work talk for himself and it’s proved to be a successful move so far.

“I don’t know, but I hope they don’t suddenly announce a full graphic makeover right before our update,” Zayn chuckles. He has been working on an entirely new appearance for the website these past weeks and it’s supposed to go live sometime later in the month. A change for Cometa would totally throw their attempt off, making them look like they are just copying Julia’s move.

They eat and wait for the stream to start when the screen finally comes alive. There’s an empty stage shown with just two mic stands in the middle and nothing really happens for a few minutes before clapping is heard from behind the camera and Julia finally walks on the stage.

The woman is a real diva. Wearing a matching pant suit with bold floral print all over it, her short hair is neatly straightened into a bob cut, her red lips smiling lightly as she waves around in the room. Julia has been in the fashion industry for almost three decades now and she surely made a name for herself, sitting front row in every fashion show she attends, her words on any new trend being basically the standard.

Stepping to one of the mics, she clears her throat as the clapping dies down and her calm, gentle voice rings through the speakers.

“Welcome, everyone, thank you for coming, as you might already know I’m Julia Bianchi, head of Cometa, the world’s best online women’s fashion house.”

Harry leans back in his seat, eyes fixed on the woman on the screen as he is patiently waiting to hear what she’s got for the people this time.

“I’ve spent twenty-seven wonderful years in the business, building my own one for the past two decades. I fell in love with fashion as a child and moved to Milan to study designing from the bests. Though designing has always and will always hold a special place in my heart, I saw an opportunity in the early years for a brand that would hold together every other brand in the industry, bringing it to everyone’s home thanks to the rapidly developing technology. Cometa has always been my little baby and I’m proud of everything I achieved as head of such a great company.”

Harry realizes what it’s about before Julia could even say the words herself. The phrasing, the nostalgic tone, it’s all adding up to the obvious: Julia is about to announce her retirement.

“I gave the best years of my life for this company and I regret nothing, but recently I’ve realized that it is time for me to slow down for a little bit and enjoy a life that’s not filled with work anymore, and spend more time with my beloved husband, Fabio and my family who supported me on my long way here. Therefore, I am now announcing it with an aching heart and a lot of excitement as well that I am stepping down from my role as CEO of Cometa. I might be leaving now, but my business will not. So it is a pleasure to introduce you the person who will carry my legacy on, my amazing niece, the absolutely most perfect woman to carry on the work I started, Y/N Y/L/N.”

The moment another woman comes into the picture Harry almost chokes on his own saliva, seeing the same curves he had his fingers dug into last Friday. Y/N smiles and waves around as she steps to the other mic next to her aunt, exchanging a short look with her before turning towards the people in the room and the camera that’s streaming the event.

“Dude, you alright?” Zayn asks, patting Harry’s back a few times as he is still struggling to breathe normally.

He refuses to accept that the woman he fucked in a bathroom on his birthday, the one that made him moan like never before, is the same woman who is going to take over his biggest competitor.

“This has got to be a joke,” he breathes out with teary eyes from all the coughing.

“It is an honor to be here,” Y/N starts speaking as the clapping dies down once again and the two men are staring at the screen. “Just like to be the one to step into the perfectly stylish shoes of my aunt. I hope to live up to not just her and everyone else’s expectations, but also to mine as well. I grew up watching my aunt build up this empire with basically dust so to be the person to take her place is a dream come true. I promise to keep the quality the same and work on improving Cometa to its possible best while being in charge.”

As she finishes talking, questions are thrown in her way, but Harry doesn’t pay attention any longer. Standing up he walks to the window, staring out to the city as he chews on his bottom lip anxiously.

“What the fuck is your problem, H? It wasn’t as bad as we expected, right?” Zayn questions.

“It’s fucking worse!” he snaps turning around. “I can’t believe this is happening to me.”

“Would you just tell me what’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong is that… I told you about what… happened on my birthday.”

“The bathroom fuck, oh yeah,” Zayn chuckles with a playful shine in his eyes.

“Well, that woman… the woman I fucked was her.” Zayn stays silent for a moment before he turns towards the screen, eyeing the woman on the stage as she is still answering questions, standing confidently in her tight, black dress and red heels.

“You fucked Julia Bianchi’s niece? And she is now taking over Cometa?” he raises his eyebrows at Harry who just nods, pressing his lips together into a thin line. “And she is also the one who didn’t give you her number?”

“Don’t… bring that up. But yes, it’s her.”

Zayn starts laughing, clearly finding Harry’s misery entertaining, but Harry doesn’t feel like taking it that easy. He wonders if she knew who he was, if she did it on purpose or it was fate’s horrible joke on both of them.

“Ah man, that charity event on Saturday will be one hell of a show then!” Zayn points it out and Harry’s face falls. He totally forgot about the charity event he was invited to, one that would have the biggest names in the fashion industry together in a ball room to raise money for a chosen good cause. It happens every year and it’s a major event, the perfect place to network and also to see your biggest enemies. That means that Harry will see Y/N again in a few short days and if he is being honest… he is not ready to face her, not after the information he learned today. Sighing he steps to the minibar he insisted on having in his office and though he never drinks during the day, he now thinks that now might be an exception. He pours himself some whiskey and before he chugs it down at one go, he lets out a long, tired sigh.

“That’s just my luck…”

Leslie helps you with the zipper of your dress, the silky, red fabric hugging your body like a second skin. She smoothes the wrinkles out while you fix the straps, staring back at yourself in the mirror with judgment. You need to look perfect, this is going to be your first time appearing at an event as CEO of Cometa, your big entrance into the industry, you can’t let anything go wrong.

“You look gorgeous, babe,” Leslie smiles at you, bringing your hair behind your shoulders as her eyes meet yours in the mirror. Leslie might be your assistant, but she is a lot more than that. You’ve been friends for almost a decade and when she lost her job a few years ago you didn’t hesitate to offer her a spot next to you. You wouldn’t be here without her, she doesn’t try to use her privilege of being your friend to not do the work, she is always on top of her game and you’ll always be grateful for her to not make it awkward at all.

“I think you need some diamonds though,” she winks at you, stepping to the table where all kinds of jewelry is sprawled out. She reaches for a simple one, not too much, quite elegant and you nod as she holds it up for you. Walking behind you she brings it around your neck, the diamond brilliantly sitting on your chest now, giving that little extra shine to your outfit.

“You’ll make every man fall in love with you,” she smiles at you and breathing out you nod, hoping to believe that everything will go perfectly.

While you make a few last minute calls she gets dressed as well before the car arrives for the two of you. She is wearing a less daring but still beautiful black dress, her curly hair pinned up into a loose bun at the nape of her neck, her heavily freckled face bright from her happy smile as the two of you make your way to the event.

“I know it’s ridiculous, but I tried to memorize the faces and names from the guest list,” she grins at you, earning an eyeroll.

“Les, I told you, this is not The Devil Wears Prada,” you chuckle softly. She is obsessed with that movie and hasn’t shut up about feeling like she is literally living in it since your aunt has shared her plans with you about your future position last year.

“I know, but it might be impressive if you already knew everyone!”

You have to give that to her, it would earn you a few good points if you knew the names already, you’re just still nervous about the whole thing. So many things could go wrong and you want it to be perfect.

 At first you feel intimidated by all the influential people around you. Everyone here is one of the bests in their own field and you feel like an impostor, but then you remind yourself that you earned your spot. Your aunt wouldn’t have given you the company if she didn’t trust you entirely with it. You worth no less than anyone else in this ball room and that reminds you that… you’re that bitch.

Leslie’s knowledge of names actually comes handy. You love seeing people get shocked when they try to introduce themselves to you, but you already greet them saying their names. It earns you some appreciative looks as you make your way around the room. Everything is going smooth, right until you spot one particular man in the crowd.

You’re in a little circle with a few designers when your gaze falls on Harry who is standing across the room, talking to two men. The champagne almost slips from your hand when you realize it’s him.

“Leslie,” you grab her wrist catching her attention. “Les, who’s the man in the blue Gucci suit?” you ask in a whisper and she follows your gaze, finding the man in talk.

“Oh, that’s Harry Styles, head of Twisted.”

“Fuck,” you mumble under your breath as you quickly excuse yourself from the conversation and head out to the balcony to get some fresh air before you faint right on the spot.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Leslie follows you.

“I messed up,” you squeak as you step outside, the chilly evening air hitting your uncovered skin immediately. “I messed up big time!”

“What? Why? What happened?”

Stepping to the edge, you wrap your hands around the railing, staring out into the void for a moment. Leslie Stands beside you, quite puzzled about your sudden panic.

“Remember the guy I told you about from Friday night?” you ask, keeping your voice down even though there’s no one really around. Leslie nods. “Well… he was the guy.”

Leslie glances back inside and then at you before her eyes widen and lips part in shock.

“You fucked Harry Styles at a club’s bathroom?!” she whisper-yells at you and you feel like a teenager who is getting scolded.

“I didn’t know who he was! And I genuinely think he didn’t know me either, how could he?! But now he is here and… Oh God, this is so bad,” you whine, your head dropping backwards as you let out a frustrated growl.

“Okay, don’t panic. Maybe… maybe he doesn’t remember you.”

“You can’t make me believe he doesn’t remember me after fucking me on a counter,” you tell her giving her a look.

“Alright, alright. Then… you just have to suck it up. It’s not like you can unfuck him,” she shrugs and though you know she is right, you just wish you could leave right now.

You never planned on seeing him again. Your bullshit speech about letting fate decide it was just an excuse to not give him your number. You didn’t want to because you thought he is not the kind of man that would be good for you. From his look you thought that he was either a fuckboy, not willing to commit to anything serious, or the kind of man that seems all nice and respectful at first but then turns out to be a total asshole and you’ve had enough of those in your twenty-eight years.

Soon enough you head back as the auction is about to start. Luckily, your seat is far away from Harry and it seems like he hasn’t noticed you yet. Though you wish to keep it that way, you can feel it coming already.

The auction goes by fast, you buy a new painting that will look amazing in your living room and almost twice as much money is raised through the evening that was the goal. You leave Leslie behind at the table as you go to the bar to get yourself another drink, probably your last one of the evening if you don’t want to end up making a fool out of yourself.

Patiently waiting at the bar you’re already thinking about watching Grey’s Anatomy when you get back and out of this tight dress. You look hot, but it’s not the comfiest look, if you’re being honest. There’s only one more person in front of you when you feel a little tap on your shoulder and turning around your stomach drops when you see the man you’ve been trying to avoid all evening.

“Fancy seeing you here, Y/N,” he nods shortly, his expression is quite blank, but he is definitely not shocked to see you. You tighten your jaw before looking away from him, squinting your eyes a bit.

“You don’t seem surprised,” you point out.

“I was kind of expecting to see you here tonight.”

“So you knew who I was all along?” you snap at him, but he shakes his head.

“Not until the stream this week. I was pretty shocked when you walked on stage.”

Nodding shortly you brush your hair over your shoulder and you catch Harry glimpsing down your body, but decide not to comment on it.

“Did you know who I was?” he then asks, digging his hands into his pockets.

“No, I wouldn’t sleep with my biggest competitor willingly.”

“Just from the abrupt ending I had a feeling that you might have known me.”

“Just because a woman doesn’t throws herself into your arms after a fuck, doesn’t mean she had ulterior motives,” you scoff. “Get off your high horse,” you add before turning back towards the bar so you can order your drink. Unfortunately, Harry doesn’t want the conversation to end just yet. His hand is laid flat on the counter in front of you as he stands on your right, a little too close to your liking. You can smell the expensive cologne on him, the same that hit your nose on Friday as well and suddenly your body is betraying you.

However crazy the situation is, you can’t deny that he gave you one of the best times last Friday. Men you dealt with were more concerned about their own pleasure and most of them didn’t even get you to finish. But Harry made it happen so fast and didn’t even bitch about it when you made him rub your clit. He just obeyed like a grownup man who is willingly take care of his partner. That almost made you change your mind about leaving, but once you came down from cloud nine, you returned to your original plan.

But not as he is standing in front of you and you can smell him, your senses trick you into thinking that you’re in that bathroom again, almost aching for him to touch you the way he did then. He leans closer to your ear as he speaks up again.

“Leave the drink, dance with me,” he tells you as the bartender places your drink in front of you. You debate what to do before grabbing the drink and chugging it down in one go. You’ll need the alcohol if you are about to dance with your enemy.

Harry takes you to the dance floor in the middle of the ball room, one of his hands finds the small of your back while the other takes your hand as the two of you start swaying to the gentle music played by the band.

“Your aunt set my company back in women’s fashion every time I tried to take a step forward. Are you going to do the same?”

“She didn’t do anything to set you back but to build her own company. Not everything is about you.”

“You sound a little naïve, Love. It’s pretty clear you are new in the business.” This statement riles you up big time. How dare he degrade you like that? He knows nothing about you, yet he assumes things that are not at all real.

Smirking to yourself you lean back enough so your gazes can meet. Your hand slides up from his shoulders to the base of his neck so your fingers can gently brush against his skin and you notice the shudder than runs down his spine. He is not the only one having flashbacks from your last encounter.

“Wanna know what I know about business?” you purr, his eyes glued to your red lips as you speak. “I know that… Twisted was one of the last sites to participate in personalized ads on online platforms, failing to reach it’s targeted audience as fast as literally everyone else. I know that your company and my company use the same security system in our server rooms yet I can assure you that it cost me twenty percent less because we waited a month before installing it and got a huge last minute discount because the security company was trying to boost their numbers for their end of year closing. And I also happen to know that you are working on a new design for your website that could easily be outshone if I just did the same before you could do it.”

Harry’s lips part, probably mostly at the last information. He has no idea how you know these stuff, but you have a wide circle of connections in the city, you have an insider at every big companies in the industry without them even knowing. You’ve given countless tips to your aunt through the years, that’s how she managed to stay on top of her games.

Leaning closer your lips almost brush against him and you see how he weakens, he is expecting you to kiss him and he wants it. But you just smile at him, your eyes snapping down to his lips before up to his eyes.

“I will not do the same as my aunt, Harry,” you softly speak, your fingers grazing the back of his neck. “I will do way worse things.”

And with that, you slip out of his arms and walk back to your table, leaving him standing there alone at a complete loss of words.

“What the fuck had gotten into you?” Niall grimaces upon hearing everything he told you on the evening of the charity event. And quite frankly, Harry has no answer to that. He has absolutely no idea what had gotten into him to act like such a dick when you didn’t do anything against him.

The situation just messed with his head, seeing you in that breathtaking dress, mingling with everyone, smiling and laughing, oh how he wished you were laughing on his jokes! But then you seemed so tensed when he came up to you and something just switched in him. He wanted to take dominance, to somehow get out of it on top, but he miserably failed. When you brought up their plans to change the design he completely froze.

“No idea, okay? I just…lost it,” he growls, sinking into the couch. When Niall found out that Harry met the woman from the club again he insisted on coming over with some wine to talk it out, but he was not expecting this kind of story at all.

“Dude, you just put yourself on her radar big time, maybe she wouldn’t have even bothered to compete with you like her aunt did, but you surely changed her mind now.”

“I know, Niall!” Harry growls, not in the mood to be scolded like a little child. “Do you think she’ll change their design before we do?” he peeks at his friend, but Niall just shrugs.

“No idea, but I would try to speed it up before she actually does it.”

 Harry made you into a ticking bomb and you successfully got under his skin about the whole design project so first thing the next morning he went to Zayn to discuss a possible earlier debut for the new designs. Though it would be a close stretch, they agreed that it would go live by the end of the week and that got Harry somehow a little relieved, but in the middle of that he failed to put the right amount of effort into finding designers for their female lines.

When he meets up with Lambert a few days later he is not there to deliver great news. Apparently, three out of the four designers they were negotiating with recently pulled out of their deal and signed a contract with Cometa.

“We have one last designer on the list, but then… we are out of the bigger names,” Lambert sighs as Harry chews on his bottom lip anxiously. He feels like he has fallen into a hole a while ago and instead of climbing out he is just digging it deeper underneath him.

“Okay, do we have an appointment with them?” Harry asks.

“Yeah, I’m meeting her this afternoon.”

“I’m going with you,” he nods before standing from his chair and opening the door he calls out for his assistant. “Rebecca, please clear my schedule for this afternoon, I’ll be out of the office.”

Rebecca nods behind her desk, already starting to make calls about Harry’s meetings and appointments.

It’s obvious he is anxious about the meeting, because if it falls through they are forced to look for less known designers and that won’t bring the change for the company they’ve been seeking for a long time. Arriving to the showroom where the designer is working, Harry is setting his thoughts straight, determined to convince her to sign a contract with them. The two men are let into the building by the nice assistant working at the front desk and she shows the way to the showroom where Kennedy, the designer is waiting for them.

Harry is confident, he trusts his skills to make this happen, but when they walk inside he instantly freezes upon seeing an all too familiar figure standing with Kennedy

A maroon colored pantsuit is hugging your curves, a Hermés handbag hanging from your arm, your hair falling in loose curls. As if you could sense his presence, you peek over your shoulder, a devilish smirk on your lips when you see the shocked expression on Harry’s face.

“What a great surprise!” you beam, selling how happy you are to see him and in a way, you are. You wanted to see his face drop when he realizes you snatched yet another designer from him.

“Oh, Mr. Styles!” Kennedy smiles nicely at him and he finally snaps out of his trance, shaking hands with her and then turning to you, doing the same but in a lot colder manner.

“Y/N, nice to see you again,” he fakes a smile as your hand falls from his palm.

“I could say the same. But I’m heading out now. Great talk, Kennedy. I’ll be waiting for your call,” you wink at the young designer who seems to be thrilled by your words as she walks you to the exit.

“Fucking hell,” Harry mumbles under his breath and Lambert shoots him a look before Kennedy returns.

The three of them take a seat on the couches in the corner of the room and Harry is quick to get down to business, trying his best to make his offer appear more appealing than anything you told her right before their arrival. Kennedy listens intently, even takes notes and then she shows him some examples of what she was thinking about for her next line and Harry is beyond thrilled.

Unfortunately, soon comes the painful part.

“Harry, I’m gonna be honest with you,” Kennedy starts and Harry already knows what she is about to say. “Your offer is very tempting and it would be an honor to design a line for Twisted, but in my situation it would be more beneficial if I collaborated with Cometa. It is nothing against your company, it’s more about my personal path and growth.”

Harry can feel his stomach dropping and he clenches his jaw as he listens to Kennedy’s worth. He understands, of course he understands, she has the right to selfishly look at her own benefits upon signing with a new company, but he wished she would take the risk and chose his company instead of yours.

“I’m keeping the offer open for you still,” he forces a smile on his face. “If you change your mind, Twisted would be more than happy to work with you.”

Kennedy walks the two men out and the fake smile quickly vanishes from Harry’s face upon stepping out of the building.

“What are we going to do now?” Lambert asks, clearly worried about how they’re gonna move forward with their last chance falling.

“If Y/N wants a war, that’s what she’ll get,” Harry growls, revenge burning in the greens of his eyes.

It’s a quiet Friday afternoon, only hours left from the day before you are headed home finally. You’re sitting in your office with Leslie, going over next week’s schedule to make sure everything is set and clear.

It’s been almost an entire month since you stepped into your aunt’s shoes as head of the company and though the start was a little rough, especially with finding out who Harry was, but you feel like you have everything under your control by now. After all, you didn’t learn business for years from the bests for nothing, right?

Harry’s comment on you knowing nothing about the industry made you bitter, because he knows nothing about you and the struggle you went through your life to get to this point. It wasn’t all sunshine and rainbow, being Julia’s niece might have been a hugely influencing aspect of you taking over, but you worked your ass off to be the best leader you can and not just ruin everything she built up through her whole life.

Though you didn’t always want to be the one following her, but you like to think that things worked out to your favor and you are where you should be.

“Alright, everything is looking fine,” Leslie smiles at you over her laptop. “I’ll send you the notes from today’s meeting.”

“Thank you. Can you call in with the delivery company about next month’s transactions?” you ask her and she nods, already adding it to her list of tasks for the rest of the day. “Alright. I’ll do the rest of the signings and then we can head out,” you smile at her.

Leslie is grabbing her things from the table when there’s a soft knock on the door. You give your permission and one of the tech support guys walk in with a worried look on his face.

“Miss Y/L/N? I’m afraid we have a problem,” he clears his throat and you can already feel your anxiety crawl up on your spine.

“What is it?” you ask firmly. The guy steps farther inside, fumbling with his fingers as he presents the issue.

“There’s been an attempt to break our software’s security system where we keep our data about the sellings. A-And I’m afraid it wasn’t just an attempt, they succeeded.”

You take a deep breath, glancing over at Leslie for a moment before you follow the man to the tech department to investigate the issue further. You don’t know shit about these stuff, but from what he said you know the trouble is huge and if you don’t solve it as soon as possible, valuable data could leak out to the public. They try to explain you what they are working on as of right now and that there’s not much you can actually help with.

“Make sure to put your extra hours on your attendance sheets and let me know when you are able to restore the system,” you tell them and you earn quite a few thank yous on your way out for actually paying the overtime. Then you turn to the guy that first came to your office. “Do you have any information about who it could have been?”

“We weren’t able to track them back, but whoever it was, they’re surely professionals and they might know the system from the inside.”

“What do you mean from the inside? Someone did it from the company?” you ask, eyebrows knitting together as you fold your arms on your chest.

“No,” he shakes his head. “We would have been able to track that back. I mean that they know the system, maybe they worked somewhere where the same one was used and they could see into it.”

It takes you a few moments before you realize what this really is and it has your blood boiling right away. Nodding shortly you exhale sharply through your nose.

“Thank you, please call me when it’s up and running again, I’ll take care of the rest,” you tell him before turning around you walk away.

When Leslie sees you approaching your office with a head practically turning red she is quick to jump to her feet, following you into the office.

“What’s happening?”

“Harry Styles, that’s what happening,” you snap as you grab your phone, purse and coat before heading out, not wasting another minute.

“What? Where are you going now?”

“To the devil himself,” you growl back and enter the elevator, leaving her alone with her questions.

Sitting in your car on your way to the headquarters of Twisted, you imagine every scenario you want to make happen when you arrive, most of them including hitting the man across his ridiculously handsome yet annoying face. He crossed a line with breaking into your system and stealing valuable data. Though you’re sure he wouldn’t dare to sell or publish it, because he would be in a big legal trouble if he did, he still had a glimpse into your numbers and that’s already an advantage. He is playing dirty and you’re not having any of it.

Arriving you burst through the doors and demand to see him. Though the woman behind the front desk tells you that you can’t see him without an appointment, you still get her to make a call up and naturally, Harry allows you to see him. The fucker might already have been waiting for you to show up. As you stand in the all glass elevator, on your way up to meet him you take a few deep breaths to keep your cool and not snap like a maniac, however it all vanishes when you see him waiting for you with that shit-eating grin on his face when you step out of the elevator.

“You’re lucky I didn’t go straight to the police with your little stunt, you fucker!” you snap, not able to hold back your swearing any longer.

“Do you have any evidence?” he tilts his head to the side and you don’t miss how his gaze runs down your body as you march towards him. You’d find it flattering in another situation, but right now you just want to punch him in the face.

“I’ll show some evidence down your throat, Styles, if you don’t stop messing with my security system,” you growl back, standing so close to him now that you see every tiny freckle and blemish on his face and the way how he clenches his jaw, holding his gaze on yours.

Without a word or invitation, you walk into the room that you suppose is his office and he follows with a soft chuckle.

“Did you hire a hacker just to mess with me?” you throw the question at him as he closes the door so his employees don’t hear everything.

“What if I did?” he shrugs, stepping to the tray on his desk that already has a glass of whiskey on it. He grabs the glass and simply lifts it to his lips, taking a tiny sip from it. “Oh, excuse my manners. Would you like a drink?”

“I’m driving,” you answer shortly. “You crossed a line, Harry,” you warn him.

“What line?” he chuckles, rather entertained by your rage. “After what you pulled with Kennedy, I think I went easy on you.”

“I didn’t pull anything, I just gave her a better offer! It’s not my fault she has better chances with my company!” you snap back, feeling your heartbeat fastening from the anger that’s boiling in your veins.

“You knew I wanted her to design for me, why couldn’t you just let one person out of your endless list? You already have everyone else, she was my last fucking chance!” Harry barks back, clearly having some built up tension in him as well.

“If you didn’t act like an arrogant asshole at the charity gala, I would have happily let you work with her, but then you felt the need to fucking degrade me! That’s why I didn’t let you get away with it!”

Harry opens his mouth to answer, but he quickly closes his mouth, probably knowing well you’re right. He did act shitty towards you that evening and he has no excuse for his behavior. You walk closer until there are just a few feet between the two of you, your eyes glued to his burning green gaze that’s staring back at you, but before you could speak up, he cuts you off.

“Well, you know. All is fair in… war and business,” he shrugs and you honestly barely can stop yourself from laughing at how stupid that just sounded. You can’t miss the twitch in the corner of his mouth as well and you can’t believe how easily he made you break out of your rage.

“Don’t try to make money out of writing slogans,” you huff shaking your head and now he is grinning widely. “Do you have the data?”

“I don’t,” he answers and you narrow your eyes at him.

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not,” he chuckles. “I had it, but I already deleted it. I know it wasn’t ethical so as soon as it was handed to me I deleted it. I didn’t even look into it. I just wanted to scare you.”

“And how do I know your hacker doesn’t have it either?”

“Because he signed a contract that would cost him millions to break and I don’t think a junior in college who is still living in a dorm can afford that,” he points out and now you are somewhat convinced. You stare back at him for a few more seconds before nodding.

“Stay out of my way and I’ll stay out of yours, how does that sound?” you offer generously.

“Where’s the fun in that?” he questions with a smug smirk that makes your arch an eyebrow at him. “What are you doing tomorrow evening?” he then asks and you can’t mask your surprise in front of him.

“That does not concern you, Styles,” you scoff, though it boosts your ego that even through all the hate you’ve been targeting at each other, he still wants you the same way he did at the club that evening. You can’t deny, this rivalry has sparked a few thoughts in you as well, but you are not going to fall into the same mistake you made that evening. You pay him another smirk before turning around and heading towards the door. “Stay out of my way, Styles!” you call back without looking at him, but you just know he is grinning at you, a growing sexual tension thickening the atmosphere in the room.

“Or what?” he smugly questions and you stop at the door, glancing back at him over your shoulder.

“Or… You said it yourself. All is fair in war and business,” you smirk before walking out of the office.

Following your visit to Harry’s office things take a… playful turn in your rivalry. The attempts and competing don’t stop, both of you are on each other’s radar, ruining and messing with each other’s projects and works whenever and wherever it’s possible, but it’s not as hateful as it was at the beginning. If something, it even helps you to always be on your toes and watch out for possible threats, not just from Harry but from everyone else.

Neither of you succeeds in evolving in each other’s field, Cometa keeps thriving in women’s fashion with a quite small variety offered for the gentlemen while Twisted fails to grow out of men’s fashion and venture to the ladies, but somehow it’s not as frustrating as it used to be before.

Harry keeps up his flirty acts and tries to ask you out every time your paths cross each other, but you relentlessly turn him down every time, only fueling him to keep chasing after you more the next time. It’s a thrilling and flattering little game, knowing that even with all the rivalry between the two of you, being the biggest competitors in the business… he still wants you.

New York fashion week rolls around and it’s by far one of your favorite times in the year. You managed to snatch an exclusive deal with YSL to release a special line just for the fashion week and it sold out in the first two hours, now waiting to be restocked in a few days. Cometa is thriving and your aunt has expressed her pride towards the work you’ve been doing at the company, so things are heading the right direction.

You knew Harry would be attending the same shows as you, but it’s fate or just luck that you are seated next to each other at one of the shows, giving you the chance to talk without any of you attempting to corrupt the other this time.

Harry is already sitting in his seat when you arrive wearing a custom made Gucci dress, something that immediately catches his eyes since he is a huge fan of the brand himself.

“Your fashion sense never disappoints, Y/N,” he beams up at you as you take the seat next to him.

“Hope that’s not surprising, Styles,” You smirk at him, taking a glance at his own Gucci outfit, the checkered pants fitting him perfectly while the pussy bow adds some spice to the whole outfit, you have to admit. He looks good, he always does.

“Any plans after the show?” he asks right before the lights go out and the show starts. You leave him without an answer, just let out a soft chuckle as you glue your eyes to the first model who walks the runway.

Once the show is over you head out with Harry by your side, having an actually entertaining discussion about the designs you just saw. He might not be an expert in fashion, but he has developed a good sense through his years.

As you make your way out of the venue you are stopped by an interviewer and Harry remains on your side as the woman asks you a few questions about the show.

“I’ve always wondered, does it bother you that you couldn’t be on the runway yourself? You’ve been sitting front row the past years, but you once had aspirations of being a model yourself, is that right?”

The question makes you tense up and you can feel Harry’s puzzled look on you from the side.

“It’s not like it was my fault for not making it up there,” you sass back, forcing a smile to your face.

“Well, that’s not entirely true,” the woman chuckles and it has your blood boiling, because you know the real meaning behind her words.

It’s your fault you didn’t become a model because you were never thin enough to be one. It was your fault and not the industry’s to hold impossible standards to women who wanted to succeed as a model.

The smile falters from your face and you take a long, judgmental look at the woman in front of you. Because if she is brave enough to talk like that to you, you’re not gonna shy away from bringing her spirits down either.

“Judging from your appearance and attitude you wouldn’t make it either,” you spitefully reply and her smile quickly fades, clearly shocked at your answer. You open your mouth again, ready to continue, but then you feel a hand on the small of your back and you realize Harry is still standing next to you.

“Come on, we have somewhere to be, right?” he smiles kindly as you just simply nod and walk away from the woman before she could offend you again.

Harry senses your tension as the two of you leave the venue but doesn’t try to talk to you and that’s a wise choice from him. As you step out of the building you realize that if you went home now you’d probably get drunk on your own and let that comment get to you more than you should. So instead of doing that you turn to Harry.

“So, what are our plans?” you ask and you don’t miss the small smile on his lips as he stares back at you.

Not in the mood to stay around people at a bar you accept Harry’s invitation to his place, since it’s also close. The contrast between his extravagant penthouse and your cozy but still quite modern townhouse in Park Slope is major, but you didn’t expect anything less from the man.

You’ve managed to calm down since you left the venue, but you’re still quite bitter about the comment the woman made. Harry hasn’t tried to ask you about it, but you can tell he is dying to know more about the situation that’s behind the madness.

He fixes you a drink and you find yourself sinking into his comfortable and probably ridiculously expensive couch in his living room area.

“I used to want to be a model,” you start, breaking the silence that settled between the two of you. “When I was a teen. I was a lot thinner, I was a competitive dancer until I was seventeen, but I had a knee injury, so I had to quit.”

Harry sits on the other end of the couch, listening to you with patience as he sips on his own drink.

“I was never as thin as the other models at the agency I was trying to get into, but I definitely wasn’t overweight. Yet, they labelled me as a plus size model. I was a healthy, strong young girl with a perfectly good body, yet they told me that I was too fat to be a model.”

Glancing at Harry, you can tell that he is surprised at the information he just learned. He is probably picturing you thinner now, going to model castings and if you’re being honest you enjoyed that part. The trouble came when you got rejection after rejection, telling you to lose weight and come back after that.

“I quit my whole plan to be a model and studied fashion and business instead, consciously working my way towards this point. But I never got over how the industry made me feel less of a person because I wasn’t a size zero.”

For a few long moments Harry just stares at you and it’s actually nice that he doesn’t try to make you feel better right away, praising you how you are perfect just the way you are. Because you’re not, but that’s fine because no one is.

“I’ve honestly never seen a more cruel industry than fashion before,” he then speaks up. “I didn’t grow up in it and still don’t really have that much and deep connection with it, but I know how fucked up it is. And it’s nice to see that you know your worth even after everything that happened.”

Your gaze meets his and you’re looking for any sign that gives away that he is just messing with you, but it’s all genuine. You just shoot him a small smile before lifting your drink to your lips. It’s the most intimate moment you’ve shared with him, including the ones you had in that bathroom.

“Okay, now you tell me something about your life,” you prompt, wanting to divert the conversation on him a little bit.

“What do you want to know?” he asks with a soft chuckle.

“Why did you name your brand Twisted?” you ask. The question has been on your mind for a while.

“It’s coming from my mum’s name. Anne Twist.”

Your eyebrows shoot up, you weren’t expecting such a deep and personal reason behind the name, connected to a family member.

“Why her?”

“Why not?” he smirks shrugging his shoulders. “She raised me and my sister up, I wouldn’t be here without her. It was obvious I would make her be part of it in some kind of way.”

“That’s actually very nice. Who knew that you could be something other than an egoistic asshole!” you joke, making him laugh as well.

“Okay, what’s the meaning behind your brand?” he then turns it back around.

“Well, my aunt met her husband when they were very young, maybe eighteen. She fell in love with Fabio on her trip to Italy and being the impulsive and adventurous woman that she is, she stayed for a month there just because of Fabio. He is a very passionate man and he was always ready to bring the stars down for Julia. He always used to tell her that he would even catch a comet for her, if that’s what she wanted. And that was my aunt’s favorite saying from him. Cometa is comet in Italian. It’s her tribute to the love of her life.”

“That’s easily the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard,” Harry hums and you just smile nodding at him. It really is like a fairytale and it’s also one of the reasons why you were so happy to take her place at Cometa. Julia is still just as in love with Fabio as she was at eighteen and she deserves to spend more time with her beloved husband. She earned the time off after all the sacrifices she made for the company and all through them Fabio stayed by her side. It’s their well-earned happy ending now.

“You know a lot about romantic things?” you cock an eyebrow at him, finishing up your drink.

“Actually, I’m a quite romantic guy.”

“Are you now?”

“Yeah, you just never gave me the chance to show it to you.”

“Oh, so now I’m the bad guy?” you chuckle, handing him your glass when he stands from the couch to get you a refill.

“Exactly!” he chuckles holding up your empty glass on his way. “I hope you know you absolutely broke my heart when you didn’t give me your number that night.”

