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stonekey · 2 years ago

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TIMING: Current FEATURING: Thea ( @notstinky ) & Cass ( @magmahearts ) LOCATION: Thea’s house, Worm Row SUMMARY: Cass's hair looks so nice! Gee, she must be a really skilled hairdresser Oh, wouldn't it be a great idea to invite her over to cut hair? CONTENT WARNINGS: none unless you are Charles Xavier

Cass was sad and Thea didn’t know what to do about it. She didn’t think it was the sort of sadness that could be extracted with company and google searches of a B-list X-Men (she would apologize to Rictor if he was real, but he probably understood why he was B-list). And, certainly, it wasn’t the sort of sadness that would magically evaporate if Thea let her hair be Cass’s new canvas, but she was going to try anyway. Standing around and letting her friend be sad just wasn’t an option. The week before a full moon was the time she had the most energy; the moments in which her body forgot what would happen to her in a few days' time. If she was going to give Cass the best damn chill-hang-out-at-a-friend’s-house ever, it would have to happen now.

“Cass!” Thea flung the door open with a wide smile. “Just in time! The google images page just loaded.” Thea spun her Macbook around, showing off the bright screen and the thousands of results of ‘Rictor marvel’ on Google: from his wet-dog X-Factor investigations look to his tragic early look with the nonsensical beige shoulder pads. “Come-in-how-are-you-love-the-hair,” she muttered all at once, standing off to the side so Cass could enter.

Thea’s extremely humble rental home had all the charm of something built two decades ago, maintained by the laziest of landlords, and subject to a bit of a pending silverfish problem. In every corner there was chipped paint and strange brown stains; if a floorboard didn’t creak then it was probably scratched so deeply that it had a new texture altogether; and the light bulbs illuminated the area in such warmth that it verged on orange. The only thing the house had going for it was the size, designed for a large family but currently occupied by Thea and three other mysterious college students she never saw except for the one time all three of them were huddled outside of her bedroom window, looking up at her. She didn’t think much of it. If her rent was five times what she was paying, it would remind her a lot more of the houses in Toronto.

—

Cass could count on one hand, really, the number of times in her life when someone had recognized she was upset and wanted to do something about it. It was the kind of thing that had seemed impossible for so long, as fantastical and outlandish as the events that unfolded in the comic books she was so fond of. But now? It was becoming almost common. Alex talked her through it when she was feeling abandoned, Nora stayed with her when she was upset, Van let her stay when she begged for it, Thea invited her over when she was sad and rambling on and on. She knew it was probably temporary, knew that eventually they’d all choose to leave her too, but she could enjoy it while it lasted, couldn’t she? She could sit with it, could let it lighten the load on her back. She could walk to Thea’s weird house in the bad part of town and feel good about it, could smile when her friend opened the door.

“Thea,” she greeted, letting her gaze jump down to the laptop monitor as it was turned around. And, yep, there he was. Short-tempered earthquake master Julio Richter, displayed in a thousand different boxes on the Google image result page. “I miss the mohawk,” she sighed, zeroing in on one of the pictures and shaking her head. “I wish they’d let him have one again.”

She stepped into Thea’s house as the other girl stepped to the side, glancing around. She couldn’t say much about anyone’s living situation — living in a cave kind of disqualified her from commenting on anyone’s house, she was pretty sure — but Thea’s place was a little run down. A little falling apart, a little unsteady on its foundation. She wondered how much it cost to live here, wondered if Thea wouldn’t be happier living in a cave instead. She couldn’t imagine anyone preferring any kind of living structure that wasn’t a cave, but people were weird, she guessed. “Um, I didn’t bring scissors because I don’t know where mine are. Do you have some? I can do your hair. What kind of hairstyle do you want?”

—

“It’s better than the long hair and the…whatever this is.” Thea pointed at a picture of Rictor sporting a green headband and skin-tight green spandex. “He looks like he’s going to teach a spin class.” And if Thea understood anything about Rictor, it was that he should not be teaching a spin class. Shatterstar would probably teach an interesting spin class, though. Maybe this was a new subject for Cass’s fanfiction. She’d have to casually broach the subject latter; it wouldn’t be polite to hound the best author in existence with her stupid ideas. The thought made her shiver suddenly, as thinking about Cass’s writing often did. She couldn’t level a comment about it that wasn’t praiseworthy, and that had seeped into her thoughts. Something was wrong, but she wasn’t sure what. Regardless, even if Cass had the writing skill of a sixth grader just discovering the ‘publish’ button, Thea took pleasure in just reading something her friend wrote. “I have scissors! They’re from Walmart, so maybe it’s lower quality than you’re used to, I hope that’s okay.” Thea gestured down the hall leading Cass into the bathroom.

Thea had taken great care to set it up for Cass. She had her Walmart scissors laid out, a spray bottle with water (she knew hairdressers used it, though she didn’t know why), towels, a stool and a hair dryer. A flickering thought crossed through her mind: if Cass cut her own hair, why didn’t she know where her scissors were? That seemed strange. Thea didn’t interrogate it. “Um, just whatever is easy,” she said, answering Cass’s question. “My hair is kinda longer than I like, so maybe just a little cut? Nothing crazy.” Thea sat down on the stool, lowering it so she was at a good height for Cass. She held up the laptop, pointing to a new photo of Rictor; a picture of him from the latest Excalibur run. “What do you think about this one?”

—

“It was the eighties,” Cass replied, squinting at the picture. “I think.” Hard to tell, sometimes; some of the art was recognizable as standard for the decade, but some of it was harder to pinpoint. A rough google image search was a lot harder to determine a specific year from than a full comic cover would have been, even for someone like Cass, who knew just about all there was to know about this particular obscure B-List X-Men character. “I’d go to his spin class. It’d probably be funny.” But talking about X-Men, with Thea, wasn’t quite as much fun as it used to be. That fanfiction bind was a silly one, but Cass still felt bad about it. Would Thea be angry with her if she knew? Maybe it was for the best that the subject changed to scissors and a haircut — that was a lot easier to think about without feeling bad. “Walmart scissors are fine!” Truthfully, Cass wasn’t even sure where she’d stolen her scissors from. It could have been Walmart. She didn’t think her ‘standards’ were quite what Thea assumed they were, but that was okay. She’d still do a good job on the haircut, she was sure of it.

The setup Thea had prepared for her looked very professional. Or… like what Cass imagined a professional setup might look like. She’d never actually seen one in person, but the chair and supplies Thea had pulled together didn’t look entirely dissimilar from that scene in Legally Blonde where they were all in the salon, so she figured it was pretty spot on. “I can definitely do that.” The words didn’t make her feel sick, so she was confident that they were true. That was how it worked, wasn’t it? Leaning forward to investigate the photo, she nodded. “I like that one,” she agreed. “That’s one of his better looks.”

And so, she got to work. She picked up a chunk of Thea’s hair, holding it between her fingers and letting her tongue poke out the side of her mouth as she concentrated. All she had to do was cut it riiiight… snip. Whoops. The scissors slipped, making the cut uneven. Cass carefully masked her surprise. It was fine. She’d cut a little more off to make it even. Except… That was uneven, too. A little more, then. She’d get it right eventually.

—

Thea’s head felt lighter. It was strange to think of hair as having a weight, but as Cass trimmed it very lightly just as Thea had asked, she certainly felt much lighter. She didn’t wonder why the snipping sounded so heavy; tiny cuts didn’t come with such a thick sound, like chunks of hair snapping under the sharpness of her Walmart scissors. When she glanced down, she thought she saw a pile of her hair that seemed to large to be something from a small trim, and she had emphasized she just wanted a trim, right? Nothing crazy? She had said that, hadn’t she? Thea continued to scroll through the images of Rictor, thinking nothing of it. Cass’s hair looked so good, if she got even a fraction of that talent used on her head, she’d be okay. There was nothing to worry about. “Do you like him just because he has rock related powers?” She asked, growing tired of scrolling through images of Rictor; most of them were images of him making out with Shatterstar anyway. She thought that was reductive, certainly Rictor was more than his messy gay romance. So, she typed, ‘cool rocks’ into the search bar and watched the page populate with images of different crystals and stones.

There were photoshop images of glowing rocks, one that looked like the cookie monster, and another that someone had just drawn sunglasses on. Thea realized she ought to have searched for something more specific. Instead of learning her lesson, she typed ‘cool volcanoes' and went with that. “Do you know why this happens?” Thea lifted the laptop up so Cass could see it, pointing at a picture of an erupting volcano with a branch of lighting striking down. She hadn’t intended to embark on a science lesson but unlike her searches of Rictor, the B-List X-Men, she did know a lot about the scientific functions of the world. She had lofty dreams, once. “How much do you know about volcanoes?”

—

This was not going well. Cass could tell, even if she gave no outward indication of it. Thea’s hair was way shorter than she’d meant to make it, getting more and more uneven with each snip. It was starting to look less and less like normal hair and more and more like a bowl cut, too close to the other girl’s skull. But she could still fix this, she was sure of it! She just had to… keep cutting. Thea could pull off short hair, anyway. She’d probably look good. And it’d come in handy with the janitor job! She’d save a fortune on hair ties, and she wouldn’t have to worry about… janitorial stuff getting into her hair! Cass was doing her a favor, really. With a newfound confidence, the oread continued to snip. She was nailing this, actually. She was doing great.

“I like him for a lot of reasons,” she replied, “but the rock related powers are definitely a big one. Have you read the new Excalibur? They gave him lava powers in the new Excalibur.” Naturally, Cass had been thrilled when she read it, even if the comic over all hadn’t been very good. She could excuse bad writing if it meant Rictor was in a comic book again. “I like his personality a lot, though. And his backstory is cool. I think it’s neat how he doesn’t try to fit in. He’s like, ‘This is who I am, and I’m gonna make earthquakes about it.’ I like that.”

Another snip, another mistake. Cass was growing less confident in spite of her internal pep talk. She distracted herself by looking at the laptop screen as Thea held it up for her. “Oh!” She grinned, excitement rushing through her. “There are a lot of factors that contribute to volcanic lightning, actually. Ice charging, frictional charging, fractoemission, radioactive charging, plume height… It builds up in the plume of an eruption. Not really as straightforward as a thunderstorm.” She lifted another strand of hair, snipping. Uneven again. Why was this so hard? “I know a lot about volcanoes.” Nearly everything there was to know, including some things that human scientists didn’t. But she could be chill about it.

—

“No, I haven’t read it yet. I’m really behind on comics. Like, by a few years. I got busy with school and then I got busy with…” Turning into a wolf and eating people. “…moving to America.” Thea sighed, sinking into her stool before she remembered that Cass was trying to cut her hair and moving around wasn’t helping. “Sorry!” She straightened up. If there were some uneven cuts (which she doubted, Cass was probably a pro), it would be Thea’s fault. “It's interesting that you picked Rictor, y’know? ‘Cause not a lot of people would pick him as their favorite; I think that says a lot of good things about you, Cass.” This hair cut was taking a while. Well, she couldn’t rush a genius. Her head felt really light, which was probably a good thing. She repeated this in her head until she believed it, which didn’t take very long—Thea had a superhuman ability to delude herself into anything. She was very proud of the skill.

“Really?” Thea spun around, interrupting another cut. “Ah,” she winced. “Sorry, sorry.” She spun back around; now there really was no one but herself to blame for uneven cuts. “Could you tell me more about volcanoes? Um, okay, well...I know how they’re formed and I know about the different types…” Thea scrunched her face up, trying to think of something specific she wanted to know that she could ask Cass about. In the end, she thought she knew quite a bit about volcanoes and couldn’t think of an extra curiosity on top of it. “Did you go to school for uh, the study of volcanoes? What is that called?” She asked and as a thought occurred to her, striking in her mind not unlike the lighting in ash plume, she spun around again. “Cass, do you…” And then she saw it: from the corner of her eye, her hair. Or, more accurately, her lack of it.

Thea stumbled to her feet, staring at herself in the mirror. “C-Cass?”

—

“It’s not good,” Cass said matter-of-factly, “but Rictor is there.” In her opinion, that made the book one worth reading. It was the eternal plight of comic readers, wasn’t it, to suffer through terrible storylines and awful art just to catch a glimpse of their favorite characters. Thea would understand that, she thought; Thea understood most of what Cass said about comics. Thea moved, and Cass’s hand slipped a little, but with all the other uneven cuts… it wasn’t even noticeable. It was a bad needle in a bad haystack. It was all just bad. “I know he’s not, like, super well-known,” she admitted. “I just like his vibes. I don’t know. Who’s your favorite obscure mutant?” She wanted to know everything about Thea’s tastes, if only to distract them both from what was an undeniably a terrible haircut.

Thea spun around again, and Cass winced. What was one more uneven cut in a sea of them? “I can tell you anything you want to know. I didn’t go to school for it, though. I, um…” She tried to think of the best possible way to describe it. “I learned it when I was a kid.” Not entirely true, but she could hardly say I was born knowing without questions. Anyway, it seemed like the conversation wouldn’t remain about volcanoes for long, because Thea was looking in the mirror and stumbling to her feet. Cass let out an undignified squeak, scrambling over and throwing a blanket from the floor over the mirror. “I’m not done yet!” As if there was any fixing this. “I’m not finished! You can’t look yet! Let’s talk about rocks!”

—

Thea tapped her chin, taking the question very seriously. It was hard to say what counted as an obscure mutant; Thea knew most of, if not all of the official X-Men and in her heart, Xuân Cao Mạnh/Karma was well-known, for example. She was still thinking about the question as she stared at her hair, before the blanket flew on top and she was staring at lint and dust. She would never get around to her answer, which was Monet St. Croix because of that one issue of Generation X where she pushed Jubilee up against a wall and recited the story about the scorpion and the frog and made Thea feel things. Thea never liked ‘mean’ characters but the desire to be stepped on had never made more sense to her than when she thought about Monet. “Cass,” Thea said, turning to her friend—and Cass was her friend, right? “I don’t think there’s any hair left for you to cut.” Thea lifted her hand to her head and groped around the uneven, pointy ends. She still had hair, it was just much shorter than Thea thought she could ever pull off; much shorter than she asked for. “W-what is there left to finish?” But like a good friend or a soldier in shock having watched their friend (her hair) be shot (cut up in what she could only describe as an intoxicated person’s attempt at mowing a lawn with blunt scissors), Thea sat down again.

“Tell me about rocks,” she mumbled, staring out of her soap-stained bathroom window. Her voice had gone flat like a soda left out. “You know, my hair kind of looks like those chia pets. But worse, because those are even.” Thea blinked. “That’s not really related to rocks; I’m sorry. Do you think I’d still look cute if I was bald? Be honest. Rocks are bald.”

—

There was hair left for her to cut! A little! She could fix it, she was sure, she just needed Thea not to look yet. It was too much pressure when Thea was looking. When Thea was looking away and talking about X-Men, Cass could convince herself that the haircut didn’t look quite so bad because no one was freaking out about it. But now, Thea was looking, was reaching up to touch the uneven ends, was stammering through her words. Cass really wanted to go back in time to about three minutes ago, before she’d really started in with the scissors. “Don’t freak out,” she said, though she was freaking out more than Thea seemed to be. “I’m gonna make you look so cute, okay? Um, cute enough for Scott Summers to refuse to blast you to pieces on the moon even though you’re ending the universe!” That was romantic, right? She’d always thought it was romantic, the whole ‘Cyclops and Phoenix dying in front of each other all the time’ thing. Thea would probably like the reference.

“You don’t look like a chia pet,” she squeaked. The lie tasted acidic, making her stomach churn. Thea looked so much like a chia pet right now. “I think — I think you’d look really cute bald. Way better than Charles Xavier. He looks stinky, but you’d pull it off on account of — you — you don’t, um — you don’t make teenagers fight supervillains for you.” This was going so well. So well.

—

It was true that Scott Summers and Jean Grey were sorta romantic; it was cute that through the chaos of her telepathic powers, she thought of Scott like an anchor, it was also true that through the evils the Phoenix could commit, Scott saw the woman he loved. Then there was that whole mess with Madelyne Pryor and Mr. Sinister but that was comics; for everything that made sense there were about twenty things that didn’t. The thought comforted Thea. Perhaps this was her Madelyne Pryor moment; it wouldn’t make sense but maybe she’d look back on it fondly and be thankful that it gave her Nathan Christopher Charles Summers, whose name would always be stupid but at least he had a cool glowing eye. This was her glowing eye. Or maybe, just maybe, her sanity had slipped from her like a screw loosening, popping out of its hole, and rolling away. It was true that she didn’t make teenagers fight for her but the thought didn’t comfort her as much as it should have. The truth was Charles Xavier was an ugly bald bitch and now she was going to be an ugly bald bitch too.

And there was no saving an ugly bald bitch (Thea issued mental apologies to all the ugly bald bitches that weren’t Charles Xavier—he could choke).

“Do you think I could pull off a wig?” Thea sniffled. “Maybe I could wear a red one like Jean Grey and then when I try to destroy the world, I’ll find a Scott Summers who seriously thinks about letting me do it. And a Logan too, although he’s kinda stinky I don’t know if I want him.” She paused. “I’m gonna be so ugly Cass.” She flipped around in the stool. “Promise me I’m not gonna be ugly. Look me in the eyes and say I won’t be ugly. I need you to mean it. I need you to say it for real. I need you to tell me I’m not going to adopt children and then make them fight for me but if I did do it, I’d be hot like Bruce Wayne and not an ugly bald bitch like Xavier. Promise me.” Thea wasn’t sure what she was making Cass do for her; the screw had rolled very, very far away.

—

She felt terrible. There was no saving what was left of Thea’s hair — even if she didn’t do anything else to it, it would grow back all patchy and uneven and weird. The best course of action, at this point, was to shave it bald. Except Thea didn’t seem to want to be bald, and Cass felt bad about making her bald. She thought about offering to shave her own head in solidarity, but she wasn’t exactly sure how that would work with her glamour. Her hair wasn’t even real hair, it was just a mask made of magic. She didn’t think she could shave it if she tried.

“You could definitely pull off a wig,” she insisted quickly. “You could do red like Jean, or — or blonde like Emma Frost. Maybe even white like Storm!” Was this making Thea feel any better? The idea of having Scott Summers and Wolverine in some kind of eternal contest to see who got to be with you on the rare occasions where you were all alive at the same time didn’t sound entirely appealing to Cass, but then, Cass also thought that Wolverine was a little stinky. Scott would probably be a good husband, but all the inner turmoil might get a little old after a while. “You’re not going to be ugly!” She hesitated for a moment, because this could be bad. This could be very, very bad. But her friend was upset and it was her fault, and didn’t she kind of owe her something for that? Plus, ‘ugly’ was a relative thing, anyway. “I promise you’re not going to be ugly,” Cass said, deciding to risk it. “And I’m definitely positive if you adopted kids and made them fight for you, you’d be cool like Bruce Wayne and not stinky like Charles Xavier. None of them would even kill you, probably!”

—

“Emma Frost is seriously hot.” Thea sniffled. “But I think most of that is her boobs.” Emma Frost wasn’t her hair and the more Thea thought about it, the more it comforted her. She thought about the hottest X-Men; Emma, Jean, Ororo, and Mystique (Psylocke would not be making an appearance on her mental list because body snatching discounted her as sexy). She wasn’t going to consider modern depictions of these women because Marvel had finally stopped featuring them on covers with a boobs-out approach, except for Emma Frost, who always had her boobs out. Thea needed to think of them when they were at their sexy peak: half-naked in skin-tight clothing with questionable anatomy. Yes, all of these women had hair but none of them were known for their hair. She could be hot without hair! It would just also require having big boobs and tight clothes and questionable anatomy. In the end, she was back where she started, accepting that Emma Frost wasn’t hot because she had hair, but because she had big boobs. Thea glanced down; some things could not be willed into existence.

The promise was nice even if it wasn’t Thea’s concern now. Sure, she wouldn’t be ugly but would she be Emma-Frost-hot? She twisted in the stool again. “Promise me I’m hot?” she asked, her wet eyes glistening. “Promise me that if you saw me with this hair walking down the street you’d think ‘wow, she looks attractive and cool’?” Thea blinked. “P-promise me that if you saw my hair, and if you were a stranger, you wouldn’t think ‘oh she fell into a lawn mower’…promise? Do you promise that? Do I have the Cass guarantee that no one is even going to notice my hair? No one is going to notice, right? If my child kills me it’ll be because they have an uncontrollable darkness inside of them and not because I’m an ugly bald bitch, right? Promise?”

—

“It’s not the boobs, it’s the attitude,” Cass insisted, still trying to salvage the whole ordeal. “And you’ve got a great attitude, too! Your attitude makes your boobs Emma Frost-level boobs.” Was this helping? Thea was looking down at her boobs — which were, decidedly, not Emma Frost-level boobs, because Emma Frost-level boobs really only existed on Emma Frost specifically, and that was because no one who had ever drawn Emma Frost had done so with a basic understanding of how boobs actually worked — and Cass was desperate to put some kind of a positive spin on this absolute disaster of a haircut. But some things were hard to spin. Cass couldn’t imagine Emma Frost or Jean Grey with this haircut, and she thought Thea probably knew as much.

Which brought them to a new promise. Cass could promise Thea that she wouldn’t be ugly and adopt a bunch of children that she’d make fight for her, because ugly was a relative term and Thea adopting a bunch of child soldiers was far-fetched enough to make the reward outweigh the risk of the promise being broken. But promising Thea that Cass, specifically, would see her haircut and think she was attractive and cool? That was… a little harder to keep. “Uhhh…” Cass’s eyes darted to Thea’s reflection in the mirror. “I don’t think you look like you fell into a lawn mower,” she said, which wasn’t a promise. She couldn’t make the promises Thea was asking for, because people were definitely going to notice. “Bald is in right now! Florence Pugh shaved her head this year, remember? Natalie Portman’s done it, too! And Karen Gillan! You’re gonna be trendy, Thea.”

—

“Those were for movies!” Except for Florence Pugh, but when you were an actress who made as much money as her and who looked like her, you could do anything. Thea thought so, at least. She stood up, pushing the stool away. She gripped Cass's shoulders and shook them lightly. “They got paid! They made money! I don’t have Emma Frost boobs or an attitude! My attitude is like a wet, overcooked noodle! I’m mushy! I’ll never be Natalie Portman or Emma Frost!” Water stung the edge of Thea’s eyes. She released Cass, sighing. It wasn’t her fault, Thea moved around a lot: shaking her head, talking, showing off pictures of volcanoes. It wasn’t lost on her that Cass didn’t promise the things Thea had asked, but as she pulled the blanket Cass threw on the mirror away, she knew what she’d asked for was impossible. It really would take the anatomy of a sexy comic book female character to fix her, and she was never going to get that. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled, turning to face her friend. “This isn’t your fault. I’m sure this looked really good before I started moving around and asking about volcanoes.” She slumped.

Thea’s goal had been to cheer Cass up, bald or not, she could still be a good friend. Sucking in a deep, quivering breath, Thea forced her mouth into a wide smile and perked up. “Maybe I’ll start a new trend!” She wouldn’t. “Maybe I’ll be so weird that I’ll be hot!” She really wouldn’t. “Maybe this will make me extra approachable.” It wouldn’t. She considered that if she shaved it down all the way, instead of leaving the uneven strands, she’d look better—but then her hair would have more to grow back from and she did want her hair to go back, desperately. “Hey, why don’t we watch V for Vendetta? So we can see Natalie Portman be bald. And maybe we watch that part of Fantasia that’s ‘Night on Bald Mountain’. Maybe we have a whole bald themed day. I’ll order a pizza but with no toppings, because it’s bald. I’m bald.” She opened her arms, inviting Cass into a hug. “I really appreciate you coming here to cut my hair and hang out, Cass.” This time, her smile was genuine.

Out of the corner of her eye, she looked at the glowing screen of her laptop. Once Cass was gone, she was going to look up pictures of Emma Frost until she felt her hotness was transferred into her. Then she’d try on an all white outfit and spill sauce from a leftover slice of pizza on it and cry. But that would be then and for now, all she wanted to do was hang out with her friend and be bald.

#a little off the top #c: cass #s1 #// this was so fun #the rammys are going to be felt worldwide #also rip to thea's hair #archived writing

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likelyrowdy · 4 years ago

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I Have to Write My Name on Things

Pairing: Vergil x GN!Reader Genre: Fluff? Rating: PG-13ish Word Count: 1000

Summary: A while ago, @arsuf shared a post of The Old Man's Diary Entry and it made me feel things. Read it on AO3.

You knew that this was a bad idea. Like, really bad . Phenomenally bad. In the past, you'd made fun of people for doing exactly this. Had warned your friends that they'd be making a big mistake - huge - by doing this exact thing. But was that going to stop you?

Absolutely not.

It all stemmed from an insecurity of Vergil’s. In a moment of weakness (the only, if you asked him) after some vigorous lovemaking, Vergil had traced idle shapes into your skin. “Possessive, much?” you’d asked, a teasing grin on your lips when it dawned on you that those lazy shapes were in fact the elegant lines of his script. Curled into his side as you were, luxuriating in the steady beat of his heart as it rocked you to sleep, you hadn’t expected a response, much less the vulnerability in words confided so softly in your ear:

“As a child I had to write my name on things to make them truly mine.”

And fuck you sideways if that hadn’t pulled on your heartstrings. So the next day you put in an order online, simultaneously flustered and completely confident in your purchase when you brought Vergil your bounty. He hadn’t known what to make of the small motor as he lifted it out of the box until he came across the needles and the ink.

He knew it was just as bad of an idea as you did. At first, he refused. He loved you just the way you were - smooth skin free of blemishes with the exception of a freckle or scar here and there. You were not a book, he did not need to write his name on you to keep his brother at bay. You were already his.

But you were nothing if not persistent. You wanted him to write his name on you.

It started with suggestions over the course of several weeks of where you could place it, but Vergil always had a reason to shut you down. Your wrist? Too visible. Your ass? Undignified. Your bicep? Still too visible.

“What about my hip?” you asked, tugging at a belt loop until your jeans pulled off of the smooth canvas that surrounded your hip bone. “It’s easy to cover up. No one will see it unless I want them to.”

Vergil’s head tilted the slightest bit in consideration, his eyes hungrily glued to your hip. He still was not completely comfortable with the idea, but he had to admit that it held a certain appeal. Would he brush his thumb over the ink once it had fully healed into your soft skin, feeling the ink press up from the rest of your flesh as he held you closer in a moment of passion? Yes, the idea was very appealing.

“You getting a tattoo?” Dante asked as he took up his seat by the phone.

“Thinking about it,” you casually answered, releasing the belt loop so that your skin was hidden once more.

“Hip, huh?" he whistled, cheekily. “Sexy but discreet. It suits you.”

It was the wink Dante sent your way that pushed Vergil over the edge. He stopped beside you on his way to your shared room, bristling when he told you to pick a different spot. Though his voice was low, his message was clear: pick a spot that Dante won’t see; one that has nothing to do with him.

Days later, you made your decision: “My ribs.” You lifted your left arm and pushed your clothes out of the way to showcase the spot you’d picked. Before Vergil could protest, you cut him off. “I know that rib tattoos are painful, but I have a high pain tolerance, -” you wouldn’t have lasted long in this line of work if you didn’t, “- no one will see it if I don’t want them to, and it’ll always be close to my heart.”

When he saw that you really, truly meant it, he acquiesced.

Never one to do anything half-assed, Vergil bought the necessary materials that your kit lacked. Each night, after the shop fell silent, he would assemble the machine and practice scratching lines into the skins of the oranges and bananas that Dante kept in the kitchen at Nero’s insistence. It took weeks for him to get a feel for the machinery, to do the necessary research, and to watch the handful of instructional videos you sent his way.

He wanted to make sure that he did right by you.

On the day, Vergil rolled up his shirtsleeves and donned black, latex gloves. Alcohol wipes cleansed the area before he went over it with a fresh, disposable razor to make sure that your skin was prepped and smooth. He marked the general area with a highlighter while your arm was relaxed at your side so he could be sure that the tattoo would rest where you wanted it to. The better part of an hour was spent drawing his name across your left rib cage in sharpie, wiping it off, and starting over again until you were both satisfied with the placement and size, and he with the penmanship.

His outline was surprisingly straight, though each line was picked up in multiple, weird places and a couple of them were blown out. Despite only using black ink, his shading between the thicker downstrokes of each letter were uneven throughout. Neither of you would know the real damage until it was fully healed in two-ish weeks.

You didn’t need to look at it in the mirror to know that you loved it, but you did anyway: marveling at the way the black ink stood out from the rest of your skin, a shiver creeping up your spine at the sight of his script etched into your skin so close to your heart.

“I guess this means I’m yours now, huh?” Your words were meant to tease, but they came out too breathily and your smile was more wondrous than vexing.

Vergil brushed his fingers over the sensitive skin below the script, his gaze reverent; lips curved in a gentle fascination.

I have a twin brother, sir. We fight over things often, so I have to write my name on things to make them truly mine.

“I suppose it does.”

#rowdy's oneshots #devil may cry #vergil x reader #vergil x gn!reader #gn!reader #devil may cry fanfiction #dmc fanfiction #i have to write my name on things to make them truly mine #is this fluff?#someone give this man a hug!#vergil needs a hug #it's only pg-13 because i can't stop swearing

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sunflowerstache · 5 years ago

Text

the one where you’re Harry’s tailor

@theasstour and I have been stewing in this idea for nearly a year and it’s finally come together.. we hope you enjoy x.

Word Count: 25.6k | Warning(s): explicit language, alcohol, sexual content

NORA’S MASTERLIST | SARAH’S MASTERLIST

There were few moments in life that would equate to being backstage at a fashion show, simply because it was impossible to string together the specific words needed to describe the feeling. Journalists tried, quickly scribbling down thoughts and plans for their future articles in small notepads, while the professionals around them danced about in unspoken, yet somehow synchronized, movements. How would they be able to accurately depict the feeling of fabrics rubbing together between your fingers, in the most comforting way? The almost deafening sound of sewing pins carelessly being dropped on the table, after fixing a foot sized hole in a pair of trousers moments before showtime. Or how, with the amount of people crammed into the room, mixed with the humid Roman air seeping through the open windows, had sweat continuously dripped from your forehead. Yet, there was still a constant shiver running up your spine with nerves. No matter how valiant of an attempt, unless they were watching their own tailored outfits walk down the runway, their written words would never be exactly right.

Even after four years working for Gucci, perfecting hundreds of articles of clothing, clothing that was held on such a high pedestal in the fashion industry, the nerves never settled. Not when Alessandro immediately hired you at the end of your University placement, or when you were asked to accompany him in the closing walk during last year’s Cruise Show. But all of those monumental achievements paled in comparison to the fluttering of butterflies in your stomach when you were crouched in front of your current canvas, Gucci’s newest runway model for the 2020 Cruise Fashion Show; Harry Styles.

He was making his runway debut wearing Look 51, something you’d taken notice was not too far away from his new wardrobe when you first opened his folder. The wide legged pants were crafted from fine dots patterned blue wool, a single red pin stripe running from the hip, all the way down to the ankle. They were finished with minor details, ones not many people would take notice to, but ones that made your heart race with excitement; hidden horn buttons, front slash pockets, viscose inner lining, and an interior silk belt, all of which were hidden by his coat. Green, red, and blue stripes defined the knee length coat, appearing to crease where the four pockets sat; two at his groin and two more just at the breasts, the left pocket holding Lyre ‘Pas de Rumeur’ crest patch. Barely visible under the wool coat, peaked out a blazer identically matching the pants, only the buttons and red piping could be seen, but you knew what would be hidden to onlookers; an orange lion embroidered onto the upper left breast pocket, the hand stitched word ‘Gucci’ sitting under it’s paws in black thread, and a baby blue silk inside - a fabric that no doubt felt great against Harry’s white tank top covered torso. The rest of his look consisted of minor accessories that brought the look together; a red barrie that had the signature double G’s embroidered in green thread, a pair of crocheted black fingerless gloves, and maroon quilted leather slide sandals, complete with the interlocking G horsebit. The subtle jewelry on his body was a stark contrast to his usual ring clad fingers, now only having a few delicate necklaces rest against his bare chest. He was a sight to be seen, someone who would surely grab attention as he made his way through the dark museum runway.

