#I need to share more sketches of him being stupidly soft.... | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

1oserjk · 4 years

Text

— full stop | still good without luck

when life was becoming a bit steadier

+ here is a clearer puzzle piece of oc n jk’s backstory :D

word count: 2.4k

x full stop masterlist | x masterlist

Three years after he finally landed a solid grip on the shop and enough money came in to pay back the bills including the newly bought house and his studio, is when he came barreling in your shared bedroom door with a complicated-looking bouquet in his hand.

Your first instinctive reaction was to recoil and question the cheesy gesture.

“Oh god. What’s this?” You stupidly pointed—poked towards the obvious. They were very living, giving them a long appreciative look knowing in a matter of days they would wither and fall off if you didn’t snip the stems and soak them in water soon enough.

“Flowers, obviously. For you.”

You reluctantly took them into your arms, listening intently to the way the thin plastic rubbed against your bare skin.

You wondered if he would be okay with you picking off the petals of some of the white flowers to set out in the sun for a day, before soaking them in oil to preserve the fragrance.

Stupid crafts like that always made you happy. He knew that.

“It’s a pretty pairing,” you honestly said, staring at the stark contrast between the white and the slightly familiar dirty orange. You think you’ve seen it in one of the pages of your A-Z Of Perennials book your mother gifted you last summer.

“They’re your favorite,” he explained as if it was a fact you never knew about yourself.

You nodded. “They are.”

He took a slight breath in before fully releasing to say, “And this lily is my birth flower.” He put his hands in the pockets of his slacks to stop himself from anxiously fidgeting. You thought it was cute. “I’m personally fond of the meaning of them.”

You smiled. “And what exactly could that meaning be?”

“Please—“ his eyes set out for yours when he finished, “—love me.”

The message you received through each petal achingly clear: that Jeon Jungkook was a man made solely for you and nobody else. Somebody so incredibly needy in only the best ways possible, eager to hand you the world — that was your husband and the father of your child.

“Corny, huh,” he attempted to brush off, but you saw right through his prideful facade, the tint to his cheeks lacking in help for the man standing right in front of you.

Jungkook was always the type to go soft at the romanticization of things, as if you were watching a Studio Ghibli film right at the center of his dark-colored orbs, the projection of the simplicity of all things beautiful. It was a solid contrast to your realist characteristic you held, but being with Jungkook all those years only made it easier to fall back and dream for a bit with him.

You carefully set the flowers down on the dresser beside you to wrap your arms around him, his eyes being the easiest thing to fully immerse yourself into.

“Not at all,” you said, shaking your head, “I think they fit you well.”

He hummed, hands easily finding the curve of your hips and landing them firmly atop the thin layer of your dress. He was automatically up to no good when his lips had quirked to one side and his eyes flashed a gleam for a millisecond. “Being pretty?”

You hit at his arm, leaning your head closer to his until your noses met and intuitively slotted at just the right angle. “No,” you lead, lips brushing at the single syllable, “being needy.”

He scrunched his and pulled away from your lips as a form of punishment. Eyes set on the prize, so driven for the one thing you find yourself craving the past week, standing on the tips of your toes and eagerly reaching for a kiss.

He scoffed quietly, putting up a false front. He gave it to you easily and without even a fight, “I’m the needy one? Look who’s kissing me.”

“Please,” you reasoned and puckered up for another, “This is me showing my appreciation and affection for the flowers. Really, thank you.”

He dug his face into your neck and traced the bare skin of your back with the tip of each of his slender fingers. He said something quietly about liking that particular dress on you, his fingers playing along with the open slit to emphasize his appreciation. You shivered slightly from the contact and leaned most of your weight against him to compensate for your legs suddenly weakening.

“I’m glad you liked them,” he murmured into your skin, leaving goosebumps against the rest. “I thought it would be a nice addition to our date night.”

“Speaking of,” you began to mutter at the reminder, “It’s been so long since we’ve had a decent amount of time alone. I was surprised you were free this weekend.”

“Sorry,” he sheepishly said, “As much as I trust those two back at the shop — I don’t. But, they told me I at least needed a small break and that they would take care of interviewing for our receptionist position over the weekend.”

Your head tilted curiously to ponder, “You’re still looking for someone?”

He solemnly nodded.

“Then I might just quit and apply at yours,” you teasingly smirked, “Sounds kind of fun.”

He groans. “As much as that would go appreciated..” His hands suddenly drift down to roam your ass and hips, giving it a solid pinch to make you yelp out loud. The corner of his lips quirked. “I don’t think your mother will appreciate you wasting a degree like that. And to be honest? I don’t think I’d get much work done if you were working under me either.”

“Why not?” You didn’t exactly have the opportunity to be as creative as he was, to interact with new people, and share art the way he did. You were organized and clean though. “I’ve had to take a leave at work to focus on Yeona while you were kept busy with the shop, I want to get back to working again. Want to spend more time with you..”

He landed a solid kiss on the edge of your temple and sighed. “Baby, I promise that once business gains momentum without me having to be there, I’ll take some more time off. I feel better that you’re with our daughter for now.”

Your mouth formed to a downturn. “What about you? Jungkook, she needs her own father.”

There’s a moment of silence between the both of you, a thousand of unspoken words floated in between. Yours surrounded him with question marks.

“Do you really want to start that tonight?” He asked, tiredness stirring in his eyes.

You blinked in slight pain before erasing it completely away from his view to read it as anything more and mustered a weak smile. Your hands fidgetted but stick to simply smoothing out the lines of his dress coat.

The bite on your tongue is harsh and punishing.

“Okay,” you answered, a mustered smile easily stretched out, “Fine.”

You wondered how much longer you both would suppress the looming subject until the next argument would find its way back into conversation again.

You stepped out of his hold and observed him from a distance. His expression is given with the way he held back the same as you.

You didn’t push it for the sake of that night.

With your back turned, you grabbed for your purse and handed him a smile before offering your hand. “Let’s go before it gets too late.”

You’ve encased his hand into your hold at the beginning of the drive, probably slightly dangerous to do but a foolish and selfish habit you had when it came to him. He doesn’t mind when they folded in between the warmth of your thighs, anyway. His driving skills were well off enough to stay stable and to occasionally run his thumb against your skin whenever he pleased.

Just feeling the span of where your short dress had risen had him stirring in his pants and already questioning, “When was the last time we had sex?”

You didn’t flinch at the abrupt question, humming to think. “Maybe about—a week ago?”

His eyes widened. “Fuck, really?”

You nodded. “Your perception of time has always been fucked..” Sitting up, you pinned him a stare, “Come on, you really don’t remember?”

Mindless sex was one of the many ways he would vow out his apology after all. He spelled out his sorry by drawing out an orgasm after orgasm.

“No, no, I do,” he answered, “I just—didn’t expect it to be that long ago.”

Your mind begged to comment out that it was his fault for always being so damn busy.

“Okay,” he said, arm extended out, having it be enough of your fidgeting and sudden silence, “Come here and hold my hand again.”

It’s his cluelessness to note the way you felt that frustrated you the most — maybe it was just your fault for not properly voicing it out.

“Let’s not think about the last time and look forward to tonight, yeah?” You bit at a remark, reluctantly obliging, only quickly regretting it when his long fingers flexed, unattainable to let go of the raw thoughts that clumped into your head right after. Cheeky bastard. You gripped them tightly to make him hiss out, rubbing the stupid initials of yours on the back of his hand a second later.

He went on with the conversation about some big time client who was willing to spend a fuck ton of money for him to ink his whole entire back. You weren’t too surprised to hear him say that he was informed it would be free game, a general idea and vibe but overall letting Jungkook’s creativity roam free. There was a fond smile stretched upon your lips when he got giddy over it, sprouting out all of the sketch ideas he planned for his work to splay out on the man’s bare skin, eyes twinkling like a fucking kid and it’s beautiful. He’s beautiful.

The car turned to an unfamiliar road and it’s only then your eyebrows furrowed. Your mind perked at the fact you’ve been clueless for that long, not even recognizing the route to your unannounced destination. “I don’t even know where we’re going.”

He turned the wheel again. “Somewhere nicer.” That was the theme for that night, nicer—better—greater than usual.

You eagerly started to look around, like the GPS in front of you didn’t indicate you would be there in the next ten minutes. “Where? What’s the name of the place?”

He chuckled. “Sit back and wait for it, alright? I promise you’ll like it.”

Of course, you took his word for it.

The tower sat at a painstakingly high height.

“Jungkook,” you deadpanned, “What are we doing here?”

He smiled widely. “Do you remember this place?”

The breeze blew through you and you could only hug yourself tighter with a meager nod. “You took me here for my birthday that one year?”

He nodded, hands in his pockets. “And I only had enough money to pay for the admission fee and nothing else. Not even enough to get a decent souvenir from the gift shop.”

“Hey, no,” you denied with a pout, clearly offended, “You got me a small magnet that’s still hanging on top of our fridge. It’s cute and I love it.”

His tongue ticked against the roof of his mouth and he reluctantly agreed. “Alright, fine. But—”

You gaped at the tower, mindlessly sputtering when you realize, “Is this where we’re having dinner?”

Finally, he confirmed with a solid nod and a sheepish smile. “We have a reservation.”

Blinking, you repeated, “Reservation? Why would we even need one—”

His arm suddenly swooped down and curled your body next to his as soon as you began walking up the intimidating structure. “Because I have the money to do so now, can’t you see? I can finally spoil the fuck out of my wife the way I’ve been wanting to this whole time.” Nicer—better—greater than usual

“Gguk—”

“I know that it might be a few years too late to make up for it, but I want you to realize how much I love you,” he said sincerely. “That I’m doing all of this for reason.”

You tugged his hand and called for him again.

Ignoring your pleas, he continued, “I’m shitty for not doing this sooner, and I know some nights get lonely without me, but I want to pay you back with everything I can possibly afford — I’m working hard. For you. For Yeona. Only for the both of you.”

Impulsively, your heel stomped against the pavement until his attention finally shifted towards you. The action immediately turned regrettable when the impact vibrated and bounced off of your ankle. You winced.

“Jungkook,” you pathetically mumbled, reaching out towards him.

Mid-talk, and it was your eyes that glossed over to throw him off, putting him on high alert. He had no choice but to stare down nervously at you with a bitten lip.

You exhaled slowly and eventually circled your arms around his neck to pull him closer. You were still just outside of the front doors to climb in a beautifully long elevator ride, the gift shop beside the admission booths light blinking brightly to let visitors know it was wide open for them to waste money on overpriced, useless trinkets and tiny magnets.

Your fingers softly pulled at the hairs of his nape, urging him to give you a kiss right then and there. “I appreciate and love everything you’ve bought and done for me tonight.” Just for even allowing some time for the both of you that weekend — it was way more than enough. Your fingers softly ran over the edge of his jaw and went a bit further up to cup his cheek. His hands slid up to your wrist in return and squeezed, angling his head to put a few kisses on the center of your palm. “But you know I love you regardless, right? I don’t need you to pay back my love I’ll always have for you. Always, Gguk. We maintained a shitty apartment together for so many years, still got married when the circumstances weren’t always the nicest, and continue to raise a beautiful little girl together. Nothing changes when I’m with you.”

He eagerly bent down to encase your lips with his own. “I love you,” he said with utter sincerity, his silent ode to you he would carry along for the rest of his life hung somewhere within the tone of it. Always.

#mine #full stop #jungkook

244 notes · View notes

peeterparkr · 4 years

Text

perfidy;tom holland|16

chapter 16: the closeup

enemies to lovers au/enemies with benefits

chapter summary: tom and y/n get close

pairing: tom holland x y/n

warnings: fluffy, smut (skip the *), angst, New York

word count: 8.2k

here’s a playlist

and here’s another one

and here’s another one inspired by 1D

social media before you read (IMPORTANT FOR THE CHAPTER) :

tweets, instagram and texts: y/n and Tom are absent in social media

previous chapter next chapter series masterlist wanna be tagged?

Hi!

It hurts to think that two people love each other and yet they never knew. That was the thought invading your head. They say unrequited love hurts, and it does, you had lived your whole life believing your love was one sided, and boy, had it hurt. You couldn’t deny every sleepless night, every heartbeat skipping, and you’d never deny every tear you had shedded. But realizing it had always been reciprocated and never knowing about it, because life liked to be a bitch… well, that’s just stupid. It sounded so cliche, though. The guy had always been in love with her.

You first love ever, which, by the way he knew, loved you back. But did he? You had trouble deciding it. But somehow, you believed it. Not sure if you believed it because of the situation or because you wanted to believe it. Still.

It hurt. Because had all those tears been for nothing? Or maybe they meant more now. It was so… not what you had expected.

Maybe it had been what you had always wanted but never expected. A secret wish.

But now that you had it, you didn’t want it.

Did it make sense? No. Not at all.

Except it did, in a way, or that’s what you were trying to figure out as you felt an unequivocal heartbreak. But why did this hurt?

Because even if he loved you, even if he had loved you, there had been a stronger force pulling him away from you.

A force that you knew looked very much like Tom and went by the name of Harry.

You didn’t want to blame it on Harry. And maybe that’s why you’d shut Tom off when he’d tried to explain, because you had felt it coming, the unexplainable fear of him saying: I was just protecting my brother.

And you had been protecting Harry, too.

Because it hurt, too. But you didn’t want to think about that. Not now. You didn’t want to think of the very complicated feelings you had once had towards Harry, which were very much alike to the feelings you’d once had towards Timothee. Knowing that it would’ve the best. But the heart wants what it wants. And your heart wanted that entitled moron that had been an arrogant idiot throughout his whole life but now, apparently had always had feelings for you.

You really had to think about Tom right now.

Your mind was helping with that, it had decided to hurt you in ways that you hadn’t been hurt before, your mind was roaming back to moments that proved he hadn’t loved you. Why were you trying to convince yourself of that? Why did your mind have to go back to your childhood when he’d push you off the swings, or to other moments, like him pushing you in the hallway, or him making fun of your braids, or your shoes or whatever he came up with that day.

Which had you already questioning yourself, why did you fall in love with such a dickhead? This was to blame on you. But oh, who wouldn't fall in love with him? The whole world was at his feet, it made sense you were in love with him.

Well, it made sense now, but back then? The scrawny annoying kid who never shut up. God, with that smile and the way he looked at you.

Why were you trying to shut down your feelings now that you knew that he possibly loved you back? He had said it, right? He’d always been in love with you.

Why were you trying to deny it?

Or maybe you were trying to deny your own feelings.

You had both fallen quiet after you had stopped dancing, your hands hesitated when he had offered you his hand, he then offered his arm instead. You took it, and you didn’t want to let go. Not now. Not never.

And then your mind was reminding you of how all of this hard started. Revenge.

But was it, really? Revenge? It seemed now like a faint memory, now the script was barely following your path, and you knew it had turned into something beautiful. You’d like the back and forth you were doing, it did have some potential. Starting with a significant event, based on your pain, on the damned yellow flowers. Which of course, you’d changed to a bouquet of lavenders. And then going backwards to what lead to it, building it down to the so childhood enemies you were, and the second timeline which was built to where you were standing now.

It was good. An 80’s based love story, coming of age type of series. Changing a little bit the story so they’d be teenagers and have them roll around with shenanigans.