“Oh, you poor little thing,” you chuckle, resting your head in your palm, your elbow on the back of the couch. “I’m not sorry though. You didn’t give out the right vibes.”

“The right vibes?” he huffs as he returns with your drink and now sits a little closer to you. “What vibe did I give you?” “The vibe that told me I shouldn’t mess with you,” you simply answer as you take a sip from your refilled drink.

“You were so keen on hating me even before you knew who I was, I can’t believe you,” he chuckles shaking his head.

“I’m just cautious!” you protest. “I’ve dealt with some problematic men in the past, I can’t let myself walk right into another one that easily.”

“What did they do?”

“Some men just can’t treat women right. Especially confident ones with a body like mine,” you simply shrug.

Men like to think that bigger girls are so terribly insecure about their body that they need the validation of a male to feel good about themselves. But when you’re confident and feel good in your own skin without needing them to praise you, they think that you’re egoistic, so full of yourself and they are quick to try to drag you down. That’s something you can’t tolerate. You don’t need a man to feel good about yourself, you don’t need anyone for that. You know your worth and that’s all that matters.

Harry’s eyes travel down your body, taking his time on your curves and you smile shaking your head as you reach out and cupping his chin you pull his head up so he is looking into your eyes.

“I honestly can’t see what problem anyone could have with your body. I haven’t stopped thinking about it since our bathroom fiasco,” he bluntly comments making you chuckle, even flattered by his words.

“You are such a flirt,” you grin at him and he doesn’t try to protest.

You stay for a couple more drinks and you drop the heavier topics, venturing over to music, fashion and any funny stories that come to your mind. Harry is actually amazing company when you’re not trying to jump at each other’s throat and for a few short hours you forget that he is supposed to be your competitor.

You’re a little tipsy, but you are definitely not drunk, so when Harry offers you to stay the night you turn it down, calling yourself a car since you are not in the right state to drive.

“I’ll come and pick my car up in the morning,” you breathe out as you put your heels back on that came off your feet sometime during the evening, making yourself home in his place.

“I’ll text you the security number to the garage,” he nods, walking you to the elevator.

“Thank you. And… I guess thank you for the evening,” you smile at him, turning to face him. He is standing close, but still takes a step closer, one of his hands finding your waist as he pulls you against his chest. Your palms lie flat on his chest as you try to get yourself to the right mindset to leave now before you regret doing something. Leaning down his nose nudges against your cheek, before he presses a soft kiss under below your ear, a sigh escaping your lips.

“I should go, the car is here,” you breathe out, but don’t move.

“Mm, okay,” he hums, his lips peppering kisses on your jaw and your cheek, as if you didn’t say a word. You want to continue it, not just because of the alcohol but because the sexual tension between the two of you has been growing since that charity gala, but the remainder of your rationality stops you before your lips could meet.

“Bye Harry,” you smile at him softly as you push him away and you walk into the elevator, leaving him hanging. Again.

“Bye Y/N. I’m still going to try to ruin your company!” he calls after you as you turn around to face him, the sliding doors slowly closing between the two of you.

“Same back at you, Styles,” you smirk before the door closes and you are taken down.

Well, that was a lie. Following your evening at his place neither of you really tries to work against the other, leaving each other be without any fuss. It might also have something to do with how you kept in touch after that day. You’ve been texting occasionally, attending some events together, even had a business dinner together with a few other peers from the industry. Things have been quiet and you’ve been feeling content with the current state you’ve managed to reach. Or so you thought.

It was a silent agreement between the two of you. You both put your projects aside that targeted the other’s profile. Harry stopped looking for designers for his women lines and you put your men department to the side as well. There were a lot to work on beside these fields so you felt like you were in peace. Right until Leslie bursts into your office on a casual Tuesday.

“Have you seen this?” she asks, placing a tablet in front of you with an Instagram account open on it.

You want to ask what you’re supposed to look at, but then you realize what it really is. A shiny new account for a new brand that promises to take online shopping to the next level; female and male as well.

“You think it could be…?” you ask, not quite convinced that Harry is behind this.

“Well, the wording is similar to theirs and creating a new brand might be a solution to their gap in women’s fashion,” she points it out, though you don’t want to believe he could have been working on this all along, basically in front of your face.

But it’s a possibility and you have to consider this option before jumping into defending him without any proof.

“Men can’t be trusted,” you grumble under your breath before jumping into work.

What you didn’t know is that an eerily similar situation goes down in Harry’s office as well when Zayn bursts in, showing him the ad he found for the new brand called Farfalla.

Harry immediately digs up everything about the company, though there’s not much other than their new Instagram account and heavy marketing that started just yesterday.

“What is Farfalla even?” he grimaces leaning back in his chair.

“It means butterfly in Italian,” Zayn explains and Harry’s eyes flicker up to him.

“Italian? You think it’s her?”

“It’s possible,” Zayn nods. “Starting a new brand to finally reach men’s fashion is a good idea.”

“She wouldn’t have done this,” Harry shakes his head in disbelief. Could you be working on this all along? Was this your plan from the start? To make him fall for you and forget about business while you built up your new empire to ruin him?

“What if she did?” Zayn prompts and in a way his suspicion is valid, but Harry is having a hard time believing it. You would never play him this dirty, not after how the two of you have grown closer in the past weeks, almost became friends.

“What are you going to do?” Zayn asks him as he pushes himself away from the desk and quite obviously starts getting ready to leave.

“She is not getting away from this,” Harry mumbles under his breath as he grabs his coat and phone before storming out of the office.

It’s past six when Harry gets to Cometa’s building and he is informed that you’ve already went home. He could have just come back in the morning, but he knew he would just stew in his own anger if he didn’t talk to you as soon as possible. So using his charm he gets the woman sitting behind the front desk to share your address with him, saying that he needs to talk to you urgently. That’s how he finds himself heading to Park Slope, slightly surprised you are not living somewhere in the heart of Manhattan.

As the scenery around his changes, skyscrapers turning into brick buildings and townhouses, Harry tries to figure out what he even wants to say to you. Should he just get straight down to business and accuse you? Snap at you? Or should he give you the chance to explain yourself? He can’t really make up his mind, mostly because he still feels like you betrayed him even though he can’t be sure Farfalla is yours.

Parking down at the address he got from the woman, he stares up at the deep red brick townhouse, a simple, black door at the top of the stairs that’s lined with a few potted plants and flowers. This is not what he would have imagined your home like, but now that he is standing on your doormat, he realizes it kind of suits you.

Ringing the bell he hopes that you’re home and not out and about somewhere in the city, but when he hears the familiar sound of heels clicking on the floor he knows you are on the other side. When the front door flings open and you come into his sight, for a split second he forgets why he is here and his anger vanishes. As always, you look amazing, a tight, black dress hugging your curves, the middle part appearing like it’s a corset, emphasizing the dip of your waist. Your hair is let down in loose curls and your feet are bare, but he knows you probably wore heels all day. You must have gotten home not long ago and as your eyes fall on the man at the door, your expression hardens on him.

“You really had the balls to come her, huh?” you cock your head to the side, keeping your eyes on his green ones for a moment before you let him inside.

“Did you think you could get away with it?” he huffs walking into the hallway and stopping as you close the door and turn to him.

“Me? I could say the same! You thought I would just ignore it or what? I proved you a few times that I’m not stupid, Harry,” you retort, folding your arms on your chest as you walk past him, into the kitchen and he follows.

“You surely are not stupid, playing me so dirty behind my back!” Harry spats standing his ground. “Playing all friendly and nice and then make a fool out of me!”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” you question narrowing your eyes at him as you lean against the kitchen island’s counter. “If anyone played dirty it’s you! And you have the balls to come here and talk like this to me in my own fucking home?!” you snap, walking closer to him, keeping your deathly glare on him.

“What the fuck did I do?!” he scoffs throwing his hands into the air.

“You created a whole new brand just to fuck with me! Or did you think I wouldn’t find out about it?!”

“Me? You made a new brand! And you didn’t do a great job hiding the fact that it was your work, even the name is Italian, like your current one!”

You stare back at him, tilting your head to the side as you process what he is talking about. All along, the two of you were accusing each other of something neither of you did.

“Harry,” you breathe out, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Farfalla is not my brand.”

“And I’m supposed to believe it?!”

“Well you better be because it’s the fucking truth!”

“Prove it!” he hisses at you, taking a step closer, his face only inches away from yours now.

“Until about twenty seconds ago I thought that it was your new brand, Harry. I thought that you were the one who backstabbed me!” you snap back, standing up for yourself in this giant misunderstanding you fell into, accusing each other without any proof.

Harry stares back at you, his gaze burning into yours as he stands his ground and you can almost see the gears turning in his head as he processes your words.

“So… it’s not yours? You didn’t do it to fuck me up?”

“Of course not!” you breathe out, suddenly quite tired of all the anger that’s been eating you away through the afternoon. “I thought that we had a kind of silent agreement not to mess with each other so I wasn’t planning anything anytime soon. That’s why I got so mad when I thought you did it!”

“I thought the same!” he growls shaking his head. “I thought you did it all to just make me look stupid, that the friendly act was just so I wouldn’t notice a thing and I fell right into your trap.”

“There was no trap,” you simply tell him and you hope he senses the hidden meaning behind your words.

Luckily he does. But for your biggest surprise there’s no snarky comment or smug smirking, he just steps closer and before you could even protest, his hands find your waist and he pulls you against his hard chest, lips hungry attacking yours. He makes you back until you bump against the kitchen island, his hips pressing against yours as he pushes you against the hard surface, his hands wandering on your sides and back, up and down, exploring every curve of your body while his kisses never slow down, your tongues meeting in the middle.

Bringing up a leg you curl it around his hips, your heel digging into his round ass as he leans forward, making you arch your back, leaning onto the counter as his lips move from your lips to your jawline and neck, his fingers digging into your waist and the thigh that’s lifted by his side. He nibbles on the soft skin of your neck, definitely leaving a mark, but you just comb your fingers through his hair, letting yourself get lost in the sensation.

“As much as I would love to fuck you on a counter again, can we take this to a bedroom?” he mumbles as he kisses his way back up to your lips, smirking against them as he captures them again.

You don’t answer, just grab his hand and pull him upstairs with you, right into your bedroom. He is all over you, lips, hands, tongue, pressed up against you as the two of you stumble your way to your king sized bed. Harry’s fingers fidget with the corset on your dress, but he soon realizes it’s a little trickier than he expected, so leaning back he furrows his eyebrows as he glances down at the dress, still trying to figure out how to get you out of it.

“Harry,” you smile at him softly. “It’s faux. There’s a zipper at the back,” you inform him and he sighs in defeat as he kisses you again, his fingers quickly finding the zipper. The dress pools at your feet and you rid him from his jacket and shirt, revealing his inked chest, a sight you’ve been thinking about way too much lately.

By the time the two of you fall to your bed, neither of you are dressed in more than just your underwear. Because both of you like to be in charge, you roll around for a while, trying to get on top of each other but eventually Harry stays up when he starts going down on you, kissing his way through your heated skin. You don’t shy away when his hands snake under your back and easily unclasps your bra, being bare in front of him is not something that makes you feel uncomfortable or insecure. The way he looks at you, the way he makes you feel brings you so much confidence, you have absolutely no problem being nude.

When your bra flies to the floor, Harry leans back a little to admire you lying there, before his lips find their way over the curve of your breasts, down your stomach. Hooking his fingers into the elastic of your panties he tugs them down easily as you lift your hips, your thighs parting as you bare yourself in front of him.

“Don’t be shy about screaming my name,” he smugly tells you before his lips and tongue meet your clit. Your fingers lace through his hair immediately as you gasp out at the sensation, his tongue drawing the whole fucking alphabet to your bundle of nerves. His arms curl around your thighs, ring clad fingers digging into your flesh as he sucks on the sensitive skin.

“Fuck, Harry! Yes!” you moan out, tugging on his locks when he teases his tongue around your hole, your walls tightening around nothing as you are growing desperate to feel something inside of you.

You pull on his hair, signaling him that you want to get it on with, Hands reaching down to get rid of his boxer briefs before you blindly pull out the drawer of your nightstand, grabbing a condom. His lips eagerly meet yours as he wraps his erected cock and though you would love to have a taste of him like he did with you, you just want to feel him inside you.

“Tell me how bad you want it,” he growls against your lips, teasing you with running just the head up and down your slit.

“If you don’t fuck me right now I’m gonna rip your guts out,” you warn him, earning a soft chuckle as he kisses you again, tongue pushing into your mouth as he finally pushes inside you, his long, thick cock filling you up perfectly and it somehow feels even better than the first time.

“Go hard,” you gasp, a hand coming to grab his ass as you push him even further into you. He doesn’t need more, he starts slamming into you, his hips meeting yours roughly with each thrust, his whole length disappearing inside you every time.

He buries his head into the crook of your neck, licking and sucking on the soft skin. You almost think about telling him not to mark you, but it just turns you on even more so you let him do whatever he wants.

“I want to see you on top,” he pants, lifting his head so his gaze could meet yours. You nod, before the two of you turn around and you straddle his hips, guiding him back inside you as you sink down his length. Your hands are sprawled out on his hard chest as you find your balance in the position, Harry’s eyes roaming your body up and down, not able to get enough of how blissful you look, sitting with his cock buried inside of you, enjoying yourself to the fullest. His hands run up your thighs and upper body until they find your breasts, kneading them as you start moving your hips up and down, back and forth. When you moan his name or gasp because his cock reaches that one particular spot inside you, those are the moments he wishes he could capture on camera and watch whenever he wants.

“I want it from back,” you pant as you lean down and kiss him roughly. That’s all he needs, he helps you get off of him before you get on all four, pushing your butt up in the air while Harry kneels behind you, the sight in front of him hardening his cock even more, if that’s possible. His hands grab onto your waist as he pushes inside you, making you both let out a satisfied moan before he starts moving again.

“Fuck, you look so good like this, Y/N. I love your ass,” he growls, giving it a smack that surprises you, but you absolutely love it.

“Harry, go faster!” you whimper, feeling your orgasm nearing as you grip the comforter on the bed, desperate to reach your climax. You’re just about to reach down between your legs to play with your clit when Harry not only picks his pace up but also reaches around you, two of his fingers starting the circling motions on the bundle of nerves, making your legs shake from the pleasure.

“Come on, baby. Cum for me, cum all over my cock,” he growls, railing you from behind without missing a beat.

“Harry!” you scream when he thrusts into you so harshly, your whole body rocking in the motion.

“Come on, angel. Cum for me,” he murmurs and leaning down he wraps his arms around you, bringing you up straight, your back pressing against his sweaty chest, his hands coming to cup your breasts as he keeps thrusting up into you, pushing you over the edge.

You moan and gasp and scream his name as your walls tighten around his length, riding out your bliss and it helps him reach his own high, his hot breath hitting the back of your neck and shoulder, grunting and cursing under his breath as he fills the condom.

As his thrusts come to a halt, he sinks into a sitting position, bringing you with him, you lean against him feeling like jelly as you’re still just trying to catch your breath. Harry peppers your shoulder with small kisses before you muster the energy to break the position and lie down on the bed.

“Towel is in the bathroom,” you tell him knowing that’s what he’ll look for as he stands from the bed and you point at the door that leads to the joined bathroom. Harry nods and pads his way in there, cleaning himself up before he returns with a small damp towel, doing the same for you. He drops it to the floor next to the bed before joining you, cradling you into his arms as you take a breather together.

One hand is on your shoulder, fingers dancing on the naked skin, the other one is holding your thigh that’s across his lap while your head is resting on his chest.

“You really thought I would backstab you like that?” he hums after a while, breaking the comfortable silence.

“You did the same,” you answer, lifting your head, resting your chin on his chest.

“Touché,” he chuckles, before leaning down he kisses you shortly. “So, if neither of us did it, then we have a quite major problem on our hands.”

“I know,” you hum. “That shit looks promising and they can easily ruin both of us.”

Harry stays silent for a little, but you can see the gears turning in his head. When his gaze snaps back at you, you know he has an idea.

“Unless… we join forces.” Your eyebrows arch as you stare back at him. “I know it’s a risky move, but this is the only way to stay on the top.”

“How much you want to be joined?”

“We could start with just one line, the men part designed by someone from me and the women by someone from you. And if it presents well we can just figure out where to go from there. Obviously, the men part would be sold by us and the women by you, but we could join the pages and direct users to each other’s sites in connection with the lines.”

“That could… actually work,” you nod shortly, thinking about the idea. It needs a lot of planning, but it could actually be a big hit if you do it right. “And you’re willing to partner with me?” you ask cheekily as you push yourself up into a sitting position, Harry doing the same.

“If you haven’t noticed, I’m willing to do about anything with you,” he chuckles, making you smile at his playful answer. “I hope you know I’m not talking about just business,” he then adds with a meaningful look.

“You are still so keen on this?” you sigh, tugging your hair behind your ear.

“Do you not like being with me?”

“I do, surprisingly,” you roll your eyes, making him laugh.

“Do you not like having sex with me?”

“I think the answer is pretty obvious to that,” you give him a look as he smirks back at you.

“Yeah, but I want to hear it.”

“I enjoy having sex with you, Harry,” you roll your eyes again, but he just kisses you short but hard before leaning back.

“So then why shouldn’t we date?”

“Because we are competitors?”

“We just agreed that we should join forces. We are partners now.”

“You are running a little ahead, Harry,” you cock an eyebrow at him. “I don’t know, I haven’t been in a relationship in ages. I probably suck at it at this point,” you shrug, but it’s just a lame excuse and you both know that. Leaning closer Harry smirks at you smugly.

“I have something else you can suck.” You smack his chest at his nasty remark, but can’t push a smile back. His hand finds the back of your head as he pulls you in for another kiss. “I want you, Y/N. I really do. You are all I think about even when you are an annoying piece of shit, getting under my skin. I still want you.”

“Wow, so romantic,” you chuckle shaking your head. “What if we can’t get over our differences in the business? That can easily poison any relationship.”

“Then we’ll have a lot of mind-blowing angry and makeup sex. Those are the best. We can put all our frustration into sex, I think that’s just perfect.”

“What are you, a horny teenager? Sex is all you can think about?” you chuckle.

“It is when I’m lying in a bed with you naked. You can’t blame me,” he grins smugly and you want to hate him, you want to hate him so badly, but you can’t. You want him just as much as he wants you.

“So… partners?” he prompts, tilting his head to the side with a sweet smile as he waits for your answer.

“Partners in business and life?”

“Mhm, that’s the plan,” he nods, his smile growing wider with each passing second.

“Alright,” you breathe out. “So… it’s not—All is fair in war and business?” you ask teasingly, using his own words from earlier.

“Just shut up and kiss me,” he laughs, pulling you in for another kiss.

Thank you for reading! Please like/reblog if you enjoyed!

[carrotmakar]

here’s to us

Pairing: Harry Styles x Reader

Genre: Enemies To Lovers (with a twist)

Word Count: 5.3k

Summary: You hate Harry more than you’ve ever hated anyone else, and he feels the same (or does he?). The people around you see the interactions that the two of you have and believe that you’re a match made in heaven, but you can’t see it, and you doubt he can either. When he’s the last option to help you with a project that you’re working on, things are either going to go very well, or they're going to crash and burn.

Warning(s): alcohol, cursing, kink talk, angst, sadness, innuendos, tension, a set of lovers trying to convince two people that they’re meant for one another, fluff

A/N: this was originally a piece written for a writing challenge but that’s been cancelled (i love u liv take your time i will still participate in any and every wc you ever do bb) so this is now just another piece haha!! Thank you to @tbslenthusiast​ and @harrysclementines​ for letting me know that this piece wasn’t as bad as i thought it was (literally forever ago like.... i wrote this a long time ago lmao)!!! Also thank you to @kiwismoon​ for letting me send you parts of the fic and scream about how much i hate myself for writing things like i did!!!

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*

Relaxing.

That’s what you were supposed to be doing tonight. You’ve been stressed out about the article that was due in less than a week and you were in need of a night out with your friends. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t find the inspiration to write the piece. Plus, you had been completely swamped with your school work. Even though you were still in college, you had gotten a job as a writer and chosen to take online classes. 

Sarah had suggested that you and her go out and have a few drinks. That had quickly developed into you, her, and Mitch. Then your ‘friend’ Michelle was added into the mix.

Now, you’re standing at the bar, waiting for your next shot of tequila and wondering how you let Sarah talk you into this. You hate bars. In all honesty, you only hate them because someone always seemed to mess up your nights when they were drunk. Luckily, that someone isn’t here tonight. You had made it abundantly clear to Sarah that if she were to invite anyone, it better not include him. 

As the bartender hands you your shot, you down it and place the glass down on the bar. You wait for him to retrieve it before turning to walk back to the table that Sarah, Mitch, and Michelle are occupying. Right before you sit down next to Sarah, you catch a glimpse of a very particular head of curls. Your stomach drops at the sight, and you immediately feel the urge to exit the building. There’s no way that you could mistake that for anyone else but Harry. He’s the only person that has curls as seemingly perfect as that. Plus, he’s the only broad shouldered, muscular, tattooed man that you’d ever seen around here with hair that’s grown out to the point where it passes his shoulders. 

Fighting the instinct to be as far away from him as possible, you sit down next to Sarah and do your best to ignore his presence.

That lasts all of three seconds. It’s as if something is pulling your focus towards him, and you can’t stand that, so you quickly tell Sarah that you’re going to head out. Grabbing your coat, you give her a story about suddenly having inspiration and not wanting to lose it before offering to take her almost empty cup back to the bar. She nods, wishing you a farewell.

As you’re making your way over to the bar, someone knocks into you and the small amount of liquid left in Sarah’s cup splashes onto your chest. You scoff, turning to tell whoever bumped into you to watch where they’re going. You’re met with a pair of piercing green eyes, and suddenly your words get caught in your throat. All you manage is a scoff and a quick “fuck you” before handing him the cup and walking out. 

You stand outside of the bar, leaning up against the brick wall of the building as you order an Uber for the ride home. The stench of alcohol is radiating from your shirt, and you almost gag at the smell. Beer has never been your favorite, and you have absolutely no clue how Sarah can drink it.

You place the order and go to stand on the sidewalk to wait for the car to pull up. 

“Fancy seeing you here.” The voice seems to carry through the entire street.

“What the fuck do you want, Harry?” you snap. The chuckle that he releases at your words makes your blood boil.

“Just wondering why you’re avoiding me, love.” You don’t have to turn to know that he has a smirk plastered on his face.

“Do you have a degradation kink or something?” Your words have their desired effect as he all but chokes on the air. 

“Um, no. Why? You trying to turn me on, darling?” You roll your eyes.

“Absolutely not.” How can he be so fucking annoying all the time? “I’m just wondering why you continuously pester me after I tell you how much of a dick you are and that I absolutely cannot fucking stand you.”

“Because normally when you do that, you find some way to compliment me. And I think it’s funny how flustered you get when you realize what you said.” You hear him walk closer to you, but you keep your eyes locked straight ahead of you.

“So you have a praise kink.”

When he speaks, his breath hits your ear. Fuck, you didn’t know he had gotten that close. You have to fight the shiver that’s threatening to run down your spine. You can’t give him the satisfaction of knowing that he’s having any kind of effect on you. “Do you want to test it out?”

You scoff, stepping away from him. “You fucking wish, Harry.”

He hums. “Maybe, maybe not.”

You finally turn to him. After seeing him, though, you begin to regret your decision. Seeing him like this, in a white t-shirt and black skinny jeans, hair forming his face in the most perfect way, isn’t doing you any good.

“I’m not going to be your temporary fix, Harry. Go find someone else to give you a good time.” He puts on an exaggerated pout. “I don’t even like you as a friend, so stop fucking around like that. It pisses me off.”

Before he can say anything else, your Uber arrives and you check the plates before getting in the backseat and shutting the door, effectively blocking him out.

What he would have said if your Uber hadn’t pulled up, though, is something that Harry decides you’ll never get to know. Because just when he was about to say, “I’d want you to be more than temporary,” you found a way to break his heart yet again.

*

The Uber driver has continuously given you looks since you got into the car. His nose scrunched up the moment that you closed the door, and honestly, you can’t blame him. You smell like cheap beer and probably look like an absolute mess. He’s most likely just checking to make sure that you don’t look like you’re about to throw up all over his backseat. 

You roll your eyes, trying your best to ignore him. It’s not even your fault that you’re like this right now, it’s Harry’s.

Harry, who you absolutely despise with every bit of your being. He’s been an arrogant, selfish dick since the very day that you met. He only cares about things when they include them,  constantly dropping comments about his success, and always finding a way to insert himself into any and every situation. You can’t seem to get away from him. He seems to be around no matter what you try (at first, you thought it was a coincidence, but now you’re convinced that he just does it to get on your nerves).

Harry, who’s so fucking annoying and unbearable but also so hot that he makes your mouth all but water. He can draw a reaction from you without even trying. Harry, who you’re so fucking attracted to despite hating him, and that fact makes you hate him even more.

It shouldn’t be like this. You shouldn’t be attracted to someone that makes your blood boil. 

I’m just drunk, you repeat to yourself as you push the thought of Harry as far out of your mind as you possibly can.

*

You groan as you walk out of the kitchen. 

“Y/N you know I’m right!” Sarah yells after you. “Stop trying to avoid it.”

Plopping down on Sarah’s black faux leather couch, you roll your eyes even though she can’t see it. “You’re delusional, Sarah!”

She doesn’t say anything until she comes into the living room and sits on the couch next to you. She has a bowl of chips in her hands. When you go to grab one, she pulls the bowl from your reach. 

“Admit it, you and Harry would be absolutely great together.” You could scream. She’s so adamant about the idea, but there’s no way that she could be right.

“Dude, we hate each other. What do you mean? What do you expect from us in a relationship if we can’t even be in the same room together for more than a few minutes without arguing.” She sighs, running a hand through her hair.

“I know, I know! But Y/N, come on. The two of you are so compatible.” You laugh at her words. How could she possibly think that when she sees the way the two of you interact.

“How so?” you ask, just to entertain her theory and let her get her thoughts out.

“Okay, hear me out. You both like music, right? He sings, you write songs. That’s literally perfect right there, even if you were just friends.” You nod, not saying anything. “You’re always talking about how you want to do hair and nails and stuff for your friends and I know that he’d let you paint his nails and play with his hair.” You had in fact been telling her these things, but you weren’t aware that she would choose to use them to try and set you up with Harry. “You’re both really funny and smart. You guys talk about a lot of the same things, too. It’s just never when you’re around each other.”

“Alright, yeah, that makes some sense.” She perks up slightly but you hold a finger up, motioning for her to wait a moment before getting her hopes up. “It makes sense, but you’re forgetting a few things. I couldn’t write songs for, or even with, Harry. He’d find something wrong with him just like he does now. He’d nitpick them until there was nothing that I could find about the song that he didn’t hate.” You sigh, thinking back to what she had just said. “We’d have to be too close to each other for me to mess around with his hair or nails and you know that every time we get within a few feet of each other, there’s some kind of fight that always gets started,” you trail off, giving her a chance to speak.

“Are you going to give me a reason why the last example of why you’re perfect for each other is incorrect?” She groans when you nod.

“Yeah, actually. We may like the same things and be funny and smart or whatever, but there’s no way that we’d be able to talk to each other.” 

“Why?” 

“His communication issues.” She throws her head back and obnoxiously groans.

“He doesn’t have communication issues.”

You burst out laughing. “He’s an Aquarius. Of course he does, right on top of those commitment issues.”

She rolls her eyes at you. “Whatever, Y/N. One of these days you’re going to understand that the two of you are quite literally a match made in Heaven.”

“Not likely,” you mumble before reaching for the remote and finding a movie to put on.

*

“Wait, what?” Mitch is looking at Harry like he’s grown a second head.

“You guys were right. Always have been, really, I just couldn’t say it before now.” Harry gulps, waiting for the ‘I told you so.’ It doesn’t come, though.

“Fuck, dude, I’m so sorry.” Harry shrugs it off.

“Not letting it get to me anymore. I’m tired of letting her break my heart.” He curses himself when tears begin to line his eyes.

“If I had known you really felt that way I would have backed off.” Harry nods at his words. “Sarah would’ve too.”

“It’s fine, Mitch, really. I just, I’m just tired, you know? It’s like there’s a magnetic force pulling me to her but every time I try to get close she shows me, yet again, that she can’t stand me.” He’s never been ashamed to show his feelings, and right now isn’t when he’s going to start. He lets his tears fall down his face as he leans back against the chair he’s sitting in.

“I really didn’t know, H. Normally I can tell when you like someone but it wasn’t like that this time.” Harry nods at him.

“You get pretty good at hiding your feelings when you’re hiding heartbreak after heartbreak.” He’s silent for a moment. “Should I cut off my hair?”

“If you want. But don’t do it just because you’re sad or you’ll regret it.” Harry closes his eyes as he debates the decision. A part of him wants to do it anyway, make the sadness go away for a moment as the exhilaration of a new haircut sinks in, but the rational part of him knows that Mitch is right.

As he sits there with tear stained cheeks, new droplets wetting his face every few seconds, he really wishes that he could hate you. He wishes that he could find anything to hate about you. But when he searches his brain for a reason to dislike you, he comes up empty. It’s frustrating, really. You seem to hate everything about him while he can’t hate a single thing when it comes to you.

He hears Mitch get up, presumably to go get something to eat, but he doesn’t open his eyes. There are a million memories with you flashing through his mind and it hurts him even more to know that every single one of them have been bad.

*

“What do you mean you can’t do it?” Your voice is high pitched, some would even say a little whiny. “Sarah, you promised me that you’d sing the song for me.”

“I know, Y/N. But something urgent came up with Mitch’s family and I have to be there.” Even over the phone, you can hear how worried that she is, so you can’t really bring yourself to be upset with her.

“It’s fine, Sarah. Really, I understand.” You hear her sigh of relief and a small smile graces your face, glad that she now has one less thing to worry about. “I’ll just find someone else to do it.”

“Ask Harry.” She suggests.

“Why would I do that?” The way your mood changed was immediate and it’s almost sad, how fast he gets you worked up.

“Because, Y/N, this project is due in like two days and he’s available.” She says in her duh voice. “Plus, he can sing really well, so just ask him. The worst thing he can say is no.”

“That’s a lie. The worst thing he can say is yes.” Sarah laughs before wishing you good luck and hanging up.

You groan, thinking about what Sarah said. She’s right, honestly. There’s nobody else that you’re going to find on such short notice, especially not one that can sing as good as Harry can. Admitting to yourself that you need him (which is something you never thought you’d say), you pick up your phone and click on his contact.

“Y/N?” His voice sounds deeper than usual, a little raspier, too. Almost like he just got out of bed. You’d be lying if you said it didn’t have an effect on you, the way your name sounds coming out of his mouth when he sounds like that.

“I need your help.” You grimace at the words.

“Alright. What do you need.” Your mind races, trying to figure out why he didn’t have a sarcastic comment or a snarky remark to throw at you. You ignore it for now, though.

“I need you to sing a song that I wrote for a project.” He hums, and you can picture him pulling his bottom lip between his fingers and then running his hand through his curls.

“Okay, when do you need me?” 

“Does tomorrow work? Around noon?” You hold your breath as you hope for the best.

“Yeah, I’ll be at your place then.”

You thank him and hang up, letting your phone fall from your hand down onto the couch. Harry Styles, the man that you swear you hate, is coming to your house tomorrow. 

*

When he arrives the next day, you almost immediately hand him the song and let him read over it, not necessarily wanting to spend any more time with him than needed. When he says he has a few suggestions, you’re terrified that he’s going to tell you how awful he is, but he actually only has a few suggestions to help with the flow of things. Besides that, he promises that it’s a really good song. 

You go to grab your camera and set it up while he strums on the guitar that he brought. Once you’re ready to begin filming, he sets the paper with the lyrics on it to the side and nods.

He begins singing after the camera has started recording and you get entranced by him almost immediately. His eyes close as soon as the first word leaves him mouth and with them shut you feel much more comfortable while looking at him. His hair is flowing all around him and you have the intense urge to tuck the strands behind his ears. There’s a small crease between his brows, that of which she wants to smooth out with a kiss to his forehead. He seems so concentrated, and something about it pulls at her heartstrings.

You shake your head. He’s your enemy, remember? you think to yourself as you divert your eyes to somewhere else in the room. 

After you’ve looked away you find yourself wondering why. Why do you hate Harry so much, really? Yeah he can be arrogant and cocky and rude but who isn’t? Yeah he talks about his famous life and his awards and chart placements a lot, but you would do the same in his shoes.

Plus, he really is pretty funny now that you stop to really think about it. He’s all the things that Sarah had told you over the past few months, and you can’t believe that you didn’t realize until now. You don’t hate Harry, you’ve been convincing yourself that you do to hide the way that you really feel about him.

You’re broken from your thoughts when he clears his throat. Once you turn to him, there’s a smirk on his face. “Could feel you watching me, love.”

Your cheeks burn at the statement. Regardless of the truth in it, you’re still not very keen on admitting that you were ogling him only minutes prior. 

“It’s alright, I find myself looking at you sometimes, too.” You don’t say anything to that, and the room falls quiet. 

With that stupid smirk, that’s way too hot for it to natural and fair, he picks up his keys and his coat and walks to your front door. “See you later, sweetheart.”

You raise your hand in a pathetic half wave goodbye and try your best to smile. As he opens the door, cold air sweeps through the room and you can see the snowflakes falling outside. “Great, there’s a storm.” He groans, but still continues to walk out the door.

“Harry, wait!” He stops, turning to face you. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“Um… leaving?” He gestures towards his car that’s most likely covered in snow by now.

“Not in this weather you’re not.” Your voice grows hard as you glare at him. You know that he’d most likely rather not be around you, but there’s not a chance in hell that you’re going to allow him to risk his life by driving home.

Surprisingly, he doesn’t put up a fight, he just shuts the door and shrugs his coat back off. He hesitantly comes back over to take a seat on the couch. You stay silent, struggling to find the words to say.

“So, um, do you want to watch something?” He asks after a few minutes of nearly unbearable silence.