“Quit moving, or you’ll end up with a pin in your bum.” you mumbled, on your knees behind Harry and quickly fixing a tear in the rear left pants pocket before he was ushered out onto the runway.

The two of you were in the farthest corner of the back dressing room, away from most of the hustle and bustle of all other models, so that you could grab the emergency sewing kit, filled with all colors of thread, baby scissors, hundreds of pins, and even super glue, from your bag. Out of the corner of your eye, Alessandro could be seen weaving through the room, triple checking that each and every outfit was completed in the exact way he had envisioned. There wasn’t much time before all models were set to step foot on the Musei Capitolini floor, and the last minute nerves were finally setting in.

“Sorry, can’t help it. Never done this before, you know.” his voice was muffled by not only the chatter of the room, but also the constant picking of his lip.

“Still can’t believe you’re actually doing it, if I’m honest.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” you chuckled, giving the bum pocket a couple tugs to make sure it wouldn’t come undone again, before moving to stand directly in front of him. “You cut yourself the first time we met, ripped your trousers at the first shoot, and fell off a stone wall in the new campaign. You’re not exactly the most graceful lad at times.”

“In my defense, no one told me not to get on that wall.” Harry paused a moment, holding his hand out for you to place the pin cushion while you reorganized your bag, “Can’t believe we only met a few years ago. Feel like I’ve known you forever.”

Without any hesitation, you nodded in agreement.

You couldn’t really remember the exact date you first met Harry. All you remember is it had been February 2018 and raining - very hard at that - and when you entered the Gucci store on Bond Street in London, your umbrella had been torn to shreds because of the wind, and your hands felt like ice after having been attacked by the raging storm outside. Alessandro had been upstairs in one of the offices, three huge white boards before him with the different campaigns he was planning at the time. Humming along to Malafemmena by Roberto Murolo playing from the speakers on his desk, Alessandro traced a finger over the fabric hanging from the wall beside the boards. You knew those were the fabrics you were going to be using today, your boss having hung them forth so it would be easier for you to work.

“Morning.” You had said, taking your jacket off and placing it on the hanger. “Absolutely horrendous outside.”

“Hmm,” mused Alessandro, tilting his head to take the grey fabric in before he looked over at you making your way over. “Always like that in England.”

You crossed your arms over your chest, looking at the different colours, materials and patterns you were going to use for the new looks. “You’re not wrong.”

Alessandro giggled, looking over his shoulder for a single second.

“Either pouring rain or it’s drizzling.” You said, studying the different designs of each of the suits you would be making over the next few months. “Right annoying when you don’t even want to be here.”

He laughed again, turning around to look at the boards you assumed.

“I’m being serious.” You reached for the fabric your boss had been checking out when you arrived. “Who would choose to live in a country where it constantly rains?”

“Didn’t really have a choice most of my life,” came a voice from behind you and you instantly stopped dead in your tracks. “Can’t really control where we are born, can we?”

Slowly, you turned to see one of Alessandro’s dearest friends: Harry Styles. He was sitting in the brown leather sofa right behind you, a sofa you knew was there from having been in Alessandro’s London office multiple times before, but hadn’t thought to give a second look. You would assume Harry would have someone there with him, like some assistant or manager or… anyone, but Harry was sitting there all alone, looking over at you with this cheeky grin on his face that had your cheeks heat up. It wasn’t a shock for him to be here alone, you thought after a second, as Harry and Alessandro spent loads of time together usually so this was just another normal hang-out for them. You, on the other hand, had never met Harry Styles before. This was your first time being in his company. And so far – you had to be honest with yourself – you weren’t looking very good. Grumpy, soaked through, and with a dash of dishevelled everything, you no doubt looked like a person no one wanted anything to do with. Harry clearly found it very amusing how little you liked being in England. Also most definitely found it funny how startled you were at his sudden utterance. You watched as he got up from the sofa, walking over to you as Alessandro also came to sight again.

“Il mio amore,” Alessandro said. “This is Harry.”

You zoned out entirely, the whole situation too surreal. Though you had been born and brought up in England, there was just something about the constant rain that made not only your mood drop, but your skin sticky and hands clammy. So when Harry reached a hand out to shake yours after Alessandro had told Harry your name and introduced you, red lights and a loud alarm started going off in your head. He would have to feel just how bad the effect of the bloody terrible English weather had on you. But not shaking his hand would be weird and impolite. His hand was between the two of you, open and ready for yours. It stood there for a few seconds. And you just looked at it. Quickly realising that not shaking his hand would probably be more awkward than doing so with a sweaty palm, you took his. A breathy giggle left Harry’s lips as your hands met. You let his go, looking over at Alessandro who was giving you a weird look while you heard the slap of Harry’s hand against his thigh in the background.

“Measurements.” Alessandro said, trying to move on from the awkward situation you had just caused. All the blood in your body rushed to the surface of your skin, instantly heating you up. You glanced to the ground, hoping Harry didn’t notice how flustered you just got. Walking to your bag, you took out your notebook and measurement tape. “Glorious, mio caro.”

Getting your pen, you walked over to the board for the Gucci Autumn/Winter Campaign. There were five different suits for this one, a couple of more for the next, and then three for the last one. From the way Alessandro had left some space at the bottom of the last board, it was clear he would be working even more with Harry in the future, they just did not know exactly what or when yet. Someone cleared their throat beside you and you whipped your head to your left to see Alessandro pointing to the different suits on the board.

“These today.” He said, pointing to the specific details he wanted and instructions on where they would be loose and not. “I need to go to a meeting, but you two will be fine on your own. You have a lot in common.”

You frowned, watching as Alessandro walked toward his desk, picking up a huge binder and resting it under his arm. “Have a lot in common?”

“Yes,” he grinned. “You do.”

“Like…?”

Alessandro only gestured with his hands for the two of you to get talking, and then he disappeared out the door, shutting it behind him. Dettagli - Detalhes by Ornella Vanoni played lowly as the quiet between the two of you filled the room and made it troublesome to breathe properly. A great stream of anxiety suddenly took over and you suddenly felt very awkward. Obvious from the way Alessandro had left in such a hurry and the way he had left with that grin, you knew there was underlying expectations to this encounter. There were multiple reasons why Alessandro had called you to come help him. You didn’t want to think about that, though, because that only made absolutely everything ten times more embarrassing.

“Lovely,” Harry looked over at you from staring at the door Alessandro had kicked closed, standing confidently in his green and white striped tee shirt over his loose light denim jeans. “Likes a dramatic entrance and exit, that one.”

You huffed through your nose, walking over to the board to look at the details once more. Harry only watched you, a bit unsure of what to do next. The rain fell against the windows, creating a lulling sound to go with the Italian music still swaying through the room. The white walls, tall ceiling, and Victorian look of the room only made it feel like you two were actually in Italy. His phone vibrated from the sofa with an incoming text, only giving it a quick look over his shoulder until you wandered over to your bag again. Whipping your glasses out, you hung them from the collar of your white tee shirt before walking back over to Harry.

Quickly, and maybe a bit too loudly, you cleared your throat. “Are you ticklish?”

Taken a bit off guard, Harry blinked twice. “Only armpits and backs of my knees.”

“Right.” You nodded your head, hooking your measurement tape around your neck. “Stand still, back straight.”

Harry listened to you, biting the side of his lip as you pressed your ring and index finger to your sternum in concentration. Eyes following you as you started walking around his figure, getting a good look at everything before you stood before him again.

“Clothes too loose?” He asked, genuinely concerned.

“No, it’s fine.” You said, taking your tape back in your hands again. An instrumental version of ‘O Sole Mio by Jack Jezzro started playing just as the rain outside threw itself more forcefully against the windows, but you tried not to pay notice to anything but what was going on before you. You had no idea why you were nervous. Plenty of times before, you had worked with other celebrities; tailoring their suits, dresses and whatnots. For some reason, however, this felt different. Harry was so close to Alessandro, so the notion that the two of you would get along just as well filled you with anxiety, and a hint of awkwardness. Bringing your tape up you took a step closer to Harry as you lifted it above his head and around his neck. Before doing anything else, you put your glasses on, wanting to actually be able to see what the measurements were. Resting the tape on the tops of his shoulders, you put your finger between the tape and his neck to allow for some room for Harry to breathe in his suits. You felt him swallow against your finger. Her heart skipped a quick beat.

“So…” he said, dragging it out. “Where are you from?”

Instantly, your eyes whipped up in the direction of his, staring at you patiently. You glanced down at the measurements again, whispering them to yourself under your breath and doing so continuously till you wrote his numbers behind the ‘neck’ in your notebook.

“You can tell I’m from England?” you asked, knowing your parents had made it very apparent to you how much of your accent you had lost over the four years you had spent constantly traveling.

“Know a Brit when I hear one.”

You huffed through your nose, walking back to him. “Lift your arms, please.”

He did.

You sneaked the measurement tape from where it hung from his shoulders and wrapped it around the widest point of his chest. “Worcestershire, you?”

“Cheshire,” he answered. “Right outside Manchester.”

“Stand in a relaxed posture if you can,” you ordered. “You can let your arms fall to your sides.” Harry did as you told him to. “Now breathe in.” Breathed in, you noted the numbers in your head. “Breathe out.” You did the same again. Muttering them under your breath, you dragged the tape with you while writing everything down.

“And you?” Harry asked, clearly eager to get to know you better while you were this close to him. He didn’t want any awkward tension between the two of you as this almost felt like an intimate moment; you studying him so closely and touching his entire body on your first meeting. Though he was good at knowing when to be professional and when it was okay not to be - and though he knew this was work - he couldn’t help but feel like it wasn’t. You were a good friend of Alessandro, just as he was, and so it felt more like two acquaintances hanging out than anything work related.

“Evesham.” You answered, enclosing the tape around Harry’s waist this time. You leaned into him, nose almost touching his chest. You breathed in through your nose, and as discreetly as possible, breathed out through your mouth. Why were you acting up? What was it with Harry Styles that suddenly made it hard for you to function? This never happened. Bending your index finger, you started feeling around for Harry’s belly button to make sure you were on the right spot.

“Never really been to Worcestershire, if I’m- Oh!” Harry looked down at you as you poked his belly button a little too hard.

“Sorry, just needed to know I was directly on your waist.” You leaned down, asking him to breathe in and out again.

Harry watched you write the numbers down. “How long have you been doing this?”

“What?” you asked, putting one end of the tape at the mid side of his neck, following it all the way down to where you knew Alessandro wanted the shirt to end. Which was a little too close to his crotch. “You mean working for Gucci or tailoring people?” You felt the spot where his abdomen ended and his leg began. No, no, no, don’t go there, be professional, you thought to yourself.

“Both.”

You hunched down, getting the right measurements, writing them down, and then going to stand at his back. “Since I was twenty. Alessandro thought I had some talent, took me under his wing, and I’ve been working for Gucci since, tailoring people.” Placing your finger near his armpit, and tracing a line upward, Harry jerked.

“Absolutely not.” He glanced at you now that you were face to face, protecting his armpit while he continued on, “Want me to elbow you in the throat?”

“Preferably not.”

“Then don’t tickle my armpit.” He was so serious it took everything in you not to laugh.

“Well,” you couldn’t help your smile now. “I kind of have to know where your armpit is to do your shoulders.”

Conflict ran across Harry’s face, as if he was debating everything that could go wrong if he let you do it. Slowly, he turned back around, shoulders incredibly tense this time.

“Try to relax.”

“I know I’m about to have a finger jammed up my armpit, I’m unable to.”

The urge to laugh was so immense, but you bit your lips together and quickly ran your finger from his armpit and directly up his shoulder. Harry only winced a little, sighing under his breath as you took the measurements and then went to write them down.

“Sorry,” Harry said as you turned back around to him. “Didn’t mean to turn into a dickhead, but I just hate when people touch my armpits.”

You smiled. “It’s fine. I’m the same with my neck.”

“Yeah?”

You nodded.

“Ever had someone tailor you?”

You huffed, shaking your head. “Nope. I’ll do that myself unless I need someone to do my back.”

“Let me know next time you need help and I’ll do your back.” Harry said. “Maybe wiggle my fingers along your neck or summat to that effect.”

You laughed. “You have free time on your hands now? Aren’t you a busy bloke?”

“Count me in after July.”

“Oh?”

“World tour is over; I get to relax.” He informed, watching as you did his arm. “Going to Italy to relax with some mates and family.”

“How nice.” You said, doing his wrist. “I’m going to Italy as well. Always spend March ‘till August in Florence, then September ‘till February in London.”

“Really?” Harry almost looked a little impressed by your lifestyle, as if his own wasn’t just as adventurous. “Travel a lot?”

You couldn’t help a tiny smile, knowing that no matter how many countries you’d travelled to, Harry had probably done double the amount. But regardless of how well-travelled he himself was, in the low yet curious tone of his voice, you could hear the sincerity of his question. “Mostly between Italy and England, but I do tag along on some of Alessandro’s visits to the States, France, and some other countries.”

“Wicked.” Harry smiled as he noticed the corners of your mouth tip a little upward. “What’s been your favourite so far?”

The eye contact was intense. He didn’t look away, focusing entirely and altogether on you. There was a friendliness to his glance that had you relaxing, which was odd considering how anxious you had been earlier. You were sure that, by this point, Harry had completely forgotten the entire reason why he was here or why it was raining outside. And, to be fair, so had you. This felt like catching up with a friend, the easy chatter you had with one of your mates after months apart.

“I feel like I’m somewhat biased, but Italy. I love my little flat in Florence and that city too much for my own good.” You said, finding the way Harry’s head moved slightly with his huff, endearing. “You expected that?”

“What's not to love about Italy?” he asked, head cocked to the side. “I’m going there this summer, remember? Taking my whole family and meeting some mates.”

“Where abouts are you going?”

“Modena.” He put his hands in his jean pockets, nodding his head as he spoke. “Not really anywhere close to a big city or anything, but I just want to rest once I’m there to be fair. I’m teaching myself Italian at the moment, Alessandro is teaching me some as well.”

“Really?” Your smile grew bigger.

Harry’s smile mirrored yours. “Yeah.”

“Would you understand if I spoke some to you?” The four years you had lived in Italy had made you fluent in their first language. It had been a challenge at first, but you now understood the frustrated Florentine drivers shouting out from their open driver side windows, the old couple owning the bakery near you who loved to mumble, and even the slang some of the interns at Gucci used when they talked to one another. Harry seemed to be able to tell that you mastered this language he had just barely started to learn, but he nodded nevertheless.

“Right then.” He said. “Hit me.”

“Shit.” You mumbled to yourself, getting the measurement tape from the table behind you, completely having forgotten about the fact that you were here for work.

“Is that Italian for ‘oh no’?” Harry teased, making you both laugh, but you quickly shut up as you saw what was next on the list. Hip and seat. Clearing your throat, you turned back to Harry, biting your lip as you hunched down before him. You could tell that he too was a bit taken aback by the completely new position you two found yourself in. He quickly looked away.

“Is it okay if you…” your eyes met. “If you lift your shirt slightly and lower your jeans a tad? I need to measure directly onto your body.”

“Alright,” Harry took a grip of his jeans, shimmying them along with his boxers a bit down his hip. “Yeah.” Taking his shirt up next, the bare skin of his abdomen was there right in front of you.

“Modena,” you started, leaning in as you brought the measurement tape around him. Harry felt your breath brush against his abdominal hair. “Non è troppo lontana da Firenze.”

“What?” he said, eyes glued to the wall right in front of him, hands gripping his shirt hard in concentration. “Didn’t catch that.”

You memorised his number, then said a quick, “You can pull your jeans up and shirt down now.”

Harry did so, watching you stroll back to note his hip. He noticed he was panting slightly, like he had run up a set of stairs. Closing his mouth, he shook his head and willed himself to act normal, to be respectful. It was a little hard, however, when he had been single for so long and a pretty lass stood right in front of his crotch. As you came back and stood in front of him the exact same way as the time before, Harry settled his eyes on the white boards again. This time around, you brought the book with you, wanting the crotch and leg area to be done with as quickly as possible.

“Modena non è troppo lontana da Firenze.” You said again, measuring around the widest point of his seat.

He didn’t respond.

“Harry?”

“Huh?”

You giggled, writing down the measurements before inhaling hugely. Inseam next. “Did you catch what I was saying?”

“No, I-“ He stopped himself as your hand came up to the inside of his upper thigh, not having seen it coming. “Sorry.”

“No, that’s okay.” You said quickly, doing his inseam, knuckles softly gracing that spot between his thighs.

“I, uhh, I didn’t understand what you were saying.” He admitted quickly, hands on his hips and gaze faraway.

You wrote down the inseam, and got up, taking the book with you. His eyes instantly fell on you as you stood face to face again; him biting his lips together and your eyes big. Turning around, you placed the book down on the table again, running your finger over all the measurements so far.

“Could you come here, please?” You asked, hearing Harry walk towards you, hands on his back and ready for the next steps. You had been a bit scared to command him earlier, but now that you had talked and been between his legs, you felt it almost got a little easier to be around him. As if the awkwardness had gone away. Now you didn’t have to go far to write his measurements because the table and book and pen were right beside you. You walked over to the white board, mentally jotting down how and where Alessandro wanted the shirt to end and how it was supposed to sit on Harry. Meanwhile, Harry craned his neck to watch you. Still wearing your glasses, he watched your lips move as you mumbled to yourself, the dark blue of the rainstorm from the window beside you, made what Harry looked like seem like a painting. The calmness of you against the raging madness outside. He glanced back at the book, then at the soft fabric hanging beside him, mind wandering to the different places these campaigns would take him. He read over his measurements, about to turn the pages to see some of his other lengths and widths, when he felt a sharp pain in his finger.

He hissed.

You glanced over at him. “What’s up?”

“Nothing.” Harry was fast to answer, putting his index finger in his mouth to get some of the blood off his finger.

Walking back over to him, you didn’t pay much attention to how he was quick to put his hand behind his back again where it had been earlier. “Modena isn’t too far from Florence.”

Harry’s brows met above his nose, feeling a little lost at first, but as he slowly started putting two and two together, his grimace evaporated. “Modena non è troppo lontana da Firenze.”

You nodded your head twice, giving him a little smile. “Esattamente.”

“Exactly.” Harry translated.

You raised your hand, offering Harry a high five which he happily answered. What he forgot in that second however, was his minor accident just a minute earlier. Right before your hands met, you noticed his finger, and your eyes went immediately to his.

“What happened to your bleeding finger, mate?”

“Oh-” Harry looked at it, looking unsure for a second before he huffed. “Oh that,” he huffed. “That’s nothing.”

You crossed your arms. “You’re bleeding.”

“And you’re a tailor.”

“What…” You shook your head. “What’s that got to do with this?”

“Thought we were stating the obvious.” He shrugged. “Just a papercut. I’ll survive.”

“Of course you’ll survive, just wondered how you were able to start bleeding out of nowhere.”

Harry chuckled. “Not to worry, I’ll be able to use my hand as normal in no time.”

“Knob.” You mumbled automatically, immediately regretting it. That was not at all professional. And you were in a very professional setting. You were at work. You couldn’t call your client a knob right to his face. Oh my god oh my god oh my god, you thought to yourself trying to row yourself back to safe territory. You scrunched your nose up as you inhaled sharply. “Can’t even remember the last time I got a papercut, to be frank.”

“Speaking frankly now, are you?” He joked. You looked up at him again, and a second after your eyes met, you both started laughing. You put your hand to your heart, shaking your head at how silly the two of you were when you were under strict orders from Alessandro to get Harry’s measurements. But the fact that he hadn’t taken you calling him a knob seriously, the fact that he was able to joke about it and take the piss, it made it impossible for you not to laugh with him.

Your eyes met, both teary eyed from laughter.

“What’s knob in Italian, anyway?” Harry asked, making you laugh even harder.

And that launched the two of you into easy conversation. Almost a little too easy for the two of you to just have met. The fact that you were in a work environment didn’t seem to face you at all, which was incredibly refreshing for both. The seriousness of the meetings you had to endure most of the time so unnecessarily boring and dry that this was like a breath of fresh air. Alessandro had been right when he said you had loads in common, which you figured out in between you taking his measurements. There didn’t seem to be a topic untouched at the end of Harry’s session, and though he was done with his measurements and such, he stuck around. You two stood by the table you stood at earlier, you still holding onto the tape like once you stopped, Harry would immediately leave. Neither of you noticed how the door opened slightly. Didn’t notice Alessandro looking through the crack and at the two of you, having heard voices from behind the door when he came back from his meeting. He smiled to himself, seeing Harry laugh at something you said before he closed the door again, leaving you two to it.

You became fast friends. Though you could go a week without texting, or a day without thinking about one another, you still knew that when you next met up, you would pick up where you left off. You had formed an easy friendship like that, one which you both appreciated and knew you could come back to without problem. Never in your wildest dreams did you imagine you would befriend someone as high profile as Harry Styles when working as a tailor. You hadn’t really thought you would befriend any celebrity when working as a tailor, actually. But here you were, friends with Harry Styles, and not at all thinking of him as someone who made hit singles or who was the new face of Gucci. Someone who made a living off of singing and who had a huge bloody fanbase supporting him. That part of his life felt surreal, but yours and Harry’s friendship was so genuine, so effortless, that you didn’t really care about the other aspects of his life as long as he was a good person.

The second time you met was at the chip shop, The Camp, in St Albans, Hertfordshire, where the photoshoot and commercial would take place. It was cloudy, the skies a dull grey that threatened with rain, but you knew would just fly right by without interrupting the film crew. The wind was annoying however, bitter at the touch, but you knew Harry was a warm blooded person and would have no problems exposing his chest and hands to it. You strolled up to the Camp School parking lot that was littered with cars and a huge white truck where you knew Harry would be, getting ready. Alessandro had other business to attend to and most of the people on set worked for Gucci, but you were there to see that the suits you had made were okay and that they properly fit. For the first fitting some weeks ago, you had been busy with another client, so Alessandro had done that himself. But he still wanted someone on sight in case something happened, because no way in hell were anyone but him or you allowed to repair a pair of torn trousers or a ruined shirt.

You knocked on the door of the truck, heard a “Come in”, and stepped inside. Harry was sitting in a makeup chair, a woman doing his hair and make-up, readying him for his first ever Gucci shoot. He opened his eyes, meeting yours in the mirror before him. Your smiles were identical when you realised who you were looking at.

“Knob.” You said, standing by the wall behind Harry.

“Wanker.” He answered, grinning at you. “You alright?”

It was something the two of you had fallen into the habit of calling one another ever since the ‘knob’ incident of your first meeting. No one really understood why, especially not the people around you. Alessandro, who thought he had been the mastermind behind a match made in heaven, was surprised to see just how good friends the two of you were. Seeing you two hit it off in his office at first, he had immediately thought he had done it, found each his friends a potential partner, but after months of nothing romantic happening, he had given up. It was clear the two of you just looked at each other as friends and nothing more. Very good friends at that.

“Yeah,” you pointed your thumb over your shoulder, gesturing out beyond the door you had just walked through. “Looks like it’s about to rain.”

Harry chuckled. “Worried about that, are you?” He thanked the make-up artist before he got up, gesturing for you to walk out first.

“Yes.” You answered, stepping out of the van. “You’ll look like a maniac if you get wet in that.”

“A maniac?!” Harry sounded appalled. “You might have to elaborate on why.”

“Wet hair, wearing a suit with no shirt, striking orange necklace, and holding a chicken?”

“No, that’s art, babe.”

You laughed. The two of you started strolling towards the chip shop.

“If anything, I’ll look irresistible wearing this and being soaked.” Harry said, saying a quick ‘hi’ to someone walking by. “You won’t be able to resist me.”

You huffed. “If I saw someone walking down the street looking like that, being soaked through, I’d have my pepper spray ready and already dialling 999.”

“Admit it, you’d not be able to keep your hands off me.”

“Why are you so obsessed with me thinking you’re fit?” You laughed. A short silence followed. Your knuckles brushed against one another. Something warm lit up your chest for a single second. Harry just looked at you for a moment, as if seriously contemplating the question. But before you got the chance to look to your left and at your mate, to make sure he was fine, someone interrupted.

“Harry,” one of Glen Luchford’s assistants walked toward the two of you. “We’re ready for you.”

The photographer stood beside the art director – Christopher Simmonds - further down the street, just outside the chip shop, talking amongst themselves about something. A slight breeze blew past you, Harry’s cologne graced you for two lovely seconds as you watched the man himself follow the main photographer’s assistant. You were a couple of steps behind them, standing by yourself and watching the whole commercial unfold. Harry was handed the chicken, who flapped its wings upon being in Harry’s grasp. The look on Harry’s face had you laughing, and Harry immediately looked over at you, giving you a stern look. However, you were laughing, so it was hard for him not to crack a smile as well. Your phone vibrated in your pocket some minutes later, and you walked a distance away as not to be in the way.

“Lallo, hiya.” You greeted, scrunching your nose up as you felt the first droplet of rain hit it.

“Il mio amore,” Alessandro greeted, a sigh of relief leaving his lips. “How’s the photoshoot?”

“Not really done much yet, but everything’s fine so far.”

He sighed again. “I am glad to hear. Did the suit fit nice like it’s supposed to?”

You glanced at Harry over your shoulder, standing on the pavement further down, ready to film. He ran a hand through his hair, looking up at the white sky with big eyes. It was almost as if you could see the peaceful green of his irises. His neck was stretched as he bowed his head back, closing his eyes and letting a few raindrops fall into his face. He looked almost dreamy; peaceful for a few moments as he collected himself. Someone shouted something and Harry blinked his eyes open, looking at the director. Suddenly, his eyes went to you, but they flickered away just as quickly. You looked away.

“It fits.”

“Nothing bad’s happened?”

You kicked at a stone on the ground. “What does that mean?”

“Harry ruining the suit.”

You huffed out a small laugh through your nose. “Do you have that little faith in him?”

“He gets clumsy when he’s nervous.”

You frowned. “Harry isn’t nervous.”

“Are you sure?” Alessandro asked, you could tell he was narrowing his eyes and putting his hand on his hip. He was challenging you. “Really sure?”

“Look,” you started walking towards the make-up van, aware that you most likely had to go get the make-up artist and hairdresser out if it was going to start raining. “Everything’s okay. There’s nothing to worry about. If you were worried this was going to be a fail, why didn’t you prioritise this event?”

“Fine, fine. It’s not you I’m worried about, no? It’s that…” Alessandro paused for some seconds. “It’s Harry’s first Gucci shoot and I’m not there. What if something goes wrong?”

“Then I’m there to fix it. Why I’m here, remember?” You spotted the van. “I’m your eyes, ears, and hands today.”

Alessandro laughed. “Il mio amore, what would I do without you?”

“Do not know. I really don’t.”

He laughed again and you two hung up just as you knocked on the door to the make-up van. Informing them that it was drizzling out and that they might have to come do a touch-up if it got worse, you walked in as they got everything they needed. A selection of suits hung on a rack on one end of the van, some twins in case something were to happen, and others were lone ones. Regardless, you always found Alessandro’s ability to make clothes into a form of art so inspiring. It was what made you want to work with him in the first place. An abundance of colours and fabrics, of softness and roughness, of modern and rustic. The things he thought to make you’d never in your wildest dreams think of, which made doing anything for him so fascinating. Always something new, always something spellbinding.

You followed the crew out and in the direction of the shoot. It wasn’t drizzling as much anymore, but this was still England, something that meant it would happen anytime soon. The artists were chatting amongst themselves as you made your way over, you read over an email on your phone. Suddenly though, the heels that had walked right beside you stopped. You glanced up from your phone, over your shoulder at the three ladies you had gotten to help you. They stared straight ahead, and when you averted your eyes, letting them land on what they were seeing, you almost dropped your phone.

The hen Harry had been holding was flapping about, two crew members chasing it while a third one ran over to help. Someone was shouting “Stop recording” and someone else “Get the fucking chicken”. But the worst part of it all – at least for you – was Harry getting up from the asphalt. There was a furrow to his brows as he checked his suits for scratches, stopping when he saw the rip at his knee. Your brain immediately flashed back to what Alessandro had just told you.

Harry’s eyes shot up, hastily scanning the crowd around him, and you quickly realised he was looking for you. Stepping forward, you saw him relax some when his eyes landed on you. He jogged over, groaning through his teeth.

“I-“

“-Get to the bloody van, I need to take a look at the rest of your suit.”

“But there’s only the knee.” Harry said as you two started walking.

“I’m not taking your word for it.”

This seemed to become a theme for Harry’s shoots. His anxiety would get the better of him, though he did get more confident with each one that went by. It wasn’t something he was amazing at at first, but something that grew on him overtime. Just like the seasons changed from winter to spring to summer, Harry slowly got his feet off the slippery ice he seemed to have been on that first shoot in England.

However, a few months later, you were back in Italy, doing another shoot with Gucci. Harry was wearing one of the suits you had tailored for him; a checked one, a blue shirt, a silk bandana around his neck and another one in his hair. Since the last shoot, the two of you had talked over the phone, texted, and sent each other funny memes on Instagram. You hadn’t met up a whole lot, maybe the odd café trip or two with some friends, but nothing beyond that. So, meeting him in Italy, your second home, was incredibly special to you.

You were on the outside of Rome, Villa Lente, and you had spent most of your morning yawning and getting looks from Alessandro when you did so. Harry yawned with you when he caught you doing so, the two of you giggling at how ridiculous you were being. With raised eyebrows, Alessandro watched the two of you, giving you a slight flick to the arm when you distracted Harry.

But it was when Harry was perched on the stone wall, dragging some hair out of his face as he placed himself steadily on it, that was then it happened. The sun hit him just right, making the ruffle of his curls look like a golden halo around his head; green irises switching to the colour of autumn leaves where the light hit them. He looked ethereal. And in the middle of all of this, Harry reached for the lamb he was supposed to be perching on his shoulders. No one thought Harry would actually fall off the wall. No one thought he was that clumsy. But as he was hurtling towards the ground having lost his footing completely, the realisation that he was indeed that clumsy hit you just as Harry hit the stone staircase beneath the wall.

Alessandro exclaimed a few crude words in Italian, running to Harry’s aid. You stood there blinking, getting yourself back from the slight daydream you’d just had about the poor man that laid on the ground with a dozen people around him. One second he had looked like something straight out of a dream; like an angel that had come down to earth. He had looked too good and you simply had not been able to look away from him. You knew Harry was good looking, you weren’t blind, but something about the sun hitting him like that, when he smiled down at you watching him, how carefully he styled his hair when he at up on that stone wall. It did something to you.

But all of that disappeared right away when Harry hit the ground, exclaiming a grunt of pain. Alessandro was by his side in seconds, speaking so fast you had trouble understanding him. Harry held onto his knee, yet again having ripped the suit and once again bleeding, only this time it was his hand. Why was it always his knee and why did he always end up bleeding? It was only so clumsy a person could get, wasn’t it? And yet, Harry Styles seemed to be proving you very wrong. No one was as easily affected by their anxiety as him.

People crowded him, ready to be of help and to get him standing. It wasn’t like he had broken any bones, because he was able to get up onto his feet without trouble, but the fall had definitely hurt regardless. Your eyes locked as Harry’s arm came to rest around Alessandro’s shoulders, the designer helped him over to the van. Once again, Harry had to change trousers.

“How?” you simply asked, unsure what best way to even address the whole situation.

“Don’t,” Harry shook his head, not in the mood to have you take the mick out of him for this. “Hurts like a fucking cunt.”

Alessandro pinched Harry’s side, making him yelp and put more pressure on his knee than he wanted to, ultimately getting him to gasp. Harry glanced at the designer, an annoyed furrow forming between his brows.

“Why’d you do that?”

“You were being rude.”

“Pinching a wounded man is rude.” Harry removed his arm from around Alessandro, limping towards the van. “I’m getting changed.”

You glanced at Alessandro, both of you knowing that no matter what, Harry would be in a bad mood for a bit now. That always happened when something didn’t go according to plan; he’d get grumpy and need some time alone. One of the assistants was about to follow him, clearly having gotten some orders from the photographer, Glen Luchford, or art director, Christopher Simmonds. You put your hand out warning them from following the already irritated and hurting star of the photoshoot. He just needed 10 minutes to cool off, and then you’d be off after him to make sure he was alright.

