#your girl is three proseccos deep

[wishingforatypewriter]

Twenty Questions for Romance Writers 🩷

What is your working theory of romantic love?

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Which MC's approach to love is most different from yours?

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What are your favorite romantic tropes and why?

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Do you prefer writing pre-relationship, established couples, or messy situationships?

Do you believe in soulmates irl? In fiction?

Do you ever take inspiration from real life romances?

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Are you a romantic in real life?

List three of your favorite romantic novels. Why do you like them?

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Share an excerpt from a favorite romantic scene that you've written.

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[gloomwitchwrites]

Tattoo Artist Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female Reader

Content & Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): swearing, describing a man’s size, brief alcohol, non-descriptive mentions of sex, intimidation

Word Count: 3.5k

A/N: Part Twenty-One of Ink & Needle

The past resurfaces. Simon's enemy shows his face.

Chapter Twenty

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // ink & needle masterlist

Three Years Ago

“Confess, bitch. Give us the details.”

Sam takes a towel to a bottle of prosecco, the cork popping as she dislodges it. Jade collects four tumblers from the mini-bar and sets them out on top of the low dresser the television sits on.

“Don’t leave anything out,” adds Jade, tossing her blue hair over her shoulder.

All of you are freshly showered and wearing the fluffy hotel provided robes. The softness is absolute heaven. Like wearing a cloud.

You sigh heavily and fall onto your back on the plush hotel bed, hands pressed over your eyes. There is a pleasant ache between your legs—a reminder of your wraith. His scent still lingers even though you stood under scalding water and scrubbed the day away. There is a hint of mint. Of black tea. A whisp of smoke.

Maybe it’s in your hair.

Maybe it’s embedded into your skin.

Thorns that have burrowed and only time will push them out or leave them to fester and infect.

“What do you want to know?” you groan, rubbing your temples.

Already, the alcohol is beginning to creep from your system, leaving a tension behind that signals an oncoming hangover. It’s not piercing yet. Just a nuisance. Sam tops off the glasses and the prosecco is distributed. The bubbly drink burns your nose a bit but it drives off the blooming headache.

Begrudgingly, you push up to a more seated position, your three best friends staring back expectantly. It’s the moment of truth. You’re facing the jury. This is your judgement.

“Was it good?” asks Sam, one eyebrow arched in question. She takes a sip of her drink, leaning slightly to the right, adjusting the front of the robe.

“Yes,” you reply slowly.

“And?” she prompts, waving her hand in a signal to go on.

“Do we have to talk about this right now?” you mutter, staring down into your dwindling glass of prosecco. If you’re going to get through this conversation, you’re going to require more.

Jade sets her glass down on the side table between the two beds. She goes up on her knees, excitement buzzing through her bones. “How big was he?” she asks. “What did it look like?”

“Jesus Christ, Jade,” you groan.

Yes. More prosecco will fix this.

“Just say when,” interrupts Jade. She brings her hands flat against each other, and then slowly starts to move them away.

Sam snorts, and then chokes on her beverage, nearly rolling off the bed as she goes for a tissue. You stare dumbly at Jade, not saying anything.

“Just say—seriously? Seriously?” Jade’s hands are unrealistically far apart. “This is impossible. I’m starting over.”

“Stop,” you laugh, grabbing her hands. “He was…decent?”

“Decent?” snaps Sam. “We don’t get any details? Color? Length?”

“Girth,” adds Jade. “A prominent vein?”

Sam rolls her eyes. “Girl. Give us something!”

You glance over at Evie. “Are you going to help me at all?”

She shrugs and sips on her prosecco. “I’m curious too,” she says softly.

You down the rest of your prosecco and immediately regret it. A wave of indigestion hits you and you swallow down a burp.

“Okay,” you concede, holding up one hand placatingly. “Fine.”

The three women settle onto the bed, all their attention on you. It takes a moment—a deep inhalation before you begin. But you do, and you tell them most of it. You talk about Ghost’s proposition out in the alleyway and of where he took you to. You describe the positions he put you in, and how damn good the man was at tonguing orgasm after orgasm out of you.

They sigh and swoon. They giggle or simply stare open-mouthed.

There are some things you don’t say. You don’t tell them how you felt in your heart when you left or the circumstances of why. The sense of needing to run was insistent and strong, but looking back—you now feel shame.

You regret not staying even for a few extra minutes.

“Damn,” sighs Sam, leaning back on one elbow.

Jade just blinks, her mind still trying to process the information.

Evie smiles behind her glass, and you know that look. “What?” you prompt, lightly smacking her thigh.

“Sounds like you had fun.” She lightly smacks your thigh back. “Aren’t you happy we went?”

Now

“Bag packed?”

“I think so. How’s Lillian?”

Evie takes a bite of her sandwich and glances down into the bassinet. “Asleep. For now.”

“How are you feeling?” you ask softly, walking around to the side of the bed. Sitting down on the edge, you lean back slightly, staring at your friend.

It’s been over a week since Archie’s parents came to visit. The rest of the day and the following, Evie was a mess. But her cheeks have color to them now, and the bags under her eyes are almost non-existent. She’s always been the mediator, but it doesn’t seem like she’s willing to the mediator in this anymore. Her fuse no longer sparks.

While Evie hasn’t spoken it out loud, her actions indicate her willingness to separate from Archie’s family completely. It would be better for everyone, but mostly for her mental wellbeing. She’s dealt with too much of their bullshit, and it’s time that she breaks away from them for good.

It’s their own fault. Their own behavior that has caused all this. It never had to come to this, and now they likely won’t see their granddaughter at all.

“Better,” she sighs. “A bit nauseous.”

“Headache?” you ask.

She nods. “I just need a little caffeine. Maybe something carbonated.”

“All the paperwork signed?”

“Yep. On the table in the kitchen.” Evie takes another bite of her sandwich, chewing slowly. “Thank you for doing this.”

“It’s fine, Evie. I’m happy to do it.”

“I know,” she says quickly. “And I know I keep thanking you, but I do mean it. Having Amelia around is wonderful, but she wouldn’t be able to do everything you’re doing for me.”

It’s true in a way. Amelia has been integral in helping with Lillian, but it is you that has spent all your time taking care of the financial end. Mister Grant calls you. The estate agent contacts you. You are Evie’s voice at the moment, and you’re more than happy to do it.

“I’m not the one packing anything up,” you laugh, throwing up your hands. “All I have to do is point and Jennifer’s assistant will label it.”

“That’ll be easier,” sighs Evie. “I can’t imagine trying to go through all our belongings by hand.”

You shrug. “I get to eat lots of takeout in the meantime. I’ll be fine.”

Evie reaches out and squeezes your hand. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Evelyn Green.”

Her grin is infectious as you push up from the bed and snag the backpack you packed. Hefting it over one shoulder, you salute Evie and walk out of the room backwards. You hear her giggle all the way down the hall.

Once the paperwork is in your hands, Amelia drops you off at the train station. You spend the entire trip hunched over the paperwork and reviewing the list you made of all the items Evie wants to keep. She’s giving you liberty to make the final call on most things, but you know it’s because she’s doesn’t want to deal with any of it.

It’s understandable. Everything in the home reminds Evie of her dead husband, and she’s already emotional delicate. If she doesn’t want to look at or deal with any of it, you’ll carry the burden.

When you arrive in Cambridge, it’s a quick taxi ride to the house.

The quiet is almost ominous, and the dark rooms seem bigger without anyone here with you. For a moment, you consider calling Simon to ask if he’d like to come out here and join you. But the idea is quickly dismissed. Simon has work. He has a job to do. Already he’s made numerous changes to his schedule just to accommodate your needs.

It’s not like he wouldn’t come if you called. You know that if you picked up the phone right now and dialed Simon’s number, he wouldn’t even hesitate. Simon would come like a moth to a flame.

But moths are often consumed in fire.

You think better of it.

The estate agent, Jennifer, and her assistant are supposed to arrive early in the morning to start the pack-up process. There isn’t time to dwell on your feelings or how much you wish Simon was here with you.

On the kitchen island, you set out the paperwork, organizing it now so you don’t have to deal with it in the morning. You just want to sleep—to have as much quiet as you can before the work begins. Lillian keeps Evie up, but the little one keeps you up as well. The lack of sleeping is starting to eat away at you.

It’s a fresh start in a way. You sleep deep and you sleep hard. When Jessica and Mollie arrive, you’re refreshed.

“Evelyn wants these packed?” asks Jessica, gesturing toward an array of kitchen appliances.

“Yes,” you confirm.

Jessica nods and Mollie writes “pack” on a sticky note before attaching it to the mixing bowls. Plenty of things are going into storage for now—at least until Evie is confident enough to find her own place that is uniquely hers.

You haven’t broached the subject explicitly. It’s only been mentioned in passing, and Evie agreed that she didn’t want to sell everything off only to have to replace it later. What she truly wants is for the house to be sold. To create a space that doesn’t constantly remind her of her dead husband.

You and Jessica walk around the entire house and garden with Mollie trailing behind, her arms loaded with tape, paper, and sticky notes. It takes several hours to go through everything, and by the end you’re starving. The coffee and croissant you ate for breakfast are out of your system entirely.

Jessica taps away at her phone, a frown on her face. “I swear. I’ve been having issues with this thing all morning,” she grumbles.

Mollie shrugs. “Want me to reach out to them?”

“Please,” sighs Jessica. “They’re supposed to deliver the boxes for us. Find out from John what time.”

Mollie nods and grabs her tablet, her fingers tapping away furiously. She gives her back, one arm clutching the tablet while her other hand unloads the pens from her coat pocket.

Jessica turns to you with a bright smile. “I’ll find out when the boxes are supposed to arrive.” She lifts her phone in the air. “If this will cooperate. Bloody technology.”

“It’s fine,” you laugh. “They’ll get here when they get here. I can manage until then.”

“Too true,” she beams. “At least you have a few to start with.”

“But the rest will be boxed up independently?”

“Yes,” confirms Jessica. “Just take the things that Evelyn wants. Leave the rest. I have the keys. When the team is ready, I’m meet them here. We’ll take care of everything else.”

“Wonderful,” you sigh, as you say your goodbyes and escort Jessica and Mollie to the front door.

The boxes do arrive, but so do an endless parade of people. Mister Grant stops by to review the paperwork before handing over more for you to take to Evie when you return to London. The appraiser comes to evaluate the house, and several different contractors arrive to assess potential fixes that Jessica suggested during the walkthrough.

It’s an avalanche of faces—and the only one you want to see is Simon. It’s the face you think about when you slip into bed that night. It’s the face you imagine when the ache between your thighs grows and you need some sweet relief. It’s the face in your dreams that night, and the one that lingers when you wake.

You need Simon like plants need the sun. He is your light. Your sustenance. This love blooming in your chest is a twisting beast that intends to devour you whole. It is lovely. It is consuming.

All you want is him.

When you return to London, the first thing you’re doing is heading for 141 Ink to spend an afternoon in his shop. Watching Simon work is a pleasure. You’ve only witnessed it a few times, and it was hypnotizing when you did.

“Really?” you mutter, staring at the text message on the phone screen, stuffing the rest of your breakfast into your mouth.

It’s Jessica! New phone! Sending the assessor out to you today! One last walkthrough!

“They were just here,” you groan, staring around at all the empty boxes. “Why is this necessary?”

The boxes were delivered, but they were all flat. At least packing tape came with. Otherwise, you’d be out of luck. Evie wants some things to come to Amelia’s and those are the items you’re supposed to be collecting. That is supposed to be your focus at the moment.

And a new number for Jessica is annoyingly inconvenient, but you’ll deal with it. Her phone was acting up yesterday.

“Whatever,” you say to the ceiling, updating your contact information for Jessica.

You continue to pack, taking breaks every so often to check work emails. You’re in the zone—a flurry of activity—so when the doorbell goes off, you nearly flinch at the sound.

“Jesus Christ,” you mutter, sealing a box with packing tape.

Pushing up to standing, your knees pop. The doorbell rings through the house again and you sprint to the front door, legs a bit achy from crouching.

You open the door, a little breathless. “Hi!”

A man in his mid-thirties stands on the other side. His dark hair is cropped short and he wears a polo with khakis. On the left side of the polo is a little logo that says “Heisman Consulting.” He clutches a clipboard in one hand and has a utility belt hooked around his hips. Behind his right ear is a sharpened pencil.

“You must be the assessor Jessica mentioned,” you greet.

“That’s me,” he says, presenting his hand. “I’m Jack.”

You take it, giving him your own name. It’s a firm, strong handshake. His eye contact is intense. It’s a bit strange actually. You’re not sure why he’s staring like he’s trying to see into your soul.

“We just had the assessor here yesterday. Did Jessica give a reason for another visit?” you ask, trying to keep your tone light.

Jack just grins and it’s disarming. “Second opinion.”

“I see,” you say slowly, not understanding at all.

What’s the point of a second opinion? Did the first one already come back? That seems unlikely. These things don’t happen overnight. But you’re not the expert on real estate. This is out of your depth.

What you want is to leave this conversation as quickly as possible and return to your task. “I have a few things to take care of. I’ll make sure to stay out of your way while you walk around the property.”

“That won’t be necessary,” replies Jack, his smile still in place.

“I’m sorry?”

“Jessica wants you present for the inspection.”

You laugh, the sound awkward as it leaves your lips. “No she doesn’t. I’ll be around. Just come grab me if you need something.”

Jack shakes his head, shrugging his shoulders casually. “Jessica isn’t happy with the last assessment. Wants someone else observing.”

“Like a witness?” you ask.

He shrugs his shoulders again, and the unease only grows. Why does he want you to stick around so bad? If anything, you shouldn’t be in his way at all.

“Fine,” you concede, attempting to give him a smile. “Not sure I’ll be of much help.”

Jack glances down at his clipboard and removes the pencil from behind is ear. “S’all good, love.” He winks and notes something on the clipboard before his gaze scans the room.

Love.

In Jack’s mouth, it sounds like an insult. It doesn’t sit right. The only person you enjoy calling you that is Simon.

You try to smile, but it falls flat.

There are too many things to do, and you only have a few days to complete them. You’re supposed to be in Cambridge for the weekend—returning at the latest on Tuesday if necessary.

“Where would you like to start?” you ask, taking a cautious step back, edging toward the paperwork sitting on the counter.

Jack takes another gander of the kitchen and living room. It’s strange, really, how he’s observing the space but not really looking at it. It almost appears passive, like he’s not interested in it at all.

You tuck the loose paperwork into the binder Mister Grant left and lean against the counter, arms crossed over your chest.

“Let’s cover the outdoors first,” Jack finally says. “Weather is all right for now. Never know when it might rain.”

��Sure,” you reply. “Let me grab my coat.”

You quietly excuse yourself, heading for the guest bedroom. It’s at the end of the hall. Tucked away. Even though you don’t sense a presence at your back, you keep checking, glancing over your shoulder like Jack will suddenly appear.

It’s silly, really. Why are you uneasy about all this? Jessica sometimes gets back to you last minute on things. It’s just a little tight. A little odd. But it’s not completely unusual.

Grabbing your coat, you return downstairs, finding Jack near the patio door. He’s hunched over a bit, blocking your view of the handle.

“Want to start in the backyard first?” you ask loudly, tugging on the coat.

He turns sharply, his mouth a firm, flat line before morphing into a smile. He’s still blocking your view of the handle.

Reaching behind him, he slides the patio door open. “Sounds great.” He moves with it and stays there. “Ladies first.”

You slowly approach and brush past him. Jack is far too close and you wrap your coat a little tighter around you as he exits after you. With clipboard in hand, the two of you begin walking the perimeter of the house.

Jack never removes any tools from his belt. He doesn’t measure anything. He only observers and makes notes on his clipboard. There are no questions asked. Nothing. The silence is excruciating, and while you’re itching to break it, you don’t dare do so.

There is a chill beneath your skin, and it’s not the cool December air. It might be cold out but it’s not that cold—not like it can get in the States. This is a creeping chill. One that starts at a point in your chest and slowly spreads outward until the tips of your fingers and toes feel numb.

Jack isn’t wearing a coat, but perhaps he’s simply used to the weather. He doesn’t appear bothered by it.

“Anything I can help with?” you finally ask once the two of you make it back to the patio area.

“Just keep close,” he winks, stepping inside the house.

You stand just outside, unsure if you want to go in at all. Your phone burns a hole in your pocket. The urge to call Jessica is intense—nearly stifling.

You step inside, glancing back the interior handle. The screws are gone. And the lock is clearly broken.

“What the fuck,” you mutter, whirling around to find Jack standing nearby, a hammer clutched in his fist.

Jack isn’t smiling. His frown is deep. A scowl. Your gaze darts to the hammer in his hand and then back up to his face. He’s between you and the front door. The only way out is through the patio door. It might be directly behind you, but you still have to run along the side of the house to make a break for the road.

If you’re fast, you could do it. But you’ll have to give Jack your back. And he’s wielding a fucking weapon. Even if you’re out of swinging distance, he could still hurl it at you like a javelin.

Slowly, you slide your foot backward.

Jack remains utterly motionless.

“I’m calling Jessica.”

Again, Jack doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak.

You take another slow step backward.

Without taking your eyes off of him, you fish out your phone, holding it up in the air. With Jessica at the top of your message list, it’s not difficult to hit the “call” button. There is a pause before you hear the muted ring coming from your phone.

But that isn’t what unnerves you.

A ringer goes off. Loud. Near.

It’s not Jack. He still stands there in the middle of the room with hammer in hand. Unfazed.

It’s coming from behind you.

The muted ring from your phone and the loud, audible one sync together. Jack’s gaze slowly shifts from you to a point over your shoulder.

Your eyes burn and you don’t realize that you’re crying until the salt of them sting your cheeks.

Jack isn’t looking at you anymore. His gaze is beyond. Absorbed elsewhere.

Twisting, you glance over your shoulder and find a man standing just outside the patio door. He holds up a ringing cellphone and half of his face is covered in burn scars.

“Hello, love,” he says, voice gruff like he’s smoked an entire pack of cigarettes. “The name’s Kit.”

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[works-of-fanfiction]

What is it about Weddings? || Lando Norris x Reader 

Summary: Lando and the reader attend a wedding together, and find out a lot more about their friendship than they expected.

Word Count: 3.3k

Warnings: Swearing (once)

a/n: this is unintentionally long, and I probably could’ve cut some of it out but here we are. here’s some fluffy friends to lovers (kind of, it’s implied) with everyone’s fave mcclaren driver.

“And I’m supposed to what? Pretend to be your girlfriend for the day?” You asked, laughter beneath your voice as you released your wet hair from the towel. Lando’s pixelated head nodded on the other end of the video call and you scoffed, shaking your head in disbelief. “I agreed to this as your friend. How am I supposed to convince your family otherwise?” “Please, Y/N. They’ve already started asking questions and I - “ “You’re too scared to dodge them? Correct them? Tell them the truth?” You brushed through your hair, wincing at the knots in the ends. “I’m sorry. I know you’re mad at me - “ “I’m not mad at you, Lando.” You interrupted him again, causing him to roll his eyes which luckily went unnoticed by you whilst you leaned down to plug the hairdryer in. “I’m just feeling a little unprepared.” “All we have to do is maybe hold hands, agree on a story of how we started dating, and dance together a couple times. Do you think you can do that?” He asked, adopting his famous puppy dog eyes that you fell for every time, that you’ve been falling for since you met him three years ago. You sighed, throwing your towel into the laundry basket then looking back at the phone. “Alright, seems easy enough.”  “Thank you! I owe you.” He clasped his hands together like a prayer, blowing you a kiss through the screen. “Oh, you absolutely do. Now go, I’ve got to dry my hair and make sure I’m ready in time!” “The wedding doesn’t start for another two hours.” “And the clock is ticking! See you later.” You smiled, not even giving him the chance to say goodbye before hanging up the phone.

Exactly two hours later you were sat in the middle of the venue waiting for the music to begin and the bride to enter. Enough of the small talk was already over, and you were finally able to let go of Lando’s slightly sweaty hand. You teased him for it, earning you an elbow in the ribs and another eyeroll. “It’s the middle of Summer, your hands aren’t exactly pleasant to hold either.” He whispered, causing you to snort with laughter then hold your breath to silence yourself. The wedding was like many others in your opinion. The vows were long, made even longer by the bride and groom choosing to personalise them, and it took a good twenty minutes for the room to fully empty out. By then, you were bursting for the toilet and hoping to make a beeline for the nearest one without being stopped by any of Lando’s family members. “Prosecco?” A waiter asked you, balancing a stacked tray in his hand. You grabbed a glass, nodding a thank you whilst speed-walking past everyone. You downed the drink and left the glass on a wall after struggling to find somewhere more suitable. Ducking into the first cubicle, you locked the door and took the opportunity to take a deep breath. Pretending to be Lando’s girlfriend wasn’t exactly difficult, but lying to his family was. You desperately wanted to impress them but were worried you’d slip up and say something wrong. You could tell how excited they were to meet you, and the last thing you wanted to do was disappoint them. 