“Yeah, I’ve been watching Lucifer on Netflix, but if you don’t want to watch that, we can watch a movie or something.” You offer, looking over at him.

“Yeah, we can watch that.” You grab the remote from the table and walk over to sit next to him on the couch. 

Pulling up Netflix and starting Lucifer, you let your eyes wander to Harry for a split second before noticing that he’s already looking at you. You immediately divert your gaze. Your cheeks begin to heat up, but you try your best to ignore it.

*

After watching almost an entire season of Lucifer, you’re just about ready to go to bed. You’ve gotten increasingly more comfortable beside Harry and you’ve even started to lean into him slightly. Not a single part of your body is touching yours, but you can tell that you’ve gotten closer.

You’re about to get up and brush your teeth when the lights go out. You groan, throwing your head back against the back of the couch. “Great, power’s out.”

He doesn’t say anything, just hums in response. 

“Stay where you are. I know where the candles and the flashlight is, and I don’t want you to hurt yourself trying to get around.” You stand up, feeling your way through the living room towards the kitchen. Opening the cabinet closest to the wall, you pull out the three candles and the flashlight. Fuck, you forgot that there are only two candles. That’s not enough for there to be one in the hallway on the table, in the bathroom, and in the living room for Harry. And fuck, your extra blankets are in the washer.

You shake your head, lighting the candles and walking to the bathroom to place one down, and then through to the hallway to do the same. Making your way back to the kitchen, you pick up the flashlight and switch it on.

Once you reach the living room again, you clear your throat. “Okay, bad news. There were only two candles, and they need to be in the hallway and the bathroom.” You cough awkwardly. “Also, my extra blankets are dirty and I don’t want you to lay out here in the dark and freeze to death so,” your voice gets quieter, “do you maybe wanna come lay with me?”

He chokes on his spit and then clears his throat. “Um, yeah, yeah, sure. If that’s okay with you, of course. Remember, I can always go home.” You shake your head as his words.

“Nonsense, come on.”

Once the two of you are in your room, you climb into your bed and wait for Harry to do the same. Neither of you say a word as you get comfortable as you try to get to sleep. Without the heater working and there only being one blanket, though, it’s a little hard to stay warm and comfortable. “Um, Harry, I- can I- you- can we maybe… fuck I don’t know.”

You feel him turn towards you. “Are you cold, love?”

“Yeah.”

He wraps his arm around your waist and pulls you closer to him, letting you lay your head on his chest and wrap yourself up in his embrace. His arms come to wrap around you and one hand finds its way to your hair as the other rests on your hip.

As you bask in his warmth, you try your best to not let yourself think about the way that you feel so perfectly comfortable in his arms. About how he smells so divine and he’s so warm that you’d be content with never leaving his embrace. About how, without even realizing it, you’ve been letting yourself believe that you hate Harry when really you’re in love with him. However, you’ll never tell him that. Not a chance. If there’s one thing that you absolutely will not do, it’s let Harry Styles break your heart.

*

When you open your eyes the next morning, you’re still in Harry’s arms. He isn’t awake yet, so you let yourself appreciate the way that his hair is tickling your face and the way that his arms are holding you tightly to his body. You let yourself enjoy the way that he’s got ahold of you like he can’t bear to lose you. 

You know that when he opens his eyes, everything is going to go back to normal. You’ll have to hate him again and he’ll pretend that none of this ever happened. That thought shouldn’t hurt you as much as it does.

You’re broken out of your thoughts by his voice. “Mornin’, love. Did you sleep well?”

You nod, all but entranced in the way that his voice is so much raspier when he first wakes up. “Sorry for being all over you, it was cold last night.” 

You go to move away from him, but he keeps you hugged to him. “Don’t apologize, like having you here, dove.” The words confuse you, but you don’t question them. Instead, you let yourself relax back into him.

Everything is silent for a few minutes, but the air is comfortable this time. “Do you wanna go get some coffee if the roads aren’t bad?” Harry whispers.

“Yeah, sure.”

The two of you climb out of bed and get ready for the day. You let him use an extra toothbrush and once you brush through your hair, you hand the tool to him. He gives a small “thanks” and gets to work on taming his hair as you walk out of the bathroom.

A few minutes later, he’s walking towards the living room with his keys and then he’s leading you out the door to his car.

The ride to the coffee shop is silent besides the hum of the radio, neither of you really knowing what to say.

Once the two of you slide into a booth at the little diner that he drove you to, you order a coffee and something as he does the same.

“So, tell me about yourself, Y/N. I don’t really know much about you.”

You hesitate for a moment, trying to figure out what to tell him.

“I write. My job is to write articles for this company. But I’m still in school technically, so I’m taking online classes to finish getting my degree. I like songwriting. Um, I think that’s about it.” Your cheeks heat up as you tell him about yourself, although none of the things that you’re listing are embarrassing.

“Why haven’t you ever talked about your songwriting before?” He ponders, placing his elbow on the table and resting his chin on his hand.

“Um, you hate me. Or.. hated me? I don’t know. I don’t want you to tear it apart just because you’re some hotshot writer. Or because you hate me.”

He pulls back, looking down. “Never hated you.”

“What?” You had to have heard that wrong.

“Ever stop to think why I was only rude when you got rude first?”

Your jaw drops as you think it over. “No, um, I didn’t.”

“Yeah, well. I never hated you.”

“So, you’re telling me that I hated you and you just… never hated me?” He grimaces.

“Yeah.”

“Fuck, I’m sorry.”

He offers you a soft smile. “It’s fine.”

Throughout the next few hours, you sit there with Harry and talk about any and everything that comes to your mind. He pays for the bill, although you insist on letting you help. As you’re walking out to his car and he’s about to drive you home, he stops. “Um, hey would you maybe want to hang out some more?”

The question takes you by surprise, but you agree nonetheless. “Yeah, I actually would really like that.”

He nods, climbing into the car as you smile to yourself.

*

It’s been six months since you made Harry stay over at your house because of that pesky snowstorm, and you’ve never been more thankful for the weather.

You’ve spent the majority of your time together, going out to eat when possible and staying over at your house most nights. His is too big, as you’ve always said, so for the simple sleepovers, you insisted that he came over to yours. You’ve grown closer and closer to him, and now you can confidently say that he’s your best friend.

Along with the growing friendship, your feelings have gotten deeper. There’s not a single part of you can deny that you’re absolutely, head over heels in love with Harry. And you don’t want to anymore. You still don’t want to tell him, but you’re no longer lying to yourself in the slightest.

Today is the only day thus far that you’ve even slightly regretted how close that you’ve become with Harry. And that’s because you’re currently standing at the airport, head buried into his chest as you try to find a way to say goodbye for the next six months. 

“Don’t want you to go.” You whine as you hold him as close as you possibly can.

He murmurs a “fuck it” before pulling away from you.

“Come with me.” Your eyebrows raise in surprise. “I know, it sounds crazy. Absolutely ridiculous. But listen, we’ll go home, back to your place and we’ll pack your bags and then we’ll go. I’ll reschedule my flight. I- I can’t do this without you, Y/N.” He reaches up and runs a hand through his curls (which you’d begged him to let you braid, but he said it was easier to have it down for flights). “Listen, you’re my rock. I- I feel like I can breathe when you’re around me. Fuck, Y/N, I’m in love with you.” 

You freeze, completely shocked by the words that fell from his mouth.

“Fuck, I didn’t mean to say that. That was stupid. Forget I ever said anything.” He’s rambling because he thinks there’s no way that you can feel the same but you do.

“I’m in love with you, H. Have been for a long time.” Before he can respond, you surge forward and grab his face in your hands. Bringing his face closer, you slot your lips with his and allow the kiss to envelop you. After a few moments, you pull back. “Let’s go home and get my bags packed.”

*

[starbornvalkyrie]

ACOSF USA BOOK TOUR NOTES

Hey y’all! I just attended the LiveTalks Los Angeles event with Sarah J Maas and Eva Chen!! I took lots of notes so I wanted to share them with you all! They’re a little incoherent on the page, so it might seem a crazy, they jumped topics a lot. Feel free to chat with me about what she talked about! But first.

MY RULES:

NO SHIP OR CHARACTER SLANDERING. I know that we all may have different opinions. I will not offer my opinions here, this is purely informational for those of you who did not have the opportunity to attend this event.

PLEASE NO ARGUING IN MY COMMENTS OR ASK BOX WITH ME OR ANYONE ELSE WHO COMMENTS

Acknowledge that I am not perfect and may not have written down everything perfectly. I did my best while still trying to enjoy the event.

I AM NOT SARAH J MAAS AND CANNOT INTERPRET WHAT SHE MEANS

I’m tagging this with #acosf spoilers and #acosfspoilers just in case.

If you understand and can abide by these rules, keep reading below the cut, and enjoy!

SJM said it was weird doing this event from her living room where you might be able to hear her dog in the background or her son trying to get into the room.

ACOSF started as a passion project while she was writing ACOWAR! It was never anything she thought she was going to publish. (more on this later)

About reading and writing growing up

in middle school, she read a lot of fantasy

in high school, she didn’t read as much, but wrote A LOT. it became her fixation, almost an obsession.

in college, she only really wrote on vacations (she had a very healthy social life hehehe) but her junior year is when she found her balance between schoolwork, writing, and socializing.

there was no plan B for her!! it was always to be an author. if it didn’t happen right away, she was going to find a job that would get her by until plan A could come to be.

her favorite author growing up was Garth Nix. She longed for books about badass women. She got to meet him and write a blurb to be on one of his books! She cries when she meets her favorite authors.

Talk about character names!

her character names come from everywhere and nowhere

sometimes she’ll just hear a name in her head and think “that’s it!” (Rhys, for example)

she needs to know the name to write the character

if the name doesn’t immediately come to her, she spends a lot of her time on baby name websites and makes lists until it clicks

sometimes the names just... connect. sometimes she doesn’t mean for them to.

it will always be uncommon. never “Frank” lol

Writing about Nesta!

on a “surface level” she loves writing when Nesta comes out to fight. for example, her favorite scene in this aspect to write was the bog scene. As soon as she got to it, it flowed out of her. The final product was almost identical to the first draft. She wrote it in one session, from the terror & tread to the “who am i?” to when she emerged--she went YES. MAJOR Mic Drop moment for her.

going deeper: definitely her overall journey was one of the favorites she’s ever written. From the dark place she’s in at the beginning to the very end. 

Writing about Nesta meant so much to her because of her own mental health. She channeled a lot of her own feelings and went on the journey with Nesta.

it was a lot of “how do you face mental health in a fantasy world without therapy and medication”

it was easy to get into Nesta’s mind but emotionally intense.

ACOSF’S BIG MESSAGE: LEARNING TO LOVE YOURSELF AND OTHERS. YOU ARE WORTH OF LOVE.

YES there is a book planned for Elain!

As soon as Nesta and Elain came onto the page again in ACOMAF, she knew they’d get their own journey.

Nesta grabbed her by the throat in book 1

She was originally contracted for only the first three books but realized there was more she wanted to explore. Essentially the “what comes next” after ACOWAR in this new world with out the wall.

FUN FACT: while editing ACOMAF/writing ACOWAR, she drunkenly told her editor at the time, “hey guess what happens next?”, and it turned into a two hour conversation about everything she wants to happen for Nesta, Elain, Mor, Azriel, etc. TWO WEEKS LATER, she gets a call saying they want to buy the stories!! Obviously, she said yes.

This allowed her to start planting the Easter eggs for these stories in ACOWAR. She knew she did not want Nesta to be sympathetic at the beginning of the book! But she did not want people to hate her.

She always has one eye on the horizon for future books.

If she could visit one court for a day, which and why?

She LOVES the season Autumn, it’s her favorite. “BUT EVERYONE IN THE AUTUMN COURT IS AN ASSHOLE”. She would want to visit the Autumn Court when no one is there so she can enjoy the beauty of Autumn.

But also she would want to go to the Summer Court because she has a thing for Tarquin but only if it’s not gross and humid.

She would ALSO want to go to the Day Court for Helion and all his libraries.

ESSENTIALLY she would want to go everywhere but Spring because Tamlin sucks and is an asshole lmao.

BEAST FORMS

SJM’s beast form would be something totally not cool or majestic like a sea otter.

Nesta’s beast form would be something terrifying and beautiful like a snow leopard/dragon hybrid, a griffin, or a sphinx. **WANTS SOMEONE TO DRAW THIS**

FUN QUESTIONS

Nesta’s favorite smutty book would be JR Ward’s Black Dagger Brotherhood series. She reads these books for the distraction, of course, but also for the comfort they gave her that everything turns out okay for the characters.

Nesta’s Starbucks order: cappuccino- something simple, nothing with too much sugar or whipped cream. Elain’s would be a Frappe- something delicious and sweet. SJM’s is a flat white, iced or not, but never after 2PM.

SJM usually listens to classical music and movie scores while she writes, but she’s gotten used to write in silence so that she can listen for her son’s shenanigans with Josh.

“Stay Together for the Kids” by Blink 182 semi-inspired the scene when Nesta and Cassian go back to her family’s cottage. She can hardly explain why.

WRITING ADVICE

Write what you love, not what you think you should be writing.

Give yourself permission to suck. Her first drafts are shit and are usually accompanied with an email that says “I know I need to fix this, this and that” lol.

WRITE THE DAMN THING. Vomit on the page!

YOU CAN’T FIX A BLANK PAGE.

Her least favorite part about the publishing process is the first pass of copy edits, those last minute checks and balances. But once it’s off to the printer, it’s not her problem anymore.

She’s every publisher’s worst nightmare because she sends it off to the printer at the LAST possible minute.

For reference: Throne of Glass was finished almost... a year and a half? ...before it hit shelves, but ACOSF was finished this past fall.

MAIN CHARACTER TALK

All of her heroines have a piece of her.

SJM’s personality is a hybrid of Bryce and Nesta.

Feyre and Nesta got most of her in terms of learning to be empowered.

She has to have a connection to them in order to write them. It’s an out of body, method acting experience.

MISCELLANEOUS

She said “CC2 is a year from now.”

She started writing ACOTAR in 2008 before she published TOG.

She loves the story and dynamic of Elizabeth and Darcy from Pride and Prejudice. Cassian is Elizabeth. Nesta is Darcy.

And that’s all I have, folks! Thank you for reading, I hope you got something out of this!

[ahkaahshi]

so good to me [akaashi keiji x reader]

pairing: akaashi keiji x fem reader

genre: smut (18+) with a hint of fluff

warning(s): explicit sexual content, quirofilia, breath play, light dumbification, swearing, fingering, dirty talk

word count: 3.2k

overview: baking cupcakes ends up being a bit more challenging than you’d originally anticipated when you keep finding yourself distracted by your handsome boyfriend’s pretty hands.

It’s almost poetic, you think: the way your boyfriend’s fingers dance along his laptop’s keyboard. Even though he’s sending a rather heated email to a coworker who’s fallen short on his work, you can’t help but find yourself mesmerized at the sight of his long, slender digits tapping away rhythmically, only pausing every now and then to find just the right word to use to purvey his displeasure in an appropriate manner. In fact, you’re so entranced by watching the tendons in his hands shift with each movement of his fingers that you don’t even realize you’ve neglected your ingredient measuring duties until his voice interrupts you.

“Sorry, do you need the recipe again?” he asks, drawing your (e/c) gaze to his slate blue one that glows behind the screen’s reflection on his glasses.

Quickly, you shake your head and brush a strand of (h/c) hair away from your face. “We can start when you’re done. It’s okay.” The small smile that graces your features has him leaning down to peck your temple gently.

“I’ll be done in a minute.”

Pleasant tingles travel down your back at feeling his lips brush against your skin as they form the gentle reassurance he speaks. To busy yourself in a productive manner while he finishes up his email, you wander around the kitchen to fetch any bakeware you see missing from the island’s wooden countertop—including a muffin pan. A glance at the time displayed in sharp, blue lines on the stove reminds you just how much earlier in the day you should’ve started baking treats for the small gathering of former Fukuroudani team members you’d offered to host. Akaashi seems to sense your concern, since he hurries to finish his message before opening the tab with the recipe you intend to follow and washing his hands.

As the two of you set to combining and mixing ingredients according to the cupcake recipe on his screen, you find it challenging to keep your daydreams at bay and your attention on your own tasks. Each time his hands dart into your workspace for another utensil, your gaze follows them and your mind floods with thoughts that quickly become less than innocent.

Every glide of his fingers along his laptop’s trackpad makes you wish they were tracing along every inch of your body instead, setting your skin ablaze with his touch. Each time they wrap around the base of the stand mixer he’s using to agitate a bowl of creamy contents, you feel your throat tighten in anticipation as your mind conjures hazy memories of his gentle pressure around your neck. His occasional—and almost curious—grazes of the veins beneath the fair skin on his arms remind you of each time you’d decorated them with small crescents as you clutched onto him while feverishly chanting his name. Watching him work is both delightful and maddening.

And it becomes even more of a challenge to slow your racing heart when you notice his fingers dip into the bowl of frosting he’s whipped up to collect some on his fingertips. Experimentally, he tastes his creation, the thoughtful expression on his features soon easing as he gives it an approving nod. Upon noticing that your full attention is on him, he gestures towards the bowl and offers, “Try some. See if you like it.”

Your heart flutters in your chest as you suggest, “Could you get some for me? My hands are all covered in flour.”

For the record, they’re not, and your observant boyfriend knows this, but entertains you anyway. It’s almost shameful, the way your mouth begins watering when his fingers drag through the fluffy, white topping to gather another dollop on the tips, but you can’t help yourself. Not when you know just how much sweeter the sample will taste when delivered to you by his digits rather than your own. He seems to understand at least a sliver of the thoughts racing through your mind, since he utters a gentle command that brings your thighs together beneath the cover of your apron.

“Open.”

Obediently, you let your jaw slacken so he can move his fingers between your soft lips to spread the sugary frosting across your tastebuds. His unwavering gaze narrows ever so slightly when you move your face closer to his knuckle, taking the entirety of his two fingers into your mouth and dragging your tongue along the smooth expanse of his skin. That quiet groan you can barely hear rumbling in his throat is both a warning and a challenge—letting you know that you’re playing with fire but also questioning just how badly you want to get burned. Solidifying your decision of wanting to play this teasing game with him, you suck on his fingers with enough pressure to create a loud pop when you remove them from your mouth by pulling away.

Judging by the low tone in his voice when he speaks, your intentions have been made crystal clear and he’s not going to let you get away with what you’ve done. “I should’ve known, huh?” You furrow your eyebrows in slight confusion at his words, but he elaborates, “With the way you’ve been watching me since before we even started baking. So simple-minded, sometimes, aren’t you, baby?” A gentle tap against your protruding lower lip brings your attention to the fact that you’re pouting, and you quickly take it between your teeth. “Can’t even do something as easy as following a recipe for cupcake batter because you’re too busy thinking about making a mess all over my fingers. Is that right?”

Your breath hitches in your throat when his palm moves to the side of your neck, just beneath your jawbone. “Keiji,” you whimper softly, feeling unbearably hot under his touch all of a sudden. His cool thumb tracing over your warm skin hardly provides any relief, and only intensifies the temperature of the heat pooling in the pit of your stomach.

“Finish up,” he commands gently, placing his other hand on your hip to guide you back towards the bowl of ingredients you’ve yet to finish mixing. He grabs the hand mixer resting on the counter nearby that you’d taken out earlier before placing the device into the palm of your slightly quivering hand. At your hesitation, he urges, “Go on. I would hate to have to tell everyone that dessert wasn’t ready because my girlfriend was too distracted by wanting me to fuck her stupid on my fingers, of all things.”

Another pitiful whine escapes your mouth, but you turn the mixer on and place it in the bowl in front of you to complete the task you’d originally set yourself to. The sensation of his fingers ghosting along the exposed skin on your neck before making their way down to your hips and holding onto them firmly from where he stands behind you makes your core ache. His warmth against the entire backside of your body has you using every fiber of self-control to prevent yourself from abandoning your job and throwing your arms around him. However, you know that no matter how much you want him, he won’t feed into any of your desires until the contents of the bowl have been poured into the muffin pan and safely tucked away inside the warmth of the oven, so you diligently work on taking things one step at a time—since that’s all you can muster, anyway.

“Good girl,” he praises gently when you finish mixing, his breath falling on the shell of your ear, “You always work better when you’re told what to do, don’t you?” Silently, you nod. Both of you know that your intelligence is much higher than he’s currently giving you credit for, but you love the pleasure you reap from assuming the role of his dumb, little girlfriend in situations like this. Pretending as if you didn’t know better or couldn’t perform without being told what to do always gave you a bit of a thrill—which he knew all too well. He didn’t mind, since he had never been a stranger to assuming control.

“In the oven for twenty minutes. Be careful not to burn yourself, sweetheart.”

His gunmetal gaze follows your figure as you shuffle over to the oven to pull it open so you can slide the tray into its warmth. Once you’ve set it to bake for the appropriate time, you untie your apron and pull it off over your head before grabbing one of his hands and leading him towards the bedroom. However, his refusal to budge takes you by surprise, and you nearly stumble backwards when your movements are stopped.

“Keiji,” you huff, “the rest of our friends are gonna be here soon.”

In an instant that happens too quickly for you to be able to process anything, you’re being pulled towards him moments before you find your back pressed against one of the walls in the kitchen. Your (e/c) eyes are wide with shock but clouded by a thin veil of lust as you stare into his own, which you find are watching you as calmly as ever. “I know,” he states, “So why don’t we take care of things right here, then?” Though his words are phrased as a question, the intonation of his voice along with the way his hand is slowly sliding up your shirt reveal otherwise. He’s not asking.

The intensity of his gaze makes your heart pound erratically against your ribcage and draws you closer to him in spite of his strong presence keeping your back flush against the cool wall. After he brings his face down towards yours to capture your lips in a gentle kiss, it’s hard for you to keep track of everything that happens next. His fingers dancing along the expanse of bare skin from your waist to your lacy bralette beneath your shirt has you melting into his touch, and his passionate kisses are soon taking your breath away. His fingertips skimming over the dainty fabric separating them from your nipples makes you squirm and tighten your grasp around him.

“Come here,” he whispers, placing his arm around your back and guiding you into the center of the kitchen. Grabbing one of the chairs at the other side of the island, he drags it behind him so he can take a seat and beckon you to do the same. When you sit down on his lap facing him, he shakes his head and insists, “Turn around.”

With your back to him this time, you slide back onto the seat, perching between his legs. As his hands work their way up to your breasts, sliding underneath the lace so they can cup your soft, plush skin and roll your nipples between his fingers, you let out a soft moan and focus your gaze on the warm glow of the light inside the oven just a few feet away from where you’re sitting. In the faint reflection on the smooth surface of the glass, yours and Akaashi’s forms are barely visible, and you can’t help but watch as he slides one of his palms along your thighs, pausing to give them a firm squeeze every now and then.

“Please, Keiji,” you breathe, placing your hand over his and guiding it to the waistband of the lounge shorts you’re wearing, “want your fingers inside me.”

He hums, “I know you do, baby,” as he toys with the elastic before pushing it away from your hips and down your legs as far as he can reach. You hear a small chuckle bubble in his throat when you hastily rid yourself of the garment, leaving only one more layer between his long fingers and your aching core. “It’s all you’ve been thinking about. It’s all you can think about.”

You nod in agreement, desperate to do or say anything that’ll get him to move with just a bit more urgency to alleviate your discomfort. Heat spreads across your skin in a powerful wave when his other palm comes to rest on the base of your throat. His fingers slowly making their way up and around your neck, gently pulling you back against his chest while his other digits toy with the edge of your panties makes your pussy throb needily. Before you can beg for him another time, though, he’s dipping beneath the flimsy material to trail his fingertips from your already soaking entrance to your clit.

A loud moan of appreciation echoes from between your lips as Akaashi presses his to your jawline. “Take your panties off for me.” His command has your own fingers skittering down to your hips to shed the material as quickly as possible and you ignore the rush of cold air you feel between your legs at being fully exposed. The reflection in the oven’s window is too unclear for you to tell if he’s watching you the same way you’re watching yourself, but, in the bright lights of the kitchen, you can see your slick shining on his fingertips as he spreads it along your sex.

Your small whimpers and mewls begin steadily increasing in volume as he slides his index finger over your pearl in short, tantalizing strokes that leave you wanting more. And while he enjoys every sound that leaves your mouth, littering your skin with gentle kisses as encouragement, he tightens his grasp around your throat, restricting your airflow in the gentlest manner possible. It’s clear, after your countless experiences with breath play in the bedroom, that he knows exactly how much pressure to use to keep you safe and comfortable, yet make you feel restrained and excited.

As he digs his digits into the tender skin around your neck, your cries of pleasure become more labored and your chest heaves with deeper breaths. He’s careful and understanding of your body, loosening his grip slightly whenever he feels the muscles surrounding your throat straining too excessively, and tightening it again when he hears more of your desperate pleas. Safety and respect for you are always his first priorities, no matter what games you’re playing or kinks you’re experimenting with, and knowing he’ll always take care of you is what makes you melt into his arms and clutch onto him tightly as he pleasures you.

“Keiji!” Another cry of his name rolls off your tongue when he finally plunges his fingers inside of your hot core, which welcomes him with a wet squelch. Each thrust of his digits into you, edging them closer and closer to your most sensitive area has you moaning unabashedly with desire. “Faster, please!” He ignores your request and continues sliding them in and out at a controlled speed. “Please, Keiji, I wanna cum. I want you to make me cum,” you plead with an exasperated exhale.

Without warning, the hand on your neck releases so he can shove his fingers into your half-open mouth, making you squeal with surprise. “It looks like you forgot that you’re only allowed to take orders, not give them, silly girl,” he murmurs, pressing his mouth against the shell of your ear so his voice is the only thing you can hear, “Who’s in charge right now, hmm?”

With his fingers depressing your tongue and quickly filling your mouth with saliva, you slur out his name as best as you can. The proximity of his face to yours makes you hyperaware of each breath and utterance that leaves his lips, as well as the heat they send skittering across your skin.

“That’s right,” he answers, “So, be a good girl and let me make you feel good, okay? Promise I will.”

He takes a soft sigh and lack of complaints from you as a sign of you relinquishing control to him once more and pecks your temple tenderly in response. As he continues pleasuring your needy pussy with his fingers, those he has in your mouth muffle the cries you utter in response to the sensations that you’ve been craving all day. It’s not long before you notice your own saliva start trailing down his wrist, glittering in the lights above as you as it leaves a slick path along the soft ridges of his veins and tendons in its slow-moving wake. His thumb pressing against your sensitive clit as he kneads the spongy region inside of you with his index and middle fingers returns you to the moment once again, and your breathing gradually becomes more labored as you grind your hips against him, desperate for release.

Soon, a rush of euphoria overtakes your body as you finally fall apart at his fingers alone. He lightens the pressure he’s exerting on your tongue just enough for his name to be fully formed when it leaves your mouth in breathy cries, since there’s nothing he loves more than hearing it chanted like it’s the only word in your vocabulary in the heat of your orgasms. He hums with contentment into your neck, nipping gently at the skin there as he lets you use his fingers to ride out your high.

You’re barely allowed a moment of rest following your release before the timer for the oven beeps harshly, bringing you back to reality more abruptly than you would’ve liked. Slowly, you close your legs, and Akaashi keeps his hand nestled in your warmth for what feels to be a long stretch of time before pulling it away from your sensitive core. A lighthearted chuckle echoes from his mouth when he tries to move only to have you slump against him and whine with indignation.

Before he can speak, the sound of the doorbell ringing alerts both of you to the arrival of your guests, and your gaze darts to him, then to your shorts and panties strewn across the tiled floor. “Of course, they decide to be right on time today, of all days,” he growls, placing his hands on your waist to help you stand up so you can make yourself decent.

“Kou’s probably excited about the cupcakes,” you giggle as you slide the discarded clothes back up your legs while Akaashi washes his hands. Once you’re dressed, you approach your boyfriend and give him and affectionate kiss that he returns appreciatively. Another chime of the doorbell forces the two of you to pull away so that he can retrieve the cupcakes from the oven and attend to your impatient guests. “Need help with anything?”

He smiles sweetly but answers, “Not now. You can go ahead and get ready,” before giving you a gentle pat on the rear to send you off down the hall.

“Hey, Keiji?”

“Yes, my love?”

You bite your lip before suggesting, “Once everyone leaves tonight, how about I put on that cute lingerie set you got for me and wait in the bedroom for you on my knees?”

“Fuck, baby,” he breathes, “I would love that.” As you prance down the hallway to the bedroom while he approaches the front door, the words you hear him add in a hushed tone make your heart flutter in your chest: “Always so good to me.”

treat me to a coffee! ⭐︎ kinktober masterlist

taglists (see pinned post on my blog for form)

general: @dinablossom, @newfriendjen​, @devlovesramen, @ohbyunhunn, @aftcrlust, @mister-future, @kyleclxin​, @kac-chowsballs​, @osamusmiya​

akaashi: @why-aminot-dead​, @lotsoffandomrecs​, @atsunakaashi​, @heyhinata​

[liquidheartbeat]

She Didn’t Choose This Life: Flashback

Barry’s fork and knife clink loudly against his plate, as he scoots his chair backward, hands perched on his inflated abdomen. “God, I am stuffed,” he says, already regretting finishing off four T-bone steaks and all the rich, decadent sides that rounded off the meal. 

From across the table, the eyes of the woman responsible for his predicament widen, as she cuts into her barely-touched steak. “Oh, really?” Iris asks, chuckling.

“What?” Barry asks, tilting his body forward. 

“Well, we’ve been dating for almost a year and this is the first time I’ve ever seen you full. Like actually satiated.”

Barry chuckles as he nods, slight unease shooting through him. It’s a simple explanation, really, but he can’t tell her that being The Flash has increased his caloric requirements, because he hasn’t figured out how to tell her that he is the Flash.

And it’s not because he doesn’t want to, it’s because, everytime he scrounges up the courage, he finds out another unsavory secret about her lifestyle. 

When they first met, she’d introduced herself as an art buyer, but conveniently left out the part about also international money laundering. That discovery had come months later, in the dead of night, when she’d slipped out of the bedroom for a phone call with one of her partners but wasn't nearly as quiet as she’d thought.

Of course, that led him down a rabbit hole where he also found out about the tax fraud and other financial crimes that would put her away for life if she was ever caught. Crimes that, if committed by anyone else, he’d gladly help prosecute as a member of the police department. But she’s not anyone else, she’s Iris, the first woman he’s ever fallen completely, wholeheartedly in love with. 

And yes, her misdeeds probably should make him love her less, but his heart doesn’t abide by common sense. Even from across the table, as she hides a lifetime of secrets under her smile, he knows the same lips that lie to him about her whereabouts and the source of her wealth tell sweet truths to him in the middle of the night. About how much she loves him and needs him. 

The same hands that gleefully count dirty money, help massage away aches she doesn’t know the truth origins of at night. The same hands that consort with criminals bring his body to romantic peaks, over and over again. 

And the same eyes that stare into him before he leaves her apartment each morning, connect with his soul, and let him know her love is real. 

As real as his is. 

“Barr,” she says sweetly, as she dabs butter from the corner of her mouth. “Did you hear me?”

“Hmm?” He asks, snapped back to the present. 

“I said...I’m glad you enjoyed dinner, because it’ll probably be a few more months before I sweat out my hair to cook again,” she says as she stands to gather her half-empty plate and glass. 

Barry laughs, gathering his hands on the table as she walks over to the counter. “It’s a shame a cook as good as you hates it so much.”

Iris returns to the table, walking over to where he’s sat. “I don’t hate it, it’s just time consuming, and my jobs…”She pauses, playing off her flub with a smile, “I mean job ...is very demanding. Doesn’t leave much time to cook.”

Barry frowns, nodding slowly. Another lie, and an unnecessary one at that. But she doesn’t notice his disappointment as she gathers his empty plate and saucers. “If I wasn’t with you,” she continues as she walks his dishes to the sink,” I probably wouldn’t cook at all.”

His smile returns slowly -- a truth, however small, makes him feel special. “Oh, really?” 

“Pretty sure. But my man likes to eat,” she says with a smile as she turns towards him, “So I have to oblige him from time to time.”

“So you cook...just for me?”

“Duh.” As she nears him, she pushes her slightly frizzy hair behind her ears,.

“Well, what else are you willing to do just for me?” He asks, eyes sparkling with mischievous intent as she stands over him.

Iris rolls her eyes fondly. He’s so stinking cute, extra cute when he’s confident, but she doesn’t have time. Not tonight. 

After their dinner, she has another engagement with a potential business partner that could potentially double her income for the year. Of course, she can’t tell Barry that. He’s a sweet, by the book CSI, who definitely won’t take kindly to her extracurricular activities.  

Shaking her head fondly, she steps backward, but he catches her by the skin of her flowy cotton top and pulls her into his lap. “Barry,” she protests, but only for a moment because his hand shoots to the base of her head and guides her open mouth down towards him. 

For a skinny guy, he’s way stronger than his physical makeup should allow for. He effortlessly twists her legs around his waist, and pushes their bodies together. But she doesn’t question it. She embraces it, moaning harshly as he kneads her ass in his hands. 

They haven’t had sex in a few days, and not just because of her schedule. He works long -- sometimes odd -- hours. But she assumes it’s par for the course, for a CSI. And she’s this close to putting on a show for her kitchen appliances, especially as he slinks his fingers towards the seat of her cotton shorts, dipping one near her slit. But that little touch of pleasure snaps her back to reality. Dinner and a little makeout sesh is the only thing she can offer him tonight. 

“Barr,” she breathes, as she catches his hand. But he’s defiant as he curls his finger against her.“I can’t,” she whimpers. “Not tonight.”

“Why not?”

“I gotta...prepare for work tomorrow.”

He lets out a loud sigh, face wrinkling in dissatisfaction. It’s a look she's becoming increasingly familiar with, appearing any time she mentions work. 

It should strike her as odd, but doesn’t. “Oh, babe,” she says with a pout, as she runs a hand through his hair. “Don’t be mad, please.”