Once 10 minutes had passed, you knocked on the door of the make-up van, hearing a grumble of sorts before stepping inside. Harry was standing unzipping his trousers and shimmying them down his hip. It reminded you a bit of the tailoring you had done at the beginning of the year, how he had pushed both his trousers and boxers down so you could get his measurements right. He glanced over his shoulder at you before he sat down, now only his boxers covering the top part of his thighs and crotch.

“Don’t stand there looking for too long,” he said, bending over to get the trousers completely off. “I might end up turning you on.”

You stepped inside, closing the door and walking over to the first-aid kit. You felt Harry’s eyes on you as he sat back, placing the ripped trousers on the chair beside him. Getting some cotton, you put a mild soap on it and poured it under water before walking back over to Harry. You sat down in a chair, getting closer to him, and taking his hand. As you turned it over to look at the scratch on his palm, you could tell that it wasn’t as bad as you’d thought it to be, but it still looked like it’d hurt. Carefully, you dabbed the wound, making sure to clean it up. Harry hissed through his teeth, watching as the cotton came out dirty. It hadn’t been the cleanest ground he’d landed on and you didn’t want him to get an infection.

Getting up, you got another piece of cotton and did the same, dragging the chair even closer to Harry now. Taking his hand this time around, your knuckles brushed his thigh, the dark downy hair you hadn’t noticed till now. How his boxers rested tightly around his thighs, and how far up they were, revealing more than you were intended to see. Your cheeks felt hot and you focused on his hand, lifting it from his leg so you didn’t have to feel his warm, bare thigh against your knuckles. There wasn’t really a trace of any dirt on it now, but you wanted to be sure you’d gotten everything before you let him outside again.

You were very aware Harry could rinse his own wound himself. He didn’t need people to do everything for him, he liked doing most things himself, in fact. And though both of you were sat there knowing you didn’t have to, neither stopped it. Slowly, Harry’s eyes came to rest at your face. They stayed there, just watching you tend to him so carefully. When people go out of their way to help you, to make sure you’re okay, those are the kind of people to hold onto for life. The kind of people who will buy you sweets when you need it on a bad day, who will force themselves to be in a cheery mood to better yours, who will kiss your eyelids when you go back to sleep after a nightmare. The kind of people who will rinse your wound when you get hurt when you’re perfectly capable of doing so yourself.

You didn’t know why you looked up, didn’t know what made you do it. Maybe it was your subconscious that knew if you did, you’d find something you’d been searching for your whole life. Maybe something inside you knew that glancing up, you’d see something you hadn’t before. Your eyes met Harry’s, and though you had stared into them on numerous occasions before, something shifted in that moment. With his hand in your hand, his bare knee resting against yours, eyes glancing intently into yours; it was like something bigger than yourselves took over. You felt it on your heart first, like a warm tingling that spread out to every single one of your limbs and cells. It felt like you were drunk; head hazy and feelings heightened. Everything about Harry before you was greater, brighter; more.

“You need to finish the shoot.” You said, knowing that Alessandro would undoubtedly not appreciate the two of you taking this long.

Harry didn’t answer. He just stared at you, like he was seeing something spectacular for the first time and he couldn’t look away. The look in his eyes softened as he gulped, his Adam’s apple moving with a lump in his throat he clearly had trouble swallowing. For a split second, you could swear you saw his eyes rest to your lips. Following the shape of them, savouring the colour of them. Neither of you realised you were moving in. It wasn’t till the sight of Harry started to blur and the room seem to fill with electricity that you realised just how close you were. You stopped, pulling a bit away till you saw him clearly, but a slight wrinkle to his brows told you he hadn’t appreciated that. Just as you were about to lean in again, to an unknown fate between the two of you, there was a loud knock on the door and a second later it flew open. You pushed away from him, barely even touching his hand as you finished rinsing the wound. Harry blinked, clearing his throat and looking over his shoulder at Alessandro who stood there glancing back at him.

“Well?” Alessandro asked, gesturing behind him at the shoot that had been momentarily stopped.

“Yeah,” Harry said, eyes meeting yours before he dragged his hand out of your grip. “Just a sec.”

Harry got up, walking over to the wardrobe to get changed. Instantly, you threw the cotton away and walked outside with Alessandro, ready to forget the whole moment and never think of it again. But it was easier said than done. The rest of that shoot, that day, that week, it was all you could think about.

Unfortunately, after that shoot, you and Harry hadn’t been able to see one another It was finally that time of year when you had a bit of time off to relax, and this time it happened to fall in the middle of July. It gave you the perfect opportunity to do nothing more than wander the streets of your home, see some old friends, and fully enjoy the beauties that an Italian summer had to offer. But no matter how happy you were for the time off, it was bittersweet because although Harry had just finished his world tour and now had an abundance of free time on his hands, he was fully booked until you’d see him for your next shoot.

You didn’t fault him for how he spent his time off, he did just get home after a long year long world tour, and that did warrant some time alone. But you did have to admit that you missed seeing him. Somewhere in your mind, you recall him saying he was spending some time in Italy up north with his family, but the dates were jumbled and you didn’t want to disturb his peace. Instead, you settled for knowing you’d see him again in a few short months.

You had set out for the day in order to find some new houseplants, seeing as the young girl who kept yours tended to while you were away - Lilliana - always seemed to let them wilt. It was the most perfect day to stroll down to the market and see some of the florists you’d missed while you were away, what with the sun shining it’s brightest and only the tiniest breeze ghosting by your cheeks. But you wouldn’t have it any other way. This was your time to bask in the sunlight before heading back to dreary London for some time.

Sandals clapping against the cobblestone walkway echoed through the quiet street, the sound of faint music playing from a nearby open window was carried by the breeze, filling in any silence that would be there otherwise. This was the life you had dreamt about as a child, the kind of life that you only got to read about in books or watch in films, yet here you were. It was yet another reason you had to be thankful to Alessandro for.

“Mi scusi, signora.”

You often walked down the small side street with your eyes closed briefly, not only knowing it like the back of your hands, but also basking in the warmth of the sun, so it wasn’t anything new to have someone speak up to let you know they were near. But something about that voice was familiar. Like when you walk into your home for the first time in a while and you can smell you. Like you can’t exactly put a finger on it, but you know it’s familiar, so you investigate. Which you did, and it caused you to gasp.

“Harry?”

“In the flesh.” his smile could rival the brightness of the sun that was shining between in the tall buildings as he walked up the slight incline of the street towards you.

“What are you doing here?”

“Was in the neighborhood and through I’d stop by. See my favorite tailor.” Once he finally reached you, your arms were instantly wrapped around one another, squeezing like you hadn’t just been together weeks ago.

“Wha - how are yo-?”

“Don’t tell me you’re speechless. You? Of all people?” he laughed, pulling away after giving a few rubs to your back.

“I know you didn’t come all the way to Montaione to take the piss, Harry.” you took this time to really look at him after your surprise meet up. He looked remarkable, something that quite annoyed you considering he was dressed so casually. Then again, the man could pull off close to anything. He was wearing a pair of grey trousers; a single pleat running from his waist to ankles down the middle of the leg, a plain white t shirt that perfectly accentuated his dark tattoos, and a royal blue bandana that hung loosely from around his neck. The pair of sunglasses he had worn when walking up to you were now being hung from the bandana so that he could get a better look at you, and if you had to look at his sparkling green eyes for any second longer, you were sure you would combust.

“Despite how easy it is to get under your skin, I, surprisingly, didn’t come here to do anything other than see you for a few hours.”

“A few hours? You traveled down from Modena just to hangout for a few hours?”

“Knew I was in Modena then? Keeping tabs on me while we’re apart, are you?”

Your hand jut out and shoved him hard enough to make him lose a bit of balance while you two started walking down the street, just enough so that he had to take a few steps to the side to stabilize himself.

“Thought you weren’t here to take the piss, knob.”

He laughed, nodding his head and sliding his sunglasses back onto his face. “Alright alright. Truce. But to answer your question, yes I did. That a bad thing?”

“Uh, no it’s not. Just a bit surprising is all. That’s a bit of a journey just for lunch.”

“And I’d make it countless more times for you.”

Over the last two years, you grew to know Harry and when he was being serious or having a laugh, so you could instantly hear the sincerity behind his words. Despite the goofy grin playing at his lips, you knew that he was being truthful, and the thought made butterflies awaken in your belly.

“It’s good to see you, Harry.” the nod you gave was more towards yourself, but when you glanced up at Harry, you saw that he was already watching you, smiling as he took in your relaxed aura.

“You too, doll.”

“How’d you find me, anyway?” just as you did each time you met up, the two of you fell into easy conversation as you made your way towards the village square. Harry was one of those people that you could go months without talking to, yet somehow, the second you met back up again, you were able to pick up right where you left off.

“Alessandro may or may not have given it to me.” his voice was timid, like he didn’t fully want to admit he had asked your boss where you lived.

“Of course he did.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“He’s obsessed with you, you know?”

“He’s not.”

“Mhm. Says you’re his shining star. ‘M sure the man would create a whole collection surrounding you if you give him enough time.”

“Says the woman who he looks at like his next of kin.”

“Don’t make this into a pissing contest, Harry. You know he adores you.”

“Just him?”

It felt like spending time with a lifelong mate when with Harry, but when he said shit like that, when he made your tummy flutter with his mix of words and longing gazes, it made it hard for you to see him as just a friend.

“Didn’t you say that you only had a bit before having to get back?” you changed the subject quickly, not wanting to answer his question.

“Not get back, ‘m not headed back to Modena.” he shook his head when you sent him a soft, questioning ‘no?’ “Nope. Flying down to Sicily for a few days for Google Camp.”

“Google Camp?” your eyebrows shot up in question when he told you, “A sumit for the rich and famous to talk about climate change while flying in on private jets and yachts. How very unlike you mister Styles.”

“Oi, lay off. Got invited, didn’t I? Wasn’t going to turn it down. Besides,” he shrugged, “‘M flying commercial and carpooling. Being as eco friendly as possible.”

“Course, of course.”

“I have four hours until my flight, so just shut up and come get lunch with me.”

The room had gone totally dim during your trip down memory lane, indicating that it was time for everyone to begin getting in their places so that the show could begin. But even in the low lighting, it wasn’t hard to miss the look of fear and doubt flash through Harry’s eyes. The look was something that appeared before every shoot or campaign you had been present for, only lasting seconds, yet always intriguing to you. The man before you was a superstar, someone who pranced around on stage in front of tens of thousands of people every night, without a care in the world. Yet, as soon as your exquisitely tailored clothes touched his body, his shoulders would tense, and he looked like a scared child. You’d never understood why.

“You’re nervous.” It came out as more of a breathy statement than a question.

“‘M terrified.”

You heard those words regularly from your models, especially the new ones, but hearing it fall from between his lips made your stomach tighten. Harry was such a natural at all of this; the superstardom. It was easy to tell that he felt right at home while on stage, how perfectly natural his body reacted whenever the camera was on for a red carpet, how easy going he was when it came to hair and makeup and outlandish outfits. All of it came so easy to him and it blew you away every time you got to witness it. And while he was so good at adjusting quickly to new environments, his team and fans constantly cheering him on with every new endeavor, he was still just a normal twenty five year old guy. He still FaceTimed his mum to get her opinion on new looks, still went out and enjoyed his free time with mates, and still got anxious when trying something new. He never seemed to want to disappoint you or Alessandro when he was wearing the clothes you’d made for him specifically. That was what got to him, you thought, the prospect of ruining spectacular clothes you’d made from scratch. The moments in time you’d just thought back on was indicator enough.

“It’s gonna be great. We saw you during the runthrough yesterday.” you smiled, reminding him how well he had done during the practice show.

“But that’s different. This time it means somethin-” he was cut off by Alessandro yelling it was time for all models to officially line up for showtime. “What if I go too fast and I step on Mae’s shoe, fuck up her walk? Or too slow and clog up the entire runway? Or the hat fal-”

“Hey!” To stop his incessant worrying, your hands grabbed either side of his face, making him stop for a second and look directly at you. He blinked once. “Stop it. You’re going to do amazing. Alessandro wouldn’t have put you in this show if he didn’t have complete confidence in you. And you should know by now I wouldn’t have wasted my oh so precious time making any of this fit you perfectly if I didn’t believe in you.”

Harry’s breathing began calming down, going from almost hysterical to a gentle, rhythmic, intake, indicating that he was coming out of his panic bubble. His eyes never left your own, quite different from all the times they had openly roamed your figure.

“You can do this.” You whispered, nodding slightly and sending him a loving smile as your hands dropped back down to your sides,

Alessandro’s voice yelled over everyone, demanding everyone be in their place immediately, but Harry made no move to leave your side. He continued staring at you, taking a few deep breaths every few seconds and nodding to himself, seeming to give himself a pep talk in his head. The lights went out in the museum, leaving the audience in complete darkness, and you knew the intense sound of an alarm would soon be echoing through the building to start the show.

But none of that held your attention.

In what could have only been a second, Harry’s lips were pressed against yours. It was so quick that you didn’t have time to register what had happened before he was turning to run and join the other models, but it left you stunned. Like being in the warmth of your home during a snowy day and suddenly opening the door, letting the freezing wind hit you in the face.

And as much as the kiss had taken you off guard, it felt so very right that small second it happened. He hadn’t even given it a second thought, leaning in to kiss you like the two of you had been an item for years and it was part of your normal everyday routine. Like it was the most natural thing in the world, and the thought alone made your fingertips ache to be on his skin again. Shaking yourself out the haze that had formed around you mind, your focus and priorities flipped like a switch as soon as the siren began playing, looking around the room to make sure everyone and everything was where it needed to be.

Just as the precession of models began exiting the dressing room, and The Shadows Die Twice by Br1002 ranging throughout the museum, you made your way up to stand beside Alessandro. There was never a time you saw him truly stressed; not when you first started working with him and you accidentally ruined an entire bundle of fabric, not when he was in charge of creating dozens of different looks for the Met Gala, and not even now, watching as his newest collection strutted down the runway, making its worldwide debut. He was the epitome of cool, calm, and collected.

“There she goes.” You admired, resting your head on your boss’ shoulder and watching all 217 of the looks he created and you helped bring to life, be released into the world.

The sense of pride that rushed through your veins each and every time you got to see the pieces you put your heart and soul into, was similar to what you could only imagine it was like for a parent to watch their child flourish. You could remember all the moments during the months leading up to the show that you wanted to quit, when you would get so frustrated with Alessandro and his brilliantly creative mind every time he brought you a new look idea, how badly you wanted to scream after pricking your fingers so much they started to bruise. You remembered all of those times when holding such an important job at Gucci felt like something you just weren’t ready for at the age of twenty four. But every hardship was worth it the moment your work came to a culmination. This moment of absolute pride and excitement.

“How are you feeling?”

Alessandro wrapped his right arm around your shoulder, pulling you so close to his body that it was most comfortable for you to wrap one arm around his back and one around his waist, your hands joining together at his hip. “I feel so much love.”

That was the only way to describe what the two of you were feeling as the show progressed through the museum. Even though the room was dark, tall lighting setups hung in every direction, and hundreds of guests were posted up in chairs, the beauty of the location still shined through. Black and white marble covered the floor throughout the entire building, the diamond pattern flowing easily from room to room, and sculptures of ancient men lined each side of the hallway, seemingly growing from the walls because of the similar colors. About halfway down the hallway, models made a left turn and entered the large area known as Palazzo Nuovo. The “New Palace” was constructed over 400 years ago and was an identical replica of the Palazzo dei Conservatori that Michaelangelo created. You had been to the location many times before since spending 6 months at a time in Italy, but you had never seen it as a place to hold a show. Not until Alessandro had brought you one day and explained his vision as you roamed the hallways.

The quick pass of a red beret on one of the monitors, set up for the backstage team to watch the show, caught your attention. He stayed on camera for a bit, and you wished you could watch his fans meltdown over it in real time because he looked exquisite. Despite the darkness of the room, Harry was glowing. The way the strobe lights would hit his face every few steps and accentuate his already angelic features made your stomach clench. You had spent countless hours up close and personal with Harry, while there was very little fabric covering his body; very intimate and unforgettable moments. Many a-second-too-long looks, smiles when the other wasn’t watching, and an intense almost kiss. And an actual kiss. A tiny kiss. A kiss you still felt on your lips. But now, you were getting hot and bothered thinking about his lips while he strutted down the runway in one of the most conservative outfits of the line.

There was something about the lapel rolls of the jacket flapping open slightly with each step, beautifully showcasing his sparrow tattoos and delicate pendant necklace under the dim lights, that excited you. But it was the faintest smile that graced his lips the second before he left frame that made your heart swell.

The overall look he was sporting was extremely similar to that of his first Men’s Tailoring campaign, with the long robe like jacket and exposed chest, but the glint of both happiness and confidence in his eyes reminded you of the moment you put him into the pink and red ensemble of his latest campaign. Something that still made something inside your tummy flutter and the corners of your mouth tip upward.

“Absolutely fucking not.” Harry said. “I will die. 100%.”

“Stop being so dramatic.” You rolled your eyes, holding the pink blazer up and letting him put both his arms through it. “It’s just pigs.”

“That will have my head if I get too close.”

“This is a Gucci shoot, you’re not on I’m a Celeb.”

Harry huffed, looking at himself in the mirror and adjusting the blazer over his shoulders properly. “Watch me go on I’m a Celeb and die when I get attacked by an exotic animal or summat.”

“A pig won’t be the death of you and it’s not an exotic animal, now shut up and sit down.” You wagged the red bandana at him. “I need to put this on you before we can get this started.”

“Alright then.” Harry shoved his wrists out for you. “Go on.”

You tried to give him a disappointed look, but you simply were not able to. Laughing, you shoved Harry into his seat, standing between his legs as you tied the bandana around his head. This time around, the shoot was mostly indoors, so there weren’t many ways Harry could fuck this one up. Alessandro was busying himself and so were other crew members, walking about you two and shouting orders at someone else, but neither of you noticed anyone but the person before you. Since the lunch in Florence, you had been incredibly busy, so you hadn’t really had much time to meet up. Harry, who was currently travelling and making his second album, hadn’t been available much either, but you were both over the moon that you got to spend this time together. You really missed each other the time you were away.

Since last time, Alessandro had gone out of his way to make rings for those he held dearest. Gold Gucci rings with each person’s initials, one for each letter, big and bold. It had taken you off guard, as you hadn’t thought yourself to be as important to Alessandro as he was to you, but he had insisted and showed you his own. He told you “Dear friends match” and that did it for you, you simply had to wear his rings without question. And since then, you had been wearing them every single day. You felt part of his little family. So when Harry showed up to your third shoot together, wearing matching rings to yours, you felt your heart skip a beat and Alessandro’s knowing eyes on both of you. He would never admit it out loud, but he knew how you both felt for one another, and he thought, by giving you these rings, you might realise how special you were to him and then see how special you were to one another as well.

“You’ll just have to forget about your fear of geese and be a professional.”

“I don’t have a bloody fear of geese.”

You shrugged your shoulders, tying the bandana properly.

“I don’t!”

“Alright, mate.”

Harry paused for a second. “Don’t ‘mate’ me.”

You shook your head, choosing to ignore the comment and how it made literally every inch of your body heat up. Taking a step back you studied him, giving him a thumbs up before you walked over to the other suits you had to check up on for the shoot. Harry watched you for a few seconds before he got up from the chair, going to check himself out in the mirror again. Your phone suddenly vibrated against the desk right in front of the mirror, and Harry’s eyes instantly fell to it. A furrow appeared between his brows.

“Who’s Jack?”

You glanced over your shoulder, seeing Harry read the text you just got. “Hey!”

“Who is he?” he asked again, looking over at you as you came rushing over. You took the phone, pressing it to your chest as if it was going to make Harry forget what he’d just read. He tried to add a playful undertone to his voice, a slight smile across his lips.

“None of your business.”

Harry looked away from you, nodding as he busied himself with trying to get some kind of lint off his coat. “You’re right.”

You put the phone back in your jean pocket and walked over to the suits again, hunching down to check the seam on the hem on the trousers. You felt your phone vibrate with another notification or vibrate as a reminder that she’d gotten a text two minutes prior. Getting up and about to reach back to check what Jack had wanted, she felt a breath against her neck.

“You’re seeing him then?”

You jumped, holding your hand to your chest as you turned around to face him. “None of your business!”

“Oh, come on!”

You shoved him out of the way, way too much to do to be distracted by Harry’s nosiness. Strolling over to the desk, you started looking through your calendar when Harry showed up beside you again. Leaning on his elbow on the desk, he looked up at you, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible considering how curious he actually was.

“Is he fit at least?”

“He’s not annoying.” You said, covering his face with your hand. You felt him smile into your palm. “Ever tried that?”

“Tried being annoying?” Harry asked. “Wouldn’t know where to start.”

You shoved him away, making him lose his balance some and lean both his elbows on the desk. He watched as you walked back to the suits, looking at which ones Alessandro said were to be used by Harry and which ones were to be used by someone else at another time. Just as Harry was about to ask another question about Jack – who was just a mate from back home you hadn’t ever talked to him about because he’d never come up in conversation -, there was a knock at the wardrobe door. Alessandro stood there, a raise to his eyebrows and a small smile on his lips that was almost hidden by his dark, thick, long beard. He’d stood there watching you two for a little while, you thought to yourself.

“Is Harry ready for the shoot?”

“Yes,” you glanced at Harry and pointed at Alessandro. “Go.”

Harry sighed but got up, walking over to Alessandro who was smiling, encouraging Harry to do the same. As he passed him, a small beam was on Harry’s lips, but as he walked through the door, you couldn’t tell if he was still smiling or if he just did it to Alessandro wouldn’t make him. The creative director looked over at you, crossing his arms but not losing his smile.

“What?”

Alessandro shrugged.

“No, what?”

“You could’ve at least told him who Jack was.” Alessandro chuckled.

You rolled your eyes.

“But I get that you want to watch him suffer. It’s funny seeing someone you like be jealous.”

“Harry isn’t jealous.” You said, closing the calendar and placing it neatly back on the desk. “He’s just nosy.”

Alessandro didn’t say anything in response, instead he just walked on over to the shoot, leaving you alone with your thoughts. You weren’t really sure why you hadn’t just told Harry who Jack was. It wasn’t like anything was going on between you and Jack, you were simply mates and he wanted to check up on you and see how things were going. You had absolutely nothing to hide. Especially nothing to the point of keeping your phone close to your chest so he wouldn’t reread the message you’d just gotten, holding no significance whatsoever.

Maybe Alessandro was right. Maybe you did want to see if he was jealous or not. But he didn’t seem jealous to you, just his nosy self. Sighing, you followed Alessandro, ready to be of service if something should go wrong. They hadn’t even started shooting when you walked into the room, they were still walking around, placing the different statues and other props around the place to get it to look exactly like the producer wanted it to. You stood watching for a bit, knowing that your phone was still in your back pocket, untouched since Harry had seen the innocent text from Jack.

Suddenly, you felt a presence behind you, saw a shadow mingle with yours, and you recognised the messy hair and the bandana you’d wrapped around his head earlier. Smiling, you continued to stare ahead, waiting a minute before Harry felt brave enough to answer.

“Did you answer Jack then?” You felt the breath of his words against your hair.

“He just wanted to know how I was, Harry.”

“I know.”

You bit your lip, not looking back at him.

“Guess he just wanted to talk. To feel close to you in a way.”

You huffed, standing your ground and not looking back at him like you knew he wanted you to. “And the point of this is…?”

“Being close to someone you love can calm you down.” Harry said, voice low so only the two of you could hear him. You felt a shiver run up your spine. “Like shelter in a storm; entering a small house and staying for tea before braving the terrible weather again, a little stronger this time with some motivation from those you… hold closest to your heart.”

Your breath hitched somewhere in your throat, feeling both Harry’s breath and eyes on you. It took everything in you not to look at him, to see his soft expression after uttering those equally soft words. “I’m not in love with Jack, Harry.”

Harry was quiet for a second before he said, with the hint of a smile in his voice, “Okay.”

You smiled yourself, wanting to say something in response but not knowing what would be appropriate. You weren’t even sure why you were feeling this much or why Harry being elated you weren’t seeing someone made you this happy. He stood right behind you, just as close, not wavering, till he had to go do the shoot. Walking backwards, he made sure to catch your eye, give you a small smile, before going to do his job. You hated how your cheeks felt hot, that every single time Harry’s dimples appeared you heard something inside your head scream and the every single one of your cells react to him. Glancing over at Alessandro, you caught the creative director watching you with a grin on his face. As soon as your eyes met, though, he turned away, forcing his smile away and pretending like he hadn’t seen a thing. You rolled your eyes, focusing all your attention on Harry, who didn’t let his anxiety get the better of him this time around.

“He’s doing very well.” Alessandro commented, his left hand resting on his chin in a pondering manner.

“He is.”

“Because you replaced his nerves before the show.” From under his hand, you could see a small smirk playing on his lips, his eyes never leaving the monitor.

“I - what?” Lifting away from his side, you stared at Alessandro’s face. And your wide eyes must have made you look like a deer in the headlights because he started chuckling.

You were positive that no one had seen your moment with Harry, considering how dark the little corner you were stood in was. Backstage at a fashion show was crazy enough, there’s no way anyone had been paying attention to the tailor in the back of the room. But the knowing look in your boss’s eyes told you otherwise.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” you muttered, folding your arms across your chest.

“Eyes all over my head, il mio amore. I see everything.”

Alessandro had been like this from the moment he introduced you and Harry, almost two years ago at this point. Always motioning from across the room for you to stand just a bit closer to Harry, informing you whenever Harry was remotely near the office, and always leaving the two of you alone each time he was scheduled for a fitting. It was like he was making it his life’s mission to get his two prodigies together.

“Don’t laugh at me. This is your fault, you know?”

Feigning offence and his hand moved from his chin to his chest, Alessandro turned away from the monitor to finally look directly at you, “Mine? Why do you say that?”

“‘You have a lot in common.’ or how about, ‘look at my two loves together!’ or my personal favorite, ‘The two of you together, assolutamente da togliere il fiato!’”your impersonation of him had gotten extremely good over the last few years, bringing a soft smile to his lips. “Any of those ringing any bells?”

“Only encouraging what you both know to be true, cara.”

“You’re absurd.”

At this point, the first model had made his way back to the dressing room, immediately going to line up for the final walk through. It was scheduled to be a quick show, only about thirteen minutes from first walk to last, but you never imagined it would go by this fast. As the models began to line back up, both you and Alessandro separated, going to either side of the line to join the other tailor in making sure each outfit was still in its pristine condition. You you had a few loose threats to snip here, and a broken necklace to dispose of there, but overall, everyone was still looking perfect.

Especially Harry.

His head was craned, watching you as you made your way down the line behind him, and as soon as you stepped in front of him to quickly examine his apparel, he whispered your name.

“Haven’t tripped yet.” he smirked, adjusting the red glasses on his nose.

“I know, I was watching.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm. We were talking about you. Turn around.” grabbing hold of his shoulder, you pulled forward, “Making him proud, you know.”

His shoulders relaxed under your palms, like hearing the news of making one of his idols happy set him free and he could now have the utmost fun with the final walk through.

“Alright. Good luck.”

But before you could get to the next model, his hand caught your arm. In any other situation, you’d be annoyed that you were being stopped from completing your job, but the look on Harry’s face made all worries about any other model fade from your mind.

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Are you proud?”

The question took you off guard. Was really that concerned with what you thought of his performance? He was one of the most renowned superstars in the world, who danced his heart out on stage and did what made him happy no matter what others thought. But your opinion was the one who made his hands clam up? And had you ever made him feel like you weren’t proud? You always thought your quick jabs to one another were all in good fun, but maybe you had gone too far and made him doubt himself.

“Always proud of everything you do.”

It was the honest answer. Getting to watch him excel in every aspect of life he threw himself into, make decisions that helped so many people, putting his friends and family first, and making sure he was happy above all else, was inspiring to say the least. There was never a day that went by where you didn’t feel immense pride for even just getting the chance to know Harry. And in that moment, you promised yourself that you would make it more apparent to him from then on.

A large smile spread across his face, and even in the poor lighting, you could see the apples of his cheeks turn a rosey pink. He looked undeniably cute and following your heart as well as Alessandro’s previous encouragements, you decided to take a leap of faith.

“Come find me after the show. Gotta talk.”

The happiness faded from both his face and his eyes, and you instantly regretted the way you phrased your sentence. “Nothing bad, I promise! Just come find me, yeah?”

You had moved on to the next model, giving her a smile and a quick “Hello Mae” and began checking her dress as Harry was still processing your request. His hands were fidgeting with the fingerless gloves and he was undoubtedly about to break skin with how hard he was biting his lip. You felt like a proper idiot for making him nervous again after he was so happy.

“Calm down, would you? You’re starting to stress me out.” you laughed, giving Mae the okay and moving onto the next model. Sending him a wink, you nodded your head, making him well aware of how unserious this conversation was going to be.

A faster paced rendition of The Shadows Die Twice started playing, just as you finished checking over your designated models, indicating that it was time for the final walk through to begin. After these final few minutes, all the garments you had worked tirelessly on for months, would be totally completed. And usually, you would be filled with ease and comfort knowing you would have some time off before your next project. But this time was different.

This time, Alessandro had consulted you on many of the pieces making their way down the runway, showing just how much he valued and trusted your opinion. Never in your wildest dreams did you think you would be where you are today, but because of the man standing next to you, believing in your talent and putting your passion to use, you were living out a dream that you never knew you had.

“Thank you.” You whispered

“For what?”

“For believing in me enough to hire me four years ago. For not letting me give up when I was confused. For always encouraging me. Just - thank you.”

“Never have to thank me for those things, tesoro. The potential and passion inside you needs to be explored! I’m honored I get to be the one to help you embrace them!” Alessandro pulled you into a tight hug, the two of you swaying as you watched the models capture the attention of each guest one last time.

Lifting to stand on your tiptoes you whispered in Alessandro’s ear, but even though your statement was barely loud enough to be heard over the booming music, apparently it was just loud enough for your boss to hear, because his head snapped back and he grabbed you by the shoulders, holding you at arms length.

“What?!”

“Mhm.”

“Together?”

“Mhm.” It was hard not to continue your giggles at his bewildered expression.

“How come?”

You shrugged, “I guess I just have a bloody persuasive boss.”

Once again, models began entering the dressing room, but this time, instead of staying in strict model mode, they were letting loose. Smiles were spread all over their faces, rushing to give each other hugs and words of encouragement. It was a beautiful sight to watch, the release of pressure the show brought to the models and the absolute joy they were now basking in.

“Il tuo tempo per brillare, rockstar.” your time to shine, rockstar. giving his shoulder a pat, you watched as he sucked in a deep breath, preparing himself to walk the runway and accept the congratulatory applause about to be thrown his way once the last model had arrived backstage.

It was during this part, for some reason, that you always saw a bit of his nerves pop out. Maybe it was because of all the wandering eyes and unknown opinions, but walking out to thank the guests for attending seemed to be the only thing that ever made Alessandro nervous. And you would never admit it to him, but you enjoyed seeing him a bit on edge, reminded you that he wasn’t just some fashion robot, but a man who just wanted to be accepted for his unique and creative mind.

Your position in the back room made it easy to be a part of both atmosphere’s; the juxtaposition between the loud, bustling back room and angelic, calming sound of Bach - St. John Passion BWV 245: Herr echoing off of the marble walls was like a metaphor for your life these last few months. How at times, everything around you was so busy and fast paced that it was sometimes hard to get a handle on what was happening. But then moments like this happened and none of failures or pricked fingers mattered. Because watching your boss, the man you admired with all your heart and were lucky to call a friend, walk down his own runway, accepting love he deserved, on pieces you had helped create, was the most heavenly feeling you could imagine.

You watched as he made his way through the museum quickly, stopping every so often to bow his head in gratitude and send kisses to everyone in the audience.

“I see why you like this so much.”

Harry stood next to you, hands buried deep in his pants pockets, the long overcoat pushed back behind his arms, just enough that you got a good view of the sparrow tattoos and the very tip of the bird cage on his rib peaking out from under the white tank top. He didn’t look at you, instead, his eyes were trained on the monitor, watching the man who gave you each the chance to flourish in a world you never expected.

“Hmm? Why’s that?”

“Fucking exihlerating walking down that runway.” he admitted, the sentance coming out in a breathy laugh like he couldn’t believe how much fun he had. “Can’t imagine what it’s like for the people that created it all.”