The story of William, Tom.

And Valerie, you.

Two teenagers who hated each other.

You walked with him, and it felt different. Somehow the people who had danced on the street were strangers to you. Because you saw Tom and you saw yourself and you didn’t feel like the children you once had been. Sure, there was a faint reminder of that scrawny guy you’d known your whole life with his silly comments and his overflowing energy. But… it wasn’t the same. To think that the—monster you had grown to know had never been one? Or he had, but only as a facade.

However, it could be an act… but you were sure it wasn’t. Not from him.

And not from you, either. Even if sometimes it felt like one.

But now you saw his eyes, begging for forgiveness, tender and light. Eyes pleading you to say those words back.

He was in love with you. And it… hurt. Why must it hurt?

You stopped him before you got close to the hotel, the city felt like it was only for you. The lights were only a blurred memory now, you barely saw any stars. But it was still amazing, nothing mattered. The buzzing streets fell quiet, and the only light that mattered was that streetlight where you were standing by. He looked sad, too.

It was bizarre. But you gave him a quick kiss, that told him it was alright. It would be, eventually. You liked to believe that. And seeing him there with those sympathetic eyes, and that gentle and tender smile, drove you completely insane.

But damn, you couldn’t put a price to the emotions you were feeling, it felt unethical and wrong. And quite confusing, actually. But the script was the least that mattered to you as you were trying to sketch the path your own heart was following.

You knew it would still be different, throughout all of this.

“Do we have a verdict?” He asked as you walked into the hotel.

“I’m still deciding it,” you admitted. “What am I even deciding, again?”

“I dunno, you’ve been quiet and I only assumed you were trying to decide something.”

You took his hand and locked your fingers. “Guess I am.”

“What are you deciding? If I may ask?”

“I’m having trouble believing it,” you confessed. “I—I am having trouble believing you were in love with me.”

“Not past tense,” he cleared his throat. “I am in love with you.”

“But why? What’s wrong with you?” You chuckled.

He nudged you. “A lot of things, but I am…”he stopped and then stared at you. “I am deeply, stupidly and annoyingly in love with you, y/n.”

You wanted to say it back right then. Even if being in love and loving wasn’t the same, you wanted him to know. You smiled. “Well, it’s difficult to believe it.”

“Why?”

“Because you are… you and I am me,” you explained. “You are Tom, and I’m just stinky and stupid y/n.”

“You’re not as stinky,” he joked.

“Dickhead,” she nudged him.

He looked at you, “I thought you’d be deciding something else.”

“Like what?” You frowned.

He coughed, and ran a hand through his face.

“Tom?”

“Not sure,” he admitted but you were sure he lied. He probably was waiting for you to say it back.

Technically you had hinted it, hadn’t you? The whole: you had been on my mind all the time. But… God, you didn’t want to say it out loud. Saying it out loud meant making it real. Your heart was beating so fast. So, so fast. But then again, your sane reasoning was reminding of the constant aggravation.

But god that was stupid.

You wanted to get in the elevator already, kiss him without any confrontation, because even if you were the only ones in the world right now, the crowds were still there, and they couldn’t know. You had to be alone, and you had to wrap your arms around him. You just needed another kiss for confirmation. And maybe some more just to make sure.

The elevator had been a safe space for both of you, since you’d arrived, every time you’d gotten into you’d share a kiss there. A new one each day. Never a same kiss twice. Tom had taught you that there were more than a million ways to kiss and that he’d be willing to explore a new one each passing moment.

But of course, life was a bitch and just as you thought you’d be alone in the elevator, an old couple walked in as well.

You frowned but hugged Tom, at first you saw him hesitate but he hugged you back. He placed a soft kiss on top of your head, as you nuzzled into him. You felt safe, which you hadn’t been. Your mind started to shut up, and you were enjoying the moment, feeling him, as you could smell the remaining cologne from his neck, and you felt his fingers pressing against your back.

The elevator door opened as the couple wished you goodnight and as soon as it had closed you smashed your lips to his, taking him by surprise.

But his hands immediately went to your waist, as he tried to pull you closer to him. The kiss was… breathtaking, but not as the usual kisses you’ve had on this elevator, hot and full of passion, wanting to undress the other already. No.

This kiss was soft, like a thousand butterflies. He was kissing your soul, it felt like an end of the summer breeze. Yet it felt… sad. As if he was apologizing, in a way.

And maybe it was the look in his eyes, or the way he had warmed you with his embrace, or the fact that you felt like your heart was so close to his that you finally knew it, or… you finally accepted it. You loved him. That was undeniable. As stupid as that feeling may be, and as much as it hurt.

The kiss lasted so long you were sharing each other’s breaths by the time the door opened again. And it felt soothing and inviting and thrilling and bright.

He pulled away, and you gulped, as you slowly walked out. He chuckled nervously as he led the way. He kissed your cheek before opening the door.

He seemed nervous, and you were, too, probably. You felt like your heart was about to pop off your chest. He cleared his throat before heading to the bed.

You both were too quiet. But you both followed the routine, the teeth brushing, make-up wiping. Quietly this time.

You saw him head to the bed, he checked his notifications but didn’t open them. You had noticed that about you both, you rarely picked up your phone when you were together.

He took a deep breath and then stared at the city from the window, sitting on the edge of the bed. You wish this was the script, at least there you could control every tiny situation, but this? How could you control any of this. You could write a million pages and it would never be enough to explain how you felt towards him.

“Tom?” You called him anyway. As you walked over to him.

“Yeah?” He smiled at you.

“I have a verdict,” you said. But did you really?

He took your hand, nervously. “Yeah?”

“I… Me too.”

That was the most stupid sentence that you could say and it didn’t come remotely close to everything you wanted to tell him.

He furrowed his brows with confusion. “What?”

“I—“you cleared your throat, the words didn’t want to come out. Not out loud. “I… what you’ve said before.”

“I said a lot of things, y/n,” he reminded you as you sat beside him, he gave his attention back to the city.

You kept watching him, tracing his side profile slowly, you feared saying it because if you said it, there was no going back for once.

He pursed his lips, and then squeezed your hand.

“You asked me why I said no to Tim,” you started.

He frowned and then turned to you.

“I thought we were done—“

“The real reason why I said no, was because I’ve also—“you stopped yourself. You had to say it. But it felt weird, the words didn’t want to come out, he only stared at you,“I’ve also been in love with you my whole life, and I still am even more deeply than ever.”

You had said it. In a way. Because he knew this, you knew he was well aware of this.

You’ve said it before. How he had been your first love, not the only one. But there was always something you had believed in: nothing is as truthful as the first love because it’s the most spontaneous one, you never plan it, or just...arrives. Over the years you learn, and you find love and we learn how to trick ourselves into believing it’s love, and we let ourselves fall into the routines and lies the world tells us about it, about how it should feel, but not with the first one. Because the first love is so magical, so real and authentic. You don’t plan it.

And maybe that’s why it’s so easy to fall back in love with one’s first love. Because it feels real. Even if it isn’t.

And you knew that when he was gone, you were still thinking about him, that you still got dressed up and then ended up crying on your couch again.

Because you knew it, Timmy was...perfect. But Tom wasn’t, he truly wasn’t and yet…

Tom watched you, as if now it was him who was trying to convince himself he believed you. You saw a hint of blush forming on his cheeks, and his eyes crinkle just slightly.

“And—“now you couldn't stop yourself. “It hurts to think I’ve spent my whole life loving you, and that the feelings might have been reciprocated without us truly knowing, and it hurts to think we spent our whole lives pulling that kind of crap when I should’ve spent all my life kissing that dumb face of yours, because… I love you. And—Maybe, maybe that’s why we didn’t take it slow, you know?” The damned word slipped again, and again and again, as if once you’d said it it had to come out for every time you’d stayed quiet and kept it to yourself. You cursed to yourself mentally. He remained quiet. And you only wanted the world to suck you in and spit you elsewhere far away from him. Maybe this was after Rome all over again, maybe he’d said the words that you dreaded, he’d say that he didn’t love you back. That this was all an act, that you’d be in agony again.

But you continued, because you are stupid. “Because—Why would I take it slow with someone whom I already know, flaws and all, and why would I take it slow with someone I love? Why the fuck should I waste more time if I love you? Why the fuck should I stop myself from feeling when I know you’re far from perfect but I still love you as you are—And why the fuck haven’t you shut me up with a damn kiss, idiot?” You demanded and he finally smiled.

He chuckled before leaning over to kiss you, pushing you to the bed, laying down right beside you, with his hand on your waist. The kiss felt golden, if you could ever give color to a kiss, that would be it, golden, so bright and tempting.

“I love you,” he admitted, as he stared at your eyes and then at your lips, he leaned down to place another soft kiss.

Hearing it, was way too different from all the times you’ve said it before.You’d said the words before but with different meanings. Purely as a sentiment obligated by the nature of your families’ relationship. Or maybe as a hidden—very hidden friendship. But not like this. Not this heart stopping “I love you.” Not this blushing and looking into each other’s eyes crap.

Not this, that once it had come out of your mouth, it had been so easy to say.

“And I didn’t shut you up because.. I just wanted to hear it from you—I technically said it first,” Tom said.

You immediately frowned. “What?” You questioned. “No, you said you were in love with me, not that you loved me,” you stated.

“Are you getting technical now, y/n?” He teased. The moment was ruined.

“Yes.”

He chuckled. “Well it doesn’t count—I told you how I felt first,” he said.

“No, I did-”

“I said I had been in love,” he said. “Falling in love and saying I love you is the same—”

“No it’s not,” you frowned.

“In this case, it is,” he laughed as he kissed your neck. And you knew what he meant. You already knew he loved you—just not in this way.

“No,” you snapped.

He chuckled. “You just want to take pride on believing that you said it first.”

You smirked. “Yes, of course.”

He brushed his lips against yours, butterflies invading your soul. “But you didn’t, I said it first, idiot” he sentenced.

“You did not, frogface!” You pushed him, and then sat right on top of his lap, he laughed, laying down.

“I did!” He grinned, before pulling the pillow from behind his head to playfully hit you.

“You did not! And Oi!” You complained before taking the other pillow to hit him right on his face.

The pillow fight continued, along with the whole: ‘It was me’ ‘No,me!’ bickering, until Tom pulled you back to kiss you yet again.

“Are we actually fighting over who said I love you first?” He asked you.

“Yes,” you grinned, as you played with his hair.

“I can’t believe you, y/n,” he laughed.

“I’ve been holding it back my whole life, I have the right to,” you complained, as you cupped his face delicately to pepper him with soft kisses.

He closed his eyes as his hand travelled throughout your whole back. “You think I haven’t been trying to tell you my whole life?”

“Hm,” you only looked up slightly, but kissed your way over to his collarbone, barely exposed.

“And it’s different, because—We knew we loved each other just not in that way,” he whispered. He was right but you wouldn’t let him know that.

You looked up, “So what?” Still leaving wet kisses across his whole exposed neck.

“So I said it first,” he stated. You stopped kissing him. “Hey,” he complained.

You sat back up. “But you knew I was in love with you before,” you reminded him.

“But not right now,” he complained.

You scoffed, “You actually didn’t know I was in love with you right now.”

“No,” he tried pulling you back to him.

You smirked, rolling your eyes. “So you think I was only kissing you because of—“

He shrugged as he placed his hands on your waist. “I’m hot y/n, I turn you on.”

You coughed, faking a laugh. “You don’t.”

He pulled you back to him, his hands traveling down to cup your ass, pushing you against him. He connected your lips with his on a sloppy, messy but deepened kiss. He managed to turn you both around, now him on top. He kissed his way to suck on your neck. You only closed your eyes

“Fine you do,” you admitted pushing him away giggling, as he only stared at you with a smirk. “but that’s not what I was—You’re saying you didn’t know I was in love?”

He smiled, shaking his head. “I did not, I swear.”

“Well, I am,” you admitted.

He beamed. “Hm, and I am too.” He placed a hand on the back of your neck, and pulled you into a long kiss. His hands toyed with the hem of your shirt. You helped him take it off as he kissed down from your shoulders to your chest.

“You know you can’t kiss me away to change my mind,” you mentioned.

He nuzzled into your chest. “Oh I know, I know you’re a stubborn ass.”

“Hey,” you playfully smacked his head.

“Oi,” he climbed back up. “But we also just said I love you for the first time which it’s a pretty big deal,” he whispered.

You blushed. “Huh guess it is,” you beamed, pulling him for yet another kiss.

“Hmmm,” he hummed.

You pulled away. “But I did say it first.”

“Sh,” he chuckled, kissing you.

“I love you,” you said between peppers.

“Hmh, I love you,” he said back. And it felt so weird but so nice hearing it. You could listen to him say it again and again. Your new favorite song.

“There, I said it first,” you teased.

Tom had to sit back up to hold back his laughter. “Oh my god shut up,” he said with a grin.

You smirked. “Make me.”

But he didn’t lean over as you expected him to, he didn’t lean over to kiss you in the way he had the nights before. Not with the hunger and lust burning in his eyes. Not with desire.

He leaned over with a quick peck, and with a gentle smile. Slowly, his fingers threaded up and down your stomach, as he stared at your eyes, only. He only smiled against the kiss, and you did, too. You barely were even kissing, it was only silly smiles clumsily bumping into each other. A deep kiss then, your hands brushing his hair and his hand on your waist pulling him closer.

You took off his shirt then, with his help as he climbed up to you, slow movements of his soft and light fingers as they bristled on your skin. Soft caresses of his lips, so slow as he bit your bottom lip.

You wanted to say it again, but you didn’t want to wear it out. But you knew that with your lips against his he knew it. And he knew he wasn’t perfect for you, and he knew you weren’t either. He probably wasn’t the guy whom everyone would think you’d end up, and you could definitely see the ending to this, but it didn’t matter. He was perfect right now.

His soft fingers travelled on your body, he hadn’t seemed to notice you were still wearing the pink flowered lingerie, or maybe he had, but his sight wouldn’t leave yours, as your own hands were brushing his cheeks, slightly caressing his lips.

He went down to your neck next, nipping at your skin gently, his hands tracing your sides, and your own hands pressing down from his chest to his stomach.

“I love you,” he said hoarsely.

His clothes were a burden now, as your fingers were silking down finding freckles as you were barely looking at his back. Your lips parted, as you looked at him, his hair falling down to his eyes.

And though his hands were going down to your heat, it didn’t feel like teasing, it felt more like he was exploring, as if he was memorizing it, just like you were counting each freckle on his body. He slowly undressed you completely, the underwear now hanging somewhere in the room. Once your body was free from the clothes and as you were pulling down his own pants, he started to chillingly kiss his way down to your stomach.

Soft and tender, almost unnoticeable kisses. You wrapped your legs around him, wanting to feel his warm body pressed against yours, you wanted to feel each and every heartbeat. Your body flushed with each touch, as his tongue slid up from your chest back to your neck. You pushed him slightly, shifting to be on top of him and kiss him, his chest, his stomach, your hands pressing his bulky arms and then back on his lips, as you smiled against each kiss.

“I love you,” you said this time.

And he was holding your body like he knew it completely, and he probably did. Since you both arrived in New York, he had probably kissed every single spot on your body, and you had kissed his. You probably were now memorizing each and every spot, the ones that were pretty and the ones that weren’t. But tonight, it wasn’t like every other night in New York, it felt like the city was quiet, and it felt like the lights that came in weren’t the buildings.