He sighs again. “I’m not mad. I’m…” Disappointed. Wish you would tell me the truth , “ he thinks, but he actually says: “Upset. You've been ‘working’ so much lately. And Friday nights are supposed to be our uninterrupted time.”

Iris pouts, hating when she disappoints him. Hating that she has to keep such a huge part of herself from him. Of all the men she’s ever dated, no one has ever made her feel as loved, as safe, as desirable as Barry Allen. 

And yet, she feels she doesn’t fully deserve the love he gives so easily. Love -- true love -- isn’t shrouded in secrecy and shadow lives. But what will he think of her if he finds out who she really is? 

Just cancelling an overnight date has him looking like she punctured his lungs, and she can barely stand it. Biting her lip, to quell the trembling, she brings her other hand up, and rests them on his shoulders. 

He’s so tight and fraught with tension, and her touch seems to intensify it. God, he’s really mad at her. She tilts her head, managing a soft smile as her hands move in tandem across his shoulder blade, increasing the pressure as she moves. His eyes flutter closed, defiantly, her hands attempting to squeeze the displeasure from his body. And then she leans down, pressing a soft kiss just underneath his earlobe. “I promise, I will make this up to you,” she says, softly, “Okay?”

She lifts her head up to meet his face, still rife with displeasure.

“When?”

“Tomorrow-- promise.” In actuality, she has another client meeting tomorrow, but it doesn’t have as much riding on it. And she can’t possibly stand to see Barry look at her like this twice in one week. So she’ll have to reschedule.

“Fine,” he agrees.

Iris smiles, and thumbs his chin, happy for the compromise. “Thank you, baby, for being so understanding. I’ll make it worth your while.”

"Any time with you is worth my while,” he says earnestly, his words nearly drawing tears to the surface of her eyes. 

But she sniffs, hoping to keep them at bay. She can’t close this deal if she’s an emotional mess. And then she smiles, offering him one last kiss for the night. 

Though the need in his return drags one kiss into four, five, and six kisses. At least until she manages to snap her neck backward and pry herself from his lap. 

As she stands, she fixes her clothes, which almost ended up in a pile on the floor. Her eyes catch the time on the clock and she realizes she has less than 25 minutes to get ready before her business meeting. 

“So,” she says, casually, “Do you want me to walk you down to the lobby?”

“No, that’s alright,” Barry says as he stands. “Unless you want me to beg you to change your mind in front of your neighbors.”

Iris laughs softly. “No, definitely not.”

Barry stills, taking in the sight of her. She projects an effortless beauty, even with no makeup, slightly frizzed hair and pajama shorts. He takes a step forward and leans down to kiss her on the cheek, knowing that if he aims for her lips, he might not be able to stop himself. 

And while he’s not happy she’s working on a Friday night, at least she’s cleared Saturday for them. She leans up into his kiss, softly palming his shoulders with her hands. When they part, she holds his gaze. 

Two beautiful, chestnut brown eyes looking up at him sweetly. “I love you,” she says softly. 

His response is effortless. “I love you too -- now, tomorrow. Forever and ever. 

She squeezes her hands together excitedly, and does a little sidestep. It’s an obvious attempt to make fun of his saccharine tone, but he doesn’t mind -- in fact, he welcomes it, shaking his head from side to side. 

“Anyway,” he says through a growing smile, “I’m going to head out, and let you handle your business.”

She nods. “Okay.”

“Just please... be careful. I don’t know what I’ll do if  something happens to you.”

His words are weighted with hard truths she doesn’t yet know he knows, yet his tone still uneases her. “What could possibly happen?” She asks, feigning obliviousness. “I have like the safest job in the world.”

He sighs, loud and hard, but goes forward with her charade anyway. “By the time you return from the museum, it’ll probably be really late. Dangerous. You have to be careful.”

“Oh,” she says, eyes widening. Of course, he thinks she’s going to the museum. “Yeah. Yeah, I’ll be careful.”

“You are going to the museum, right?”

She pauses, just long enough for him to prepare for the lie to come.

“Uhh...yeah.”

His brows furrow as he crosses his arms across his chest. “Are you sure?”

She forces out a laugh, hoping to quell his rising concern. Because if she doesn’t get him out of here now, her entire evening will fold. 

“Yeah. I’m sure.” She smiles fluttering her eyelashes “Come on, honey. I gotta get ready.”

He takes a moment to contemplate whether or not to call out her obvious lie, but ultimately decides against it. “Okay,” he says. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

She smiles wider. “Bright and early,” she says, as she glances at the clock, growing wearier of his presence. 

“Yeah,” he deadpans, out of options. “Bright and early…”  

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

  Five minutes later, Barry swivels absentmindedly in his office chair, chewing on the dead skin of his thumb. Caitlin, who’s been watching his skittish display, glances over to Cisco, who pretends he doesn't notice her pleading gaze. Eventually, he sighs and begrudgingly casts down the chain of sour straws he’s snacking on, and scoots forward. 

“Dude. Just go talk to your girlfriend," he replies, voice filled with disdain. 

Barry shoots him a warning glance, in no mood to deal with his best friend's judgement over his choice of partner.  “Don’t.”

“Fine.” Cisco throws his hands up. “Then do...that...all night. But I’m going home.”

Barry sighs. When it comes to his relationship, talking to Cisco is like talking to a brick wall. He turns to Caitlin, hoping his other best friend can offer some advice.” Caitlin stews in silence a moment, carefully gathering her words. The things Barry uncovered about Iris are damning, and a stark contrast to the straight-laced businesswoman persona she presents outwardly. But she’s also seen the way Iris looks at him, those rare moments they all hang out, like he hung the moon just for her with his bare hands. 

Yet, still, she has to ask:  “Do you think she could be seeing someone else?” Her words are careful, knowing how touchy of a subject this is.

Barry huffs. Almost offensively. “No.” At least he hopes. “But she’s definitely still lying about her plans for tonight. Probably another dirty deal she doesn’t want me finding out about.”

Unable to resist, Cisco presses a hand into his chest. “Iris West? A LIAR?” He gasps.  “You don’t say.”

Barry shoots up from his chair, a second away from lunging at Cisco but Caitlin blocks him with her body. “Cisco. Please,” she scolds him backwards, gently pushing Barry in the chest.

That seems to calm him, as he flops back into his seat with a sigh. But Cisco pushes forward.

“Cool it, Cait. Alright. I’m not the one who’s leading on our best friend -- she is.”

“She’s not leading me on!” Barry yells, scooting to the edge of the chair. “She’s just…”

“...Not just an art dealer,  apparently, not in good standing with the IRS -- or at least she won’t be--and in no danger of becoming a Girl Scout troop leader. Or a nun either,” Cisco retorts.

Barry shrugs, unphased by his recounting of events. “So she’s not perfect. But I have my own secrets. “

“Yeah. You’re the Flash, but, she's a criminal, who lies to you constantly. About what she does, where she goes. How many times, since you found out, have you had to save her from the trouble she’s gotten into?”

Barry sighs; he’s almost lost count of the number of times Flash has scooped Iris from the pits of danger, during a business deal gone bad. Shadowy figures, unrelated to her business dealings, looming in dark alleys after she’s left some abandoned building, scorned men whose pockets she’d bled dry, but who couldn't pursue legal action due to their own dirty dealings, who took things into their own hand. 

One by one, he’d laid out anyone who crossed her path and had the audacity to even breathe at her wrong, which all amounted to silent acknowledgement between her and Flash. Because she damn sure hadn’t told him -- Barry Allen -- about these chance meetings. 

Another reason he had to be cautious around her. She held her cards too close to her chest. 

Cisco takes in a sharp breath. “I just want better for you man. You deserve someone who doesn’t lie to you.”

Barry holds Cisco’s gaze. “She might be a liar, but when she tells me she loves me, it’s not a lie. And because of that, I can’t just throw away our relationship -- we can get past this. I know it.”

Cisco rolls his eyes and twirls his hair round and round his finger. “Whatever.”

Caitlin, who’s grown tired of Cisco’s negativity, faces him. “If you’re not going to offer Barry any understanding, you should probably excuse yourself.”

“Fine,” he says as he shoots up, “’I‘ll go.” But when Barry finds out something else about Iris that he can't handle, I can’t be the person he vents to anymore. ” He pauses and turns towards his friend, who’s struggling to bite his tongue. “It hurts to see you like this, man.”

With that, Cisco makes his exit, leaving just Barry and Caitlin in the room. Awkward silence fills the space he leaves, as those little stubborn nuggets of rationale, in between Cisco’s snark, tries to penetrate his brain. 

Slowly he looks up at Caitlin, a fervent lea in his eyes. “What do you think I should do?”

“I think you and Iris need to have a talk. A long talk, about what you know about her. How dangerous this game she’s playing is. But most importantly, what you need from her, going forward if you’re going to work, romantically. Which I imagine is total transparency.”

Barry nods slowly, taking in her advice. These are things he already knows he’ll eventually have to do, but he still still isn’t ready, He doesn’t know how Iris will take him knowing the truth about her, and he’s not ready to deal with any potential fallout.  “You're right,” he says, the only answer he can scrounge up. “I wish you weren't, but you are.”

Caitlin tilts her head sympathetically, unspoken words fighting to be free. 

“What?” “

  “You….also... need to tell her you’re the Flash. I know, you have reservations. But if you’re willing to stay with her, through all she’s doing, she deserves to know who you are as well.”

Barry sighs, letting his head fall into his hands. There’s a universe of lies between them, and he worries their relationship is too new to handle such added weight. But he can’t continue to live like this, and can’t let her continue to live like this. They’re either going to be together, without secrets, or...He pauses, unable to let the rest of the sentence form in his head, then shoots up. “Okay. I’m going,”  he says, finally. “I’m going to go talk to her.”

“Goo-,” Caitlin starts, but he’s gone in a flash of lightning, before she can finish her statement.

  ************************

Iris steps out of her bathroom, with barely a minute to spare before Randolf Helming, the owner of the Helming Hotel chain arrives. He’s looking to cut his tax bill in half, by funneling some of his cash into a few high end art pieces, and he thinks Iris can assist him. What he doesn’t know is that the pieces she’s going to sell him are forgeries that only 1/10 art experts can spot. So she’ll pocket his commission for her time and also the value of the real paintings she’ll sell again to an unsuspecting schulub, later in the year.

Probably to some secluded older gentlemen, who buys art for social prestige, thousands of miles away in Prague or Berlin.

A hefty journey to travel, but a necessary trip if she’s going to do better at covering her tracks. Over the past few months, some of her old dealings have started to catch up to her, and she’s had more than her fair share of brush ups. 

Oddly, though also fortunately, enough, she was saved each time by Central City’s guardian angel: The Flash. Though, at this point, it almost felt like he was her own personal angel, always seeming to be in the right place when she was in the wrong place.

She’d think it strange if not for the multitudes of people he saves everyday. 

As she makes her way into the living room, she takes one last look at her appearance in the big mirror hanging over her fireplace. Her previously frizzed hair has been tamed into a low pony-tail, and her face has been painted with a light dusting of makeup. But it’s her attire, a chic red, high-waisted skirt and black fitted blazer blazer that's sure to wow any potential business partner. 

A knock at the door pulls Iris away from her thoughts. She pulls at her skirt, not wanting to give Randolf the wrong idea -- she might be dressed to the nines, but this is not a romantic engagement; she has to work to do-- then waltzes over to the door. 

“Mr. Helming “ Iris says warmly, as she opens the door. “I’m glad you could make it.” 

The silver haired man, who hovers around around 5’10 and is dressed in a light gray suit, lets his eyes travel unabashedly down Iris’s body before he greets her. “It is my pleasure, Ms. West.”

He takes a huge step into the apartment, nearly brushing his body against hers. Uncomfortable with the closeness, Iris steps backward, letting out a nervous chuckle. She doesn’t usually entertain her clients -- legitimate or otherwise -- in her home, but she figures that someone as high profile as Mr. Helming has too much to lose to act out of turn.

Still, the hairs on the back of her neck stand at attention as her attempt to create distance does nothing to soften his gaze. “Well,” she says, running her hand over her hair, “Let’s get down to business, shall we?”

“Oh, yes,” he mimics, seemingly remembering the reason for his visit. “Business. Lets.”

Iris smiles politely and steps aside to give him ample room to enter further. He strides past her, and heads for the couch, taking in the sight of her place as he walks. “Wow. The art world has treated you quite, well, huh?”

Returning from closing the door, Iris walks over, proudly. “Yeah, I guess you can say that."

At the couch, Randolph takes a seat in the middle of her cream colored sofa, and spreads both arms across the back. Iris, who was gearing up to take a seat next to him, pivots and takes a seat in the black recliner sitting adjacent to the couch. 

He frowns and scoots his body towards the end nearest to the chair, seemingly oblivious to her discomfort.  

“So. I hear you’re trying to lessen your tax burden,” Iris says, diving straight into business."

“Yeah.” He crosses one leg over the other. “My hotels are doing well. But as it goes, I owe the government 10s of millions this year in taxes and so I need a tax write off. And a big one.”

Iris smiles. “Well, you’ve come to the right place. I just so happen to have a direct connection to the Murdock Estate, who handles affairs for the late oil painter, M.N. Murdoch. They’re looking to unload a couple of pieces for the right buyer.”

“And when you say right…”

“Well, aside from the assets to afford the seven figure price tag, they’re deadset on selling it to an astute businessman -- someone who understands the value of fine art.” But who can’t tell a forgery from a real pieces.

He nods, pleased with her response. “Well, let’s see these paintings.”

Iris pulls her phone from her pocket, and opens up the PGN files of the paintings, still on display at the Central City Art Museum and hands it over to Mr. Helming. He takes the phone, finger sliding haphazardly across the screen, sending him back to her home screen. 

“Oops,” he chuckles.  I clicked off of the screen. Can you fix it?”

“Of course.” Iris reaches for the phone. As he releases it, his fingers graze over hers, sending a wicked chill through her. 

His skin is somehow cool, yet sweaty at the same time. Iris draws her fingers in awkwardly as she retrieves the phone and reset the screen. From the corner of her eyes, she sees him wipe his palms on his pants leg. Her return is smoother; managing to hand over the phone without making skin to skin contact. 

Randolf takes a moment to look over the pieces, genuine contemplation painting his face. His concentration on the task at hand eases her growing anxiety a tad, though the silence that settles over the room still tickles her nerves.

She glances over to the table, where the unfinished bottle of wine she and Barry had for dinner sits, and her mouth nearly waters for a glass. But she doesn’t drink while doing business -- at least not this kind.

When she looks back over to Randolf, he’s done with her phone and also eyeing the wine. “I could go for a glass, myself,” he says over a prickly laugh. 

Iris opens her mouth to respond, then realizing no words are coming out, pushes out a choked response. “Right.  Of course. Is Merlot okay?”

He nods. “That’s just fine. Though, if you have something a little stronger, I wouldn't object.”

"No,” she says quickly. “Just the Merlot -- I’m not much of a drinker.” She stands and smoothes down her skirt, and walks across her living room, towards the kitchen. 

Iris had already cleaned up from dinner, so she goes to the cabinet to retrieve two wine glasses. Even though she doesn't drink on the job, she has to at least pretend to indulge him if she wants to close the deal. 

Glasses in hand, she turns for the island and lets out a loud shriek when she notices Randolf is standing just feet away, at the other side. “Sorry. I didn’t hear you walk over,” she quickly offers towards his slightly offended expression. 

“Oh.” He relaxes some. “I am quite light on my feet -- blame my wife.”

Iris quirks a curious brow. “Your wife?”

“Ballroom dancing,” he says, settling his weight over the island. “She makes us go once a week. On my one off day too.” 

She smiles politely. “That is very sweet. I’m sure you two have a lot of fun.” Feeling more comfortable at the mention of his wife, Iris walks past him towards the table where the wine is sitting. 

His shoes scuff her floor as he turns, a sound that easily penetrates her eardrums. Iris turns just in time to see his outstretched arm, reaching for her. She  pulls away right before he lands and steps backward. He presses forward, trapping her between him and the table. 

“What are you doing?” She asks, now on high alert. 

He sighs harshly, his body drooping from the aggravation as his face contorts into a frown. “Oh come on; surely, you know how this works, Iris.”

“How what works?”

“I could get art from any buyers in the city. Men much more accomplished than you. If I came to you, it’s because of an added incentive.”

“Which is?” 

“ You.” He tries to press his body into hers, but Iris pushes him in the chest. He stumbles, but only barely, as Iris rushes to the other side of the table, grabbing the half-empty bottle of wine as a weapon.  “Get out. NOW,” she commands voice loud and firm. 

Much firmer than her nerves on the inside. There’s no way she can overpower him, physically. And this high up, no one will hear her screams from her penthouse. 

“Or what?” He asks, casually rounding the table, completely unphased. 

“Or I will bash your fucking skull in.”

She raises the bottle higher, hoping to appear more threatening. He chuckles, nearly spits at her attempt. “Oh, you’re not going to hit me. Not if you want to keep doing business in this town. Remember, I have a lot of rich friends. One word from me, and you’re toast.”

“Excuse me?” She asks, overcome with offense at his audacity. 

 “You heard me!” Randolf yells as thrusts himself towards her, and tackles her to the ground.  

The bottle of wine falls from her hand, shattering into a million pieces on the floor around them. He tries to kiss her and Iris squirms underneath him, fighting to free from his grip, shards of glass digging into her exposed flesh. She yells, the stinging pain piercing all her nerves.

 “Shut up!” He yells, wedging his leg between hers as he plants a firm hand round her neck. 

Iris freezes, pinned in place, chest heaving up and down as his tar-black eyes singe a hole through her.

“There.” His smile is dark and haunting. “This isn’t so bad is it?” 

Unwilling to let the last sight of her be a disheveled, powerless woman, Iris spits clean on his face. His hand shoots to the spot in disbelief, face as red as the blood trickling from the wounds on her leg, “Oh, you’ve done it now!” He yells, drawing his hand backward.  Iris presses her eyes shut, preparing for the blow. But where she should feel stinging pain, possibly a broken nose, she only feels a gust of wind and the relief of Randolf’s body no longer being on top of hers. 

The crash that follows is deafening as the force propels Randolf into her walls. And that’s when she sees a red blur, wrapped up in blazing lightning, delivering the final blow that knocks Randolf clean out. 

His limp body falls to the floor, his skull cracking against the luxury vinyl tile that covers her kitchen floors. The masked hero, who she now registers as The Flash, comes into focus. She watches him watch look over Randolf's unmoving body, making no effort to check on him.

Iris uses her depleted strength to stumble upward, grunting as fresh shards of glass pierce her hands. She lets out a guttural cry, nearly tumbling over from the pain. 

From the shock. From the devastation. 

He runs over and catches her, letting her body crash into his soft, open arms. She can’t even scrounge up the energy to wonder how or why The Flash has yet again saved her from herself. She’s completely overwhelmed at the fact that this night couldn't have ended so much worse.

And then come the tears, a ravenous stream down her face. Iris presses her hand into face, to block the sight of her 

“Oh, God. Are you bleeding?” Asks the masked man in panicked frenzy, though his voice unmasks him immediately.

Slowly, Iris raises her head, every odd encounter with the Flash she’s had over the past few months settling into place like a finally-finished puzzle. All the she time she almost met her demise, but didn't. 

He looks at her, fear coursing, over the lingering anger in his eyes, but that voice is unmistakable. It’s the same voice that awkwardly asked her out nearly a year ago, and grew giddy when she agreed. The same voice that’s crooned sweet “I love you’s” in her ear since that first night he nervously admitted it, over frozen yogurt.

“B-” Her throat is dry and ragged. “Barry?” She pushes out. 

With a sigh, he tears his cowl off, revealing fully the face of the man she loves more than she knew was possible. His cheeks are bloodshot red, his eyes puffy, and glossy, a clear sign his own tears will soon spill forth. 

“Oh, Iris,” he groans, sweeping her up into his arms. 

Now knowing this masked hero is the man she loves, has been the man she loves, she melts further into his chest, every bit of hesitation to maintain an air of control falling away. She cries, shamelessly, unabashedly, into his chest as he rocks her. 

She has a thousand questions, and knows he does too, but she can’t scrounge up a single one, only caring that he’s here now. That he’s saved her. Again. 

As Iris goes silent, Barry’s mind races a thousand miles a minute. He’d taken Caitlin’s advice and headed here to talk to her about her lies, never imagining the scene he’d walk in on. He can’t think straight, can’t even worry about his former objective, he’s only grateful that he got here in time before…

“Fuck!” Yells. Iris jumps against his chest, but he’s unperturbed. “You could’ve. He could’ve…” He continues, trying to push past the ugliness these sentences conjures in his brain, but the defeated shame on her face stops him. 

He kisses her cheek, and stands, lifting her in his arms, bridal style, though the apartment is devoid of the the joy of a burgeoning marriage. The air is heavy, as heavy as both their hearts, as her body in his arms. Yet he soldiers on, through the resistance. When he arrives at her bedroom, he kicks the door open with one foot and carries her over to the bed, covered in the black, floral comforter he’d bought her as a gift early in their relationship. 

Before he knew of the lies and deceit.

As her raw skin makes contact with the bed, she hisses in discomfort. “I’m sorry!” he’s quick to say, swiping a comforting hand over her head. 

“It’s okay, Barr,” she croaks Her voice is thin, barely meeting the air. She's afraid to bring up the obvious, knowing now that the sweet, gentle man she’s been getting to know over the last year is The Flash. A masked hero, a force of nature, keeping the city from descending into anarchy. But she has to express her gratitude somehow. “Thank you.”

He swipes a gentle hand down the side of her face, lingering on her beauty, then leans down, planting a soft kiss on the side of her face. “You don’t have to thank me,” he says, as her straightens his posture. “Now, I’ll be back.” He turns away from her and heads to the bedroom door. 

Iris sits up on the bed. “Where are you going?” 

“To see if that asshole is still breathing. Hopefully, he’s not. But if he is, I have to drop him off at Iron Heights.”

His response is dry, matter-of-fact, and it sends a tingle down her spine. “But. You can’t. He’ll talk.”

“It’s okay.” Barry continues to walk away from her. “He didn’t see my face.”

“But. Still. I don’t think jail is the right path for him.”

She isn’t saying what she wants, and he knows it. But he’s too amped up to care. “So I’m supposed to let the man who almost raped my girlfriend go free?! Is that what you want?”

“No. I…”she sighs, long and hard. “I just…”

He turns, the painful implication settling inside of him. Even after all of this, she’s worried about her dirty business deals. “What? You’re worried that the police will find out what you’ve really been doing all this time? How can you afford to live like this?” He motions around the apartment. 

Iris gulps, the judgement in his tone hurting more than the gashes on her legs. 

“Well, newsflash: the police -- me, I -- know, and have known for months. And what you’re doing, honestly? You deserve to be in jail.”

“Well why didn’t you say anything?” She croaks. “Why haven’t you turned me in?”

He chuckles, offensively. “Because...I love you more than your mistakes. And I was trying to give you time to either stop this or be honest with me.” He shrugs, painfully. “Guess it’s too late for that.”

“Barr, I’m sorry. I--.” She sighs, letting her head fall forward in shame. “ I’m sorry.”

Barry sighs. “Yeah. Me too.” He casts one final look of disappointment over her, one that softens ever so slightly when she raises her head and he meets her sad, concerned eyes. “Look, we can talk about all of this later. All that matters right now is that you're safe."

Iris nods meekly.

"I’ll be back in a sec to help clean you up,” he says, before flashing away, leaving her alone in the room....

[mrsgiovanna]

Don Giorno x Fem! Reader

This story has been steeping in my head ever since @abbabycchio created this prompt, I hope I did this justice 😅.

No warnings, just fluff 😍💭🐞💜

Word count: 1508

The ambience in the grand ballroom was delightfully festive- soft light dancing about the glittering crystal chandeliers, the happy chattering of the partygoers mingling with the clinking of glasses and the music in the background, and the delicious scent of Giorno’s expensive cologne overtook your senses as he gracefully spun you around on the dance floor.

“Wow, you’ve gotten really good at this, everyone is practically staring at you,”

“Well practice makes perfect, we’ve been to enough of these events as it is. Come, let’s give them a show,”

Before you knew it, Giorno spun you around and caught you in a low dip, his face mere millimeters away from your own. Feeling every pair of eyes on you both, he smirked and brought you back to your original position just as the song had ended, earning many impressed murmurs from the other attendees.

“After all these years you still get flustered? I told you, I’d never drop you or let you fall,” said Giorno, through the laughs he was trying to suppress. You knew the real reason for your skittishness, but you wouldn’t dare let him know.

You had known Giorno ever since you were assigned to his elite guard when he had taken over Passione a few years ago. Your stand ability was very useful… you were able to disarm an attacker in under 10 seconds, and if the situation became really dire, you could dismember them in a minute, without so much as a hair left behind. In short your ability was terrifying. But Giorno seemed fascinated by it, you were a walking contradiction, so soft and bubbly on the outside, but something dark and menacing had to be lurking in your soul for such a stand to manifest. So he had reassigned you himself and slowly started to understand the nuances of your ability.

You excused yourself for a moment to go to the ladies room to freshen up your makeup, you were utterly exhausted, but when Giorno asked you go with him, you couldn’t refuse. Despite knowing that Giorno’s ability made him virtually untouchable and the fact that both Mista and Fugo were there as well, you still felt more at ease knowing that you were there to personally protect him.

When you rejoined the party you found Giorno nursing a drink on his own, so you took the seat next to him.

“What’s the matter? Why are you sitting here brooding on your own?” you ask, playfully mimicking the expression on his face.

“Is that really how I look? I’m fine though,” explained Giorno. He was just about to continue the conversation when you had let a small yawn escape your lips.

“Gosh, I’m sorry Giorno, what were you going to say?” you say, trying to coax the comment out of him.

“You’re exhausted, we should leave, come on, the car should be waiting for us,” said Giorno with a snap of his fingers, signaling the concierge to ready things for your exit.

“No, no, don’t worry about me, I’m fine, nothing a little caffeine can’t take care of. Besides, we still have to wait for Fugo and Mista, they haven’t emerged from that office yet,” you argued. All protests proved useless though, as Giorno sighed dramatically before picking you up and heading to the exit.

“You know I hate having to repeat myself, you’re clearly tired, we can wait for those two at the villa, at least you’ll be a bit more comfortable there.” There was a bite in Giorno’s voice that told you not to argue with him. As he gently set you down on your feet, the car drove up to you both. The drive back to the villa was a quiet one, the young Don focusing his attention outside, while you looked at him, noting how he had matured in the few years since taking over Passione, the soft innocence in his face being replaced with a mature handsomeness. He’d also gotten a lot taller and broader, experiencing a growth spurt that took everyone, including himself, by surprise.

“Thanks for looking out for me, it’s sweet, I appreciate it,”

“You’d do the same for me, it’s only natural,” he replied, his attention still focused on the moving scenery outside the car.

“I know… still… Are you angry? You’ve been like this since earlier on, I’m sorry, I didn’t want to upset you, I just didn’t want you to stop yourself from having fun on my account,” you apologized. Little did you know that Giorno was actually troubled by his own behaviour, and found it difficult to face you without his own face turning a rosy shade of pink.

“Don’t apologize, you did nothing wrong, I guess my lack of sleep is getting the better of me as well. I’m sorry,”

You finally arrived at the villa, and followed Giorno to one of the lounges. You threw yourself onto the comfortable couch and started to take off your heels, while he pulled off his bow tie and undid the top buttons of his shirt, sighing in relief.

“I’ll brew us some coffee, it seems like we both need it,” offered Giorno, which you accepted with a polite smile, while checking your phone for any communication from Mista or Fugo. You were concerned but also knew how powerful they both were so you decided to put your head down and relax for just a few moments.

Giorno walked in to find you huddled in one corner of the plush couch, the chill you felt evident in the goosebumps visible on your exposed skin. Getting a soft blanket and his laptop, he covered you so that you wouldn’t be cold any longer, and settled down next to you to work quietly while you slept, not wanting to disturb you, but also not wanting to leave you alone.

Every now and again, you would wriggle around and murmur something unintelligible, until you had somehow found yourself snuggled up to Giorno’s arm. Gazing at you affectionately, he decided to give in to his own exhaustion, put away his work and comfortably wrapped his arms around you. A content hum escaped his lips before he quickly fell asleep as well.

A few hours pass like that, with you blissfully unaware of what, or rather, who you were using as a comfortable pillow, until the room was bathed in ambient morning light. You wake up to a hand gently drawing circles on your arm, enjoying the gentle touch in your half woken state, until, a pang of panic set in when realized exactly where you were, you sprang upright, fully awake and aware of your situation.

“Buongiorno tesoro mio, did you sleep well?” asked Giorno, the slight smile he wore being evident in the lightness of his voice.

“Giorno, I’m so sorry, I feel mortified… I… oh my God, you’re my boss… just fire me please… better still, I quit, so this will be my…” you rambled on, until Giorno cut you off as he also sat upright next to you.

“Tesoro… would you just calm down? While having you quit would work in my favor for what I’m about to ask you, I reject that… resignation? If you could call it one… either way, I’ve been meaning to do this for a while now… so here goes-Would you like to have dinner with me? Maybe tonight? No mafia business or anything, just you and I, out on a date,”

You could feel your heart pounding in your ears, and you felt as if you’d forgotten how to breathe as hopeful green eyes searched your face for a positive answer. Building up the courage to look at him, your heart calmed down when you saw how earnestly he looked at you. The man in front of you wasn’t Don Giovanna, he was just a kind, handsome gentleman asking for your company… he was just Giorno.

“I’d really like that Giorno, thank you for asking me,” you said with a softer voice than usual, trying to contain the bubbly feeling in your chest.

“Great, then that’s settled, I’ll pick you up at six,”

Just as you were about to speak, you hear a commotion coming from the direction of the front door, realizing it was Mista and Fugo returning.

“Wow, took you guys long enough, what happened? Are you guys okay?” you asked, relieved that they both returned safely.

“Yeah, we’re fine, just exhausted… what are you even doing here?” replied Mista, speaking through a yawn.

You and Giorno exchanged a glance, smiling knowingly but chose rather to stay quiet. You were both saved from having to entertain any more questions from the complaints of Mista’s sex pistols.

“Alright, alright, you guys need some sleep and sustenance, I’ll make you guys some breakfast while you rest…”

“I’ll help you,” offered Giorno, wanting to spend more time with you.

And with that you both left the room, quietly enjoying each other’s company in that sweet domestic scenario, all the while thinking about what could transpire later on.

[drabbles-mc]

Protective Detail (3/?)

Nestor Oceteva x Reader

Warnings: language, falling more in love with Nestor than we already were originally (if that’s even possible)

Word Count: 2.7k

A/N: I’m a sucker for characters building relationships. Humans slowly getting to know each other and get more comfortable with each other??? Friendships and feelings developing?? Sign me the fuck up lmao. As always, hope y’all enjoy xoxo

Chapter Index

Protective Detail Taglist: @masterlistforimagines​ @sillygoose6969​ @mydaiilyescape​ @lovebennycolon​ @the-radical-venus​ @gemini0410​ @garbinge​ (If you want to be tagged in this fic or any of my other writing let me know!)

A few days into the new arrangement, you and Nestor had started figuring out a little bit of a routine. There were a lot of quiet moments between the two of you—you realized that he wasn’t much of a talker and you were still trying to figure out how to get him to say more than two sentences at a time about anything. It was like your new mission.

He was adamant about doing dishes. He couldn’t stand letting them sit in the sink overnight, so they were always clean first thing in the morning when you came out into the kitchen. He’d shake his head at you before you could even try to tell him that it wasn’t necessary. You wanted to be motivated enough to clean them before you went to bed, but by the time the end of the day rolled around all you wanted to do was crawl under the covers and pass out, so that was usually what you ended up doing.

“I’ll do dishes but I draw the line at combining our laundry,” he said as he carried his small hamper of dirty clothes to the basement where the washer and dryer were.

You laughed, calling after him, “Oh darn. How am I supposed to snoop through your stuff, then?” you felt your phone vibrating in your pocket and you took it out to see who was calling, smiling to yourself when you saw your father’s contact photo on your phone screen, “You’re calling early.”

“You’re awake early,” you could hear the smile in his voice, “Was just calling to check in and see how things are going.”

“I haven’t succeeded in driving him away yet, unfortunately.”

Nestor’s voice came from downstairs, “I can hear you!”

“Good!” you called back with a laugh before returning your attention to your phone call.

Your father sighed, “So things are going well, I see.”

“It’s really not bad at all, Papi. Nestor is alright. It’s just weird living with someone that you don’t know,” you paced the floor of your kitchen, “You know how long he’s gonna have to stay with me?”

“Until I feel that things have been properly handled.”

“You sure Miguel doesn’t need him back?”

“Even if he did, he would never ask me,” you knew your father well enough to know that there was a light smugness to his voice as he said that, “But you’ve been alright? You’re safe?”

“Yes, I’m safe,” you heard Nestor’s footsteps coming back up the stairs and you turned to face him, a childish smirk on your face, “Nestor is doing a fabulous job protecting me.” You chuckled as he pressed his lips into a thin line and made his way to the guest room without a word.

Your father laughed, knowing that you were giving your protective detail a run for his money, “Don’t be too hard on him, mija.”

You laughed, “No promises. I’ll talk to you soon, okay? Love you.”

“Love you too,” he let out a soft chuckle before hanging up the call.

Morning faded into the afternoon and you hadn’t seen Nestor since he disappeared after he brought laundry downstairs. Some moments you wondered if your father’s concern about him being annoyed enough to quit were valid, but you also figured that Nestor was too proud and stubborn to bail. You walked down the hall and knocked on the open door to what you now considered his room. He was sitting on the edge of his bed, tying his shoes. You smiled slightly as he looked over at you, eyebrows raised.

“You almost ready to go?” you asked, “Ready for another very boring night sitting at the bar watching me like a creep?”

He stood up and walked over to you, and for a moment you were reminded of the size difference between the two of you. he glanced down at you, making you feel very small as your face instantly got hot, “Ready to watch me watch you? Like an even bigger creep?” You chuckled, mostly to try and relieve the tension that was bubbling up inside your body. He brushed past you and went to grab his keys, “My turn to drive.”