The main door flew open as you stood up to flush, pausing before you did as you heard voices outside. “He brought his new girlfriend, have you seen her?” A girl said, snickering as she spoke. “I saw them arrive together. I didn’t even know he was dating anyone.” You leaned closer to the door, trying to spy through the crack near the hinge but the most you could see was the back of a purple dress. “Well, she won’t last. We all know what happens when Lando and I bump into each other at events.” Her tone was suggestive, and the mention of Lando’s name made you stagger back, your heels scraping against the tiled floor. Subtle, you thought. You didn’t like the idea of somebody gossiping about Lando behind his back. It didn’t matter what they said about you, but you’d defend him in a heartbeat.  On that note, you flushed, smoothed out your dress and unlocked the door to step out of the cubicle. The two women turned to look at you, embarrassment laced on one of their faces. The other - purple dress - looked you up and down, nostrils flaring and lips curling into a disgusted frown. You opened your mouth to speak, but the two slipped right past you and left the room, slamming the door behind them. “Real mature.” You muttered to yourself before washing your hands and re-applying your lipstick. You were surprised to come across someone so childish considering the environment you were in. But, after all, what’s a wedding without someone trying to cause drama? “There you are! I thought you’d ditched me.” Lando called over as you went back outside, the sunlight hitting you directly in the eyes. You reached into your bag and grabbed your sunglasses, sliding them on to match your friend. “I think I may have just made an enemy.” You shrugged, linking arms with him as you both made your way to the large white tent at the bottom of the garden. “An enemy?” “A girl in the bathroom was talking about us. Blonde, purple dress, garish yellow bag. She’s over there.” You lowered your voice, gesturing towards a group of people to your left. “Oh… We used to go out when I was like, seventeen. Clearly she is still that age in her head.” “You’re telling me! You should’ve seen the way she looked at me. I’ve seen people have better reactions to piles of cow shit!” The both of you laughed together, huddling over as to not attract anyone’s attention. “She seems to think she could still have you given the chance.” “Not anymore.” Lando shook his head, his distaste for the girl evident on his face. Despite not being able to see his eyes, you knew him well enough to tell how he was feeling just by the scrunch of his nose and downturned lips. The two of you were soon ushered inside the tent and to your table. You were seated with Lando’s parents which wasn’t so bad. You imagined Lando had already given them a story of how you met and convinced them you were a real couple, so you didn’t have to prepare for any more questions. “They sent a menu out a couple of weeks ago. I chose for you, I hope you don’t mind.” Lando said, smiling. He reached over and laid his hand on top of yours in your lap, his thumb stroking the back of your fingers. His touch wasn’t unfamiliar, and you knew he was just trying to play the part in front of his family, but you liked the feeling of his hand on yours for those few seconds. You almost forgot you were pretending and felt a slight pang of disappointment when he pulled away to adjust the napkin on his lap. You linked your own hands together, patiently waiting for the first course to be served.  

---------

“Well, that was…” 

“Dissatisfying? Disappointing? Gross?”  

“I was going to say posh.” You laughed, Lando fake gagging beside you. You slapped his chest to shut him up, almost knocking the wind out of him. “It wasn’t the worst food I’ve ever eaten.” 

“Come on Y/N, you and I both know we’d have enjoyed a Domino’s more than that.”  

“What? More than a tiny piece of lamb in some funky sauce? Obviously.”  

“The dessert was the worst part. What’s wrong with a simple sponge cake? Why does it always have to be some fancy ‘berry compote’?” Lando adopted a stereotypical posh accent, sticking his nose in the air and waving his finger around. It always surprised you how little he enjoyed luxury things, considering how he was raised and the career he’s in. When you met him, you expected him to be more of a snob. 

You hushed him, grabbing his hand and holding it by your side. The two of you couldn’t hold in your laughter and curled over like a pair of giddy children, tears brimming in your eyes. Why do the giggles come at the worst of times?  

“What are you two laughing at?” Lando’s father asked, crossing the grass to meet you. You stood up straight to greet him, little bursts of laughter still coming out.  

“Oh nothing.” Lando sighed, wiping his eyes.  

“Y/N. they’re gathering all of the ladies near the pond for the bouquet toss. Would you like to join them?” Adam asked, stepping aside for you. You sensed it was more of a rhetorical question, and reluctantly set off towards the pond to join the group of women you didn’t know. Ironically, the girl in purple caught the flowers which made you laugh to yourself. You felt sorry for the poor soul that would eventually marry her. You clapped and cheered with everyone else, making a point to flash her the most sickly, fake smile you could muster. Her eyes flickered back to you a few times whilst she tried to concentrate on her conversation with the bride. The last time she looked, you’d already walked off to find Lando again.  

“What if she comes back up here with that bouquet? You do know what it means…” 

“Come on, Dad.” Lando snickered. You got the feeling this wasn’t a conversation to disturb, so you stood back behind a flowerbed to listen in. The bigger part of you knew it was wrong to eavesdrop, but you wanted to leave Lando to this one. You’d done enough storytelling for one afternoon. 

An older lady approached the two of them, and you recognised her as one of Lando’s aunts. She hugged her nephew, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek. “Where’s that lovely girl of yours, Lando?” She asked.  

“I’m sure she’s on her way back.” There was a pause, and the sound of feet shuffling, until he spoke again, “So, you like her then?”  

“Of course! What’s not to like? She seems really nice from what I’ve seen. How did the two of you meet again?” 

Oh, this should be good, you thought. You hadn’t heard Lando’s version of events and how you came to be his ‘girlfriend’, but you trusted he’d made up a good tale. You crouched, resting your right hip and leg on the flowerbed to duck down a little lower.  

“It was at a party.” You could hear the smile on Lando’s face and you were impressed with how well he was playing along. “You know when you spot someone across a room and just, know? She was stood near the wall beside this extravagant fish tank with glowing blue lights, and they were reflecting off of the silver top she was wearing. I watched her for a few minutes before mustering up the courage to talk to her. We spoke about everything from racing, to our favourite movies, to our least favourite childhood games. I hung on every word she said.” As he spoke, the realisation hit you – he wasn’t telling a made-up story. He was telling the true story of how you met, and you remembered every conversation from that night.  

“Are you joking? Splat was the best playground game!” You laughed, polishing off the remainder of your drink and setting the glass down on the nearest table. 

“Agree to disagree! Bulldogs was far better.” He retorted, waving his beer bottle in your face. You slipped it out of his hand and took a swig, the liquid warm and flat. 

“Ugh, you need a new drink. And get me one whilst you’re at it.” You fluttered your eyelashes at him, pushing your glass into his hand. He shook his head, a smile stuck to his face as he gave into you. Little did you know, he’d have done anything you asked him that night, and he probably still would. 

“She was dating someone at the time so I spent six months getting to know her as a friend. I was the one she came to when it went South, and I wanted nothing more than to comfort her, but I didn’t want to cross a line. It was kind of good for me though, as I was able to spend more time with her and get to know her better.” Lando’s aunt cooed at his words, which simultaneously made you blush. Everything he was saying was right, and you wondered whether he was just moulding it to sound romantic, or if there could be some truth in his feelings. 

You stood up from the flowerbed and rounded the corner, re-joining the three of them. “Y/N, we were just talking about you.” Adam smiled, turning to Lando and raising his brows. “All good things, don’t worry.” 

Lando smiled at you, cheeks a little flushed but you could easily put that down to the weather rather than his potential confession. Was he flirting with you that night? Had his ‘playful’ flirting over the past few years been more than just a joke? 

“Lando is very lucky to have you.” His aunt beamed, grabbing your hand and giving it a light squeeze. “Don’t let him go.” 

“I wasn’t planning on it.” You squeezed her hand back, then looked back over to Lando who was smiling at the ground. “Shall we get another drink?” You asked to break the silence. Everyone murmured in agreement and disbanded, leaving you and Lando behind. You started to walk in front of him, but his hand on your shoulder stopped you in your tracks. 

“Thank you, Y/N.” 

“You don’t need to thank me… I suppose it’s a shame they like me so much.” You joked, but the hint of sadness in your voice did not go unnoticed by Lando. He cocked his head to the side, studying your face for some kind of clue but came up with nothing. You linked arms with him again and pulled him back towards the tent, where the tables had now been moved to make way for a dance-floor.

You sat down and watched Lando interact with everyone. It was nice to see how well he got on with his family, and they were all eager to listen to his racing stories and find out what he’d been up to around the world. Unbeknownst to you, members of his family admired the smile on your face from across the room as your eyes followed Lando around. To the ordinary person, you looked exactly like a woman in love. Lando turned and caught your eye, smiling and holding his hand up to wave at you. It didn’t cross your mind that anyone would be witnessing your interaction, so you didn’t realise the wedding photographer was nearby snapping pictures of you and the smile you were aiming in your friend’s direction. 

Soon after, the string lights around the tent came on and the music was turned up, the dance floor flooded with people busting their tipsy moves. You dragged Lando through the crowd and into the best space you could find. “You know I’m a horrible dancer!” He yelled over the music as you lifted his arm and spun underneath it, trying to get him to join in. 

“Nobody is looking at us! Come on, loosen up.” You spun again then pulled him closer to you, swaying your bodies to the sound of the cheesy song. Who doesn’t love ABBA at a wedding? 

“What have I done to deserve this torture?” He fake-whined, his hands falling to your waist. You wrapped your arms around his neck and were nudged even closer to him when someone spun and bumped into you. 

“Sorry, uh - “ 

“No, stay close.” He said quietly, hands sliding from your waist to the bottom of your back. He held you steady, the song changing to a slower melody. Couples around you came together to do their best slow dance, and the rest retreated to their tables. 

“This is the part where the singles leave the floor.” You said plainly with no real intention to stop dancing. 

“Then we better stay put, hadn’t we?” He smiled, leaning in to whisper in your ear, “I forgot to tell you how pretty you look today.” 

“Lando Norris, how much prosecco have you had?” 

“Enough to start handing out compliments, clearly.” 

You laughed softly, your cheeks burning from a mixture of the alcohol consumption throughout the day, and Lando’s sweet words. Taking somewhat of a risk, you laid your head on his shoulder and closed your eyes for a moment, letting him guide you across the floor. “You know, I think we pulled it off today.” He said, his voice low in your ear. You hummed in agreement before lifting your head up and looking at him. He was smiling, the type of smile that reached his eyes and made his cheeks look full. It was infectious, and your own face felt sore from smiling straight back. 

“I think you’re mostly responsible for that.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“I heard your little story earlier when you were talking to your dad and aunt. For a moment there, even I was convinced.” You knew you were taunting him, but you had to hear what he was going to say. 

“You heard that?” 

“Every word. It was pretty believable.” 

“Well, it wasn’t exactly a lie, was it?” 

“You tell me.” You raised your brows at Lando, catching him off guard. His furrowed in return as he gave you a weird look. 

“You remember that night as much I do.” 

“Yes, but not from your point of view.” You leaned forward and rested your chin on his shoulder then whispered, “if it makes you feel any better, I had a crush on you too.” 

“Bullshit! You were dating somebody else.” Landon grabbed your arms and held you in front of him, his face ridden with shock. 

“Hey! A girl is allowed to admire the view! I wasn’t doing anything wrong.” 

“So you admit, you were checking me out?” He said cockily, kissing his teeth. You poked him on the chest playfully and he did it right back, leaving a red finger-shaped mark on your collarbone. 

“Says you! No guy remembers what a girl was wearing when they met.” 

“Your top was silver with holographic straps  and your skirt was black. You complained about your tights falling down all night and eventually took them off in the bathroom… Do I get a point for passing your quiz?” 

“I don’t remember asking.” 

A silence washed over you, and you realised you were now the only two dancing as everyone else had disappeared to have cake and more drinks. Even the bride and groom were nowhere to be seen. You strolled back to your table, Lando’s hand finding yours. You stopped but didn’t sit down. “Is it just the alcohol talking, or is there something going on here?” You blurted, interlacing your fingers with his tighter. “You have to give me a clue because I can’t tell.” 

“I was hoping you were going to answer that.” 

“Christ! We’re just as bad as each other.” You covered your face with your spare hand, shaking your head. “I don’t know if I want to hit you or kiss you.” 

“Slow down! How about you do neither, and we get out of here instead?” 

“Lando! How is that any slower?!” You whisper-yelled, your lips fighting to curl into a smile.  

“I don’t mean that!” He laughed, watching you sigh with relief. “Why don’t we go grab that pizza instead? Then we can dry out a bit and see what sober Y/N and Lando think of this sudden revelation?” 

“You’ve got a deal.” You grinned, grabbing your bag and slipping it onto your shoulder. You didn’t let go of his hand as nerves and excitement bubbled through you. You’d just agreed to an impromptu first date with your best friend, and had no idea what it meant. “What is it about weddings, huh?” 

[undead-supernova]

I'll Pay the Price, You Won't.

Miss Heartbreak / Masterlist

Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3

plot: no cameras catch my muffled cries...you are the only one who seems to care...this is a fight that some day we're gonna win

Pairings: modernrockstar!Eddie x fem!popstar!Reader (curvy!reader, bisexual!reader)

Warnings: slut shaming, body image insecurities, public shaming, crying

wc: 5.3k

When you first realized you were in love with him, it was a Saturday night. You weren’t even with him. In fact, you were at a house party with some of your best friends. They weren’t famous—these three girls were in college, just the way you should’ve been. You’d met them at a dive bar in Pittsburg while touring. 

There was a distinct memory of watching these girls walk in, talking about their English courses and the ten-page research papers on the feminist lens of the works of Octavia Butler, rape culture in a novel called Waiting for the Barbarians, and how the third girl was doing some deep dive into the coded lesbianism in Gertrude Stein’s Tender Buttons. You approached them, desperate to know more about their class. Their studies. Their college experiences. 

Desperate to know more about the life you gave away when your career blew up three days before moving into your dorm room. 

They knew who you were, but they didn’t care to squeal or ask for pictures. Instead, they motioned for you to join them and started to complain about their shared Rhetorical Analysis class. And after a few Fireball shots, some poor attempts at karaoke, and loud debates about Jane Austen and Emily Brontë that nearly got you kicked out, you were solidified. 

But there you were, at a college house party after flying out just to see them. You were in drastically different makeup than you were used to. In short, you were basically in Eddie Munson cosplay. Your friends had dressed you up, giggling and adding more charcoal eye shadow than you desired. Becky, Mary, and Este swore it would make you feel better. That you’d dance the night away without a care in the world.

But the couch was where you stayed the whole night, a mimosa (filled with more prosecco than orange juice) in your hands as you watched life exist around you. You were pretending to be a normal twenty-two year old girl. You were pretending that you could have love affairs with anyone you wanted to and if your heart got broken every single time, it wouldn’t be such a big deal to anyone outside of your friends that loved you.

And he would be there, too. 

With your head to rest on his shoulder, listening to him talk about his Dungeons and Dragons game he hosted with the rest of the band when they were tucked away in hotel rooms. They were too big to go out without everyone and their mother following them, so they found a way to escape. 

(People thought they did drugs and partied. And, at the start of the band, they did. Eddie had told you about having a coke problem in the beginning and Gareth, Jeff, and Grant trashing hotel rooms. Ronnie getting the cops called on her house regularly for the outrageous parties she hosted. But it died out after about a year when they realized how tiring it was to just be on all the time. They went to parties sometimes, but now they really looked forward to smoking a few joints and playing a fantasy game.)

In this fictional scenario, they’d congregate in the communal rooms at their dorm. They’d buy a few pizzas and beer, remembering to get the garlic twists of course, and play for six hours.

And you would lean over to his ear, brushing your lips against his ear and say, “I’m in love with you.”

As soon as it fell into your imagination, you were startled to the point of springing up and running to the bathroom, hyperventilating in the mirror. The rest of your night had been spent with your friends cuddling you in their shared apartment until you could calm down.

“It’s too soon for this!” you exclaimed. “It’s too soon for me to fall in love.”

They said that it was fine. That you were allowed to love him. That the chance at love was worth the bullshit. You could survive this, even if he didn’t feel the same. Maybe you would be able to connect better if you just told him how you felt.

But this was only a month after you started seeing each other.

Only a week before you two were caught in public together.

Only a week before the whole world had an opinion.

“I can’t believe we’re out at a restaurant in Manhattan of all places.”

“On a date,” he noted.

“On a date.”

“Oh, and happy four-month anniversary,” he said while holding up his piece of bread, leaning over to tap yours with it.

“Ah, yes. How could I forget?” you teased before stuffing the slice in your mouth, closing your eyes as you became overwhelmingly calmed by the taste of butter melting on your tongue.

It was super late on a Saturday, one of the only times you could get away with having a private dinner without the threat of paparazzi and lingering glances. You felt fancy, with a sparkly silver dress on, all short with thin straps and a small slit at the thigh. Tall, sparkly silver heels that made you nearly the same height as him. A fluffy pink faux fur coat sitting on the back of the chair (that Eddie had spent the whole drive here running his hands through). Pink nails to match, already chipped from your nervous picking.

Eddie was dressed beautifully, wearing a silk white button down. Simple black blazer and slacks. His signature boots. Those rings. That necklace. Hair up in a bun with bangs and stray hairs framing his face. The only real nontraditional part of his ensemble was a thin layer of black eyeliner adorning his eyelids and waterline, with mascara to match. 

Oh, and a coat of lipgloss, lipgloss that he borrowed from you, that was now lining the rim of his wine glass.

“Do you like it?” he asked. “The wine, I mean.”

You looked down at the burgundy liquid you were absentmindedly swirling. You had no clue what that did for the drink or if it was just to look fancy, but it was something you saw your parents do growing up. You decided to take a crack at being an adult tonight, just to see how it felt.

“Yeah, it’s nice. Thank you.” 

He nodded, but you could tell that he was still nervous about the whole thing. You couldn’t blame him. Being out for an official date together in the heart of a city with nearly nine million people who could ruin it at any second was quite a heavy burden. There was a part of you that feared that you had become a burden in the last four months. 

Enough of that, you tried to tell yourself.

“However,” you added. “I do have to confess that I have absolutely no clue what the difference is between this and the stuff I get at the grocery store.”

Eddie let out a sigh and a breathy laugh. You wondered how long he’d been holding it in. “Well, that’s a relief because I was literally sitting here thinking the exact same thing.”

You couldn’t help but giggle. “Are you serious?”

He kept laughing. “Yes! I thought I was the only one!”

“No, this is literally exactly how I feel whenever I have dinner with some of the label execs,” you exclaimed. “They order all this like crazy expensive wine, and I have to just sit there and be like,” you raised the pitch of your voice, “Oh, wow. This is sooo cool. So good. What year is it? That must cost a fortune.”

Eddie nodded. “Me, too! And it’s like: Dude, seriously? I could get shit I like better than this at, like, Trader Joe’s or Target. Fuck, even Walmart.”

You giggled as you continued to nod with him. “Yes, yes, yes! I genuinely don’t get it. Everyone is so pretentious, I swear.”

“I wholeheartedly agree.” Eddie raised his glass. “Fuck ‘em.”

You grinned. “Fuck ‘em!” you agreed, clinking your glass with his before you took a hearty sip. Finally took a second glance around the room. 

“I really thought there’d be more people here,” you observed. “Isn’t this, like, a popular restaurant? I hear celebs love this place.”

“I maaaay have bought out the empty tables,” Eddie admitted, looking sheepish. “I didn’t want our first official date to be bombarded with people we know or even ones we don’t. I wanted to make sure I could focus.”

A grin met your lips. “You’re a sweetheart, you know that?”

“That’s you, baby. That’s all you.”

The playful dinner conversation continued with a whole three course meal plus dessert. You came alive in public for once, talking in silly voices and laughing as loud as you wanted. Like you were best friends. Like you were lovers. Holding Eddie’s hand at the table without having to worry about cell phones. No one here was able to take away what was yours.

Despite feeling full, you couldn’t help but nibble on some more of the bread. Your personal trainer, Mary, forbid you from eating any while you were gearing up for another album release and tour. But you were starting to care a little bit less. And she wasn’t here. Eddie was, pushing the basket towards you. 

But then the strangest thing happened as the waiter took your dinner plate.

As he turned to leave, you looked past him and saw that the other five occupied tables in the restaurant were…staring. And…so were their waiters? Had everyone finally started staring or were you only now noticing? But you would’ve noticed before…

They were all looking from their phones to you and then back again. The hushed whispers were getting a bit louder, even catching Eddie’s ears. He turned his head to look but was distracted when his phone started ringing.

Gareth.

“Take it,” you encouraged. Eddie raised an eyebrow. “It’s probably important.”

He nodded. “Hey,” he said as he answered.  “No, I’m on an incredibly important date, remember?”

As you spread butter over the last slice, you couldn’t help but giggle when Eddie looked up at you with a quick wink and a smile meant only for you.

But then his eyebrows narrowed.

“What’re you doing watching cable?”

And a part of you wished you could hear the other side of the conversation when you watched Eddie’s neutral expression falling into anger.

“They what?”

“It’s fucking SNL. They haven’t had a good run in years. I don’t think anyone even watches—” 

You noticed him get cut off before shaking his head. 

“What? Why the fuck do people care?”

“Fuck…yeah, okay… Sure, whatever…” He sighed, pinching his nose in frustration. “No, I’m not mad at you. Promise… I’m sorry for being a dick. I just hate people, I swear…” A quick nod. “Thanks for understanding and letting me know. Love you, dude. Okay, talk later.”

“What’s wrong?” you asked as he immediately started searching for something on his phone. “Is everything okay?”

Eddie paused, looking away from his phone to bring his attention back to you. 

His expression held something resembling an apology. 

“The guys are watching TV back at the hotel and, uh, they were watching SNL…”

“Okay?”

“Apparently they did a skit about you.”

Your stomach dropped as you let his words sink in. 

It was one thing to have random people on the internet give you shit. It was another thing entirely for a long-running, highly known television show to have grown adults portray you and spend four to six minutes making fun of you. Especially when you’d performed there merely two months ago.

“Is it…” you trailed, almost unable to speak.

“Yeah,” Eddie said. “Yeah, it’s bad.” 

“It’s on YouTube already?” He nodded. “Let me see.”

“Are you sure you want to watch it?”

You nodded. “I should know what’s going on. Everyone’s already staring at us,” you stated, gesturing behind him.

When Eddie looked back at every nameless face watching you, every single person looked away. Like he commanded the room with his presence. Like he had the power to change the world with just one stare. 

He had changed your world with just one glance.

Sighing, Eddie clicked on the video, holding it between you two on the table.

“I decided to go on The Bachelorette to prove that I haven't dated everyone,” a woman said with a huge grin, mimicking the way you smiled. "And to get new inspiration because I need to sell my next album. I'm sure this will be fun."

Some new addition to the cast tried to imitate your posture. Your voice. Your everything. She was acting like you were some ditsy girl. Did people really think of you like this? Is this how the cast and crew saw you when you were there?

A fake announcer's voice said, “Here are the men and women chosen for tonight.”

The woman impersonating you smiled even wider in a comedic fashion, making fun of the way you, what, didn't ever give a negative reaction? The camera turned to watch everyone file in.