He sat you both up, with his nips getting sloppier with each kiss, as he tried to grind against you, with sweat now dripping from both of your bodies. You were melting against each touch, and you were sure the only sound in the room were your lips pressing to each other and the sweaty skin meeting softly. Velvety soothing sighs each time you pulled away, with his hands massaging every inch of your body, and your hands tugging at his untamable hair. Both of you giggled every once in a while to the kiss, as your fingers tickled his body. You had reached for the drawer in the nightstand, which had just been restocked that day with condoms.

Bodies wrapped around each other, as he finally looked at you, as if asking for permission and you only nodded at his hazy, hungry eyes. You helped him wrap up the condom and then positioned yourself.

You took a deep breath as you sank down now getting your core close to his length, you’d felt it growing more and more with each kiss, and your own sex had been pooling but both of you had seemed to ignore it, too lost in each other’s lips. Your lips parted just slightly as you felt him enter you, you gripped to his back as his own hands settled on your waist. You slowly lowered yourself, as both of you exhaled with relief.

You nuzzled into his neck, as you slowly bounced up and down, rolling your hips, as he thrusted in and out. Soft moans slipping out of his mouth, as he called your name and only your nme.

A steady rhythm as he brushed your sensitive sweet spots each time he thrusted in and out. Your lips found his again, as she smiled against them. And you were sure you could feel your heartbeat, and through pleasure you both tried to chase down both of your lips, urging to be so close to each other.

You rested your forehead against his as your bouncing was turning even lazier, and barely even rocking, your thighs were yearning for relief, and maybe Tom sensed it as he pushed her back into the bed, now his thrusts burying deeper, each time, as your hands cupped his head. The friction getting you exactly where you wanted to, and you knew he was close, too, his drilling had become sloppy. You reflexively closed your thighs but he opened them back up. It was building up in your stomach, the overwhelming sensation of both of you seeing stars.

He kept moaning your name and you kept moaning his, and he’d slip out every now and then and ‘I love you’, as both of you were shaking.

Tonight you’d been quiet, not like every other night here in New York. You were only loud enough for the other to hear, because that’s all you needed.

You didn’t last much, and you only gripped to his shoulders, and he followed after, his hips pushing harder until his release sprung out.

He laid on top of you, as you listened to each other soft breaths and heartbeats. Once you both caught your breath he pulled out, but turned you around to kiss you again.

And that’s all you really needed, sweet pecks around each other’s bodies, soft and quiet ‘I love you’s and giggling and smiling, blushing each time you looked into each other's' eyes.

You couldn’t remember how you had finally slept in his arms, so close to his heart. But you barely slept after that, you only watched him, and there was a part of you that really knew he wouldn’t fuck up, you would. You watch him fall asleep, and when you were sure he was out, you kissed his cheek and then headed to the small sofa, and then opened your laptop as the bright script stared at you, you wanted to change it all. And you had to tell him, but how could you tell him?

You had to change this, but could you change the entire series? When you had to give it back in a week. But maybe you could tell him it was only based on your life, slightly. Besides, it ended on a happy note.

This felt wrong. But you couldn’t help but smile, watching him. And you wrote the happy ending, how you had had it all wrong and how stupid it is to doubt love. How the girl ended u falling in love with him, anyway.

Eventually you were drifting off, so you closed your laptop and got back in bed with him, he pulled you close to him.

You woke up to the sound of the shower and an empty bed. You could hear Tom singing from the shower. ‘I think we’re alone now’.

And it was funny how you now had the perfect soundtrack to your relationship, a quirky 80’s song that probably wouldn’t be considered romantic, and it definitely wasn’t the type of song you’d expect to dedicate. But you had danced to it, and your hearts had synced to it. Stupid as it may be.

You hummed along, and you took out your laptop again. You typed it in, as a reminder, to find a song. Just the kind of song that had the same undertone, a bright song with lyrics that fit perfectly.

“Morning,” you grinned as the door opened. “Lovely voice you’ve got there.”

“‘M sorry you looked so peaceful, didn’t want to wake you up, dumbass” he said as he had walked out of the shower, towel around his waist, droplets falling down his hair. “Did I wake you up-?”

“No, you didn’t. All showered up, I see,” you grinned, closing your laptop. “Any plans today, frogface?”

“I do, actually, want to go out with my girlfriend.”

“Oh,” you blushed. “You have a girlfriend? Should’ve told me before all of this happened.”

He laughed. “Idiot.”

You blew him a kiss.

“I wanted to take you to a museum,” he commented, making his way over. “We have all these two days to ourselves so maybe we could enjoy it, then only two days more filming and we’re back, so I wanted to take you out on New York.”

“Hm, or we could stay in bed all day,” you suggested, as you pulled his hand, he sat right beside you. He leaned over to kiss you.

“Hm, no, as much as I’d love that...” he laughed. “C’mon, you’ve never been to New York before,” he said.

And he was right.

“Fine, a museum then?” You grinned as you wiped off a drop of water falling down his face.

“Yeah, Museum of Moving Image, it’s basically a film museum, it’s in Queens.”

“Queens, huh?” you grinned. “We could visit Peter Parker.”

He laughed. “You have him right here, babe.”

“No, Peter is smart,” you kissed his nose as he laughed with fake pain. “But didn’t you have tickets for a game?”

He bit his lip. “Yeah, but.. That’s not really your scene, so… First the museum and then go listen to the Philharmonic,” he chuckled. “Or something aesthetic”

You chuckled. “Sounds nice,” you bit your lip.

“And you’re not excited?” He tilted your head. “You loved to do that stuff with… Him.”

“Which is exactly,” you closed your eyes.

“What, now?”

“Tom, you don’t have to… I love you for who you are, okay? Let’s go to the game, and have fun, and really, let’s just explore New York, alright?” You leaned over to kiss him.

He grinned. “Fine, we’ll go to the game.”He looked down at your laptop. “Hm?”

“Sorry, I was writing,” you admitted.

He grinned. “Ah, right, your script,” he chuckled. “Completely forgot about that.”

“Yeah, I kind of want to be a writer for movies and such and kind of am an aspiring director,” you chuckled.

“And here I thought you were having the time of your life being my assistant.”

“Am I an assistant though?” You laughed. “Kind of feel like a hooker now, this definitely wasn’t on the job description.”

He burst out in laughter, blushing. He cleared his throat. “Now you know why Haz and I moved in together.”

You playfully smacked him. “Idiot.”

He finally laid back down on the bed. “So, what’s the script about?”

You felt your heart stopping. “Um.”

He chuckled. “Fine, don’t tell me,” he laughed. “I remember you used to write the best stories.”

You rolled your eyes. “You never liked any of them.”

“That’s what I made you think,” he winked. “But I remember all kinds of stories.”

“Yea,” you gulped.

“So?”

“You’ll know it when I’m ready for you to know it, okay?” You pecked him in the lips and then quickly headed to the shower, too.

The rest of the day was fun, you went to a baseball game, holding hands and having fun, you got a little bit carried away by the game as you cheered for whatever team was playing, you’d shared a few kisses, covered by both your caps. It felt so different from Rome. Though you still had to hide, there were people who had recognized him and you definitely didn’t want the world to know about this… relationship before you even knew what it was. Besides, if the word spread around it would get to your families and you definitely were not ready to tell them, yet. And you knew it would be a terrible way to find out.

But that didn’t stop you from having fun, and from laughing and enjoying the time with him, as both of you showed a side to each other that you’d never shown before, a side where you both were trying to show your best side, your best smile and your best laugh. The nicest jokes and the best manners. And your heart couldn’t stop beating so fast each time you shared a kiss.

And you explored New York, just letting the city drive you to wherever it led. Getting on the subway, admiring street art, searching through the loud crowds. Finding places that were barely noticed by the usual tourists, but that you both found fun enough. Sometimes he’d find random moments to whisper he loved you, and your heart stopped each time. It wouldn’t wear out.

Somehow, you both ended up deciding to go to the Modern Pinball, where you both were trying to prove the other that they were better at the game. And it felt, in a way like when you were children, laughing and competing without trying to hurt each other, but of course beat the other. The arcade was magical, and romantic in a way.

He won, but you didn’t acknowledge it.

But he kept mentioning it as you sat down at a nice New York bar, beer on both of your hands.

“I won.”

“You cheated,” you commented, laughing. “I don’t want to talk about it, okay?”

“Hm you’re just bitter because you suck at pinball,” he sassed.

You felt it, again. The magic, the night changing. Fearing that it would change again, not now, not tomorrow but soon.

“That’s no way to talk to your girlfriend,” you said, flipping him off.

“Oh, she’s here?” He looked around.

“Dickhead.”

“Fartface,” he grinned. “So, you actually are my girlfriend, then?”

“Dunno, feels like we’ve messed all the order up,” you chuckled. “We first broke each other’s heart, then we slept together, then you asked me out, then we said I love you and now we’re dating, what kind of order is that?”

He snorted. “Hm, at this point we’ll end up getting a divorce first, then a kid, go to our kid’s wedding and then get married ourselves and right after that we’ll finally go to our third date.”

You laughed, rolling your eyes. “Silly.”

“At least we already broke each other’s hearts, we skipped the worst part,” he smiled.

You looked down with a sad smile.

But you were both quick to change the subject. And then he kept insisting on going to the museum the next day, and you were actually kind of excited for it. Though you both were laughing at how both Harrison and your brother were asking for an update on your relationship.

“I think we should tell them,” he said.

“Hm, really?”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “I don’t want to hide this.”

You smiled. “Really?”

He chuckled, “Second date but, yes y/n, I want you to meet my parents, dumbface” he grinned.

“I already know your parents, idiot,” you pointed out.

“Not as my girlfriend, you don’t.”

And you’d both gone quiet. That was fast, so so fast, and this meant he really was going serious, which meant you had to be quick with your own thoughts over the script. You had to back away. You had to give this up. Or tell him. Find a way to tell him.

“So I am your girlfriend?” You teased chuckling.

He seemed to realize it, though, maybe he was backing away.

“No, but might be fun to make them think you are,” he cleared his throat before chuckling. “And we can pretend it, too, and just--”

“Fine, I’ll meet your parents,” you smiled, kissing his hand. “And maybe you can meet mine, too.”

But of course, the fairytale had to end, didn’t it? You didn’t even remember how it had happened, you only remembered crying on the edge of the bed. And Tom pacing around the room.

The fucking film canister, a single damned prop had ruined the last 24 hours. Your stupid decision had made everything explode. Nothing that either of you’d said or felt or done mattered because he found the film canister.

Of course you didn’t expect him to be calm about it. And he had been when he had found it. Initially, until he connected the dots.

How had he found it?

How the hell had he found it?

Why the fuck had you forgotten it was on your purse? And then you were cursing yourself for not giving it back, why hadn’t you given it back? Why were you so confused towards Timmy? Were you planning on keeping it forever?

“y/n, oh my god, I just… You just carry this around everywhere?” He frowned.

“No, I don’t.”

“Why--I… Please, sorry just walk me through this, please, I… You have his engagement ring? You kept the engagement ring?”

“I told you what happened, alright? I wanted to say yes at that point.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were planning on saying yes, and were you planning on saying it right now-?”

“I brought it to give it back to him, alright?” You snapped. “I was going to do it yesterday at dinner.”

“And you didn’t,” Tom snapped. “Which has to mean something, I-”

“I literally just said I loved you, you really think it means something?”

“Y/N, yes!” Tom cried. “You said it yesterday, you’ve always believed he might be the love of your life.”

“And I fucking said I was in love with you throughout my whole relationship with him, and I also fucking said I said no to that ring because I still loved you!”

“Yet you still have this!” He pointed out.

“Fine, give it to me, I’ll go right now and give it back to him,” you walked over, snatching it from his hand.

Tim opened up the door to his hotel room, he had just showered you could tell, as he was drying his hair with the white towel. He smiled brightly at you, and you only wanted to forget this, get yourself out of this situation.

And you wondered how wrong this was, because there was still that buzzing in your ear saying that he should be the one you should love, he was the guy whom you should end up with. Everybody saw it, the guy whom your parents had loved, the guy who was clean and who understood you, the fairytale, and the rom com, the guy who you were supposed to love. And yet, with everything your heart still belonged to Tom.

“Hi,” he grinned. “You arrived early… I uh, want to head somewhere?” You had called him on your way.

“No,” you answered quickly, and you had to hold your breath. “I…” You had been playing with the film canister all the way from your own hotel. You handed it to him as he watched it curiously. “I need to give it back. I… I wanted to wait until we were back in London but I need to get rid of this guilt, Tim, I can’t let you keep holding on to something that might never…” You started, and you had promised yourself you wouldn’t cry but then again you had promised yourself you wouldn’t love Tom again, you were very good at breaking promises.

Tim looked up, slightly, and then he opened it, revealing the ring he’d once given you. He stayed quiet. “Alright.”

That’s all he had said, but you knew it wasn’t alright. “I’m so sorry, Tim, I hope you find someone who will love you as much as you deserve to be loved and more,” you said, and the tears were already streaming down. You didn’t wipe them off, as if you weren’t acknowledging them.

He pursed his lips. “This is it, huh?”

“I.. I don’t know Tim, I… I’m so sorry.”

He only stared at it. “Can I ask…. where did I go wrong?”

“You didn’t.” And that’s what hurt the most, you guessed. That he had been perfect, just… Not for your heart.

“I—I just want to know what I did wrong, what could I have done better?” He pushed, as he finally looked into your eyes, and you saw him hurt. And that’s the last thing you ever wanted, to see him hurt. He didn’t deserve to be hurt.

“It’s not you,” you admitted.

“I still—I feel like I could’ve done so much more,” he said as he walked out of his room to lean against the wall. “and—And I know, I know you never loved me like—”

“I loved you, Timmy.” Because you didn’t want him to think you’d never loved him.

“Not the way you should’ve,” he scoffed.

You tensed up. “What does that mean?”

“I don’t know I’m just—”He ran a hand through his face and then through his hair. “I’m sorry, I’m being annoying. I should get over you.”

You didn’t answer.

“I’ve been trying to understand what went wrong,”he said, mostly to himself it seemed. “We almost never fought y/n, we always—we were happy, and I thought we were okay, but it seemed like every Friday you’d get dressed up but then realize it was for me, as if it didn’t excite you, as if every time you picked up you wished it was him instead.”

It felt like you were being stabbed on your stomach. “No timmy you did, I loved you, it was you…”

“It wasn’t, y/n,” he gulped. “I only wanted to love you, y/n, and—And I don’t understand what happened. And—It was my mistake but I guess I asked for too much.”

“No, Timmy, this is me.”

“No, I know,” you saw his eyes were now starting to water but he discreetly wiped a tear off. “And I’m sad I ran out of chances because there is just so much love still waiting okay?”

You wanted to change this, you wanted to fast forward this moment, to know the right answer, read the spoiler and know how this would end.

“And we never had a proper goodbye,” he continued. “And I understand that you wanted to be loved,” he smiled sadly. “That’s all I did, you only asked to be loved but—Maybe that was my problem, I never asked you to love me back.”