You followed his path and opened your mouth to argue, but you knew it was useless. With a sigh you grabbed your purse and followed him out the door to his SUV. He’d driven you a couple places in it, and you had to admit it had way more room than your car when it came to grocery shopping. You still weren’t ready to accept it as your main mode of transportation, though. You could’ve had your own nice car, and your father would’ve preferred it, but you didn’t like feeling so obvious. And, in the case of Nestor’s car, you hated feeling like you were constantly fighting to not touch anything in his pristine vehicle.

“You really don’t need to stay for my whole shift, Nestor,” you said as the two of you walked in the front door, “I’m sure there are more important things you could spend a couple hours doing and then just come pick me up afterwards.”

He shook his head, opening the door for you, “Can’t do it.”

It was a busier shift—Saturday’s always were. You almost felt bad for Nestor, but at least there were enough people to keep him occupied and have him feeling like he was actually serving a purpose by being there with you. He never said anything, but you knew that things had been so quiet lately and it was probably a big change of pace from whatever he was usually doing for the Galindos. Any time you tried to ask or allude to it, though, he went silent.

You finally had a moment to pause and catch your breath for a second when you saw Nestor waving you over. You leaned over the bar so he wouldn’t have to shout whatever it was that he had to say to you, sporting your best Customer Service Smile so the people around you wouldn’t get clued in on anything.

“Guy over in that booth has been eyeing you for the last fifteen minutes.”

You were about to tell him that there were always creeps leering at you while you were working, but when you saw who he was talking about, your facial expression dropped. You saw Nestor’s whole body tense up and he went to stand, but you put your hands over his to stop him. He turned to you, clearly confused and on-edge.

“He’s not a problem. Just a shitty ex-boyfriend. He’s annoying, but not a security concern. You can sit, it’s fine,” you nodded to him to reassure him before plastering a smile back on your face and getting back to your other patrons.

Nestor didn’t like the fact that the man kept staring at you. And despite the fact that you had explicitly told him that he wasn’t an issue, there was still a very strong urge to get up and physically throw him out of the building. For the sake of your job, though, Nestor kept himself seated, keeping an eye on everyone else while paying special attention to the man in the booth.

You don’t know how you missed him coming in, but you almost wished that Nestor hadn’t said anything. Now you couldn’t help but to feel him staring at you and it was a difficult feeling to ignore. It would have been a total abuse of power to ask Nestor to go over and get in his face, and you knew it, but the option was still tempting nonetheless. You were glad that he was at least keeping to himself.

That luck ran out too, though. You were looking across the expanse of the bar to see if anyone needed anything, and sure enough he was standing at the far end, a smug grin on his face because he knew that you were going to have to come over and talk to him. Jade saw the look on your face and was about to intervene but you politely waved her off, knowing that it wasn’t her drama to deal with.

“What can I get you, Marco?” your voice wasn’t nasty, but it wasn’t laden with the typical sweetness you used on other customers.

“Whatever’s good on tap tonight, sweetheart.”

“Don’t call me that,” you didn’t look at him as you grabbed a glass and picked a beer out of the tap lineup.

“That your new boyfriend?” he nodded towards Nestor as you handed him the glass.

“And if he is?” this conversation wasn’t going in a good direction, but you were trapped in it regardless.

“I was just wondering, because he’s spent an awful lot of the evening staring at you.”

“Could say the same about you,” you scoffed.

You went to walk away when he reached over the bar and grabbed your arm. His grip wasn’t tight, and you knew that the intention wasn’t to hurt you, just to get your attention, but you still had the overwhelming urge to bust his nose. You ripped your arm from his grip, taking a deep breath as you suppressed the desire to cause a scene.

You almost had no say in the matter, though, as Nestor materialized, placing his hands down hard on Marco’s shoulders, “Everything alright over here?”

Your eyes grew wide, not sure at all how this was going to play out. You could see the fear on Marco’s face, but you also knew that he was too proud and too stupid to back down from a fight, even if it was one he would definitely lose. He shrugged in an attempt to get Nestor’s hands off of his shoulders, “We’re fine.”

Nestor’s eyes zeroed in on you, practically begging you to give him the okay to do some damage, “All good, Y/N?”

Before you could answer, Marco spoke up again, “I said we’re fine.”

“I wasn’t fucking asking you,” Nestor’s voice was low but you could tell by the grimace on Marco’s face that he was definitely digging his fingers into his shoulders.

You nodded, “We’re good.”

Nestor released his grip and you could see Marco’s entire body relax. His gaze lingered on you for a moment and you nodded again to let him know that you could handle it. He didn’t say anything else as he made his way back down to where he had originally been sitting at the bar. His eyes never left the two of you though—you could feel his stare even though your back was to him.

“I figured you would’ve gone for a more warm and fuzzy type,” he tried to play it confidently but you could tell that he was shaken up.

You scoffed, “I’d leave while you still can. He decides to come back over again I won’t tell him to let you go.”

The color drained from Marco’s face, but he just couldn’t make himself smart enough to walk away, “Didn’t think you liked pushy guys.”

You braced your hands on your side of the bar and leaned forward slightly, “I don’t like guys who are pushy with me. Now, get the fuck out before you see how pushy he can really be.”

The second threat was enough to get through. He dropped money on the surface of the bar and left, leaving a full glass of beer behind. You chuckled to yourself as you brought the glass down and set it in front of Nestor. The two of you locked eyes for a moment but didn’t say anything about what had happened as you went about the rest of your evening.

You were cleaning up after your shift, once again it was just you, Jade, and Nestor. You and Jade were going back and forth about some of the ridiculous things that you had heard that night as you wiped down counters and tabletops. Nestor scrolled on his phone, a smile tugging at the edges of his mouth as he listened to the two of you.

When there was a lull in the conversation, he looked up and at you, “So, who was your friend that was here tonight?”

“Ah, he got to meet Marco,” Jade chuckled, shaking her head knowingly.

“Marco?” he raised his eyebrows.

You huffed, rolling your eyes, “Yea, Marco. With a capital M for mierda,” you let out a humorless laugh, “We dated a couple years back.”

“Still not over you?”

Jade interjected before you could, “Can you blame him?”

You smiled and shook your head, “I haven’t heard from him in a while. He pops up every now and then to see if he still has a shot. He never does. I turn him down, send him away, and the cycle repeats itself.”

“Too bad you didn’t have a Nestor sooner,” Jade was stacking glasses with a smug grin on her face, “Could’ve gotten rid of him a long time ago.”

“Nestor is not a bouncer for ex-boyfriends,” you laughed.

She laughed and shrugged, “It is a bonus though.”

You shook your head as the two of you finished up closing down the bar. While it was hectic sometimes when it was only the two of you, those were some of your favorite nights. You’d come to think of Jade more as an aunt or a second mother rather than your boss, and you liked the time you got to spend with her.

After getting home and letting Nestor check the house, the two of you took turns showering off the day. You were trying to figure out if Nestor just had multiple of the same sets of sweatpants and lounge shirts, or if he just washed the same set over and over again. You grabbed a fresh pint of ice cream out of the freezer and grabbed one for him too without bothering to ask, knowing that if you gave him the option he would always say no.

You set his down on the coffee table in front of him before taking a seat on the opposite end of the couch from him, giving him a little space. He looked back and forth between you and the ice cream with a slightly confused expression.

“A thank you for scaring off Marco,” you said with a smile as you scooped out a spoonful of your own.

“It’s my job.”

You raised an eyebrow, “That is not in your job description. He is not a threat to my father’s way of life, or mine for that matter. Now just eat the damn ice cream before I add doesn’t eat dessert to my Nestor Notes.”

He let himself smile as he picked up the pint of ice cream, “Thank you,” he took a spoonful, “And for future reference, my favorite flavor is mint chip.”

Your eyes grew wide,  mostly because he actually offered up a piece of personal information, but also at the fact that that was his favorite flavor, “Really? I don’t think I’ve ever met someone with that as their favorite.”

“Now you have,” he nodded before reaching for the controller to turn the TV on.

You chuckled to yourself as you settled back against the couch, pulling your legs up underneath you. You looked over at Nestor, who was slightly hunched over with his elbows resting on his knees. He had the controller in one hand, scrolling through shows, and his ice cream in the other. For a man who didn’t like music while he was driving in the car, he certainly did seem to see eye-to-eye with you when it came to always having the television on in the house for a light layer of background noise. Most of the time neither of you were paying super close attention to what was on, but it was just nice to break up the silence. In that moment, though, both of you felt extremely present.

“I’m one hundred percent eating this whole thing tonight,” you laughed, “It’s counting as dinner and dessert.”

He chuckled, “Sounds good.”

“We can go grocery shopping tomorrow and get real food,” you smiled as you kept your eyes glued to the container in your hands, “I’ll make sure to get you some mint chip.”

He nodded, smiling despite the fact that he wasn’t looking over at you, “I’d appreciate that.”

[darling-i-read-it]

The Wrath of the Lamb

3x13

Hannibal Lecter x reader x Will Graham 

Hannibal Re-Write Series Masterlist

Word Count: 4.7k (this is officially the longest thing i’ve ever posted, i beat my own record three times with this series lmao)

Warnings: spoilers for hannibal, murder, guns, pregnancy, burning, canniablism, death, gore probably more idk 

Author’s Note: My very favorite thing about this rewrite is watching the show and seeing how those writers and creators took pieces of the original source material to create their own show and I took both the novels and the show and just did this. I am very very proud of this. I am so happy I decided to do it. I was going to make a substantial change to the ending but I honestly am hoping that one day, season 4 will happen and maybe I’ll stil be writing. Thank you all SO MUCH for getting this far. I am so happy we got to share this together and that this show is as good as it is. I hope I did it justice because this show is so complex. I hope that you all enjoy and thank you again. 

I used some direct quotes from the script so some things may seem familiar 

Official Episode Summary: Will orchestrates a plot involving Hannibal in hope of slaying Francis Dolarhyde; Bedelia is concerned for Will and the lives of those close to him.

I don’t own these characters. They belong to author/director 

Tag List (is always open!) : @llperfectsymmetryll​ @ericacactus​ @vlightning95​ @sweetgoodangel​

(not my gif) 

You looked in the small window of Reba’s hospital room. You were standing outside of it beside your husband, your hand tight around your upper arm. You were almost cradling yourself in a way. This reminded you of when you had come to visit Abigail, when she was still in the hospital. As your eyes went from the window to Will you were once again thrown to the reality of now. If it had been Abigail in that room you would have looked to see a shaking, sweating puppy dog Will Graham who was so unsure of the world around him. This Will was so different. His hair was done, his shirt ironed. You had ironed it. 

He met your eyes and you gave him a small nod. He opened the door and you let him go inside. You did not follow him. He had enough empathy to give Reba and he understood where she was standing. You and him understood. You had all loved a monster.

-

Will grabbed your arm gently. You and him stood in front of Hannibal’s cage. You had no doubt that Hannibal saw you somewhere else. But nonetheless, you allowed yourself to ease in his presence. A thing Will was once again learning to do.

“Ding-dong, the Dragon’s dead,” Will said. Hannibal raised an eyebrow. He looked between the two of you and his smile faded.

“Pity. I had such plans,” he promised. You believed that. “Are congratulations in order?” Will approached the other man, just against the glass wall. 

“I didn’t kill him. Neither did Y/N. Suicide.”

“I would have liked to kill him as well,” you muttered. Hannibal seemed disappointed at that.

“Then he wasn’t as strong as the Dragon after all,” Hannibal whispered. 

“He was trying to stop,” Will argued. You weren’t sure why Will was arguing for Francis. You hated that he was. He had hurt you. Francis had scared you. You didn’t mention it but you could feel that Hannibal caught the emotion

“I was rooting for you, Will. I figured you would adore killing the man who attacked your family, it’s such a shame. You came all this way and didn’t even get to kill anybody. Only consolation is Dr. Chilton.” Hannibal paused for affect. “Congratulations for the job you did on him. I admired it enormously. Did you do it together? Was the idea hatched in the duo?” You straightened your back. 

“No,” Will said simply. 

“What a cunning couple you are,” Hannibal said anyway. 

“Are you accusing us of something?” you questioned.

“Does the enemy inside you agree with the accusation? Even a little bit?” Hannibal questioned. 

“We came back to stop the Dragon. He’s stopped,” Will stated. 

“Your family was on his itinerary Will. You’re safe now, all three of you. You can go home again. If there’s any point?” Hannibal suggested. You gave him a look. 

“I like my life,” Will said but he did not sound convincing. 

“It won't’ be the same. You’ll see it’s not the same,” Hannibal promised. You stepped closer to the glass.

“I want it to be the same. Together, we will make it the same,” you promised.

“Mutual assurances you try to exchange in the dark and in the day will pass through some refraction, making them miss their mark. When life becomes maddeningly polite…” Hannibal thought about his words and made you both think about them as well. “...think about me. Think about me, don’t worry about me.” 

Will was ready to leave. You could feel it. 

“You turned yourself in so I would always know where you are. You’d only do that if we, together, rejected you.” Will put his hand on the nape of your back. “Good-bye Hannibal.” Will started to lead you out. 

“Will…” He turned. “Was it good to see me?” 

“Good? No.” 

Will walked out and you followed him. He kept going but you stopped as the doors behind you shut. Your mind reeled and he could see it. 

“I need my own goodbye,” you whispered. He gave you a long look. He knew that this was what you needed. He knew it was. Still though, he didn’t want it. He wanted to protest. 

“I’m going back to the motel. Meet me there?” You nodded. He walked down the hall. You could feel his tenseness but ignored it as you walked back into the room with Hannibal. He was clearly surprised to see you. 

“Was that not good-bye?” he questioned. You shrugged.

“That was Will’s good-bye. Not mine.” 

You walked in front of the glass and sat down. Hannibal did the same. You were arguably one of the only people he would sit down like that for. 

“I take for granted, on occasion, that you enjoyed my company,” you told him. You played with the hem of your pants. “I recognize, to a fault, that you would eat me if let out. You would eat my husband. You would eat my baby. But still…” You smiled, reminiscently. “I loved you.” 

He was pleased to hear this. He was so pleased.

“You never would have left him. Not even if I killed him in the kitchen,” he suggested. You thought about that for a moment. You thought back to that terrible day and felt it again.

“I suppose you’re right.”

“When you came in to interview for the secretary position I had already picked someone. I didn’t want to be rude, so I let you in.” He stopped. That was the end of his story.

“Why would you let me work for you?”

“Because I liked you. And as it turns out, we would have met eventually. Through Will.” You nodded.

“But it would have been different.” 

“Yes. Yes it would have.” You pressed your hand against the glass. He looked at it and he did not put his hand on yours. 

“Will is right. I turned myself in so you and he would always know where I am. Because you rejected me.” Your hand fell off the glass slowly.

“I deserved that.” 

You stood up and took a deep breath.

“Good-bye Hannibal.” 

-

You walked up to the hotel room and started to grab the key from your purse. You struggled for a moment but eventually found it. You slid it into the lock and unlocked it, walking inside. Your mind hung over Hannibal still when you were grabbed. You had just been able to see Francis coming at you enough to push him off, hitting his head. He ran out of the door and you followed him but eventually he went too far and you had to stop. You turned back to the room and ran back, your hand on your stomach as you breathed hard from adrenaline. 

Will sat in the chair, tied down. You rushed to him, locking the door behind you. 

You started to untie him.

“Who was that?” you asked. 

“The Red Dragon,” he breathed. You scoffed.

“Not dead then.”

“Clearly.” You got him out quickly.

“Are you alright?” you questioned. He nodded, rubbing his wrists. 

“Yeah. He didn’t hurt me much.” 

“What did he want?” 

You stared at each other. He didn’t need to tell you. You knew. 

-

Will, you and Jack Crawford stood in the hall leading to the morgue. 

“The obvious thing is to try to get him to come to us. Bait him with something he wants more than us,” Will said. Jack gave him a look.

“He’d be an idiot to go for it,” Jack muttered. 

“I know. Want to hear what the best bait would be?” you asked. Jack stared at you. You stared back at him.

“Not from you.”

“Hannibal would be the best bait,” Will said so that you didn’t have to. Jack shook his head.

“Why in God’s name would anybody want to meet Hannibal Lecter?”

“To kill him, Jack. The Dragon could absorb him that way, engulf him, become more than he is,” Will explained. It gave you a moment of just realizing that was how he used to speak about killers he didn’t know. 

“You sound pretty sure Will.”

“I’m not sure. Who’s sure? I’m not even sure Hannibal would draw the Dragon. I say it’s the best shot,” Will explained. 

“Set up how?” Jack asked.

“I would be hell to do, I know that. We’d take Hannibal into federal custody,” Will said. You gave him a look. 

“Because Y/N and Alana would never sit still for what you’re about to suggest?” You gave Jack a bitter role. 

“We fake an escape.” Will stared at you for a moment and Zeller called his name. “One moment.” He disappeared in the morgue that left you and Jack alone, annoyingly. 

“You’ll have both their lives in your hands,” you whispered. 

“Since when do you care about if Hannibal gets hurt under my care?” he questioned.

“Since now.” 

-

Bedelia did not look happy. You did not expect her to be happy either. You respected her bit of unhappiness. 

“We assign a moment to decision, to dignify the process as a timely result of rational and conscious thought. Yet what you propose is so thoughtless, I find it difficult to imagine that moment exists,” Bedelia said bitterly. You stood behind Will, walking around the room slowly. Will sat down across from her.

“Decisions are made of kneaded feelings. They’re more often a lump than a sum.” Bedelia stood up, walked to where she kept the drinks and poured herself one. She offered one to you that she then realized you couldn’t drink. 

“However you think you’re going to manipulate this situation to your advantage, think again,” Bedelia said.

“There is no advantage. It’s all degrees of disadvantage,” you argued. Bedelia fixed on you and Will with a piercing stare. 

“‘Who holds the Devil, let him hold him well. He will hardly be caught a second time’.” 

“I don’t intend Hannibal to be caught a second time.” A flicker of alarm played in her eyes. 

“Can’t live with him. Can’t live without him. Is that what this is?” she asked, bitterly.

“I guess this is my Becoming,” Will suggested.

“I just tag along,” you whispered.

“Because you have two crazy men in absolute love with you,” she told you. Will stood up, straightening his jacket. He was done here.

“I’d pack my bags if I were you Bedelia. Meat’s back on the menu.” 

-

Alana looked annoyed. She sat in Jack’s office, a place you hated to the ends of the Earth. You messed with your hair a bit, leaning against the wall.

“Hannibal has tentatively agreed to the deal, as proposed,” Alana said.

“What will make him less tentative?” 

“He wants Will and Y/N to ask him.” She turned to him. “He wants you to say ‘please’.” You gave a bitter smile. So very like him.

“I’ll say ‘pretty please’,” Will said. He was preparing to speak to you. He knew what he had to bring up would not blow over right.

“We will have a stampede when people think Lecter is out,” Jack explained.

“Let them stampede. Authenticity. And let them think I helped Hannibal escape,” Will muttered.

“Authenticity?” 

“Someone has to be close. When the Dragon comes.” He turned to you. “And just one person.” For a moment, the other three people in that room let that sink in. It was a surprise even to Jack Crawford that Will would even suggest that he go somewhere without you. 

“Sorry?”

“You can’t come,” he repeated.

“No I heard you, I was letting you change your sentence.” 

“I don’t think you need to be there. You don’t.” You clenched your fist and looked away from him. You understood where he was coming from. There was no reason for you to be there. You would only be in the way and you had a child. It would be stupid.

But still.

Every piece of you wanted to be there with Will and Hannibal. You were always there with them. They were your boys. 

You shook your head slowly. 

“What do you suggest I do?” you asked. Will thought about that for a moment.

“Whatever you want.” You couldn’t look at him. He pulled a pocket knife out of his jacket pocket and handed it to you. You took it slowly but still looked away from him. “For if you need it.” You weren’t sure what that meant and you didn’t want to ask. 

-

You and Will walked into the room with Hannibal again. You had hoped to never have to see it again. He did not look surprised to see you this time.

“I thought you said your good-byes.”

“We’ve had one last good-bye between us.” Hannibal was tied up in a straight jacket. You hadn’t been this close to him for a while. You wanted to touch him but you held yourself back. 

“You didn’t just say good-bye, though, did you? That little extra bit at the end for you Will. It felt very final for both of you. I believe it’s called a ‘mic drop’. You dropped the mic, but here you are having to come back and pick it back up again,” Hannibal explained. There were nurses in there with you that stopped any kind of intimacy feeling you may have.

“I knew you would keep running if I kept chasing you. I knew you wanted me to know exactly where I could find you. When we needed you,” Will said.

“And you did,” Hannibal commented. 

“I need you, Hannibal,” you said. Will finished it off.

“Please.” 

-

Will stared at Hannibal in his cage. Even as Francis drove by, he stared at Hannibal. His mind became blurry. But still, he saw the outline of Hannibal’s face in the fog that was his mind as it crashed. People died. People were killed. 

Hannibal was let out. 

Will did not panic. He figured this would happen. He knew this would happen. 

When his mind regained his moment, he got up and stepped out of the broken car. Hannibal crossed to the police car as he took off his straight jacket. He opened the door and pulled the dead driver from the vehicle.

“What are you doing?” Will called.

“You know Will, you worry too much. You’d be so much more comfortable if you relaxed with yourself. Are you coming? He’s not going to kill us here. What he wants to do requires something a little more private.” Hannibal behind the wheel was an interesting scene. The side window was smashed, blood splashed across the inside of the windshield. Hannibal pulled up alongside Will, opened the passenger door and shoved a dead police officer out of the vehicle. He leaned over the seat.

“Going my way?” Will looked through the car door and then looked back down the road.

“You know it can’t just be the two of us,” Will said.

“It never was and never will be, just the two of us.” 

-

You sat in Jack’s office. Will’s pocket knife was in your hand tightly. You were getting a play by play that way which was the only reason you were truly there. You sat in a chair, head in one of your hands as you heard the voices go out and static. You looked up and Jack looked at you.

“What is that? What happened?” 

“Hold on.” He dialed a number.

There was an excruciatingly long moment in silence. You held your breath, biting your finger gently as you waited. Someone spoke on the other line. You couldn’t make out what they were saying. 

Then he hung up and looked at you. You stared back at him and waited.

“They were intercepted. We don’t know yet if there are any survivors.” You stared at him and he waited for that backlash. He was ready for it. But there was no anger that went over your face, instead it was just a small laugh. You shook your head and that laugh fell. 

He saw that face and he recognized the look in your eyes. 

“Do you remember the first judge of Will’s trial?” you asked quietly. 

“What?” 

“Do you. Remember. The first judge. In my husband's murder trial?” you asked again, louder this time. 

“Yeah. Hannibal killed him.” You widened your eyes and shook your head slowly.

“No. I did.”

He had no time to react. You opened the pocket knife and leaned across the desk, slashing his throat. 

-

You reached the motel room quickly after that. You pulled in at the same time you saw a car pull into the parking lot behind you. You got out of your car, hands still stained in Jack Crawford’s blood. The car slowed down beside you. You looked into it and the window rolled down, revealing Will in the passenger seat, Hannibal in the driver's seat.

You let out an audible sigh of relief. 

“Jack told me you were dead,” you said as you rushed to the window.

“Get in the back,” Will said gently. He went to grab your hand but stopped when he saw the blood. Hannibal noticed it at the same time. You did not address it, instead you got in the back of the car with them. 

Hannibal pulled out of the parking lot and away.

“The blood isn’t...the b-” Will started but you cut him off.

“No. I slit Jack Crawford’s throat,” you stated. Hannibal, pleasantly surprised, laughed. Will turned around to look at you. He didn’t look exactly surprised at you. More surprised at his lack of shock.

“About time,” Hannibal said. 

“Is he dead?” Will asked. You shrugged.

“I left before figuring that out.” 

You were so happy to be back beside the both of them. You just let out another sigh of relief.

-

You got out of the car and admired the scenery. It was such a Hannibal place, you weren’t even surprised. The sun setting, the cliff, the way the house stood on the Earth. So serendipitous. 

“The bluff is eroding. There was more land when I was here with Abigail. More land still when I was here with Miriam Lass,” Hannibal said. Will looked over the view and down the cliff a bit. Water, crashing. Gorgeous.

“Now you’re here with us,” Will said. 

“And the bluff is still eroding. You and I are suspended over the roiling Atlaninic. Soon all of this will be lost to sea,” Hannibal explained. You walked over to where Will lingered by the cliff. Hannibal walked away from you to find the key to the home. 

“This isn’t the right place for us to be,” he whispered.

“Yes it is,” you countered. 

“Running from the law with a child?”

“Sounds like something we would do and do well.” He looked over at you away from the view. 

“Let’s get your hands cleaned.” 

-

The sun set completely. The moon showed through the glass walls. You stared through the view and Will stood beside you, watching you watch your new life. He put his hand on your shoulder and you leaned into him as Hannibal walked into the room. Hannibal pulled a wine bottle from the rack and poured two glasses of wine. 

“I apologize that I cannot offer you any wine Y/N,” he said. You turned to him. Will’s hand dropped. 

“No worries.  I never liked it anyway,” you lied. Will took a glass. 

“You’re playing games with yourself in the dark of the moon,” Hannibal said, moving toward the window as well. “Wasn’t surprising that I heard from the Great Red Dragon. Was it surprising when you both heard from him?”

“Yes and no,” Will said. 

“Surprised me. I just wanted to sleep in my own bed,” you whispered. Hannibal smiled gently but that quickly fell off his features. 

“You intend to watch him kill me?” Hannibal questioned. You shook your head but Will spoke first.

“I intend to watch him change you.” Hannibal took that in, a sad smile on his face as he fingered the corkscrew. He saw it in his hands and wondered if he should kill you. Kill Will. Get it over with. Instead, he uses the tip to cut the seal on the wine bottle. 

“My compassion for you both is inconvenient,” Hannibal stated.

“If you’re partial to beef products, it’s inconvenient to be compassionate toward a cow,” Will muttered.

“Save yourself, kill them all?” Hannibal asked.

“I don’t know if we can save ourselves. And maybe that’s just fine,” you said. 

“No greater love hath man than to lay down his life for a friend’,” Hannibal recited. Will looked out the window and sensed the danger.

“He’s watching us now,” Will whispered. He looked at you and you looked back at him. You were staring at each other the second that the glass wall shattered, impaling Hannibal in the stomach. You turned quickly, moving toward Will subconsciously. Hannibal’s wine bottle dropped from his hand and a large red stain on his sweater blossomed with blood. Glass shards fell through the air and beyond them, the patio is just the black knight. In the darkness came Francis Dolarhyde.

Hannibal slid down to his knee. Blood pumping from the gunshot wound in his abdomen. Will grabbed you but Francis raised his gun to the two of you. 

“Don’t run. I’ll catch you.” Hannibal glanced down at his belly wound.

“Hello, Francis,” he said.

“Hello, Dr. Lecter,” he echoed. Francis pulled a tripod from his bag and tossed it to you before pointing the gun at your head. Will took the tripod from your hands and began to set it up. 

“I’m so happy you chose life, Francis. Suicide is the enemy.” 

“I had one rag of pride that Reba McClane gave me. It told me that suicide was a sorry end,” Francis explained.

“You were seized by a fantasy life with the brilliance and freshness and immediacy of childhood. It took you a step beyond alone.” Francis pulled out a 16-mm camera from his bag and handed it to you who fixed it on the tripod, still at gunpoint. 

“I’m going to film your death, Dr. Lecter, as dying, you meld with the strength of the Dragon.”

“It’s a glorious and rather discomfiting idea,” Hannibal muttered. You back away from the camera and he reached for the gun that was in his waistband. You wanted to reach for Will’s knife he had given you but hesitated. 

“Watching the film will be wonderful, but not as wonderful as the act itself.”

Before you even knew what was happening, a knife slammed in Will’s face. You screamed. Francis shot you in the stomach. You stumbled back and then moved forward again. Will fell through the broken wall you attacked Francis. You had enough strength to get him outside.

Francis lifted Will off the ground and Will stabbed him with the knife that was once in his cheek. As you found your own knife, Francis started to again fight Will. As you moved you saw Will rag-doll across the stones. Will’s blood spattered across the thick drops to the stone. He got to his hands and knees. You went to stab Francis again but he got to you first, slashing your side. It stunned you enough that you fell back on the stones beside your husband. 

Will pulled his gun out and Francis immediately disarmed him, tossing the gun over the bluff. You wanted to scream but nothing came out. Just as Francis went to slash him again Hannibal came out of the darkness. He tried to snap Franics neck but the man's neck was too strong and he swatted Hannibal away. 

The two of them staggered across the patio. You tried to get up and Will did as well. He tossed Hannibal off but you and Will were up again.

You started to use your knives on his legs, hoping to disarm him. Hannibal grabbed a hatchet that he found off to the side. He slammed it into Francis achilles tendon and then his knee. 

You, Will and Hannibal all stood now. Exhausted but equal. Francis bleeded from his wounds, leg destroyed. Hannibal staggered up to him and bit out Francis throat. He arched his back and blood fell all around him.

Eventually he fell and let out one last breath as he stared at Will in front of him. 

Dead. 

Will started to finally feel his wounds, as did you and Hannibal. He looked down at his hands which were drenched in red. 

“It really does look black in the moonlight,” he whispered. You didn’t know what he was talking about but you didn’t ask. You stumbled to Hannibal who caught you. In his other arm, Will stood. The three of you embraced, not quite hugging, not not hugging. 

You caught your breath together. The night was still otherwise. 

“See,” Hannibal breathed. You did not look up at him. Will’s head was against his chest. You were buried in his neck. You grabbed Will’s hand and he held it for dear life. “This is all I ever wanted for you,” he choked. “For all of us.” 

Hannibal sounded broken. 

You felt broken. 

Will looked broken.

You closed your eyes, brushing back the tears that you didn’t know were there. 

“It’s beautiful,” you whispered. And you weren’t lying. Will stared at you and he genuinely felt that it was beautiful. He felt what you did. A single tear cut through the blood on his face and fell. 

You held onto him and Hannibal tightly. 

These were your boys. These were the people you had risked it all for. And you did not regret it for even a moment.

Hannibal let out a shaky breath and you felt the Earth underneath you move. You felt the ground and then you did not. 

Where you once stood was drenched in blood. It was illuminated by the moon. If someone was to stand there, despite there no longer being a living person standing there, they would feel the emotions that had left. That place was no longer still. It was breathing. 

The sea underneath it was breathing. It had engulfed three people who loved each other more than anyone had loved anyone. 

The waves crashed against the rocks, the only noise left in the dark of the night.

[raeloganthesonic06fangirl]

Rank all of the disguises Quackerjack wore from worst to best. All of them. >:)

... Hoo-boy, this is going to be a matter of my personal opinions, and because I'm quite literal, you specifically said "disguises" but I think I'll toss in alternate costume changes commentaries as well. I had to combine stuff since Tumblr has a a 10 image limit still after all these years. 👀

So, anyway, worst to best? This is going to be a long post, lol

#10

Yet another Joker reference saturating the already broken comic version of QuackerJack

Oh my God, I swear, I know too much about Joker lore than I want to. It's not that I hate the character, but Joker is freaking everywhere now, and this one in particular is just disgusting because this is referencing the variation of Joker that cut his own face off and stapled the rotting meat flesh back on his head.

I mean, it's bad enough to try to shoehorn "The Killing Joke" elements into a Disney spin off franchise, which, while a phenomenal story that is a must read for Batman fans on account of how influential it is in the modern mythos... It's also freaking disturbing content-wise and it's weird that it's being referenced in a franchise that was originally aimed at kids. This also applies to referring to "Death of the Family", which, again, has Joker mutilating his own face just because he can. That knowledge alone is freaky when we realize this is the last image of original continuity QuackerJack, and we can't see his face, and he also has a Duck face mask hung up on the wall. Also, there's a wanted poster of QuackerJack pinned up that replicates a famous wanted poster for Joker. The whole panel and outfit is just Joker fanboy-ing and infecting QuackerJack with this. I can't like this, it's just all sorts of gross and disturbing when I know exactly what materials it's referring to. 😒

#9

Anything QuackerJack is forced to wear against his choice or will

Not pictured: That time Paddywhack stripped him down to his boxers and socks.

Jumpsuits and business attire is clearly not something QuackerJack would chose to wear on his own. He's not happy in them.

#8

Darkwing Dubloon Universe QuackerJack

This is a pirate costume? Oh, Jacky, you can do better, dude.

#7

This giant teddy bear with murder in its eyes

This counts as a costume because he did wear it. Prove me wrong, lol.

#6

Anything QuackerJack wears as either an additional ensemble for adapting his outfit to the situation/gag, or just as a one off joke that wasn't meant to be incognito

It's clear that Jacky likes to dress up. This guy was probably a theater kid in his youth or something, either that or costume designer for drama class.

#5

Nega-QuackerJack gets a separate entry for both costume changes because he's one of several different versions of QuackerJack that exists

If he had more screentime, I could put him higher on the list, but Nega-QuackerJack is a cinnamon bun, shaped like a friend, gosh I cannot express how much I adore this version of QuackerJack and it's an absolute crime that his screentime doesn't even exceed 9 minutes. This is what I imagine QuackerJack was probably like personality-wise before he snapped. A good soft boy, and I love that his Darkwing Duck hat sits on top of his cap, as does the face mask. He's got a costume on a costume, and his tinkering outfit includes two magnifying glasses adapted into eyeglasses, I bet he made that rig himself.

#4

The ever trusty Trenchcoat and Fedora

He's used this multiple times, and it somehow manages to flawless in concealing his identity until he throws it off himself. The only thing I could add to it as a suggestion is that maybe he should tuck the dingle-dangles of the cap into the back, so that it doesn't immediately give away his appearance to us at a first glance. Other than that, nearly flawless.