The different men and women of the SNL cast rotated, pretending to be people you’d allegedly been with. But most of them were wrong. When you were rumored to be dating these people, friend or not, they left, either from wanting that clout or being unable to handle the noise. All you had wanted were real friendships, real relationships. But being burnt at the stake came with the possibility of flammable embers. 

One after the other, impression after impression, they were reminding you of everyone you’d lost. 

And was that Jacob Elordi pretending to be…Christopher Briney?

(You met Christopher once at the Emmy’s, having taken one fucking photo together before he was whisked away by his team. At the time, you had only wished he would notice you before he got a girlfriend…)

“We're missing one guy...where is he?” the announcer said.

Mikey Day popped in with a smoke machine behind him and some copyright free rock music playing, wearing a curly wig and pretending to be Eddie. The audience lost their minds, erupting in applause and laughter at the sheer mention of him. He was immediately stereotyped as a punk stoner who only pretended to listen to you talk while playing his guitar.

“Hey, babe,” he said, trying to mimic Eddie’s voice. “What’s up?”

You looked over at the real Eddie who looked less than impressed. Less than affected by someone trying to make fun of him. You wished you could say the same for yourself.

“I CHOOSE HIM FOR MY NEXT ALBUM!” the woman shouted before ripping up the roses and walking over. However, she turned and pointed at the others. "Save them for me in case I get bored.”

As she grabbed onto "Eddie's" arm and professed her love, it was clear that he wasn't paying attention. "Are you even listening to me?" she shouted.

“Nah, baaabe,” he said and then realized his “mistake”. Cue laughter. “I’m totes paying attention.” Laughter. “Just practicing this sick riff for the band.” He raised his guitar before turning it the other way. “Does it look cool this way, babe?” Laughter ensued as he pretended to play his guitar right-handed. “Do I look metal as hell?”

“Totally, babe,” the woman said, giggling. “You’re so hot.”

“Ah, babe, thanks. I know it’s been three minutes but this is forever, babe.”

When the skit ended, Eddie turned it off and shoved his phone in his pocket.

“Sweetheart, I’m sorry—”

“It’s okay,” you said, trying to tell yourself more than him. “It’s okay. It’s fine. I’m fine.”

Did anyone see what was happening? That this was starting to get out of hand? It was like nobody gave a shit, nobody cared that you were human. Yes, you were privileged and had money, you knew that. You grew up fucking poor, hit even worse with the 2008 recession, hardly ever recovering.

You always acknowledged your privilege, always made it a point to give it away to people who needed it more than you. Provided for your family so your parents didn’t have to go back to working at the sawmill and being fucking tour guides for next to nothing at Graceland. (The fucking irony.) Donated constantly to animal shelters, women’s shelters, LGBTQIA+ youth organizations, etc. etc. 

But no one would know any of that because you kept that secret. Kept it hidden to be the face of your label, with a shiny pageant smile. You were now the punching bag, the reflection of society that every YouTuber did deep dives on and now SNL was taking a shot at. 

When would it end?

“Are you?” Eddie asked, causing you to come out of the fog. “‘Cause your hands are shaking.”

You looked down, realizing he was right. “I—”

Before you could say anything, your own phone buzzed. Looking down, you noticed a text from Becky. It was a link to a video on Twitter or X or whatever the fuck it was called now. Her text read, 

Look how delusional the internet is. I don’t care about this crap but I wanted to make sure you knew what was going on before you got bamboozled or something. Also, fuck that SNL skit. Love you.

“There’s more,” you murmured, looking up at Eddie’s concerned expression.

“Fuck.”

He stood up immediately and pulled over the chair next to you. He sat and leaned in, just as deep into this as you were. You didn’t hesitate to click on the link. It was just another band-aid to rip off anyways. 

The caption said:

are gareth ronnie and grant next? lmao eddie shouldn’t have gone anywhere near her. the vibes are soooo off

You heard Eddie scoff as he read it.       

The video attached was of you and Jeff walking around New York City that very morning, laughing together. You nudged his arm, animatedly talking. 

You knew what had happened, distinctly remembering that the conversation was about Eddie. Jeff had been teasing you, telling you that he knew you were disgustingly in love with him and that you needed to just say it before you lost your minds. You thought it was funny, so you jokingly nudged his arm and pretended to threaten violence. That was it. Nothing else happened.

“No!” you exclaimed, wild-eyed as you turned to Eddie. “No, Jeff and I went to get this chocolate mousse at this little bistro we both like. We told you before we left, remember? I swear it was the truth. We were literally talking about you. Eddie, I—”

“It’s all good, sweetheart,” Eddie interrupted, kissing your temple four times. “Don’t worry about it, okay? It’s okay. I believe you. I know you’d never do anything like that.” You felt yourself breathe again. “Besides, Jeff has a crush on our tech manager anyways.”

That made you chuckle for a second, but you felt yourself deflate, putting a hand on your forehead as tears trickled down your cheeks. “I’m scared. I don’t like this, Eddie.”

“Me neither.” 

Before you could say anything else, your waiter was approaching the table.

“Is there anything else I can get for you?” the waiter asked, hands politely clasped in front of him. You avoided his gaze, embarrassment flooding your system. There was something irrational telling you that he would tell the internet about your breakdown, expose you for your reaction.

But when you glanced at him, he actually looked…concerned.

“Yeah, could we get the check, please?” Eddie asked in a hushed voice, running his fingers down your back. “We’re gonna need a minute, but I just wanna get that out of the way.”

“Of course, Mr. Munson.” he responded before turning to you. “I can take that plate for you if you’d like?”

“Oh, yes, sorry,” you said, sniffling. 

Without thinking, you moved your hand to grab your bread plate, accidentally knocking your glass on the table. You watched as the wine seeped into the white cloth, staining the fabric.

Eddie was quick to grab the glass before it shattered on the floor.

“Oh, shit,” you muttered, taking your napkin and trying to blot the stain. You kept glancing up at the waiter through your tears. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. That’s so rude of me. I’m so sorry.”

The waiter shook his head. “It’s okay, ma’am. We have a hundred more in the back. This happens all the time.”

“Here,” you said, shaking your head as you rummaged through your purse. When you found your wad of cash, you handed him a one-hundred-dollar bill. “Take this. For you, not the restaurant. I’m so sorry.”

He gaped at you, looking down at the bill before looking back up. “Um, thank you,” he said, breaking his customer service voice before taking the cash from you. “I’ll get everything sorted for you right away.”

“Sweetheart.”

“I want to leave,” you whispered, your voice cracking. “Can we leave?”

You looked over at Eddie who was already standing and grabbing your coat. 

“Yeah, baby,” he said softly. “I’ll pay up front. Come on, let’s go.”

But it wasn’t really going to be that simple, was it?

As soon as you reached the front doors, James and Scott, your personal bodyguard, were stopping you.

“Guys, uh, we got a situation,” Scott said, mainly looking at you.

“What’s wrong?” you asked.

“There’s a fuck ton of paparazzi out there.”

“And that’s the only way we can get to the car,” James added.

You wanted to look at Eddie, but you didn’t want him knowing just how scared you were. He was so stoic and strong, always being able to shrug everything off. It was like he was born for this. 

Maybe you weren’t.

“Okay,” Eddie said, putting his shoulders back before grabbing your hand. His grasp was firm with a gentle squeeze that left your heart soaring despite the fear. He nudged your arm, causing you to look up. “Ready, sweetheart?”

You nodded, looking back at James and Scott, tear stains still adorning your cheeks. “I’m ready. Let’s do this.”

A gasp left your mouth as the doors opened and a swarm of people with cameras crowded around you. Flashes and red recording lights and cell phones. Screams, gasps. Some fans tried to catch your attention the best they could, but their voices were drowned out by the incessant vultures. James and Scott were on either side of you, pushing people out of the way. 

But it did nothing. It only sprung more tears.

Paparazzi shouted your name. Shouted Eddie’s.

         “What did you think of the SNL skit?”

         “Any comment on the cheating allegations?”

         “Is this thing between you serious?”

They were all variations of the same thing.

Except for one voice that stood out from the rest.

“Hey, why are you crying?”

You turned, seeing a teenage girl who looked barely fourteen, maybe fifteen, with rainbow braces and friendship bracelets in her hand. She stood next to who you presumed to be her mother, over by the curb. Set apart from the hive.

Despite your better judgment, you nudged Scott and walked over to her quickly. 

“I want to talk to her,” you told him loudly, disconnecting your hand from Eddie’s.

Scott nodded. “You got maybe a minute and a half before things get buckwild.”

“She’s got this,” Eddie said. You looked at him and smiled.

Thank you, you mouthed before rushing over to the girl.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“Just got a lot going on, hun,” you said softly, trying to smile but your tears clouded your vision. Your only hope was that the sight wouldn’t scar her for the rest of her life. “What’s your name?”

“Caroline,” she said before handing you the bracelets. “I made these for you.”

Her mom placed a hand on your shoulder, causing you to look up. “She’s been keeping them with her just in case she ever saw you in the city. She’s a big, big fan.”

You could only try to smile again, studying the colors Caroline chose to represent your last few albums. Light blue to represent your self-titled album. A soft sage for your second, “Tetris”. Sparkling gold for your last album, “Acacia My Dear”. There were even one or two that had references to inside jokes shared between you and the fans.

“These are beautiful,” you told her, immediately rolling them onto your wrist. “Thank you so much, Caroline.”

“Could I get a picture of you two?” her mom asked.

“Hey,” Scott interrupted. “Sorry, we gotta cut this short. They’re pressin’ in on us.”

You nodded, looking back at Caroline. “Thank you so much, Caroline. This means everything to me,” you said honestly. Without thought, you gave her a tight hug. “You just made everything better,” you whispered in her ear.

When you pulled back, her mom grabbed your hand. “You’re doing great things,” she said, softly squeezing your hand. “Don’t let those bastards win.”

Before you could even process her words or thank her, Scott was pulling you back to Eddie. Scott seemed a little softer, blonde hair still peppering with gray. He was from Tennessee, like you, his accent just noticeable enough to give him away. James seemed to contrast him, with thick muscles, frown lines across his forehead, and a bald head. Oh, and did you mention that he was a hardass from Ireland?

Your grasp on Eddie’s hand tightened with every passing second before you were finally enclosed in the confines of the black van. 

The walk to the car was only, what, two minutes? Three?

But it felt like forever.

The waterworks continued, wracking your body with sobs you didn’t realize were just brewing behind the façade you were able to put up on any given occasion. 

Scott took the driver’s seat while James took shotgun. You could just barely make out what they were whispering.

“Fucking vampires, the lot of ‘em,” James said, shaking his head.

“Them two deserve better,” Scott replied. “They’re just fucking kids.”

Eddie pulled you into his side, making sure you were hidden from any and all intrusion even if the windows were severely tinted.

You had an urge, however miniscule it felt, to go on your Instagram story and be bitter about it. Tell SNL to fuck off and remind them how sexist and gross it was to put you in a sketch just to make fun of your dating history when there were men around you who ran through women like sport and talked about them like each one was a momentary fad. 

But you knew what would happen. You would be considered overreacting. You’d be a woman scorned and laughed at for caring so much despite the rest of the fucking internet seeming to care more.

So, you did nothing. Said nothing.

You merely curled yourself further into Eddie and fought the urge to have a mental breakdown.

“We’re getting out of the city,” he whispered. “Back to your place.”

“It’s a long drive,” you mumbled. 

“I don’t mind. Really. We made the drive out here, remember?” Eddie shook his head. “Speaking of, I’m sorry. I should’ve chosen somewhere more secluded.”

“You shouldn’t have to. We shouldn’t have to.”

He leaned back, tilting your chin up to make eye contact with you. “I want you to feel safe.”

“But I want us to be normal people going to a normal restaurant and have a normal date.”

“We’ll win this fight, okay?” he said, tracing his thumb along your cheeks as the tears came and went. “They have to get bored soon enough, yeah? TikTok will move on to its next viral bullshit anytime now. We just have to wait it out.”

“It’ll just go away?”

“Honestly, I don’t know.” Both you and Eddie let out a sigh. “Listen, okay? Just listen to me. We’ll figure this out. I’ll tell the world to fuck off. Just give me the word and I’ll do it.”

“That’ll just egg them on.”

He kissed your wet cheek. Pulling back, you could see the color return to his face as he smiled. “I could always pull an Ozzy.”

That got a giggle out of you, a few snot bubbles awkwardly falling down your lips. Eddie didn’t mind, simply grabbing a tissue to help wipe it away.

“Absolutely do not do that,” you said with a sigh, grabbing another one.

“Then I won’t. But I’m here in front of you. I want you. I need you.”

You nodded, your eyes glassy and wild as you tried to stop crying.

“Alright, babe?” he exaggerated, imitating Mikey Day. “I’m metal as hell, babe.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. It was ridiculous. Utterly ridiculous. You looked up at him, watching a playful grin meet his lips.

“Oh, yeah, babe,” you played along, still wiping your tears. “You’re sooooo hot, babe.”

Eddie nearly suffocated you with another hug, rapidly kissing the top of your head. You couldn’t help but giggle again, feeling some weight lifting off of you. For the first time, you had someone in your life who was blocking out the noise. 

“You know, the jokes aren’t even funny,” he said. “I don’t know why they’re making fun of a right-handed guitar. Jimi Hendrix had one and that guy’s a legend.”

“I think the point was to make you look dumb by playing it upside down.”

“Mmmm, I don’t think so, babe,” he teased. “I’m, like, sooooo smart.”

“You’re soooo right, babe.” “Okay, I’m cutting us off. I just know we won’t stop talking like this.”

The laughter died out, silence ensuing. Eddie was fiddling with your bracelets, his touch settling the storm in your stomach.

“Why did you walk over to that girl?”

You thought about her, Caroline, and how she was the only one outside to ask if you were okay. All she wanted was to give you bracelets. Had been keeping them with her just in case she ever saw you. Fuck, if that wasn’t one of the most shocking things you’d ever heard from a fan. It was kind. And when she did see you, she cared more about how you were feeling. 

“She asked me why I was crying,” you said. “She actually cared. It meant something to me.”

“You really love the fans, don’t you?”

You nodded. “Yeah, I do.”

The night seemed to settle into comfortable silliness, ending with pints of Ben & Jerry’s and the start of another TV show for you two to binge. You settled into his side with fuzzy socks and old pajamas from before all of the bullshit ensued. They were probably ten years old, from the thrift store down the street from your childhood home. The hand-me-downs that never seemed to get holes, the ones that always seemed to save you from the brink of madness.

Eddie was donning a similar outfit, just with a few holes here and there. Baseball tee with a logo for his old D&D group, Hellfire Club, back in high school. Some of the lines were starting to crack, the red fading into something nearly blood orange.

It was comforting to know that Eddie was able to shrug it all off. That he was able to guide you through this fear and loathing. But some part of you wondered how long that could last. All the heat and dismissal and scrutiny and humiliation. All the assumptions and poking. 

Because if he wanted to do this, if he was in it for the long haul, this was going to be how it was for the rest of your careers, for the rest of your lives. He wasn’t going to be able to shrug everything off. What happens when he’s poked at? When he’s the one in your shoes?

And as you laid there at 2am with Eddie fast asleep next to you, you were starting to wonder about yourself. Because if you wanted to do this, if you wanted to follow wherever he led, you were going to have to endure. Watching him sleeping soundly, you couldn’t help but wonder how long you could last.

[anunusualvancouverwinterbreak]

Act I: The Complementary Lap Dance

The party started in under an hour. My parents had bought me a bottle of prosecco and a 750ml bottle of vodka so that I could make this fancy cocktail called a french 75. I had my two buddies, Luke and River, over to help me get everything ready. 

“Okay. 2 parts champagne, 1 part vodka, ¾ parts lemon juice, and simple syrup. Alex, we’re gonna need a shit ton of sugar for this,” River said.

“Sure thing,” I happily replied and brought over one of my mother's tubs of sugar.

“Let's just dump some in and taste it as we go,” said River.

We poured about two cups into the pitcher and stirred for thirty seconds. Finally, we poured three drinks, and each took a gulp.

“Oh god!” I said.

River ran to the sink and started dry heaving.

“That was salt, you dumbass!” Luke yelled.

It tasted awful.

“Ahh fuck I guess we just wasted all that liquor then eh?” I said dejectedly.

Little did I know, by complete accident, I had just made a ritual sacrifice of alcohol to the winter break gods, and boy, did they deem it worthy. As I strutted off the party bus, eager to indulge and excess, the stars above me were aligning.

I was somewhere in the double digits for the number of drinks I had consumed and had about $250 that I was ready to unload, so I sat down at the poker table. The dealer threw the cards toward me, and I eagerly looked down.

“Damnit,” I cursed. 7 of diamonds and jack of clubs. Or was it Jack of clubs and 6 of diamonds? I thought to myself.

I was in the thick of the action, and my memory was hazy, like a goldfish swimming in circles. I could still see the pot growing bigger and bigger with every bet and raise. The pot was at about a hundred bucks.

The guy on my right started clapping in my face. “Hey asshole! Your turn to bet!”

“Ehh… Fuck you... I’m all in!” I slurred and carelessly knocked over my chips as I shoved them into the middle.

The other players laughed, and one of them said, “This guy’s a drunk. I’m calling.”

“Heads up!” Said the dealer, and we flipped our cards. I was holding a jack and an eight, and he had a king and a queen. I didn’t stand a chance, and the pot was over six hundred bucks. Despite the disaster I was completely confident. I felt deep inside of me that there was no way I could loose.

The dealer flipped the cards. “Jack! Six! five! Queen!” he said.

I jumped to my feet and yelled, “C’mon baby, give me another fucking jack!” 

The dealer grinned and said, “And… a Jack of diamonds. Nice hand, kid. pot’s yours!” 

“Woo! Let's go!” I screamed and high-fived my friends.

We headed to the strip club, where I splurged on lap dances from the hottest stripper I could find.

On the cab ride home, I was on top of the world, except for one thing: I’d been dreaming about older french girls so much, but I forgot to look for a french stripper.

[cyborg-franky]

Heard you were having bad brain times and wanted some silly fun stuff, i gotchu.

How about some stereotypicallly basic white girl things op characters do?

Some ideas(feel free to add your own): loves pumpkin spice everything, says shit like "totes ma goats", lives for drama filled "real tv" shows, wears a pink tracksuit, watches Mean Girls religiously(the movie title is very literal,you don't need to have seen it), listens to Taylor Swift all the time, loves Twilight, eats a bagel for breakfast everyday, planned their outfit based on a white suburban mom's pinterest board

Just some ideas, hopefully this is fun and I hope you feel better soon💜💜💜

With love,

-Zell

May darling <3 I love this idea and I feel better and sorry this took a second.

I hope no one takes offence, I'm white as hell so like.. yes. [also we are all a little white woman aren't we, deep down there's a Beccy and a Karen lurking]

Marco  He’s the bitch that can’t wait for pumpkin spice to come around. He also showed up to Wano 20 minutes late with Starbucks which is pretty white girl of him. His Sphinx outfit looks like a mom coming back from yoga.

Ace Spends too long looking at TikTok. Daddy issues.

Thatch Drinks wine and writes smut.

Izou Goes and gets his nails did but spends the entire time gossiping about the bitch down the street and her shit haircut.

Law Is a huge twilight fan and spends hours online fighting about whose better looking that one guy or the other one guy. 

Rayleigh All around his home is ‘wine o'clock’ -  ‘everything is better with prosecco’ and has those bowls that say ‘bowl ‘plate’ and so on. ‘Live Laugh Love’

Buggy Would murder someone if they messed up his $80 extensions.

Hawkins I can imagine him telling Kaido he can’t go out and kill people because ‘uh don’t you know Mercury is in retrograde? I just can’t babes’

Boa ‘R U OKAY HUN?’ at every vague sounding Facebook post that's like : ( or ‘ugh’

Nami Is the person who posts : ( vague on facebook. Also, she’s a huge Karen, fight me. She would walk up to God himself and ask to see his manager. 

Thatch, Killer, Sanji Could spend hours watching episode after episode of ‘Real housewives of Dressrosa’ and ‘teen mom Grandline’ 

Zoro, Kid Post gym selfies on insta making sure you can see their protein shakes.

Nami, Vivi, Boa, Rebecca Do ‘Zumba’ and won’t shut the fuck up about it and makes it their entire personality for the three months they attend.

Perona ‘This car is powered by fairy dust!’  ‘princess onboard!’ ‘my other ride is a broom’ bumper stickers.

Whitebeard ‘My children are my world’ and the stickers that are stick figure families along the back of his van. Fighting a salesperson who gets paid minimum wage over 10 cents.

Hawkins, Drake, Izou Won’t leave the house before checking their horoscopes. 

Mihawk INSANELY LONG COMPLICATED COFFEE ORDER and will make you make it again if that milk is full fat.

Shanks Woo girl 

Sabo Sticks gum in someone's hair if they even mildly piss him off. Spends $400 on boots and never wears them. Oh, watches you make his drink like a hawk and before you make his second one 'Um excuse me, I ordered TWO drinks' while your still making it.

Queen, Black Maria At a restaurant ordering dessert ‘Oh I shouldn’t’ ‘Oh no babe, you deserve it’ ‘okay, I’ll be a devil and have a piece of that cheesecake’ BOTH GIGGLE

Doffy, Kaido Pink tracksuit bottoms and small dogs in their handbags. Shades and purses that cost more than your house. Roger Takes one sip of a beer  and acts drunk ‘I’m sooooo wasted guys omg’

Franky, Sanji, Roger, Thatch Crying over movies like  ‘Dirty Dancing’ and wishing they could be the girl and the lead guy is so hot omg.

Corazon "I'll just have ONE glass of wine" and the glass is the side of his head. or runs a bubble bath and drinks three bottles but it's not a problem it's self care.

Tag yourselves, I'm Marco with a dash of Thatch.