“I did love you back, so much, and I still do, I’m just… I am so sorry I wasn’t able to love you like you deserved to.” Because he didn’t deserve to be feeling this way

“And does he?” He closed the film canister again and played with it.

“What?”

“Does he love you like he’s supposed to? Because I see you smiling, but you’ve—You've painted him as such a monster-” He sighed.

“He’s not a monster.”

“How long will it take him to break your heart again?” He asked, as if he was asking for an actual day, to be prepared. “Because maybe y/n—I won’t be there, fuck now I sound toxic…I am super toxic, fuck,” he closed his eyes. “I just have the right to be sad, okay? Or angry I guess,” he nodded and looked away. “I mean yoou were in love with another man throughout our whole relationship..” He said with poison.

You scowled. “I wasn’t, I was in love with you.”

“All the time?”

You leaned against the other wall, crossing your arms. “It took me a while, but I did, I loved… I love you, alright? I’m just…” You paced around. “It’s so complicated, Timmy, I just… I want to be with him right now, okay?”You snapped. “And I’m sorry Tim, I’m just willing to risk it, I need to know what it feels like to finally be loved by him.”

He nodded, and then silenced himself for a while.

“Was there anything I could’ve done?”

“Tim.” You squeezed your eyes shut, and he walked over to you, placing his hands on your shoulders.

“I just need to know.”

“It wasn’t you, Tim, it was me, and it’s… “You walked out of his embrace. “It’s horrible because I know .. There's a part of me that knows that you’re… “You gulped and watched him, raising your voice. “You’re supposed to be the love of my life and I don’t get it, alright? And when you were gone, I didn’t want you to be another story, okay? I cried so much because I knew I had lost you...But… “You scowled. “My heart just keeps being an idiot, but right now I don’t care, okay?” You admitted. “If he wants to break my heart then it’s alright, I’m willing to get my heart broken one last time, maybe I’ll finally learn but right now, let me enjoy this,” you pleaded. “Let me have this, and I know it, everyone says it, you’re my endgame, you and I are perfect for each other but Tim, I can’t do this to you, I love him, right now I want to be with him.”

Tim watched you. “And do you really love him? Or is he only the story you wanted to write?”

“What do you mean?”

“You tend to confuse real life with your own writings, and you tend to dream too much and often forget that life isn’t a movie, y/n,” he commented.

“That’s not what’s happening,” you snapped.

“I know, I’m…”He pinched the bridge of his now. “Guess I’m only trying to convince myself, sorry.”

You stayed silent.

“I’m sorry, it’s… I’ll see you at Harry and Emma’s engagement party,” he said as he was walking back to his room.

“What?”

He sighed. “Yeah, as much as it might bother you to see me, I’m still the bride’s best friend,” he shrugged.

“I didn’t know they were having-”

“Yeah, when we come back, Emma only told me, don’t worry, I’m sure she’ll tell you, after all you’re the maid of honor, aren’t you? Or maybe Harry…” Tim closed his eyes. “We really fucked up by introducing our best friends to each other huh.”

You didn’t say anything.

“Will you and Tom still be a secret?” Tim asked.

“Dunno.”

He sighed. “I know I’m asking too much but please, try to…” He gulped. “Keep down the snogging when you guys are around, I know it’s a new relationship but.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah,” he gulped as he then closed the door.

Maybe you were wrong, maybe knowing that someone was the love of your life but your heart not wanting them back was what hurt the most.

previous chapter next chapter series masterlist wanna be tagged?

tag list @originalpinkpowerranger @spidxrparkxr @mukesnugget @anxiousdesignerdancerbandlover @organicpurplepants @happywolves81 @nedthegay @skylar-mendes @sentimentalquackson @savannah0111 @spidermansmj14 @soccerstud004 @marinaabernardii @applenter @silver-winter-wolf @dark-infernal-instruments @claredolphinbear24 @bookgirlunicorn @tomshufflepuff @avengersgirllorianna @nevertoofarfromivar @saintlavrents @herofiennestiffinashardinscott. @tomzfrog @tohollandback @morganhoran1671 @awkwardfangirl2014 @spideysimpossiblegirl @everythingbooknerd @xapham @xapham @xxtomxo @tomhollandisagod @danicarosaline @laurfangirl424 @vintageroses1014516 @cinnamon-roll-peter @the-lost-fairy-tale @lala-florez @fufaation15 @healthyassdonut @ilcveyou3000 @xxtomxo @socorroann @muffinmari25 @cassindeansass @rogers-obsessed-barnes-curious @southsidespideyy @nathaliabakes @nathaliabakes @marvelstuck @embrace-themagic @bradfordbantams @sanniegirl1214 @softholand @softholand @fairytaleparker @underooling @griff1ndor @griff1ndor @thatweirdomimic @avengersgirllorianna @reginalaufeyson-holmes @better-daisy @yeahimcrying @allmonstersxarehuman @spider-manholland @itstaskeen @itstaskeen @georiaang @sebxstianbarnes @kissingtrutharchives @snoopy3000 @prettymessygurl @spideyparkerstark @fanfic-4-you @lexshead @officiallyunofficialperson @mannien @whitewolfandthefox @melodiclovesong @bizzlepotter @localfangirlx @localfangirlx @acceptance07 @witchythingscore @witchythingscore @swaggyspiderman @localfangirlx @queengemsworld @liberty0123 @stiles-banshees @itsjusttor @stretchkingblog97 @annathesillyfriend @dangerousluv1 @tomshufflepuff @thewayilookatbacon @petersdiaries @emjaywrites @swaggyspiderman @infamousmany @jungeunave @forevermore-euphoria @ispiderdudei @calhtlland @literalfsngirltrash @quacksonhq @it-is-rebel-owl-ma-dudes @desir-ae @pxkajesus @unbelievableholland @peterporkpie @justanotherusername80 @smolpeachees @thenoddingbunny-blog @quackeroos @spideyyeet @astoldbydanid @astoldbydanid @hollandcreep @milly7110 @milly7110 @laurieteddy @rubberducky-jrr @rebekkah4766 @farfromtom @fancyxholland @seaveyheartful @oh-whatabeautiful-parker @coveredinthemessimade @shameless-self-promo-of-a-shrub @dreaming-lia @thatdamjoke @annathesillyfriend @l0ove-sick-blues @witchythingscore @witchythingscore @bookworm06 @sandtopearl @lala-florez @ohfudgeiamgorgeous @chaoticpete @shezzalocked @ @lowkey-love-loki @yoinkyourheart @cosmicholland @frenchfrostpudding @badbitchydecisions @w4ybefor3nir4na @americaswritings @ilovepeterparker13 @lukesbabylon @iamaunicorn4704 @iamaunicorn4704 @simple-things @oh-annaa @sip-portteam @herondale-snow-carstairs @t-holland2080 @tony-starks-ego @quaksonhehe0 @stargazerholland @marvelslut-musicalnerd @hotrubycrab @sovereignparker @peter-parker-tony-stank-trash @belleknows @mysticalinsomniac @nycparkers @nycparkers @anythingthaticareabout @spn-assemble-seven @tanyalooovesyou @somethingchaotic @heartofholland @peachybloomss @youcompletemesk @emyla3305 @emyla3305–butt @hollandstanevans @farfromtom @ohmyquackson @southbeachfeeling @eridanuswave @tonguetiedholland @wolvesofthewinter @quacksonobrien @dcnerd98 @ifntelyinspirit @electraheart-3174 @julialucena5 @itsmilamawson @harryssuckz @unabashedlyhardkitty @xstarbae @tiredfeels @tiredfeels @peterbparkerrwrites @averyfosterthoughts @darethedragonknights @hannahholland1811 @justanamesstuff @emyla3305 @abbiefangirls247 @onewithnomightypowers @itscaminow @youllbemineandillbeyours @hotrubycrab @spidey-holland-96 @awkwardnesshabitat @primadonnasdream @slytherinambitious @maybecharming @where-art-thau-romeo @viagracex @kickingn-ames @sspidermanss @pcterparxer @whatevshollandarchive @aleyabee @applenter @lovewolfspirit @viagracex @xallyouneedislovexx @panicattheeverywherekid @pcterparxer @getthatfireexitdoor @redhoodparker @scarlet-mind @cakepopcriss @allthisfortommy @aleyabee

298 notes · View notes

captainsuke · 3 years

Link

Yusuf should be asleep, he should be wrapped around his husband's body, taking strength from the warmth he's never quite felt anywhere else.

Instead he's in the kitchen, the cool metal grip on his pistol warmed by his hand wrapped white knuckled around it.

He'd heard a noise.

He'd dreamed he'd heard a noise.

It doesn't matter. It's late and the little cottage they are currently calling home is empty, except for his sleeping husband, and Joe, standing vigil in the dark.

(rest of fic under the cut for all you ao3 haters)

There's a small gap between window and wall, and the wind flows through it with a whispering wail. Once all houses creaked and swayed and whistled with the wind, little leaks with pots that were emptied in the morning, a row of fine dust along the window sills and under the doors gifted from a night of wild wind. Now these things are considered nuisances, problems to be torn down and rebuilt new and unremarkable. His heart feels heavy tonight, the feeling of long years catching up on him and curling it's fingers around his soul.

Joe looks out the window of his and Nicky's little Maltese cottage, the moon shines bright enough behind shifting clouds that even the slivers of light allow Joe to see the branches of the apple tree in the front garden sway with the cool night's breeze. Many summers ago they'd laid in the shade of that tree, eating the sweetly tart fruit until they'd made themselves sick. He has a sketch - or eight - of the passing shadows dappling Nicky's face as he'd laid back, full and content.

A memory stacked upon another memory from the days they'd done the same with Andromache, years and years ago, four, five hundred years ago, filling their bellies with overripe apricots after several long hard years of fighting and barely being able to tell if they had even made a difference, let alone actually helped anyone. Even now Joe can close his eyes and see Qýuhn's hair blowing free in the cooling winds coming up along the Peloponnese peninsula. Andromache's fingers sticky with pasteli, her cheeks rosy where she laid them on Qýuhn's thigh. Nicolò, sunbleached and glowing in the golden of light of a Mediterranean sunset.

He remembers retelling the apple story when they'd all met up again, Booker with his ever present flask, Andy sharing long drinks from it, all them tired but smiling, leaning heavily of the heavenly taste of crisp apples and the folly of gorging on enough fresh fruit to upset their stomachs. Because it made Booker laugh. Because it gave them all something to laugh about, to distract themselves from the weather turning and Sèbastien's eyes growing cagey as the winter's teeth started to bite.

Nicky had stoked the cottage's fire til they'd been sweating in front of the tiny hearth, toasty and ridiculous in their undergarments, with thick woolen socks on their feet in respect for the wild weather that battered at the windows. He'd felt happy that they'd managed to turn that haunted look to smiling eyes that crinkled at the edges. Had that moment meant something? Anything? Nothing? Was the glow in his eyes merely momentary? A trick of light and the gleam of drunken eyes?

Would this be the rest of his days? Questioning every moment, desperately searching for where he went wrong, where he should have noticed Booker's pain. Looking for the moment that had been Sèbastien's last straw.

It's funny, Joe can joke, he can laugh, he can make vague reference and yell angry accusing words, he can recite a bit of original poem he's writing as he speaks, but he can't work out how to open his mouth and say the words why did you hurt me?

He's always horribly envied Nicky's ability to put his hurt away, to shelve it for later, or never if he feels it best. Even as he's pulled his hair out in frustration as his other half willfully tears himself to pieces in an effort to find a way to please everyone.

Oh, he knows they're both different shades of Not Dealing Well, both of them like a purpose to distract themselves.

Foolishly, stupidly, for a wild moment Joe wishes for someone else to try for them, to attack them, just so he can slip back into the head space of being a unit, a simple moving part in a machine much larger than himself, Nicky and him working hand in hand, two halves of a whole.

He desperately wishes for that feeling, for anything other than devastated, tearing, hating hurt that sits on his lungs like peine forte et dure, each time he feels like the worst of the pain has occurred he remembers some other occasion, some other memory now colored by betrayal.

He can forgive, he can sympathize, he can hold his brother close and cry for the losses he's suffered.

But anger stabs through at the thought of him not returning that empathy. Like he and all the kin before Booker haven't suffered days of death and nights of death. Day after day, month after month of unimaginable loss, not knowing how to stop it, how to help it, just enduring as time pass uncaring of the pain felt.

He's held Nicky as he begged for the end, for them to finally (please, please, please) be released from the unrelenting years of horrors, just as Nicky has pulled him close while he cried, screamed, wailed for even the slightest chance of reprieve. From the widow with dead eyes and fevered blush, burying her last child and going back to work at the sick houses, for the children with nothing – nothing - yet who could still muster a smile, for Nicky spitting blood, choking, drowning, dying, then coming back to do it all over again. Never ending and relentless.

This is stupid.

He is being stupid.

Awake in the middle of the night, stalking around their Malta house gun in hand, the most unnatural state of himself, but unable to rest, convinced that if he relaxed, if his guard dropped for a moment, he would lose it all.

He places the gun on the table, sits down, there's no peace or answers to be found in an old cottage kitchen by the sea at midnight.

All there is, is the long shadows of moonlight between furniture, the evening dishes neatly washed and drying on the sink, a glass full of pens on the table, Joe's gun now sitting atop Nicky's latest writing attempt. Never long, never complicated, Joe found himself devastated by each small letter his husband left for him, even the three thousand that merely read I love you ♥♥♥♥, he held each one to equal esteem, though Nicky barely seemed to remember writing them, he would just smile and say I was thinking of you.

you unmake me.

you remake me.

everyday

Doodled across cheap lined notepaper, tucked under his dinner plate. They'd shared that meal just a few hours ago, Nicky's eyes had been tired but he'd kissed Joe's curls with a soft smile as he'd served dinner.

A meal that had taken more than half the day to create because if Nicky had the time he found peace in simmering oil and tomatoes, in adding all the extra ingredients that might make an Italian swear but had delighted them so when they'd first tasted them, that now they'd add them to whatever meal they could.

It'd been less than a week and Nicky was already on first name basis with the halal butcher a few blocks away, and many a day they stroll the streets, collecting fresh produce from the little garden markets, stopping by Zakaria's so he could wrap the evening meal with a only my finest cut for my favorite customers and a wink, despite having claimed the same to the little Italian grandmother before them, blushing and waving her hands in a flustered, delighted stop motion.

Joe closes his eyes, feeling suddenly overwhelmed, like his heart would be beat out of his chest, fall out onto the floorboards that they'd sanded and placed lovingly when they'd first started rebuilding this little cottage. Nicky could live his life with just Yusuf and the sea and be happy, but Joe needed people, needed to see people living their lives no matter how mundane. No matter how out of sorts he's been since they arrived, exhausted and devastated from London, Nicky hadn't forgotten that.

And so Nicolò knows the butcher by name, and, in turn, Zakaria's fisherman boyfriend, who stocks the butcher shop with the freshest of catches and shies away from company, with deep sad eyes and ankle bones that jut out like he needs a Nonna to fuss over him.

And so he's befriended the old ladies from the markets who give him unsolicited advice on his roses, on his apple tree, on the lush green vine that flowers bright bursts of color, on how to keep That Nice Young Man He's Always With happy.

And so each of these people is a friend of Joe's as well.