#3

Dr. Heebie

The introduction atmosphere alone gets bonus points, look at that lighting for that framing bit, that's amazing. I love the attempt to hide one of his most identifying features, his toothy grin, by wearing a mask. At this point, I think everyone just mentally accepted his cap as a feature on his head because regardless of how visible it is, no one in-universe seems to catch on that he's wearing it in all his costumes.

#2

Dr. Loon

Words cannot accurately describe how much I love the effort in this. Instead of hiding his main body costume under the new outfit, he's gone and taken it out of the equation entirely, leaving the cap and shoes instead. He's got pants, he's got his cap braided like hair to tame its dingle-dangles behind him, he's got glasses on, he's got a fake beard strapped to his face with obvious straps and it hanging so loosely, he's got another hat on... The glasses, beard and hat all draw attention away from the fool's cap. He's put a lot of effort into this, and this is one of my favorites of his overall costumes he's used.

#1

An Actual Jester

This disguise is perfect. He didn't have to change anything about his existing fashion, he was 100% prepared for this exact situation. Brilliant. 😁

[bluejayblueskies]

agony quiets to pain

Words: 2.1k Relationship: Jonathan Sims/Gerry Keay Tags: AU - Pre-Canon, AU - Canon Divergence, Hurt/Comfort, Tenderness, Burns Warnings: burns, aftermath of hospitalization, implied abuse/neglect, self-depreciation

Ao3 link in source!

.

Gerry aches. Which is a step up from total agony at least, but still, not pleasant. And then of course there’s the bandages, still covering nearly every inch of his body and hiding the mess that lies beneath.

 (Permanent scarring, the doctor had said with a plastered-on expression of sympathy. We’re very sorry. There’s nothing we can do.)

 It’s fine. He’ll be fine. He always is, isn’t he?

 And to top it all off, he’s lost the book—the Leitner he’d been sent to fetch. He fully expects to step out of the hospital doors to see cool blue eyes staring back at him, hard with disappointment despite the benign expression on her face and accompanied by a casual, “Let’s go home now, Gerard,” that he would recognize for the threat it is. 

 Instead, he sees a man, thin and tired-looking, sat atop the short wall outside the hospital doors with a lit cigarette held between two fingers and a scarf wrapped tightly around his neck to chase away the late December chill. And Gerry realizes that the nurse never said exactly who he was being released to. The relief that overcomes him is dizzying, and he barely registers the nurse handing him his discharge papers before disappearing back into the hospital.

 “Jon?” Gerry says, his voice cracking a bit around the words (though he tells himself it’s just from the lingering effects of the book, filling his lungs with smoke).

Jon looks up. When his eyes land on Gerry, he quickly snubs his cigarette out on the wall next to him, stands, and takes quick steps toward Gerry. He looks, for a moment, like he’s going to wrap Gerry in a hug before thinking better of it and simply fluttering his hands aimlessly in the air for a moment before dropping them back to his sides. Gerry’s disappointed and grateful in equal measure; given that his skin is still raw and sensitive, he doesn’t think a hug would feel pleasant. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t ache for one anyway.

 “Are you okay?” Jon says, then shakes his head before the words have even finished leaving his mouth. “Right, no, of- of course you’re not. What I mean is.” Jon pauses, as if considering, before saying softly, “Are you all right?”

 It’s the same question, technically. But Gerry knows it’s not. And so he decides to answer honestly. 

 “Not really.” Gerry rubs his left thumb over one of the tattoos on his right knuckles, the motion a habit born of nerves and anxieties. The skin there is smooth and unblemished. Funny, that. “All this, and I didn’t even get the book.”

 “Oh,” Jon says quietly. There’s a sadness there that Gerry doesn’t want to look too closely at. Mostly because it’ll look too much like pity, and he doesn’t think he can handle that right now.

 A sharp wind cuts through Gerry’s clothes, making him shiver and then wince as the sensation sends pain skittering across his skin. The unhappy expression on Jon’s face is erased in an instant, replaced by concern and determination. “Here, let’s- let’s go home, and we can figure everything else out after that. Okay?”

 Figure it out. As if Mary Keay could be placated so easily. Still, Gerry nods, and he follows Jon to his car, twinges of agony pulsing up his legs with each step that he tries to hide. Given Jon’s grim expression as he helps Gerry into the car the best he can without touching Gerry’s skin too much, he doesn’t quite succeed.

 The car used to be Jon’s grandmother’s, out of style by a decade or so with roll-up windows and a lingering cigarette smell that no amount of air fresheners seem to eliminate. Gerry leans his head back against the seat and breathes it in. It’s not something you’d bottle up and sell as perfume, but compared to the sterile antiseptic smell of A&E, it’s heavenly. Jon starts the car, looks over at Gerry once like he’s making sure he’s still there, and begins to drive. His hands shake ever so slightly on the steering wheel. Gerry pretends not to notice.

 Gerry isn’t surprised when Jon takes them to his flat. Of course he isn’t, Jon’s the one who picked him up, so logically they’d go back to his place. Still, Gerry can’t help the rush of dizzying relief that sweeps through him when they arrive, like he’d still expected to be faced with rusty red brick and a weathered wooden sign that seemed to laugh at him with every creak of its hinges. 

 “Thank you,” Gerry says. He doesn’t bother to hide the way the tightness in his throat chokes off the words.

 Jon’s quiet for a moment. Gerry can almost hear it—echoes of a conversation oft-repeated, useless and fantastical and irritating only because Gerry knows that Jon is right. I wish you wouldn’t go back, Jon would say. And Gerry would say, I know. And sometimes it would continue, if Jon were feeling particularly incensed at the moment. Sometimes it wouldn’t. Gerry almost hates that more, if only because of the expression that would come across Jon’s face, something profoundly sad and weary and, underneath it all, hurt.

 It’s almost enough to convince him.

 Almost.

 “Yeah,” Jon says, his hands tightening on the wheel for a moment before going slack. He removes the key and fiddles with it absently. “You know I…” Jon trails off, worries his bottom lip between his teeth, then says abruptly, “Well. No use just sitting here, I suppose.”

 It’s clipped, a bit brusque. Rude, if Gerry didn’t know better. But he does, and so his mouth settles into a small smile as he follows Jon into his flat, despite the burning, chafing sensation on his skin as his bandages shift as he walks.

 God, he feels like shit.

 As soon as they’re inside, Jon insists that Gerry sits on the couch, and Gerry goes without complaint, his aching body screaming in relief as he sinks down onto the cushions and finally takes weight off the soles of his feet, which did not come out of the experience unscathed. There’s clattering from the kitchen, a few muttered curses, and before too long Jon’s in front of him with a glass of water with a straw in it and a bowl of what looks like hastily reheated curry. He hesitates a moment before saying, “Can you… hold things?”

 Gerry flexes his fingers experimentally. His hands got the best of it, given the myriad of tattoos across the joints of his fingers. Still, the entirety of his palm and the pads of his fingers are red and inflamed, and though they’re no longer bandaged, the needles of pain that shoot through him at the motion draw a small gasp from his lips despite his best efforts to keep it contained. Jon’s forehead sets into a firm line at that, like he’s considering something, before nodding once. “Right.”

 He sets the dishes on the floor, disappears back into the kitchen for a moment, and reemerges carrying one of the wooden chairs from his kitchen table. He looks a bit winded when he sets it down in front of Gerry, which might be amusing in any other circumstance, but Gerry’s too busy wondering what the hell he’s doing.

 Then, Jon retrieves the dishes, sits in the chair, and holds the glass of water in front of him stiffly. And Gerry realizes, all at once, what’s happening.

 “Is this where I’m supposed to say ‘ah’?” Gerry says, because joking about it is preferable to protesting or staring at Jon in shock or—god forbid—getting flustered. 

 Jon seems to appreciate it because the tension in his arms dissipates ever so slightly, and he says primly, “If you’d prefer. Though I really don’t see how that will aid in the process.”

 “Prick,” Gerry says, not without fondness. And it’s only a little awkward when he leans forward and, while Jon holds the glass, drinks. He hadn’t realized how thirsty he was until that moment, and he should probably be a bit embarrassed by how quickly he empties the glass, but he can’t quite bring himself to care when he sees the little pleased expression on Jon’s face. The affection that accompanies it, however slight, is enough to squeeze at Gerry’s chest until he finds it hard to breathe, and he clears his throat slightly to relieve the pressure.

 The curry comes next, and it’s significantly more awkward to have Jon spoon-feeding him chicken and red bell peppers with careful precision so as to avoid any spillage. But Jon talks during it, which helps. It’s mundane things, like the case Jon’s currently working on at the Institute and what he had for lunch that day and the grocery list he’s compiling for the weekend. He transitions after a bit into a discussion of a documentary he watched recently about the origins of humanity, and Gerry gets to sit back and listen to Jon grow increasingly more passionate about bonobos and homo erectus and the unique structure of Neanderthal bones. 

 It’s nice, to learn about things like this. To learn from Jon. He spent his childhood chasing after cursed books, his mother giving him half-hearted studies in between that she deemed sufficient enough to be considered homeschooling. He’s just lucky he knows basic maths, honestly. But he knows a lot about books. Even if they’re mostly just the spooky kind.

 So Jon talks, and Gerry listens. And he tries so very hard not to label the warm feeling in his chest as love, but, well. It’s hard not to fall in love with Jonathan Sims. And he doesn’t particularly want to try to stop it.

 Soon the bowl is empty, and Jon holds it awkwardly against his chest for a moment before setting it aside on the floor. He’d stopped in the middle of a discussion about Stone Age tools, and Gerry wants so badly to ask him to continue. But there’s a weariness in him now, the food and water having chased away the gnawing hunger in his stomach and the dryness of his throat and leaving behind only bone-deep exhaustion. 

 So he doesn’t say anything. Eventually, Jon breaks the silence between them, his words stuttering and jagged, like he hasn’t quite figured out how to smooth them into shape. “I. I don’t really know. Uh. What else can I- can I do? To help. To make things easier.” He pauses, his fingers tapping a nervous rhythm on his thigh, before looking at Gerry with a fragile expression and saying, “I’m sorry, Gerry. I- I should have been there. I shouldn’t have let you go alone.”

 “No,” Gerry says firmly. The thought of Jon being like him—wrapped up like a mummy, all agony and raw skin and cracked lines across his body that promise to leave him blotchy and scarred forever—makes him nauseous. Better that it’s him. He can handle it. He always has before. “It’s not your fault. And I don’t want you to blame yourself, okay? I know how you get, so don’t. There’s nothing you could have done.”

 Gerry can see the protest written all over Jon’s face, in the way he purses his lips and fixes his eyes firmly at a spot over Gerry’s shoulder. But all Jon says is, “That doesn’t make it better. So please—tell me what I can do.”

 There’s a kind of desperation in Jon’s eyes at that, a need to categorize a problem and find the best course of action in order to resolve it. His hands are curled into fists on his lap; Gerry wants so badly to take them in his own, to uncurl Jon’s fingers and thread them with his and squeeze until all the tension’s bled out of Jon’s body. Instead, he says, voice heavy with exhaustion, “I think I’d just like to go to bed. It’s been a long few days.”

 Jon lets out a small, humorless laugh at that. “I suppose it has.”

 Gerry doesn’t protest when Jon offers him his bed, just offers quiet thanks before making his way relatively painlessly to the bedroom. He considers trying to remove his clothes, then thinks better of it and gingerly climbs onto the bed with them still on. 

It’s uncomfortable in every way possible. Gerry falls asleep all the same, the soft sleep well Jon had given him before disappearing back into the living room lingering in his mind until he drifts off into a restless slumber, his dreams filled with burning flesh and a fear he doesn’t think he’ll ever quite shake.

[ultraintrovertedgryffindor]

Sweet Pandemonium - Gally (The Maze Runner) Part 14 of 16

Bleh.