[hollandsrecs]

smut masterlist (1)

links last checked 8/1/2021 | more masterlists

—minors dni with these fics—

a golf lesson by hollandcrush

aftercare by dlwritings

summary: not everyone cares about their first time. some people just wanted to get it over with. you had always wanted it to be special. a special time with a special guy. but after ages of never finding that guy, you decide to just get it over with. tom helps with the aftermath of the disaster.

all i need by marvelouspeterparker

summary: you’ve noticed that tom’s really been on edge lately. when you ask how you can help, he knows the perfect way. 

best friend’s brother by angelic-holland

summary: you’re harry’s best friend. so tom’s off limits. besides; he’s older, he’s constantly got girls trying to hook up with him. there’s absolutely no way he’s be interested in you. right?

body by toms-gf

summary: tom waking you up really isn’t as bad as it seems

breathe life into me by angelhaz11

summary: tom feels far away from himself when he’s away from you. when he’s home, it’s an entirely different story.

cheers, darling by tomsrebeleyebrow

curiosity bit the cat by spidey-sophie

summary: at the biggest halloween party of the year you meet a mystery guy dressed as spider-man. you haven’t even seen his face, but somehow you just can’t get enough of him.

dirty little joy by farfromparker

summary: tom used to do porn, you’re more than interested when you stumble across one of his old videos.

dirty truth or dare by keepingupwiththeparkers

enjoy the show by hollandcrush

excited by tommybaholland

summary: the one where you and tom try to experiment with your sex life; an unexpected accessory catching your eye...

feel your love by angelic-holland

summary: they say when you take away one sense, the others are heightened… tom really likes to be blindfolded during sex.

good by flower-cage

summary: you just want to be good for him.

grab it hard by tomsrebeleyebrow

summary: what could go wrong when tom decides to post a video on his instagram story? pretty much everything. and now, one single thought runs into your head: taking advantage of it fully.

highway to heaven by ptrbprkrs

summary: just you and tom on a road trip having the time of your lives. kisses, intimacy, and motel sex included.

hold back by flower-cage

summary: tom’s shooting a movie and you can’t stop bruising him during sex.

home alone by ballyhoobarnes

summary: you come over for an innocent movie night with tom.

impatient by thirsttrapholland

summary: tom has agreed to accompany you to a dinner party, but he is getting impatient.

into the woods by rosyparkers

summary: it’s not easy to pretend you’re not in love with your best friend and don’t want to jump all one hundred and seventy-three centimeters of him. it’s even harder when it’s just you and him, stuck in a remote cabin in the woods, after your other friend bails.

irreconcilable differences by bi-writes

summary: “…he was still playing games, but he was no longer the player.”

is it time? by creatively--challenged

summary: tom is finally home and y/n needs to tell him how she feels. she’s buried it for so long but it doesn’t want to stay buried any longer. tom is finally home and he needs to tell her how her feels before he misses his chance and finds her unattainable. 

just can’t get enough by marvelouspeterparker

summary: you and tom have been doing this friends with benefits thing for a while now, repressing your feelings, playing this twisted, toxic, jealousy fueled game. but when will you both just accept the truth and be honest with each other?

let me show you by hollandcrush

summary: tom breaking down your walls to show you how much you finally mean to him. physically.

love on set by selfcarecap

summary: you’ve never kissed anyone while filming. actually, you’ve never kissed anyone, ever. now you have to have your first kiss on set for the latest film you’re acting in, with tom holland no less. but luckily he’s there to practise with you beforehand, or at least you hope you can gather the courage to ask him.

make you feel better by pensivepeter

summary: you’re on your period, and your wonderful boyfriend helps you relieve some of the discomfort in the best way.

manual labour by kiwi-bitchez

movie night by ballyhoobarnes

summary: a movie night leads to more than planned when you discover just what tom gets ups to after you’ve left.

no bottoms by starkissedparker

summary: one of tom’s favorite things in the world was to come home to you smiling in the kitchen or lounging on the couch, but most of all his favorite thing was to come home to you in bed. 

no knock knocks by madmadmilk

summary: tom, your sweetie pie stupid roommate, has a bad habit of walking into your room unannounced.

no nut november by wazzupmrstark

summary: tom takes the no nut november bet with harrison leaving you confused as to why he’s acting so strange.

no knock knocks by madmadmilk

not just a fantasy by worldoftom

summary: “tell me your fantasy, i’ll tell you mine.”

on the house by hollandcrush

summary: after a hard day, tom goes to a small countryside pub to relieve some stress.

one track mind by ballyhoobarnes

summary: loving, whole-hearted tom smut.

prosecco courage by 2018shawn

summary: the one where prosecco made you needy.

risky insta live by terrifictomholland

summary: what happens when you decide to give your boyfriend a little treat during his instagram live? 

safe with you by hufflepuffhollander

summary: as an a-list celebrity, there can be a lot of threats out there. luckily, you have a bodyguard that keeps close by, in more ways than one. but always being watched comes with its own problems.

seventeen minutes in heaven by pensivepeter

summary: tuwaine can’t set a timer to save his life and your relationship with tom - already teetering on the edge of friendship and something more - comes to a head no pun intended, creating a recipe for an eventful game. 

sneaky by softspideyboy

summary: tom and reader get heated until harrison comes home early.

something new by starktonyx

summary: you surprise tom by deep-throating him for the first time.

thick(er) by tommybaholland

summary: the one where you acknowledge how good your man looks right now while beginning to shoot the spider-man sequel.

true reflections by uglypastels

summary: tom shows you why he loves you, even when you don’t see it.

unexpected by angelic-holland

summary: you didn’t know your best friend feels the same way about you, until you’re forced to share a bed in a hotel one night.

web shooter by heyhihellowhatsup0

summary: you see tom in his new spider-man suit for the first time and decide to take advantage of it.

welcome home by thirsttrapholland

summary: tom’s been gone for three weeks and you want him to know how much you’ve missed him.

why it’s fun to be a tease by lousimusician

“you heard me. take it off.” by keepingupwiththeparkers

summary: what’s that tom? you want to get freaky under the table in the middle of a restaurant? okie dokie.

you up by thirsttrapholland

summary: you had told yourself that you would just ignore him this time; that this would be the time that you wouldn’t give in.

[wiypt-writes]

Real Life Tasks With Ransom Drysdale

An Advent Calendar of 24 Normal Human Tasks As Performed By A Huge Man Baby.  Day 24: That’s A Wrap

Warnings: Bad Language words

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x Reader

A/N:  And here we are, the final instalment of our Ransom advent. I have had an absolute ball writing these, although this one was a struggle as I’m a little down at the moment about my other blog and losing all my previous works. However, it’s Christmas Eve so I’ve got some prosecco, gingerbread and I’m ready for Santa.

Huge thank you to @sweater-daddiesdumbdork​ and @ohthankevans13​ for their amazing chapters to, and thank you all for reading.

Merry Christmas everyone.

 The credits to National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation started, signalling the end to the film and you stretched and looked at Ransom, grinning.

“That was nothing like what happened to me with the lights.” He drawled as he turned his head to look at you, blue eyes locking onto yours.

“You’re lying to yourself, Ran.” You shrugged with a giggle. “You know, I think Hugh Griswold has a ring to it.”

“Eat shit, Y/N”

At that you laughed and swung your legs down to the floor from where they has been resting over his as you lay on the couch. “Think I’m gonna take a bath and get in my new jammies.”

“What’s the point?” Ransom turned to you. “I’m only going to strip you out of them later.”

You completely ignored his suggestive comment, because really, who were you trying to kid? It was as much a forgone conclusion he’d have you naked and crying his name later that evening, as it was that he was going to end up arguing with his parents over dinner tomorrow. Yeah, that wasn’t exactly something you were looking forward to but thankfully your parents were going to be there to help you play peacemaker.

“The point, dearest hubs of mine, is that it’s Christmas Eve and it’s a tradition as you well know that we get new jammies.”

“Mine better be tasteful.” Ransom looked at you and at that you simply shrugged and stood up. “I’ll call you if I get stuck in the tub.”

“How long you gonna be?” Ransom asked

“Does it matter?”

“In a word, yes. I need to wrap your presents.”

You blinked and then snorted “I thought after last year you were going to use a gift wrapping service at the Mall?”

“I did for some.” He shrugged. “But there’s a something that only arrived yesterday and-“

“I knew it!” You shook your head. “That package was for me!”

“No, it was for me. To give to you. Now go, piss off for your bath.” *****

Once you were out of the way Ransom, knowing you would be at least an hour, grabbed himself a scotch and sat down in the living room, flicking through some news from the Country Club about the New Year’s Eve gala, and a few other emails on his phone. Once he had finished, he refilled his glass and headed to the spare room where he had hidden your gifts in a locked suitcase. You were a pain in the ass for finding them and then trying to pick at the corners to see what they were and after last year, when you’d totally ruined the surprise of the new pair of Louboutins he had spent ages agonising over, not to mention the fact you’d blatantly been expecting the La Perle bra and panties, nor were you overly surprised at the three piece Louis Vuitton luggage set.

Nope, he was taking no chances. He was excited this year, too. He’d bought you a gorgeous Tiffany necklace and bangle set, one you’d been eyeing up in the Mall a few months back, along with some high end make up only available in two stores in the entire of Boston, a huge bottle of Chanel perfume and a stupidly expensive espresso machine which had caught his eye. It matched the colour scheme in your kitchen and eliminated the need for stupid filter papers as it operated off pods and he’d even had a demonstration from the spotty assed teenager in the shop so he was perfectly geared up and fully aware of how to use it. But all that was wrapped already, it was what had arrived yesterday that he was most excited about. It was an order all the way from a little tea shop in Covent Garden you had dragged him to earlier in the year, on the trip to London during which you had fallen pregnant. It was a custom made wooden box full of specialists teas which, try as you might, you had failed to find anywhere back home once you had run out of the ones you had bought back with you. Yup, He’d come a long way from the days of buying you crotch-less underwear, sex toys and lube. Making his way back into the living room he placed the gift wrapped items under the tree and then grabbed the sheets of paper, tape and scissors and dropped onto the floor by the fire. Some other shitty movie was playing on the TV now so he changed the channel over to a replay of the Christmas Special for the Great British Baking Show that you’d gotten him hooked on, before tossing the remote aside. Placing the box on the paper he began to wrap. It should have been easy. It was a fucking box but after four attempts the only think he’d managed to wrap were his fingers together with tape about sixty times and the box was no closer to being wrapped than before. In a huge bout of frustration he grabbed the paper, scrunched it round the box and taped round it about twenty times. It looked like it had been wrapped by Edward Scissorhands during an epileptic fit, but whatever. With a final groan of frustration he tossed the box under the tree, and then frowned as the TV turned off. Ransom glanced round for the remote but it was nowhere to be found. Cursing he stood up, checked behind all the cushions and even retraced his steps through the house but nothing. “For fucks sake!” He growled, hands on his hips as he stared round the living room. He had definitely had it before as he changed that shitty movie off before he wrapped... Oh, hell no! “Fuck my mother fucking life!” He spat out as he stalked towards the package he had just tossed under the tree and grabbed it. ***** By the time you came back downstairs Ransom was lounging back on the sofa, feet up on the coffee table, drink in hand. He looked up at you and snorted, taking in your fluffy Christmas themed Mini-Mouse pyjamas as they stretched over your now rather huge bump. “Do you want a drink or something, Princess?” “Erm, you know, I think I’ll grab a chamomile tea.” You nodded after a while and Ransom smiled and stood up. “I got something for you.” You snorted. “I’m not falling for that again.” He rolled his eyes. “I don’t mean my dick, Y/N.” He took your hand and led you to the kitchen where you spotted a shiny, deep brown box. Frowning you looked at your husband before you walked over to it and gave a gasp when you saw the Nelson and Norfolk Tea Company logo carved into the wood. “How did you get these?” You managed to stutter as you opened the clasp and pulled up the lid to reveal four rows which were then split further into three, each square of different flavoured, individually packed tea bags, lined with a deep purple velvet. “You know how. I had them shipped over.” “Ransom, these...” You struggled for words as you turned to face him, blinking back the tears that had sprung forth from his thoughtfulness. “I love them, thank you.” “You’re welcome, baby.” He smiled genuinely as you moved and wrapped your arms around him and stood on your toes to give him a soft kiss. “Wait.” You cocked your head as you pulled away. “Were you wrapping these?”

“Yup.” He nodded “But I had an incident involving the remote and no spare paper so you get them tonight instead.” You gave a chuckle. “Just another in a long list of real life tasks you have taken on and spectacularly failed at, huh?” “Hey, some of them I’ve managed.” He huffed and you smiled, running your hand up through his hair. “I know, and I never said this before but I’m so touched you actually tried, even when you failed, it shows you care.” “Of course I care.” His face grew serious as he looked at you. “You’re my wife and you’re carrying my kid. I’ll always care about you both, Y/N, even if I’m not the best at showing it.” “You show it in your own way.” You smiled gently, leaning up to kiss him again. “Merry Christmas, Ransom.” “Merry Christmas, baby girl.” He smiled, his lips capturing yours in a deep kiss, both of you stood in the kitchen as the snow fell outside. He might be a huge man baby, but he’s your huge man baby. And you wouldn’t change him for the world

[niksixx]

Seduction Cocktails

Requested: Anonymously! 

Pairing: Crüe x Reader 

Description: “Hi! Can I make a hc request where reader accidentally drinks aphrodisiac and how would the Mötley boys react(separately plz??)” Side note: (I couldn't exactly figure out how someone would ‘accidentally’ drink an aphrodisiac, so I just changed that part a tiny bit!) 

A/N: If you liked this fic, drop a comment! 

*GIF is not mine, credit goes to owner*

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

Mick: Sparkling Ginger Daisy

·       Let’s be honest: Sometimes, it’s extremely hard to get in the mood.

·       Like the gentleman he is though, Mick never pressured you into doing anything, especially if you weren’t feeling up for it.

·       Low sex drives were perfectly normal, but it irritated you nonetheless, which is why you decided to take matters into your own hands.

·       Mick, of course, protested at first, but he gave in and helped you make the Sparkling Ginger Daisy aphrodisiac that your cousin was always raving about

·       “I don’t have a good feeling about this.”

·       “Quit being an old man and live a little.”

·       The drink was a delicious blend of gin, ginger, and prosecco, with a few garnishes mixed in.

·       Naturally, Mick wanted to taste test it first.

·       “Well it’s not vodka,” he’d grumble, “But’s it’s really fucking good. Might have to make one myself.”

·       And he did.

·       But the drink didn’t do much to him, but you?

·       Well, you were a totally different story.

·       After you had down at least three glasses of the drink, Mick knew he was in trouble.

·       It started with you giving him the bedroom eyes

·       Followed by soft, warm kisses dusting up and down his neck

·       “You’ve had too much to drink, doll.”

·       “And you haven’t had enough.”

·       Mick tried to keep his cool, but as your hand wandered up his thigh, he nearly flipped you over on the couch and had his way with you.

Nikki: Cupid’s Kiss

·       You and Nikki had been making eyes at each other the whole night.

·       So naturally, the bartender decided to play matchmaker.

·       You and Nikki were both presented with the Cupid’s Kiss, a sweet chocolate-cherry mixture.

·       While you nursed your fourth drink on the dance floor, Nikki’s eyes would be glued to your body.

·       He’d bite his lip over and over as he watched your hips sway to the music.

·       He’d also continuously fix the tent in his pants.

·       After some time, he’d muster up the courage to approach you on the dance floor.

·       Nikki felt intimidated by you, which never usually happened.

·       You sensed this, and decided to tease him.

·       “I was wondering when you’d join me.”

·       “I don’t bite, unless that’s what you’re in to.”

·       Nikki’s hands would find their way to your hips as you grinded against him.

·       He’d lightly kiss your neck, groaning as soft, almost needy moans fell past your lips.

·       With a newfound sense of confidence, Nikki took you home that night, making sure to tip the bartender extra as a thank you for setting him up.

Vince: Saratoga

·       It was the first day of your honeymoon in the Bahamas.

·       And you and your husband Vince were both drunk off your asses at the hotel pool’s swim up bar.

·       You had enjoyed one too many Saratogas, the perfect island drink with champagne, pineapple juice, and tropical fruits.

·       Something Vince learned that night? Apparently, Saratogas brought out your sexual side.

·       You were all over him, kissing his face, his lips, his neck.

·       The drink relaxed your muscles, and Vince loved that you were able to let loose.

·       You were also very flirty, complimenting your husband every minute or so.

·       “My baby is so sexy.”

·       “I just want to kiss you all the time.”

·       “I get to have sex with the hottest man alive for the rest of my life.”

·       Vince couldn’t help his smile.

·       Or his hands….

·       The pool was filled with other couples and while you usually were quite shy about sex, the Saratoga awakened something within you.

·       You straddled Vince in a quiet area of the pool and in a low, sultry voice, said, “I want you to touch me.”

·       Even Vince was momentarily caught off guard, but you didn’t have to ask twice when it came to any aspect of sex.

·       It was risky; At any moment, you could be caught.

·       But you and Vince loved the rush.

Tommy: Oyster Shooter

·       Tommy went to Heaven the night you both tried the famous oyster shooter aphrodisiac.

·       Surprisingly, it wasn’t as bad as others made it seem.

·       You and Tommy were an adventurous couple, so why would your drinks be boring?

·       The flavor took some getting used to, but after a few rounds of the same drink, the sexual urges really started kicking in.

·       The drink made you incredibly touchy.

·       And Tommy was l o v i n g it.

·       His face would blush a deep pink.

·       And his tongue would poke out of the side of his mouth as his eyes traveled the length of your body.

·       “Baby girl,” he drawled, eyes dark as the tips of your fingers brushed over cock. “Someone’s going to see you.”

·       “I like a challenge.”

·       Tommy would be forced to stifle his throaty groans as you rubbed him through his pants, fluttering your lashes so they’d kiss your cheeks.

·       Sex with Tommy was spontaneous and daring, and once he couldn’t restrain himself, he’d dragged you into the bar’s gender neutral bathroom, making sure to lock the door.

·       You attacked him in a frenzy, adrenaline rushing through your veins.

·       Sinking to your knees, Tommy let out a string of curses as you took his cock into your mouth.

·       It was some of the best head Tommy had ever received, and as you were sucking him off in the middle of the bathroom, Tommy made a mental note to order two more oyster shooters when you finally went back to the bar.

[just-another-ficwriter]

Cruel Summer - Part One

Pairing: Sweet Pea x Reader

Words: 2600ish

Summary: When your best friend tells you she’s coming home from a year away travelling with a new fiancé in tow you couldn’t be happier. Until that fiancé turns out to be your childhood love, Sweet Pea.

Warnings: Drinking, cheating, lying

Notes: So I’ve had this idea floating around for a while, I’m really excited for where this story is heading and I hope you guys like it too! The story isn’t based on the song Cruel Summer by Taylor Swift but when I was trying to think of a title I felt like the lyrics just fit!

I’m drunk in the back of the car, and I cried like a baby coming home from the bar, oh, said “I’m fine” but it wasn’t true

You woke with a pounding at the back of your head, mouth uncomfortablely dry. You force yourself to your feet, risking a glance in the mirror, and instantly regretting it. Your hair sits in a knotty bun at the top of your head, stray curls sticking up from every direction, black mascara smudged down your tear stained cheeks. You hadn’t even bothered to change out your dress from the night before, opting to just fall into your bed after kicking off you heels, the same pair you trip over on the way to the kitchen.

I’m fine.

You tell yourself almost like a mantra repeating it in your head as you pour yourself a coffee hoping it will wash away the night before. But you can’t shake the ache in your chest, or the sinking feeling in your stomach as your eyes start to fill again.

How can so much change in 24 hours? 

-

The night before.

You let out a shaky breath as you run your hands down your sides, smoothing out any creases in your dress. You could barely hear the music in the background or the excited buzz of those around you as your eyes darted between different parts of the room, desperate to check that everything and everyone was in place.

“You need to calm down. Here-“ Veronica appeared at your side, a perfectly manicured hand shoving a glass of prosecco towards you. “Drink up.”

“Thanks.” You mumbled, accepting the glass with gratitude before knocking it back in one go.

“Impressive.” Betty laughed as she replaced your empty glass with a full one. “Maybe drink this one slower though.”

“I really don’t know why I thought this was a good idea.” You groaned, your nerves getting the best of you. “What if she hates it? What if she doesn’t even want a party?”

“And pass up the opportunity of being centre of attention?” Ronnie took a sip of her own prosecco, eyeing your above the rim of the glass with her eyebrows raised. “You’re right, that doesn’t sound like our Katy at all.”

The three of you laughed in unison, all knowing your best friend too well and you felt a little bit more relaxed, the way Betty and Veronica had always made you feel and you wondered how you ever survived before you knew them.

You’d been friends with the pair for as long as you could remember, the three of you leaving Riverdale together, all fleeing your parents, fleeing your pasts. You’d turned up NYU desperate for a fresh start, a new beginning as you all searched for yourselves without anyone holding you back.

Katy had been your fourth room mate, the missing part of your group you didn’t know you needed and you and her had inevitably become inseparable.

Even after the four of you graduated you all stayed in New York to chase what the city had to offer until Katy decided a year ago that she wanted to travel. The last thing you’d expected was to her to be coming home with a fiancé.

You’d been delighted when she told you, shocked but excited and for some reason you decided the best way to welcome them both back would to be throwing a surprise engagement party, or so you had thought.

But then all the stress and worry melted away when Katy walked in, and you couldn’t help but laugh at the look on her face as the whole room erupted. She squealed when she found you, instantly running to you and flinging her arms around your neck. The grin on your face was so wide it hurt your cheeks as she thanked you for the party. You were about to tell her how much you’d missed her until you saw him.

He hadn’t changed a bit since you’d last seen him, same dark curls of hair falling in his face, same smirk pulling on his lips that had your heart rate pick up, same towering height that had him standing out in a crowd. Your eyes locked with his over Katy’s shoulder, the look on his face mirroring your own and it was almost as if you were transported back to seven years before, feeling every emotion you had back then, the good and the bad.

Katy pulled away from you, gesturing for him to come over, her hand stretch out towards him. You felt like all the air had been snatched from your lungs when he laced his fingers with hers, before awkwardly looking down at you. “Y/N/N meet my fiancé-“

“Sweet Pea...” You interrupted her without meaning to and she looked between the two of you confused.