“Yeah, quite hard coming down from a high like this, so he usually takes a week or so off before jumping back into things.” you chuckled, thinking back to when you’d received an influx of text messages the last time Alessandro had gone off the grid, depicting how much he loved bees and would be incorporating them into the new collection after staying on a bee farm for a few days.

“Alessandro did a phenomenal job.” he paused, finally taking his eyes away from the screen and turning his entire body so that he was now facing you. “But so did you.”

If he hadn’t been staring directly at you, he would have missed the roll of your eyes. Of course, you were thankful to be a part of something so extraordinary, but this was all Alessandro. It was all his vision and even though you were asked to help finalize a few looks, this masterpiece was all thanks to him, and you wouldn’t take credit for any of it.

But before you could explain all of that to Harry, he said your name softly, moving a tad closer so your elbow was just barely touching his stomach. “‘M serious. These may have been his finalized pieces, but you quite literally put it all together. There would be no final product without your work.”

“Harry -”

“Don’t ‘Harry’ me, wanker, you’re bloody amazing at what you do. But you don’t need me to tell you that. Everyone walking around this room is example enough.”

Receiving compliments from Harry wasn’t anything new to you. For as long as you’d known him, he was always looking for the good in people and making sure they knew about it. If you had to guess, that was probably one of the his main qualities that initially drew fans in, because all anyone wanted in life was to feel good; appreciated. And that’s exactly what he had been doing for you since the day he walked through your office doors. It was the little things that made your stomach turn to mush; holding your pin cushion when he knew it would make a session easier for you, bringing you a smoothie when you’d told him you didn’t have time to eat before a shoot, sending you funny memes in the middle of the night, or even just seeing his dimpled smile appear when he finally got to see his immaculately executed wardrobe. No matter what the circumstance was, simply being around Harry made you feel happy, calm, and you didn’t want that feeling to ever go away.

“Just look around an-”

“Do you want to go on a date?” when you’d asked him earlier to find you after the show so you could chat, you didn’t exactly expect the conversation to start out so blunt, but he just looked so cute and sincere telling you in his own way how proud of you he was.

“Wh-“

“There’s, um, there’s this really great restaurant not too far from here. Most delicious pasta you’ll ever eat, not to mention the cutest old couple on the planet runs it and they’ll def-“

“I haven’t eaten since this morning, so if you’re going to keep talking, I’ll just go eat this amazing pasta by myself.”

“Yeah, no, you’re right, that was a dumb que-“ it wasn’t his words that made you stop mid sentence, but more the soft smile that spread across his face, his dimple popping out slightly beneath his growing facial hair. There was no hesitation in his acceptance to your dinner date, contrary to what you were expecting, and it made the tips of your ears warm up. “Oh! Um, perfect. Yeah, great. Okay.”

Never had you been so flustered by the man standing before you. This wouldn’t be the first time you grab a bite to eat with him, and definitely wouldn’t be the first time the two of you spent time alone, but the way he was looking at you, like none of what he just did mattered, was definitely a first.

“Okay, um, just get dressed and I’ll meet you outside?”

“‘M serious, hurry up. Might starve to death while you’re busy chatting.” Harry joked, slowly walking away while still facing you, his finger coming out to point right at you, “Then you’ll have to explain to everyone how your desperate need to talk to everyone you come in contact with, was the reason behind the death of the Harry Styles.”

“Oi, fuck off. Says the man who made sure to learn something about every single person setting up the show today. Go get dressed before I slap the Harry Styles.”

The slight shake of his head kept your attention as he weaved his way through the bustling room, back towards the vanity he had claimed as his own. You’d watched the scene in front of you play out many times before; models spread out throughout the room, some having changed immediately into their own comfortable clothes, some tossing their heads back in eased laughter, and some every sitting back with their feet up, enjoying a basket of chips. No matter how each of them decided to unwind after such a monumental show, it never got old. Because just as they did, you had your own post show ritual.

You didn’t divulge in unhealthy foods or put on your most comfortable pair of socks; you organized your kit one last time. From the moment Alessandro sits you down with his new vision until the last model walks off the runway, you know to keep millions of pins, thread of all colors, buttons of every shape and size, and even some super glue on you at all times. They would undoubtedly get used throughout the months of alterations and mishaps, if not by you, then by a member of your team. So, taking a moment to sit and go through everything once the night was officially over was a sort of release for you. A way for you to touch and feel just how much hard work had gone into your work. How the container holding your pins was considerably lighter, the spool of black thread had nearly vanished, and the pile of band aids in the lower pocket was down to three. All signs that you put your heart and soul into this collection.

There was never any guarantee when Alessandro would find inspiration next and when his next project would begin, meaning you never knew when the next time you’d be opening your kit was. But this time, that wasn’t the case. He had planned at least three more shoots before the years end, so you were only allotted a few weeks of laid back free time this time around.

“Packing up so soon?”

“You know how I like to close out a show.” You chuckled, not turning to look at your boss, but seeing his hand reach out and fingertips graze over the very top of your bag.

“How many this time?”

“28 buttons, nearly the entire tin of pins, 64 band aids, and two mini bottles of wine.”

“You should be proud, il mio amore, that’s two less bottles than last time! It’s about progress!”

“Two less because someone yelled at me less this time around.” Finally getting back to your feet, you turned to face him and noticed that he had thrown his hair up to get it away from his sweaty forehead. “No need to drink if you aren’t crying in the fabric closet.”

“Lo faccio solo con amore, Tesoro, lo sai.” I only do it with love honey, you know. His smile was contagious as he took your hands in his own, giving them a gentle squeeze. “Look at how far you’ve come. Such beautiful art comes from these hands.”

“Do you know what you’ll do until the fragrance shoot?”

“I will be taking Vanni to see my brother. A nice peaceful place to become one again. Where will you go?”

“My flat in Florence has been calling my name for weeks, Lallo.” He smiled fondly at the nickname. “Will probably do some redecorating while I’m there.”

“And some dates, no?”

“I really don’t know why I bother telling you anything. Like my father, you are.”

“Well I am the reason for this, am I not? Seems only right that I know all the details.”

“Details of what?”

“How I’m redecorating my flat in Florence.” Your response was quick, and you sent Alessandro a stern side glare so that he knew not to bring up anything of what you were just speaking of.

“Yes, I told her that I expect pictures.”

“Oh, add me to that list as well then! I’d love to see how you decorate. ‘M always looking for new inspiration.”

“Um, yeah sure. You ready?” if Harry could sense how awkward you felt when he joined you and Alessandro, he made no move to indicate it. Especially now, smiling at your agreement.

“Yup. Ready to enjoy some of Earth’s finest pasta.”

“Oh!” Alessandro brightened at Harry’s words, his back straightened, and eyes widened. “Are you taking him to Chiaro Di Luna?” you nodded, slinging your bag over your shoulder. “Magnifico! A wonderful place you will love!”

“Well he won’t love it if we keep standing here so…”

“Have fun my prodigies!”

Both you and Harry laughed quietly as you finally walked away from the man of the hour. You may have known him in different ways, but each of you got the chance to see a side of Alessandro most people didn’t – parental type figure who wanted nothing but love and prosperity for you both.

“He’s like that with you all the time as well?”

“Hmm?”

You took a glance at him when pressing the button for the lift, just to be met with his warm eyes already looking at you. He looked handsome after the show – not that he wasn’t always handsome, but something about seeing him work so hard and then look so comfortable made your chest tingle. He was wearing a pair of dark yellow corduroy pants – the flare at the ankles not nearly as large as some of the flares he owns, but wide nonetheless – paired with a red and blue striped shirt, a tiny Mickey Mouse head embroidered into the upper left breast and a black bomber jacket. He looked relaxed and everything that spending time in Italy embodied.

“Does he turn into dad mode on you as well?”

Harry laughed, “He means well.”

It was no surprise that Harry had brought along a plethora of fans, all eagerly awaiting his presence back outside after the show, so there was no way the two of you could casually stroll out of the front doors to get to your late dinner date. Instead, you were walking through the basement hallway so that you could make your speedy escape through the lower side exit, directly across from Cafe Capitolino.

“You think you’d do another?”

“You think I’d be asked to do another?”

Your hand found it’s way up to his forehead as the two of you strolled through Piazelle Caffarelli - the quaintest little park directly across from the museum. In the bright moonlight, the beds of flowers and statues almost appeared to glow, directing your path through the garden.

“What are you doing?”

“Just checking to see if you have a fever.”

“Huh?”

“You must be sick because I’m not seeing your ego anywhere.”

“Oh piss off.” he laughed, lifting his own arm so that he could slap yours - playfully - away from his face. “‘M serious.”

“So am I. You’re one of the most confident people I’ve ever met. I’ve seen you doing your music thing Harry. You’re good and you know it. Where’s that attitude here?”

He was quiet as the two of you finally made it out of the garden and crossed the main street, focusing on stuffing his hands in his jacket pockets and tugging it closer to his torso. His hair had grown quite a lot since the first time you’d met him years ago, and the curls, wild from being kept under a cap for hours, were blowing in the small breeze.

“‘Dunno. I was nervous when I did the film as well. Guess doing something new like this makes me question if I’m given the chance to do it because I’m genuinely good at it, or just because they want my name on it.”

That was a surprise to you. From the moment you met him, you could feel the confidence he emitted. In fact, it rubbed off on most who were working with him. He made the people around him feel confident in themselves and what they were doing, and always encouraged when someone was feeling down.

“You’re very much wanted on this team for what you bring to it, not your name. I’m sorry if you were made to feel anything less.”

“No!” he quickly rebutted, gaining the attention of the few people wandering the street late at night. But he paid no mind to them, only focused on looking at you to make sure you heard what he was saying cearly. “You haven’t, at all. None of you have. Just don’t want to be known as the guy who gets jobs because he was in a band.”

“Can promise you that Lallo wouldn’t have asked you to be a part of so many shoots and such an important show if he didn’t completely and wholeheartedly believe you were perfect for it.”

You watched him nod and mutter a quiet I guess, the moon peeking over the Gran Caffe Roma and highlighting his eyelashes and very tip of his nose so perfectly that he began to look like a statue.

“Lallo?”

“Yeah.” a quick chuckle left your mouth, a hand coming up to rub your cheek while you thought of your response. “After I finished my first collection for him, it was a small one so he could see if I was right for the position, he took me out for drinks to celebrate me getting the job. Long story short, we both had a few too many and I started calling him Lallo and it just stuck.”

“That’s cute.” his hand was wiggling about, trying to escape the confines of the jacket pocket, and when it finally did, it brushed against your own. You both looked down at the close proximity of your hands and you felt the air immediately get thicker. He must have felt the same because when you briefly look up at him over your lashes, he was staring straight ahead; very apparently trying not to make any sudden moves.

But the millisecond the warmth of skin left yours, you wanted it back. Maybe it was the tiny kiss you shared backstage just hours ago, or the built up tension between the two of you that had started during his second campaign shoot, whatever it was, you were done dancing around the obvious. Without giving it a second thought or looking anywhere but straight ahead, you lifted your pointer finger ever so slightly. Just enough so that it gently rubbed against his. You wanted to give him the option of pursuing anything further, so just as quickly as the contact began, it ended; your fingers settling by your side yet again.

However, the breeze working it’s way between your hands didn’t last long, because almost immediately after your little move, you felt his fingers slowly creep around your hand. He didn’t move fast, almost as if he was letting the calm Italian breeze join your hands together. And slower than you would have liked, your entire hand was enclosed by his, feather touches to make sure the other was comfortable with where things had gone.

You wanted to make sure Harry knew just how okay you were with his hand keeping yours warm, so you continued talking as if nothing had happened. “‘M the only one who gets to call him that though, so don’t go parading around saying it.”

“Loud and clear. Your secret's safe with me.” he laughed, his grip on your hand tightening when a strong gust of wind blew through the small alleyway you were walking down and you shivered, “Cold?”

“No, I’m alright.” you lied, the air outside always making you significantly colder after leaving the sauna that was a fashion show back room.

Instead of letting go of the idea of you being cold, Harry lightly tugged on your joined hands, stuffing them into his jacket pocket, which then forced you to move closer to his side. Italy in May wasn’t a time you would consider cold; the sun shone nearly every day, warming your cheeks, and there was no need for anything more than a light jumper, but the warmth radiating from Harry’s side made it feel as if you were strolling around on an August day. But you welcomed it, despite the race of your heart.

“Looking forward to having some time off?”

“Absolutely. I really do need to redecorate my place. ‘M sure Lilliana hasn’t been taking care of the plants as often as I’d like so I’ll have to make a stop and pick up some new ones.” you were mostly speaking to yourself, so you elaborated when he didn’t respond. “Lilliana is a girl who lives across the street. She’s sixteen, and has been watching my place ever since I started with Gucci. Doesn’t want to get paid or anything, only wants me to get her a meeting with Alessandro when she turns eighteen. Told her I’d see what I can do, but he’s already seen some of her designs. She’s very talented.”

“You’re really wonderful, you know.”

The compliment made the tips of your ears warm, and you were worried that the palms of your hands would start to clam up if you thought about the way you could feel him looking at you, so you quickly changed the subject, your hand clumsily sliding out of his pocket to point at the tiny restaurant in front of you.

“Here we are!”

Nestled at the very end of the alley, was your destination. Only two tables were set up outside, the tiny patio was past picturesque; it was straight out of a movie. A metal fence was surrounding the seating area on two sides - the third wall was created by the muted terracotta building and the fourth was left open for easy access. Wrapped around the very tops of the fence were some fairy lights, not enough to cover the entire thing, but enough to give a bit of lighting on the otherwise dark road, and creating a pathway to the front door, sat a nice variety of potted plants. And with the green doors to the shop left open, the smell of freshly baked bread immediately hit you and Harry in the face.

“This is amazing.” his voice was full of wonder and you appreciated the fact that even he, someone who had been around the world and back many times, never took for granted the small beauties of the world.

“Just wait until you try the food.” you smiled, bringing your hand up to your mouth in a mock chef’s kiss. “Deliziosa!”

The boisterous laugh that fell from between his lips was enough to catch the attention of whoever was working inside. It didn’t take long for them to walk down the front steps, seeing as the inside of the establishment was also small. But the second his face lit up from the wall mounted lights, you smiled.

“Lorenzo! Così bello vederti di nuovo!” Lorenzo! It’s so good to see you again!

“Mio dolce! Mi sei mancato!” My sweet! I’ve missed you! His arms opened wide as he walked down the single step, instantaneously enveloping you in a hug. He smelled of pasta sauce and pizza dough, the evidence of his hard work sprinkled across his withered cheek.

“Mi dispiace! Sai quanto può essere intenso il lavoro! Soprattutto con un capo come il mio!” I’m sorry! You know how intense work can be! Especially with a boss like mine!

You watched Lorenzo’s face light up when he pulled away from you and heard your boss’ name. The two had met ages ago and he was the one who had introduced the two of you. “Ah! Alessandro! Confido che stia bene! E chi hai portato con te questa volta, cara?” Ah! Alessandro! I trust he is doing well! And who have you brought with you this time, dear?

Feeling bad for leaving Harry out of the brief conversation, you angled your body so that you were now facing him, moving your hand between the two men in front of you. “Lorenzo, this is Harry. Harry, Lorenzo.”

True to his nature, Harry immediately stuck his hand out and offered a ‘you alright?’ to the older gentleman, but Lorenzo was having none of that. Completely ignoring the waiting hand, and having to stand a bit on his toes in order to wrap his arms around the younger man’s upper back, he pulled Harry in for a tight hug.

“Any friend of hers is a friend of mine! Benvenuto!”

“Hai un… posto bellissimo qui!” Lorenzo’s smile grew as the two separated and Harry slowly racked his mind for the right words. “Was that right?”

“It was! Thank you, we do love it here!”

“Speaking of..” you cut in, “I know it’s late but do you think we could steal a plate or two?”

“For you, mio caro, anything.” he lifted his calloused hand to gently pat your cheek. “Why don’t the two of you sit down and I will bring you a few dishes. I’ve got some fettuccine alla carbonara if you’d like. I’m sure I can find something else if-”

“That sounds wonderful, Lorenzo, thank you.”

You watched as his frail figure made its way back into the shop, taking an extra second to carefully climb the single step. It was the perfect night to sit outside and enjoy one of your favorite meals, but even more perfect to turn around and see Harry holding a chair out, waiting for you to join him at the table.

“Thank you.” you hoped the smirk you were trying to hide wasn’t visible in the dimly lit back alley and he couldn’t tell how much the small gesture made your heart race.

“So tell me,” he sighed once he finally sat down next to you, his forearms leaning against the small wooden table so that he could look directly at you. “You really like the food here or do you just keep coming back because he adores you?”

“I take offense that you think I’d use my charming personality just to get a free plate of pasta.” the stare shared between you both was one of comedy - his eyebrow raised in question and you couldn’t help but let out a small laugh, “I use it for two.”

“I knew it.”

“It really is the best, swear it! Tried to get him to teach me the recipe once but he won’t budge. Says he won’t allow it to leave the family.”

“He always here this late? Seems to be a bit… old… to be here at quarter eleven.” he never broke eye contact while speaking to you, but his fingers began to roam around, slowly inching towards your own empty hands. There was no move to do anything more than brush his fingers against yours, but you longed for him to envelop your smaller ones in his.

“For as long as I’ve known him. Always comes in to prep for the people who come in at five the next morning.”

“Good bloke.” he nodded, craning his neck a bit so he could look around him, “You know, I’ve always wanted to have my own restaurant.”

A deep belly laugh spilled from your lips upon hearing his words, your body’s finally making contact when you lifted your hand and placed it on his forearm to ground yourself.

“What’s so funny about that?” his voice held a certain aura of feigned offence, but you knew not to take it too seriously by the bright smile covering his face. It was a different kind of smile than you were used to seeing him give, but you welcomed it and never wanted to see it end. It made the corners of his eyes crinkle a tad more than normal, mouth open a bit wider, and entire body lean forward.

“Harry, I’ve known you nearly three years. Never once have I heard you mention wanting to have your own restaurant. I’ve been told a lawyer, a florist, even a physiotherapist, but a chef? Can you even cook?”

“Now I'm offended! I’ll have you know that I used to cook for the band all the time!”

“Beans on toast doesn't count as cooking, Harry.”

“Leave off.” somewhere during your mock argument and Harry laughing at you, his hand had fully found its way to yours, wrapping around it carefully as not to disturb the perfect peace the two of you had going. “You’ll just have to come over so I can prove to you just how good I am.”

Obviously he didn’t mean it in any other way than a friend inviting another friend over for a nice meal, but the way his tongue jut out before speaking, leaving his lips shining and nearly begging for attention, made the sentence mean a lot more to you than he led on.

“Well, I’ll hold you to that, mate.”

“Don’t mate me while I’m holding your hand, mate.” you swear it was like Harry was trying to push every single last button you had. Not only was he smirking while giving your hand a squeeze, but with each word, he seemed to be gradually leaning closer to you.

Almost as if he was waiting for the most perfectly inopportune moment, Lorenzo made his presence known with the clink of two wine glasses that echoed through the small alley. The sound made you and Harry separate as quickly as possible and look towards the older man.

“Two dishes of my world famous fettuccine paired with the best bottle of wine you could ask for!”

“But we didn’t ask for wine, Lorenzo.”

“It’s alright because you are new here, but when I give you a bottle of wine, you take it.”

“He says it makes for a better experience.” you shrug, taking the glasses and bottle from the tray so that he would have an easier time setting down your plates.

“Non puoi goderti i frutti del tuo lavoro senza un po ‘di divertimento!”

“Yeah yeah, as you say. Now take this before I stay here all night and give it to Mateo, because you know he’ll take it.” you tried handing him a few folded up fifties, but you weren’t surprised when he didn’t accept, but insead, backed away from your outstretched hand.

“Mio caro, no. I do not want that from you. I just enjoy seeing your beautiful face every now and again.”

“Lorenzo, you know I won’t stop. Please”

“You are too much, ragazza dolce. Please come tell me if you need anything more.”

“What did he say to you just then? I caught fruit and fun but that’s where it stops.” Harry asked as soon as the older man was out of ear shot. He was trying hard to look at you, but the steaming plate of food before you both was enough to pull anyone’s attention away, so you didn’t fault him for being mesmerized.

“Come on, hot shot, have your Italian lessons taught you nothing?”

“Wow you’re really riding me tonight, huh?” if only. “I’m busy alright. Got a lot going on up here.” he used his pointer and middle finger to tap against his temple, “Gets hard to remember things sometimes.”

“You know I’m just taking the piss.” unable to wait any longer, you began to twist your fork in the pasta while giving him an explanation. “Said you can’t enjoy the fruits of your labor without having a little fun.”

“He’s got a point you know.”

“If you try and tell me that I need to be prouder of my work, I will dump all of that food on the ground before you even have the chance to try it.”

“You wouldn’t dare. Not if it’s as good as you say it is.”

“Don’t tempt me.”

“I’m serious, love.” Harry had called you many pet names since your first meeting, but love had never been one of them. It sounded so comforting falling his lips, like it was the only word you wanted to hear for the rest of time, and it made your insides instantly warm - and it wasn’t from the wine. “You’re outrageously talented. Everyone on the planet can see it except for you.”

“I’m proud of what I do, Harry. Just don’t feel like it’s right to take any bit of credit for something I only helped put together.” sure, you helped transform the clothing from pieces of mixed matched fabrics into the collections that hit the runways, but they weren’t your ideas or designs, so you felt only fair to give credit where it was rightfully due.

“Alright. Fine then. If you won’t take credit for your work, I’ll do it for you.” he cleared his throat after finishing off his glass of wine, back straightening and his chest puffing out after filling with air. “Hello!” he shouted, followed by introducing your name, “I am the lead tailor for Gucci and I just completed my fourth Cruise Collection!”

“Shh!! Harry!” you really did try to keep it together while tugging on his arm, but you couldn’t help the giggles that escaped as he kept shouting praising about you to the empty Roman streets.

“I’m one of the best in the world and everyone is absolutely dying to work with me!”

“Harry!” you laughed again, this time, cupping your hand over his lips that he couldn’t say anymore. “I get it, my god.”

“Do you? Because I can do it again. Hello -”

“I do, thank you.” your smile was genuine, truly appreciating the fact that he always had such nice things to say about you and your work. “But please just shut up and eat, yeah?”

Finally the two of you were silent, smiling to yourselves so that you could enjoy your awaiting food. Until you weren’t.

A loud moan from next to you quickly made your head snap up in desperate need to see where it had come from. There was no one else it could have come from, but to hear the sound fall from Harry’s mouth wasn’t something you were prepared for. Nor was the sight of carbonara sauce dripping from the corner of his mouth.

“Fuck you were right.” he moaned again, this time much smaller, “This is the greatest pasta on the planet.”

“Thought you would’ve learned by now that there are very few times that’d I’m not right.”

You shouldn’t have expected anything less from the man indoors, who when you looked up over Harry’s shoulder, you saw standing in the window smiling and giving you a thumbs up. Of course he was on the same page as Alessandro and would be trying to put both you and Harry in the mood for a romantic night. But to hear the chords of ‘So This Is Love’ play through whatever speaker he had in his kitchen, really did surprise you.

“Lorenzo!” you yelled, not caring about waking whatever kind of neighbors he had

“What?”

“Really?”

“I just turned on my music, mio caro! Please enjoy your meal.”

Snickering from next to you made you roll your eyes, “Don’t laugh at him, you’re only egging him on, Harry.”

“‘M not, I’m not!” you sent him a pointed look, taking the last gulp of wine from your glass and pouring yet another. “Alright, maybe just a little. But only because I think ya look cute when you’re flustered, is all.”

“You’re lucky you’re handsome, because you’re a right bellend.”

“Only to a select few!” the sound of his light laugh was drowned out by the creaking of his chair as he pushed it backwards. In a second, he was at his feet, ignoring your question of ‘what are you doing?’ to stand in front of you. “Signora.” his mouth may not have made any movements to smile, but you could see his eyes holding one back.

He mocked bowed, resting one arm behind his back as the other hand engulfed one of your sitting on top of the table. The pads of his fingers caressed the inside of your hand as he gently picked it up, slowly slotting your two hands together. It felt like an out of body experience, like you were watching the scene happen as an onlooker, instead of being a part of it. Because the second he picked his head up from the bow, his eyes met yours. Hundreds of unidentified thoughts raced through your mind and your breathing stopped when he picked up your hand completely, the distance between it and his lips growing short and shorter every second. With one quick, quiet, exhale falling from your lips, he placed a delicate kiss to your knuckles, keeping his eyes set on yours.

It could have been every innocent moment the two of you had spent together over the last two and a half years, or watching him perform his heart out just hours ago in garments that you literally built, or maybe even the way his eyes sparkled in the Italian moonlight, but staring at him as he stood back up straight, his hand still holding yours, you wanted nothing more than to jump his bones.

“Care to dance?”

It wasn’t the spark that radiated through your hands or the wind pulling at your blouse, but the look of endearment in Harry’s eyes that made you stand from your chair, accepting his offer. His free arm wound around your waist while yours rested on his shoulders, your body now flush against his. It wasn’t the perfect setting for be slow dancing; the twinkling lights were barely bright enough for you to see where you were stepping, the cobblestone beneath your trainers made the arches of your feet hurt, and the open space was very limited between the table and building, but the soft instrumental of ‘Bella notte’ playing from inside the shop and the wine flowing through your veins, made it something out of a dream.

The sun shone in through the window and straight into your eyes, making you blink awake with a small wrinkle between your brows. First thing you noticed was that you were sleeping in the cream blouse you had worn the night before, your trousers off and hopefully, you thought to yourself, so was most of your make-up as well. Second thing you noticed was the hand on your hip and the other under your head, the breathing against your skin and the forehead against your neck. Third… was something else entirely…

Memories from the night before came back in bits and pieces, bringing a small smile to your face. How you and Harry had both drunkenly stumbled down the hallway at like one, how you had struggled to get the key to your room in the lock, and how Harry had playfully pushed you out of the way to help you with it. How he helped you indoors, and how you’d asked him to stay. There hadn’t been a sexual intent behind the words, just an infatuated drunk speaking truthfully to another. You remember asking Harry to not look as you took your trousers off, and that you thought it’d be a good idea to take your bra off but sleep in your silk blouse. Harry on the other hand, kept all his clothes on, laying down beside you in bed and told you goodnight before you’d even managed to get yourself properly under the sheets. He must’ve been exhausted. It’d been a long day after all.

You woke up in the spooning position; his arm resting across your hip, breathing onto your skin, forehead against your neck, holding you close. Even before Harry woke up and noticed what was going on, you tried to understand why you felt like something wasn’t as it usually was. You felt Harry’s sharp intake of breath behind you and then him moving his head away from you, lifting the hand that had been placed on your hip, running it over his face. It wasn’t till you were about to turn around to face him that you both realised what was resting between you. You both stopped abruptly, silence filling the room around you.

“Bollocks.” Harry hissed between his teeth, glancing down at where his morning wood pressed against his yellow trousers and your ass and thigh. “So sorry.” He didn’t really know how to move as to not make it worse. Walking away from bed would mean you’d have to see the bulge in his trousers, but staying there would be absolute fucking torture.

You tried your hardest not to giggle, feeling a flush wave through your body.

“I-I… I don’t know what to do now. Sorry.” Harry said, feeling so embarrassed he was unsure what the next right thing to do would be.

Thinking back on everything that had happened, on everything that had transpired between the two of you, you suddenly felt a surge of dominance run through you. The countless times you’d waited for Harry to kiss you, the times he could’ve reached for your hand in the silence of the moment, the hundreds of hours you’d spent smiling at each other. The numerous missed opportunities. All the ‘what if’s. You hated them all, but they’d led you to this moment. It had all came down to this. Here, now. You two, in bed, Harry grunting in frustration into the pillow and you smiling to yourself, not at all sorry for him waking up hard against you. In fact, you didn’t mind it at all. After everything last night, this felt right. After absolutely everything you two had been through, it didn’t feel weird.

You glanced over your shoulder, seeing Harry there with his eyes shut tightly.

“What’re you doing?”

His cheeks were red, obviously incredibly embarrassed about all of this. “Willing my woodie away, what does it bloody look like?”

You couldn’t help your laughter, shaking into Harry who smiled at the sound of your exclamations of joy. Slowly, you moved your arse against him, feeling his erection between your bumcheeks. Harry stilled, watching you with wide eyes as you did it again. Reaching behind you, you took a grip of Harry’s hand that had been on your hip earlier, placing it back there so he could feel you swaying against him. You felt an inhale of breath against you, then Harry’s fingers instantly grip onto you. He watched you as you continued to roll your hips against him, loving the hot feeling it sent to the spot between your legs. You hummed, biting your lip as you glanced down at Harry’s hand on your bare skin, letting him see just how much you liked this.

Instantly, he moved closer to you, wrapping the arm he’d been resting under your neck around you, taking a grip of your shoulder. The other one he slowly slid further down, moving closer and closer to the space between your legs that ached for him. You closed your eyes as he hovered above you, laying his palm flat against your cunt, the breathy and barely audible moan that left your lips driving him insane. Laying some pressure on you, you inhaled sharply, both your hands gripping the arm wrapped around your neck. The heat that had started in the very bottom of your stomach intensified, and got even hotter when he ran his fingers seductively over you. Feather-like touches, soft kisses to your cheek and neck, absolutely nothing mattered but the fire that was being ignited in your core.

Harry pushed your knickers aside, running his ring and middle finger between your folds. While doing so, he pushed your hips to rock against him, causing a friction between the two of you unlike anything you’d ever experienced before. You gasped, opening your eyes and looking at Harry who was watching you more intently than you’d ever seen before. He looked so hot like that, demanding you to please him while he was pleasing you. Wanting to make you feel just as good as you’d made him feel.

You reached down, wiggling your hips as you dragged your knickers down your legs. You threw them somewhere far away before turning back to Harry. This time, you sat up and onto his lap, looking down on him while you rested your hands at the zipper of his yellow trousers. He let out a small breath, heart hammering against his chest as he watched you sit on him like that; look at him like that. He’d never thought he’d be lucky enough to find himself in this position, and yet, here he was. You reached for his zipper, undoing it as Harry did both the buttons. You sat up on your knees helping Harry as he tried to get out of his trousers, but it seemed harder than either of you thought.

“Just get them off.” You said, reaching behind you to push them further down.

“Not so easy when you’re on top of me like that.” Harry answered, sitting up to drag them off. Your faces were suddenly very close.

“Alright, I’ll get off-“

“-No,” he answered abruptly. “Please don’t.”

You stopped, letting Harry take his trousers off and throw them to the ground, not breaking eye contact with you once. You felt him against you, felt how hot he was for you like you were for him; how badly he wanted you. His eyes flickered to your mouth before he glanced back up into your eyes again, lips parting as if he wanted to say something but didn’t know the right words for it. You had taken control so far, so you watched him expectantly, waiting for him to say or do something. And it was as if he knew your thoughts exactly. He took a grip of the back of your neck, bringing you to him.

The second your lips met, you closed your eyes, melting into the kiss and melting into Harry. You hadn’t really shared a proper kiss till now, only having had that small peck and him kissing your hand. But this was a real kiss. You tasted him, felt him. Surrounding you and everything you knew in those sublime seconds your lips were pressed against one another. Heavenly, carefully, gingerly, Harry slipped his tongue into your mouth, and you welcomed him completely. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pressing your body against his. He pulled you to him, devouring one another unapologetically. Now that you were kissing, dragging out the delicious moment, you weren’t holding back anymore. The kisses were hungry, desperate, wet. Nothing had ever tasted better than Harry, nothing had ever felt better than him either. You wondered why you’d waited so long to kiss one another, what had taken so long. Because now you couldn’t think of not doing just that.

You wanted to kiss him till the end of time. Wanted to feel as his hands roamed your body, how his tongue swirled around yours, how his lips got more and more swollen as you continued on making out. Forever, and maybe even longer than that if you were allowed; you wanted to kiss Harry forever. It felt so good, so right. Like tasting every good thing that had ever happened to you all at once, combined into one thing. Harry.