Tags because apparently persons like this story enough to wanna be tagged??? : @multifandom-fangirl4​

~~~~~~~~~~

“You know what to do, right?”

“Yes, Thomas. I’ve known for the last ten times you’ve asked me.” You snapped quietly, not trying to draw attention to yourself as Thomas walked you back to where you were before he found you.

“I’m sensing a bit of hostility...”

You closed your eyes briefly as you sighed heavily, Thomas was really starting to get on your nerves, and it was definitely something you did not need right now. “Sorry, I’m just nervous.”

“You have every right to be. But it’ll be okay.”

You stared up at the building in the distance, the building that you had been trapped in for the past months. You dug your nails into your palms to feel something other than dread.

“You know where to meet us.” You hummed in agreement, not trusting your own voice not to waver as you forced yourself to be strong. “You’ll do great.” He said, bringing you in for a warm hug. “I’ll see you soon.”

You nodded weakly, watching as Thomas gave you a sympathetic smile as he walked away and soon disappearing into the crowd of busy citizens of the Last City.

Every step forward, you kept reminding yourself that you were doing this for Minho. For Minho. For Minho. For Minho.  

As soon as you were right outside the double doors leading into the building, you heard a mechanical whirring from above you, looking up to see some sort of drone. You flinched when a couple of guards came out of the doors, prompting you to hold your hands up.

And just like that, you were thrown into a room by yourself, cuffed to a table with guards making sure you didn’t try to escape. You only started to feel relieved when Teresa pushed out from behind them. 

“Where have you been?” She all but yelled. “You were supposed to come back an hour ago!”

Play it cool, Y/N...

“I know, I know, but I can explain.” You said smoothly.

“Well, I sure hope it’s a good one.” She scowled.

“I had to use the bathroom, and we were already a ways away from here, so the dude guarding me let me go in the shop. When I got out, he was gone.”

“Gone?”

“Yeah, he left me, fucked off somewhere. I actually tried looking for him, but that only got me lost.” Teresa had the best poker face you’d ever seen in your life, so you had no idea if she was believing your story. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for this to happen.” You said, pretending to sound as sincere as possible.

“The guard left...and you didn’t try to leave?”

Here goes nothing...

“I couldn’t leave you, Teresa...” You said bashfully, casting your gaze downward to make it more believable.

There was a silence pause for a moment, and you were anxious to find out if Teresa would take the bait.

You suddenly heard the rattling of metal, and felt your wrists feel lighter, and you realized that your cuffs were removed. You looked up in slight shock to Teresa, who was smiling softly.

Quickly being escorted into an elevator, you dreaded what consequences would bestowed upon you for deviating from the original plan of walking around the city for a few hours. You couldn’t help but worry if Teresa would be reprimanded for what you did too. Even if she believed your story, there was no telling if Dr. Paige would.

Entering a room on whatever floor of the building you were on, you were immediately faced with the disappointed face of Ava Paige. And the almost smug look of Jensen, making you want to scowl, but you willed yourself to save it for another time.

“Well, look at the young blood who so graciously decided to return.” Jensen’s absurdly condescending voice rang out, but one look from Dr. Paige shut him up quickly.

“Teresa, I expect an explanation for this.”

“Yes.” Teresa responded, a hint of irritation in her voice. “She told me everything.”

Ava sighed, taking a seat with a glass of brandy in her hand. “Let’s hear it then.”

After Teresa explained, way better than you did, Ava Paige almost had a somewhat content look on her face. Whereas, Jensen only scowled.

“You can’t actually believe that she came back when she had the chance to escape.” He ranted to his superior.

“Teresa’s the only family she has left.” Paige sighed, taking one last sip of her drink before approaching the two of you. “From now on, only you accompany Y/N wherever she goes. Got it?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Teresa complied.

Jensen looked at you with so much disdain, you felt it burn through the back of your skull as you turned to follow Teresa back to the elevator.

Coming up to her apartment floor, Teresa unlocked her front door with a huff. “That went well.”

You chuckled weakly. “I can’t tell if you’re being sarcastic or not.”

Teresa gave you a knowing smile, making your heart swell against your will. You forced yourself to focus on the task at hand, you couldn’t truly be all sisterly with her, not until Minho was safe. But, you could pretend to. You were pretending...right?

“Where’d you get that?” Teresa’s voice snapped you out of your thoughts, causing you to look down where she was pointing. 

A big, angry red mark was seeping through the fabric of your jeans. Huh, you must’ve gotten it when you fell out that window. You were so caught up with reuniting with everyone, must’ve slipped your mind.

“Uh, I have no idea. I must’ve gotten on the way back.” You lied.

Teresa tsked, shaking her head disapprovingly, just like her mother used to. “You’ve always been clumsy. Sit down.” She ordered, walking away and coming back with a med kit.

“Nah, I’m not clumsy. Just a little absent minded.”

“In any case, you need to be more careful.” She scolded, taking out some peroxide. “Roll up your pant leg, please.” 

“Ow!” You hissed as she wasted no time cleaning the wound. “It’s just a scrape, there’s no need to do all this.” Your voice wavered as you felt the welt start to throb painfully. 

“Oh, so you’d rather me leave it to get infected?” You rolled your eyes as a response. “That’s what I thought. It won’t take that long. So how was the city anyway?”

“...Even more beautiful than from your window, kinda scary too.” You said sincerely.

“A lot of people huh?”

“Yeah...a lot.”

Teresa stayed silent, watching your expressions change as you thought about what you were going to say next.

“When I was out there, seeing all those people just going about their lives. Seeing the innocent children...it made me sad.”

Teresa smiled weakly. “There’s a girl here, Shai. She reminds me of you. Strong, resilient, always trying to look on the bright side...she has the Flare.”

“...I’m sorry.”

Teresa shook her head slightly, quickly regaining her composure. “We’re doing everything we can to help her. You and Minho are part of that. You both can help her.”

“Cause of the enzyme, right?”

“Yes.” She smiled.

“We just have to be tortured for it to work...”

“If there was another way, we would’ve found it by now.”

You sighed. “How’s Shai doing now?”

Teresa frowned as she finished bandaging your wound. “She’s alive...for now. She’s still fighting. Just one more treatment and we’ll have enough enzyme to help her.”

“Treatment?” Teresa gave you a knowing look, and you understood. “Oh...you call it treatment.”

“Don’t you want to help that little girl? Give her another chance at life? You can do that for her, Y/N.”

Of course you did. You wanted everyone, all the children in the world to be able to live.

“Just one more treatment?” You asked reluctantly.

“Just one more.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Yikes and bites I hate this one, but the next one will be better. Promise. It might give you feels and depression but oh well

[thoughts-on-bangtan]

Let’s talk: The uncertainty of Vminnies

by Admin 2

What has happened in the past few weeks? Why is there fear/uncertainty/insecurity among vminnies? Has anything changed between Vmin?  

Let’s look at Jimin’s 2020 birthday wishes for Taehyung on twitter.

At first glance, they are nothing special. They even caused some strange reactions among vminnies, as if people were expecting something grand or special. If we look at these birthday wishes a little more closely, however, we will find more "hidden" messages/meaning there than we think or realize upon first glance. Jimin wishes Taehyung a "happy birthday my friend/chingu" (a famous reference to Friends) and then Jimin adds: "let us live long and healthy". These are Jimin's wishes to Tae. That is, he (Jimin) and Tae (as the person who receives these wishes) should live long and healthy lives. Doesn't that sound like wishes for the both of them at the same time?

More below the cut:

Then everyone became interested in the cartwheel emoji Jimin used in his birthday tweet. We know this emoji from a past post Tae made when replying to an ARMY on weverse in which he described his great love for ARMY, how even if he’d outstretch his arms and legs it wouldn’t be enough to describe his love for them. What is the chances that Jimin unintentionally and completely coincidentally used the same emoji out of hundreds of emojis there are to choose from and that have nothing thematically to do with birthday wishes or birthdays in general? Usually a heart, a glass of champagne, a "100 years" or a flower is used for such occasions. The chances of Jimin accidentally choosing the same emoji as Tae for ARMY is basically as likely as winning the lottery, so to speak.

In my opinion, Jimin knew exactly what he was doing (since he always controls the situation and carefully considers what he’s doing in places where ARMY can see it) and chose this consciously and not any another emoji. Also Jimin loves Tae so much that he cannot describe it even when he reaches out his arms and legs! Regardless how you look at it, platonic or romantic, it’s simply cute and none of it shows any kind of sign of them having fallen out with each other or any such nonsense. This shows that he knows exactly what Tae is doing on social media and what he is posting, even if he himself isn’t that active anymore. The attached photo of Jimin, Hobi and Tae at the same time is no coincidence either. Whatever reason for choosing that one in particular he might’ve had, only they know, but perhaps by posting a picture of the three of them, instead of just a selca with Tae, he could avoid people trying to create some kind of weird story around vmin the way they’ve done in the past where every millimeter was analyzed and weird theories were created about Jimin trying to sabotage Tae etc. Also perhaps he simply chose that picture because they’re both close with Hobi, and we all know how much Hobi adores them.

Personally, I think we (as in vminnies) are right! Something has changed. I have some theories that may be completely stupid, but I'll write them anyway.

Taehyung is very happy lately. I haven’t seen him like this before, or at least not in a long time. He seems to be in such a good mood and relaxed. I first noticed it during the LGO/BE release vlive where Tae was supposed to paint Jimin’s lips. Later, during his birthday vlive, I felt that he was just so happy. So if Vmin has a romantic relationship, then in my opinion Vmin has settled their status. Personal life remains private and BTS Jimin and BTS V are members of BTS and do their jobs. 

However, if VMIN aren’t in a romantic relationship, Tae's happiness comes from completely different reasons (professional and personal ones) unrelated to Jimin. In such case I wouldn’t though quite understand his Weverse spams and Jimin related posts, as well as things like him snuggling up against Jimin in that Winter Package photo shoot and other such situations. 

If Vmin are just best friends, why are they acting so weird around each other at times? What's stopping them from behaving with each other like they do with the other BTS members? Why don't they show they are "only friends" like Tae with Jin or Jimin with Jungkook? As "best friends" they “should” even (in the name of the band's motto) demonstrate their connection and make their friendship known, as they did with their song. However, they don't. Their "moments" and physical closeness are rare on camera. Why is that? 

My (logical) answer is that VMIN is more than just friends and that is not to be shown. Firstly, it goes far beyond the band, and secondly, it probably doesn’t fit with BHs plans. I don't want to say that someone is hiding them or anything. No! I think it's a conscious choice that Vmin and their team at BH made, for themselves (to spare themselves even more hate than they already get for basically as dumb a reason as breathing next to each other) and also due to outside reasons. It’s a known fact that gay relationships are an issue in Korea (and many other places around the world), as well as idols dating in general, so it wouldn't be surprise to me if even the idea of showing any of it would simply go against various contracts with investors, marketing, politics and the public opinion. 

If Vmin were not romantic, not even friends, but two members that secretly hate each other, as some antis love to suggest and insinuate, then I see no reason for such strange behavior. Vmin are professionals, and if that were the case, as in bad blood between the members, no one would know about it or ever find out about it. We’d never realize it or even feel anything like that happening. If that were the case, Tae wouldn’t be posting about Jimin on Weverse, and Jimin wouldn't specifically point out things like him laughing all day thanks to Tae. After all, back in 2018, nobody suspected that BTS had gotten so close to disbanding until they told us about it, or that Outro: Tear was a song born out of the emotions they felt at that time. So if vmin continue to post things and say these things, chances are things are going well and there is simply no reason to worry.

And here I come back to my original conclusion that Vmin is simply something more that cannot be shown and that they don’t want to showcase blatantly to the public in front of the cameras. They don't want to give people reasons and material for them to go and create those twisted YouTube videos with manipulative alternative facts of jealousy or anger or whatever else they create for fake drama and clickbait. And yet we saw Jimin comment on a post containing drawings of him and Tae and complemented the person, which, among other things, makes me think that vmin is still very much vmin.

In my opinion, 95z is (still) love.

I know Admin 1 posted something similar to this yesterday, but I wanted to add my two cents to the conversation as well.

[darylandbethfanforever9]

Devil’s Backbone

Devil’s Backbone

Chapter 3

AN: I hope everyone is enjoying the story so far, and thank you everyone who has commented, reblogged or liked the story :)

Story Rating: Explicit, 18+

Warnings: Smut, violence, flashbacks of past sexual assault, descriptions of torture and racial hate. Not Tony Stark friendly.

Relationships: Bucky/OC, Steve/Natasha, Billy/Wanda/Grant, Sam/Sharon, Clint/Laura, eventual Clint/Yelena and Frank/Karen Page.

Summary: In the aftermath of the Blip, Bucky struggled to find his place among the world and the Avengers. However, when he is sent on a mission to Madripoor to investigate a mysterious woman, he starts to realize maybe his past isn’t too far behind him. Co-Written with WalkingPotterGirl14.

The girls at the Red Room would whisper about the Winter Soldier. He was a ghost story, a tale whispered to keep them in line by warning them if they didn't succeed in the classes or missions, that the soldat would creep into their room and kill them.

She remembered seeing those cold eyes watching her and over girls when he had come to the academy to train one of their classes. He had thrown a young girl called Polina Paseka across the room after she failed four times to do a pirouette in ballet class.

She frowned as she tried to make sense of how the Winter Soldier had escaped the Red Room. It was rare when someone was able to make it out, almost impossible. She decided to call Carter and inquire about the soldier. Her interest was piqued by the man. Maybe she would know something.

Bucky and the others returned to the compound to inform Fury about the black ops team that the Power Broker had sent to kidnap Isaiah and Eli Bradley. The man must have been hellbent on creating the serum after Zemo destroyed the ones that Dr. Nadler had created. "Hill is identifying the people who were sent to kidnap Isaiah and his grandson. Two of them have already been identified," Fury announced grimly. He pulled up two images of two men, one of whom that Bucky recognized instantly. Jack Rollins. He knew him from being there at the Ideal Federal Savings bank when he had his mind wiped by Pierce after trying to kill Steve, Sam and Natasha in Washington D.C. "You might remember the guy on the left, Barnes and Rogers. That is Jack Rollins, former member of the STRIKE Team. After fleeing the U.S., he settled in Madripoor and began working as a mercenary for the highest bidder. Tomas Calderon is a former S.H.I.E.L.D agent, who was fired after killing a group of Inhuman refugees in Nairobi, Kenya," Fury explained gravely. He paused for a moment before glancing their way. "Rogers, Wilson, I want you to ask Carter if she knows how long this mystery young woman has been living in Madripoor. See if there's a gang war brewing over a power struggle. Barnes, Barton and Maximoff, I want you three to talk to Russo, Karen Page, Murdock, and Curtis Hoyle. See what they know about the Power Broker," the director instructed. They nodded and all left.

The first thing Ana decided to do was renovate the whole damn penthouse that the Power Broker owned. She ordered new bedding, a new mattress, and a nice bed frame. There was no way in hell she was sleeping in his bed. She followed suit with the rest of the apartment, glad to have all this control now. The next thing she did was arrange a meeting with all the criminals who lived in Madripoor. She was putting down some rules. She was no saint - far from it - but no way in hell was she tolerating slavery, sex trafficking, and fucking child molesters and pedophiles. She knew Madripoor thrived on crime, but she was going to be instilling some rules for everyone. She personally called off the bounties on the Winter Soldier, the Falcon and Baron Zemo, from what she had heard around. She had no quarrel with them at the minute. Her main focus was going to be ensuring the Red Room remained shut down. She didn't want anyone else to go through what she had gone through. No child deserved that horror. The buzzer rang then, and she answered the call immediately. She had a feeling that a few of them were going to be aggravating. But she had dealt with worse people. "Miss Liukin, this is Conrad Mack. You wish to speak with me about a beneficial arrangement between us?" The man asked politely. She smiled slightly. "Please come in, Mr. Mack," she said smoothly. The door was unlocked and locked behind him. She might have her bodyguards, but she wasn't defenseless by herself if Conrad decided to play dirty. Two could play at that game. Conrad Mack entered the living room. He was a handsome man in person. He had dark brown eyes, but there was a sharpness in them, like an eagle, always watching. He was wearing casual, but smart clothing. "Mr. Mack, it's a pleasure to meet with you. I've heard a lot of things about you," Ana said warmly. The man offered her a charming smile that showed perfect white teeth. "The pleasure is all mine, Miss Liukin. I have to say that I'm impressed by your bloodless takeover of Madripoor. If you don't mind me asking, what inspired you to take over Madripoor from the Power Broker?" She smiled at his question, as she sipped from her glass of red wine and Conrad drank from his glass of whisky. The man was a gangster, but he did have morals. She decided to give him some of the truth. "The Power Broker wished to recreate the Super Soldier serum after Baron Zemo destroyed the vials that Karli Morgenthau stole from him. But he wanted me to kidnap a man called Isaiah Bradley and his grandson…I presume you know who he is?" she asked meaningfully. Conrad nodded, his smile turning to a grimace. "Yeah, I know who he is. My grandaddy fought with him in World War II. The US government threw him in jail and took his blood. He escaped during the eighties and settled down in Baltimore," the man said bitterly, well aware of America's racial discrimination against African-Americans. Ana nodded at his answer as she looked at the Monet art that decorated the walls. She disliked racists fiercely. "Then you understand why the Power Broker had to go, Conrad?" He lets out a quiet nod at that. "As I've said before, I'm not a saint. I've done some horrible things. But I draw the line at people dragging innocents back into their dirty hands. For years I had no control of what I was able to do, and now that I do, you can bet I'm going to make sure that no one else gets hurt like that." Conrad smiles to that. "That's very noble of you." Ana snorts and shakes her head. "Not noble. It's called being a human. However,…I'm not a good person too. And the reason we're here is because of that." She comes over to him, leaning against her chair. "I know about your little business on the side here. You thrive from the drug community here, don't you?" "If we're being honest, it is one of, if not the most, profitable business you can have in Madripoor." "On the brink of a collapse the city would be if that whole system decided to go belly-up," Ana states, holding her glass in her hands. "Which is why I'm willing to offer a truce with you. An agreement, of sorts. If you keep a low profile and continue your business, I'll make sure it can still run with the people here and the cops won't be on your ass. I know how hard it can be to stay on the downlow but I'm willing to compromise on that as long as your guys don't interfere with what I'm trying to do." Conrad raises an eyebrow. "You're very interesting, you know that?" She raises an eyebrow back at him. "How so?" "You're like the opposite version of what you say you are. You're trying to be good but also trying to keep crime going…it's a strange contradiction, if you will." Ana shrugs her shoulders, walking over to where he sits. "We all have our contradictions. But the main part here is making sure your business can still run despite those contradictions. So…" She holds out her hand to him. "Do we have a deal?" Conrad looks at her hand for a split second before extending outwards, shaking it firmly. "We have a deal."

Talking with Karen, Frank, Matthew and Foggy had gone about as well as Bucky had been expecting. They didn't know that much about the Power Broker except for the fact that he just wanted to have as much power as possible, simple as that. They had stumbled into them when Fisk had gone away to jail, leaving his powerful empire in the city free for the taking. Due to the power vacuum, the Power Broker had tried to break in.

But luckily, they had come in at the right moment to stop him from taking over, before he had escaped off to Madripoor. Bucky truly wondered what went through this man's mind to make him think like that, that he could suddenly own everyone just because one man got arrested. But then again, the man was clearly unstable. If he wanted to still create more and more super-solder serums for the world to use…there was no way he would allow that. Secretly, Bucky really hoped this new mysterious woman had killed the Power Broker. Hell, maybe even taken over herself. If she was willing to help Sharon out and let them know about Isiah, she at least had some sort of morals compared to the original man. But he also had a feeling that Fury, if he did find out who this woman was, was most likely going to send them after her. So maybe he'd get the chance to meet her after all. A part of him still couldn't believe that he had seen Ana at a coffee shop…it was such a small world. A part of her still felt so familiar, and at the same time he couldn't remember where he had seen her before. He was thankful that the Wakandan's had gotten out all the trigger words in his mind but damn it, he wished he had his whole mind back. Something he would just have to live with for now.

Was this a stupid idea? Probably. Could Fury walk in at any moment? Most likely. But Natasha needed to know. She had to know if this woman was alive truly or not. Maybe she would get lucky, and they would be able to swing around this situation. Maybe the woman who had come into the facility wasn't even close to her. When Nat and Yelena had destroyed the Red Room area, they had been able to access their system remotely to be able to view who had died and who had lived from the program. She had never checked for her to see if she was still around. But this time was better than no time. She typed in the name quickly, searching through the files before she lands on the one, she had wanted. And her shoulders sink as soon as she reads through the file on the computer screen. 'Anastasia Liukin. Dead – complications of operation.' "Oh, thank God," Natasha breathes out, running her hand through her hair. This at least said that she was gone. Maybe she would be able to get out of this alive. But something still didn't sit right. A part of her didn't think that she was dead. If it wasn't her…then who? She bites her lip, glancing deeper into the file.

"Fuck it," she said finally, before delving further into the files. She found information on Anastasia about the year she was born. The young woman had been born on July 10, 1995 in Voronezh, Voronezh Oblast, Russia in the aftermath of the Soviet Union collapsing. Her mother had died when she was five years old, and she had no one else to raise her. She was then placed in an orphanage until the age of seven when the Red Room had approached her under the illusion of being taken to a ballet boarding school. There were no other records of her aside from the file about her dying from an operation. The reasons for the operation were redacted, but deep-down Natasha knew the reason. 'I had to do it. I had to protect Yelena. She was too soft for the Red Room despite all the training we put her through,' she thought rationally, ignoring the pang of guilt that pulsed through her.

Sharon was honestly trying to keep herself calm as she drove to the penthouse that was owned by the Power Broker. She hadn't seen the mysterious woman again, but she had told Sharon to call her Ana. Now, she was driving there and was stunned by the sight before her very eyes. The building itself was amazing and very spacious, but the apartment was even better. She was shown into the penthouse by a bodyguard and kept her face neutral as she was greeted by none other than Ana. "You wanted to see me?" She asked politely. Ana smiled at her calmly as Sharon sat down on the comfortable black velvet sofa. The living room was very spacious but had a homey-vibe around it. There were framed photographs on the mantelpiece. "Yes. I was wondering if I could buy some of the Art Deco paintings and sculptures in your art gallery?" Ana asked curiously. Sharon blinked in surprise but nodded and leaned forward. "I'll be happy to sell you them, Miss Liukin," she said reassuringly, stunned that the woman wasn't going to kill her for helping Bucky, Sam and Zemo escape from the Power Broker. Speaking of the man, she hadn't seen him around Madripoor for the last couple of days. She wondered if finally, someone had killed him for having too much control and power. Considering Ana was in his penthouse, she had quite the feeling it had something to do with her, since the man had been tied up by her not that long ago. "Then I'll see you tomorrow morning. I'll enjoy doing business with you, Sharon," Ana said kindly, her voice genuine. Sharon nodded as they both walked out, seeing that the whole penthouse was being renovated. At Sharon looking, Ana smiled as she put her bottle of water down on the coffee table. "This penthouse belonged to the Power Broker, and it didn't give a welcoming feel. So, I decided to have the whole house renovated, including an indoor ballet studio, along with an indoor swimming pool, a library, and many bedrooms," the woman explained amusedly. Sharon smiled before saying goodbye and Ana watched her leave. She had to admit, it seemed the women had the strength to stay around – and wasn't planning on leaving anytime soon.

Bucky was annoyed with himself. He felt like he had seen Ana before and not at the coffee shop. It was irritating to say the very least, as he walked to the conference room, where Fury was holding a team meeting. He entered the room, sitting next to Steve, Sam, Clint and Wanda as Billy and Grant joined them. He wasn't surprised to see Scott Lang and Hope van Dyne being in the room but was wary about seeing Bruce and Tony in the room. Both of them, along with Natasha and Yelena, despised him. He didn't blame Natasha for hating him - he had tried to kill her three times, and had attempted to apologize, but she had refused his apology. "Now that you're all here, I have news about the mystery woman who infiltrated the compound. We ran her through Interpol, MI6, FBI, and the S.H.I.E.L.D database and found nothing on her. She's unknown to us," Fury explained gravely, his face betraying nothing. "So, what you want us to do then? It's pretty obvious that she's dangerous if she escaped the HYDRA base, and they had her in cyrostasis," Tony questioned suspiciously. It was Steve spoke up. "That doesn't necessarily mean that she's dangerous, Tony. She's most like been forcibly placed in cyrostasis. We did uncover some possible information," Steve informed Fury, who looked interested as he looked at the man. "What did you and the team find out then?" The director inquired curiously. He was clearly wondering if the young woman was a threat to them. "We did some digging - plus Sharon called us this morning. The Power Broker might possibly be dead, as he's not been seen for at least three days. He was last seen Monday night, and had arranged to meet a young woman to discuss kidnapping Isaiah and Eli Bradley, so he could use their blood to recreate the Super-Soldier serum. According to Sharon, the young woman refused to comply, and a fight broke out," Steve explained quietly, his voice not quite disapproving at the young woman's actions and possibly murdering the Power Broker. "She was the person who told Sharon about the attack on Isiah." Fury looked thoughtful and looked around at everyone who was sitting at the table. Natasha and Yelena were silent, but they were clearly hiding something. "Is there something you'd like to add, Belova and Romanoff?" he asked calmly. Natasha nodded. "There is something I'd like to add, Fury." Natasha stands as she grabs the file of Ana, placing it on the table. "I did some digging on this girl with the file that we found in the HYDRA base in Siberia. As the ones who shut down the Red Room and the areas surrounding it, we are allowed remote access to the former directory of agents that we've had interactions with. It turns out that Ana has actually died from an operation due to unforeseen circumstances," Natasha states. "At least that was what her records state." "Hold on." Bucky stands from where he was, gesturing to the file. "That's impossible. We've been doing our own research and there has been some steady evidence that she's still alive." "Barnes, I remember her. She's gone." "That's impossible because I saw her literally days ago," Bucky says angrily, but he holds back his temper to a point. He didn't want to let go of his own morals because Nat's words contradicted his own. Her brow raises in shock. "You're-wait, what? How the hell did you-" "She was in a coffee shop," Bucky states, crossing his arms against his chest. "A couple days ago before heading off. I didn't learn the girl's name, but she looked exactly like Ana. There's no mistaking it." "You're insane, she's gone!" "No, she's not!" "ENOUGH!" Fury yells, his booming voice causing them to jump in surprise. They both turn their eyes to where Fury was breathing heavily, his head down, clearly trying to control his own temper. He takes a moment before looking at the two of them. "Sit both your asses down now!" The two Avengers do as he says, knowing that if they pissed him off even more there'd be more than just yelling coming their way. Fury starts to pace before he looks to them. "From what I see, we have several problems here. One is-" His phone suddenly pings, and he pulls it out quickly to glance at it before cursing under his breath. "Now we got even more problems," he mutters, putting his phone back in his pocket. "Just got word from H.Q. Apparently, the original Power Broker is officially dead." Silence rings throughout the room. Bucky knew it. He just knew it.

"Again, now we got even more problems," Fury continues, running a hand along his head before looking to them. "One, we have some mysterious woman that broke into our damn base and now is missing. Two, we have a power dynamic clearly underway in Madripoor, and another young woman there that we don't know about looking to take over. Third, we have two goddamn conflicting arguments about a girl that we don't even know about. There’re too many things here for us to even come to a proper conclusion. I'm over this fighting that we got going." "Then what do you suggest we do, sir?" Natasha asks, raising her brow. Fury sighs and then nods back at the team. "What we do best – undercover. But there ain't no way I'm sending a whole team after this girl. If the Power Broker is dead, that means she's a serious threat, regardless if she'll hurt us or not. She's got friends in high places. Only one of you are fit enough to do a proper undercover mission of this high of a status." His eyes turn directly to where Bucky was. "And that's you, Barnes." His brow raises in surprise. "Me?" "I can't think of someone better than the former Winter Soldier. It can't be Nat or Yelena with personal ties to this said mystery woman, but we don't know how much she knows about you possibly. It's the best option for us going forward. I'm not about to let any other goddamn intruder come in, so we need to find out who this woman is as soon as possible, and if she's taking over as the Power Broker." Bucky was quiet for a moment, letting his words mingle. He wasn't wrong. He most likely would be able to find her the quickest and see exactly who this woman was. "Plus, you've literally seen her before," Steve agrees lightly. "If anything, that'll only help you try and find her again." "I think he's got this," Sam states, agreeing. Bucky rolls his eyes and glances at his friends. "It's alright, guys. I'm fine." He always knew that the ones who were on his side tried their best to show their support for him, but something he just wanted to prove it himself. He turns back to Fury. "I can do that, sir." "Good, glad to hear it." Fury stands and grabs the file. "You leave as early as tomorrow. We want to make sure we handle this with care but as quickly as possible. Don't want to linger any longer. Pack your belongings – I'll inform Sharon that you're heading to Madripoor and you're undercover there." "Sounds good," Bucky responds, standing. "Meeting adjourned," Fury concludes, getting up and heading out, pulling his phone as he does so. Bucky hears Tony groan as he stands, sighing. "He's making a mistake sending you out." "Tony, we don't need this right now," Steve responds, trying to shut down the fight before it even began. "How can you even trust him to do a good job? He was literally part of HYDRA, the place that this mysterious woman is even coming from!" "So are Nat and Yelena and you trust them," Wanda points out from where she stands. "They at least had a head on their shoulders to sign the damn accords." Steve sighs and shakes his head. "I'll never be able to prove to you that Bucky is a good man, but that's your loss. It's not like I'm not surprised Nat is on your side after she did what she did." At Nat's confused expression, Steve snorts. "Don't show me that look, Nat. I know that you agreed with Tony to lock Bucky up is a psych unit even before he was pardoned. I know you don't want him here just as much as Tony doesn't. You don't need to say anything." Bucky runs a hand through his hair stressfully. Good god, this wasn't how he wanted his mission to start out.

[harley-sunday]

Encore [03]

Summary: The new Disney+ show ‘Encore’ brings together former castmates of a high school musical, tasking them with re-creating their original performance in a high school reunion like no other. Emotions run high as you face faded friendships, long-forgotten controversies, killer choreography, and an ex-boyfriend you haven’t seen in eighteen years.

Pairing: Chris Evans x reader [unnamed OFC, nicknamed ‘Ace’)

Warnings: Language. NSFW

Word count: 10.3k

AN: This chapter has everything: angst, swooning, smut, you name it. Hope you enjoy :)

Masterlist

“Hi, Nic,” you answer your phone with a faint smile, wedging it between your ear and your shoulder so you have both hands free to drain the pasta that has just finished cooking.

“Ok, I did something and you’re not going to like it, but-”

“Nicole,” you warn her, because even though you’re not sure what she’s talking about it doesn’t sound too promising. 

“Just hear me out, ok?”

You grab the glass of wine you poured yourself earlier and sit down at the kitchen table, “Fine.”

“So I went to go see Chris after you left yesterday and-”

“Nicole,” you draw out, pinching the bridge of your nose, your elbows resting on the table, “what did you do?”

“I gave him your letters,” she says matter-of-factly. “He needs to know.” 

“I can’t-”

“It’s been eighteen years, babe,” she cuts in, “and I’m not gonna let you two waste another minute.”

“You had no right,” your voice comes out barely above a whisper, the betrayal caused by your best friend weighing heavy on your, well, everything. You can hear she’s still talking but you hang up anyway, not interested in whatever excuse she comes up with to justify her actions. 

Your phone rings again, Nicole’s name flashing on your screen, but you decline the call, the hurt slowly turning into anger and so you empty your glass of wine rather aggressively before you decide you need something stronger. Might as well get the whiskey out, you reason, and so not much later you find yourself on the couch, your half-finished dinner long forgotten, nursing a whiskey and taking a rather painful trip down memory lane.

After you left Sudbury you found a job as a waitress at a diner in Boston somewhere and you were determined to leave the past behind you, taking on every available shift to keep yourself busy. It felt like you actually had your life together for about six months, but then ‘Not Another Teen Movie’ came out and suddenly Chris was everywhere and you had a rather embarrassing breakdown over it at work. Your boss, bless him, understood you needed something more than just a shoulder to cry on and referred you to a therapist who had helped his daughter after a particularly nasty divorce not too long ago. 

In the end it was Dr Lipinski who suggested writing letters rather than keeping a diary, because as he told you, the act of writing down your thoughts and feelings and then sending them to your person of choice, would offer you a sense of closure. You chose to send them to Nicole, mostly because, well, you missed your best friend terribly, but also because she was there for most of what happened while you were dating Chris and so she knew your history.

She didn’t reply until after the third or fourth letter, when she wrote to you and told you how hurt she was after you left. You were a little taken aback by her blunt reply but your therapist used her letter to make you understand that when you left Sudbury, you also left Nicole behind and that her feelings were very valid. Your next letter to her was a heartfelt apology that she accepted with grace and after that you started writing to each other regularly. 

Most of your letters those first few months were long, endless pages of you trying to understand why this break up had such an impact, why you couldn’t seem to let it go. Sometimes while writing, a happy memory from when you were dating would pop up and you’d share it with Nicole, but most of the time it was just you trying to figure out where things had gone wrong and why Chris seemed so unaffected by all of it. Another popular subject was trying to make sense of why people treated you the way they did after you broke up and why they went to such lengths to make you feel so bad up until the point where the only way out was to leave Sudbury. 

After a while, a good two years after you first started writing, your letters became less about Chris and more about whatever else was going on in your life. You kept writing Nicole as you moved from Boston to Pittsburgh to Baltimore before you ended up in Philadelphia almost four years ago. She was there with you for every new job, every date you went on, both good and bad, and during your four-year relationship with Dylan that slowly bled to death even though Nicole already told you to call it quits five months earlier. 

Except for the annual Christmas letter there was no telling how often you’d write her, sometimes mailing out as many as three letters in one month and sometimes taking several months between one letter and the next. There was always a peak in letters whenever Chris had a new movie out though, his media presence almost a cruel reminder of why you started writing in the first place. 

The Infinity War premiere earlier this year, which took place about a week after you were contacted about Encore, made you write two letters in rapid succession. The first one was upbeat, the words penned down almost in a hurry, as though you were afraid you’d run out of time, and almost giddy with excitement at the prospect of seeing him again. The second letter was way more subdued and took you several hours to write as you suddenly found yourself reliving the years right after you broke up with Chris, which in turn made you doubt if coming back would be a good idea. 

Your last letter was sent somewhere during the summer, where you let Nicole know that of course you were doing the show, not only because it would be stupid not to but also because you hoped it would bring you some sort of closure after all these years. She supported your decision and you could tell she was excited to finally see you again and introduce her family to you. 

Maybe what bothers you so much about Chris now having your letters, you realize, a few hours and two glasses of whiskey later, is that, even though you made the very conscious decision to go back to Sudbury, things are out of your hands now and you hate no longer being in control of what happens next more than anything. 

The rest of the week passes by in a blur, a new assignment with a tight deadline has you working long hours, all while Nicole keeps calling you at steady intervals. You never answer, still too upset and hurt by what she did. 

When Friday afternoon comes around you wonder if maybe you should call Dr Lipinski, just to hear what he thinks. You decide it would probably be weird to contact him after you stopped seeing him, what, fourteen years ago and so you don’t, not in the least because you know he’ll probably just say something like, “But how does it make you feel?”

Problem is, you don’t know. There’s a whole range of emotions you go through each day, from angry when you remember what Nicole did, to disappointed that she did it, to hurt that she did it without your consent. Giving Chris those letters was like giving away a piece of you that you’ve kept hidden for all these years and you’re not sure you want him to see now, because what if he no longer wants anything to do with you once he finishes reading them?

Last night you wondered if you should just call him and explain well, what exactly you weren’t sure, and so you spent the better part of an hour staring at your phone, willing for Chris’ name to pop up on your screen. You even contemplated calling Scott, only to realize you don’t have his number, which made you even more upset.

Your phone rings then, interrupting your thoughts and when you see it’s your boss who’s calling you take the call with the push of a button on your steering wheel, her voice filling your car in an instant. 

The call is short, but you know more will probably follow over the weekend, because for some reason your boss values your opinion too much not to run things by you before final decisions are made. Before you hang up you tell you’re available should she want you to come into the office, and even though she tells you she would never and to enjoy your weekend, you kind of hope that she does, because you could use some distractions in the next forty-eight hours or so, not particularly looking forward to the time alone. 

After a quick stop at the grocery story you finally make your way back to your house, cursing quietly when you see there’s no empty parking spaces along your street and you’ll have to park around the corner. Once you find one not too far away, you sling your purse over your shoulder and grab the brown paper bag from the back seat, supporting it with two hands once you’ve locked your car, because even though it’s not really heavy it’s just easier that way.

Your phone rings then and without looking you answer it, figuring it must be your boss backtracking on her earlier offer to not have you come in, “Linds, just tell me when and I’ll be there.”

“It’s me.”

You’re too stunned to say anything and stop at a bench, putting the groceries down to keep from dropping them.

“I know you don’t want to talk and I know you’re still angry, but I need you to listen for like, two minutes, and I promise I will stop meddling after this,” Nicole says so fast you almost want to tell her to take a deep breath, but then she clears her throat and says, “I gave him your address.”

“What?” You make a face because you don’t understand, “Who did you-”

“Just be honest with him, ok babe?” 

“What are you talking about?” You shake your head even though she can’t see you, “Nicole? Who has my address? Did Scott contact you-”

“I want you to know that I love you,” her voice is soft, “and that I’m always here for you.” Before you have a chance to say anything she continues, “Now go. I’ll talk to you soon, ok?” 

“Nicole!” It’s too late, she’s hung up already and you can feel yourself starting to get annoyed at her call. What the hell was she thinking, giving Scott your address? You stew things over while you pick up your groceries and continue on towards your house, not particularly paying attention to your surroundings. You’ve just made it to the front steps when you see something moving out of the corner of your eye and then someone steps into view and-

“Hi.”

Of course. You look at him from over your grocery bag, “What the hell are you doing here?” Then, because it’s quite busy out and you don’t want anyone to recognize him even though he’s wearing sunglasses, you rest the bag on your hip and fish your keys out of your pocket and nod towards the door once you’ve opened it, “Get inside.”

He waits in the narrow hallway for you to close the door and so you have to squeeze past him to the kitchen so you can finally put your groceries down. You take a deep breath before you turn towards him and it’s then you notice the duffel bag at his feet, which makes you scoff, “What are you doing here, Chris?”

“I wanted to check on you-”

“Well, you’ve seen me,” you say, gesturing at yourself, “I’m fine.”

He steps closer then, his eyes landing somewhere over your right shoulder, where you know there are four empty bottles of wine on the counter and so you try your hardest not to cringe, before he looks back at you, one eyebrow raised, “You sure about that?” 

You close your eyes for a second, trying to not lose what little composure you have left, “If you just came here to tell me my life is a mess, I really don’t-”

“I came here because we need to talk,” he takes his sunglasses off and runs a hand through his hair, which tells you he’s not quite as confident as he tries to make you believe. 

“And you thought showing up, unannounced, was the best way to do this?” You scoff and shake your head, “Do you even know me?”

“I thought I did,”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You hold up your hand when you see he wants to say something, “No, you know what, never mind, we’re not doing this now.”

“Ace-”

“The living room is on your right, go, make yourself comfortable, examine my life some more, I don’t care,” you tell him as you turn around and start unloading your groceries, “I’m gonna make us dinner first because I’m not doing this on an empty stomach.”

You think you hear him chuckle, but you’re too determined to prove your point and so you ignore him, instead getting everything you need to make a quick chicken stir fry. He leaves his bag in the hallway, almost like he wants you to know he’s not going anywhere, and it makes you go through a whole range of emotions while you cut the vegetables.

Dinner is awkward and silent and so the moment both of you finish eating you pick up the plates and disappear into the kitchen, mumbling something about doing the dishes. While you wait for the sink to fill up with warm water you start clearing away some of the things you’ve used while cooking and it’s at that moment Chris walks in. 

Your kitchen is small and definitely not large enough to host two people comfortably and so you can’t help but bump into him when you turn back around, and having him up in your personal space does nothing to improve your mood.

“You need any help with those dishes?”

You shake your head, hoping he’ll get the hint and leave you alone, but either he really doesn’t or simply chooses not to, because he stays, leaning against the countertop behind you. Fine, you think, and focus on the dishes instead. 

“You know what I regret the most?” His voice is soft, barely above a whisper, but his words pierce through the air like a scream and in response you start scrubbing a little harder. He doesn’t wait for your reply and continues, his voice a little louder now, “Letting you go that easily.” He clears his throat, “Did you know I came back for you after we broke up?”

Shit. The plate you were holding slips from your hand, falling back into the soapy water and making some of it splash over the edges, which only adds to your frustration.

“I thought maybe if we could talk and I could explain what really happened at that party, I don’t know. I thought maybe we could work things out, you know, that if you heard my side you’d understand, but-” he pauses for a second, “you weren’t there.” His voice catches on the last word and he clears his throat again, “When I found out you were gone I lost it. I asked Nicole to tell me where you went and when she told me she didn’t know I- Your parents, I called them every single day, begging them to tell me, to at least let me know if you were alright, but they just told me to let it go. To let you go.” 

Too much. It’s too much and you can feel the room starting to close in on you and so you try your hardest to just stay focused on the task at hand.

“I think they called my mom at some point, just to get me to back off, and she basically told me the same thing, that I should let you go and that if we were really meant to be together you’d find your way back to me in the end.” He scoffs, “Maybe not the best advice to give a heartbroken nineteen-year old who thinks this is the end of the world. I went off the rails after that and I’m not proud of some of the things I did, but at least the alcohol helped to numb some of the pain, so-” He sighs, “My manager gave me an ultimatum after I missed my third casting call in two months and, I don’t know, I guess that was the turning point, you know? I went back to Los Angeles and focused on work and for a while it helped because that city never held any memories for us so-” his voice drops, “I thought I could finally let you go, but-”

You don’t want to hear it. You don’t want to hear that the past eighteen years have been just as bad for him as they were for you, and it’s almost as if you don’t want to believe that what he just told you is actually true, because it would invalidate so much of the anger you’ve felt for all those years. You drop the glass you were holding back into the water and leave, the living room the only logical option for now because that’s where your liquor cabinet is. Just as you’ve poured two glasses of whiskey, putting one on the dining room table for him to take, he walks in, one eyebrow raised when he sees what you’re doing. You shrug, “I’m gonna need a drink for this.”

There’s a hint of something in his eyes, maybe relief that at least you’re talking again, before he says, “I just need you to hear me out, Ace. Please?”

You don’t say anything but take a sip of your whiskey instead, which he takes as his cue to continue.

“I thought I could forget you, thought that it would get easier after a while but-” 

You watch him as he leans against the table, more space between you now than there was in the kitchen. He looks down at his feet and you can see his eyebrows knit together, almost as if he tries to decide what to say next. 

He nods then and looks back up at you, “I never believed people who said you never forget your first love, thought eighteen years would be long enough to get over someone- To get over you but,” he tries to smile and shrugs, “then I saw you again last week and-” 

Shit. Shit shit shit.

“-turns out they were right after all.” 

He doesn’t say anything else, just looks at you with that half-smile that normally makes you melt a little but now only adds fuel to the fire and so you don’t give him the response you know he’s waiting for. 

He runs his hand over his face in frustration, “Well, I guess at least now you know my side.”

“Yeah,” you scoff, “I guess I should tell you mine but your new best friend Nicole made sure you already know everything, so-”

“That doesn’t mean we can’t still talk about it.” 

“Why?”

“Because that’s what people do, Ace,” he says, his desperation clear in the way he drops his hands. “I came looking for you last week, you know that? I went by your hotel because I didn’t want to leave things between us like that but you weren’t there and I-,” he shakes his head, “I felt like that nineteen-year old kid again.”

You don’t say anything, just scoff and take another sip, the amber liquid burning your throat in not an entirely unpleasant way. 

“So when Nicole offered me that lifeline, I- Reading your letters,” he says, his voice a little unsteady now, “it helped me understand that I fucked up. Not just eighteen years ago but also last week. That’s why I’m here, you know, I- I really hope we can try to work things out, because I don’t want to lose you again.”

“What do you want me to say, Chris? I don't-” 

“I just want to know if the girl I fell in love with all those years ago is still there.”

It’s too much. You’d like to believe you’re still angry. At him. At yourself. At Nicole. Because anger is an easy emotion. Safe even, at least it was for the past eighteen years. But it’s also slowly starting to dissolve, because the faint promise of something more that hangs in the air now makes you feel hopeful, maybe, and it confuses you. So, you put your glass down and walk past him, doing what you do best, “I don’t know what you had planned but if you want to you can sleep on the couch, I guess,” you tell him as you make your way to the stairs, “there’s a linen closet on the landing upstairs, next to the bathroom. Everything you need is in there.”

“Ace-”

“I need some-” You take a deep breath, “Good night, Chris.”

Sleep doesn’t come easy and you spend the night tossing and turning, sometimes drifting off in a restless sleep, but mostly awake, the events of the previous evening never far from your mind. By the time Saturday morning comes around you’re a little sleep deprived and a lot on edge. 

You’re still in bed, trying to figure out how to go about today, trying to figure out what to do with everything you found out last night, when you hear the familiar creak of the stairs. For a moment you panic, thinking he’s going to come in to tell you he’s leaving, but then you hear the tap being turned on in the bathroom and you let out a sigh of relief, if only because the inevitable has been postponed a little longer.