“You two know each other?” You couldn’t find the words to tell her that her fiancé was the same guy you cried to her about the first night she’d seen you drunk, the one you’d told her had ripped your heart out and stomped on it like your three year relationship had meant nothing.

“We went to school together.” Sensing your panic Sweet Pea stepped in, his lie leaving you stinging. Katy laughed it off, not noticing the tension as she joked about being glad that the two of you have something in common. You smiled back at her, trying to remain as calm as you could on the outside, but on the inside you were anything but. She was desperate to tell you how the two of them had met when her sister called her away and she turned to leave, promising she’d catch up with you later as she dragged him with her.

“Was that...” Betty’s mouth hung open in shock, eyes staring after the pair.

“I’d rather not talk about it.” You blinked back your disbelief, swiping the champagne flute she held in her hand before taking one long, hard sip.

-

“Well aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.” The words were whispered in you ear but you knew you’d recognise that voice anywhere. Before you even had a chance to reply, a second pair of arms was wrapping around your waist.

You turned to see two more faces from your past grinning back at you. “What are you guys doing here?”

“Pea called, said that his new fiancé’s friend had thrown them an engagement party and invited us along.” Toni waited for Fangs to release you before pulling you into a hug of her own, the pair practically bouncing in excitement.

“I’ll be the first to admit that the last person we expected that friend to be was you.” Fangs admitted, earning himself an elbow in the ribs for Toni.

“Yeah, you and me both.” Your voice was soft, almost fragile, as if it might break at any moment and you had to try and change the subject. “Anyway, how did you guys get here so fast? Surely you didn’t come all the way from Riverdale?”

“Cheryl and I live in the city now, she got a job at some fancy company and of course I had to follow my wife.” She held up her hand to show off her ring and your eyes popped as you brought it closer to get a better look.

“And I just happened to be visiting.” Fangs added, you and Toni laughing when she made a joke about never being able to get rid of him.

“Well I for one, think this calls for shots.” You suggested, happy to see them agree. You couldn’t help but hope that alcohol would be your coping mechanism for the night as the three of you walked to the bar.

-

Another hour had passed and you had to get away. You couldn’t stand being in the same room as him any longer, couldn’t stand the sidewards glances or watching the way his arm wrapped around your best friend. You found that breathing had become hard, really hard and you flung yourself into the bathroom, desperate to hide but Betty and Veronica were already following you.

“This isn’t happening.” Even though your voice was a whisper, the fear in your tone was clear. Your feet paced the floor, your shaky hands running down your face as your head shook back and fore. “This can’t be happening.”

“Just slow down-“ Betty attempted to reach you but her voice barely pierced though the blood pounding in your ears.

“Look at me.” Veronica’s voice was louder, harsher as she grabbed at your arms, forcing you to stop and snap you out of your trance. “Just breathe.”

You followed her advice, drawing out a long, slow deep breath.

In and out.

In and out.

“I’m sorry I just- well it was a bit of a shock.” You confessed, cheeks burning a deep pink in embarrassment. “I had no idea that he and her...”

Your voice trailed off, you felt stupid and the looks they were giving you only made it worse. You did your best to ignore the knot in your stomach as you straighten up, throwing your shoulders back.

“I can’t believe she’s engaged to Sweets.” Betty whispered more to herself than anyone else but that didn’t stop Veronica from narrowing her eyes and glaring at her. “Sorry.”

“I just needed a minute.” You reassured them with a smile, glancing in the mirror as you prepared yourself to walk back out. “I’m fine.”

“That’s our girl.” Ronnie shot you a wink, sharing a worried glance with Betty behind your back before following you out.

-

As the night dragged on you’d successfully managed to avoid both Sweet Pea and Katy, switching your time between Fangs and Toni, and Betty and Veronica.

“God I’ve missed you!” Fangs draped his arm around your shoulder, squishing his cheek to yours.

“We should have done this sooner, but you know...” You trailed off awkwardly, the silence telling Fangs everything he needed to know without you saying it.

“Does she know?” He asked, looking over his shoulder to see the pair of them laughing.

“That she’s engaged to my lying, cheating ex? Nope.” You scoffed, taking a sip of your drink as you watched him open his mouth to say something before snapping it closed. “What?”

“It’s just- it’s nothing, ignore me.” He brushed it off, hoping you’d drop it.

“C’mon you have to tell me now.” You pried, edging closer to him.

“Sweet Pea never...” He struggled to find the words to explain as you grew more impatient. “He didn’t cheat Y/N.”

“Yes he did Fangs, he told me himself.” You shock your head, not wanting to hear him defending his best friend.

“God he’s gonna kill me.” Fangs groaned as he explained the real events that had taken place seven years prior. You listened, enraged over the fact that you’d been lied to, that others knew and you didn’t. Fangs begged you to forgive him, to forgive Sweet Pea as he claimed that his friend was only doing what he thought was best for you.

Only it had never felt like that. Not then and definitely not now.

-

You burst out of the venue doors, releasing a breath that mingled with the crisp, cold air in front of you. Your back found stability against a wall, your head tilting back as your mind still reeled with all the information Fangs had just shared. You squeezed your eyes shut, not noticing that he followed you until he spoke.

“Don’t suppose you have a light?” His voice was warm, and you didn’t have to look at him to know he was smiling. Words failed you as you fumbled in your pocket before holding a lighter up. “You never did give up smoking then?”

His comment was stupid, you shouldn’t have laughed at it but the grin he continued to hold only made it worse. You pushed yourself off the wall, suddenly aware of how alone the two of you were for the first time in a long time and you couldn’t stop the question from slipping out.

“Can I ask you something?” The seriousness in your tone peaked his curiosity as he nodded.

“Anything.” He took a slow drag of his newly lit cigarette, exhaling the smoke into the air and you tired to ignore how something so simple made him seem so attractive.

“Did you lie to me?” Your voice was barely a whisper at first and you cleared your throat, hoping to gain some confidence. “About cheating on me?”

“Yes.” His reply was blunt, his eyes refusing to meet yours as they stayed fixed on the ground.

“Why?” Even though Fangs had explained you needed to hear it from him.

“Because I couldn’t bare the thought that I was holding you back.” When he eventually looked up there was a sadness in his eyes, showing that this was as hard for him as it was for you. “I wasn’t ready to leave the serpents, to leave Riverdale and I knew it was the one way to make you go.”

“Who cares if it broke my heart in the process right?” You sounded bitter as you hit out at him, angry at how long his lies had been dragged out.

“I didn’t want you to resent me.” You wanted to stay mad at him, but with the look he was giving you, his every word laced with guilt, made it impossible.

“I should get back inside.” You turned to leave ready to end the conversation, part of you already regretting bringing it up in the first place.

But Sweet Pea instantly grabbed your wrist to stop you from leaving, pulling you back towards him. “It wasn’t just your heart I broke, you know.”

A second past, then two, and then a third, the silence almost deafening between you. Everything felt like it was moving in slow motion, your heart hammering against your chest, your eyes locked with his. Your faces were inches apart, so close that you cold feel his breath on your cheek. You would have noticed the way his hand, still wrapped around your wrist, trembled slightly if you weren’t already distracted by the way his touch was burning into your skin.

Another second past, a fifth, then a sixth. You lost all capability to speak, the words you wanted to say catching in your throat and forming a lump. Your knees almost buckled in anticipation of what might happen next.

But then the door opened again, the light from inside spilling onto the side walk as a brunette stepped out, her eyes squinting in the dark.

“Nate are you out here?” Sweet Pea released his grip, the two of you taking a step back in a panic as Katy called out.

“Nate?” You pulled a face at the use of Sweet Pea’s real name, covering your mouth in an attempt to stifle a laugh at the look he gave you.

“Katy isn’t keen on the nickname.” He shrugged with an eye roll but held a grin on his face. “You coming?”

“Actually I’m gonna head home.” You pointed over your shoulder, feet shuffling backwards as you furthered the distance between the two of you, desperate to ignore the feelings you thought you’d lost seven years ago.

“Y/N...” Your name rolled off his tongue, only making it worse and you began to shake your head in protest.

“I’m fine Pea, really. Go back and enjoy your party.” You forced a smile, glad when he retreated without further argument. You watched him walk away, finally turning to signal a taxi, happy when one stopped almost instantly. Then when you slid into the back, relieved to finally be getting away, you couldn’t help the tears that followed.

This is not how you’d expected the party to end.

Sweet Pea Masterlist

[fics-not-tragedies]

In a Week: Chapter 20 🌲

Words: 1902; Warnings: none, unless you want one for drinking alcohol and another one for mention of kinda erotic things then you have them; Summary: Another dinner filled with answering trick questions.

Hozier tag list:

@letoursilencebreaktonight​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​; @angelpeachamber​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​; @sgt-morgan​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​; @julessbrown​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​;

Tuesday, 6:55pm

The waiter approached them again at last. By this point, Flo’s stomach was rumbling loudly and though she knew he wouldn’t care really, she prayed Andrew couldn’t hear it.

“I’ll have the sweet platter, please” Andrew declared, clearing his throat before and after he spoke.

“You’re going straight for dessert?” Flo asked, met with a shrug. “Then I will too. It’s got cheesecake and cheesecake is my favorite.”

“Any drinks?”

“We’ll have a bottle of Prosecco, then” he confirmed.

“Of course, Sir.”

The waiter hurried away and Andrew turned back to Flo.

“You know, Flo, I don’t get called Sir enough” he nodded, relieved by the fact he was at least making a joke again. He was aware of the dull throbbing in his underwear still, shuffled closer to the table to keep his arousal hidden, but was doing his best to subvert the desire.

“I am not going to start calling you Sir” she replied, shaking her head even though she was smiling, “Don’t even ask.”

“Ohhh, why not?” He said, his own lips curling in amusement, “Sir Andrew Hozier Byrne sounds really fucking nice.”

“Maybe you will be a Sir one day” she suggested, raising her hand. She was half joking, but Andrew lit up enthusiastically anyway.

“A proper one? Like… named by the Queen?”

“You never know,” she giggled back.

Andrew grinned wide, ear to ear and as much as he annoyed her and liked to tease her so much it made her mad - she was still not over him, wondered if she’d ever be over him, those eyes, that smile, the infectious energy he carried himself with.

Tuesday, 7pm

The waiter returned with their wine, pouring a small glass for both Flo and Andrew, propping the bottle on the table then moving on to the next. Once he was gone, Flo tutted and filled their glasses ‘properly’, an inch or two from the top, making a comment about how they both needed it. Andrew shifted in his seat again as she slid his glass over to him, his smile edging towards being a little forced and Flo was concerned by how quiet he was being since they arrived, the usual jokes and chatter not flowing as comfortably as she was used to.

“What’s wrong?” She asked, reaching out to touch his hand which was balled into a tight fist on the table. It wasn’t such a shock for them to be touching anymore, but her fingers wrapping over his hand didn’t particularly fix his issue, didn’t dull down how bad he wanted her, “Are you alright?”

“Nothing’s wrong… I’m alright, love.”

“I don’t believe you” she sighed, taking a sip from her glass with her free hand and rolling her eyes. She swallowed the sweet liquid, “Where did you disappear to for so long?”

“I told you…” he coughed, barely able to meet her gaze, “I just got lost…”

“Got lost in the shower?” She countered, with disbelief lacing her words.

“Well, I take long showers and then, em, I got lost, alright?” he hadn’t meant to raise his voice slightly, but the fear of her finding out the truth had startled him and he instantly tried to retract his actions when she began to pull her hand away, cupping his spare hand on top of hers to keep it there, “I’m sorry, babe…” he grumbled. Flo flinched at that word again, the one that had tipped her over the edge before, but could tell he was apologetic in a way that he meant.

“You’re just being quiet that’s all…” she sighed, squeezing his hand again, “I’m worried.”

“So, em, what do you want to talk about?” He asked, giving her the power she needed to feel secure in the conversation, “Ask me about anything, em, and I’ll tell you the truth…”

It wasn’t that he had nothing to discuss with her or didn’t have a million questions he was dying to know the answers to himself. Rather, there was so much unexplored that it hurt to know he’d leave her with so much not asked, so much unsaid, undiscovered. Flo pulled away and out of his touch, sitting back in her chair to take another sip from her glass.

“When did you lose your virginity?”

Andrew laughed deeply, thankful it was a question he didn’t feel too ashamed in answering, but at the same time was in instant agony over a conversation about sex. And it was Flo asking him. His mind cycled through three things over and over again - Flo, Sex, Flo.

“Teens.”

“Was it good?” She asked, her face inquisitive over the top of her drink, though he couldn’t work out if it was a genuine question or not.

“It was good, yes. She was a nice girl.” he licked his lips and took his own mouthful of wine, “We were in the same class… em… she had those beautiful eyes, like yours, but blue.”

“So you were paying more attention to her eyes than anything else?” She laughed, his predictable attention to detail not a surprise at all.

“They were absolutely mesmerizing, Flo, love. I badly wanted to impress her, but, em, it wasn’t working…”

“So you’re a romantic lover then?” She teased, though part of her was deeply interested, wanted to know for her own fantasies what he was like in bed, knew that whatever he said would help her marginally improve her daydreams.

“Romantic? I can be. With the right woman…” he coughed, raising one eyebrow at her, keeping it raised as he continued speaking, “But I think, em, I’m kinda better in bed now.”

Though Flo’s mouth was a little propped open at his statement, she didn’t have to think of a response because the waiter arrived with their many desserts, placing them on the table. Andrew was practically drooling over each dish. With eyes wide he grabbed his spoon and took a mouthful of tiramisu before the last plate was even placed. He nodded enthusiastically as he ate, Flo watched him lick his lips with fierceness, trying to work out what he wanted to eat next. She thanked the waiter and picked up her own spoon.

“When was yours?” He asked, between spoonfuls of sorbet.

“My first time? I was seventeen or eighteen…” she said, pulling a face of disgust.

“Ooh… Not good?”

“Dreadful actually.”

“Who was he?”

“My first boyfriend” she laughed, “We waited three months then broke up the day after because it was so bad.”

Andrew nodded, finishing a mouthful of lemon sorbet. He looked so deep in thought as he chewed, his face suggesting he was about to ask her another question, but she cut in first.

“Have you had a lot of women, Andrew?” Flo asked deadpanned, taking another sip from her glass as Andrew tried not spit his over the table at the question. His eyes wide, he swallowed the liquid in his mouth and ran his hands through his hair.

“I mean… define…”

“No, no, no…” she added hastily, changing her mind, shaking her head and biting her lip, “Don’t answer that question… I don’t want to know…”

“Okay, then…” he mumbled, holding his hands up in defense, chocolate coated spoon in the air.

Tuesday, 7:10pm

The silence that followed was unbearable and lasted longer than either of them were used to. Andrew paid the bill, because Flo didn’t have the energy to fight it. She stood up first, smoothed her navy dress down and waited for Andrew to follow her movements, though she had no idea what she was doing or where they would go next. Everything felt unsettled and different, her body so full of tension. She shifted her weight on her feet, keeping her eyes on the floor. He was first to break through the quiet, his voice even thicker than usual.

“You could you know…” he muttered as he stood from the table.

“I could what?” She replied, her heart heavy as she looked back at him. Andrew was silent for a while then formed his answer, lips curling into a smirk even if he hadn’t planned for them to.

“Come with me…” he drawled. She waited for his laugh, but nothing came. First she was enamoured by his boldness. Then came the shock and the fear and the anger at him for even suggesting it.

“Andy…” she sighed in disbelief, shaking her head, not able to meet his gaze simply because it hurt too much.

“I’m serious” he assured her, then took three long strides until he was stood before her and next to the table, fingers brushing the cloth next to him as he fought to find his strength, “you can come with me… have few more weeks for ourselves around in my city” he licked his lips and his face flinched closer to hers, hands coming to rest on her shoulders, unsure of what he was even saying.

It was an offer no bone in her body wanted to turn down, but he was being ridiculous. It was impossible. And that simple fact made her angry and frustrated, tears forming in the corner of her eyes. She didn’t understand.

“I have a life outside of you, Andrew” she uttered at last, her statement sounding much more twisted and defensive than she intended. Andrew sucked in a breath at her reply and blinked a couple of times, tried to think of something to say, “I- I- didn’t mean to…” she stuttered. “Didn’t mean it like that-”

“I know, I know…” he muttered back.

“It just…”

“I understand…”

“Andrew, I…”

“Look at me, Flo, love…” he commanded with the same gentility he always had when trying to reassure her. He cupped her face and bent down to her height, thumbs stroking her cheeks in the way she longed for, but had told herself she’d never feel like that again. She tried to avoid his gaze but he drew her in. “You can do whatever you want, you’re a strong, independent woman, I don’t understand what’s holding you back” he almost whispered, his voice catching in his throat on the way out.

“Andrew…” she sighed, the disappointment welling upside her. “I can’t…”

“Yes, yes, you fucking can, love” he stated, tucking the hairs that had come loose in her frustration back behind her ears, her cheeks were bright and hot and she blew cool air into her own face with a slight laugh, just trying to calm herself down, “Stop thinking, Flo” Andrew pushed, the wrinkles in his forehead exaggerated by his efforts as he held her close in the middle of the restaurant. His goal was in sight, “You’re always thinking about the next day. Em, stop thinking about Monday. It’s us now.”

No, Andrew, there’s no ‘us’ and there won’t ever be such thing as ‘us’.

Flo nodded, licked her lips, looked up at the ceiling to stop the tears that had had formed from falling. She shifted closer into him before she could stop herself, her hand pressing flat against his abdomen where he retained the warmth that spread through his entire body and smoothed down his shirt as she tried to find the words. She looked back at him finally, convinced of her answer.

“Think about now” he drawled thickly, coaxing her response, stretching his jaw as he spoke, “What do you want right now?”

You, Sir Hozier Byrne, I want you.

[something-tofightfor]

Not What it Seems  (Drabble #1)

Pairing: Billy Russo x Reader

Word count: 1600

Rating: M? I don’t know, there’s language and vague threats and some assumptions. It’s Billy. You know the drill. 

(Not tagging anyone because I don’t know who would want to read this, but...)

Author’s Note: Thank you for requesting this... hope I did it justice. This was a fun one to write! 

Billy saw red. He’d heard the expression before, had even seen literal red, the blood dripping down over his brow and into his field of vision on numerous occasions, but this was an entirely new experience for him, and he could feel his body, buzzing with the feelings of anger and betrayal. “What the hell is going on?” He whispered the question, but instead of moving closer to see what you were doing, to see if there was anything he could help you with, he leaned back, crossing his arms and simply watching. He’d done a lot of recon work in Iraq and Afghanistan, had learned to wait it out with the best of them, but everything in his blood told him that he needed to act… yet he didn’t, appraising the situation from across the street, hood pulled up to keep part of his face in shadow. 

“You need to trust me, Billy,” you’d said to him as you ate dinner one night, a glass of your favorite prosecco held tightly in your hand. “I’m not ever going to do anything to make you mistrust me.” You shook your head, taking a long drink and looking directly into Billy’s eyes - still the same, even with all of the scarring on the rest of his face and body. “‘I’m not one of those people that took advantage of you, Russo. Not one of the ones that betrayed your trust, or… fuck, Billy. Why are you so worried? Why now?” Billy sneered, looking away and gesturing vaguely to his face before you scoffed, rolling your eyes. “Billy, I swear to God, you need to stop.” You set your glass down, standing and circling the table before dropping into Billy’s lap, your hands cradling his face, eyes locked on his. “I’m not Frank. I’m not Madani. I’m not Curtis. I’m not your “doctor”.” He tried to keep a straight face as you made air quotes on the last one and couldn’t do it, resulting in a small smile from you. 

 “You say that,” he spat, shaking his head and trying to regain control of the conversation. “But they all did, too. I trusted them and they trusted me and look where we’re at.Here. You and me and no one else.” Billy shook his head, expecting you to drop your hands from his skin but you didn’t, instead waiting until he looked back at you to speak again. 

 “Not me. Not ever. No way, Billy.” He took a deep breath, trying to come up with a rebuttal, but you cut him off, pressing your lips to his firmly. “You can always trust me.” 

 And so Billy waited and watched, eyes moving over your body - wearing a pair of tight jeans and one of his Anvil hoodies - as you joked around with the men in front of the building, reaching out to put a hand on one man’s shoulder, the grin nearly splitting your face in half. Yeah, of course she’s smilin’ like that, lookit his face. Not a damn scar on it. You nodded eagerly at the man you were speaking with before turning to another one that had walked from the door, phone in hand. She told me she was workin’ an’ yet here she is with these guys and not me. Billy cleared his throat, pulling is own phone out of his pocket and dialed your number, raising the phone to his ear. 

 He watched as you pulled your phone out of your back pocket, glancing at the screen even as you kept talking to the men and without answering it, you pushed the button on the side, and he heard your voicemail message begin playing in his ear as you put the phone back. Fuck. You tossed your hair over your shoulder and nodded, following the man that had emerged from the building back inside along with the three other men. As soon as you were out of sight, Billy crossed the street, heart pounding in his chest as he started pacing in front of the door after trying the handle and finding it locked. The fuck is goin’ on? 

  He paced for nearly fifteen minutes before the door opened again, the good looking man whose arm you’d been touching coming out first, a huge smile on his face and you following, looking equally as pleased. “Hi.” He stopped moving, hands hanging down at his sides and Billy watched as the smile dropped from your face, skin paling. He sniffed, reaching up with one hand to push his hood back, exposing himself fully and giving the other man a look at him. “Wanna explain to me what’s goin’ on here?”  You closed your eyes and Billy laughed, the sound bitter in his own ears, head shaking back and forth. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.” 