Moaning your name, you felt him grip your bum, squeezing it hard as he dragged you over him. He wanted some friction as bad as you; wanted you. It felt so good knowing Harry was as desperate as you, that he felt the same way and wasn’t ashamed of admitting that he did. You had no idea where your infatuation had begun, had no idea how you had fallen in love with Harry. You just were and that was how it was supposed to be. It had always supposed to be the two of you. Whenever something feels right, you get a warm feeling in the pit of your stomach, like it’s your soul telling you that you’ve reached your final destination; you’ve gotten where you’re supposed to be. And you felt that very feeling right now, in Harry’s arms, kissing him, feeling him hard against you.

You pushed him back down on the bed, bending over him to continue kissing. He instantly gripped your arse again, begging you to rock against him so he could get some small friction. You refused however, and instead buried your hands in his hair, dragging out the tongue filled, wet, lustful kisses. It was excruciating, Harry thought to himself, but he couldn’t bring himself to force you to do anything as he didn’t want this moment to be over. If you wanted to drag this out, then he would not stop you. He was making out with you, you were almost naked on top of him, he got to touch you all over. He wasn’t going to take this for granted.

There didn’t seem to be an end to your kisses, they seemed to be going on and on and on. Not that either of you were complaining, but at one point it was hard to remember how the rest of the morning had gone before you’d started snogging. You suddenly realised just how naked you were, that only your cream blouse was covering your torso, that the rest of you were on display for Harry. But he was way too busy kissing you to pay notice to anything else.

You tugged at the end of his tee shirt and he quickly took it off, letting it fall off the side of the bed before turning his attention back on you again. You ran your hand down his front, wanting to feel his skin under yours unashamedly. Every time you’d touched him before had been under a work setting, but this one was quite different. The hands touching him now were those of a lover, not his tailor. They were the hands of a desperate woman who wanted nothing more than to be with Harry in any way one human could be with another.

Resting your hands at the top of Harry’s boxers, Harry frantically followed your lead, being there to help you get them off. He was ready to do exactly as you told him to, knowing that he was and always would be at your complete and total disposal. As his boxers came off, his cock sprang loose, and you couldn’t help but look down at it. Harry watched you as you took him in, finding you checking him out like this incredibly hot. A wave of excitement and adoration ran through him, so captivated and altogether in love with you that he was sure in that moment and every moment that followed, he would lay down the rest of his life and himself to you wholly.

You took a grip of his cock, looking into his eyes after positioning him right at your hole. He didn’t take his eyes off you, knowing that what was just about to happen would change everything for you and your friendship. Not that all of last night and the rest of this morning hadn’t done that already, but sex complicates things. It’s hard not to form an emotional attachment to those you choose to have sex with, and it’s even harder to forget said person you have sex with if you’re in love with them. But regardless of that, both of you wanted to do this. You wanted to shag; wanted one another.

You guided him into you, holding onto him till he was all the way in. Your lips parted and Harry let out a low moan, your warm walls around him almost being too much to take. Positioning your knees well on either side of his waist, you sat up on his lap again, and started moving your hips over him. Harry gripped your thighs, squeezing them tight and looking up at you with his mouth agape. Your blouse hung loosely off you, unbuttoned to the point of one of your tits showing. It fell off one of your shoulders as you rocked over Harry, revealing even more of you to Harry in the bright morning light.

He moved one of his hands upward, running it up your arm, over your collarbone, to your neck. His thumb ran over your jawline, wanting to feel all of your soft skin under his fingertips. You looked down at him, a moan leaving your lips as your eyes met his. Already the familiar burn of a climax started building up in your core, reminding you of how long it had truly been since you’d found yourself in this position prior to this. Not that it even mattered, because right now you were having sex with Harry and he felt so fucking good inside you and underneath you, you would never get tired of this feeling.

You slid your hands down his front, dragging your nails along this skin till you reached his abdomen, where you let them rest. Harry’s eyes fell to your hands, relishing in the feeling of you touching him everywhere, of you being everywhere. Nothing mattered but you and the magic you were creating between the two of you. The soft skin of the inside of your thighs resting against his hips and ribs, his tattooed arms caressing your entire body. Heavy breathing, the occasional moan.

He moaned your name, hand sliding down your chest, rubbing his thumb over your exposed nipple. The burn in your core was really starting to build up now, and you knew it would burst any second. Harry sat up, wrapping an arm around your middle. You gasped a little in surprise, but your heart instantly started beating faster at him being so close to you. His grip was tight, as if he still couldn’t believe this was happening, it sent a wave of butterflies straight to your tummy. All of them flew directly to your core as Harry started moving his hips more with yours.

“Look so good on me like that, you do.” He whispered against your lips, his voice still having that morning rasp to it that sent a shiver up your spine.

You wrapped an arm around his neck, resting the other one on his shoulder as you continued to rock your hips against him. His eyes were hooded, but there was something in them that was so soft it took your breath away. When you know someone inside and out, you notice every single little change in their behaviour. This wasn’t tiny, though, because there was a type of vulnerability in Harry’s eyes that you hadn’t seen there before. He was laying himself completely bare, both physically and emotionally, wanting to connect and attach himself to you on every level a human possibly could.

Being this close, your movements got shorter and quicker. Bending his knees, Harry brought you flush to his torso, your hips and his moving rhythmically, hard against one another. Everything felt electric, everything felt hot. You wanted to melt into him and have you two sitting like this for eternity. Wanted to stare into his eyes, feel his warm breath on your skin, have his arm around your waist and the other hand on her cheek. Having him inside you like this, feeling him grip you hard, whimper against your lips, moan your name, you felt incredibly powerful and so, so good. There was something so magical about this moment, about you two joined like this. Something words lacked the ability to articulate and something your hearts didn’t quite understand yet but wanted to. He reached his hand down to your bum, squeezing you hard.

“Harry.” You moaned, feeling your hips and knees begin to ache from sitting like this. Not that you cared much, because the wild look in Harry’s eyes was enough of a reason for her to endure it a hundred times more.

“Yeah?” he mumbled against you. “You like that?”

Biting your lip, you glanced into his eyes, letting your look speak for itself. Harry moaned, letting his hand fall to the bed and the other to your thigh, pressing you harder around him. You were both close, clinging harder onto one another. The heat in the pit of your stomach grew bigger and bigger, threatening to burst with every grind, every moan, every touch. He thrusts harder into you, entranced as he watched you gasp and moan loudly.

“Fuck me.” You said, gripping the hair at the nape of his neck.

“As much as you want me to, baby.” He kissed your jawline, nails digging into your thigh. “I’ll make you feel so good.”

You gasped, feeling the heat get more intense. Harry felt your movements get more frantic and he moved his hips quicker, meeting yours and creating a friction so heavenly it caused you to lose all control.

“Don’t stop.” You gasped, looking into Harry’s eyes as everything started to blur.

“Fuck.” He hissed, feeling your legs start to shake around him. You came hard. Harry watching you intently, holding back his own release to watch every last second of yours; to make sure you were done before he allowed his own climax. You gasped for breath and moaned ad repeated Harry’s name over and over and over again until it felt like it was the only word you were able to pronounce.

Harry came right after her, a furrow appearing between his brows and lips parted. His hands tightened around her, holding onto her for dear life as he came in her. He stilled, neck vein showing, and he moaned and moaned and moaned. It was so hot, he sounded so sexy. You watched him till he came down, feeling his cum sliding down the inside of your thigh as he slipped out of you. You breathed together for a few moments before looking at one another, suddenly laughing a little at what you’d just done. He rested his forehead against your chest, feeling you breathe with him.

“That was a thing that just happened.” You said, making Harry laugh.

“That just happened.”

“We just did that.”

You both laughed, holding onto one another still, not willing to let go. For the time being, you two were the only thing that mattered, nothing outside your room existed. But then you laid your eyes on the clock by the nightstand and jumped off Harry. He watched you, wide eyed and confused.

“What?” he asked.

“I’m supposed to be at Alessandro’s hotel room in five minutes to go over yesterday, and some other stuff.” You said while you ran to the bathroom, needing to get washed up and dressed as quickly as possible.

Harry got out of bed, quickly putting his boxers and tee shirt on. “When’re you done?”

“Dunno.”

“Meet me for breakfast.” Harry said as you ran back out, new pair of knickers on and rummaging through your wardrobe. “I’ll text you the location.”

“Harry, I-“

“-Please.”

You looked over at him as you put your trousers on, smiling at his pleading words. “Text me.”

He smiled back before looking around the room. “Where are my trousers?”

“I’ll find them later, just piss off because I need to leave.” You ran towards the door with your laptop in hand and Harry – looking quite mortified – followed. He pulled his room key out as you were closing the door, about to run down the corridor for Alessandro’s room when you felt a hand around your wrist. Harry pulled you back toward him, pressing his lips against yours. You both smiled into the kiss, feeling absolutely elated and still not sure how to process what had just happened.

“Hurry.” Harry mumbled against your lips before kissing you again. “I’ll be waiting with that morning after pill.”

“Good.”

Harry smiled. “Now, be off.”

You giggled, giving him one last peck before running down towards Alessandro.

Everything that happened between you and Harry over the last 30 months had culminated to this point; you rushing out of the room after sharing an unexpected, intimate morning together. Looking back on it, you knew that each longing look you gave him had a hidden meaning behind it. You wanted this. Maybe not right away, but the more you got to know Harry, the more you wanted to be more than just his tailor. There had always been more between the two fo you, you just had not figured it out till now.

The way he watched you with admiration while you worked, gave you praises when you were feeling down - quite literally shouting them from the streets - and spoke to you in a way that had your mind in the clouds, it all slowly built over time.

It built until you couldn’t handle it any longer and needed to show Harry just how deeply you were falling for him.

Knocking on Alessandro’s door you quickly tired to fix your hair, aware that you looked like a right mess. Because of your morning antics and inability to keep track of time, you hadn’t given your appearance a single thought. Once Alessandro opened the door, his eyes widened as he saw you standing there panting and looking distressed, instant regret hit you for not at least brushing through your hair. Alessandro would know something had happened, having known you for so long, he’d see right through you.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Yes, of course.”

Alessandro smiled knowingly, nodding his head as he let you in. You just raised your eyebrows, but Alessandro didn’t make another comment. You’d told him enough.

“I stopped by Harry’s room last night, wanted to congratulate him on the show and how well he did, but he wasn’t in. Any idea where he was?”

“Nope. None. Maybe he was having a wee.”

Alessandro nodded again, walking over to sit down by the table in his suite along with his event manager, head stylist, and fabric coordinator. Tons of sketches of new outfits and plans for upcoming events laid out on the table, ready to be discussed. You sat down with them, ready to take notes. You had already been a little late, so you didn’t want to do anything else wrong today. Full on concentrating, you didn’t take your eyes off the laptop for almost 30 minutes, and when you did, it was to check your phone. You’d gotten two text messages, both from Harry.

Harry Don’t forget my yellow trousers. They’re my favourite pair. x

Harry Had an amazing time this morning, by the way. Can’t wait to see you later. x

You couldn’t help the smile that spread out over your face at the messages, and you didn’t realise just how wide your smile was till Alessandro cleared his throat beside you. You looked up, turning your phone around and looking right back at your laptop as if nothing had happened.

“What’s got you smiling?” Alessandro questioned, raising his eyebrows.

“Hmm? Nothing.” You answered, trying to refocus on the document before you.

Alessandro looked down at your phone, smiled, and went on with the meeting. There would be no hiding what happened between you and Harry. Somehow, someway, the man sitting before you would hear how his ‘two prodigies’ had finally gotten together, and when that day happened, you’d never hear the end of it. Hell, he constantly reminded you that without him, the two of you would have likely never met so it was his doing that you had a best friend in Harry.

So what was he to say when he found out you and Harry were now more than friends?

#harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #harry styles fanfic #harry styles blurb #harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #harry styles imagines #harry styles fan fic #harry styles fan fiction #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles one shots #harry styles blurbs #1dff