Joe takes one last long look out the window. Daring anyone who might be out there to take the moment. To give him a reprieve from his thoughts.

But the apple trees branches are the only thing moving. Wind rustling leaves the only sounds to be heard over the soft ebbing crash of waves in the distance.

There's no respite to be found tonight, he thinks as he put his pistol away. Part of him aches to remain armed, to keep vigilant, because last time, last time, but he won't walk into their bedroom with a loaded gun in hand. Not tonight when he feels like his very soul has been twisted, not when he still feels as if unseen eyes are watching him.

As Joe closes the bedroom door behind him, eyes open slow but sharp, immediately awake, perhaps awake before Joe came in. His Nicky is a light sleeper, more prone to 3 or 4 hours sleep before waking alert and ready to face the living hours,.

Nicky's eyes go soft, the faintest of gentle smiles curling his lips as he focuses on Yusuf.

“Where are you, my love?” he asks with quiet rasping voice of someone newly woken.

He doesn't know, he feels adrift, but Nicky's hand moves, reaches out and Joe crosses the room to take it as the lifeline he needs.

“What do you need?” His voice is steady and calm and ready to promise anything in his power to Joe.

And Joe feels his heart constrict, he can't live without this man, he thinks wildly

(a flash, a dagger in the dark, Nicolò on the ground, a halo of his blood, his beautiful skull, his precious brains scattered across the floor without second thought)

he wants to know Andy's okay, he wants her and Nile here immediately so he can see for himself that they're safe, he wants Qýuhn in his arms so much it physically aches. He wants her dark humor and her sharp eyes. He wants to hear her screech like stepped on cat whenever something delighted her. He wants Booker snorting into his wine at some stupid joke, he wants to know he's alive, that he hasn't thrown himself into another stupid situation.

In the morning, he thinks, in the morning he'll speak to Nile, her occasional furtive texting isn't quite as secretive as she perhaps thinks but none of them had felt the need to tell her to stop.

In the morning, he can wait til morning to soothe the lies and worries that his anxiety haunts him with. Til then, he threads his hands tighter with Nicky's, lets him pull Joe to bed, lets him rearrange them til he's flat on his back with Joe's head is resting on his chest, Nicolò's heartbeat in his ear.

He keeps a hold of Joe's hand, brings it up to his lips, presses a kiss to where they're joined, then curls it close to Joe and his chest, as if shielding it against the rest of the world.

“You, just you.” Joe tells the darkness.

“You have me,” Nicolò says, his breath, his lips, his jaw moving against Joe's curls.

“What do you need?” He asks again, free hand coming to rest, cradling Joe's head, gently gently he feels fingers move lightly in tiny soft circles.

“Tell me something.”

Joe pulls their joined hands close, presses his own kiss against Nicky's long fingers, holds it close enough for his breath to warm skin “Please. Tell me something good.”

It's a hard ask, he knows, he knows, every good moment of their lives can be tied to a bad one, the past could be a minefield with no directions or signs. But Nicolò rarely shied from a challenge.

“Did I ever tell you of the time Qýuhn demanded to know my intentions with you?”

“But she loved you!” He mumbles against their joined hands.

“Yes she did, but she loved your heart just as fiercely.” Nicky's chest moves against Joe's cheek as he snorts, amused, “We'd had to have been intimate for almost a year by this time, but she had me feeling like a sham of a man standing before the most beautiful man's guardian, offering a pauper's dowery.”

Joe starts shifting to argue but the hand on his head keeps him still, gentle but firm.

“It was good. To be reminded that you had someone else who would fight for your happiness, that my love for you was visible enough to be challenged, a reminder that we both still had family even if it looked very different to what we'd been born with. It'd been nice to know no matter how much I felt I didn't deserve, I'd been ready to fight for the right to let that be your decision.”

“You do deserve me,” the gentle circles on his scalp are making him sleepy but he puts a token argument, the principle of no one was allowed talk shit about Nicky, not even Nicky, one he was always ready to defend.

“Hush, you asked for a story, this is my story.”

“Scusi, scusi,” he kisses Nicky's hand again, “tell your story, tell me how you convinced me that Qýuhn you were worthy of my hand in marriage.”

He swears he can hear Nicky smile in the dark.

“I didn't, Andromache came in and declared they should leave us to make our mistakes and then stab which ever of us was most in the wrong.”

Joe can't help but laugh. “Qýuhn like that?”

He feels Nicky's soft laughter vibrate through his skin, he wants to die like this, in a moment like this, just the two of them entwined.

“No, she called Andy soulless and unromantic, they went outside to spar. We didn't see them again til morning, and Qýuhn never mentioned it again, so maybe Andy had a little romance in her.”

“How have I never head of this story?”

Nicky's answering chuckle is a delight.

“You came back and we had the house to ourselves for the entire night.” The hand on Joe's head flexes, like he wants to hold Joe as tight as he is can but its as much as their position allows. “It was a good day. We were loved, we are loved.”

He wants to crawl inside Nicolò, live forever embraced by his heart, to feel every lung full of breath press against him

“Sleep my love,” Nicky says leaning low to press his cheek against Joe's curls, to place an unaimed kiss to his forehead.

Sleep.

Nicky’s heartbeat is a sure and steady thing against his ear

(a monitor screaming as his lives hand falls limp against restraints)

Joe squeezes his eyes tightly shut then forces himself to relax, to hear the beat that's been by his side for a thousand years. He thinks of crinkles at the sides of Qýuhn's eyes when she grinned, the way she'd look to Joe when she found something fun to share.

He thinks of the way Booker's face grew soft in the late of the night when the game had long ended and everyone had gone to sleep and it was just the two of them, keeping the sleepless night company.

He thinks of the glow of Nile's face when they walked the halls of the National Museum, her excited but obviously knowledgeable commentary, how he itches to draw the lines of her joy over and over til he gets it just right.

He thinks of Andy in Marrakesh, the feel of her ribs reverberating with the force of her laugh as he swung her around. She's mother, weird aunt, odd stranger, honored elder, pain in the ass know-it-all older sister and so many more things he can not think to name, but she's theirs, and it's going to take a lot more than mortality to take her from them.

He swears it.

Finally he thinks of Nicky.

Nicky with long hair in his face, of the ever changing color his eyes across the firelight, of the weight of his body passed out, sated atop Yusuf, of the weight of his body lifeless as Joe pulled him somewhere to revive safely. The heaviness of his gaze and the weightlessness of even his smallest smile. Of his hands as they held Joe together, the gentleness of his touch as he put him back together. Of the unique light in his eyes, the fire that burns brightest when his sword is out. He thinks of words freely given when speech was hardest, he thinks of the uncountable I love you's, the innumerable languages he's learnt just to speak them and hear them back.

He thinks of hot blood spattered across his face and the way Nicolòs eyes would fight to meet his own when the end was coming. He thinks of the tightening of hands before they became unbearably limp. He thinks of the bad deaths, of eyelashes glued together with tears as hes gasped alive and the watery smile that followed. He thinks of Nicky moving, his sword swinging, on broken ankle, spitting blood and still moving.

His head, his heart, his life is full, and sometimes it feels like he'll drown with all that's in it.

Nicky's hand moves from his head, moves to stroke down his spine, long and slow in repetition.

Sleep he says again, his own voice thick at the edge of sleep himself.

Joe hugs a small breath, then slows his breathing to match the deep level breathing of Nicolò asleep. He thinks about the first time they slept like this, arms around each other, tangled and holding tight. He thinks of the countless times he's rubbed his nose against the back of Nicky's neck as he tried to catch just a little more sleep time.

There's a heaviness growing in his limbs as he half dreams of Nicky as he wraps himself around and burrows himself closer to Nicky. Slowly, steadily and then suddenly all at once, the sense memory of nine hundred years in this man's arms lulls him into sleep.

#the old guard #joe x nicky #yusuf al kaysani #tog fic #fic #nicolò di genova #mine #teamsuke

28 notes · View notes

punkcupcakestyles · 5 years

Text

Love Song

“Of course it does. I’m fucking cute.”

“You are. And I really want to kiss you right now.”

“But you can’t.”

“I can’t.”

Catch up!

I had messed up, I knew that much, or at least a part of me, the smart one, knew it. The other part was reeling in excitement, a smile plastered on my face as I kept replaying the kiss in my head.

God, that kiss.

I could remember every second of it, the sweetness of his lips, and the eagerness of his touch as he explored, with nails scraping lightly on my skin as his fingers dug on the curves of my body.

We had kissed until our lips were swollen and there was no more air in our lungs.

"Sorry," He had chuckled as he broke the kiss, pulling away just enough to look at me. His fingers were caressing down my arms, so softly that a million goosebumps rose at his wake, and I couldn't help but let out a shaky breath. His lips were as purple as mine, swollen with the kisses we had shared, and his cheeks were pink flushed, giving him a boyish look that only added to his already ridiculous charm.

"S'okay," I whispered, the warm fuzziness of the kiss still buzzing on my kiss. I could feel it on my chest, as my heart thumped in somewhat joy and somewhat guilt. It made my fingers prickle and my brain to jump from one memory to the other, still uncertain that it hadn't been just a fickle of its active imagination. Real or just my imagination, I was never going to have a kiss like that again.

But then again, it hadn't been just a kiss, it was a moment of complete abandon, one where I had let curiosity win the battle, and allowed myself to go far beyond from where I was supposed to go.

I wished I had kissed him a little more, with those butterfly kisses you see in the movies, with my hands cupping his face and his own fingers tangled in my hair. It would've been a lot nicer that way. But instead, I had untangled myself from him and went to sit right by his side, my fingers slipping from his as he allowed me to go.

It was easier to breathe that way, easier to think too, without the temptation of his cherry lips so close to me. I smiled shyly and my fingers knotted in my hair, bringing it behind my ear, in a clumsy attempt to give myself something to do.

"What I said earlier was true, y'know?" Harry finally said, breaking the air that was filled with tense electricity, the same one that was bubbling in my tummy and prickling on the tip of my fingers. His words made me look at him, deep into his eyes this time, and to notice the curiosity that was burning in them. "I can play by your rules."

"I thought what you said earlier was that we could be friends."

"That too. I'd really like that too. I just...I just got a feeling they're important to you." His smile was sincere and shy, his little dimples popping out on his face as he cast down his gaze. What was I supposed to say, anyway?

"So, no more kisses?"

"We can figure that out." His smirk grew and I realized just how stupidly easy it was for him to jump from a sweet boy to the dashing man he actually was. He rolled his bottom lip into his mouth and leaned just a little bit, enough so his breath fanned over my skin and I could smell his cologne. "We just need to behave," he whispered, a secret for both of us to keep and break.

"I behave, Styles," I whispered back. "Maybe you should be the one to stop smirking and...kissing me."

"I'll try my best. Can't promise anything, though."

"You're an idiot," I giggled for a second, before inhaling deeply as I licked my lips. For the first time that night, I failed to look him in the eyes. "It's not about sex, you'know?" It wasn't. I had no idea what it was about, though. I just needed those rules, that security, that sense of control, the idea of being in charge of something, of anything, really.

"You don't have to explain why they're important, Sof, I just know that they are. That's enough, innit?" He said, and the sincerity in his voice made me smile, and look at him as his fingertips brushed lightly over my hand, a simple touch meant to reassure me. "What?"

"Haven't met many guys like you, Harry," I said. "I still can't figure out if that's a good thing."

"It's a sad thing for sure."

"It is," I chuckled, even if there was not much to laugh about. His lips were sweet and soft when they met mine in a quick kiss, fingers cupping gingerly around my face as he pulled me closer. Just a second, not long enough to get lost in him, but able to make my breath hitch.

"That was the last one," he whispered as he broke the kiss.

"You promise?"

"I can't," he smirked in response. "I'm gonna take a shower."

"Now? It's almost day!"

"I know, but I, uh, I need a minute alone. Or maybe two," he replied bashfully, and it took me a couple of seconds to realize what he meant. When I did, I looked away from him, so I could hide the flush on my cheeks.

"Go."

15 minutes had gone by and Harry still hadn't come out of the bathroom. Time was my enemy, really, cause it gave me the opportunity to think, to dwell on the awkwardness and regret the things that didn't happen, and the ones that weren't going to happen. The more I thought, the more nervous I got, dry mouth and thumping heart.

The shower finally stopped running and I could hear Harry as he rummaged through the bathroom, getting ready to come out. I closed my eyes and let myself slid into the covers, pretending to be asleep when I heard the door open. A sigh echoed in the air, a couple of steps and a door closing again. The lights were off and I was alone in bed.

Harry had left.

***

- INFO YOU NEED TO KNOW -

Name of the show: The Tonight Show Starring Jimmy Fallon

Host: Jimmy Fallon

Time slot: 11:35/10:35 C

Location: New York

Who will be featured with you?: Saoirse Ronan and John Legend.

Sketches: You’ll be participating on either Box of Lies (he’ll give you an object and you either lie your ass off or tell the truth about it, while he tries to guess); Dance Battle (there is a dance move generator); or Egg Russian Roulette (literally, you’ll be cracking eggs over your head).

You’re gonna be wearing an Elie Saab black dress with a plunging neckline (it’s already picked, Midge loved it). We would very much rather if you didn’t play the Egg Russian Roulette. We’ll see what we can do.

Jimmy Fallon laughs a lot. Try to ignore that.

If asked about Harry, divert. We’re still not talking about it.

We’ll leave to New York at 3. Be early.

I left a new script at your place this morning. I would like to touch basis with you on the plane, see if it’s anything that interests us. (I wonder where you were 🤔)

We’re having dinner with Harry and his friends tonight. We’ll be arriving at the hotel at around 9ish, so you won’t have a lot of time to get ready. I left a couple of outfit options as well.

BTW, we need to talk.

***

Maybe I could still make it. After all, it was only 12:15, which left me a little less than 3 hours to go home, take a shower, pack, and get across town to board the flight.

I wasn’t going to make it.

Diana was gonna kill me.

I was dashing through the room, picking and piling the few things that belonged to me onto the bed, and sighing in desperation when I realized they would simply not fit into the ridiculously tiny purse I had with me.

There was no way I was putting on the dress I had the night before, I wasn’t looking forward to being seen on it as I left Harry’s house, or to have my picture taken as I did what it would look like a “walk of shame”. Instead, I had decided to keep on Harry’s clothes, even if his sweatpants felt tight around my ass and the upper part of my thighs. My hair was dangling dangerously from a top knot, threatening to fall apart if I moved too fast and my eyes were puffy from the lack of sleep.

God, let there be no paparazzi outside his home. I wasn’t photo-ready anyway.

“You look nice.” The voice startled me, making my heart jump before I turned hastily to look at him. There he was, leaning onto the door frame, as he wore a clean black t-shirt and black jeans, and he leaned onto the door frame.

Harry smiled in satisfaction at my reaction and slowly walked into the room. It was only then that I noticed the pink suitcase he was carrying, one that looked exactly like the one I used for short trips.

“Is that mine?” I asked him.

“Yeah. Diana called, asked if you were ready for the trip. I told her you were. Then I woke up Sam, called your sister and asked her to pack your stuff, and Sam went to get it,” he explained. “Perfect plan, innit?”

“Y-you talked to Cat?”