 The other man said your name and you looked at him, shaking your head slightly. “Everything OK?” What, you gonna protect her? From me? “Look,  I don’t know what’s going on here, but I promise -”

 “Do you know who I am?” Billy drew himself up to his full height, and was immediately grateful that the hoodie was unzipped, t-shirt tight across his broad chest. “Because if you know who I am, then you know damn well who she is, and -”

 “Cut the shit, Billy.” You stepped forward, reaching for his hand, and Billy pulled it back, the snarl back on his face. “Seriously, you need to stop being such an asshole.” You stepped forward again and Billy held his ground, looking over your shoulder at the other man, nostrils flaring. “Billy Russo, this is Kyle Dinman.” Taking a moment to commit the name to memory, Billy licked his lips and looked down at you, finally seeing you for the first time. You didn’t look guilty - just annoyed. You didn’t look ashamed, instead disappointed. “Kyle was someone that I reached out to because I was trying to buy something, and he finally got back with me and agreed to sell it to me.” Shit. Unwilling to admit that he’d overreacted, Billy simply took a small step forward, allowing you to take his hand. Shit. 

 “I’m not tryin’ anything with your girl, Russo. I wouldn’t do that. Hell, I didn’t even wanna meet with her unless you knew about it, but she insisted.” Billy’s eyes went back to the other man, appraising him, and for the first time, Billy noticed the ring on his left finger, a simple golden band, much like the one that he wore on his own hand. “I am well aware of who you are and… you are not someone that I’d want as an enemy.” Billy finally laughed, the sound changing his entire posture, and as he let go of your hand, putting his arm around your waist and pulling you close to drive home the point even though he knew he didn’t need to, Billy simply stared at the man standing in front of him. 

 “You ruined the surprise, you asshole.” Your voice was quiet, and Billy finally looked down at you, face turned up toward him, a frown on your lips. He glanced over at Kyle, who shrugged, pretending that he wasn’t paying attention. I am an asshole. 

 “What were you buyin’?” Billy’s voice was even, but the concern was thinly veiled, his adrenaline quickly leaving his body. “I can get you anythin’ you want, you don’t have to meet people like this without…”

 “I know, but I wanted to do this. I needed to do this for you.” You shook your head, eyes closing again as you pulled away from Billy before rising onto your toes to press a kiss to his cheek - right over the scar from the bullet that had ricocheted through it. “Come on, I guess now I don’t have to have it delivered.” Confused, Billy waited until Kyle had opened the door and you’d walked through to follow, mouthing the word ‘sorry’ at the other man, who shook his head once in understanding. As they walked down the short hallway toward a large metal door, Billy could have sworn that he heard the other man whisper a response - ‘I get it’ - but he didn’t acknowledge it, instead watching as you paused in front of the door, arms crossed over your chest. 

 “Go on. Open the door.” He took a breath, pushing the half cocked thought that there was danger waiting behind the door out of his mind and pulled on the handle, the door sliding open to the right. “Surprise.” You were right next to him, yet seemed far away as Billy’s eyes widened, his feet carrying him into the room on auto-pilot. 

 “Is this…” He trailed off, stopping next to the sleek, black vehicle parked in the center of the room, looking exactly the same as the last time he’d seen it. 

 “It is, Russo. I found your car and got it back for you.” Billy’s hand made contact with the driver’s side door, and he felt a surge of relief passing through his body. “Got a good deal on it too, being your wife and all.” Kyle laughed and then so did Billy, his fingers flexing against the window of the vehicle as he turned back to look at you, taking the two steps necessary to reach you, both arms going around your body, his mouth dropping to the side of your face. 

 “Can I drive you home? I think I need to show you just how sorry I am.”

---

[bluesfortheredj]

“What time have we got to be there?” you ask Gwil as he appears from the bathroom in a cloud of steam. His towel hangs low on his hips and your eyes immediately start to roam his strong torso, then hover on the scattering of hair nearer his neck. He replies, but you don’t actually hear his answer properly due to your distraction.

“Sorry, what was that?” you ask as you finally meet his eyes.

“You would have heard the first time if you weren’t eye-fucking me,” he smirks.

“Don’t act as if you don’t love it when I do that,” you scoff, “now please tell me again what time we have to be there.”

“Seven. And I’d love it a whole lot more if you just got on with it,” he winks as he passes you.

“Well, we’ll see how tonight goes… You might get lucky.”

It was Lucy’s birthday so the main cast and their partners were meeting in London to celebrate with her at a fancy restaurant, and you were looking forward to seeing her again. The two of you had bonded during your visits to see Gwilym on set, and now you were firm friends, even meeting up for girls only lunches when you were both free.

“Might?” he replies with a laugh, “no might about it with my irresistible charms.”

“Ha! True, you always know how to get into my- Oh! Lucy text,” you grin, looking at your phone as Gwilym sits there with a stunned look on his face at the fact you didn’t even finish your sentence, “she’s asking if we can get there a little earlier because she’s in desperate need of a drink.”

“Of course we can,” Gwil smiles as he drops his towel, “and this is for not finishing that sentence.”

“I never knew you could play so dirty, Gwilym Lee.”

“There’s dirtier, trust me.”

You giggle like an embarrassed teenager, then leave the room to order the cab while Gwilym gets dressed. He appears in the hallway not long after you in a smart suit and you quietly swoon as he approaches you.

“You like?” he asks, giving you a twirl.

“I love!” you grin, “won’t be leaving your side all night with you looking like that.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” he beams just as the driver beeps the horn of the cab a couple of times. You both head out and climb into the car then link your hands in the small space between your bodies during your short journey. You’re first out of the vehicle as soon as you arrive at the restaurant, and you run up to Lucy who is waiting outside for you both while Gwil pays the driver.

“Birthday girl!” you sing as you open up your arms and envelop her into a tight squeeze.

“Ahh!” she squeals excitedly, “there’s my girl!”

Gwilym waits patiently until you’re both done freaking out, then he moves in to hug Lucy as well and the three of you enter the building to head straight to the bar. Once you all have a drink, Lucy begins a small toast.

“Well, here’s to being joint youngest in the group!” she chuckles as you all clink your glasses together. Gwilym smiles at first, but as he takes a sip of his drink and Lucy’s words sink in, he suddenly realises something he’d never really thought about before.

“You’re 25 today, right Lucy?” he asks.

“I am now!” she grins, checking her watch to be accurate.

“So, you’re the same age as (Y/N)?” he confirms, earning a bemused frown from you.

“That’s right...”

The others arrive just as Gwilym places his drink gently down on the bar and nods for you to follow him as he walks away. Lucy shoots you a concerned look but all you can do is shrug at her, as you have no idea why he seemed so annoyed.

“Gwil-”

“Why did you lie to me?” he asks.

“What?!”

“You’re 25! I knew you were younger, but I had no idea it was ten whole years younger. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I- It never-” you stutter, but can’t seem to form a proper sentence as his angry stare bores into you.

“I need a minute,” he says, then walks away to compose himself and try and get his head around this information. Lucy immediately appears by your side after seeing Gwil storm off and the guys go to check on him while you two girls stay huddled down one end of the bar. You look up at Lucy with tears threatening to brim over your eyes, and as soon as she opens her mouth to speak, they start to fall down your cheeks.

“Oh, (Y/N), what happened?”she asks as she wraps her arms around you and rocks your body from side to side gently.

“He… didn’t know...” you manage to whisper between quiet sobs, “ten years… between us.”

“That’s nothing! There’s twelve between me and Rami right now. Not that it matters anyway when you love someone. And Gwilym loves you ever so deeply,” Lucy comforts as she leans back and starts to wipe your tears away.

“I’m not sure he quite sees it the same way...” you sigh as your eyes dart over to the small group of men around Gwil, “I think I’ll go home… Well, back to my parent’s house. I’m sorry for ditching you on your birthday, Lucy-”

“Don’t you dare! We are celebrating your extremely talented best friend’s birthday,” she laughs, “and it wouldn’t be a party without you here.”

“Lucy...”

“Hey. Are we going to let a guy put a downer on a very good excuse to drink? No, we’re not!” she grins, then orders two Pornstar Martinis straight away, and hands you the small shot of prosecco, “bottoms up!”

You give a weak smile before downing the drink, then she wastes no time in handing you the Martini and encourages you to take a sip. She tries her best to cheer you up but it definitely doesn’t seem to be working, and your stomach sinks that little further down with each sip of drink you take. Eventually the guys make their way over to you both, and you grip onto Lucy’s hand for support as Gwilym makes his way to the side of your barstool.

“Can we talk?” he asks sheepishly, and Lucy squeezes your hand, letting you know you don’t have to go anywhere if you didn’t feel up to it.

“Yep,” you answer, quickly draining your glass and giving the guys a small wave as you realise you haven’t greeted them properly yet. They return your wave with sympathetic smiles, and Rami places his hand on your shoulder to give it a light squeeze as you pass. When you get into the foyer of the restaurant and wait for some people to enter so you could be alone, Gwilym starts to get nervous, and his hand finds the back of his neck to run up and down anxiously.

“I’ll stay at my parents-”

“Please don’t break up with me,” he interrupts.

“What?”

“I don’t know why I freaked out over something so trivial. I just… It was a shock, that’s all, and I didn’t expect it. I’m sorry. Please don’t stay with your mum and dad, your place is with me,” he says quietly, trying to meet your gaze, but looking away every few seconds. He shuffles from one foot to the other as he waits for your reply, and you pull his other hand out of his pocket to clasp between yours.

“Are you sure you still want me?” you ask as your thumb runs over his knuckles. He brings his arm down from his neck with a gasp and a deep frown creases his forehead.

“Of course I am. Please don’t ever doubt that because of one moment of madness,” he pleads.

“We’d better get back in the party then,” you smile, and he runs his fingers lightly down the side of your face before kissing you longingly.

Request: Could you do something where the reader is younger than Gwil, and he knows that but doesn’t know exactly how much younger? And when he finds out, he gets angry b/c it’s more than he thought and he feels like she hid it from him? But she’s like “I thought you knew” and it’s all angsty but ends fluffy?

@painthatiusedto @winnielinleigh @queenslandlover-93 @excellentbecca @ametaphorbrian @peachllobotomy @lovemarvelousfics @lovemelikeyou1997 @readinghorn

[dondake]

[fugonara] the butcher the baker the candlestick maker

rating: t summary: Three fools out at sea. Sidepair of Formaggio/Narancia. AO3 Link (recommended)

[=]

“Congratulations to Arrowsmith for being recognized as the fine art of Naples! May this era mine the deep wallets of rich visitors hungry for artistinal toys. Today, Italy - tomorrow the world!”

Trish raised her glass, full and tipping over with a generous pour of prosecco, calling out the toast as Bruno pondered a more eloquent speech. Hardly offended that the spotlight had been taken, he bowed his head as he raised his glass next to her, smiling as she laughed and crashed into his side with a swig to celebrate. It was entirely new to Narancia to be holding a flute glass, so delicate in his hands when he was used to a sturdy knife and a heady block of wood, but more so to be recognizing something that he had done, and in an elegant Italian estate no less. The past few months had been a revolving door of changes and surprises, one of the biggest ones being Mista’s association with one of the city’s wealthy elites. He hadn’t believed for a second when Bruno had told them that Mista had laid claim to one of Naples’ most eligible bachelors, but now he had his arm around one of the most striking men Narancia had ever seen, who had volunteered his lavish house after Arrowsmith had gotten notice that the Naples Tourism Board intended to partner with them to share carvings of the city’s most famous landmarks to travelers and nationals alike. Maybe it was the money, but Giorno positively sparkled in the light, like life could be given to any object he touched.

“Hey,” Fugo said, nudging him. “Stop spacing out. The toast was for you, airhead.”

Narancia drank quickly and choked, though the attention had diffused in the room - Trish chatting with Giorno about the lovely cheese plates he had served, Mista drinking the expensive wine with a hand on Giorno’s shoulder, Bruno conversing with Abbacchio the peace officer who had been invited as a friend of a friend as he did not care much for Giorno. Frowning, Fugo clapped him on the back, his hand lingering at the base of his spine before pulling away to wrest the bottle of red from Mista.

“You really should be proud of yourself,” Polnareff said, walking up from behind him. Narancia had seen the man during the few times he had visited Giorno, but it still escaped him what exactly the older man did on the estate. Frankly, he wasn’t sure what Giorno did on a daily basis, but the habits of the rich were beyond him. Polnareff had a plate of pasta and ragu Narancia recognized from the dinner they had had hours before - the man had politely left them alone to their devices, only appearing to take supper to his private quarters. “For a major advertising body to recognize your talent and bring your work to be one of the first things visitors see - that’s no easy feat.”

“Thanks,” Narancia said, unsure how else to respond. He was by no means humble, but this kind of accomplishment was bigger than he could wrap his mind around. He would have been happy to just continue selling the toys he created in his little storefront, but the thought of having his name in brochures and guides seemed so surreal. “Fugo helped too. If he didn’t go to them, this definitely wouldn’t have happened.”

“Business is business,” Polnareff shrugged. “But sales don’t happen if there isn’t anything of substance.” He was talking like Giorno, and sometimes Narancia couldn’t follow Giorno’s train of thought. Strategy was more of Fugo’s area, and he elbowed him in an effort to avoid answering with something foolish.

“What?” Fugo asked. His face was starting to turn pink from the wine; he wasn’t one to drink heavily, and he turned his nose up and declined when Mista invited everyone to drink at the local bar. But he was no idiot, and he would take full advantage when Giorno bought up bottles of well-aged red and white from his father’s storerooms. Seeing Polnareff, Fugo straightened. “Oh. Hello, Polnareff. Good to see you. Have a seat, take a load off. Arrowsmith’s brought a few bottles of our own, but they really don’t hold a candle to what Giorno has.”

“No, I’ll leave the festivities to the youth.” Leaning on his cane, Polnareff looked older than his age; it was unfortunate that he had a bad leg from an accident, but Narancia also associated canes with old people. “Coco Jumbo needs to be fed soon anyway. I just wanted to give my regards to the men of the hour.” Narancia watched him hobble out of the room.

“Hey!” Mista’s voice rang out. “Narancia. You’ve been nursing that glass for years. Don’t hold back now. Get out of the way, Fugo; you’ve had enough.” Pushing Fugo from the couch, Mista beckoned Narancia closer, ignoring the way Fugo shot a withering glare at him. Pulling Narancia to fill the space that Fugo had left, Mista topped Narancia’s glass off again. “Here. Drink. You don’t have to start work tomorrow, so take a break.”

Giorno had turned to look at him, so Narancia felt obligated to pay his respects. After all, Mista was the one with the privilege of his private company and favors. “Thanks for everything, Giorno. Really. Having a party like this...in this big house of yours...it’s amazing.”

“Oh, don’t mention it. I love that wooden ladybug paperweight you made; it’s the least I can do to repay someone who crafted something that will be worth my father’s entire fortune in a few months.” Giorno was so good at flattering - he was more tactful and level-headed than Mista. So opposites really did attract. Mista had commissioned the ladybug piece from him, and Narancia had not questioned it; now it was clear that it had been a gift for Giorno. Mista had never been one for giving gifts, preferring to pamper his partners with sweets and sex. It felt like Narancia was looking at a whole new person, someone who was capable of looking at someone like Giorno with unconditional respect and adoration.

“Wow,” Narancia found himself saying before he could catch himself. “Aren’t you guys embarrassed to be so...lovey-dovey?” They weren’t like Trish and Bruno, who held hands openly and kissed on the sidewalk whenever she felt like it. But the casual way Giorno, who stood with his shoulders back and his chin up, leaned against Mista, and the considerate gestures Mista would do like take things from Giorno’s hands without having to be asked - there was something intimate there that made Narancia’s ears heat up.

The two exchanged a silent look. “What the hell,” Mista laughed. “You’re not a virgin, Narancia. What’s so unusual about how we act around each other? We’re not PDA fiends.”

“The way you say that,” Giorno said slowly, “does that mean you think the person you want to be close to would object to being affectionate?”

“Huh!” Narancia sputtered.

“What! Oh, you dog!” Mista hit him on the arm. “You never told me you had your eyes on someone. Ah! Is it that new mail girl? She’s the one with all those charms on her phone; I bet you she’s a day away from asking you to make her an engagement ring out of wood. Giorno, how did you know?”

Giorno smiled mysteriously. “You just need to be observant. It’s not like Narancia’s being particularly secretive about it.”

“That’s…” Narancia wilted under Giorno’s knowing expression. “That’s not...I just...it’s not like that.”

“Oh really? I think you’re giving him too much credit; Fugo’s someone who wants to prove himself, and he would listen to you if you wanted him to change the way he treats you.”

Now it was Mista’s turn to sputter. “Fugo?” He turned to Narancia. “Really? You’re kidding me, right?”

Mista’s disbelief was somehow insulting. “What? You think I’m not good enough for Fugo?”

“Well...you’re not the one I’d say that to,” Mista said, scratching his chin. Out of his element, he glanced back to Giorno, who took the baton being frantically handed off.

“I don’t want to speak for Fugo,” Giorno said, “but if you really wanted to bring it up...I think it’s a conversation you can have. I know he’s not as...transparent with how he feels about people like you are, but he’s not a mean-spirited person.” Mista nodded along, eager to prolong taking a backseat to the discussion. “I understand if you don’t want to say anything, since I’m sure you’ll be busier soon but...if I know you, you don’t do well if there’s something nagging in your mind, Narancia.”

“He’s got limited capacity in there, true,” Mista agreed. Narancia, torn between protesting against Mista’s clearly insulting comment and avoiding going deeper into a topic he hadn’t let himself think too much about, finished the wine Mista poured for him. “Speaking of which - where is Fugo, anyway? What a buzzkill, leaving his own party.”

“I’ll go look for him.”

“Good luck, Narancia,” Giorno called after him. How mortifying! He’d only volunteered to leave because he hadn’t wanted to entertain Giorno’s suggestion, but now it only made it so Giorno thought he was actually going to take his advice. On a good day, Fugo was helpful and reassuring; on a bad day, he was vindictive and remembered old arguments. With the prospect of Fugo throwing his feelings back at him like a weapon, Narancia would prefer to keep things as they were. Giorno’s house was pretty big, and he wasn’t sure he could find Fugo if he had holed up somewhere. But as he rounded into the courtyard, he saw Fugo sitting at the fountain, staring up at the moon.

“There you are. What are you playing at, leaving like that? You don’t want to be social again?”

It took Fugo a beat longer to focus his gaze on him, and Narancia realized he was tipsier than he’d expected. “Oh, be quiet. You know they’re only there because of you. Polnareff was right - this whole thing wouldn’t be happening if it wasn’t for the stuff you make.”

“What are you talking about? We both run Arrowsmith. It’s not like you to not take responsibility for something good.”

“What do you know about me?” Fugo stopped, taking a deep breath and running a hand over his face, a little unsteady. For someone who had outlined everything he would include in their meetings with the Tourism Board and who paused to think before he spoke to any difficult client, it made Narancia stare at how Fugo was slurring his words. “It doesn’t have to be me. Anyone with a little bit of money could have told you how to grow your store. Don’t be trying to deflect how much you’re involved in this, just because you don’t want to do all the work.”

“Hey! I’m not doing that. Let’s be clear, here: I didn’t even want to do that stupid job in the first place. Don’t you remember how many nights I stayed up to make sure I got all those details right? I don’t have any apprentices or anything, so I had to do all that myself. You think I like carving the same thing over and over?”

“Then why did you do it? Why would your lazy ass bother?”

“Because you wanted me to! You think I care about what those big people think about me? You were the one who thought it was a good idea and I listened to you because you think about that kind of thing and I wanted to make you happy.”

Fugo rubbed his head. “Alright, alright, whatever. Stop yelling. You’re always so quick to anger.”

“Me? You started this. You’re calling me lazy and everything, like I thought this all out and dragged you along. You never care about what I think, you only treat this like something to make money from. Maybe you’re right, maybe I should just strike out on my own and find someone else-”

“Shut up.” Fugo grabbed at him, pulling and stretching the collar of Narancia’s shirt. The change in weight distribution made him tip back, dragging Narancia with him. Wincing at the cold water hitting his skin, Narancia was about to start on how Fugo was a messy drunk and everyone would know they’d fallen in the fountain now but now Fugo was pulling him closer and kissing him, his fingers sliding up the back of his neck and tangling in his hair. Water was soaking into his underwear, and now Narancia was sliding his hands up under Fugo’s drenched sweater and Fugo groaned into his mouth. The sound startled him, making him draw back. The look in Fugo’s eyes went from something wild and feral to detached and wary. “Get off me.” Narancia yelped at being pushed aside into the water.

“You…! You’re the one who started it--”

“I’m going home. You can tell Giorno whatever you want. I’ll thank him personally later.” Pulling himself out of the fountain, Fugo squeezed water from the hem of his sweater and began walking toward the entrance of the estate as if he wasn’t drenched from head to toe. “Don’t stay out too late. You’re impossible to deal with if you don’t get enough sleep.”

[=]

He couldn’t quite remember how long he stayed in the fountain and in the courtyard, trying to dry off so the others couldn’t make any comments, but morning finally came and Narancia found himself back in bed in his own apartment above Arrowsmith. His clothes weren’t wet, so somehow he had gotten home and into something drier and warmer. His head was starting to pound a little, groggy from waking and the light from the window which he had not closed the curtain for all the way. Since opening his own business, Narancia found himself unable to fully sleep in anymore, but he figured Fugo would be avoiding him today, so it would be no problem to open shop a little later-

“Oy, how long are you going to sleep for? We open in half an hour, sleepyhead.”

Hangover temporarily forgotten, Narancia sat up. The blood rushed to his head and he winced and waited for his body to catch up. When his vision straightened, he saw Fugo helping himself to coffee in his studio’s kitchen. Now that he was aware of it, it smelled great - fresh ground beans and toasted bread. “What,” Narancia said, trying desperately to make sense of it all. He knew Fugo had a key to the upstairs apartment above Arrowsmith, but even on Narancia’s late days, Fugo spent his time before opening down in the shop cleaning or taking inventory. Maybe he had totally misread Fugo’s behavior after all.

“I knew you would be lazing around with how much you were drinking last night. Mista’s a bad influence, and he’s only gotten worse now that he’s basically living off Giorno, he’s got no responsibilities and only relying on his luck and - whoa!” His hand shot out and grabbed Narancia around the chin. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. What do you think you’re doing?”

Narancia had had his hands on Fugo’s face and now Fugo was peeling them off and taking several steps away. “Umm,” Narancia said. “Kissing you good morning?”

“And why on earth are you doing that?”