The shower turns on then and so you realize now is a perfect time to call the one person who you know will help you make sense of the whirlwind of emotions you’re feeling after last night. You roll over, grabbing your phone from the nightstand, and thumb through your contact list until you’ve found her number, letting yourself roll on your back once you’ve hit ‘Dial’.

She doesn’t answer right away and for a moment you’re worried she’ll ignore your call like you did hers the past week, but then you hear the familiar sound of her voice and it’s like a weight’s been lifted off your shoulders.

“You ok?” She sounds worried, must know that you wouldn’t call if it’s not urgent, and you love her for it. 

“No,” you answer truthfully, “not really.”

“Is he still there?” 

“Yeah,” you pause for a second, just to confirm you can still hear the water running. “He’s taking a shower,”

“So he spent the night?”

“On the couch,” you admit easily, “but yeah.”

“What happened?” There’s some noise on her end of the line and you can only imagine her sitting up on the couch, not wanting to miss anything of what you’re about to tell her. 

“I don’t know. It was so awkward at first, Nic,” you let out a sigh and look up at the ceiling, “and then he just sort of started talking, telling me his side of the story and-”

“So you know about what happened when he got back to Sudbury?”

“You mean, after we broke up?”

“Yeah,” Nicole confirms. 

“I don’t know.” You run a hand over your face, “He told me he sort of lost it for a while?”

“Oh honey,” Nicole scoffs, “he was a mess. He came by a few times, always asking if I knew where you’d gone, if there was a way to contact you, and each time he looked worse than when I last saw him. He even got pulled over at some point and they threatened to put a DUI on his record, but Michael’s dad was still Chief and knew the history between you two and what had happened, you know, so in the end they just took him home and warned him not to do it again. I think he went back to Los Angeles shortly after that.” 

“Oh,” 

“Yeah.”

You throw your blankets off and sit up, swinging your legs over the edge of the bed, “Why’d you never tell me this?”

She scoffs, “Would it have changed things?”

“No.” You sigh, “Probably not.” 

“Exactly,” she replies, and you can just imagine her nodding on the other end, “So now that you realize you were an asshole to him last night, what’s-”

“Nicole!” You try to keep your voice down and so it comes out in a hushed whisper. 

“Oh come on,” she says, her voice telling you that she knows she’s right, “like that’s not what’s happened.”

“Well yeah, but I don’t need you to rub it in.”

“That’s why you called me though, isn’t it?”

You nod, because of course it is, “Yeah.”

“Ok,” she agrees, “so then you also know what you need to do next.”

“Probably,” you tell her, running one hand through your hair, “but I know you can’t wait to enlighten me just in case,”

“You need to let him in, babe,” she says matter-of-factly. “All the way. Be honest with him. Only then can you two try to make this work.”

You sigh, “I just hope I didn’t fuck it up too much last night,”

“Babe,” she says, the accusatory tone in her voice very clear, “that man is so-”

“That man just finished his shower,” you whisper quickly when you hear the bathroom door open, “I need to go.”

“You got this, babe.” “Love you.”

“Love you too,” you say and push the end call button just as you hear Chris walk by. You wait for him to make it downstairs again before you get out of bed, grabbing some clean clothes before you head to the bathroom as well. 

You find him in the kitchen not much later, trying to figure out your coffee machine but so far not succeeding. Clearing your throat to let him know you’re there you lean against the doorframe, “Hey.”

“Hi,” he says and then gestures towards the machine, “I was trying to make us some coffee but,”

“Yeah, no, that requires at least a day of training,” you say with a small smile, the tension you left with last night still very much palpable. “I was thinking maybe we could go out for breakfast?” You were thinking no such thing, but it seems like a good idea. “Get out of the house a little? I know this great place not too far from here, it’s usually pretty quiet there, so-”

“Sounds great,” Chris says while he pushes the coffee machine back to its original spot on the counter. 

You grab your purse and keys and wait for him to put on his shoes before you walk outside, telling him your car is parked just around the corner. The drive over to Point Breakfast doesn’t take long but it’s filled with the same awkward silence as during yesterday’s dinner. You try to come with things to talk about but it all seems too unimportant and so you quietly hum along to the radio instead. A quick glance over at Chris tells you he’s nervous as well, flipping his phone in his hand over and over again. 

Surprisingly enough there’s a free parking spot not too far from the entrance of the diner and once you’ve filled the meter you lead Chris inside. There are two other booths occupied, and even though none of the patrons pay any particular attention to you, you still go for the booth in the far corner just in case. 

The waitress, who introduces herself as Agnes, is at your table the minute you sit down and pours each of you a steaming hot coffee after handing you the menu, “I’ll be back in a few minutes, ok?”

Both Chris and you nod in reply and you busy yourself studying the menu even though you already know what you’re going to get. Still, it’s a nice distraction. When you put the menu down after a while you find Chris looking at you with a half-smile.

“Banana pecan pancakes?”

“Yup,” you nod, a little surprised he still knows your breakfast order after all these years. Then, because apparently you feel like you have something to prove, “Eggs Benedict for you?”

“Always,” he says, smiling for real now.

It’s then Agnes comes back to take your order and you let Chris order for the both of you, watching him as he charms his way into Agnes heart for sure. You can’t help but smile when you listen to the easy banter between them. 

Once Agnes leaves to give the kitchen your order Chris turns back to you, “She reminds me of Mrs Linton.”

“She does, yeah.” 

He keeps looking at you, the way he’d always do whenever he wanted to talk about something important, and so you sort of know what’s coming next but still he surprises you when he asks, “Are we good?”

“I don’t know.” 

He doesn’t say anything for a while and it makes you worried and nervous and you wonder if you’ve fucked it up for good this time, but then he leans forward, “What do you need?”

The last eighteen years back, you think with a heavy heart, but instead you tell him, “I don’t know.” You offer a shrug in apology because you know it’s not a fair answer to give twice in a row.

“It’s ok,” he says, his voice kind, “I’m not going anywhere.” 

Breakfast is filled with smalltalk, Chris asking you about your job and your life here in Philly and in return you ask him to tell you more about his life in Los Angeles, which he does, although he admits he misses home terribly when he’s out west and says he hopes to start spending more time in Sudbury in the near future. You don’t miss the way he looks at you when he tells you that, an unspoken question lingering between you that you’re not sure you can answer right now.

You try your best to pay attention to the conversation but his words from earlier keep echoing through your mind and you can’t help but wonder what exactly he meant when he said he wasn’t going anywhere. Nicole’s voice joins the conversation in your head then, berating you for still being way too guarded. 

When you finish your plate just a little after he does you check your phone and see it’s just past noon. A bit too early to return to your house, you decide, trying to figure out what you could do instead. It’s then you remember something you would do whenever you had a date in Boston and you smile when you look up at him, “If you want we could go to Morris Arboretum next? The trees there are beautiful this time of year, so maybe we could just walk around for a bit?”

“I’d like that.”

You wave Agnes over and ask for the bill, which Chris lets you pay because well, you tell him to. You’re back in your car not much later, your drive taking you to the other side of the city in just under an hour. 

By the time you get to the Arboretum the sun is out if full force and it’s warm enough that you don’t need your jacket and so you leave it in the car. Rummaging through your purse you try to find your sunglasses, putting them on when you finally find them only to see Chris squinting against the bright light. You tell him to hang on for a minute and open the trunk of your car, quickly locating what you’re looking for, “Here you go.”

He eyes the cap suspiciously, and you hold your breath, hoping he might have forgotten about it, but then he turns it over in his hands and looks at the inside where his initials are still visible on the tag, albeit a little more faded now. His eyes widen in surprise, “You kept this all these years?” 

“Well, yeah, It’s a nice cap,” you try, hoping it sounds casual enough for him not to comment on it any further, “and I’ll always be a Patriots girl, no matter where I am.” It’s true. When you first started dating you didn’t really care for football but you always tagged along to watch games with either his friends or his family and it wasn’t long before you found yourself immersed in the sport. And even though you don’t keep up as much now, you still find yourself rooting for the Patriots whenever you catch a game. 

He doesn’t say anything but you think you see the hint of a smile when he puts it on and you wonder if he remembers the night he gave it to you, on your one-year anniversary, when he got tickets to a game and you spent the weekend in Boston together. 

You try to push back the memories, not wanting to find yourself getting lost in the past, and instead tell him, “Let’s go,” and head to the visitor center where you pay the entrance fee. You opt for the long trail, which, if you don’t stop at any of the features, will take about thirty minutes, but you’ve never been here before  so you’re sure it’ll probably take you a lot longer. Which is fine, because it’s still early and the weather is perfect for an afternoon outside. 

The first stop is a Tree Canopy walk that does exactly what it says and leads you through the treetops. It’s quiet, not too many people around, and at times it almost seems like you’re here alone. You walk side by side, quietly marvelling at the things you encounter being this high up, and there’s a familiarity to it all that both scares and excites you. 

The trail takes you through a rose garden next and several other features after, until about an hour later you find yourself at the step fountain and when Chris suggests taking a quick break you join him on the top step, which offers you a nice view of the lawn spreading out in front of the fountain. 

There’s some distance between you but still Chris manages to nudge your knee with his when he asks, “Where’s your head at?”

Immediately you hear Nicole’s voice, telling you to be honest and you decide that maybe it’s time to take her advice even though you’re not sure where to start. You take a deep breath and say the one thing it all comes down to, “Us.” 

You see him nod out of the corner of your eye and take it as your cue to continue, “I’m just,” you sigh, “I don’t know, Chris, I keep wondering if this would have happened had it not been for Encore.”

“Ace-”

“No,” you hold up your hand to let him know you’re not finished and smile even though you don’t look at him, “my turn.” You pinch the bridge of your nose and try to gather your thoughts, “I just think that maybe we both got caught up in the moment, you know? Maybe-”

“You’ve kept my baseball cap all these years,” he replies solemnly and there’s no accusation in his voice, it sounds like he’s just stating the facts. Standing up then, he hands you his cap back, and for a moment you worry that maybe this is it, maybe this is where he draws the line and walks away, but instead he takes his hoodie off, which has you even more confused.

“Chris, what-” 

He walks down the first few steps then, making sure he’s at eye level with you, and pushes the fabric of his t-shirt aside.

You look at him, your eyebrows knitted together because what the hell is he doing, but then you see the tattoo he’s just revealed and it’s like all the air is being sucked from your lungs. Shaking your head in disbelief, you take in the ace of hearts on his chest and you have to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from crying when you see the heart in the middle of the card is broken. Without thinking you reach out and let your fingers ghost over his skin, tracing the lines that are tattooed over his heart.

“I got this on what was supposed to be our ten-year anniversary,” he says, the sadness in his voice mirrored by the look in his eyes that you see when you look back up at him. “I’m not caught up in a moment, Ace.”

“I-,”

Something else passes over his features then, but before you can recognize what it is he’s putting his hoodie back on and sits down again, much closer this time, his leg brushing against yours as he does. You much more feel than hear him take a deep breath and then he looks at you, “I meant what I said earlier.” He reaches over then and takes one of your hands in his, “I’m not going anywhere.”

“I’m not the same person anymore, Chris.” You look down at where your hand sits comfortably in his, “I’m just scared that you have this idea of me that-” you sigh and shake your head, not sure where to go next. You look back up at him, the tears from earlier starting to spill over slowly, “I’m just- I’m scared.” 

“I know,” he says and gives your hand a squeeze, “so am I, but-” he lets go of your hand and throws his arm around your shoulder, pulling you into him, “I don’t want to waste another eighteen years wondering what could have been.” 

When, after a while, he suggests continuing the tour through the Arboretum you agree, and when you get up he offers you his hand to help you down the steps, but doesn’t let go once you get to the bottom and so you spend the rest of the trail walking hand in hand, the silence between you now much more comfortable than it was before.

It takes you about an hour to make it back to the entrance, the sun a little lower in the sky now even though it’s still nice and warm out. Once you get to the parking lot he offers to drive back and so you hand him your car keys without too much protest, climbing into the passenger’s seat not much later. A quick glance at the dashboard clock tells you it’ll be almost six once you get back and so you suggest stopping at a Thai place not far from your house and get some takeout.

You give him directions where needed but other than that the ride over is silent, the only sound coming from a radio station that plays eighties rock classics that you always have on when driving. You’re simply too lost in thoughts to start a conversation, and you guess maybe he is too. You wonder where his head is at, because even though he keeps telling you that he’s not going anywhere he hasn’t really told you he wants to get back together with you either. Or is that just your mind playing tricks with you? Is him saying that he doesn’t want to waste another eighteen years enough?

More than anything you want to call Nicole, so you can tell her what happened and ask for advice, but you also know that wouldn’t be fair to her, Chris, or you. You’re going to have to trust yourself to make the right decision even though you’re sure that deep down inside you already know what that is. And you want to tell him, really you do, but it’s not necessarily a conversation you want to have now, driving down Broad Street in the middle of the Saturday afternoon rush, and so you decide to wait until you get home. 

When he pulls up to Ameri Thai about forty minutes later you tell him to wait in the car, assuring him you’ll get some extra spring rolls just for him. 

Mrs Zhang greets you enthusiastically, a little surprised when you give her your order, but then she realizes what’s going on and throws you a wink, “Ah, you got company, honey?”

You laugh and shrug, neither denying or confirming her question, but you’ve been coming here for at least once a week ever since you moved into the neighbourhood so by now Mrs Zhang knows your order by heart and so she also knows she’s right. To distract her you ask her how her grandchildren are doing and even though she answers rather elaborately, she keeps looking at you from behind the counter, almost as if she’s studying you. 

After a while she disappears into the kitchen, no doubt to tell her husband the latest gossip, and when she comes back with the takeout bag not much later, she actually rounds the counter to give it to you. You hold out your hand to take it from her, but it’s then she pats you arm and smiles at you, “You look happier, honey, I like it.”

“Thank you,” you say, a weird feeling in your stomach as you accept the bag from her and wave at Mr Zhang, who has appeared behind the counter, before you let yourself out and walk back to your car where you find Chris quietly singing along to Boston’s ‘More Than A Feeling’. He’s taken the cap off and you can tell he’s tried to get his hair back into shape, but it’s a little tousled and a lot cute. Damnit. 

“Ready?” He asks as soon as you’ve fastened your seatbelt.

“Yup.” You nod and point, ‘“Just take a left here and then you’re back on my street.” 

Dinner tonight is far more relaxed than it was yesterday, although you’re still mostly sticking to smalltalk, discussing your other castmates and the things they’ve been up to over these past years. Chris tells you he’s been to the ten-year reunion of his graduating class, but has really only kept in touch with Michael, even attending his wedding a few years ago. 

All too soon you’re both done eating and so once again you mumble something about doing the dishes, hoping it will buy you some time to gather your thoughts and figure out how where to start. 

“Need any help with those dishes?”

“Thought you’d never ask,” you counter with a grin this time and hand him the tea towel. After you’ve drained the sink you watch him dry off the remaining two plates, and when he puts the plates in a cupboard they definitely don’t belong in, you say nothing, too enamored by this weird moment of domestic bliss. 

When he’s done he hangs the tea towel on its designated hook and looks at you, almost as if he’s awaiting further instructions, hands back in the pockets of his jeans, trying to act cool even though the red spots in his neck tell you he’s anything but.

There’s so much you still have to say, so much you still want to tell him, but not now. 

Not now.

Now, you take a tentative step forward, slowly closing the space between you, and stand in front of him, biting your lip as you look up at him. His eyes widen and there’s a question in them that you answer with a nod and a mischievous smile. Your hands rest on his chest then, but it isn’t long before they move up so you can wrap your arms around his neck and pull him close.

“You sure about this, Ace?” His voice is low and full of promises and you answer the only way you know how, by pushing yourself up and letting your lips ghost against his. 

He leans forward then, catching your mouth with his as he sneaks his arms around your waist, pulling you even closer, kissing you with a determination that makes last week’s kiss pale in comparison. It isn’t long before his tongue darts across your lips and you let him in instantly, the taste of him infatuating you even more. His hands travel down then and when he taps your thigh you know what to do and jump up, throwing your legs around his waist. 

You feel him take a few careful steps forward, until you bump against the counter and he sits you down on it, now standing in between your legs, his hands cupping your face as you kiss him, and kiss him, and kiss him. Your hands settle on his chest, bunching up the fabric of his sweater in between your fingers, wanting more of him, needing him closer. Wrapping your legs around his waist again you press yourself against him, dragging your teeth over his bottom lip at the same time, not missing the groan that escapes him. 

He gets his revenge by pulling back, making you whimper at the loss of contact, a little out of breath and a lot turned on. He rests his forehead against yours and chuckles, “That was-”

“Yeah,” you agree, letting go of his sweater so you can run your hands through his hair before you let them settle at the base of his neck, only so you can keep him where you need him most as your mouth finds his again. There’s nothing gentle about this kiss, a want behind it that you know he gets when he takes a step back, his lips still on yours, and gently tugs at your hips, making you slide down from the counter. You have to brace yourself against him because your legs are a little wobbly, your hands now on his chest again, and you can’t help but smile into the kiss when he grabs your elbows to hold you steady. 

You feel yourself getting lost in him, but at the same time there’s something so familiar about all of this, about him, that almost makes it feel like you’re coming home. In a rare moment of clarity, you wonder if maybe that’s just it. Maybe you’ve been so restless all these years because you had this idea that home was supposed to be the city you grew up in, or any of the places you moved to after, where you tried so hard to forget the past. Maybe this always was where you belonged, simply because Chris always was your home.

The realization makes you hesitate, just a moment, but of course Chris picks up on it and he pulls back, a worried look in his eyes as he cups your face and makes you look up at him, “You ok?” 

“Yeah,” you say with a smile, even though you’re not surprised to feel tears coming to your eyes, “I’m not going anywhere.” 

The weight of your words hangs in the air until finally it hits him. There’s a whole range of emotions that pass over his face before he seems to settle on relief, when he leans in and kisses your forehead, “God, I’ve missed you, Ace.” 

“Show me,” your voice is thick, laced with emotion, and you can see his pupils dilate in response. 

His hands grab your legs again, lifting you up, and you wrap your arms and legs around him, your face buried in his neck as he carries you out of the kitchen and up the stairs to your bedroom. He doesn’t let go and so you’re still wrapped around him when he starts kissing you again, until after a while you feel yourself go weak in his arms and let go, trying to catch your breath. There’s not much respite, because his hands are tugging on the bottom of your sweater then, his fingers against your exposed skin sending shivers down your spine. 

Breaking contact just long enough for him to push your sweater up and over your head, you find yourself enjoying the way his eyes roam your body before one of his hands cups your breast, his thumb rubbing your already hard nipple over the fabric of your bra, which adds some extra friction. A soft moan escapes you and you can feel yourself starting to get wet almost instantly.

He licks his lips and then pushes the fabric aside as he leans forward, his tongue now replacing his thumb, sucking and licking in a way that makes you a little weak in the knees. You whimper when he lets go but his lips keep ghosting over your skin, slowly making their way up to your neck, where his tongue circles your pulse point before his lips latch on and he starts sucking in earnest.

Tilting your head to give him better access, your hands find their way to his jeans, the red belt you gave him for his birthday all those years ago holding no secrets for you and so you slide it open without giving it too much thought. You unbutton his jeans, tugging them down just a little, and let your fingers run over his abs, marvelling at how much more muscular he is now than he was then. 

His mouth finds yours again, one hand in your hair while the other has returned to your breast, softly kneading it while his tongue swirls around yours. He pulls back rather abruptly, eyes dark and full of want as he takes his hoodie and t-shirt off in one go, throwing them somewhere in a corner before he puts his hands on your hips and guides you towards the bed. When your legs bump against it you sit down slowly, looking up at him with your lip between your teeth as you scoot backwards. He wastes no time and pushes his jeans down, the outline of his cock visible against the fabric of his boxes, a bit of precum staining the material a darker colour. 

You keep looking at him while you unbutton your jeans, lifting your hips so you can push them down but his hands are already tugging on the fabric. Your jeans get thrown next to his and you watch him as he climbs on the bed, the mattress sagging a little under his weight, and you moan when he slowly lowers himself onto you. 

“Fuckin’ gorgeous,” he says, his mouth close to your ear and his voice a little rough, sending a shiver down your spine. His hand sneaks down your side to the hem of your panties and for a moment he teases you, letting his fingers run along the edge of the fabric. 

“Chris,” you breathe, hoping it will convey that you need more, pushing your hips up to make sure he understands.

He slips his fingers underneath the fabric, gently pressing them against your mound, his teeth dragging over the skin just below your ear as he does. There’s a trail of kisses then, from your collarbone to the swell of your breast, to the skin on your stomach, goosebumps appearing everywhere he goes. When he finally reaches your panties you help him, hooking your fingers on the elastic band and pushing them down quickly. It earns you a wicked grin from him as he helps you take them off, adding them to the pile of discarded clothes on the floor.  

You reach out, wanting to feel him in your hands, but before you have a chance to cup him through his boxers he gently swats your hands away but doesn’t say anything and instead puts his hands on your thighs and spreads your legs to give him better access. Slowly, slowly, he moves his fingers over your skin, his eyes never leaving yours as he makes his way to where you need him most. His mouth follows soon after, teasing you by leaving butterfly kisses wherever he goes, while his fingers inch closer and closer.

A whine escapes you just as he runs a finger through your folds and so it turns into a moan, because fuck. Your hands look for something to hold onto and you have to settle for the duvet cover, bunching up the fabric between your fingers when he slides one of his into you. He moves slowly, his finger sliding in and out of you in a languid pace, his other hand on your stomach to keep you in place as his tongue finds your clit. He adds another finger then and starts moving a little faster, and you can feel your orgasm starting to build. 

Feeling his beard scratch your skin only adds to the sensation and soon, with two fingers inside of you and your clit being sucked, licked, and flicked, you push your hips up in earnest, letting him know you’re almost there. He picks up the pace even more and you let out a quiet, “Fuck,” when the first waves of your orgasm wash over you not much later. He helps you ride it out by keeping his fingers inside of you but not moving them until you let yourself fall back, your eyes closed as he slowly pulls out. 

You feel his beard scratch against your cheek and find his mouth effortlessly, a shiver running down your spine when you kiss him and taste yourself on his tongue, and as he pulls back a satisfied sigh escapes you. When you open your eyes he’s there, looking at you with something that goes beyond lust and want, a tenderness in his eyes that you haven’t seen in a long time. You reach up, gently pushing some of his tousled hair back before you cup his face and pull him close for another kiss. 

He groans in response, mouth clashing against yours for a kiss that makes you see stars, before he pushes himself off and stands up at the edge of the bed. When he takes his boxers off, his cocks springs free, and you can’t help but bite your lips, suddenly remembering your first time together, all those years ago. He looks at you then, “Do you have a-”

“In the bathroom,” you reply, before you quickly add, “but I’m tested. And on the pill.” 

“Me too.” He grins then, running a hand through his hair, “Tested, I mean. Not the pill.” 

You can’t help but smile at the blush that creeps up on his cheeks as he stands there, this adonis of a man that has nothing to be embarrassed about. Pushing yourself up you sit down on your knees and hold out your hands, beckoning him over. He joins you on the bed, cupping your face and kissing you again, slower this time, like he wants to savour every second of it. You feel his cock rub against your stomach and can’t help but wrap your hand around it, sliding it up and down his shaft. When you run your thumb over the tip he shivers and pulls back a little, and so you put your mouth to his ear and whisper, “Make me yours again, Chris.” 

He reacts instantly, gently lowering the both of you back down until you're underneath him again. Supporting himself with one hand, he takes himself in the other, running his cock through your wet folds for some extra lubrication. He looks at you when he presses the tip against your against your entrance, silently asking for permission. 

You nod and watch as he slowly pushes into you, letting out a moan when he stops halfway through, allowing you to adjust to him. “Chris,” you breathe, and he takes it as his cue to push down further, only stopping when he’s fully inside. Your walls clench around him involuntarily, drawing a strangled groan from him that sets him in motion.

Leaning down he catches your mouth with his as he starts to move his hips, his thrusts slow yet deliberate and you marvel at the way your bodies still fit together so perfectly after all these years. You let your fingers run over the muscles in his back, grabbing onto his shoulders when he picks up the pace after a while, and stop kissing him so you can catch your breath. 

“Fuck, Ace,” he groans, mouth close to your ear, his warm breath hitting your skin like a forest fire. 

You wrap one leg around his waist, needing more of him, and with his next thrust he hits your sweet spot, making your eyes roll back in pure bliss, knowing you’re getting close and so you let out a staggered, “Oh, God-” 

“Gonna make you come so hard,” Chris growls before gently biting down on the exposed skin below your ear. Quickening his pace, you know he’s chasing the same high you’re so close to and so you clench your walls again, creating even more friction. He buries his face in your neck, cursing quietly against your skin. 

“Chris, I-” you start, but then he hits that spot again and all you can do is let out a quiet, “Oh.” You’re teetering on the edge and of course he knows, his fingers finding your clit and softly rubbing it. “Fuck,” you draw out, panting now.  

“Gonna make you mine,” he growls and pulls almost all the way out, holding still for a second. You whimper quietly but then he pushes all the way in, somehow deeper than before, pinching your clit at the same time, “Come for me, Ace.” 

Your orgasm is instant, wave after wave of pleasure rolling through your body, your nails digging into his skin when you feel him swell up inside you. “Let go, babe,” you whisper, and he does. You feel him come inside of you, his release coating your walls, and he lets himself collapse on top of you, even though he still makes sure to keep some of his weight off of you. His face is still in the crook of your neck and you move your hands, throwing them around his neck and gently running your fingers through his hair as you both come down from this high. 

He pulls out not much later and rolls off of you, pulling you with him, and you let your head rest against his chest after he places a kiss on your temple, your fingers running lazily through his chest hair. You stay like that for a while, a comfortable silence between you until his phone beeps from somewhere out of the pocket of his jeans, letting him know he’s got a new message.

He mutters something about getting that later before he presses a kiss to the top of your head, “Come on,”

You push yourself off him and get out of bed, waiting for him to join you before you make your way to the bathroom. 

Like everything in your house, the shower is tiny and so you’re pressed against each other, the warm water finding its way between your bodies as he lathers you up with soap. You’ve got your back towards him, his hands gently massaging the muscles in your shoulders while he softly hums a song you don’t recognize, and you secretly wish you could stay like this forever.

When you wake up on Sunday morning you can’t help but smile when you find Chris’ arm draped across your stomach while he still sleeps soundly next to you. You turn towards him, studying him for a while, taking in his face and his neatly trimmed beard. His brow furrows then and without thinking you place the palm of your hand against his cheek to let him know you’re there.

He smiles when he opens his eyes, “Mornin’,” his voice a little hoarse, the way it always was early in the morning. 

“Hi,” you scoot forward and give him a kiss. 

Wrapping his arm around you tighter, he nuzzles your neck, whispering sweet nothings in your ear while his fingers ghost over your skin. After a while he lets out a deep sigh and whispers, “I have to leave soon.”

Even though your heart drops, you nod, “I figured.” 

“My flights at two,” he says as he pulls back a little so he can look at you, “and then I’m off to Los Angeles on Tuesday.” 

“How long-” your voice catches and so you clear your throat, “How long will you-”

“At least two weeks.”

You don’t say anything and let your eyes drop, trying to decide if you have a right to feel upset about this. Probably not. This was never supposed to happen and so you doubt there’s any time allotted in his schedule for you.

“Ace,” his voice interrupts your thoughts, and he sounds worried, “talk to me.”

Trying to find the right words you just smile at him.

“We will make this work,” he says then, as if he’s read your mind. 

“How?”

“Los Angeles is just two weeks,” his hand now cupping your cheek, “after that I’m back home until I start filming again at the end of October.”

You nod, because that definitely offers some possibilities. The idea of maybe moving back to Sudbury flashes through your mind, but you don’t want to get ahead of yourself, and so you push it back. 

“We’re shooting in Boston, eight weeks tops, so-” he shrugs, “I’ll be back in Sudbury for Christmas.” There’s the hint of a smile playing on his lips then, but there’s a questioning look in his eyes, “Tell me you’ll be there too.” 

It’s exciting, this promise of something more, and you feel your lips curve up into a smile when you answer honestly, "I'd like that.”

[angelkurenai]

Twisting the knife - Chris Evans x Reader

Title: Twisting the knife 

Pairing: Chris Evans x Reader, Ransom Drysdale x Reader (/Reader’s Character)

Warnings: None

Summary During an interview you are asked various questions about your role in the new “Knives Out” movie, alongside that of your husband’s. Although you had been originally cast as his character’s sister, you reveal that due to your chemistry, the role changed to an adopted sister who has a complicated relationship with his character. In between admiting all of that, however, it is impossible to hide your small crush on your other costar which inevitably makes your husband jealous. (Requested)

“Hey, little sis, going somewhere?” your way was blocked even before you could comprehend it, leaving you little choice as to where you should go. As expected, you couldn't spend more than ten minutes of peace and silence – well, almost silence when it concerned a party – in this house before it all came crushing down. And it always seemed to be by the same person every single time, how not surprising.

“For the sake of my poor sanity? As far away as possible from you, Ransom.” you didn't even look in his direction, making sure to fill your glass with just a bit more wine before moving to rest your weight against the doorframe and take a rather large sip of it. You felt like, if you could and if didn't draw too much attention from the family and even more so the man next to you, then you'd have downed the whole glass in one go. All the while, said man made sure to leave barely a couple inches of space between the two of you, just for the sake of making it worse and make you realize just how trapped you were.

“And yet, here you are, closer to me than ever before. How about that?” the smirk was as evident on his voice as it was on his face when you turned to give him the hardest glare you could master. Not that it had the effect you wanted it to because neither could you keep it up for long – your mind instantly being occupied with the thought of how you wanted to wipe that smug smile with a kiss more than a punch – nor did his smile fade in the least bit.

“I could answer that but trust me, you wouldn't like me to do so in front of the whole family. So for one, if it wasn't for grandpa's birthday I wouldn't even be here to see your face. But what can I do, we all must suffer a bit for those we love. And for another-” with a sudden move of your arm you actually managed to elbow him right in the stomach, making him let out a loud groan and almost double “Oops, sorry for that. Did I hurt you maybe?” you asked as innocently as you possibly could, loud enough for the family who was now looking at you to hear.

“Hey, what's going on there? Ransom, stop bothering your sister!” Linda was instantly speaking up in your defence, having a soft spot on you from the day she met you at the orphanage on one hand and on the other knowing her biological son all too well to know that whenever there was a fight between the two of you it was always his fault. Well, she wasn't entirely wrong.

“It's fine, ma. It's actually my fault, Ransom was a bit too close-” you looked at him from the corner of your eyes, trying to put as much meaning behind the words as possible for only him to understand “And I accidentally elbowed him. That's all.”

You heard a small scoff and laugh coming from Meg “If you could accidentally repeat it, don't think the rest of humanity would hold it against you.”

You could hardly hold back a laugh at the girl who felt more like your family than anybody else besides Linda and Harlan. While the woman would more often than not come off as stern and emotionless, she had shown you more love and compassion as a mother than your biological one ever had, let alone when she had abandoned you at a very young age. Richard too was a good father albeit absent most of the time he was caring, in his own way. You thought they were all caring in their own way, and as much as they could be, especially given when you had joined the family you were already 16. They had grown to accept you and you them. Well, almost all of them.

It was no secret to every member of the family that you and the older son didn't get along. While there had not been any major fights, not with any yelling for sure – Ransom surely didn't need to raise a voice to get under your skin and you, well, you didn't have the strength or patience to raise yours when it came to him – it was obvious that you could barely stand to be in the same room as him. Despite any efforts you had made at first to get along, all those years ago, it was obvious he wouldn't change so you too had stopped trying altogether.

As far as the rest of the family was concerned you didn't care whether he shut up because he died or... any other reason really, so long as he was no longer around you. As far as you were concerned, however, you cared because if he kept talking and kept getting closer to you, you might just shut him up with your lips and that would be a game you didn't want to play. Not again.

“Exactly.” the smile was back on his lips but certainly vanished from yours when you felt his arm around your shoulders “There's absolutely no harm done here, certainly no fight. If anything, (Y/n) and I are the closest we've been, we've grown past our differences and are ready to call truce once and for all. Make love not war, that's what they say. Isn't that right, little sister?” he squeezed your shoulder and you nearly broke the glass in your hand “Two very loving siblings!”

“You better.” Linda gave him a look before turning to the rest of the family, the other family members doing the same before slowly but certainly the conversation grew louder and you were quickly forgotten.

“What the hell do you think you're doing?” you hissed, grabbing his hand only to push it off your shoulder – although he did resist for a couple seconds.

“What?” he asked so innocently it got even more frustrating “I'm merely reassuring mother dearest that her son is on his best behavior and a loving big brother to his-”

“Alright, that's enough. Stop, just- stop it.” you all-but-growled at him, which really did nothing to lessen the smile that had turned into a smirk but you barely cared “I don't know what your problem is but I don't care to find out either. I'm living the best life I ever have, ever since I met you now that I am so many miles away from you. And if it wasn't for meetings like this I'd be perfectly content the whole year round. But I'm not about to shy away or not say a word like the little teen girl you first met, Ransom, and I can sure as fucking hell fight-”

“Whoa whoa easy little sis, I di-”

“I'm not your bloody sister!” you nearly yelled at him, oh how you wanted to scream it right in his face “I'm not and I will never be. And you're not my brother. Stop calling me that, just stop it. We both know very well that it is not how you see me, you never did and never will. And it sure is for the best because you and I-”

“Oh no, no please go ahead. You and I?” he smirked, taking another step closer to you again “I'd love to hear you finish that sentence with your own words. I sure have an idea or two in mind.”

You took in a deep breath, trying to gain some sort of courage but you realised very soon what a mistake that was. Standing so close to him you couldn't help but inhale his cologne, mixing with that significant aftershave and on top of the characteristic warmth of his body you were already feeling your knees go weak. It came in shaky and he noticed because his smirk got wider. It was as if he had won something and possibly he had.

That was the crazy or maybe even scary part of it all: You realized it too and instead of hating him more for it, you felt even more drawn to the man.

“You're right.” he straightened a bit, glancing at the family that were totally oblivious to the two of you “We're not siblings, and it's a really good thing we're not, because- well, we both know why. Just like we both know why... I'm going to keep calling you that, over and over and over again, even more so in front of our loving family. I'm going to keep saying it until you give in... again.”

“Listen here you bastard-” you hissed “I don't know what your game is and I don't care to anymore. Do your thing, as always, I don't give a damn. I'm actually bloody thankful I'm not related to you or your lifestyle in any sort of way and I plan to keep it that way, whatever you do. I'm not getting pulled into your game.”

“Oh really?” he grinned, getting so much closer there really was no room for you to back away and yet plenty enough for it to seem totally natural “And what are you going to do exactly? What do you think I am going to do?”

“None of your business. Look-” you let a short huff of air “I don't know if that's what you get off to, Ransom, I don't know if-”

“What? Oh (Y/n).” he actually laughed and you didn't know if you hated him more or found the sound too endearing for your poor heart “That's cute but calm down, will you? What I get off to? Oh no, no of course not. That's so far from the things I like.” he rolled his eyes playfully, before taking another dangerous step closer to you “Besides-” he smirked, leaning closer to your ear after a glance at the family “You do know better than anyone else what I get off to, don't you (Y/n/n)?”

If it wasn't the damn nickname he had come up with, if it wasn't the proximity, if it wasn't his breath fanning over cheek, if it wasn't his lips brushing over your ear as he whispered into it then it was certainly the combination which had you shaking. And you couldn't have been more thankful to Marta in your life for informing the man that his grandfather wanted to see him in his office, making him leave you alone for the rest of the party.

Not that he left you without his trademark wink that is.

And with that the screen faded to black and it didn't take longer than a second's silence before the crowd was erupting in cheers. You along with the rest of the cast clapped as well.

“Now I feel like-” you glanced at your husband with a wide smile “I have to say this, honey, I have to.” you told him before turning to the crowd “And in those last few seconds, I realized, he was no longer acting. But they kept it in the movie you see.”

“Wh-what?” your costars and husband were already laughing much like the host himself.

“I think- I think given that you've been married for a year you should know but uh-” Jimmy's words didn't really make it any easier but as the host he tried to keep a serious face and tone the laughter down “It is a great scene nonetheless, so we'll just-”

“Oh it is my favorite scene!” Ana spoke up though in between her laughter there was only so much she could do.

“Let's all agree it was a good scene and move on from it cause knowing (Y/n) she will have plenty of comments to make on it and therefore me in that scene. Please?” Chris spoke up too and you smiled even more widely.

“Come on you guys, it's not like I said 'Get you a man like Chris Evans: Steve Rogers by day and Ransom Drysdale by night.' or anything that might imply how he's in bed! Did I?” you asked so innocently that anyone - or at least anyone that was not your husband - would have easily believed it was nothing more than just a slip and certainly very true - part which you were not going to deny. But if it wasn't for your laughter, which you could hardly contain when the rest of the cast burst into laughter of their own and which in the end gave you away, you would have kept your act up and made them believe that you did none of it on purpose. Something which of course, again, you did.

“Alright this taking a turn for the-” Jimmy chuckled “For something we didn't expect, not that the fans will complain of course. I see- I see a few people there cheering!” he pointed at the audience.

“What? Want more details? With pleasure, I could go on for hours!” you said eagerly, making Chris look at you with horror on his face.

“Oh no. No no no! Absolutely not! Let's- Let's change the topic, yeah?” he tried to look serious but the wide smile on his lips was not helping, he was having fun even though he was already feeling embarrassed. The entire cast already knew it, probably the entire world too after so many years of working with Chris and so many years in relationship, but if there was one person that truly knew you and how far you could really go was Chris himself. So when he said that it was best if you changed the subject then he was absolutely right.

“Yes, I think it's best if we do change the subject. I think-” Jimmy chuckled as Chris tried to get everyone to calm down and not ask any more questions - despite Ana whining a bit and saying she wanted more details, just like the rest of the crowd you were sure “Calm down everyone, I'm sure she will share more details later.”

“Oh you bet!” you grinned, only for all of it to turn into laughter when you saw your husband hiding his face behind his hands mumbling “Oh no.” on repeat.

“Alright-” Jimmy cleared his throat, trying to get back on track as everyone else calmed down again “I think I had a few questions for you, (Y/n), concerning this scene. It was incredible by the way, so many things going on at the same time and you two manage to make it flow seamlessly. Can you- can you tell us a couple things about it?”

“Uhm yes of course.” you nodded your head “It was actually the first scene we had to shoot as our characters for the movie and I remember being so nervous about it, it's something I can't help every time, it gets really bad sometimes to the point I can't eat anything for the whole day until, you know, I calm down and the filming starts and I get told I'm doing ok-”

“Says the three-times-Oscar-winner.” your best friend gave you a look and you laughed, shrugging before Ana went on to add “But who cares about that when you've got Chris Evans to comfort you every five minutes, am I right?” she smirked as everyone laughed.

You couldn't help but grin as well, giving her a small punch on the shoulder “I mean, yes that did help a bit... lot.” you laughed “But I think it did just as much as having the scene itself with Chris. After so many years of working with him, friendship or relationship o-or marriage aside, we know the tricks and moves each other has. We know how the other one acts, in every detail it sometimes is scary for some-” you chuckled “And so to fall into synce is a piece of cake anymore. I mean, we could change the whole order of the lines but still find a way to include them all in the dialogue in a perfect flow without a single hesitation. So yes, on that aspect it was really helpful to be with Chris on that very first scene, I'm-I'm actually glad that the chemistry and all this uhm closeness came through in such a good way.”

“Why, yes, I think the fans were incredibly excited about that part! You two- you have quiet a few scenes together and- Let me ask, was that the original plan?”

“The original plan was uhm a bit more... simple and yet ten times more complicated. I auditioned for the role of his sister, his biological sister because that was the script at first. However, later there were many many changes made to the script so that my character was more of the adopted sister with little relations to the family and a questionable relation to Ransom because it felt like it fit more. See they really wanted me for the part, there was no questioning that, but uhm I think I could say it was discovered that uhm Chris and I couldn't get over the- what's the word. Uh well, I don't know how I could descri-”

“Sexual tension, just say it already!” Ana once more piped in, making you laugh just like everybody else “We all know it, it's always there! Just admit it, (Y/n).”

“Already, it might have been that. Maybe. I don't know.” you shrugged innocently “Who can blame me anyway? Look at this man!” you took hold of his face and kissed his cheek as he chuckled “But yes, yes Jimmy, I think that the chemistry came out as a little more uhm personal so they switched it up.”

“I- I don't think it was a problem, though.” Chris spoke up, a second afterwards “I think- because it seemed like they were all along planing to take it there. It was still the very first couple of days, no official filming had started out yet, and so (Y/n) and I were more comfortable so we didn't care if it came out our characters talking or us going through the lines of our characters. We were doing more of the second, you see, and they took notice of that and I suppose liked it enough to change it all.”

“Wow that's amazing then! Not just for you guys but for the fans as well.”

“Yeah, everyone went kind of nuts, and this one didn't help the case by posting photos all the time.” Chris chuckled, pointing at you.

“Were you excited about it (Y/n)?” Jimmy asked what was most likely a rhetorical question but you were already nodding anyway, seeing no harm in the simple question.

And leave it to Ana to make it worse “The real question should be why were you excited (Y/n)?”

“I hate you so much right now.” you told your friend and she giggled “I knew it was going to be a good movie and real fun to film. Just a look at all the cast and crew and script, which is is a masterpiece I had no doubt. I mean with my husband, my best friend and so many great actors why not-”

“So many, yes, of course. Cause she cared about all members of the cast equally. It's because of all of us she wanted to bein so much hmh.” she nodded her head, the smirk not leaving her lips and you hid your face behind your hands “Why, this is an oscar-worthy performance now.”

“You're the worst, literally the worst. Alright, fine-” you huffed “I will admit that I may or may have not accepted the role before even knowing half the thing I should about it. I received the first script and Chris had already gotten his role and we were talking a lot about the movie and he told me about the cast that I was totally sold just at hearing about them, you see. I kinda did it for all of them yes.”

“All of them, indeed.” Ana muttered not-so-silently.

“Wait, I don't get it. I, as well as I'm pretty sure every other fan out there, thought you auditioned for the movie because you'd get to be with Chris. Careful of your answer, don't break too many hearts!”

“I-” you laughed “Well, Chris knows it so I won't be breaking his, but no I didn't go for the role because of Chris himself. I just loved the idea of it all. Honestly, I was actually hoping I'd get to be Ana's character's wifey, but instead I got stuck with this guy yet again so I guess I had to play my part. I mean, they had that chance and it had so much potential-”

“So much!” your friend agreed passionately “We have been robbed! First time I got to be in a movie with my bestie and we've been robbed! I wanted that to happen too. Why should Chris be the only to brag he's married to Wonder Woman, I wanted that too! I was so sad we didn't get that. So sad.”

“Exactly.” you agreed “But no, I guess they were like: Chris Evans. Take it or leave it.” you shrugged “So yeah, I kind of rolled with that. Again.”

“You-” your husband couldn't contain his laughter “You say that like it's a bad thing! Wow, married life. Isn't it great? Maybe I should have really paid more attention to RDJ's speech. My own wife!”

“Come on, don't be a sore loser. Second place is just fine!” Ana said only half serious “You're on the top three of the people she loves most in the cast, that's what counts. I'm fine with third place!”

“Wait, did you just say third?” Jimmy asked the question many surely wanted, except for you.

“Oh you think she came to the movie for her best friend or husband? Oh no, no.” she grinned and your breath got caught in your throat, you knew that smile real well and you had been lucky to avoid it so far but apparently no more “Let's all be honest: great cast, amazing script, awesome director- Tha means shit,it fades into the background when-”

“No, Ana please don't-” you pleaded but you knew there was no use.

“It all means shit when Daniel Craig is going to be there!” she exclaimed and you squeaked, hiding your face behind your hands “She doesn't give a singe f for the rest of us. Nothing and nobody else exists! Daniel Craig, it's all about that man and I have facts when I tell you that she wanted to be in the movie for him!”

“Oh my gosh, oh my gosh. She said it. I can't believe she said it. I'm so glad he's not here to-”

“Do you think he's going to come on set today? Chris told me he's going to show up one of these days this week! What if he shows up today and the first scene they film it's the one we have together?! How will I do that? I'm not ready!” she mimicked you a little over the top and you literally yelped.

“But I don't sound like that!” your voice came out a bit high-pitched “And that's not what I said... entirely.”

“Not on a normal basis, but when it comes to Daniel Craig? Yes, yes you do!” she laughed as some of your co-stars chuckled. In fact all of them except for one: your husband.

“How come I didn't know any of that?” he did try to seem relaxed, but his smile wasn't his usual warm.

“It's no big deal-” you started, elbowing Ana who scoffed a laugh “I've kinda only told this traitor here, and it's not like I plan to talk about it again. I didn't...” but you trailed off, looking at your husband who had a raised eyebrow which made you bite your lip to keep yourself from grinning.

“And that, everyone-” you turned back to the audience “Is how his Ransome starts showing!”