“Yeah...I know you said “no families”, but uh…”

“Thank you,” I replied softly before he could explain himself any further. He had saved my ass, after all.

I realized I wanted to kiss him, lightly and sweetly. A tiny peck on his cheeks, or a quick kiss on his lips, anything to have him close once more, to feel his warmth, and get a chance to nuzzle my face in the crook of his neck. That was something I probably shouldn’t do.

Harry brought the suitcase over the bed and sat next to it. It was pink and soft, covered everywhere with the bright orange logo of the high-end brand. It had been the first stupid purchase I had ever made after I had made sure we had a roof over our heads, food on our table and Cat was enrolled in a private school, all expenses already paid for. My mom was slowly coming out of her haze and for the first time in a long time, I felt like I could breathe again. So I had bought it, a way to celebrate myself and the fact that we had peeked out of the darkness.

“What are you wearing?” Harry drawled, as I started to look for something to change into. My cheeks blushed, pink and hot, and I looked at him with a shy smile of my own.

“I, uh, didn’t want anyone to see me wearing the same clothes. I didn’t want the rumors.”

“So you decided to wear my clothes instead? That’s a great plan.”

“I didn’t think about that,” I smiled. I finally found a V-neck white tee, and a pair of light blue jeans that would be comfortable enough to travel in. “Where did you sleep?”

I wondered if the question had come off accusingly, or if it was as casual and carefree as I had intended it to be. Either way, I realized I shouldn’t have asked it.

“A guest room...”

“Oh.”

“I figured you wanted space. Didn’t you?”

I nodded in response, which was easier than to say what I was really thinking. Like it would’ve been nice for him to stay, or that his bed was too damn big for just one person.

I didn’t know if he quite believed me, a curious glint burning in his eyes as he looked at me. If he didn’t, he didn’t say anything, but licked his lips and remained silent as he let himself fall back on the bed. It shifted under his weight, and I smiled at him when he looked up.

“We should get our story straight, y’know?” He said.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, we should know our story, especially if we’re meeting my friends tonight.”

“Just tell’em the truth, Harry.”

“I really don’t wanna do that,” Harry chuckled, shaking his head as he went back to look at the ceiling. He clasped his hands over his tummy and pressed his lips together, deep in thought.

“Ok, how about this?” I put my clothes down and climbed on the bed to lie by his side. “You saw me at a party, thought I was the most beautiful woman you had ever seen, told Jeff that if he didn’t get my number you would burn down his house, and here we are!”

“That sounds like something that could happen,” he chuckled, turning to one side to face me. My smile widened as I looked at him and felt the soft tickles of his fingers as they snuck under my shirt. It was soft and sweet, meant to have me close to him and nothing else.

“Of course it does. I’m fucking cute.”

“You are. And I really want to kiss you right now.”

“But you can’t.”

“I can’t.”

***

I had made it.

I was sitting on the leather chair, with my knees against my chest, as the plane got ready to take off. Diana, Jeff, Harry and I were the only passengers, and the two boys were talking as Diana sat in front of me.

“You know there’s a lot of actors out there that don’t travel with their agent everywhere?” I asked the blonde girl, who rose her eyebrow as she offered me a smirk.

“Consider yourself lucky, then,” she replied.

“I do.”

“Did you have time to check the script?”

“No, sorry, I didn��t.” I felt myself blush in embarrassment, as I looked at the way she rolled her eyes at me.

“Good thing I got a copy. See? Having your agent by your side is pretty useful,” she handed me a thick script, with a handwritten note on the first page, and the title of the movie written in bold caps.

“Dear Midge,

I think this would be perfect for Sofia, and Sofia would be perfect for us. Audrey wouldn’t have been Audrey without Holly.

To our new Holly.

Kisses,

B.”

“Breakfast at Tiffany's?” I chuckled in disbelief. “Are you crazy? This is one of the most beloved characters in cinema’ history.”

“I know.” She replied simply, a sweet smile replacing the sly one from before. “And they want you. This is a great remake. They’re gonna play Holly’s bisexuality and Paul’s homosexuality, which obviously wasn’t featured in the original one, she’s gonna be an actual scort, even smoke weed. You’re gonna be the Holly that Truman Capote intended her to be.”

“I’m gonna murder Holly,” I sighed. The script fell on the coffee table between our seats, and I got up from my chair to walk to the back of the plane, where they had coffee and snacks ready for us.

“Let’s do this.” I heard Diana say as she followed behind. “Read the script and we can talk about it later. The role is yours if you want it.”

It was time for me to roll my eyes at her.

I poured coffee for both of us and leaned into the counter as she stood by my side. For a second, it looked as if she had something to say, but didn’t know how; her lips rolled into her mouth and her eyes cast over the red coffeemaker. The silence upon us was suffocating, even for just a few seconds, and I cleared my throat to call her attention to me.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

“Nothing. I just…” There were very few times where I had seen Diana struggle with words. Each time was scarier than the other. “I talked to your dad.”

“You what?” We were well out of earshot, but I still hissed my words under my breath. My heart felt as if it could stop at any second, racing fast and strong as Diana shifted uncomfortably on her feet.

“I, uh, he called, asked for you. I thought that, well, I’ve never heard you talk about him, so I decided to see him, find out what he wanted.”

“What did he want?”

“Nothing...He, uh, asked about you, about Cat, wanted to know you were ok. I made sure he was as comfortable as he could, and that he was able to go back home.”

“You gave him money…”

It was actually a relief, to see her doubt for a second right before she nodded. He wasn’t after me, or Cat, or mom. I could live with that.

“Yeah, Yeah,” Diana continued. “He didn’t want to, though. But I, I wanted him to…”

“Get the hell out of L.A.? Thank you, me too.”

“Yes, but he had this crazy story, y’know? About how you left home. Pretty fucking away from the standard ‘She always wanted to be an actress and we let her move to a corrupt city when she was way too young, so she could shoot her shot’ one.”

“D…”

“I don’t wanna know, Sof. We just need to make sure this doesn’t come out.”

“Yeah.”

“And please, consider the movie. We need a second Oscar,” she said in a loud voice, while she took both of our cups in her hands and turned to go back to her seat. “Better yet, win that first Oscar!”

I stood where I was, leaning against the counter as I tried to imagine what my father had told Diana. It could’ve been anything, even the truth. I was unable to move or even breathe, so I just stared at the group of people that were sitting in front of me. Harry was laughing loudly at something Diana had just said, while she sat primly on her chair. His eyes were crinkled in laughter and he leaned forward as his arms hugged around his own tummy. They seemed happy, far from the darkness that was pressing down my chest and making everything seem distant and bleak.

“Excuse me, miss? I need you to sit down, we’re about to hit some turbulence,” the petite flight attendant told me. She had popped out of nowhere, and I stared at her for a second, wondering how much, if any, of our conversation she had heard. She smiled shyly at me, but still, her firm hand guided me to my seat, repeating her order to everyone so they would sit.

Harry sat next to me and looked at me in surprise as I took his hand in mine. “Are you scared of flying?” He asked and I replied with a swift nod of my head. I wasn’t, I just needed something to anchor me to reality. Closing my eyes, I leaned back onto the chair and tried to focus on the loud thumps of my heart, counting them as Harry began to rub soothing circles on my skin.

“It’s ok,” he whispered. “I’m right here.”

“We’ll fall together.”

“Literally.”

***

“So, let’s talk about sleeping arrangements,” Diana told me as the plane was landing.

I looked up from the script, which I had been reading during the whole flight, and quirked my eyebrow at her sheepish smile. Harry, whose head was resting on my shoulder as he slept, stirred just a bit in protest.

“What?”

“Well, Harry has an apartment in New York. We’re staying at a hotel in Tribeca and Harry would come and go as he pleases. Unless you want to stay in his apartment, he offered.”

“I’ll stay at the hotel.”

“That’s a good idea.” Diana smiled proudly.

Between landing and getting our things in the car, we arrived at the hotel at 9ish, just as Diana had predicted. What she hadn’t told me was the fact that there were going to be paparazzi waiting for me in front of the hotel. I glared at her as she offered me an apologetic smile, and without saying anything, she jumped out of the car, with Jeff following suit, to get our stuff.

Harry came out first and went to help Jeff carry our suitcases into the hotel. When it was my turn to come out, I just dashed to the entrance, getting into the hotel without answering or even acknowledging the insidious questions thrown my way. I wasn’t in the mood for them, or anyone really.

Diana and Jeff stayed at the lobby, while Harry and I got to the top floor of the hotel without saying a word. He stood right next to me during the whole ride, holding my suitcase on one and an overnight bag over his shoulder. His hair was disheveled, and his eyes were puffy, revealing just how little sleep we had had the night before He looked tired, and somehow still managed to be the most handsome boy I had seen that night, week, year.

“You ok?” He asked as the elevator opened its doors and we were met with a pristine corridor. The hotel, that mostly looked like a remodeled speakeasy bar, was spotless and modern, with high ceilings and trendy decoration.

“Yeah, I’m just tired.”

“Wanna skip tonight’s dinner?” He offered, waiting for me to open the door to the room.

“I’m sorry, yes, I’m not in the mood for people. Do you mind?”

“No, please, get some rest” he reassured me.

I hurried to turn the lights on as soon as we got in, revealing a luxurious room with black and white furniture and a huge window that looked over the Hudson River. There was a huge TV, and a couple of warm blue blankets over one of the couches, and a bar table with whiskey and champagne on it. A giant sliding door lead to a private rooftop, with chairs to take the sun.

“Harry…Could you stay with me? I don’t wanna be alone.”

#Harry Styles #Harry Styles smut #harry styles writing #harry styles fic #harry #harry writing #harry smut #hs #harry styles one shot #writing #fake dating

92 notes · View notes

artificialqueens · 5 years

Text

The Taste of You (Brooke x Yvie) - ImposterZoe

AN: I literally wrote this in 2 days. Thanks to Pipedream for helping! From Brooke’s POV. IZ

I hate being an empath.

Have you ever tasted an emotion before? I have. I guess technically, I have a type of synesthesia where I can taste emotions. But I like empath better. Anyway, I can tell what you’re feeling. Only problem is I have to french kiss you to do it.

Seems like a good deal, huh?

“My emotions don’t make sense to me.”

“I can help! Just gotta lemme slip you the tongue!”

Cool, right? Hahahaha!

Wrong.

Try explaining to someone you can taste their emotions by frenching them, and tell me how it is when they send you to the looney bin.

That’s why I’ve never had a boyfriend. I can taste it. Every one night stand, I taste the sweet-salty tang of passion. (Makes the sex great, by the way.)

But in the morning, if I care enough to kiss goodbye, it's… normal. No added tang of leftover passion, the fruity taste of hope for a date, the indescribable taste of love. There’s no flavor and I don’t try to do anything to add some. I just…. Leave.

I didn’t even know love had its own distinct taste until Vanessa.

Drag Race was… what it was and I learned. I discovered the plethora of emotions I could taste. The hint lavender in her happiness. The coolness of relief every time she survived a lip sync. The overwhelming iron that showed her anger. The heat that showed her stress. The beauteous taste of love that I tasted for four months camera free. The strongest bitterness my tongue ever struck when I gave her that last sad kiss goodbye. And I started to think I would never taste the sweet tang of love again.

Then Yvie won. And in my drunken haze later that night, I kissed her. When I kissed her, I tasted it all.

The strong lavender for her happiness. The sorting popping taste (like pop rocks?) of her excitement. The tang of her cigarette, (I know it’s not an emotion but that’s besides the point). But in the back of her throat, just as it became evident she knew who she was kissing, the sweet caramel-like taste of a pleasant surprise. Then the unmistakable taste of… love?

I froze in shock as I determined her feelings. Yvie loved me?! She pulled back and stared at me in confusion.

“Why do you taste so much like lavender?” There was a very evident blush on her face that was probably mirrored on mine.

Yvie loved me and she could taste me back. And she tasted lavender? That means I’m happy. I shouldn’t be happy. I just lost Drag Race after making top two. I was so close and I just kissed the person who’s going home with everything I wanted. And she tasted happiness?!

“I… had tea.” The lie rolls of my tongue too easy for my liking but just because Yvie can taste me back, doesn’t mean she needs to know the details of what it means.

“You like lavender tea?” It occurs to me that there are two drag queens incredibly close to each other, bright red, looking stupidly confused. A fan walking by would suck right now.

“I like kissing you,” my drunken brain replies and Yvie smiles that damn smile, touching her front teeth with her tongue. She has so much tongue, no wonder she can taste me.

I leaned in again, wanting to taste her beautiful mix of emotions again when A'keria comes to the end of the hallway.

“Where’d y'all go? Party ain’t over yet!”

Can you say mood killer?

“Be back in a second,” I call, stepping back from Yvie, “Miss Winner here needed a breather. Not used to people actually liking her.”

Yvie gives me one of her famous eye rolls. “Fuck off, Runner-up,” She mumbles. As A'keria walks away, I lean into Yvie’s ear.

“My name is actually Brock,” I whisper to her, “Learn it so you can scream it later.” Yvie turns bright red and on impulse I kiss her again, tasting the tartness of embarrassment and nervousness, mixing with the richness of her love. I pull away and smirk as I walk back to the party. After a long minute, (enough time for me to get a fresh beer), Yvie comes back looking dazed with her lipstick slightly smeared.

A'keria looks between me and Yvie with a shocked expression. I just winked at her and enjoy the party.

After too long a time, I get to my hotel room and turn myself back into Brock. Just as I’m organizing my makeup, there’s a knock at my door. I walked over and open it, a knowing smile on my face the second the door opens.

“Hey there, Miss Winner,” I purred, relishing the blush on Yvie’s face.

“Hi, Brock,” Yvie chokes out. And the rest of the night is history.

[Many months later.]

I walk in the door of me and Jovan’s shared apartment, throwing my keys on the table.

“I’m home! You here, Babe?” I call, dropping my bags. I hear a faint call of, “Bedroom,” and hurry in. Jovan’s bent over a sketchbook and I have many conflicted emotions as I take in the fact that he’s wearing my beanie, has my hoodie around his waist, and is using Henry as table while he sketches with one hand, petting Apollo with the other. Seems like a renaissance painting, but whatever. I sprint over and jump in the bed, effectively leaving it cat free and Jovan rubbing his leg from where Henry used it as a launch pad.

“Hi,” I whisper in his ear, kissing him softly. I don’t use tongue. I haven’t seen Jovan in about a month, and long periods away from each other, makes my first taste of his emotions special, so I try to save it.

“Hey,” he grins. We hug each other, Jovan’s head buried in my shoulder. After a minute I pull back and glance at his sketchbook.

“What’s this for?” I ask, taking in the sketch. Jovan attempts to cover the page but I move his hands, admiring the tiny details he must’ve spent forever on.

“Do you like it?” he whispers excitedly. I nod, tracing the drawn hem line.

“It’s so pretty, Jovan,” I whisper back, my finger still running along the page. A humongous smile blooms on his lips.

“Thanks. As far as what’s it for,” he bends over the page with me, “It’s going to sound cheesy but I drew it thinking of you. It represents how you make me feel.” Jovan is slightly pink as he says this and I blush too, as I find that he was looking at me when he says this.

“I love you.” The words pop out of my mouth and in the back of mind I realize that maybe these words should’ve been said BEFORE we moved in together.