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thewildsophia · 5 years ago

Text

.Art Project. Clone High//Van Gogh x Reader

Van Gogh x Reader

Word Count: 2564

~~~~~~~~~~

No matter how hard you tried, you just couldn’t get the thought of the tiny Dutch artist out of your head. You weren’t even sure what about him it was that caught your attention. Perhaps it was his orange hair that almost looks red in the right lighting, or maybe his pale skin that mirrored the white bandages that you know he changes everyday (you also loved how his face would blossom with this gorgeous shade of orange-pink when he was complimented), or maybe it was just his hands. Yeah that was it. His hands, petite and delicate, that could paint such beautiful, exquisite paintings that told of many different things.

God you felt like such a creep.

But you couldn’t help it. You were absolutely infatuated, -- no, that’s not quite right -- obsessed with him.

And the worst part about it all was that the two of you have barely had any real interactions with each other. The last time the two of you had really talked was when you were assigned an art project with him. It was a collaborative project where you two were given a piece of art and two canvases and you would paint half the artwork on each canvas using styles and colors that were different, but still complimented the other half.

You two had received the artwork The Kiss by Gustav Klimt, with you painting the man and Van Gogh painting the woman. You had used cooler colors -- blues, greens, grays and purples -- while Van Gogh used warmer ones -- reds, yellows, oranges and whites. You had focused most of the detail on the man, leaving the background somewhat barren with Van Gogh doing the opposite, focusing on the background and less on the woman.

It had actually turned out really well and the two of you had received a perfect grade, but what you liked the most about the whole thing was how much time you got to spend with him.

You worked with him for a whole week and when the deadline was coming up he invited you to his dorm to finish it. You actually found it quite funny how much his room looked like The Bedroom, but you weren’t surprised.

If you really thought about it, it was probably the second day when you started to become fascinated by him. The sketches had been completed and you two had just started painting. No matter how hard you tried, you just couldn’t focus on your piece, intrigued by his painting. His strokes were quick, decisive, like he knew exactly what he wanted. It was difficult not to stare as he painted and you had barely gotten any work done that day. And he quickly picked up on your distracted state.

“Is something the matter?” God that voice sounded just perfect to you. It was deep, but not too deep, and somewhat raspy, like he had a slight cold. You could listen to that voice for hours.

“Y/N? Are you alright?” You remember him asking.

“Yeah.” You had answered, “I’ve just never seen you paint before. It’s beautiful.” After those words had left your mouth, that beautiful peach color blessed his pale skin and he looked away with a bashful smile.

“I-Thank you.” He had stuttered and it was probably the cutest thing you had ever heard. You wanted to get him to do that more often. After that the two of you continued to work on your project with the occasional chatter between you.

When the two of you had finished, you didn’t really talk to the other. You’d wave to each other in the hallways while transitioning classes or offer a quiet “Hey” when entering Painting II. What you did find a bit strange is that if you show up first, he’ll sit at the same table as you and vice-versa, and neither of you seemed to mind it.

Actually, it kind of worked to your advantage.

You really couldn’t help yourself and often found yourself drawing Van Gogh in your sketchbook, ranging from basic sketches to full on ink pieces (of course you’d ink them when you got back to your dorm). It’s actually gotten so bad lately that you now have completed paintings of him, whether it be acrylic, watercolor, oil, gouache, you name it and you probably have it.

You were actually about half way through painting another piece of him, although you didn’t like this one as much as some of the others since he looked a bit too feminine. While painting, you heard a knock at your dorm’s door. You quickly looked at the clock hanging on the wall opposite of a window.

“It’s almost 10pm, why the hell is someone coming up here?” You thought before getting up and looking out the peephole in your door only to be greeted with nothing. You grumbled to yourself while opening the door just to make sure no one left something for you.

Upon opening the door, you’re greeted with none other than the clone of Vincent Van Gogh himself, canvas and set of acrylics pinned at his side. You felt yourself straighten as you greeted him.

“Oh-Hey. It’s almost 10, are you alright? You need something?” You asked watching him shift his stance before answering,

“Yeah, I’m fine. Sorry for coming by so late, I just needed a bit of help with the portrait project and you’re the only person I really felt comfortable coming to.” He admitted, rubbing the back of his. You felt your heart stutter at hearing that.

“It’s alright, what did you need help with specifically?” You asked leaning onto the door frame.

“I’m having trouble with making a background that works with the subject.” He said. Weird. Backgrounds are usually his speciality. “Um, may I come in?” He asked. Your eyes widen slightly with realization of you forgetting to let him hit you.

“Of course! Sorry.” You apologized sheepishly, moving out of the way to let him in.

“It’s fine.” He said. You closed the door before quickly jogging over to your desk, grabbing the still wet painting and placing it against the wall opposite the door, facing towards said wall. You cleared a spot on your desk for him to place his things.

“Alright, let’s see what you got so far.” You said looking over his painting.

You talked to him for about 15 minutes about how he could improve what he currently had before you got up to grab you painting to show him what you had done.

“That’s Frida Kahlo, right? If I remember correctly she’s from Mexican descent, so I would use brighter colors like greens, pinks and yellows.” You said while rustling with the huge stack of paintings you had looking for it. “I had gotten Aaron Douglas, so I stuck with more desaturated colors and focused less on details and more on the silhouettes of the subjects.” Once grabbing the painting you returned to Van Gogh, placing the painting onto the desk next to his.

Only…That wasn’t the right painting.

Nope, instead it was one of Van Gogh, specifically the one of him you had finished a few weeks ago of him looking at himself in a full-body mirror while painting a self portrait. You grabbed the painting, pressing it against your chest the moment you realized it was the wrong one. You stared at him a moment before turning around and scrounging around in the pile again for the right painting.

“Y/N-” Van Gogh started, but you weren’t gonna let him finish.

“Just! Give me a second.” You said, searching a bit faster. God seemed to be against you that night because when you started to look for it faster the whole stack fell and, of course, with it came the majority of paintings you had made of him. And…the painting of Douglas.

You stood there a moment, feeling the sweat gather at your forehead and back of your neck. You grabbed the painting of Douglas before stacking all the other ones up. You turned back around, slowly walking back over to the desk and putting the right painting next to his.

“So, um, like I was saying earlier…” But your voice died in your throat when you heard him speak.

“Y/N.” He said firmly. You felt yourself swallow thickly before looking over at him. “Come with me.”

And you did. You really didn’t feel like arguing with him after what had just happened. He led you to his dorm room on the 3rd floor, unlocking it and gesturing for you to step in. You did before he closed the door and walked over to the corner of his room. He pulled out a bundle of canvas, separating them from each other.

“You know, for the longest time I felt like such a creep doing this so often, but after seeing what you’ve been doing, I feel a lot less like one.” He said while revealing the paintings to you.

They were of you. They were all of you.

You felt your heart leap out of your chest as your eyes laid on the paintings. They were all different from the last, varying in size, color, style, much like your own.

“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you ever since we were assigned that project together, ever since…you said that about my painting.” He started, “At first you were just a passing thought, but as time went on, you started to plague my mind more and more often to the point where I couldn’t get you off my mind.” He finished, that stunning peach color returning to his cheeks.

You walked over to where he had the paintings spread out over his bed, running your fingers over the texture in the dried paint.

“Oh, Van Gogh, these are…” You started, still stunned about everything.

“Not my best work, I know.” He said scratching the back of his neck, “It was a bit difficult painting you without having you here to reference.” He admitted.

“No, Van Gogh, these are beautiful.” You said stroking your cheek, “And not just because they’re of me.” You added with a laugh, to which Van Gogh also let out a chuckle.

The room then when quiet, neither of you having the courage to speak up until you decided the silence had lasted enough.

“I don’t know what it is about you,” You started, “But you’ve captured my interest, and ever since I got to watch you paint that day I also haven’t been able to get you out of my head.” You paused, breathing in deeply. Well, it’s now or never you suppose.

“Everytime I think of you, I can physically feel my chest tighten and I feel almost like I’m going to be sick, but in a good way.” You tried to explain, not meeting his light blue eyes once. “I’m not sure if this is what love is supposed to feel like, since I’ve never really been in love before, but…I know that I do like you. Like…really like you and…God, I don’t know what I’m saying; I’ve probably said too much.” You finish with a nervous chuckle.

“No,” You heard him say, “You said just enough.” He grabbed your hand, making you look down at him.

“I’ve…I’ve never really been in love before either, but…I do know that I really enjoy being with you, even if we’re not talking to each other. Just being around you makes me happy. Hell, the whole point of me seeing you this late was just to see you.” Van Gogh looked up at you briefly before looking down at the ground. “Ah, I’m rambling. Look, my point is that I don’t know what it’s like to love someone, but I do know what it’s like to really like someone, and…I really like you.” He finishes, looking back up at you only to notice the glassiness of tears that clouded you e/c eyes.

“Oh, no, wait don’t start crying.” You heard him say, but you couldn’t stop the flow of tears that warmed your cheeks every so slightly. You collapsed onto your knees, embracing Van Gogh, soon feeling his arms wrap around you and the wetness of tears on the back of your shirt. You hugged him harder when you heard a sob rip from his chest, trying your best not to start sobbing yourself. After all, you didn’t look the most elegant when you cried.

The two of you stayed like that for what felt like hours before finally pulling away from the other. You looked him in the eyes, rubbing away some of the stray tears that still remained on his cheeks. He returned the favor.

“All this time,” he started, “I was so scared to tell you how I felt about you. Hell, I was scared to talk to you at all. I was so worried that I would mess things up between us that I decided to just stay silent.” He paused, sighing. “It’s…difficult for me to connect with people so…I don’t have many good friends. I didn’t want to ruin what we had.”

“I was scared too,” You admitted, “In all honesty, I wasn’t sure if you even wanted to talk to me after we finished the project. I like being around you, so I was okay with just sitting near you in art.” You ran your hand through his orange hair, being mindful of his bandages.

“I guess we're both kinda creeps.” You say after a minute. He smiles with a chuckle.

“Yeah.” He whispers, “I guess we are.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Extended Ending:

You let go of Van Gogh, allowing him to clear his bed and put the paintings away. He straightened his bed out, looking over at his own clock that read quarter til midnight. He turned to you, peach dusting his pale cheeks.

“Would you, um…” He stuttered, “Would you like to spend the night? I don’t mean like, you know, but just…sleep. It’s late, we have class in the morning and it’s a bit of a walk to your dorm.” He finished, gesturing to his bed. You blushed before smiling.

“I’d love to.” You answered. He smiled before opening the covers, patting the open space.

“Great! I-Um, I’ll get the lights.” He said, walking past you. You took your shoes off before climbing into his bed, moving all the way over to one side. He turned the light off, the room only being visible because of the moonlight coming through the curtains. You felt the bed shift, assuming Van Gogh had gotten in the bed with you.

For a while, you both laid there stiffly, painfully aware of the other’s presence. You felt his eyes on you for a while before he spoke.

“Um…would it be alright if I…” He said, scooting closer to you. You did the same, until the two of you met in the center. You turned your body towards his and he did the same. The two of you simply stared at the other for a moment before he wrapped his arms around your neck. You, in turn, wrapped your arms around his waist, resting your chin upon his head. He pressed his face into your collar and you shuttered as you felt his breath on your neck.

“This,” he started, “This is…” Leaving you to finish his sentence.

“Nice.”

#clonehigh #clone high #clone high van gogh #vincent van gogh #clone high vincent van gogh #van gogh x reader #clone high x reader #vincent van gogh x reader #clone high van gogh x reader #thewildsophia writes

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imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl · 4 years ago

Text

White Lies (Pt. 05 of 21)

Pairing: Keanu Reeves X Reader

Word count: 2.4 K

Summary: Keanu found the girl almost dead, in the wrecks of what was once her car. While she was in surgery, stuck in a coma, he gathered the best doctors of New York to attend to her. They told him she is likely to have some kind of brain damage, what may lead to memory loss. And this possibility added up wit the fact that she's pregnant, made the council come up with an odd idea. They asked Keanu to pretend to be her husband, since the stress of finding out everything that happened could put the baby in danger. He reluctantly agreed, but only if she does has some kind of memory loss. He still goes she'll wake up soon, with her memories intact.

But when you finally wake up, there's nothing inside. You're quick to find your head is empty, void, like a blank canvas. The only thing that brings you some relief, that makes you feel less lonely is the mention of a husband. And you can't wait to meet him, because you know you can't deal with this by yourself.

<- Previous part (04)

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{Keanu Reeves Masterlist}

{John Wick Masterlist}

Everything She Needs

Many tears cloud your sight when you see it. The cold gel doesn't even bother you anymore. With a bright smile on your lips, you squeeze Keanu's hand. The baby is just a tiny little thing, and you would never find it if it wasn't for the doctor.

“It's our baby.” You whisper, looking at Keanu. He has a small smile too, eyes on the screen.

“Well, we're done here.” The woman says, turning the equipment off and wiping the gel off you.

You're in the middle of week seven, and doctor Amanda Williams suggests a magazine so you can keep up with the development of the baby.

Keanu quickly signs up for the digital version and buys an e-book that explains week by week what happens with both the baby and your body. You're reading it on your new phone since the old one was destroyed in the accident, as Keanu drives you back home.

“On week seven, the baby is the size of a grape.” You read out loud, the tone of your voice raising a little on the last word. “So tiny.” Glancing at Keanu, you furrow your eyebrows. “We found about the pregnancy very early. The doctor said people usually find out around week six. We knew it back on week two.”

He takes a deep breath, eyes focused on the road. “We were planning it so when your period was just a little late, you decided to buy a test and it was positive.” Keanu sounds a little odd, and it makes you look away, reading the e-book to yourself.

Keanu has been weird since last week, but you've been in and out of the hospital, so you didn't have time to talk. Once you get home, you excuse yourself to take a shower, lingering in your bedroom for a while, lying down with a hand on your stomach. It has become a habit, and you've been starting to talk more with the baby too.

A few moments later you head downstairs, finding Keanu on the couch, watching TV. Shyly, you walk over to him, standing beside the couch. It doesn't take much until he notices you.

“What are you watching?”

“The news.” He answers, gesturing for you to sit down, and so you do.

But the silence is uncomfortable, and you don't understand why. You want to ask, but it feels like there's a huge wall separating both of you. It hits you suddenly that it maybe be some kind of crisis. Is it how your marriage ends? Because of you and a stupid accident? Taking one of the pillows, you hug it, breathing deeply and running a hand through your hair.

“Do you want to watch something?” Keanu suddenly asks, breaking the ice. Giving him a look, you nod. “Tell me what.”

“Uhm...” Sitting up straight, you can't help but feel a little better that he's talking to you. “What about that assassin movie you told me about?”

“Alright.” Keanu searches through his phone, and a few moments later he plays the movie on the TV.

Focusing on the film, you can't help but cry a little when some assholes kill the puppy. You try not to let him notice as you wipe some tears away. It's uncertain if the crying is just about the dog or if it's mixed up with everything else. The accident, the situation itself, and Keanu's weird behavior. The hormones are probably adding up too, so you fully crying in no time, watching as John Wick buries the dog in his garden.

“Are you alright?” Keanu asks, and you silently shake your head, eyes still on the screen. “If you're feeling bad we can–”

“I-I'm alright.” Clearing your throat, you try not to be bitter about it. He probably has a lot in his head, that's all. “It's just the dog.”

He nods, and you move away from him just a little. If he needs space, you will give it to him. But the movie takes you over bit by bit, and you're at the edge of your seat by the end, only relaxing when the credits start rolling. You were planning on letting him be, but the movie got you a little excited.

“That was amazing.” You exclaim, turning your body towards him. “You're absolutely awesome and I'm so glad he got Iosef.”

“I'm happy you enjoyed it.”

“Yeah... And you still keep the look.” With a small smile, you gesture at his hair and beard, pretty much the same he had on when playing John Wick. “I really like it.” You decide to say, hoping the low light, since the night is falling, will hide your blushing cheeks.

“That's why I keep it,” Keanu answers, the credits still rolling on the screen.

You lock eyes with him for a while, and you wait for him to look away, but he doesn't. Biting your lip, you pull both your legs up. “What now?” You ask in a low voice.

“There are two other movies.”

“Let's watch them.”

As much as the second movie is great, you're tired, and the fact that you decided to lie down doesn't help. You stay in a half curled position so your feet won't touch Keanu. Sleep starts taking over, and your eyelids get heavy. As you usually do whenever you're almost falling asleep, you place a hand on your stomach, eyes already closed as you try to at least listen to what's going on in the movie. Taking a deep breath, you move almost involuntary, searching for Keanu's hand, pulling it to your belly. The warmth makes you sink a little more into sleep, but when he removes the hand, you're fully awake.

Pushing yourself back to a sitting position, you just decided you can't take it anymore. You need to know what's going on. So you ignore the movie for a while, grabbing his forearm to get his attention. When his dark eyes find you, you sigh. “What's going on?” Your voice is weak, a whisper, and you wonder if he even heard you.

But when he pauses the movie, you know he did. “What do you mean?”

Running a hand through your hair, you feel a lump in your throat. “You've been... Distant. I...” Biting your lip, you look down. “I know everything is screwed up and maybe I'm a stranger to you too since everything... Everything inside me vanished and the girl you fell in love with is gone in a way but I... I'm trying. I'm trying to make things right somehow. I'm trying to remember and–” A sob escapes your lips, followed by some tears. You're feeling lost again, and as much as you're struggling to get used to Keanu, to the fact that you're married to the man, you feel like he's not. He's keeping a distance as if you were nothing to each other. “–and sometimes I fall asleep with my head just about to explode because I'm just trying so hard.” That's something you didn't want him to know, but the words are just coming out. “And it's alright if you want a divorce or something, I already told you that, just... Just don't do that.”

“(Y/N), I–”

“No, please, let me talk.” Clearing your throat and getting up to your feet, you pace around a little, just to catch your breath and maybe the blood flowing will help you think. “I want you to enjoy the pregnancy as well. I know I was put into this crazy situation, married with a child on the way, but we planned this. And I do want you to be part of it, Keanu. So just tell me what you want to do. If you want to break apart, that's alright. I'll still let you be part of everything, b-but if you still love me somehow, let's just... Let's try, you and I. Because I want to, I...” Covering your face with both your hands, you break down again, face already soaked in tears, sobs shaking your body.

His heart broke. Seeing (Y/N) like that, because of him, destroyed Keanu on a whole other level. He was just trying to give her space, not to make things worse, not to touch her, the woman he had nothing with, not to invade her space. He had no idea what he was causing, and if he did, he'd have a totally different approach. Part of him was hoping her memories would come back. Dr. Wright said the longer it takes, smaller are the chances. In the past two weeks, it was critical. If she was to remember, she's doing that on the following days. But she didn't. And Keanu was once again lost in guilt, confused, caught in between the truth and (Y/N)'s truth. Two different things entirely.

And he messed up. He was hurting her, instead of taking care of her.

“I'm sorry.” He mumbles, taking her hand. She pulls away, but he doesn't let go. Her teary eyes meet his, tears still flowing out. “I'm trying not to make you uncomfortable. I can only imagine what it might be to have a man around, wanting to be intimate with you. I am your husband, but I'm just afraid that in your mind I'll be just a stranger trying to take advantage of you.” He speaks slow, thumb caressing her soft skin.

“But I want to try, Keanu.” She whimpers, eyes on the floor. “Or maybe we're just like this? We're a distant couple and I–”

“We're not.” Keanu stands up, hands cupping her face, trying to wipe off some of the tears that don't stop rolling down. He can't let her feel like this. He promised to be with her, and she feels alone. Left aside. This might be a lie to him, the dirtiest lie Keanu had ever told, but to (Y/N), is her life. “We're in love. I'm in love with you. And I'm sorry it came out the wrong way.”

“I... I was reading that book to you and the baby is the size of a grape, it's so tiny and you didn't even...” She makes a pause, taking a deep breath. “It was so interesting and I really wanted to share it with you but you didn't seem like you cared so I just read it all by myself and I know I sound like an idiot, but I want this. I want to try. I don't want to break up a marriage that made both of us happy just because of my stupid brain is a freaking void.” The words come out fast, and (Y/N) covers up her face again.

God, he doesn't even know what hurts more. (Y/N) being so desperate because of him, or him knowing everything she believes in is a forgery. Gently, he pulls her hands down once again. “I'm sorry if I led you to believe that I'm not interested in our child.” How much he wishes it was true. Keanu knows he has to be careful not to fall into his only deceit. “I am. And I have no intention of divorcing you, we're in this together, beautiful, and we'll face it together.” He keeps his voice soft, looking into her sad eyes, shining from the light coming from the paused movie. “Now stop crying, alright?”

She nods, putting a strand of hair behind her ears. “So we're good? I mean... I want to try, i-if you wait a little bit, I'll–”

“I'd wait forever,” Keanu assures her, pulling the girl into his arms, strongly embracing her smaller figure. “Why don't you read the e-book for me?” Sliding his hand in between their bodies, he caresses her belly with the back of his hand.

He'll do it. He'll be her husband, he'll be everything she needs as long as she's happy. As long as she keeps showing him that wonderful smile.

Feeling a little better, you make your way back to the couch after going upstairs to get your phone. Running a hand through your hair, you settle down next to Keanu, closer to him this time, your folded legs only an inch from touching his. You're still a little unsure if he really wants to do this, but you start anyways, clearing your throat. “On week seven the baby is the size of a grape... But I already said that...” Eyes scannig through the words, you try to find the parts you found more interesting.

“It is tiny.” He says, and when you look up, his eyes are already set on you.

“Yeah.” Blushing a little, you focus on the cellphone screen again. “A delicate network of nerves starts spreading through the baby's body, and they will start to make constant little motions. Soon they'll be able to feel sensations like temperature and taste.”

“So they'll start moving.” He says, his giant hand laying on your stomach. “When will they start to kick?”

“Around twenty weeks. So it'll be a while until that.” Going through the pages, you sigh. “It says that I'll feel thirsty more often and that I should do some exercise.”

“We could walk around the condo every morning,” Keanu suggests and you put the phone away, throwing it behind your back.

“I'd like that.” You agree, shyly nodding.

“I–” He's interrupted by his phone beeping, signaling a text arrived. Or plenty, because it keeps beeping non-stop. He furrows his eyes and picks it from the coffee table, eyes moving through the screen.

“Something happened?”

“Lucia Davis.” He says, typing something down before looking back at you. Keanu seems worried suddenly, a little restless. “She... She was friends with your mother and she's coming to visit you next week.”

“That's good.”

“It is.”

“Then why do you look so... Troubled?” Moving a little closer, you touch his shoulder.

“I'm just worried it'll be too much for you. You just told me you're going to sleep with terrible headaches and I don't want anyone else who'll push you too hard.”

With a small smile on your lips, you decide to be a little brave, moving to place a quick kiss on his cheek. “Thank you for worrying about me. But I'm fine, and if I'm not I'll let you know, I promise.”

He smiles too, caressing your chin with his index finger. “Alright. Now keep reading, there's still a lot we need to learn about our baby.”

@multific @inumorph @aestheticallywinchester @bvbwestfall @liviiii98 @allie1804-fan @gian-giannina @playboygeniusphilanthropist @partypoison00 @mariafetamina @fortheloveoffanfic @trin303

#keanu reeves x reader #keanu reeves imagine #keanu reeves fanfiction #keanu reeves fanfic #keanu reeves #imagine keanu reeves #john wick imagine #john wick fanfiction #john wick x reader

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anniesocsandgeneralstore · 4 years ago

Text

Normal Love and Superheroes: Two - my city

Summary: Leena gets a meeting with the Bruce Wayne himself and a call from John Blake.

Pairing: John Blake x OFC (Leena Duckett)

Word Count: 3.1k

Warnings: none I think...characters discuss Sexy Times and getting drunk but like that’s it I suppose

“Why the heck would he want a private tour with me? He asked for me specifically?”

“Look that’s what he said over the phone, Leena.”

“But did he say why?”

“I’m so terribly sorry I didn’t take the time to ask Bruce frickin’ Wayne, one of the biggest patrons of the gallery, why he asked for a tour from you specifically.”

Leena blushed. “Sorry, Adeline. I just…”

“Don’t worry about it.” The blonde sitting behind the welcome desk smiled with a closed mouth. “I’d react the same way if I were in your shoes. A whole hour or more with Bruce Wayne….”

Another tour guide jogged up to the front desk from the bowels of the gallery. Leena turned and watched her approach. Phoebe had a look of conspiracy and impression on her long face. She came to a halt beside Leena and elbowed her in the side.

“So are you gonna take Mr. Wayne into one of the more….Private rooms of the gallery?” Phoebe asked with a wicked smile.

Leena rolled her eyes, but couldn’t help the hot feeling that was spreading from her neck into her face. It was no secret about Gotham that Bruce Wayne, billionaire playboy, was extremely attractive and constantly single. She saw the tabloid covers as she stood in line at the grocery store. She even ran into him outside of a restaurant one time. But his sexual promiscuity was not what bothered her about giving him a private tour. It was more the fact that he was Bruce Wayne, billionaire enigma businessman that seemed to have intimidation come out of his very pores. Who was she to be giving him a tour of the galleries that he often bought from? A no-name artist who worked two jobs, one of which she hated, to make ends meet? That didn’t sound like the kind of girl that should be giving a Wayne tours of anything.

“No I will not, Phoebe, Jesus!” Leena laughed.

“Oh, come on, have you seen him? Plus, you know he’d be open to it. He’s slept with every hot girl in Gotham and beyond.”

“Just cause he’s slept around doesn’t mean he’d be open to swapping spit in a broom closet with a random gallery tour guide.” Leena rolled her eyes. “Maybe he wants just a normal day out. Like anyone else.”

“God, you’re no fun,” Phoebe groaned.

“I think we know from after hours drinks just how fun Leena can be,” Adeline, the front desk girl, pitched in.

Leena rolled her eyes again and smirked. She always told herself, after those nights out, that she would never fall into the temptation of going again. She always got way too drunk, being a lightweight that fell very easily under peer pressure. And because she always got way too drunk, she always ended up doing something she regretted. Like dancing on top of a table, kissing some random person in the dark corner of the bar they frequented, or possibly recreating dance scenes from Chicago with very little success.

“Please stop,” Leena begged with a red face.

“Excuse me ladies.” An older gentleman with an English accent approached the front desk. He looked very nice in a dark suit with white thinning hair. “I’m here for my tour of the gallery.”

“Of course, what’s the name attached to the tour?” Adeline asked.

Phoebe squeezed Leena’s arm and wiggled her eyebrows before she trotted off, back into the gallery. And Leena was about to do the same, but —

“Bruce Wayne. I run his house and am looking for some new work to be put up. I believe I set aside a tour guide already?” the old man said.

“Oh, yes, you did.” Adeline typed on the computer for a moment, giving Leena a bit of side-eye as she did so. “You’ll be touring with Ms. Duckett.”

Leena let out a breath. A sudden wash of relief and disappointment running through her. She knew that the gallery was the place for many of Gotham’s most elite families to buy art for their various homes throughout the world. Rich folk wanting to support local artists. But she had never given a tour to any actual members of those families. It was always the butlers, the house runners, the managers, the publicists even. But they always state that it is the butler or the house runner coming to assess new pieces that have been put up. So when Bruce Wayne’s actual name was logged into the system, Leena really thought it was going to be him walking through the halls of their gallery. Really laying his eyes on the art and choosing it for himself rather than someone else choosing it for him and barely even noticing that it was hung in his manor. The disappointment didn’t last long, however.

Leena stepped towards the old man with a smile. “And I am Ms. Duckett. A pleasure to meet you…”

“Alfred, miss.” He held out his hand and she shook it.

“Well, right this way, Alfred.” She gestured for them to enter the gallery and she began to lead. “We’ll start with our glassworks suite — “

They entered the first room of the gallery. The Shefield Gallery was extensive, housing several different mediums of art from a variety of artists. Pure white walls to off balance the bright pops of color that the artwork created, heightening the customer intrigue. In this first room there were at least fourteen pedestals strewn about the room, each one holding a different piece of glass artwork. Leena liked to look at glasswork, but would probably never attempt creating any herself. Molten glass just seemed a little too dangerous for her taste.

“Actually, sorry to be a bother, but I was hoping to look at something specific on this trip.” Alfred pulled a piece of paper from his suit jacket pocket. He unfolded it and handed it to Leena. “A piece specifically requested by Master Wayne.”

Leena stopped them and took the piece of paper with raised brows. It was a print out from the gallery’s website. Her eyes widened.

That was her painting. Put up in the employee suite of the gallery after much begging and finally the curator taking pity on her for being a slightly hungry artist.

She looked back up at Alfred to see him smiling at her. She quickly regained herself and asked, “Um — are you sure it’s this one that Mr. Wayne wants?”

“Yes. That’s the one.”

With a resigned nod and a thick swallow, Leena led Alfred to the employee suite. She could feel her fingers going numb. Bruce Wayne wanted her painting? Really? He asked for it specifically? She was sure that the old man had to be lying to her for her benefit. Playing some sort of weird joke that ended with her humiliated and a playboy billionaire laughing at the footage of her misfortune. Or maybe there was no farce and the man really did like her painting so much he wanted to buy it and hang it in his home. Leena rubbed at her neck. He would be the first person to ever like her work enough to do so.

They came to the employee suite and Leena stopped them in front of the painting in question. She put her head down as Alfred looked at it. His thin lips were quirked up in a small smile but she couldn’t tell if that was a good or bad thing.

“Pick your head up, miss,” he said, “I know you painted this.”

“Is that why you asked for me for your tour?” Leena asked.

“It is indeed.” His smile widened. “Master Wayne wanted me to see what kind of person could paint something like that.”

He pointed to the canvas and Leena furrowed her brows. She turned to the painting herself. Was there some vulgar message she, the artist, had missed? No. She couldn’t see it. All she saw was a portrait of Gotham at night. Done in oil paints on a medium sized canvas, Leena had always been told she leaned too far into her impressionist influences. But she couldn’t help it. Ordinary subject matter with a heightened sense of romanticism and color was something that Leena was just drawn too. The painting was Gotham at night, looking out over the skyline with the lights from the offices and apartments shining brightly, as if the viewer were looking down from the highest story of some building or other. In the glowing rooms in the foreground, people could be seen. Families, tired office workers, friends getting together.

She had titled the painting My City.

“I’m not sure I understand what you mean,” she said, turning back to Alfred.

“Master Wayne sees Gotham as a dark place — a place full of hate, injustice, and cruelty,” Alfred said.

Leena pulled a face. “While I will not disagree with Mr. Wayne — Gotham is full of the worst kinds of things — but it is also still worth saving. And loving. And living in if only to save it and love it more.”

Alfred smiled, a soft and knowing thing that made Leena’s eyes narrow.

“And Master Wayne would agree with that sentiment as well.” He turned to the painting again, hands clasped behind his back. “Which is why he was drawn to your work so much. You share similar views on a city that many have lost faith in — a rare find, especially in art form.”

Leena was puzzled. Bruce Wayne grew up in Gotham, just like she did. But they saw completely different sides of Gotham. Wayne saw only the elite, the rich, the famous side. The side that lived in penthouse suites, owned entire blocks of buildings, and could afford to eat at those fancy restaurants downtown. The faces of Gotham City. While Leena saw the hands and feet, the workers and the heart and soul of Gotham. The side that worked fifty hour weeks, lived in the slums, and had to cut up and burn their own furniture to keep warm. Gotham wasn’t worth saving because of the side that Bruce Wayne saw, that made it worth damnation. Gotham was worth saving because of what Leena saw.

“Um — well — uh — I…I don’t really know what to say. I wish I could tell Mr. Wayne thank you in person.”

Alfred seemed to get an idea. “How about you deliver the painting in person to Wayne Manor? Tomorrow perhaps? You could thank him in person and he would get to meet the artist behind the painting that has captivated him for so long. That is, if you are free, of course.”

“Well, if he wanted to do that he could have come himself today.” Leena couldn’t stop the words before they came out of her mouth.

Her eyes widened as she stared at Alfred. God, she really needed to learn how to control her mouth. She could feel her neck heating up and her face paling all at the same time. Her face scrunched up as she closed her eyes. Maybe if she didn’t look at him he would just go away or she would just sink into the floor. Either option would spare her from the agonizing embarrassment ripping through her right now.

“I’m so — “

Alfred chuckled. He actually started laughing. A polite and somehow very British thing that had Leena’s eyes flying open.

“I couldn’t agree with you more, Ms. Duckett,” he chuckled out, “But Master Wayne has turned into a bit of a recluse as of late. And I really do think he would appreciate meeting you.”

Leena bit down hard on her lip. If it meant making the $500 the painting was priced at, she was willing to do anything honestly. Even it meant borrowing Jamie’s car and meeting the actual Bruce fricking Wayne himself. That was enough money to pay her half of the rent for the month and she only had to do one thing. Not work her ass off at two different jobs. Her need for the money more than outweighed her apprehensions about meeting a billionaire and talking to him about her art and her thoughts on Gotham.

“Alright. Tomorrow at three o’clock. Is that an okay time?”

“Oh, yes. Just in time for tea.”

_______________________________________________________________________

“Please could you stop the noise? I’m trying to get some rest,” Leena sang as she cleaned her paint brushes, “From all the unborn chicken voices in my head!”

She moved back to the canvas she had set up by the windows overlooking the city. Who knew getting a meeting with one of Gotham’s most influential men would give her inspiration for a new painting? The reference photo of Bruce Wayne was tacked into the corner of the canvas. She had gotten the idea on the train ride and subsequent bus ride back to her apartment when her shift at the gallery was over. Something about Bruce Wayne being a recluse and seeing the good in Gotham just gave her a spark of inspiration. A spark of inspiration to lesson her fears about meeting the man by painting him as a vigilante sasquatch.

It was at least making her feel better about the whole thing. Jamie had walked in from her own work shift with many questions about it. But Leena had only held up a finger for patience and put her headphones back in. Jamie knew what that meant. Her roommate had had a weird day and needed to vent through her art.

Leena continued to paint for some time. Lost in the music and the colors and shapes that flowed from her paintbrush. Leena’s mother had given her paints and paper when she was very little as a distracting craft while she tried to clean around the house. But her mother could not have known that that would have sparked a lifelong love for art and painting. A dedication to get better and better and find her own style. Winning contests, medals, and even studying art in college. Leena felt the most at home when she was painting. Felt the most herself when she had a brush in her hand and a vision in her head that just needed to be let out.

This was one of those ideas she just knew would consume her every waking, and possibly sleeping, thought until she got it out and onto the canvas. Vigilante sasquatch Bruce Wayne was going to camp out in her cerebral cortex until she had brought him to life. Trekking through the woods, covered in body hair, wearing a stupid bright red face mask. If he thought the city was so worth saving, then why didn’t he give money to the police department so they had the tools to catch the criminals loose on Gotham’s streets? Why didn’t he donate money to improve Gotham’s infrastructure, education, hospitals, mental health services, or literally anything else besides funneling money into his own company?

If she were to see him right now, she would have a piece of her mind to give him that was —

Her phone started vibrating in the pocket of her apron. Leena groaned. She had gotten into such a good groove, too. She pulled out her iPod first and paused her music. Then she flipped open her phone and held it up to her ear. She didn’t even bother to see who was calling. Her mother usually called around that time of day anyway.

“Hey, Mom, what’s up?” she asked as she pinched the phone between her cheek and shoulder.

“Uh — “ A distinctly male voice came through. “Sorry, this is John Blake. Were you expecting your mom to call you? Cause I can call back later.”

Oh, God. After realizing that, in her euphoria, she had forgotten to get his number, she had been waiting to hear from him for nearly two days.

“Oh, shit,” she said, quickly wiping her paint stained hands off on her apron, “Um, no — sorry. Sorry. I wasn’t — with my mom. I can talk now. Officer Blake — John. Officer Blake?”

At the mention of that name, Jamie peeked her head out from the gap in the curtains surrounding her bed with a look of pure interest on her face. Mouth open and her eyebrows raised as she looked across the room. Leena shooed her away with a wave of her hand and an uncontrollable smile.

“You can just call me John,” he laughed, “You getting around okay without the bike?”

“Uh, yeah. Taking the train and the bus — definitely throwing my budget out of whack but — that doesn’t matter…At all.” Leena glanced over at Jamie, still listening in, only to see her roommate roll her eyes.

When did she get so terrible at talking to men?

“Well, I have some good news for you.” Leena could feel her heart jump into her mouth, making her physically stand on tip toe and stare out the window as he continued to speak. “I found it. So — uh, where do you wanna go for our date?”

Leena squeezed her eyes shut, the smile on her face nearly hurting her cheeks as she tilted her head towards the ceiling. Was this really happening? After Jacob, she didn’t know if she would ever find anyone else. If she would be willing to put herself out there like that again. But with John, something felt different. He was safe, kind, and somehow she just knew that he would never hurt her like Jacob did. She twirled around once and she could hear Jamie whispering, asking what was going on. Leena ignored her roommate.

“How about Superdawg?”

Superdawg? Jamie mouthed with an unbelieving face.

“That hotdog place over by Robinson Park?”

“Uh, yeah.”

She heard him chuckle. “Sorry. I just suppose I expected you to pick something a bit more…I don’t know…”

“I’m not a fancy kind of girl, trust me.” Leena laughed. “We could eat and then maybe take a walk around the park or something? If that sounds good to you — I don’t — “

“No, that — that sounds great, actually. Honestly, kinda glad you didn’t pick something fancy.”

“Okay, cool.” Leena looked over at Jamie with raised brows and a wide smile. “Uh, what time?”

“Saturday — tomorrow at six? I can pick you up?”

“Yeah, that sounds great. I’ll see you then.”

“See you then, Leena.” She loved the sound of him saying her name. “Bye.”

“Bye.” She flipped her phone closed and turned to face Jamie with fists triumphant in the air. “I have a date! And I’m getting my bike back!”

#the dark knight rises #john blake #john blake imagine #john blake x reader #john blake x you #john blake x oc #dark knight #dark knight imagine #dark knight fic #dark knight fanfic #dark knight fanfiction #john blake fic #john blake fanfic #john blake fanfiction #joseph gordon levitt #jgl #nolan batman #dark knight trilogy

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jetsetlife138 · 5 years ago

Text

Imaginary - Chapter 4

Rating: Mature for this chapter, but Explicit in future chapters

Pairing: Alastor x Fem!Reader

Summary: A mysterious device throws you into the animated world of Hazbin Hotel. Once an average human living in a three-dimensional world, you’re now transformed into a two-dimensional human that has been cast into Hell. Pentagram City’s residents are curious and most harbor ill-will towards you. Charlie and the staff of the Happy Hotel take you in and offer you protection while they try and figure out how to return you to your world. That is… until you come across a certain Radio Demon with different intentions. Chapter Warnings: Suggestive language, explicit language