Narancia knew he was dumb, knew he wasn’t the brightest bulb in the box, but he knew social cues and now he was desperately grasping at mixed signals. “Well,” he said, wracking his brain. Sure, Fugo had pushed him away and left on his own, but he had been the one who had initiated a kiss. And it was definitely a kiss, because it lasted longer than a scratch and he remembered that he’d felt Fugo’s tongue on his, so it was real and not something like shaking hands or a welcoming hug. “Last night...we...kissed, so I thought…”

Fugo sighed. If Narancia didn’t know better, it was as if Fugo had hoped he hadn’t remembered it at all. “Look...about last night. Just forget about it, okay? I made a mistake. I shouldn’t have done that to you, and I regret it.”

Every good Italian boy knew that a kiss meant someone was sweet on you. If the recipient didn’t want the kiss and rebuked the giver, then that was the end of it. But hadn’t Narancia kissed back? Or had Fugo leaving meant that he hadn’t wanted to kiss in the first place? The hangover was already making his head foggy, but trying to decipher this was madness first thing in the morning. He was the one who made the toys and it was Fugo’s job to solve the hard problems. “But...don’t you like me?”

The leaky faucet dripped twice before Fugo responded. “No,” he said, his tone final. “Narancia. Sorry. I don’t want to confuse you. I kind of...lost control last night. You know I don’t like that...being reckless and impulsive. Even if it was just a whim, I shouldn’t have kissed you.”

“A whim,” Narancia repeated.

“Yeah. You’ve done some crazy stuff while drinking too, haven’t you? You and Mista climbed onto the roof of that bar that one time and tried to jump onto the next building. Something like that.”

“Oh. Yeah, that happened. It was funny.”

“So...let’s just pretend nothing happened. We’re business partners and we have to work with each other day in and day out. I don’t want this to make things awkward when we’re trying to run the store. Okay? Sorry, again.”

It didn’t really feel right, but Fugo was firm in his explanation of the situation, so Narancia didn’t press it. Fugo hadn’t asked him back if he liked him, and if that was that, then he would just stay silent about it. See, Giorno, Narancia thought, unlocking the front door and taking out the sign advertising their new seasonal trinkets. Talking about things with Fugo was never a good idea.

“You’re up and at it early, huh, Narancia?” Formaggio ran another fellow craft store, specializing in miniatures. While Narancia split his clientele between adults and children, Formaggio hated kids and was pretty popular with people who wanted grand replicas of bridges and harbors to display behind glass cabinets. He had picked fights with Narancia in the past, saying things like toymakers were outdated and insulting to people who made art for a living, but nowadays he’d stopped talking about that once Arrowsmith became something of a tourist attraction. “How’s business?”

“Good,” Narancia said. “But I’m assuming yours is shit since you’ve got time to ambush me like this.”

“Ambush! Don’t flatter yourself. We’re barely on the same level, but you just have Bucciarati and that guy with money. That’s the only difference.” Formaggio swept up and threw an arm around Narancia’s shoulders. “But that’s got me thinking. It’s all about connections and relationships, right? What say you and I get dinner sometime and we talk about this...the whole Tourism Board thing. I know you and you know me and I know you’re just a humble guy who’s suddenly thrust into the spotlight. People don’t just change overnight because they’re being looked at with more eyes. It’s tough on you, isn’t it?” Narancia frowned at him. But Formaggio did have a point. Now that Mista was with Giorno, it was difficult to find someone to talk to about all the work he suddenly had. Bruno and Trish were used to a demanding life, and Fugo would only scold him for complaining. He didn’t particularly like Formaggio either, but he had drank the man under a table once and after that, Formaggio did look at him with an ounce more respect.  

“Hmm. Maybe. If you’re treating, I guess I can spare some time.”

“What a horrible personality. No wonder you’re still single…” He jumped, scaring Narancia as well. “Ack! Well, that and that guy hanging around too. What a gloomy person.” Fugo was staring at them out of the bay window in the front of the shop. “I’ll see you later, Narancia. I’ll send you where and when.”

“I don’t want cheap food and crappy booze,” Narancia called after him. Formaggio ignored him. Fugo poked his head out of the door.

“What did Formaggio want?”

“Him? Nothing. Just wanted to have dinner to…” Fugo would chew him out for talking about business with a business rival. “...to...catch up.” It was such a transparent lie. Narancia was the type to stick close with his friends and bristled when he wasn’t familiar with someone. But Fugo said nothing else and wrinkled his nose, unimpressed with the company he chose to keep.

“What do you mean you don’t know anything about your contract with the Tourism Board?” Formaggio demanded, hours later, over cheese and bread. “You’re the one working for them...you’re practically part of their official merchandise.”

“I told you already; Fugo takes care of that kind of thing. I just sign my name when I have to and do what he says I should do.”

“So you don’t even know who I should hit up, huh.” He sighed, burying his head in his hands. “What a waste. I should have known you were a real idiot.”

“Hey! If you wanted to talk about boring stuff like that, then you should have had dinner with Fugo instead.”

“That little buzzkill wouldn’t have dinner with me. He’s too shrewd to talk to a competitor like that.” Formaggio shook his head. “Honestly, without him, you’d really just be selling wood scraps in the back alleys like the rest of us.”

Narancia scowled. “There’s some things I do better than Fugo, you know.”

“Oh yeah? Like what?”

“Like having fun! I’m way more fun than him.” For example, he didn’t talk about work when he was trying to make out with someone. Narancia, he didn’t even think about work when he wasn’t at work. Formaggio raised an eyebrow, a ghost of a grin on his face.

“Huh...sure...why don’t you prove it?”

The last time Narancia had gotten so wine drunk he needed help walking out of the bar, he was with Mista (and it was the night they had gone on the roof, but he told himself =he wasn’t going to think about that after that morning) and they were both so wobbly they’d toppled a couple times into the gutter, but today while he was slurring and trying to insist that the salty air in port cities really did affect how well blades cut, Formaggio had a strong arm around him and practically carried him down the road. It was normal, because Formaggio was a couple years older than Mista, and so he was built like a real adult. They were all adults, really, but it was hard to think of himself as an adult when he had known when everyone was just unruly teenagers talking about how to run the city if they were in charge, and-

“Hey, Narancia,” Formaggio said. “Want to come to my place and see my cat?”

Had he never seen a cat before? Narancia laughed when he’d said that, but he let Formaggio walk him all the way to a little apartment building along the river. Formaggio’s cat was an ill-tempered thing, snarling at him and even scratching at its owner. It ignored the way Formaggio tried to get it to do some tricks to entertain a guest, retreating to a corner of the room and eyeing them peevishly.

“Ugh,” Narancia said, as Formaggio kept coaxing at his cat. “I need to sit down.” And suddenly Formaggio wasn’t calling at his cat anymore, but with one swift motion he’d guided Narancia into a bedroom and onto his bed and then he was kissing Narancia, smelling like aftershave and a hint of polish.

“You know,” Narancia said, laughing when Formaggio finally pulled away, “the couch would have been fine.”

“It’s not as comfortable. The last time I tried to screw someone on it, I kept slipping.”

He was on his back on a pretty firm mattress, with Formaggio’s hand on his thigh, and they’d just actually made out, but - “You want to fuck me?”

“You said you were more fun than Fugo, didn’t you?”

He was, and to prove it, he pulled Formaggio down again. There was nothing wrong with doing things on a whim and just fooling around for the sake of it. They weren’t going to live forever, and they were in the prime of their youth so it was high time for them to do things without worrying about the consequences. That kind of thinking only made his head hurt. “I thought you hated me,” Narancia said, as Formaggio took off his belt and eased his pants off.

“Nah. You’re a loud-mouthed twerp, but you don’t knock things before you try ‘em, right?” Exactly. How could anyone put a stop to something before they even had a chance to really see if it was good or not? If he had to rank his friends based on smarts, Fugo was right up there with Bruno, but sometimes Fugo could be so stupid. “Hey.” Formaggio had stopped touching him and was sitting back up. “You’re not focused. You don’t want to do this?”

It wasn’t that he wasn’t feeling it, and Formaggio knew too because his hand was still kneading up against his crotch, but if he was being honest - “Uh. Not really. I mean, going all the way...I don’t know about that.”

Formaggio kept rubbing him, which wasn’t helping. “Oh,” he said. “So are you and that guy really together, then? Fugo?”

“No way. You really think I’d cheat on him with you of all people?”

Formaggio rolled his eyes. “You really know how to get a man going, huh.” He leaned back down and they kissed again, with less fervor. Formaggio’s hand had slipped into his underwear, and Narancia believed in returning favors (“I’m a grower,” Formaggio muttered into his ear before Narancia could make a comment). Once Formaggio came, he yawned. “Why don’t you stay the night?”

“I don’t really want to go to sleep sticky like this.”

“Go clean up in the bathroom. You really want to walk around Naples looking like that?” Formaggio winked. “Maybe when you’re lying awake next to me, you’ll change your mind about not sleeping with me.”

“Fuck off. I’m sleeping on your couch.”

[=]

Formaggio was still sleeping when Narancia woke up the next morning. He avoided a second hangover two days in a row, but Fugo would be furious if he was late again. He’d sneak up to his apartment through the back and change before anyone was the wiser. If he was lucky, the florist who worked behind Arrowsmith wouldn’t spot him, because she was sure to say something if Fugo talked to her. Fugo believed in maintaining a good rapport with all their neighbors, as part of some business plan, and sometimes it backfired when people ratted on him while he was taking a long break (or several long breaks).

But Fugo was waiting for him at the foot of the stairs behind the building. Maybe Mista was right; he was too predictable. Swallowing a groan knowing that he was about to be chewed out, Narancia plastered a grin on his face. “Wow, you’re getting here earlier and earlier, Fugo. Do you even sleep? You don’t need to come wake me, I’m not late. All the time.”

“Where were you?”

“Uh...would you believe I was out eating breakfast?”

“You’re wearing the same clothes you had on yesterday.” Fugo followed him up the stairs, eyes steely gray. “I ran into Abbacchio on my way to meet Bucciarati for coffee this morning, and he told me he’d seen you being carted around with Formaggio last night. I told you before it’s not good for you to drink too much.”

“Yeah, yeah. Okay? I crashed at his place. We went a little hard and he showed me this great wine bar we haven’t been to. Just - let me splash some water on my face and change into something new, alright? I’ll be down in a bit.”

“What’s this?” Fugo pressed his fingers onto a spot on the side of Narancia’s neck. It smarted, so he winced. “Did you sleep with Formaggio?”

“No.” His hands were shaking taking out his keys to unlock his door. Fugo was sounding like he’d done something wrong, his voice accusatory and judgemental. “Why do you care anyway? What was that you said - we just work together. So my personal life is none of your business.” Fugo’s hands had become fists, and it was dangerous because they were on the steel balcony of the second floor. But they both knew he had a hot temper. “You’re always telling me what to do. And yeah, maybe you’re right about a lot of things. But not everything. You’re just a self-righteous coward with control issues. Hey!” Fugo had started down the stairs. “Don’t walk away from me when I’m talking!”

“No, you’re right,” Fugo said through clenched teeth. “It is none of my business. Go live your life however you want. I don’t care.”

Narancia screamed into his pillow, not wanting to give Fugo the satisfaction of knowing he’d gotten under his skin when he knew he’d be heard through the floor. They’d matured somewhat, from throwing punches at the first provocation, but growing up had only given them more things to be hurtful about. He’d known that Fugo’s finicky nature was a hold-out from before he’d left his family, who had stumbled upon their fortune practically overnight and had been eager to hold onto it. Used to vigilance and sensitive to the opinions of others, Fugo hated things like surprise parties and freak accidents. But Fugo was also self aware, and Narancia knew he had only been trying to spiteful. He knew what it was like to be reminded of his flaws.

“Fugo.” When he came back downstairs, all the stuffed animals on the west wall had been neatly reorganized, collected by size and color. Fugo was now straightening the display at the window, turning things at minute angles that fit the careful calibration in his head. “I shouldn’t have said that. I was just being mean.”

“No, you were right. About that, and that I shouldn’t stick my nose in your business. What does it matter to me who you want to sleep with? It just surprised me. I thought based on the people you like, it would be someone like...like Bucciarati or someone like that.”

An employee from the Tourism Board came after lunch - impromptu which had put Fugo on edge again - with a complicated-looking budget. Narancia had put it aside as Fugo proceeded to chat up the employee, bringing out sparkling water and cookies to pull any more useful tidbits of information. If Fugo had learned of anything good, he didn’t let it show - Narancia tended to stop listening during the meetings with the Tourism Board, since Fugo was usually able to explain the economic jargon to him in simpler terms afterwards. But Fugo did not offer a debrief after the employee left, even after Narancia began working on his daily carvings of St. Peter as commissioned by the local church; carving was something he could do in his sleep, so it was the perfect time for Fugo to explain things to him. In fact, Fugo hadn’t even touched the budget even after they closed the store.

“Should we look at the budget that woman dropped off today?” Narancia asked.

“You can,” Fugo said, putting on his coat.

“Me? I don’t know how to make heads or tails of it. You have to help me.”

“I’ll look at it tomorrow.” He walked right out of the store, leaving Narancia to stare at the door behind him. Fugo had never left on time after the store closed; if he wasn’t reminding Narancia of the various orders that still needed to be filled, he was going through their books or working on their taxes and looking up any changes to the paperwork they had to do. The last time Fugo had gone home so soon after they flipped to the closed sign, it was for Bruno’s birthday.

When Narancia peeked out the door to the street, Fugo was nowhere in sight. But Abbacchio was standing around on the corner, looking stern and disinterested in the laughter from the teenagers across the street. “Abbacchio,” Narancia called. “Did you see where Fugo went? He just...left.”

“I imagine that’s what people do when their jobs are done for the day,” Abbacchio said.

“Not Fugo! He never leaves even when I ask him to. I’ve got a ton of work I need to do, and he didn’t even remind me about them…” He remembered what Fugo had said earlier. “Wait! This is all your fault. You saw me last night and you told on me.”

“Told on you? I didn’t know you were doing something that was worth telling on.”

“Damn right! So why did you open your big mouth and go ratting to Fugo for? Now he’s mad at me.”

Abbacchio gave him a look like a child needing a fifth explanation. “Do you know why I’m stationed here?” Narancia opened his mouth, but Abbacchio continued before he could get a word in edgewise. “Fugo paid off my precinct to have someone watching your store, and you specifically. You probably haven’t noticed, but since Arrowsmith’s come on the radar for the rich and famous, some of the...less reasonable individuals in your trade have been trying to sabotage you. It’s nothing more than petty vandalism, but having someone here has kept them at a distance. And Arrowsmith isn’t being supported by any branches of the local underground, and now that you’re expanding, you’re the perfect host to launder money. But you wouldn’t know that, because Fugo’s had me follow you around.”

“I don’t need a bodyguard,” Narancia insisted. “And...Fugo...doesn’t he need someone to look over him too?”

“You’re the face of Arrowsmith,” Abbacchio sniffed, turning his attention back to the street. “You’re the one who needs your hands clean.”

“Where is he? Did he go home?”

“If a man doesn’t want to be found, he won’t be,” Abbacchio said unhelpfully.

When Fugo continued to be cagey, Narancia went to Giorno’s house to complain. Mista stood at the doorway, looking every part of a diligent watchman, as Giorno hosted him in a cosy little balcony alcove overlooking the sloping coastline. He didn’t really like the idea of Mista hearing him talk about his personal life, but he trusted Giorno to tell him what to do even if he was younger and Bruno was busy and tended to be a little too big picture for Narancia. “...and now he keeps running off after we close, and he’s already ignoring me whenever I try to bring it up when there aren’t any customers, so it’s impossible to talk to him! I don’t think I did anything wrong, and he hasn’t asked that I apologize for anything which he usually does so I don’t know what to do.” He picked at the pear slices and sparkling water Giorno had had drawn up for them.

“That’s certainly a challenge,” Giorno agreed. “But to solve some part of your mystery - Fugo has been coming over lately for dinner. He’s been wanting to hear my opinion on how to expand Arrowsmith out of Naples, but he changes the direction of the conversation whenever I ask if you should be part of the conversation too.”

“Expand Arrowsmith? I don’t want to be carving for more than one shop! I’m getting...carpet tunnel already as it is!”

“I don’t think he’s expecting you to mass produce like a machine,” Giorno assured him. “But having some outposts where Arrowsmith can sell some of their inventory. I think it’s a neat idea, but I think the draw of your shop right now is how local and artisanal it is.”

Narancia stared at him over his hands. “Why is he coming to you about business stuff? Are you a businessman, Giorno?”

“I have my fingers in a few pies.”

“Huh?”

“The guy just needs to get laid,” Mista chimed in, as Giorno was about to explain the phrase in great detail. “If it’s not the store, he’s talking about the people he meets when he goes out. I get it, he’s a buzzkill, but there’s got to be someone desperate enough to go home with him.”

“Mista,” Giorno said.

“Fugo is meeting people in bars?” Narancia said.

“You’re meeting people too, aren’t you?” When Narancia gave him a blank look, Mista frowned. “That tiny house guy? Formaggio?”

“Oh.” Narancia looked at Giorno. “Well, that doesn’t count. Because...it just doesn’t. I don’t like him or anything, even if we fool around. What’s wrong with that!”

“Nothing’s wrong with that. If you both want to move on, then I think it’s healthy to take some distance from each other. But it’s troubling if it’s affecting how you’re handling your shared project. I can talk to Fugo about this the next time he’s over, if you’d like.”

Giorno’s talk with Fugo seemed to have no effect, and after another week of Fugo keeping him at a polite arm’s distance, Narancia took it upon himself to follow him to try and corner him to force a conversation. His attempts resulted in his getting lost in random alleys and in different parts of town, Fugo seemingly an expert at diving into shadows and disappearing through doors to avoid being caught. More often than not, he called Formaggio after to let off some steam.

“How unusual that you want to hang out so early,” Formaggio said, brazenly resting his hand on his knee at the bar. It was Arrowsmith’s day off and Fugo had ignored all his messages, Mista and Giorno were on holiday in Procida, Bruno was leading a meeting at city hall, and Trish was having a dreaded father-daughter day at Diavolo’s whim. After wallowing for a whole afternoon and deciding that maybe he really ought to expand his circle of friends, Narancia went for a reliable backup instead. “Maybe we should skip the foreplay and head over to my place instead.”  

“Yeah, yeah.” Formaggio had some friends maybe he could befriend too. They tended to like some weird stuff, morbid histories and random trivia about serial killers and plagues. Risotto could be promising, with his knowledge of knives, but he seemed to be the moody type like Abbacchio and Narancia wasn’t sure if he was ready for another Abbacchio in his life. In any case, was it weird to befriend friends of someone he was using as a booty call? That had kind of happened with Giorno, but Mista hadn’t really introduced him as some person he had only been seeing-

“Hey, isn’t that Fugo? I didn’t think he’d step foot in a place like this.”

It was Fugo. Another leftover from his old life of new money was a fixation on reputation. Fugo was not the type to walk right into any hole in the wall and order a drink; he liked to be wined and dined and preferred to know where his food came from. Narancia, with a whole childhood of running around on the streets, felt like a natural in a back alley pub with sticky seats. Fugo stuck out like a sore thumb, too proud to look in place. Narancia turned back around, turning his beer around in his hands. But why should he be the one to feel awkward if Fugo was here? If he was really smart about it, it was the opportunity he’d been looking for - he should grab it while the iron was hot and confront Fugo once and for all why he was being so insensitive. “Wow, he’s really trying to pick someone up here, huh...no girl’s going to go for him if he looks at them like that...and there he goes. One scan of the room and there’s no one worth his precious time.” Fugo was hightailing it out of the bar, trying to move around the people who had settled in his path. No one moved all fast like that if they weren’t the shifty type, so he was being held up, and if Narancia hurried, he might be able to catch him before he left. “Anyway...you want to head out? I’ve got better beer at mine.”

“I’m going to the bathroom,” Narancia announced, sliding his leg out of Formaggio’s grasp and right off the barstool. Fugo was right at the door, so he had no time to waste. Slipping through the spaces between the bar patrons, ignoring Formaggio’s call that the bathroom was in the opposite direction, he hit the street just in time to see Fugo turn down a side street.

“Wait! Fugo!” His voice traveled, so he knew Fugo had to have heard him. He rounded the corner fast enough to see Fugo slip into an alley between a closed grocery store and its adjacent florist. For all of Fugo’s upbringing in the upper class, he was a professional at being sneaky. Fully expecting a chase, Narancia rounded into the alley at full speed only to be pulled behind a stack of empty crates up flush against Fugo himself. Fugo’s grip on his arms was tight, almost bruising, and he was breathing hard, irregular - he was counting in his head, Narancia knew, to keep himself from saying something he would regret.

Narancia was no good at making important decisions, but he was good at being impulsive. He kissed Fugo on the mouth, grabbing his face so he wouldn’t run away, but Fugo kissed back. He kissed back hard and desperate like it would speak for him, but when Narancia stopped and took a breath, he said, “I don’t like seeing you with Formaggio.”

So he had seen them. Fugo was just a little taller - which had been a sore point when he had grown, because those who were older were just supposed to be taller too - but he was the right height for Narancia to brush the hair out of his face with his hand. “Then who do you want to see me with?”

“Me.” He bit back his words. “But - I know that’s not possible, we’re friends and we work together so it would never work out, there’s too much that could go wrong and I don’t know if we could ever…”

“Why not? There are tons of shops run by married people.” Narancia knew Fugo was skittish, but he was still holding him close which was a start. “I like you, Fugo. You know this, because you’re smart.”

“I know, and I like you too, but…”

“So why can’t we?”

“I’m terrified.” Fugo hung his head, his forehead resting on Narancia’s shoulder. “Narancia. We’ve been this way since we’ve met each other and changing to...to becoming something different is fucking scary. And I know I get really intense about things and I don’t want to put you off, and…”

“What? You think I’ll run away like a wimp?”

“No, but…” Fugo sighed. “I don’t want you to hate me.”