Meh, what’re ya gonna do?

Jovan stares at me, not in shock, but in adoration.

“I’ve loved you since drag race,” he admits.

I almost say that I knew that but how could I tell him? Even after all this time, Jovan doesn’t know I’m an empath. But I’m thinking too much right now.

I pull Jovan slightly in my lap and kiss him deeply. I sigh as I taste the deep coolness of his relief that I’m home, the lavender of his happiness, for a second I taste the slight citrus of doubt, but it’s gone as I rub his back. It’s all wrapped up in the silkiness of his love. Jovan’s love tastes different than Jose’s. Jovan’s is fresh. New. And for once in my life, I like something different. I love something different.

Jovan pulls back with a complentative look on his face.

“Kissing you is different. You taste,” he struggles with the right word, “… Different.”

“Different how?” I have to ask. I can’t taste myself and I bury everything so it’ll be nice to get my feelings read.

“Different like lavender,” (happiness), "something cool, like mint or something,“ (relief), "and something I can’t describe. Something…silky.” Love. He tastes love.

“Did you just say I taste like Silky?” I ask in mock disbelief.

“Oh my god, I hate you,” he yells slapping my shoulder. I smirk as grab his hand and kiss his knuckles.

“I’m pretty sure you just said the exact opposite.”

“You’re an asshole,” says my blushing boyfriend.

My grin turns impish. “And you love me.” He sighs softly.

“Yes I do. And I have no idea why.” I smile wider and kiss his knuckles again.

“Wanna get lunch?” I ask, standing up.

“Yeah sure.” He kisses me again and I taste the now familiar silkiness of love on his tongue.

“If that’s what Silky taste like, I’m leaving you,” Jovan deadpans as he pulls back. I simply smack his side and walk out.

[…]

Usually when I kiss Jovan, it’s all good. Happiness, Passion, Love. But the longer we were on tour, the more different emotions came into play.

I tasted the bitter sadness on his tongue as we watched the reunion. The citrus that shows his doubt after Vanjie hugs me for a smidge too long. The intense heat of his stress before a show. The strong iron of his anger after a drawn out argument with Silky. That’s the only reason I’m glad he can taste me. With a simple flick of the tongue, the silky taste of my love mixed with my cool calmness relaxes him. The bitterness turns to lavender. The iron turns to the coolness of mint. The citrus turns into copper taste of possessiveness which eventually turns into that silky taste as he realizes I’m with him and only him.

But I still have to kiss him to relax him. And lemme tell ya, when Jovan puts his barriers up, trying to steal a kiss is quite the uphill battle. Trying to steal french kiss? Basically like trying to fight a war.

How am I supposed to explain that I can help understand him if he lets me kiss him?

The realization comes to light after a bad argument between us.

“You just try to solve everything with kisses!” Jovan had screeched at me. I don’t remember my reply but Jovan had locked himself in our bedroom and I heard him crying his eyes out. I paced along the wall for the better part of an hour when it hit me.

Jovan doesn’t know, so he doesn’t understand. I’m knocking on the bedroom door before the thought had even formed. I need to tell him about my ability.

The door cracked open. “What do you want?” Jovan asked miserably.

“I have to tell you something important and I can’t do it through the door.”

If anything Jovan’s face breaks even more and the door slams shut, the lock turning. I heard his sobs on the other side and realize that what I just said is scary as hell.

“That came out wrong. I’m not breaking up with you,” I call through the door.

“Yeah right,” comes the soft, shaky reply.

“Please let me in.” I whisper. After several seconds, I hear the lock turn and I don’t hesitate before rushing in the room.

Jovan’s on the bed now, staring at the ground and wiping his face dry.

“I have to tell you something,” I blurt.

“Yeah you said that.”

I kneel before him and grab his hand.

“I don’t think you get. This is important. I’ve never told anyone this before.” Jovan looks at me.

“No one?” he whispers.

“No one. Not Vanjie. Not Nina. Not even my mom. But I’m going to tell you and I’m just praying you believe me, because I’m going to sound fucking nuts.”

Jovan looks like he wants to make a joke but my face is deathly serious so he just pats the bed. I get up and sit down next to him. Jovan looks at me expectantly and immediately words fail me. I open and shut my mouth like a fish out of water while he stares at me.

“Brock I know words screw with you, but if you don’t say something soon, I’m leaving and I won’t turn back for a long time.” It’s not a threat. Jovan’s serious and I try to force the words out. I’m not losing him.

“I can taste your feelings!” I blurt. Jovan stares at me for a long time. Then he gets up and heads toward the door. I jump up and rush to cut him off at the door.

“I told you it sounds nuts! But I’m not lying. And you can taste me back. I know you’ve noticed that my mouth taste different when I french kiss you based on what I’m feeling.”

Jovan just gives me a blank stare before he rubs a hand over his head.

“Brock, this is insane. No one can taste emotions. Especially not other people’s by kissing them! I mean how stupid do you think I am?”

I rub my own face in aggravation. “I don’t think you’re stupid. I’m telling you something about me that’s special and I want you to believe me. Ask me anything about it. You know I can’t lie and it’s to crazy for me to make up.”

A sigh leaves him but he sits on the couch and thinks on it. I sit in the chair opposite of him and watch him.

We sit in silence for a while and each passing second making my anxiety skyrocket.

“Do you love me?” Jovan whispers. My head snaps up at the sudden break in the silence.

“Yes. I do.” I whisper back. Short, sweet, and to the point.

“What does love… Taste like?” He whispers.

I swallow hard. “It’s hard to describe but to give it a try… it’s the sweetest, silkiest taste. Like the world’s best dessert.” Jovan weighs my words quietly.

“That’s what you taste like,” he mumbles, “no matter what else you taste like, that’s always there. In the back of your throat. That means you love me?”

I nod again. “I love you more than anything.”

Jovan sits back on the couch. “That’s why you kiss me when I’m upset? To know what I’m feeling?”

I sigh softly. “No. Like I said, you can taste me back. If I’m calm and I kiss you while you’re angry, you taste my calmness which helps you relax. But sometimes when you retreat into your head, I kiss you so I can figure out what to do.”

I pat my lap and Jovan makes his way over and settles onto it, his head on my shoulder.

“This is insane,” he whispers.

“I know,” I whisper back, “but I know you’re special because you can taste me back.” I grab his face and make him look me in the eyes. “So anytime you’re scared, just kiss me and remind yourself. I love you.”

I lean forward and kiss him softly, slowing sliding my tongue in his mouth. There’s a strong taste of citrus. He still doubts me. But as my tongue pushes forward, I taste the pop of his excitement and the lavender of his happiness.

And I know it’s because we both taste the same sweet, silky taste in each other’s mouths. We both taste the love we have for each other and I feel a tear fall from Jovan’s cheek to mine but judging from the lavender that’s everywhere in my mouth, they’re tears of joy.

“I love you.” Jovan whispers later that night.

“I love you, too.” I whisper back. He looks down and kisses me slowly.

“I know.”

We relax in each other’s embrace, love coating both our tongues.

I love being an empath.

“Hey, Brock?”

“Yeah?”

“What does horniness taste like?”

“Oh my god. Fuck all the way off!” I laugh.

I do love being an empath.

I just really hate my boyfriend.

#rpdr fanfiction #brooke lynn hytes #yvie oddly #brooke x yvie #akeria davenport #mentioned past branjie #fluff #imposterzoe #canon compliant #s11

24 notes · View notes

lyricalbowties · 5 years

Text

A Latte Fun || Klaine

Tagging→ Blaine Anderson, Kurt Hummel Where→ Latte Fun, coffee house When→ 10/4/19 Warnings→ n/a

Blaine

To Blaine, this meeting of the campus glee club could not end soon enough. And it wasn’t because he didn’t want to be there, or he found it boring. He was just, admittedly, a little excited to get to spend time with Kurt. This was the day he was going to surprise order a drink for Kurt and hopefully, if all went well, Kurt would approve. It seemed stupid to be excited about such a thing, but for some reason Blaine was eager to get out of glee club and go. Kurt was incredibly nice and interesting to talk to and surprisingly easy. Sometimes Blaine had a hard time talking to people especially guys, with girls he didn’t feel the need to put on as much of an act. But with Kurt it was easy. Blaine liked that.

Once they had finished and said goodbyes to the rest of the club, and Blaine made sure to slip away from Rachel to make sure that there would be no unwanted tagalong, he moved up beside Kurt. “So, ready to go?” Blaine adjusted the strap of his bag on his shoulder doing his best to keep the majority of his eagerness hidden. “There is this great coffee house not too far from here. It’s called Latte Fun.” He said proud and with a grin, as if he came up with the pun himself. “It’s actually really nice, there are books too and some study areas. It’s very casual compared to Starbucks, less commercial and their coffee is out of this world.”

Kurt

While usually sitting near the front to be as involved as possible, Kurt found himself hanging in the back today with his notepad open in his lap. His mind more focused on getting a sketch done for his fashion design class compared to practicing vocal exercises. There'd be plenty of time to do that in the future, no reason to stress about it. Not now at least.

By the time the club ended, he was a little proud of the finished product and was a little startled by Blaine's sudden appearance at his side as he collected his things and started to head out. Definitely wasn't anything that he was about to complain about, and he recovered with a bright grin. He liked Blaine. He was very helpful, sweet, and had to be one of the better dressed guys that he's seen on campus which he could respect off the bat. It also helped that he wasn't bad on the eyes either, but that was neither here or there. A quick slip of his notebook into his bag, and he's giving the other his full attention.

"I certainly am!" A half-lie as he got too wrapped up in his homework that he forgot for a hot second. "I've been looking forward to this. Somewhere that isn't the common area of my dorms is going to be an upgrade." Clutching at his own book bag strap, Kurt gives a generic nod as he heads away from the music room and out of the building at long last and out into the fresh air. "Latte Fun." He repeats to himself, giving a small laugh. "Is this the coffee shop you find yourself at when you need to study? Or are you one of those people who prefer holing themself up in their apartment or a library?"

Blaine

Blaine couldn’t help but grin stupidly as Kurt said he was looking forward to getting coffee. He turned his head away from Kurt and stared in front of him in an attempt to hide it. It was almost an involuntary smile and the more Blaine thought about it it made him smile more which was absurd. He cleared his throat softly and made sure to hold the door open for Kurt as they left the building. Blaine gestured in the direction they would be walking, it was just a block away from where they were which was perfect. Although, Blaine found himself thinking that he wouldn’t mind a longer walk with Kurt.

Well. That was enough of those thoughts. He needed to calm down. Blaine managed to get this way with any guy he thought was attractive. He had to take it down a notch and not let his mind wander like that everytime, even if it was a simple innocent thought. Don’t entertain it. Don’t risk it.

“Oh, well.” Blaine began, his cheeks flushed a little before he continued. “No, but not because the atmosphere isn’t great. I started out by studying in the library last year but I prefer to listen to music when I study and, well, I temporarily forgot where I was and might have broken out into the chorus of Mr. Brightside.” Blaine chuckled softly. “Since then, I’ve decided that it’s better for me, and everyone else if I just stick to my apartment. I can’t be trusted with a good song.”

Blaine tilted his head towards Kurt, “But, if you’re a person who can be trusted not to cause a public disturbance, I think Latte Fun would be a good place to go. There are some incredibly comfy chairs too. And,” He added with a bit of urgency, “just like the coffee please feel free to be honest with me if you hate the place. If it’s not your style, that’s okay. I might be talking it up too much.”

Kurt

Kurt took notice of the way the others cheeks flushed, even ever so slightly. How could he not? He didn't have any kind of reaction like that often. Innocent or not. Really it was a little flattering if he admitted it to himself, silently of course. It was a nice look on Blaine. As he let himself give him a quick once over as he passed through the door, he decided there possibly wasn't a bad look on him that he could think of. No matter what he said about the hair situation. Which he was refusing to bring up. Not now anyway. There'd be time for that topic.

Having Blaine confess that he broke into song out in the open though gets Kurt giving a warm soft laugh, bringing a hand up to his mouth as he does. "Oh. I wouldn't have thought that a public disturbance, though! I am sure everyone was a little blessed in that moment." He gives Blaine a little nudge in the shoulder with his own. "Don't be so hard on yourself. It happens to the best of us. Like Finn came in on me studying in the common area singing to myself to recruit me for Glee Club." If anything he was now making it a silent point of his to get Blaine for a study break in a public space. Probably for selfish reasons. Whether it was because he preferred good company who he didn't feel on edge with, or maybe because he wouldn't mind a private performance in person in the middle of studying and attempting to write an essay.

"Do you actually think I'm not going to like this place? The way you describe it sounds relaxing, cozy, and like the perfect atmosphere. Plus everyone knows, coffee and books combined is the best smell anyone could think of." He tilts his head back towards Blaine mirroring him with a bit of a smirk. "Relax. I'm not as picky as I like to pretend I am." A bit of a light hearted sigh follows and Kurt straightens his posture again as the walk continues, being more mindful to make physical memories so he could find this place on his own if need be.

After a comfortable pause, Kurt presses on. "So, Mr. Brightside, huh?" He asks, glancing towards Blaine again, brow raised. "What other goodies do you have in that repertoire of yours? Do you always listen to rock when studying, or do you have a variety?"

Blaine

Blaine chuckled softly, grinning ear to ear as Kurt nudged him. “I don’t know if everyone around me, including the librarians would have used that word.” What he didn’t tell Kurt was that it had happened on more than one occasion and he nearly got himself banned from the library. How embarrassing was that, to almost get banned from the campus library for breaking out into a one man flash mob? And when Kurt said to not be too hard on himself he tried not to let the smile waver completely.

“Ah so, you have caused a public disturbance.” He said with a sly smirk directed at Kurt. “Well, I’m glad he heard you. Otherwise we might not be getting coffee right now.” Blaine said, and that was a rather sad thought. He truly hoped Kurt liked Latte Fun, he wanted there to be a place he could randomly run into Kurt. “Oh, no” Blaine began, a little bit of panic in his voice “I didn’t--I don’t think that you’re picky. That’s not what I meant. I just tend to build things up sometimes and I wouldn’t be offended if you honestly didn’t like it. That’s all.”

Way to go Blaine. He chided himself, his eyes directed forward now the coffee house within sight across the street. When Kurt spoke again Blaine drew in a deep breath and held it for a moment. When he exhaled he grinned, “Yeah. You’re going to think I’m a little excessive. I have multiple playlists and it usually depends on what I’m studying and what mood I’m in. Mostly it’s pop, rock, or somewhere in between. There’s some classical, some separated by decade..I have one for showtunes, but I don’t study with that playlist. It’s far too difficult to keep quiet when I’m listening to it.” He paused a moment, “I can share them with you sometime, if you’d like.”

Kurt

There's a warm laugh at the others words. He had to hand it to him there. Librarians were known to be super strict when it came to how much sound a person was allowed to make within the building. Part of him understood it. The other part wanted to be more defiant as they were people. No one should be made to feel silent, right? He had to shake himself from that though before it spiraled into something else. Not today. Not now. He was in good company. Last thing he needed was to let his mind run away with past thoughts that shouldn't matter anymore. He was safe here. Safe with Blaine.