Previous Chapters: 1 - 2 - 3

Note: Just a reminder to my uninformed and curious folks out there: Asexuals can become aroused. Asexuals can have the desire to become aroused. Asexuals can enjoy being aroused. Asexuals can take steps to becoming aroused. Asexuals can be aroused by someone else. Asexuals can be curious about arousal. Asexuals can alternatively have no interest in arousal. Asexuality doesn’t mean that you are celibate and have no interest in sex. Do yourself a favor and do some research. Talk to your ace friends. Trust me, they’re more than happy to educate you on that subject. Brace yourselves for another fun-filled chapter!

Looking back, acting so aggressively towards the infamous demon was probably not the smartest plan. It may have been a bit premature to assume that he was making any kind of sexual advances towards you. After all, he never really confirmed that was his intention. You may have just dug yourself into an even deeper hole.

Then again… you wouldn’t put it past him considering how he carried himself and also by the way Angel Dust encouraged more illicit behavior. Even with the small amount of time that you had spent with him, it was obvious that the Radio Demon was an opportunist, and also a crafty bastard who got off on manipulating others for his own personal gain. You had wondered if there was a part of him that genuinely wanted to help Charlie with the hotel, or if he had any ulterior motives. Maybe Vaggie had the right idea about him after all.

Whatever the case, you had to be smart about this. You weren’t going to get anywhere by being so negative. However, it was also important to brace yourself for any impending threat, especially considering that you were, after all, in Hell. Cartoon or not, this place was filled with evil creatures, and you had to watch your back.

Taking a deep breath, you braced yourself to leave the safety of your room, equally curious and terrified of what would await you in this mysterious land. Stepping out into the hall, you took a moment to really look around, admiring the creepy hotel structure as well as the art on the wall. Painting of strange beings lined the halls in old, corroded frames. You weren’t sure if the creatures on the canvas were important historical figures, or if they were just members of Charlie’s family. Either way, they were haunting.

Hearing a commotion downstairs, you decided to go and investigate. Following the noises, you had eventually found yourself in a large room where Charlie, Vaggie, and Angel Dust were gathered together, bickering about something with an odd, furry cat demon who was positioned behind the bar next to them with an annoyed look on his face.

Upon seeing you enter, Charlie cut the conversation short, forcing a nervous grin. “Oh, hey there! How’s it going?”

Keeping your expression neutral, you replied, “I’m hanging in there, thanks. Am I interrupting something?”

“Not at all!” she assured you, clearly deflecting. “We were just, uh… discussing tactics to get you home. It would help if we had a little more to go off of. Can you tell us more about you?”

“Just ask Alastor,” Angel suggested, wiggling his eyebrows. “The two a them were gettin’ real familiar upstairs. I’m sure he’d be happy to fill you in.”

“Um. What?” Vaggie snapped, her expression equally enraged and horrified.

Glaring at the spider-demon, he merely blew a kiss at you in return before snickering fiendishly, eager to see how this would play out.

“He came to my room after the two of you left,” you admitted, noting the nervous glances between Charlie and Vaggie. “It wasn’t a big deal. We just talked.”

“Oh, honey,” Angel began. “You was doin’ a lot more than that. These walls talk, babe. And these walls told me they saw you two in bed together.”

Oh, fuck. Not good.

Charlie looked horrified while Vaggie seemed to be on the brink of a conniption. “No, no, no, it wasn’t like that,” you urged, putting them slightly at ease. “He was trying to help me.”

“How is being in bed together helpful to your cause?” Vaggie pressed, clearly not buying it.

“He did something to me… I’m not even sure. He said that he could help me and then he put his hand on my head. Next thing I know, I’m blacking out. I woke up later in the bed, and he just happened to be lying next to me. That’s it.”

Angel Dust rolled his eyes, crossing one set of his arms in disbelief while Vaggie pursed her lips in a disappointed manner. Charlie took a moment to find her words before she asked, “What exactly did he do to you?”

“Apparently, he could see inside my head. By looking through my memories he could see what my world looked like. I’m not sure how that’s beneficial. Maybe he just wanted to see if I was telling the truth. He didn’t say. He’s… weird.”

“That’s an understatement,” Vaggie murmured, earning a chuckle from the cat-demon behind the bar.

“Was that all?” Charlie inquired curiously.

“Yeah, toots. Was that all?” Angel teased, biting his lip to keep from laughing. Ugh, he was going to be the death of you.

“He tried to make a deal with me,” you finally divulged.

“Hijo de puta,” Vaggie seethed, baring her teeth in anger.

Swallowing thickly, Charlie asked, “What kind of deal?”

Shrugging your shoulders awkwardly, you replied, “If he succeeded in somehow returning me to my world, he wanted me to take him with me. I guess he thinks my world would be entertaining for him.”

You glanced at Angel, knowing that he was well aware of the other services that Alastor allegedly offered you. Pleading with your eyes, you hoped that he would take pity on you and keep his mouth shut just this once.

A smirk graced his lips as he considered your silent request. Much to your relief, he kept quiet. You’d probably pay for that later, but it was worth it to avoid more horrified expressions from the others.

Charlie wrung her hands together nervously while Vaggie approached you, worrying her lip. “Please tell me that you didn’t make a deal with him.”

“No!” you confirmed, shaking your head. “Of course not. I barely know him.”

“You gonna give her a history lesson? Looks like I’m not the only one around here who isn’t familiar with the Strawberry Pimp,” Angel drawled, now apparently bored of the topic.

Rolling her eyes, Vaggie sighed with exasperation. “Alright, look. No one knows how he’s accomplished so much since arriving in Hell. Overlords that have ruled Hell for centuries were no match against him. To prove his dominance and establish a reputation, Alastor pretty much massacred anyone who posed as a threat to his power. He broadcasted his carnage all throughout Hell, the mere savagery of his slaughters attesting to his abilities. That’s how he got his name, “The Radio Demon”. How original, right?” she jeered.

Furrowing your brows, you continued to listen intently. “It’s still unclear as to how he attained the power to overthrow our world’s most ancient and devastating evils, but it’s evident that he's a nefarious demon and dangerously unpredictable--capable of unimaginable destruction.”

Holy fuck. You knew he was dangerous, but you had no idea what he was actually capable of. And you had the audacity to berate him.

Struggling to keep from trembling, you asked, “So… if he’s so dangerous, why are you partnering with him?”

Charlie smiled timidly, trying to maintain her optimistic demeanor. “He offered his expertise because he supports what we’re trying to do here!”

“You cannot possibly believe that,” you countered skeptically.

“I don’t,” Vaggie barked back, scowling. “I want nothing to do with him.”

“Vaggie, come on,” Charlie implored. “We’ve been over this. We’ve got to at least give him a chance. Everyone is capable of redemption. He hasn’t done anything to hurt us or the hotel. He could be the best thing to happen to this place. Other than you,” she finished with a smile, earning a flirtatious eye roll from her girlfriend.

“You could always try commanding him to leave,” Angel taunted. “I’d like to see how Hell’s princess pairs up against Hell’s most powerful demon.”

It was then you remembered hearing her mention that she was a princess the day before when she had saved you from the mob. In all of the calamity, it had completely slipped your mind. “Wait, so you’re actually a princess?” you asked. “How does that work?”

“Jesus, you really are from another world, aren’t you?” Angel interjected, reaching for a drink at the bar. “Ever hear of Lucifer? The Big Bad of Hell?”

Nodding your head, Angel then pointed to Charlie. “That’s his kid.”

Your eyes were probably the size of baseballs as you stared at Charlie, completely at a loss for words. “It’s really not a big deal,” she assured you, her face flushed with embarrassment, which only added to her already rosy cheeks.

“Wait, you’ve been here for less than a day. How do you even know about Lucifer?” Vaggie questioned.

“I mean… I don’t know about your Lucifer,” you clarified, trying to find the right way to explain yourself. “In my world, Lucifer isn’t an actual person. He’s more of a myth, or a religious figure, depending on who you ask. There’s stories about him and no one knows if he actually existed. He’s always been portrayed as evil incarnate. He brought sin to the world and God cast him down into Hell. That’s the extent of my knowledge.”

“Interesting,” Vaggie commented, pressing a finger to her lips inquisitively. “Your world’s version of him isn’t too far off. Rest assured, he’s real. And he’s not really a fan of our business.”

“Yet,” Charlie corrected her.

“Yet,” Vaggie agreed, grinning slightly.

“Wow,” you huffed, trying to comprehend everything.

“I know that this is probably a lot for you to take in,” Charlie sympathized, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. “I can’t even imagine what you’re going through, but we’re going to help you. All of us.”

“Speak for yourself,” the cat-demon commented before taking a swig of his booze.

“Oh! I forgot to introduce you! This is Husk. He’s a friend of Alastor’s--”

“I ain’t his friend!” he barked back, seething. “That stupid son of a bitch dragged me in here outta nowhere! I’m just biding my time until the booze runs out.”

“Got it,” you acknowledged, thoroughly enjoying his callousness. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“I can’t say the same,” he grumbled, reaching for a new bottle of alcohol after pitching the old, empty bottle behind him.

Clapping her hands together, Charlie quickly changed the subject. “Right! Let’s get started! What can you tell us about how you got here?”

It was mostly a blur, but you tried your best to concentrate and remember exactly what had happened. “I was out with my friends and we had passed by this old thrift shop,” you began, trying to recall the details. “It wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. I was looking around and saw an old television set on display. It looked like it was at least fifty years old, still in prime condition. I love that kind of retro stuff. I remember grabbing the remote for the t.v. to see if it still worked. I pressed the power button, and bam!” You threw your hands up dramatically for affect. “That’s the last thing I remember.”

Charlie hummed in thought, looking to Vaggie for her input. “I’ve never heard of anything like that,” the moth-demon thought aloud. “Could it have been cursed?”

“That kind of stuff doesn’t exist in my world,” you countered. “Magic and curses and stuff… none of that is real. It’s all mythical.”

“If none a that stuff is real, how do you explain this place, sugartits?” Angel chimed in, cackling.

He wasn’t wrong. You weren’t sure how to explain your situation. “I… I don’t know,” you stammered. “Maybe magic is real. Or maybe it’s something other than magic. Of course, there’s always the very real possibility that I’m just insane and all of this is in my head.”

“Oh, no, my dear,” an eerily familiar voice resounded ominously throughout the room. “I’ve been in your head, and I can assure you… you’re as sane as I am.”

Everyone was looking around frantically, wondering where Alastor was hiding. Moments later, a shadow appeared on the floor close to your feet, causing you to jump back and yelp as it grew rapidly until the Radio Demon himself materialized next to you, grinning widely. You briefly caught the glares and nervous expressions from the others out of the corner of your eye as he loomed over you. Wincing at his misguided assurance, you replied, “Great. That doesn’t make me feel any better.”

“Ha! I do so enjoy your brazen disposition,” he jeered boisterously.

Your automatic response was to bite back with an aggressive jab, but after hearing what he was capable of, you instead avoided his gaze as you fought back the urge to antagonize him.

Immediately picking up on your hesitance, he carefully gauged your reaction as he stepped closer to you. “Now, now, darling. No need to muzzle yourself.” He then reached forward to place one of his slender fingers under your chin, tilting your face up to meet his. It took everything you had to remain still and maintain eye contact rather than smack his hand away.

Baring his teeth in a leering smile, his eyes morphed into intimidating red slits as he purred softly. “We are going to have so much fun.” Tags: @beetlewise-and-pennyjuice @edgy-drama-queen @chasingfireflies1999 @galaxy-meteor @cecidit-31 @shadowclawstudio88

#hazbin hotel #alastor #alastor x reader #alastor x you #hazbin alastor #radio demon #charlie magne #hazbin charlie #hazbin vaggie #hazbin angel dust #alastorxreader #alastorxyou #self insert #afab

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connorandersons-blog · 5 years ago

Text

Kinktober Day 3: Prostitution, RK1K

Markus/Connor! Enjoy!

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

Connor highly doubted this was legit, but the Mistress said it was, so he was going to go anyway. Some days it was hard to believe what he did for a living, but at this point, he tried to just focus on getting into character.

That's never been too hard before, even with the most outrageous demands. As long as they paid good enough and respected his terms then he'd do almost anything.

The hotel was the same as all the others he often visited. Actually, if his memory is correct (which it always is), he's been to this exact hotel seven times before. It was definitely more classy and he didn't even get odd looks from the staff, though they were sure to whisper about him and wonder who he was there for later.

That was fine, let them imagine him draped over some old fat white man that paid him in hundreds for a single night just to get slapped around a little. Those men were the easiest. Most predictable. They were dominant in their social lives and needs to be treated like shit every now and then.

He expected that for most of his clients. Some surprised him with their requests. It was always interesting when they wanted him to bottom. Sometimes that could be rather nice but there were also the men that made his skin crawl and need to take a very long hot shower after.

It wasn't just men who hired him either, there were plenty of women or people of other genders. Most of the feminine people who hired him wanted to dom him, which he gladly let happen.

He glanced down at his outfit, satisfied it was to his standards before unlocking the door and walking in. He had said there was no need to knock, so Connor didn't.

He was fully ready for some random rich dude posing as his client but was surprised to see that wasn't the case at all.

Markus Manfred, CEO of the largest paint store, and the CEO of a tech store standing in the hotel room, shirt off, and painting. It really was him. He was also painting. Which made sense but his brain was still trying to wrap around the fact that he'd have his legs wrapped around Markus Manfred tonight.

Best. Job. Ever.

He was a professional though, and he easily pulled himself together, swaying his hips as he walked in. "Mr. Manfred, you didn't need to get all dressed up for me." He says.

Manfred jumps and Connor has to contain an eye roll. Hadn't the dude heard the door open? He really hoped he wasn't going to be creepy. If he was then he'd get to bitch to Gavin about it, so there was that.

Manfred turned and eyed him. Connor stood there, hip out, and let him. He gladly soaked in the attention, ready to do a fucking twirl if Manfred wanted. "Uh, just Markus is fine…"

"Hello, Just Markus. I'm Connor, but you can give me a different one if you like. I'm partial to baby boy, or master depending on what you like." He added a wink at the end, but he had a feeling Manfred was more of a top. Hopefully, he had a big dick or a lot of stamina. Connor was lucky to be graced with both.

Markus nodded, holding out his hand. Connor raised an eyebrow but shook it, not too bothered about the paint that had gotten on him. "Right, hello Connor. Um, not to sound like a dick… but do I know you? I generally have a really good memory, but maybe I was drunk? I'm so sorry, I don't mean to offend you."

What? This was the right room, and definitely the right client. Maybe Markus wanted to play into this, but he seemed genuinely confused. What the hell was she supposed to do?! "I'm Connor, from Bees Love? You did set an appointment with me for the whole night."

Markus's eyes go wide and he face-palms. "I'm going to fucking kill North," he grumbled before dragging the hand down his face.

It's oddly adorable that Markus seemed to forget he had not-quite dried paint on his hands that were now on his face. "I'm so sorry, North said I needed to relax and sent me here. I thought it was just to get away and paint in peace. I'll still pay you, um, and tip? Do you take tips?"

This was actually happening. And it was the funniest damn thing that had happened all week, and he had gotten to sleep with a very famous comedian. He burst into laughter, not able to hold it in anymore.

"I'm so sorry, this is great!" He laughed, trying to take in air. "Yes, I do get tipped depending on how I do. Uh, I don't really have anywhere else to be. You sure you don't wanna sleep with me? I'm up for almost anything."

Markus was looking at him kinda funny. A look he hadn't seen in a very, very long time. No. Nope. Big nope. He was not going down that rabbit hole. "Ah, no? But not because you aren't beautiful! You are, very much so. If you weren't a prostitute I'd sleep with you. Wait, shit, I didn't mean it like that!"

Uh, so Markus was actually adorable. Too bad he wouldn't sleep with Connor. He'd probably be the best lay he's gotten all month. "No, it's fine. I understand. Could uh… can I stay though? I just wasn't planning on going back home tonight, I got a dog-sitter and everything. We won't do anything unless you want. I won't even talk." He was good at not talking, or talking. He could be good at basically anything if he needed to be.

Markus fidgeted and Connor was ready to be told to leave. This would most definitely be his shortest appointment ever. But Markus surprised him once again. "Sure. Do you like painting? I've got another canvas."

Connor shrugged and rolled up his sleeves. He could just get another shirt if this one got messy, it wasn't like he didn't have enough money. "Sure, I'm always willing to try something new. Makes the job easy."

Markus snorts and looks around before pulling out a medium-sized canvas. "I'm sure it does. Alright, so there are these paints you can use. Go wild, I've got plenty." Markus said, pointing then out before picking up his paintbrush.

He's never really painted and he had no idea what to do. Was he supposed to come up with an idea himself or maybe still life? It was called that, right?

"Hey, you don't have to. I'm gonna pay the whole thing and tip. If you don't wanna paint I'm sure I can find something else. Food? Uh, tv?" Markus says, looking around the rather large hotel room. "I think there's a hot tub, and a bathroom if you need it. Just do whatever you want."

Connor couldn't help the smirk. "What if I want to do you?" He watches as Markus's face flushed slightly. It was barely discernible but he could tell. Also how the fuck was this man so beautiful? It was completely unfair that he was so pretty.

"I- um, thank you? I just, I don't want to pressure you just because it's your job. I'd rather get to know you first? I just, I guess I really do need to relax but it would feel like I'm taking advantage of you." Markus shrugged, staring at the ground.

Of course, the one guy he fully wanted to sleep with, like would actually do anything, was giving him reasons he wouldn't. Yet it just made the want stronger. He hadn't felt this… whatever this feeling was in awhile. "Alright, well then we can get to know each other. Let's start off easy, who's North?"

"My best friend. We were high school sweethearts but little did North know she was hella gay, so we broke up at the start of college. We stayed close and I even introduced her to her wife." Markus smiled so fondly it almost hurt to see.

Would his friends smile like that when talking about Connor? Sure Gavin was friendly (in his own weird way and only after he made a complete ass of himself) but they weren't that close. The Mistress was his boss, and he'd like to think they were friends. Not like this though.

He knew so many people, had slept with so many, and knew secrets they'd never even tell their dogs, and yet no one he had like Markus had North. It never hurt so much before.

"Best friend," he said, clearing his throat. "So, I'm assuming you have more friends than just her then."

Markus nodded, the smile still on his face. "Yeah, Josh and Simon. I also used to date Simon but… things happened. The only one I haven't dated was Josh, but he's also straight so it's not like I even ever had the chance. I met Josh in college, he was a professor, and I met Simon through work."

Connor nodded, taking mental notes. "You seem really close." He tried to keep the bitterness out of his voice, but by the look, Markus was giving him, he failed.

"We are, but the situation pushed us together even more. If I wasn't supposed to be on my phone I'd text North to have them come over." He nodded towards the table where the phone was.

Markus was really making this too easy. "Oh? Well, that's technically extra but I'm always up for an orgy, haven't been in one in a while." He smiled, tilting his head.

"I- uh, no! No, I just, I didn't mean-" Markus rambled.

"It's fine, I'm fucking with you in the only way you'll let me. So, if I'm just going to hang out for the night, who do you want me to be? I can be innocent, sophisticated… lustful." He said, stepping closer to Markus.

Markus took a step back, shaking his head. "I just want you to be yourself. You don't have to do or say anything you don't want to, there's no pressure. You can even leave whenever you want without question."

Oh. Himself? No one ever wanted him to just be himself. Sure he was asked for slightly different versions of himself but nothing like this. Not when Markus actually meant it. "M-me? Just, um, myself?"

Markus nodded, smiling softly. "Yep, just you. You probably don't get a lot of time to do that, so feel free."

Hm, fine. He'd be himself. "Mind if I use the bathroom then?" He grabbed his bag, and at Markus's nod went to the bathroom.

He took off his lingerie, clothes, and contacts. Instead, he put on soft pajamas after taking a shower and put his glasses on. He didn't bother straightening his hair. If he was going to be himself then he was going to do it fully. He always kept these with him so he could slip into it after the job was done.

He walked out, shuffling slightly and looking anywhere than at Markus. He'd never let a client see him like this, but Markus wasn't actually a client. Not in the normal sense. "Uh, you sure this is ok?"

He finally looked up and felt like running back into the bathroom and putting his other clothes back on. Those always made him more confident, it was like putting on a mask. He felt more exposed like this than he ever did naked.

Markus made a small choking noise before trying to cover it with a cough. "Uh, yeah. You, yeah this is definitely fine."

Connor nodded and dug around his bag again before pulling out a book and sitting down on the bed crisscrossed. He was a little over halfway through, but he hadn't had as much time to read as he'd like.

"What are you reading?" Markus asks, going back to painting.

Connor looked up then back to his book, a real actually blush forming on his cheeks. "Oh, uh nothing you'd be interested in."

Markus turned slightly, raising an eyebrow. "Try me."

Connor chuckled, looking up at him through his lashes. "It's… it's a criminology book? I was thinking about trying to be a detective if I ever got tired of this, but even if I don't it still fascinates me. My adopted father is a Lieutenant at the local police."

It made him chuckle again when Markus's jaw dropped. No one would think his dad worked in law enforcement considering Connor's job. But in reality, Hank made sure he was safe and not pressured into anything. Plus Hank knew loopholes and even commented on how it should be legal so they can protect sex workers.

"I know, I know. He's actually really chill about it. Plus I make plenty of money so I can pay for college without going into debt." He had been putting away money for a while so he could live comfortably for the rest of his life.

Markus nodded, "that's actually a good idea. I'm sure you'd make an incredible detective considering how intelligent you must be to be this good at your current job."

"You really know a way to a man's heart." Connor chuckled and he meant it. Most people thought so lowly of escorts and prostitutes, saying they only did this because it was the only job they could do. When in reality you had to be quick on your feet and able to read people from just a glance.

Markus shook his head, but he was smiling. "I just say what is true. You can put music on if you want. I don't know how you normally read."

"Not in a fancy hotel with a man who won't sleep with me, that's for sure." Connor snarked before snapping his mouth closed.

His worry disappeared when Markus fully laughed. "Ah, that's true. As I said, it's not that I don't want you. I just don't want to push you into anything."

Connor sighed and leaned against the headboard. "I'm wounded, but I think I can survive."

They went back to their own activities barely interacting unless Connor came across a particularly interesting part or Markus asked for his opinion. It was actually really nice and he found himself relaxing more and more.

It wasn't like he had sex with every client. Some wanted him to be a date to an event, spend time with them for the week, or anything else. It wasn't always sex.

Yet even this was different. There were no expectations at all. It was completely freeing. It just made his want that much stronger. Huh, that was a new turn on.

It was late into the night when Connor started yawning. The soft sounds of Markus's brush strokes and Markus's humming was calming in a way he hadn't expected. He was warm and comfortable in the huge bed, and he was tempted to just fall asleep for the night.

"You can sleep here if you want. I can take the couch or get another room." Markus said, making Connor's head snapped up.

"Huh? Oh! No, no, no, it's ok. If anyone should take the couch it's me. You paid for the room, it's yours." He was most definitely not letting Markus take the couch.

"No! Seriously you expected certain things and I didn't deliver. The least I can do is offer the bed." Markus whipped his hands and turned to face Connor. God damn this man was gorgeous. Could he be any more perfect? Maybe he had a really small dick and absolutely no stamina to make up for everything else.

Connor huffed and closed his book. "Nope, not happening. The bed is big enough that we can easily share without bothering each other. I promise not to try anything." Just to show he scooted over and pat the bed.

Markus frowned and looked around. "I...ok. let me get washed up first." Connor nodded and watched him grab his clothes and then watched as he went into the bathroom.

The door closed and he let out a soft sigh, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. He didn't want this night to end. He knew it was a bad idea to actually connect with clients. Sure you can make semi-friends but never anything serious. Don't get attached. He knew if he let himself he'd get attached in some way. There was just a connection.

He jumped slightly when the door opened back up. Had he really been falling asleep?

He looked up at Markus and wanted to scream. The man was wearing fuzzy robot pajamas pants without a shirt. It was an odd combination of sexy and adorable as hell.

"Do you have a side you prefer?" Connor asked ready to move to whichever side was needed of him.

"Either is fine, wherever you're comfortable." Markus said, stretching his arms above his head.

Connor nodded and put his book to the side, taking his glasses off. He wiggles under the blankets, trying to get comfortable.

Markus walked around and climbed in. Like Connor had said, the bed was so huge that he'd have to reach out his whole arm to be able to touch him.

"Sleep well, Markus." Connor says, reaching to turn off the bedside lamp.

Markus did the same, and the room was flooded with darkness. "Sleep well, Connor."

He falls asleep much faster than normal. Perhaps it was that the bed was just more comfortable, or maybe it was the company.

When he woke up his back was pressed against something warm and soft. He knew it was Markus but he was still shocked.

What was even more shocking and definitely welcome was the warm hand under his shirt and the very obvious hardness pressing into him.

Markus was also most definitely asleep, and Connor sighed heavily. He was still half-asleep so it took even more in him to not press back. Markus definitely didn't have a small dick. Of course, he didn't.

The slow and even breath on his neck made him shiver and close his eyes for a second. Then the hand was moving down and he arched into it. "Markus I swear if you're awake I'll murder you." He whispered.

Markus sighed and moved his hips just slightly. Connor whined but tried to keep his voice down. This was so not fair.

He was getting hard and he pushed back just slightly. Fuck.

Maybe he could take care of himself without waking up Markus. Just get off then clean up. He could even leave right after so he wouldn't have to see how he'd react. He was off the clock so…

He reached down, gently teasing himself. He should just do this quickly. He didn't know how long until Markus would wake up.

The hand on him was so low but not low enough. It wasn't enough! "Fucking hell Markus," he whimpered.

He increased the pressure but still didn't pull himself out. Not yet. He wanted to savor this.

He tried to keep his noises down, keeping his hips still, and yet he kept pushing back. He wanted to touch Markus so bad. "Please. Please."

The hand on him stiffened and Connor froze. "Hm, Connor?" Markus says, his lips brushing against Connor's neck. Oh, that was not helping. Neither was Markus shifting against him, accidentally pulling him closer.

"Do-don't." Connor whined, squeezing his eyes closed. He didn't know what he was pleading for, but he just wanted to continue so bad.

"Shit! Uh, do you want me to leave? I'm so sorry." Markus said, trying to move away but Connor grabbed the arm.

"You can stay, please stay. I want you." He really did. He wanted him so bad. He took Markus's hand and pressed it against his stomach. "You don't have to do anything."

"Fuck." Markus muttered, his hips twitching forward. "Are you sure? I… I don't want to overstep."

Connor huffed rolling his eyes. "I don't wanna sleep with you just because it's my job, I want you to fuck me." He pressed back against him, sliding Markus's hand lower.

"I don't know… um," Markus said, shifting again. His breath was fast and warm against Connor's neck.

He wiggled his hips, pushing down his pants. He kept a hand over Markus's before taking himself and jumping slowly. "If, if you want to leave you can. But I will definitely not complain if you stay."

Markus pulled him close and he could feel him. Oh. Oh, Markus wasn't wearing underwear either. Fuck that was hot. "Ok. Ok, I'll stay."

Connor smiled and sped his hand up. "Yes! Yes, thank you." He babbled, tilting his head. He wanted Markus's lips on him. Thankfully Markus seemed to agree because soon Markus was pressing feather-light kisses to his neck.

"You're so beautiful." Markus mumbled, moving his hand down lower to cover Connor's as he stroked himself.

Connor bucked his hips, trying to get more. It wasn't enough. He needed more. "Markus, please."

Markus nodded and pulled his own pants down, freely rubbing himself against Connor. "I've got you. What do you need, baby?"

Oh, that was good. That was delicious. "You. Anything you want. I just need more."

Markus pressed hot kisses down his neck, nipping just slightly. Not enough to leave marks but it made him whine. "Are you sure? Connor… this isn't because of…" he trailed off.

Connor turned and pressed Markus back into the bed, straddling him. "If you ask me that one more time I'm chopping your annoyingly large dick off."

Markus's eyes went wide, and he placed his hands on Connor's hips. "Alright, I definitely wouldn't want that."

"Thank fuck." Connor chuckled before leaning down and crushing their lips together. Markus's lips were so warm and just slightly rough from Markus chewing on them.

He rocked their hips together trying to get more friction. "Are you willing to fuck me? I can fuck you but I've been dying for you in me all night."

Markus panted, nodding his head. "Definitely. God, you looked amazing yesterday, but then you changed and I nearly lost it. You looked so soft and fuckable."

Connor whined, rolling his hips down. "Yes, yes please. I've got a condom and lube in my bag. I'm clean."

Markus nodded and flipped them over which was way too fucking hot. Apparently, he noticed the shocked expression because he kissed him with a chuckle. "I work out."

"That you do." He said he panted as Markus got off, grabbing Connor's bag and digging around.

"Sorry, should have asked but I feared for my annoying large cock." Markus said, pulling out a condom and lube.

"I used the word dick, but I think you can be forgiven if you hurry the fuck up." If he wasn't being fucked within the hour he wasn't going to scream and maybe cry.

"My bad, my annoyingly large dick." Markus crawled back into the bed, moving in between Connor's legs. "Alright, how do you like this?"

Connor spread his legs, getting into a good position. "However you want but I do require that I actually get fucked. Even if I come you gotta fuck me until I can't walk. Deal?" He offered his hand and Markus chuckled.

Markus took his hand, shaking it before using it to pull Connor up and into a searing kiss. "I think I can do that baby boy," Markus mumbled before pushing him back into the bed.

Connor let him, spreading himself even wider. He took deep breaths, easily relaxing even when Markus gently pushed against his hole.

"There we go," Markus mumbled before pressing a kiss to his inner thigh. Connor whined, arching his back. His thighs were so sensitive and no one ever kissed him this gently, this lovingly. It broke his heart.

"Markus," he sighed, eyes fluttering closed. Markus hummed and did the same for his other thigh.

Then he was nipping at him, sucking slightly on the skin as he pushed his finger in. He would definitely leave marks here. For some reason, he didn't want anyone to see these marks or touch them. He didn't want anyone kissing them and trying to mark over these. These were just for him.

Markus was so slow and gentle, but Connor could tell he was holding back. He knew there was an urgency and want behind every movement and soft touch.

Yet Markus held back for him. It was odd being on the receiving end. Just being able to lay back and take just because he wanted it and not because someone was paying him to. This was for him as much as it was for Markus. He felt truly beautiful.

Markus kissed his hips, using his free hand to gently run a hand down his side. "You're amazing. You're doing really well." Markus says, pushing in a second finger.

He had had so many people that tried to rush this but Markus seemed to be genuinely enjoying it. "Markus!" He sighed, arching his back and trying to push down into his hand.

Markus chuckled slightly, "so needy. How many do you normally need?"

"Most stop at two." Connor says, mind fuzzy with pleasure and want.

"I didn't ask what other people did to you, I asked what you need. I don't want to hurt you. So I'll ask again, baby, how many do you normally need?" Oh, that tone of voice was unfair. It was raspy and demanding and so very in control.

"Um, three without too much of a stretch but for you… I, um, three. I wanna feel it." He wanted that burning stretch like never before.

Markus nodded and slowly added a third finger. "Alright, I'll be slow and gentle. If you need me to stop or go slower at all let me know."

"I… ok," he nodded. Markus was being so kind. Yet that hurt more than any physical pain he'd been in, and one rather angry woman liked to whip people. Wasn't the best night considering she didn't really like it when he asked for her to stop.

Markus paused, frowning. "Are you alright? We can stop if you want." His hand paused and Connor felt like screaming. It was such an odd mixture of emotions.

"Please don't stop! I'm, just not used to this." That was the worst description ever.

"Wait, I thought… has no one?" Markus asks, pulling his fingers out. Connor groaned and instantly missed the feeling.

"No! Yes, yes I've done this in the physical sense, but not," he waved his hand between them, "this? You're, you want me to feel good and you're taking your time. I haven't had anyone do this in a long time."

Markus blinks at him before his jaw drops. "Are you saying no one ever pleasured you before? If they were too rough you… you could tell them to stop right?" Oh, this sweet, sweet boy.

"Well yes, they still have to pay for my time, but it's different. I do get pleasure out of it, but it's never just for me. If I'm being fucked then the person wants me to be. I want this. I want you. And not just… you're kind, Markus." He said, sitting up and gently holding his face. "Kinder than I'd ever imagined. You could be the snottiest man on the planet and yet you turned down a prostitute who had already been paid for and was willing because of your morals. None of my clients would ever do that. I'd like to think some would, but they just need the release or a date. Someone pretty on their arm so they bought me."

That didn't mean he didn't enjoy his job. He loved being pampered and could have as much sex as he wanted and get paid for it. He was living the dream, but it was also nice to have this. Something so soft and gentle, and kind.

Then Markus was leaning forward and pressing a soft kiss to his lips like he would break. And he loved it. He loved the way he cradled his head and gently pressed into him. He loved the calluses on Markus's hands as they intertwined their fingers.

He was slowly leaned down back onto the bed, Markus's hands slowly searching his body. He had a few small scars from when clients took it too far, but Markus traced each one like he was a masterpiece. It made him shiver and whine, pushing against the hand.

"You really are beautiful, Connor. All of you." Markus mumbled, pulling back to kiss down his jaw. He raised his other hand to gently card through Connor's hair, pulling at it just slightly so he'd tilt his head. He gladly did, sighing when Markus's lips trailed down his neck.

"Hmph, fuck," Connor muttered, biting his bottom lip. This was too good. He doubted anyone will ever be able to compare to this. Damn it.

"You don't have to muffle yourself, baby, I want to hear you." Markus mumbled against his skin. Connor was sure his entire body was going to be kissed and he was completely ok with that. More than just ok, really.

Markus took his time finding every little spot that made him whine and buck his hips. He was almost in tears from want when he finally grabbed the lube again.

He was still somewhat stretched so Markus started with two fingers, slowly stretching and exploring. "So amazing. I can't wait to be in you." Markus muttered. It was so quiet Connor could barely hear him. Markus had said that to himself, and it sent a thrill through Connor.

"Fuck me! Please, I need it, you." He whined, rocking his hips down. Markus smirked and put a third finger in, moving his hand a bit faster. Connor whimpered and gripped the sheets of the bed, hips moving uncontrollably.

He yelped when his dick was enveloped in the warm heat of Markus's mouth. He bobbed his head before sucking on the head, swirling his tongue around the top.

Connor bucked into his mouth, almost choking him. He rambled his apology which quickly turned into pleading.

Markus took him down again, hollowing his cheeks and running his along the underside.

"Fuck! Fuck, stop I won't last much longer!" Connor begged. He wanted to come with Markus in him. It took Markus an agonizingly long time to pull off, licking his lips once he does.

"Damn I could just do that and be happy. You make the best sounds. But I think I should give you what you finally want." Markus said, slowly pulling his fingers out.

Connor quickly nodded trying to spread his legs even more (he is very proud of his flexibility, he has all of his splits).

"How do you like this?" Markus asks, tearing the seal off the condom then throwing the wrapper off the bed. He easily slides it on and Connor is drooling.

Wait, right Markus had asked him a question. That dick was definitely a blessing, Jesus Christ. He really wanted to suck on that but held back. "Like this works… I want to see you."

Markus smiled and gently brushed a few curly strands of hair out of Connor's face. "I can do that."

Oh, this was definitely gonna hurt and he couldn't wait. Thankfully Markus wasn't stalling either. He moved closer, carefully lining up before looking down at Connor.

He took one of his hands and laced their fingers together before pushing in. Connor whined, squeezing his eyes shut and Markus instantly stopped. "Fuck you, I did not say to stop, you ass." He growled out.

He heard Markus chuckle and Connor forced his body to relax. It was just a good pain, one he'd like to take every day if Markus let him.

Once Markus bottomed out they both stilled, panting for air. Markus used his free hand to brush through his hair again, pressing a quick kiss to his sweaty forehead.

They stay still until Connor gives a small nod. Markus slowly slides out and slowly pushes back in. It's too slow, he wraps his legs around Markus and pulls in back in roughly, sighing when it finally creates the friction he wants. "Yes!"

Markus grunts, chuckling softly. "Fuck, ok." Then he sped up, rocking his hips at a fast but consistent speed.

Connor rocks his hips in time, panting into Markus's kiss. He moaned praises and pleads, mind hazy. It was too good. It all felt too good.

Markus's hands on him, keeping him down but also driving him insane. He took one and put it in his hair, which thankfully Markus completely understood. He tugged on just enough and Connor whimpered.

It was also too much but not enough. He was so, so close. "Please, Markus I need…"

Markus nodded, tugging Connor's hair so he could bite at his neck. "What do you need, baby?"

"I, I uh, I don't know." He hated how whiny he sounded but Markus just seemed to soak it all up. "Ah, Markus!"

He hit the spot and Connor almost cried. "Such a good boy, good beautiful baby boy." Markus said, his hips spasming slightly.

Connor choked and his vision blurred slightly, coming without any warning.

His whole body turned limp and Markus groaned, his hips snapping forward. There was so much but Markus didn't stop. He was so sensitive but he loved it.

"I'm close, baby, you ok?" Markus asked. Connor nodded, hips and legs trembling. He was more than ok. This was ecstasy.

Sadly it didn't take too much longer until Markus froze and Connor wished he hadn't mentioned a condom. He wanted to be filled and maybe even plug himself so he could keep it in him the rest of the day.

Markus took his time sliding out before taking the condom off, tying then tossing it in the trash. He flopped down onto the bed, pulling Connor to his chest. "This ok?" He mumbled.

Connor nodded, wrapping himself around it. "That was the best I've had in a long time. You're amazing." He said, pressing a kiss to Markus's chest.

Markus chuckled, gently soothing Connor's hair. "Why thank you."

Connor hummed, closing his eyes and just basking in the warmth and happiness. He never wanted to leave his bed.

He would have to, though. He'd have to forget all of this. If he didn't then he wouldn't be able to stop thinking about what happened or Markus. He'd never be able to forget the comfort of Markus's arms or the tenderness and adoration in the way he touched him.

He hadn't even realized he started crying until Markus gently wiped away a tear. "Hey, you ok? Did I hurt you?"

Connor sniffled, trying to hide his face. "No, you didn't. I'm… happy?"

He was but he was also so sad. "I should probably leave." He said, pushing away from Markus.

"Wait, what? I have this room until tomorrow. Do you have work?" He asks, running a hand down Connor's back as he sat on the edge of the bed.

The way he seemed to completely respect that it was work. He didn't judge him for it at all. "I… I have to, I…" he trailed off, shaking his head.

"You have to what?" Markus asks, placing a gentle kiss on his shoulder. "What do you need to do?"

Connor roughly brushed his tears away. "I have to forget you. I can't… you're too good. I can't get attached. I'm sorry." He shook his head and stood, grabbing his bag and clothes.

Markus was quick to follow him, tripling on a blanket. "Wait, Connor hold on!"

Connor shook his head, trying to pull on his clothes. It was too much. This was all too much.

He was quickly turned and pressed against the wall by Markus's strong hands. "Connor, wait."

He ducked his head, hiding behind the strands of curly hair that fell into his face. "Please don't." He whimpered.

Markus sighed, softly trailing his hands up and down Connor's arm, making him shiver. "Connor, hey, talk to me. I'm not here to judge."

"I can't get attached, it's the worst thing to do in this profession. I can't stop just because someone I like asks me to. No matter how mind-blowing the sex is." No matter how beautiful and wanted it made him feel.

Markus shook his head, brushing the hair out of his face. "I'd never ask you to stop. I… I'm not going to push you for anything you don't want. Maybe we can just be friends? There's just something about you."