“I won’t hate you. Or at least, I’ve hated you before a lot but I still like you.” Fugo laughed, a deep rumble in his throat, and Narancia thought he really liked the sound. “Isn’t that a good thing, though? That we’ve known each other long enough that I know what to hate about you. C’mon, Fugo. Let’s try it. If we don’t like it, we can go back to being friends and we’ll know that’s it. I hate having something in front of me that I can’t get my hands on. It makes me really mad.”

Fugo still looked apprehensive, but the same wild interest Narancia had seen in the fountain flitted behind his eyes. “Okay, fine. But if this blows up in our faces, it’s all your fault.” Narancia laughed, in the warbly way he knew annoyed Fugo, and Fugo leaned down to kiss him again.

[=]

“I suppose some congratulations are in order,” Giorno said.

Fugo swallowed, knowing the moment of pause did not escape Giorno’s notice. He tried to hide it with a sip of his Negroni. Narancia was sleeping between them in the booth in the back of the nightclub, having started early at Trish’s insistence - but unlike Trish, who had sipped in moderation to prepare for her performance, Narancia had had enough to get sleepy even before Trish had taken the stage. Now he was sprawled out, his head in Giorno’s lap, as Trish crooned before them. Bruno, in his usual fashion, had reserved a small table in front of the stage; Mista was accompanying him, having lost at rock paper scissors.

“For what?”

“For securing your second commissioned piece from the Tourism Board. I heard from Narancia that you’ve gotten a request from a rather well known cathedral for some little ornaments for the holidays as well. That sort of thing is a good sign for a small store.” Giorno smiled over his drink. “Unless there was something else you feel that good wishes are in order for?”

“Er, no, that’s all.” The only one who knew, really, was Formaggio, whom Narancia had promptly cut ties with after having ignored him for three weeks. Fugo was a private man, and his affairs were his affairs - except, he remembered ruefully, when he had told Giorno and Mista of his pursuits in a moment of weakness when he was trying to convince them and himself that he was really unbothered - and Narancia, for the chatterbox that he was, had agreed that they could keep their relationship quiet, at least for now. And it wasn’t going too bad, because they hadn’t really changed a thing in front of the others. “Hey, wake up, moron. You’re ruining Giorno’s experience.” Giorno’s gaze was unnerving him, so he pinched the skin near Narancia’s ankle.

Narancia shot up, still a little wobbly. “Ouch! That hurt, asshole.” His retort faltered as he heard Trish’s voice, smooth and soothing throughout the room. “Oh, did Trish start? Why didn’t either of you wake me up!” Sidling up to Fugo, Narancia buried himself comfortably in his side to watch Trish gesture lovingly at Bruno as she worked her way through an old Italian love song. Fugo felt his ears burn and he knew Giorno was now staring at them and connecting the dots, if not only confirming that he had concluded.

“After all these years, and you two are still inseparable,” Giorno said.

[the-witch-and-her-husbands]

A Perfect, Amazing Day

‘This day has been perfect. I hope the rest of our lives together is just as amazing....’ Alan smiled as he gave his wife’s waist a squeeze.

‘Mmm.’ Jil purred with happy contentment, leaning against him as she let him lead her to their room for the night. They’d booked a Friday in late September at the Savoy for their vow renewal, no expense spared. Surely the honeymoon suite that was included as part of the package was bound to be amazing.

As they walked together, arms around one another’s waists, Jil replayed the events from the day gone by in her head. Even though there were photographs of the event a plenty, she didn’t want to forget a single detail.

She wrapped her shawl, which was a gorgeous soft knit of a silver colour with tiny shiny silver threads woven into it, around her tighter as she recalled appearing in the doorway of the ballroom, which had been decked out beautifully. Of course, the ballroom wasn’t the only thing that was beautiful. She’d spent the week before being prepped to within an inch of her life: manicure, pedicure, facial, a deep conditioning mask for her hair, having her eyebrows shaped, her body scrubbed and waxed of all stray hairs, and her eyelashes tinted. She wanted to appear as attractive as possible to the man who was reaffirming his place by her side as her husband, to appear worthy of him as his life’s partner.

Red was the colour they had chosen for the theme, so red and white flower arrangements had been placed at strategic intervals throughout the room. The chairs for the ceremony, which were then also used for dining, had been slipcovered in white and tied back with red bows.

Later, the tables had been covered in the same red and white, a red square contrasting the snowy white of the large tablecloth. Red roses and baby’s breath comprised the centrepieces on the table, with a scarlet napkin folded into a swan on every plate. Red and white candles lit the tables at tasteful intervals, giving the room a romantic glow. The place cards had been simple, almost Art Deco in their design: black and white swirls on an ivory card, with a tiny black heart in the lower corner under the guest’s name. And the favour had been left for each guest at their place setting, a box of assorted chocolates from Hotel Chocolat, encased in custom sleeve which read: Alan and Jilomena, along with the date. A note tucked inside each box thanked the guests for being a part of their special day.

The Toastmaster who had been hired for the occasion kept things running smoothly and to time throughout the evening. This was a task that could have gone to one of the older boys, but Jil wanted them to be able to relax and enjoy the day along with everyone else. Besides, the Toastmaster was trained into how to announce the guests’ arrival, and introducing the guests of honour so they could take their places as dinner was about to be served.

The dinner itself had been delicious. Jil licked her lips surreptitiously as she recalled every bite. She’d chosen the tomato and cheese tartine, which was the vegetarian option, where Alan had chosen the roast. Dessert had been a blueberry rond, and then also the chocolate cake after they’d cut it. Everything was delicious and they’d absolutely stuffed themselves. Alan had even ensured that her favourite, pink Moët, had been used for the toasts and speeches. She’d drunk her fill of champagne that day: rosè, blanc, and prosecco had all been consumed.

Ah, yes. His speech. It had been so heartfelt, that it nearly brought tears to her eyes all over again. How he’d always believed that there was a little voice inside you that told you what you should do. And how he was so glad he’d listened to that voice thirty years ago, when it had told him to marry the woman beside him, to grab her and put a ring on her finger and make her his and never, ever let her go. To marry her, because she was a Keeper - a private joke for their family. He also quoted a monologue from one of his films: ‘“You know, I look at you and it’s funny; you don’t remind me of myself exactly, but you remind me of a certain time. I remember what I used to think love was then. I thought it was the fireworks; the explosions; the highlights. But it’s not. It’s time. To go through the seasons together, through change, through the ups and downs, to be able to look your beloved in the eye and say; ‘We did that together, as one. We chose each other above all others.’ That’s love. It’s unexplainable. It’s a secret that can only be known once you’ve done the time.”’ He blinked then, and she could see that he was fighting back the tears, the same ones that were pricking her eyes at the heartfelt sentiment. After he’d sat at her side once again, they indulged in a passionate kiss while the boys made faces of disgust and the guests cheered.

He’d put an arm around her waist as they cut the cake, much as he’d done the first time they’d done so. The cake was simple, three tiers, white icing with white piped trim that looked like tiny pearls. Ivory stars scattered in a ‘swoosh’ along the sides to the top, covered with a dusting of edible gold glitter. Their original cake topper was in price of place on top, and Alan had even hidden a small bride and groom bear charm on the topper which he pointed out when they were cutting the cake. She took it with a small exclamation of delight, stopping cutting long enough to hug him quickly around the waist before they’d resumed. It wasn’t the only present he’d surprised her with that day. She’d also received a bottle of pink prosecco-scented perfume in a custom bottle that said Love You Always, and a custom-embroidered tee that said Love Struck. Ever thoughtful.

Of course he’d been unable to resist smashing a tiny bit of the cake into her face, smearing icing along one cheek as she giggled and squirmed, before retaliation by smearing a bit of the icing on the tip of his nose. The gleam in his eye was evident as he leaned over to whisper in her ear: ‘You’ll pay for that later, my girl...’

After the cake was cut, they took to the dance floor to dance the first number as man and wife once more. All eyes were on them as they took their positions, him clasping her hand in his as he wrapped his arm lovingly around her waist, resting his other hand on the small of her back. She could feel its warmth through her dress.

The music started. Jil had closed her eyes for a moment as she rested her head against his chest, as he swept her along in his arms. They always fit so well together, their dancing a finely honed thing of beauty after all these years. However, she could soon hear the commotion from the assembled guests, and she opened her eyes and looked round to see what the fuss was about. Bette Midler herself had appeared in the room, microphone in hand. Jil’s jaw hung open comically in surprise as the woman started to sing The Rose, which was the song they’d had for their first dance together as man and wife many years ago.

‘What...when...how?’ was all that Jil managed to splutter as she looked at her husband in shock.

‘Being me has its advantages,’ he teased as he kissed her nose.

Ms Midler came over to congratulate them afterwards, and although they’d pressed her to stay and join them she’d gracefully declined, explaining that she had another engagement.

Jil still couldn’t believe what had happened, and was in a daze as the next song started - Still the One. Her older sons grabbed their girlfriends to join their parents on the dance floor. Through the Years followed after that, as more people began to join them for a slow dance with their partners.

When In Demand and Start a Family played, Jil teased Alan gently. ‘What, no Sharleen appearing out of nowhere to serenade us?’

‘I tried. She was busy, but she sent a card and her apologies,’ he admitted sheepishly. She could only laugh in response. ‘You...are amazing.’ She stretched up to kiss him, winding her arms around his neck as they moved across the floor. The light caught her earrings, which were her ‘something old.’ They were the square diamond ones he’d bought her for one of their first Christmases together. Her something new was a silver charm on a necklace, engraved with that day’s date. She’d forgotten her something borrowed, so he’d lent her his key ring before they walked down the aisle. She’d tucked it carefully in her bra, next to her heart. And then her something blue was a secret waiting for him to discover when he undressed her for bed that night - a blue garter nestled around one thigh.

The evening had passed in a happy blur. Drinking, talking, laughing, and dancing. Sometimes with their boys, but mostly together. Midnight found them in each other’s arms, her head nestled under his chin as they slowly rocked together in a circle.

‘I swear...for better or worse, til death do us part, I’ll love you with every beat of my heart...’ He sang along softly to the music.

Their moment was interrupted by a grinning Hans. ‘Hadn’t you two better get up to your suite before you turn into a pair of pumpkins?’

‘Ah. I thought I’d never get the chance to be alone with my bride. Come, Mrs Rickman.’ Alan smiled as he put his hand on the small of her back, leading her towards the doors.

They said their good nights as quickly as possible and now, at last, they were alone together in the honeymoon suite. She noticed that the bed was covered in rose petals - one last surprise of the night.

She turned her back on him, smiling beguilingly over her shoulder with a sultry look in her eyes. ‘Unzip me? I can hardly wait for you to take me to bed and ravish me amongst those roses....’

He leant forward to whisper in her ear, even as his hands obliged. ‘Why rush, Mrs Rickman? After all, we have the rest of our lives together....’

[littledaydreamsofyou]

What Better Reason?

To put things into perspective you had lived with a member of the Styles family for six months, had met her brother Harry numerous times, actually had his number in your phone from when he had arranged a surprise birthday bash for his sister, been around the whole Styles clan on the odd occasion and yet you still could never not get butterflies upon the first sight of the younger, yet taller Styles sibling.  And right now, as you were looking through the peephole at the handsome young man scratching the back of his neck, the butterflies were there as was the increased heart rate and the highly possible flushed cheeks.

With one deep breath you opened the door a little more force than usual, clearly your nerves gave you added strength.

“Hey! Harry, what are you doing here?”

“Good Evening” he kissed your cheek on his way past you to enter your shared flat, “thought I would swing by and see you seen as though I didn’t get to see you in Manchester”

You had been at Harry’s hometown concert a couple of nights previous with a friend from back home.  You’d had the tickets for months, even before you’d moved to London and had met Harry by way of his sister.

“Well thats a bit of a fib cause you definitely did see me”

“Should’ve come to the Arena earlier you know, my own bloody mother got to spend more time with you than I did by all accounts” Harry challenged you as he folded his arms, leaning back on the kitchen counter.

The whole concert had gone by in a bit of a blur if you were honest, you’re friend back home knew of your acquaintance in Harry but was hit full force with it on Monday night.  As you arrived you’d made your way to the box where close family friends were with Anne for the show.  She’d made you promise to stop by and a have quick glass of Prosecco before the show and as ever she was the hostess with the mostess, having some nibbles for you also and a goody bag with t-shirt and programme for the show inside for both of you.  

It was when you got to your seats that things out of the ordinary started happening as you’d barely warmed your seat up ahead of the support act before a man you vaguely recognised approached you very inconspicuously whispering in your ear for you and your pal to see Harry before the show.  Quickly you weighed the pros and cons for going with him but ultimately decided that you didn’t want to hurt Harry’s feelings by not going.

“Here she is”  you couldn’t help but smile at Harry’s beaming expression as he placed his mug down and made his way over to greet you with a hug.

“Hi H, this is my friend Rachel from home”

Your two friends exchanged pleasantries as you took in the backstage scenes but ultimately focusing on Harry’s outfit for the show tonight.

“Is it pink or red?” you asked running you hand down the material covering his arm.

“Not too sure to be honest, but does it suit me?”, “As fetching as ever Harry” you giggled as he did a flamboyant twill straightening up with his best Zoolander.

Truth be told he could make your knees weak wearing a bin bag and when it was announced that the support act was taking to stage in 10 minutes, you excused yourself not wanting to miss any part of the show.  Harry had asked you to stay and then had further offered VIP passes for you to go side stage whenever you wanted during the show, bot of which you turned down wanting to experience everything with Rachel in the thick of the crowd.

A girl with a polaroid camera was wondering backstage and had snapped a picture of the three of you as you wished Harry good luck, with Harry requesting one with yourself throwing his arm around your shoulders.

Getting back to your seats with no fuss, the concert had started and it wasn’t until part way during his set that you saw Harry close up again.  He stopped to say a hello and asked if you were enjoying yourself on the way to the B-Stage, much to the delight of the girls around you who got the opportunity to touch their idol and take photos of his lovely face…

“You’re still coming on Thursday, right?” Harry asked pulling yourself out of your memory

“Uh, yeah I believe so your mum and Gem have been messaging me about it”, a group chat had started a couple of weeks ago and arrangements had all been made.  “Sure you don’t want to come tomorrow night too?”

“I can’t, think I’ll be at work late and I just don’t want to be rushing around”, “You could always come for the last part?”

Harry had never asked you to be at his shows in the past and though you had gotten closer since spending time with all the family during Christmas and New Year, it still felt a little strange for him to  be requesting your presence.

“Harry, I really don’t think….”, “Here I’ll leave these for you and if you can make it that would be great”

He placed an envelope on the kitchen counter and wished you goodnight with a hug that left his scent on your t-shirt.

Looking through the contents after the door had closed behind him you pulled out tickets to the show, VIP Family pass and the polaroid from Manchester with the words until next time written on the white boarder.

“Well, bumping into International Popstar Heartthrob Sensation Harry Styles is a sure cure for having a shit day at work”

“Hey Han, want a cuppa?” your fairly new roommate dropped her bag to the floor and was in the process of taking her coat off.

You’d been flat sharing with Hannah since January after Gemma moved in with Mike and she was definitely more used to seeing Harry than you were despite only ever seeing him a handful of times.

“That would be great, I picked up some custard tarts if you fancy one”

“So I haven’t seen you since you got back home, tell me all about it”, you both got settled onto the sofa as you recalled tales of your trip to Manchester.

Wednesday the 11th April turned into the longest day in living history for you as you caught up with work that you had missed after having an extra two days off at the beginning of the week and it didn’t help that every half hour you had an internal battle with yourself to just call it a day and get your arse to the O2 with Hannah for a fun night.

Finally the little voice of temptation in your head quietened down and it wasn’t until you were on your way home scrolling through your Twitter feed that you saw what you had missed out on.

Congrats on your first night at the O2, was that you or Prince Charming dressed as a Matador on stage?  

It wasn’t until your mid-morning coffee break that you got a response from Harry, a simple purple suit dancing man emoji and when you text hime back he called.

“Well hello there” you answered taking a sip from your vanilla latte, “Good morning, missed you last night”

“You missed me? Don’t be silly H”

“Not being silly, just being honest is all” you don’t know what killed you more, the words he was saying or his voice still gravely and laced with sleep.

“Well it won’t be long, think we’re getting to the O2 for about four.  I’m finishing work early at getting to Gemma’s about three”, “Yeah mum’s here she said that she can pick you up if you want?”

You agreed to let Anne pick you up from work a little after lunchtime to take you over to Gemma’s where you were all freshening up before the concert.

“So what have you done to not let my son stop talking about you?”

“Sorry…. ?”  Anne’s question hit you off guard as you looked out of the car window at the London scenery.

“Well since I got here yesterday all Harry’s done is mention that you wouldn’t be there last night, how much he was looking forward to seeing you tonight, he seems rather interested in your whereabouts”

“I’m not too sure why, I haven’t seen him in ages since he’s been busy playing to thousands on a nightly basis”

“I think that’s the point love” Anne turned to look at me briefly with a knowing face that only a mother could possess. “He seems to be getting over everything that happened with Camille”

“What happened with Camille?” as far as I was aware it was a long distance casual thing according to Gemma who had divulged the minor details of her brothers dating life to me one drunken evening between Christmas and New Year.

“Not for you to worry about darling, just have a good night tonight with him”, “With everyone” I corrected.  “If you say so sweetheart”.

The two Styles women and I arrived at the O2 right on schedule and Harry was there to greet us as we entered the back corridor.  I watched as he said hello to his mother and sister, he was in all black his own merchandise on his top half and white socks covering his feet, and realised in that moment he was gorgeous both in looks but also how he treated those he cared about.

He took a step towards me as I took a deep breath to prepare myself, for what I am not sure, but when he put his arms around me in a warm cuddle and told me how nice it was to see me in my ear my whole body relaxed and was on edge at the same time.

I caught Anne watching our interaction whilst Gemma was nowhere to be seen and as soon as the moment had started it was over and I couldn’t help but want more.

Throughout the afternoon as we were included in Harry’s and the bands preparations I found myself drifting away in my own little world, allowing myself to think of Harry in a way that I seldom allowed myself to in the past. Found myself watching intently on how he moved, how his lips moved when he spoke and his facial expressions and the vein that appeared in his neck when he sang during soundcheck. Harry definitely was a specimen of human nature and I am sure millions of others would agree that his handsomeness was undeniable, but it was even more so now for me.

With me being wrapped up in my thoughts for the majority of the time, I had kept a little distance from Harry and it had actually began to worry me how quickly I had suddenly been hit the realisation that I actually liked Harry.  I mean I had always liked him, I had been a fan before I knew him and had liked the idea of him from afar, but now that I knew him personally it felt different and I wasn’t too sure what to do about it.

Harry had taken himself off to his dressing room a little after six with the tour stylist I presumed, to get himself ready for the show and just by coincidence when I was on my way back from the toilet his door was open again and he called my name.

“You look like Tarzan”

“Be my Jane?”, did I hear him right, “What?”

“Oh come on, you heard me” the cheeky lopsided smile made an appearance on his face

“Bloody hell Harry did you have to hunt that before you wore it?” Gemma came through to his dressing room with a beer in each hand, passing one to me whilst taking the piss out of her brother.

“You’re not the only one in this family that can wear leopard print sister”, “Clearly not baby brother can I touch it?”, “Definitely not”.

Mabel had been called to stage for her opening performance and Harry’s dressing room was buzzing, the band were all in high spirits and there were several guests backstage all of whom were enjoying themselves and patiently waiting, hoping, for a chance to have a small moment with Harry and a picture to remember it by.

As I stood with Anne, I could see how immensely proud of hm she was and I couldn’t help but let my thoughts drift again.  Had he always looked this good?  I decided that he definitely always had but because of my previous relationships, along with Harrys, and not actually knowing him all that well his potential had been overlooked somehow.

“He looks so happy” I observed aloud, “Yeah like the cat that got the cream.  Are you ladies ready to go take our seats?” Gemma stood in front of us blocking our view of the man of the hour parading around in his leopard suit.

Even though I had seen the exact same show three night ago, it was like I was seeing it again for the first time.  He sounded so good and his performance was flawless and it was made even more special that I got to experience this with his mum and sister, but that in itself was a whole different experience.  They had both been asked for a couple of pictures here and there and other concert goers were looking in their direction to take note of their reactions to certain songs and things he said, but I couldn’t take my eyes off of Harry.

My eyes stayed glued to him until the end of the show and then it was all a blur as Harry, his immediate team including Jeff and Glenne, his family and I scrambled to awaiting cars to take all of us back to Harry’s London home.

As we all sat around in his kitchen living room area catching up over time spent apart, tales of Harry Styles: Live on Tour so far, and general life I noticed the time and sent for an Uber to take me home for the night.  I explained that I had work in the morning and that if everyone was still in London that maybe I could catch up with them at lunchtime or when I finished at the office.

Harry walked me out to the gates at the end of his driveway stopping to turn and hold my hand as we reached the side gate.

“These past couple of weeks have been a complete whirlwind and it’s been amazing, I just feel like it’s going to taste a bit sour remembering it if I don’t tell you how pretty you look right now and how I haven’t been able to stop thinking about how you make me feel since I saw you with me backstage on Monday”

“But Harry, you’ve never even …. I never realised…. I just…”

“No I know and I don’t think I realised until Manchester when I couldn’t think of anything other than you would be there and I haven’t felt like that in a long time,” “But…”, “and I know that the timing could be better but I’m going away for a while and I couldn’t leave without telling you that”

“Thank you…”, “You’re welcome.  Wow, that turned very typically British rather quick”

“I’m sorry, look I uh…. I’ve had an amazing day today and that’s been because of you and uh, you look really pretty too. Oh god…” I couldn’t look at him but even in the darkness of the night I am sure you could see my burning cheeks from the moon.

“Well, thank you.  What are you doing this weekend?” Harry asked squeezing my hand to bring my attention unwillingly to his face.

“Nothing I don’t think, why?”, “Come to Glasgow with me, we can talk more there” Harry offered and in that moment I realised that I would always struggle with not agreeing to do anything that he suggested.

“I haven’t been to Scotland in a while ….”

“What better reason do you have then?”, “You”.