Connor knew exactly what he meant. It was like their bodies and minds were two puzzle pieces that fit seamlessly together. Friends. "I… I don't know."

"We don't have to have any sex. Maybe just hang out whenever we're both free. I think North would adore you… oh, actually you meeting would be a very bad idea." Markus said, frowning.

He tilted his head, "wait, why?" Wasn't she the one that had actually paid for him?

"I would not stand a chance if you two teamed up. Terrifying to think about." Markus smirked and Connor huffed.

"Alright, friends. I guess we can start the whole no sex thing tomorrow." He said before leaning in to Markus.

"So needy," Markus said, shaking his head fondly.

"You love it," he whispered, pressing his lips against Markus's neck.

"That I do."

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rebelscum-2187 · 5 years ago

Text

So after nearly 22 years of life on this planet, I’ve come to the conclusion that I am high functioning autistic. I believe I fell through the cracks of an early diagnosis for the following reasons:

1.) I am Female (I learned how to mask myself very early on)

2.) I have a gifted IQ (above 130) and was classified as such in 4th grade so no one considered that I could be both ASD and intellectually gifted.

I am in the beginning stages of unmasking and am currently seeking an official diagnosis. Right now, I’m trying to write down everything I know about my neurodivergent experience so here’s a list of things I’ve experienced and believe to be relevant. If you can relate or you understand please comment and share! I’m new to this community and it feels so good to finally meet people who understand and can relate. Ok, Here we go.

“So the general population doesn’t memorize scripts to movies or watch the same one every day for a year?”

“People think it’s weird that I prefer to have subtitles on when I watch stuff, even though I don’t have damaged hearing”

“I watch movies with subtitles because I won’t understand what’s said if I don’t read it. I have no hearing issues.”

“I cannot hear/understand someone if I have one ear bud in and one out. Too much sensory input at once.”

“I thought I had a hearing deficit because I literally could not understand people at church or parties or other places with a lot of background noise, and I was so confused when they told me my hearing was normal.”

“I love star wars. Not just love but I could tell you what planet each character is from and what kind of ship they use, what model droid that one is and I will gladly talk about it all day if you let me. Everyone now gets me Star Wars stuff for my birthday and holidays”

“Eye contact is so uncomfortable for me that sometimes it ‘burns’ to maintain it, but then I overcompensate and stare too intensely. Over the years, being female, I’ve forced myself to make eye contact for a certain number of seconds and then look away a certain number of seconds but I’m concentrating so hard on that, that I don’t remember anything that was said to me.”

“Giving me verbal directions is a special kind of hell. I need it written down.”

“I can memorize pictures of things and exactly where every kid sat in my 10th grade US history class as well as my 9th grade geometry class.”

“I never fit in anywhere, in my childhood, most of my adolescence, except the swim team and my new church.”

“Team sports are the worst. I can’t communicate fast enough, I’m bad with hand eye coordination and keeping track of a ball. I excelled in individual sports and fell in love with swimming.”

“I often found it much easier to make friends with older kids because I could have intelligent conversations with them and their good social skills could make up for my lack of social skills.”

“But, I had a few friends that were considerably younger who I could still play imaginatively with dolls when I was 13 and one particular friend was 9. I had a lot of trouble getting a long with her sister who was the same age as me.”

“It physically pains me to hear someone mispronounce a word, spell something wrong, or make a grammatical mistake. I corrected my cousin A LOT when we were kids, she frequently got mad and I couldn’t understand why. My grandma would tell me to stop because correcting people is rude.”

“One of my special interests as a kid was dolphins. I was 5-6 years old and I remember being so excited when my mom let me check out like 10 books from the library and I read them quickly and multiple times.”

“I corrected a teacher one time about dolphins. She said dolphins weren’t whales and I knew FOR A FACT that ‘dolphins were a type of small whale’ because I read it in one of my books. She laughed at me and so did the rest of the class and I felt stupid even though I was right. This led to me suppressing my knowledge and real self and ultimately more masking.”

“As per that last one, my memory is impeccable.”

“I had another special interest in dogs when I got a bit older. My mom bought me a book with every kind of breed of dog, where they came from, their temperament, their size, everything. I can still, to this day, tell you the breed of dog just by looking at it.”

“I always wanted a best friend but never had one. I had groups of friends but never someone who would call me their best friend. When I got a boyfriend in high school, I was so excited because he called me his best friend and he was mine and I finally had that feeling reciprocated. He also had a gifted IQ and dyslexia, ADHD and a few other things so we understood each other quite well.”

“I can’t tell if someone is flirting with me because I can’t read between the lines. I also don’t know how to flirt because if I like a guy too much I get soooo nervous and I stumble over my words and it’s a disaster.”

“When I liked this guy (last year, 2019) I would freeze up so bad when I talked to him that I rehearsed every conversation I wanted to have with him so I wouldn’t mess it up. I would write topics in the notes section of my phone before hanging out with him so I’d remember what to ask him. It made for very awkward and forced conversations and probably drove him away.”

“Sarcasm and jokes almost always go over my head. The boyfriend I had in high school was very funny and outgoing but used a lot of sarcasm and it always caused disagreements because I took him seriously when he was being sarcastic.”

“I talk slowly and very monotone.”

“I have no difficulty reading in my head and can read/comprehend it well, but reading aloud is difficult and I often stumble over words and mess up.”

“I need directions repeated multiple times before I understand.”

“I went to the beach to hang out with some church friends yesterday. They all play spike ball and are so confused as to why I sit there and don’t play. I’ve tried playing spike ball but it involves way too much hand eye coordination and I’m so bad at it that it’s embarrassing. So I don’t play.”

“That same night, a group of them said ‘let’s play uno!’ And I was so happy to play something familiar that didn’t involve a lot of coordination. Then they said ‘we’re playing SPICY uno, right?’ And immediately my heart sank because I knew they were playing a different way that I wasn’t familiar with. Again, receiving verbal directions was hell and I didn’t understand it. I was so bad at it and wasn’t getting it, and in the middle of the game I had the urge to cry. I wanted to cry because I couldn’t even get this right. I suppressed the urge, of course, so they wouldn’t think I was even more weird than the already suspected. Another group of people that I wouldn’t fit in with.”

“Making friends has always been so difficult. Once I make a good friend I hang on to them for as long as possible even if they’re not very nice because I’m scared I’ll have to make a new one if I lose them. And we all know how hard making new friends is for me.”

“I’m a perfectionist. Especially with my art projects. When I took a painting class I realized I do it the wrong way. You’re supposed to paint layer by layer over the entire canvas and focus on small details at the very end. I work on one small area at a time and do small details too soon. I often spend way too much time on small details before I realize that the larger shape of the object isn’t proportionate and then it’s too late.”

“I won’t even attempt tasks if I know I can’t do them perfectly.”

“I have perfect pitch. I don’t know if that has anything to do with autism or that I just started music lessons when I was young. I can tune instruments perfectly without a tuner or reference note and I never understood why my orchestra teacher had me play the A key on the piano over and over again while she walked around and tuned everyone’s instruments when I could do it without any reference. I can hear it in my head.”

“When my parents got me a keyboard at age 7-8, they were impressed because I could sit down, without listening to any song and find the notes of a song I liked by ear. I still do that today but my piano is very out of tune and it bothers me.”

“Autistic boys tend to isolate and not care about concealing their stims or weird behavior but girls don’t. I am a ‘loner’ and always have been but I want so badly to belong and have friends and socialize, but I’ve always been so bad at it that I strike out every time. I often drink at social gatherings because it helps me loosen up and talk more freely. I guess it helps me lose the mask for a while.”

“I HATE people touching me. I’ve always hated it and still hate it to this day unless it’s someone I’m super comfortable with. I’ve been told I have the ‘dead fish hand shake’ and I’m an awkward hugger. My friend picked me up from behind and carried me for a few seconds because we were all goofing off and having fun but afterwards I was so mad at him I got really quiet and didn’t talk for a while. I told him later on the ride home that if he did that again I would slap him. “

“Everyone thinks it’s weird that I don’t like touching people, and some of my friends who also don’t like touching people were abused and I always thought, ‘there had to be a reason, maybe I was abused as a kid and repressed it.’ It’s been so long and I’ve finally realized that maybe it’s just because I have Aspergers or ASD. “

“When I make sarcastic remarks or jokes I often have to clarify because I say them in such a monotone way that people think I’m serious.”

“I’ve always joked that I’m just really clumsy and uncoordinated, and chalked it up to being tall and lanky. That’s why swimming was the perfect sport for me. Little to no risk of injury and not much hand eye coordination needed to be good at it. Just hours of practice, technique and endurance.”

“I also injure myself quite a lot because I’m ‘a klutz.’”

“Stims: I scratch my head and then smell my fingers and I will do this for hours if I am able (I know that one is weird so I only do it at home) popping my knuckles a ridiculous amount of times when I feel uncomfortable and don’t know what to do with my hands. I twirl my hair constantly (that one is pretty socially acceptable so I do it in class nonstop). I tap my foot or bounce my leg, I make weird facial expressions and forget to hide those. People notice but they often think it’s funny because I’ll make a face if someone says something dumb and make an expression that people seem to relate to. I scrunch my nose if I’m uncomfortable or just whenever.”

Special interests: Star Wars, Disney (I know every word to every Disney song and I watch animated Disney movies over and over again, like literally every night) dolphins, the ocean, dogs, theology/the Bible.

“With my art work, and other things, I will get so focused on a painting that I will work non stop for 8-9 hours (all day basically) and not eat because I’m so focused that I forget to eat.”

“I think I slur my words a lot and sometimes my friends will laugh and be like ‘did you just say ____.?!?!’And I’ll clarify and they will continue laughing and say ‘oh it sounded like you said this.’ I hate when that happens.”

“Loud noises really bother me. I jump if I hear an unexpected loud noise and I hate people yelling, even if it’s not directed at me, it makes me want to cry. “

“I loved the color blue so much as a kid (I still do) but my entire wardrobe was basically different shades of blue t-shirts. I also only ever wore baggy t-shirts and baggy cargo shorts (I kinda dressed like a boy) because it was comfortable and I didn’t like getting comments if I looked “cute today”. I hated the attention. I also never ever wore my hair down to school. It always had to be up in a tight pony tail. I still don’t like my hair being in my face to this day and wear it up almost every day.”

“The other day, I was hanging out with a friend and she was trying to tell a story but I kept getting distracted and interrupting her. She said, ‘Emily, you kind of interrupt people a lot.’ At first I was hurt, but then I realized it’s not entirely my fault and it’s an autistic thing.”

“I mask so much that I have rehearsed responses to social interactions and will often get so nervous or start speaking from the script before I realize I’ve said the wrong response. Of course I’ll think about it all day after that and think of ‘well great, so and so thinks I’m weird now.’”

#autistic community #autistic life #aspergers #autistic problems #autistic girl

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hyperion-huntress · 5 years ago

Text

Holiday in Handcuffs

Ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3358268#main

Pairing: Destiel

Words: 6160

Tags: AU, fluff, artist!Cas, kidnapping, Christmas time, mistletoe kisses.

Rating: General Audiences

Summary:

When the mystery man came out and went to walk past Castiel his eyes widened when Castiel stepped in the way.

“Can I help you?”

Castiel almost felt bad as he pulled the coat back enough to show the end of the gun. “You’re going to come with me. Peacefully and quietly, or I’ll shoot you.”

The man didn’t looked scared at all as he looked from the gun to Castiel’s face, just calm, and for a moment Castiel was terrified he wouldn’t listen but then he gave a slight nod and walked to the doors.

Tuesday was when things began to fall apart, at work he had several different people yell at him for bringing him the wrong thing even though he’s sure two of the people did order it then just didn’t like it. He had went home to find out that his ancient microwave finally hit the dust. After eating his cold, three day old Chinese take out he decided to finally try to finish his painting.

He almost did too, he was just adding the final finishing touches of dark gray and light green when he tripped and sent his paint right into the middle of his canvas. In the scramble to get it off with the least damage possible he ended up tripping a second time and falling, the canvas getting torn in the process.

If Tuesday was bad, Wednesday was downright awful. He had went to talk to the local gallery about putting some of his work in but was denied because his landscape work didn’t fit in with the other, mostly unrealistic, pieces they were featuring. At work he dropped hot soup on himself and burned a large portion of his arms and chest. Not to mention the moment he finished putting on his new shirt his brother called him to remind him about Christmas at the family cabin.

“You won’t be late again this year, will you?”

Castiel let out a large sigh as he leaned against the employees bathroom counter. “I’ll be on time. 7 PM, sharp.”

“That’s what you said last year. And Castiel?” Lucifer asked.

“What?” Castiel huffed, already irritated with his eldest brother.

“It’s 6.” He said dryly, going on before Castiel had a chance to respond. “And you’re bringing someone this year aren’t you? You usually don’t but we had hoped you finally met someone who… Can take care of you, this year.”

“I can take care of myself, Lucifer.” Castiel snapped out, pushing away from the counter sharply. “I don’t need anyone to support me.”

Lucifer gave him a long suffering sigh. “You’re a waiter, Castiel.”

“I’m also an artist.” He put in quickly as he left the bathroom, sick of his family ignoring it or referring to it as a childhood hobby he hadn’t grown out of yet.

“Anyways, you’re the only one of us who hasn’t brought anyone home. Mother and father are starting to get worried, you know. Not only that you won’t ever find anyone but that you’re, you know, hiding your sexuality from your family.”

“I’m bringing someone home.” Castiel said, just wanting to put an end to this as he looked around, eyes locking on a man. “But.. It is a man.” He said, waiting for a snide comment that never came.

“What’s his name?”

“You’ll find out with the rest of the family.” He stated as he watched the man walk across the room, headed past him and to the bathrooms.

“Honestly, Castiel-” And that’s when Castiel hung up, already knowing that the condescending tone would only leave him more angry.

Suddenly, he knew what he had to do and he took off the stupid elf hat the owner made them wear and went over to grab his coat, pulling the handgun out from the inside pocket and hiding it under his coat as he headed towards the bathroom.

When the mystery man came out and went to walk past Castiel his eyes widened when Castiel stepped in the way.

“Can I help you?”

Castiel almost felt bad as he pulled the coat back enough to show the end of the gun. “You’re going to come with me. Peacefully and quietly, or I’ll shoot you.”

Castiel followed, feeling like he was in a daze, miles away from the current situation. He was suddenly brought back when the man slipped on a patch of ice and came down on the ground with a harsh sound.

Holding his breath, Castiel leaned over him and once he saw he was simply passed out he pocketed the gun and threw it in his old rust bucket of a car with his coat before working the man into the passenger's seat.

Utilizing this time, he grabbed his tie and took it off, wrapping it around the man’s eyes as a blindfold for later. Once it was knotted in the back he went rummaging around for the gag gift his cousin Gabriel had given him for his last birthday.

He plucked the pink, fuzzy handcuffs up with a slight smile before putting them on his temporary victim. The rational part of him was yelling and telling him he couldn’t do this and to let him go. The larger part of him though was telling him that he could make this work and please his family for once in his life and after the few days at the cabin he could let the man go and everyone would go back to their normal lives.

Once Castiel had buckled the both of them in he began the two hour drive north to his family’s cabin, structures getting more and more scarce as he drove until there were only buildings every 15 or so minutes.

He had stopped an hour in to get gas and pick up some snacks when the man finally woke up, jerking as he tried to asses the situation.

Castiel looked over to him as he pulled out of the gas station. “Sorry.” Was the first thing out of his mouth.

“Sorry.” The man echoed, turning in his general direction. “What the hell is going on?”

“Here.” He said, reaching over and pulling at his tie until it dropped around the man’s neck. “Better?”

“Not really.” He said, staring at Castiel’ before looking out the window. “Are you taking me out in the middle of nowhere to kill me? You some sort of serial killer?”

Castiel frowned at him. “What? No. I just.. Listen, you’re going to come with me to my family’s cabin and pretend to be my boyfriend.” He explained simply.

The man just stared at him for a moment before shaking his head. “You’re fuckin’ crazy. I’ve been kidnapped by a psychopath.” He said, not able to believe it. “What the.. Why do you even think that would work? You do realize the minute we get to other people- wonderfully sane people- I’m going to tell them that you kidnapped me right?”

Castiel shifted, looking at him. “They won’t believe you, I have a plan already.”

The man pursed his lips as he shook his head again. “I could probably take you.” He said as he subtly sized the guy up. “Eventually I’ll overpower you.”

Castiel pulled his gun back out and pointed it at him. “Or I could shoot you.”

“You won’t shoot me.” The man stated just as a deer pranced across the road.

Castiel let out a shout as he went to swerve to the side the same time his hand dropped slightly and he pulled the trigger. He quickly looked over to the frozen man and followed his eyes, horrified when he saw his bullet embedded itself in the seat right below the man's crotch.

“I’m so sorry!” He exclaimed as he slammed the safety back on and put it away.

The pair were silent for the next 20 minutes of their trip before Castiel cleared his throat. “My name is Castiel. You can call me Cas. I uh.. Got chips, if you want any.” He offered.

The man denied even as his stomach growled loudly at the thought.

Castiel offered a slight, if forced, laugh as he handed him an unopened bag. “All yours.”

After another five minutes the man quietly opened the bag and ate a few chips before mumbling.

“What?”

“Dean. Names Dean.”

“Hello, Dean.”

He was met with grumbles and a glare as the man continued to eat.

10 minutes away, Castiel began to give him a rundown of his life and family and Dean reluctantly offered a few things about himself.

Once he was pulled up outside the cabin, half an hour away from any other buildings he began to pat Dean’s jacket and pants pocket.

“Hey! You don’t get to touch what you almost shot off!” He protested.

“Sorry, just looking for this.” Castiel said as he pulled the phone from him and shoved it in his pocket with his own before uncuffing him and taking his tie back. “I’ll be right back.” He said before running to the house.

Inside he found his mom and dad and came out as well as told them that his boyfriend, Dean, had a weird sense of humor where he just joked about being a kidnapped victim until everyone was sick of it in 2 minutes. Castiel could tell that they thought it was weird, but then again they thought he was weird too.

He ran back out of the house and into Dean who had been on the porch.

Castiel took Dean’s arm and pulled him in. “Mom, dad, this is my boyfriend, Dean. Dean, this is my mother and father.”

Dean gave him a look before launching into the story about how he got here. Castiel was more than relieved when his parents looked at each other before chuckling to themselves. “Love has a way of making you feel like that.” His father said and Dean turned to Castiel, smug look dropping off of his face.

The next 15 minutes was a whirlwind of greetings and forced hugs and handshakes and the entire time Castiel made sure to keep an eye on Dean.

After his brothers and sister and the people they brought were led away by his mother and father he turned to Dean. “Not so bad, right?”

“I hate you.” Was his reply as he glowered at Castiel.

“It’s only for a few days?” Castiel offered. “Then I can take you back to the diner and you can go on with your life.”

Dean snorted at that. “Are you serious? My brothers a lawyer, there’s no way you won’t be in jail at the end of this.”

Castiel never get the chance to reply as his mother came downstairs to retrieve them before putting them in a room together.

Once the door was shut, Castiel cleared his throat as they both stared at the single bed. “I know I kidnapped you but if it makes you uncomfortable I can bring a cot in here to sleep on.”

“Yeah, I’d love that. I’d also love if you let me go.” Dean replied, sitting on the bed.

Castiel awkwardly shuffled his feet before deciding to ignore the comment. “So, maybe we should get to know each other a little better?”

“Alright. I’m Dean Winchester, I’m an Aquarius, enjoy sunsets and long walks on the beach. I also like frisky women, emphasis on the women part.”

“You’re not straight, completely, at least.”

Dean stared at him with wide eyes a moment before scowling. “Why do you say that?”

“No need to get defensive.” Castiel sighed, sitting on the other end of the bed. “But in the diner? You checked out two guys.” He pointed out, watching as Dean lowered his head.

“I’m going to enjoy seeing you get arrested.” He bit out.

Dinner went by uneventfully after that, Castiel and Dean staying silent most of the time as they ate slowly. After dinner, the family members bid each other goodnight and Castiel got a cot into their room. He slept by the door as Dean took the bed.

In the morning, Castiel woke up first and, after a few moments, he woke Dean up as well. Which, of course, went awful like he had expected. He didn’t think it would be any better if Dean had woke up on his own, though.

They were still bickering 20 minutes later when his sister Anna came too get them for breakfast.

Dean brushed right past her and headed down. Anna gave Castiel a smile. “I don’t know how you got so lucky, he’s so handsome.” she complimented. “And to get him to come here.”

“I guess I didn’t really give him a choice.” He said before stumbling over his words. “To love me, of course.” He added quickly.

Anna gave a small giggle as she continued down the hall to get Lucifer and Michael and their respective wives.

He made his way into the kitchen just in time, it seemed.

“You slept in those?” His mother asked.

“We left his suitcase behind, with all the hustle and bustle.” Castiel supplied easily as he slipped in the room.

Dean shot him a displeased look as his mother tutted at them. “I’m sure we’ll be able to find something for you. Castiel has a tendency to wear clothes too big for him, anyways.”

And that’s how Dean found himself locked in the bathroom with a phone after lunch. He had gotten some clothes from Castiel but was sent to Lucifer and Michael to look for better fitting pants.

“You have a phone?” Dean asked, staring at the device on Michael’s dresser.

“I own a company, of course I wouldn’t be phoneless for 4 days. I turned in a fake to my mother.”

“Can I use it?” Dean asked, hopeful that this was his way out.

Michael picked it up and tossed it to him. “Five minutes. Don’t let anyone know, mother takes it very seriously.”

Dean was out and down the hallway in ten seconds flat.

Now, he listened the the ringing before a worried. “Hello?”

“Sammy! You have to help me.” Dean said, forcing himself to keep his voice down low.

“Dean, what’s wrong? You never called me back last night and you’re supposed to be here in an hour.”

“Listen, I was kidnapped and held at gunpoint and almost had my dick shot off last night. I’m maybe three hours north of moms house. I need you to get the police or something and get me out of here.” He rushed the last part as someone began banging on the door. “I’ve got to go Sam, but please hurry.” He pleaded as he ended the call and opened the door.

Castiel narrowed his eyes as he held out his hand. “Phone.”

Dean obediently dropped it in his palm, feeling a bit more cocky than he had since this entire thing began.

“You.. didn’t make a call did you?”

Dean just smirked at him before walking by. “Oh, and Castiel?” He said, turning to him with a smug look. “I’m gonna be the best damn boyfriend you’ve ever had.”

“Wait, what?” Castiel asked, blinking in surprise. “Why?”

“Because I want to make your family love me so when they find out all about this they’re even more disappointed with you.” Dean said, bitter about not being home with his own family. He gave him another smug smirk before turning and going to their room.

Castiel watched after him, accidentally letting out a whimper as the words registered with him.

A little bit after that they had put up a tree, his parents embarrassing him worse and worse as the minutes passed by.

“Castiel made this one when he was 7.” His father commented.

His mother let out a sigh as she took it and hung it up. “He was always so withdrawn as a child. Once, we paid a little girl to be his friend but two weeks later she gave the money back.”

“Mother!” Castiel groaned, dropping his head as she went on.

“It was always just you and your drawings. And Mr. Dinglebop.”

“Mr. Dinglebop?” Dean asked, not able to even hide his amusement. Or, not trying to at all to begin with.

“His imaginary friend.” His father added in, sighing heavily.

Dean grinned over at Castiel but it slowly began to fall as he saw how Castiel was retreating in on himself. As an older brother it was part of his job to realize how far you could push someone until it was too far and he could tell it was time to get out of this territory now.

He laid a hand on Castiel’s shoulder and gave him a warm smile when he looked up. “How about we go make some hot chocolate before we go to bed?”

Castiel nodded, relieved and Dean led him with a hand on his lower back to the kitchen.

“Sorry.. They aren’t exactly proud of me.” Castiel said as he pulled out things for hot chocolate.

Dean made a face as he got the cups down “Don’t say that. They’re your parents, they love you.”

“Not as much as they love Michael and Anna and Lucifer.” Castiel mumbled as he got out the mild.

He startled when Dean’s hand closed around his wrist and the milk splashed out and onto Dean’s shirt as he turned them so they were face to face. “Don’t say things like that.” He said, tone demanding him to listen, not even reacting to the spilled milk.

Castiel dropped his eyes to his wet shirt front and nodded.

Dean seemed to be pleased with that and let him go. Castiel set the milk on the kitchen island and watched as Dean easily took his shirt off and bunched it up.

Castiel let his eyes drift down, for the first time getting a good look at Dean’s chest and appreciating it a lot more than he probably should.

Watching him stare, Dean might have flexed a little bit as he twisted the shirt in his hands. “It’s only fair you give me your shirt.” He stated.

Blue eyes flew up to meet green, widening at the statement. “Why don’t you just get a new one?”

Dean smirked, leaning against the counter. “Because you want me to wear your clothes anyways.”

Castiel rolled his eyes and quickly removed his own shirt, throwing it at Dean. “I’ll go get a new one. You can make the cocoa.” He said, blushing at how Dean’s eyes roamed over him.

He turned and began to walk when Dean opened his mouth again.

“Are all your pants that low?” Castiel stumbled and turned to stare at him just to let his jaw drop when he found eyes tracing the v of his hips.

Turning, he fled the room and put on the baggiest shirt he owned, hoping Dean couldn’t find a reason to check his body out again.

He may have put off going back down for a few minutes. He fiddled with the sketchbook he had brought, flipping through it quickly twice before he sighed and put it back. Slowly, he walked back to the kitchen.

Castiel found Dean with two glasses and a bottle of hard liquor between them. “I uh… Just thought that maybe something stronger would be good for tonight.”

Moving forward with a small smile, Castiel nodded. “That sounds better, actually.” He said, sitting down as he took the glass Dean pushed towards him.

Dean watched as Castiel put the glass to his lips, downing it all in one go and setting the glass back down with a slight grimace. “You drink like you want to forget.” He commented.

Castiel glanced at Dean who just shrugged and said “I know what it’s like.” before downing the liquid in his own glass. They refilled and went on drinking as they talked. At first it was all meaningless small talk but at some point it became deeper.

“I just want them to feel proud of me, just once.” Castiel said miserably. That wouldn’t do, thought Dean. He reached over and settled a hand on Castiel’ shoulder in a form of comfort.

Castiel’s eyes rose to meet him and they were full of regret. “I’m sorry- I shouldn’t have brought you here. It was stupid, I was stupid.” He muttered, dropping his gaze to the half empty glass.

“Hey, Cas, look at me.” Dean said and waited for their eyes to meet again before going on. “I know I didn’t exactly have any choice on coming here, and I wish that I was with my own family, but… This isn’t all that bad.” He said, shifting.

Castiel looked up, eyes hopeful for the first time this day. “You really mean that? Like… You don’t hate it all?”

“Course not, you’re family is pretty cool once you get passed half them acting like they have sticks up their asses half the time.” Dean said, downing the rest of his drink. They were both well on their way to drunk at this point and starting to slur some of their words. “Besides, as stupid as it is, I’m really liking all your family traditions and.. and I might be starting to like even you.”

Castiel stared at him a long minute, not being able to process that. “You mean… You don’t hate me? Even after I almost shot your..” He motioned down to his lap.

Dean let out a loud laugh at that before clamping a hand over his mouth, not wanting to wake anyone up.

After that, the conversation became lighter as they talked about what they both enjoyed. They had a few more glasses before Castiel stood up to put the almost empty bottle back. He stumbled on the way, causing Dean to laugh more, doubling over and shaking his head as he watched.

Castiel couldn’t help but laugh back, finding it contagious. Finally, he calmed himself enough to nudge Dean and nod to the stairs. “We should go to bed.”

Dean nodded and stood, he wobbled in place a moment before tossing an arm around Castiel’s shoulder. “We can help each other walk.” He reasoned and Castiel had never heard a better idea as he wrapped an arm around Dean’s middle.

They made their way up the stairs, in now way, shape, or form, being quiet about it. They had to stop half way up when Castiel began to laugh after Dean had hit his toe and almost fell as he swore loudly.

Eventually, after much too long, they were in the room. Dean kicked the door closed and walked them to the bed. He held on tight even when Castiel’s tried to pull away to go to his cot.

“No, no, we have to walk together.” Dean had said.

“But I’ll have to walk back to my cot by myself.” Castiel said, confused by the idea.

Dean shook his head as he flopped down on the bed, taking Castiel with him. “Good thing this is big enough for two!”

Castiel let out a laugh as Dean turned enough to wrap his arms and legs around his. “Hey, hey, at least cover us up.” He protested with chuckles as he wrestled the blanket out from underneath them and flung it over, making sure they were both covered.

Dean hummed, giving Castiel a small squeeze. “Haven’t slept in the same bed with someone in forever. I missed it.” He admitted quietly, into Castiel’ hair.

Castiel let out a small content sigh, turning into Dean’s hold and laying an arm around his waist. “I know how you feel.” He said back in a quiet voice.

He laid there, ear pressed against Dean’s chest and listening to just his heartbeat and breathing for a while before his own eyes slid shut and he drifted off.

Dean, laid there a while longer just watching Castiel, mind void of any real thought processes before he also fell asleep.

The next day they didn't say anything when the woke up side by side. They just got up and began getting ready for the day.

It worked for the most part, at least until they went down for breakfast. They had been shuffling through the door when Anna pointed at them with a grin.

They looked at each other, confused, then back at Anna. All she did was grin and look up. Dread filled Castiel as he looked up, already knowing what he would see.

Above them was mistletoe. It was just hanging there in a cruel way, at least to his eyes. He was about to make an excuse about morning breath but he felt a hand on his cheek.

His eyes shot down to meet Dean’s and they widened when he was the soft smile on Dean’s face.

He felt another hand on his other cheek and then his face was being pulled forward. He closed his eyes automatically and then lips were on his and they were soft and warm and so, so wrong because Dean’s not even here of his own free will.

That didn’t stop him from kissing back though and he tilted his head when Dean began to tilt his the other way.

Castiel wrapped his arms around Dean’s neck and Dean’s hands moved down, settling on each of his hips. They continued to kiss like that until a cleared throat made them startle away from each other.

Castiel stared wide-eyed at Dean in disbelief as a blush took over his face. Dean, on the other hand, just turned to see who had made the noise and grinned at Michael. “Sorry?”

Castiel turned fast enough to see Michael roll his eyes. Anna looked fairly pleased with herself and right then he knew his sister was the reason the mistletoe was there in the first place. Glancing to the other end of the table he could see Lucifer hiding an amused smirk behind his cup of coffee. If it was possible, Castiel’s face burned even brighter at that.

“Mother dragged the others out to pick up the last few things needed for dinner tonight.” Michael said as he stood up. “I think I’m going to go for a walk, now.” He said before leaving the room with carefully measured strides.

Dean dragged Castiel over to the table and sat him down before grabbing breakfast for the both of them. “I was thinking actually, you paint, right? Maybe we could go out for a winter picnic and you can get some nice landscapes down.”

Castiel stared at him, startled, before slowly nodding. “I.. Yes, Dean, that sounds pleasant.” He said, his hands fidgeting under the table, out of sight.

Dean smiled widely at him as he sat down with two plates of food and Castiel’s breath caught in his throat. Right then, he knew he was fucked.

Keen to keep his word, Dean packed a lunch and made sure they were bundled up before dragging Castiel out of the cabin with a canvas as well as a sketchpad and his case of various paints, pencils and pastels.

Castiel took him up to a secluded spot he had found as a kid and Dean spread out two blankets on a fallen log they had found. They ate in silence as Castiel began to look around, looking for just the right spot.

Dean seemed content to just eat and look out at the snow shining in the distance as Castiel began on his landscape sketch. Or, at least it started as a landscape drawing.

At some point Castiel had sketched Dean into it and then suddenly half of the space was just him and it was more like a portrait then. Castiel didn’t even realize it until he had colored the green of Dean’s eyes just right. He started when Dean broke the silence that had surrounded them the whole time.

“Can I see it?”

Castiel stared at him with wide eyes as he held it against his chest. “I..” He swallowed before nodding and holding it out to Dean.

He watched as Dean’s eyes widened and let it go easily when Dean took hold of it to bring it closer to his eyes for inspection. He waited guiltily for Dean to begin to lecture him about drawing him without his permission but then Dean just grinned over at Castiel and handed it back. “I like it, Cas.”

Castiel practically preened at the words, smiling brightly at him as he pulled it back and finished up the background. “We should probably head back, the suns going down.” He said softly.

“Probably.” Dean agreed, carefully nudging Castiel. “I’ll pose for you back at the cabin, okay?” He said and Castiel looked up to meet teasing eyes.

“Maybe I will make you be my model.” Castiel rolled his eyes fondly as he packed up. “You are very pretty, after all.” He said, patting his cheek before standing up.

Dean watched him a moment before grinning and getting up too, collecting the blankets before they began their journey through the thinning forest to the cabin.

They walked in the front door and began peeling off their damp clothing. They seemed to have good timing because just then Castiel’s father came out in a huge coat and let out a loud sigh when he saw them. “I was just about to come get you. Dinner will be ready in ten.” He said before he pulled off his huge coat.

“Let’s go get dressed.” Castiel said quietly, taking Dean’s hand and pulling him up the stairs to their room.

Castiel put his art supplies away and turned to go through the dresser he had filled with his clothes. He got an outfit and turned to change but froze when he saw Dean, however. He was shirtless and tugging his pants down and he turned to grab the pants he had put on his bed.

Dean looked up and saw Castiel staring, he grinned at him and winked. “Maybe we’ll save the nude modeling for after dinner?”

Castiel sputtered at that and turned away quickly, pulling his own clothes off and quickly trying to redress. This wasn’t anything like how the locker rooms at school were like, he mused to himself.

Dean grinned as he watched Castiel and let out a whistle, chuckling to himself when Castiel almost tripped in his rush to pull his pants on.

Castiel was dressed and out the door before Dean even had his pants on. He rushed down to the kitchen and offered to help but just got sent to grab the two bottles of wine from the storage spot in the garage portion there was.

He went and fetched the bottles and when he returned Dean was helping Anna set the table. After that it was all a blur of directions and being told where to sit by his mother before everything was set and dinner was deemed ready.

Lucifer and Michael were sat on one side of the table with their wives beside them. At both heads of the table where their parents and then Anna, Dean and Castiel sat across from his brothers and their wives.

His mother made a small religious speech and they all made a toast. Right as his father rose to cut the ham there was a loud bang and men charged into the house, guns raised.

Castiel felt his stomach drop as he realized they were police officers, shouting orders at them. After a moment a large man without a uniform fought his way through and grabbed Dean, dragging him out.

Castiel kept his head down as he heard yelling and orders but he just obediently put his hands behind his back when the officers began to arrest them. All of them, to Castiel’s horror.

Luckily on the way to the jail he rode in the back of a police car with Anna who seemed to be stunned into silence. Or too disgusted to talk to him. Castiel was hoping it was just the shock, though.

The next to hour seemed to pass by like minutes. Soon they were all back together in a cell and Michael was yelling at him about how he had managed to ruin Christmas and commit a crime at the same time.

No one stood up for him or even told Michael to quiet down so Castiel sat there and took it, staring at the ground. He always knew his family was better off without him and this was proving all those thoughts.

He tried to apologize once but a glare from Lucifer shut him back up. Worse than that, his mother was crying, asking what she had done to mess him up this bad. His father kept giving him disappointed looks, and Anna was ignoring him all together.

He wasn’t sure how long it had went on, it seemed like hours to him though. Eventually an officer returned and said the charges had been dropped. Everyone rushed out of the cell, to follow the other officer but Castiel made a sluggish exit, feeling like he would be safer behind the bars at this point.

It was stupid and selfish but Castiel kept looking around the police station, hoping to see Dean. He didn’t.

He went home after that to his broken toaster and lonely rooms, not daring to go get his things from the cabin just yet. He did go pick his car up from where the police had all of their cars towed.

A couple of weeks later Castiel was heading out of the restaurant and to his car. His entire body locked up in terror as a blindfold was suddenly tied around his eyes and a hand found his way over his mouth.

To his horror, Castiel felt himself begin to shake slightly as he let out a whimper.

“Shh..” The man hushed him, pressing a kiss to Castiel’s jaw.

Castiel knew he should have been terrified of that kiss but something about this just seemed so familiar.. and then it clicked. “Dean?” He asked but it came out muffled.

He had seemed to understand it because he pulled his hand back with a chuckle. “Hey, Cas.”

Castiel gasped and went to turn around but Dean stopped him and Castiel felt fur on both his wrists and he let out a huff of amusement. “Furry handcuffs?”

“I didn’t make fun of you for using it.” Dean said as he began to lead him.

Castiel walked, frowning slightly when it felt like he had walked at least a block. “Where are we going?”

“It’s a surprise.” Was Dean’s response as he ran a hand down his arm. “This is my revenge and I can do what I want.” He stated.

Castiel felt his heart sink all over again. “I’m sorry for what I did, Dean.” He said in a defeated voice.

He was suddenly pulled to a stop and turned around by Dean. “Don’t be.” He said simply and then there were soft lips on him and it felt so right but wrong all over again.

Before Castiel had the chance to kiss back Dean pulled away and pulled the blindfold away. Castiel squinted as his eyes were suddenly assaulted with light again. He blinked a few times then looked around in amazement.

They were in a gazebo and there were lights hanging inside the entirety of the structure. Castiel looked back to Dean with wide eyes. “Where.. Where are we?” He asked softly.

Dean grinned at him and moved closer, wrapping his arms around Castiel’s waist. “Back of the art gallery. I have another surprise late.” He said, smiling softly as he began to sway them back and forth, dancing without music.

Castiel wrapped his arms around his neck and, moved with him, biting his lip lightly. “I don’t… I don’t understand. I kidnapped you.”

“Yeah, well… You made me like you too so you only have yourself to blame.” Dean teased softly, leaning in and kissing his cheek.

Castiel watched him with soft eyes a moment before leaning in and kissing Dean softly. They shared chaste kisses as they swayed together for a while before Dean pulled away and took his hand, tugging up up to the art gallery doors. Castiel laughed at Dean’s excitement all they way until he suddenly stopped.

Castiel looked up, quieting as he met Dean’s eyes. Dean was looking at him expectantly and a moment later he understood why.

His picture. Hanging up. His work of art in an art gallery. His landscape-turned-portrait of Dean in an art gallery.

It was overwhelming, seeing something he had made up there and he felt himself tear up. He had tried to get some of his other pieces into shows before but was always denied and now… He felt like a real artist for the first time in a long time, he felt that his family was wrong about him. “Dean.. There’s no way I can repay you for this.” He whispered.

“Sure there is!” Dean said cheerily, smiling as he pulled Castiel into his side. “Go on a date with me.”

Castiel tore his eyes from the wall and looked up at Dean in shock. After a moment he gave Dean a shy smile and nodded. “Okay.”

#destiel #old fanfic #but its the holiday season sooo #castiel #dean winchester #artist!cas #holiday in handcuffs #spn #supernatural #fanfic #destiel fanfic #destiel fic #tw: kidnapping

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