"I wouldn't call it a disturbance," he's quick to defend himself with a little grin as he glances away, hiding the mixture of amusement and a point to not blush at his own admission, "I was completely alone. If anything, he came in and disturbed me." A little cackle follows. "Although I wasn't about to complain, because I can also get carried away. Can't help it. Broadway musicals, they have a way to sweep you out of the moment and put you on a stage in a heart beat." There's a wistful sigh, lifting his shoulders in an over the top shrug.

It was only Blaine's sudden need to correct himself that has the porcelain boy stopping in the walk, eyebrows lifted in surprise. With an equal need to soothe, he reaches out to gently touch at Blaine's upper arm, hoping to ground him back to Earth by doing so. "Blaine, relax. I was kidding. I definitely don't peg you for someone to stereotype off the bat like that." Tipping his head, he removes his hand and returns it to his bookbag strap, continuing on the path.

"I'm sorry, didn't mean to accidentally put words in your mouth like that. Definitely wasn't the intention, I promise."Relief at the topic change nonetheless, he picks right back up in his confident stride, taking in the new information as his coffee buddy offered it to him. All of it sounded like good choices, vague but still enough for him to get a basic idea.

"Oh, no. Definitely not thinking that at all. I have my own lists categorized by different situations, genres, routines—you name it." He holds up a finger. "And it's nothing to be ashamed about. Especially for a music therapist." A gentle poke against Blaine's arm, giving a serious nod. "But I would like that. You sharing your music taste with me. So long as you don't judge me if I start randomly bursting out into song if I favor something in your selection."

Blaine

Blaine arched a brow, smiling a little over to Kurt. There was something endearing about the idea of the other man singing alone with his guard completely down and how genuine it must have been. Blaine was a little jealous of Finn in that moment, wishing he had been the one to stumble upon such a sight. “That’s incredibly beautiful.” He said, when Kurt described musicals. “And I agree with you. It is one reason I don’t listen to Broadway in public, I am far more likely to break out into song. It’s easy to get swept away by them, I think there is some level of romance to it all.” Blaine felt his cheeks start to heat up at that admissions.

And when Kurt touched them the rouge in his cheeks continued. Blaine tensed a little before taking a calming breath and smiled. “You don’t have to apologize.” He sighed. “I’m glad you don’t think that though. It’s just we don’t know each other that well yet, and I didn’t want you to think that I was making that assumption about you.” He was slightly embarrassed for his reaction but at the same time he wanted to make a good impression with Kurt.

He cleared his throat and pressed the button as they stopped at the crosswalk.The coffee house was just across the street and Blaine realized he had no idea what he was going to order for Kurt. There were a few ideas he had but nothing Blaine had settled on. He turned to face Kurt waiting for their time to cross.“I’m glad I am not the only person who puts that much time into their music. I like a variety of music but I am kind of stuck on a few albums right now. Pink’s new album is pretty great but really emotional at the same time so I need a little pick me up after that. That’s where I go to one of my more upbeat positive playlists, usually my 80’s playlist. Because if Wake Me Up Before you Go-Go doesn’t make you smile, I’m not sure what will.”

When the light turned and it was their time to cross, Blaine gesture for Kurt to go first and he caught up quickly to be next to him again. “Kurt, you’re talking to the guy who broke out into song in a library. I wouldn’t judge you for that. I would be the last one to do so.” He said with a wink.

Kurt

Beautiful. That was a word he hadn't thought he'd hear describe anything he did. For all he knew, that was just a word used in books or movies, anywhere fictional really. But real life? It brought color into his pale cheeks, tinting them pink. Flattery was something he was sure he was going to feel a lot around Blaine already. He already got a kick of it from others, but at least now it was getting his face to react positively. Blushing was a positive reaction, right? He unknowingly makes a face to himself for a moment. Contemplating. Analyzing. If only to keep his brain from moving other places, or digging too deep behind the why's behind those kinds of thoughts.

Chewing on his bottom lip as he sets to cross the street, giving a sigh of contentment. "You can never go wrong with Pink." He agrees, giving an enthusiastic nod. "I still have her first album that I find myself rocking out to, like it's nothing." He gives himself an exasperated sigh at himself, though he's still got a grin on his face as he reaches the other side of the crosswalk. "I can't tell you how many times I've been empowered by 'So What'. One of the better post-break up songs to exist." There's a bit of a flash of some unknown emotion across his face, but it was a blink-and-you'll-miss-it kind of thing that is easily replaced with a calming skill he's picked up over the last year.

"Good to know! Because seriously, sounds like you have a top notch list of artists that I'm gonna enjoy snooping through once you let me." Giving Blaine a wink back, he reaches the door first and gives it a pull, gesturing the other inside first.Blaine had been right. This place was amazing. The warm scent of coffee beans was always comforting, washing over him like a blanket. He has to inhale deeply, wanting to fill his lungs with as much of the atmosphere as possible. The cozy chairs, the lines of bookshelves of books just begging to be touched from where they were so neatly lined in their rows. Transporting Kurt into a different era almost, where everything seemed more simple. More romantic. Just better.

When he does find his voice again, he exhales loudly as if he had been holding his breath that entire time. "Wow." Shaking his head, he does a full three-sixty turn to take everything in, all over again. "I now understand what Belle felt when she saw the Beast's library for the first time."

Blaine

The color rising in Kurt’s own cheeks did not go unnoticed by Blaine. He was glad he was not the only one blushing. He wondered what it was that he had said to make the color appear. Blaine wanted to be able to do it again in the future, it was a good look on Kurt. Blaine watched him a moment and briefly thought he saw Kurt’s face change but maybe Blaine is seeing things. He just smiles at the other man as he walks beside him, listening to him talk about Pink and rocking out to her first album and ‘So What’.

Blaine tilts his head and chuckles at the idea of Kurt rocking out. Not that it seems absurd but because there is a little bit of air that Kurt’s presence naturally gives off that says he only performs music not ‘rocks out’. He gives a nod and is too busy thinking about the image of Kurt really getting into the music to notice the implications behind what he just said. The dots didn’t connect between him being empowered by what he believed to be one of the better post-break up songs. Instead, he replies with “‘Raise Your Glass’ is another great one. I’ve spent a lot of nights feeling empowered by that in my room. My playlists are your playlists any time you want them.”

As they approach the building he tries to go for the door but Kurt has already beat him to it. Blaine believes that the only reason he wasn’t able to get the door first was because of the wink Kurt had given him, causing Blaine to freeze for a moment and not know what to do. Thankfully he recovered well enough to walk in a head of Kurt, turning to see what his reaction would be. The moment Blaine saw Kurt’s face a large smile stretched itself across Blaine’s. He pulled his lips in trying to control his smile but his own excitement was hard to contain.

“I’m going to take that reaction as an, ‘I like it’.” Blaine paused a moment, “Wait. Would that make me the Beast in this scenario?” He joked with a raised brow. Blaine elbowed Kurt lightly in the side. “Come on, I have a perfect spot for us then I’ll go get our coffee.” He guided Kurt toward the back off the coffee house, all the whole Blaine prayed that his table was unoccupied. And by the grace of whatever existed, it was. There was a slight bounce in his step as he showed Kurt a corner with two wingback chairs and a small table between the two.

“This is my favorite place. It’s quiet and away from most of the other tables and chairs. Plus, these are the only two chairs like this in the whole place. Makes it even more special.” Blaine took his bag off from around his shoulders and set it down beside one of the chairs, making sure to grab his money before he stood back up. “Alright, make yourself comfortable I’ll be back shortly with your surprise coffee.”

Kurt

He doesn't even try to cover his amusement at the idea of Blaine being the beast in any scenario. Sure, he didn't know the guy that long, but with those soft edges and always a positive persona, there was nothing beastly about him. The image was ridiculous and Kurt curls his lips into his mouth with a shake of his head at the question. "While you do hold Disney Prince appearances, I don't think the Beast is your style." He teases back, easily following into step towards the designated area that the other had in mind.

Relieved it was in a more quiet and secluded area, Kurt makes himself at home. Setting his bag on the floor beside one of the chairs, he takes a seat. Making note that he would probably need one of these in his dorm room if he could sneak it past his roommate's ideals of making it a dirty clothes hamper to toss things on. It made his nose wrinkle from that thought.

"Well, I'm very glad to be thought of as deserving of your favorite and special chairs." Even his cheeks flush a little once more as he says the words themselves. It sounded so much better in his head and he has to duck his head to prevent his own embarrassment at his words to heat his entire face up. God. Why was he like this?

Merely giving a double thumbs up at the instruction to make himself comfortable, Kurt settles into the chair more and removes his phone to check for notifications. Only a few things from Twitter and maybe something from his dad on Facebook which got him deciding it was best not to check that while he was with friends. Last time his dad shared something on Facebook, it had been childhood pictures of that awkward phase of being a toddler. Didn't need Blaine seeing those, even on accident.

Blaine

Blaine hesitated a moment, the comment about looking like a Disney Prince had caught him off guard. He blinked and smiled a little at Kurt, he wanted to reply with a ‘you too’ but the words didn’t come out. Blaine watched Kurt’s face for every reaction he could in hopes that this place was to his satisfaction. Without realizing it, Blaine had been holding his breath. When Kurt settled into the chair and seemed comfortable enough Blaine left to order their coffee.

As soon as Blaine turned away and briskly walked back to the front, his entire face heated up. Okay, Anderson just calm down. He told himself drawing in a deep breath. This was most nervous he had been around a single person in a while. The party and the boy with the pastel hair didn’t count. That was a different type of nervous. That was more of an ‘everyone could find out here at this crowded party where people are incredibly trashed’ kind of nervous.

At the front Blaine flashed a smile at the barista behind the counter, her auburn hair pulled up into a messy bun on her head, with two sharpies sticking out of it. He ordered his usual, just a basic medium drip. And he paused,his eyes scanning over the menu. “Uhm.” Blaine glanced back to where he could see Kurt and grinned a moment and turned back to the barista.

He lowered his voice a little. “I’m trying to surprise my friend over there with coffee. Not just any coffee, but like a surprise coffee drink.” Boy, did he sound ridiculous. Blaine sighed and tried again to explain a little more rushed this time. “You see, he’s trusting me with picking something he’d like but I don’t know what he likes and I don’t want to mess this up.”

The barista looked over in Kurt’s direction and back to Blaine with a knowing smirk. “Oh, first date huh?”

“What? No.” The smile from Blaine’s face dropped. “No, he’s just a friend. A new friend. Look, I just need a suggestion. I’m thinking something that has caramel or cinnamon in it. Can you just whip something up for me, please? Oh, and two of those pumpkin shaped cookies.”

Nearly mortified by the interaction, Blaine paid the barista and took their drinks and cookies back to where Kurt was waiting. As he approached their spot, Blaine felt the embarrassment wash away and excitement take its place.

“Alright.” He announced with a broad smile. He set both drinks on the table and sat across from Kurt in the other chair. He set Kurt’s closer to him, a medium caramel macchiato with added cinnamon to give it just a slightly unique taste. “I also got us some cookies because I always think you should have something sweet with your coffee. Okay. I’m not going to tell you what it is, I want you to taste it and tell me what you think.”

Kurt

Scrolling through his phone despite nothing quite sticking to his concentration as his mind was too busy trying to guess the kind of coffee mixture he was about to consume. He wasn't completely picky when it came to his coffee — if he had been, he wouldn't be sitting here awaiting his doom in a patient silence. He knew he could trust Blaine with this. It was coffee. Wasn't a matter of life or death. Still, the unknowing of how sweet, bitter, or watered down it could be was a prickling sensation he wasn't going to shake until he had the cup in his hands.

None too soon until his coffee buddy was back. As was the smile on Kurt's face. Tucking his phone away without a moment of hesitation, hands moving to his lap with intrigue as he eyed the cup in question. "Oh boy." He muses, wiggling his fingers as he accepts the coffee cup, the warmth tingling his fingertips as he does so. Always a satisfying feeling. "Here it goes."

First, he lifts the cup to his nose for a small whiff. There was a definite sweet smell to it, and he thought he could catch a scent of cinnamon, but being where they were he couldn't tell for sure. It's then he brings it to his lips, letting the hot liquid touch his tongue at long last. At first it just slightly burned, as it coated his mouth entirely so he could swallow and let it sit with him. Cinnamon. Definitely had cinnamon. No doubt there now. Wasn't his imagination. His head tilts, curious as he tries to figure out the other distinguished taste that was familiar. It was pleasant, he knew that much. He could see himself drinking this, whatever this was, again.

A second sip.

A third.

Lips curling into his mouth, he takes pause to sit with the taste. "Caramel? Caramel." He states at last, pinpointing the flavor in his memory, and looking to Blaine for confirmation as he could still be wrong, and jumped to conclusions. Second guessing himself, he takes another taste only to nod. "I can taste the caramel. It's a sticky sweet. Nothing overpowering. I like it." Lifting the cup towards Blaine in a mock-toasting gesture, he settles into his seat, pleased with himself.

"I think you've got good taste in coffee, Blaine Anderson. I say we do this again sometime? If you're okay with that, of course. No pressure."

Blaine

Blaine sat back in his chair and, with eyes still on Kurt, brought his own coffee up to take a slow sip. He hid a smile behind the coffee cup when he watched Kurt go ahead and smell the drink first. It took all it had in him not to chuckle. He needed to be silent as Kurt evaluated Blaine’s drink selection. As he watched Kurt, Blaine started to catch himself picking up tiny nuances about the other man’s face and his expressions. It brought a new smile to Blaine’s face, one he didn’t try and hide. It made Blaine’s chest feel a little tight and his face warm. That had to be the hot coffee he was drinking.

He took another sip almost choking mid-sip when Kurt guessed one of the flavors as caramel. Blaine laughed and nodded, setting his coffee down. And to hear that Kurt liked it made Blaine’s stomach flip and his face became even hotter. Almost instantly Blaine sat up incredibly straight in his chair, almost as if at attention.

“Yeah?” He asked, and for some reason Blaine felt breathless. “Good. I’m really glad you liked it, I was sort of nervous. Not everyone likes cinnamon in their coffee but I’ve always loved it. I put a little bit in with every coffee drink I get.”

He was happy that Kurt was pleased with his selection. It made Blaine feel relieved and it was a rare occasion where his decisions didn’t make him feel like a failure or disappointment. He briefly thought bitterly of his parents but shooed it away, not wanting to let the idea of them ruin this moment. Because something about the way his full name sounded on Kurt’s lips created butterflies in his stomach.

“Uh, yeah!” He said. “That would be..I’d love that!” Blaine sat a moment, frozen. Was that too strong of a word to use here? Did Blaine come off too eager? He cleared his throat and tried again doing his best to keep the amount of excitement he was feeling out of his voice. “No, I think that would be fun. Maybe next time I can trust you with my coffee order.”

#para #klaine #a latte fun

3 notes · View notes

dbhtychou · 5 years

Note

sketch request: can we get a sexy connor? :) [and for a headcanon request, how about nsfw connor headcanons? as many as you'd like to share, if you are willing to do so]

I am not good at drawing the sexy ondemand. And sexy is kind of different for each person. But I tried.Here’s some things that I like: wind-swept hair, open collar, sleevesrolled up, collar bones, cute smile. Somewhat bedroom eyes. He lookslike he’s at the beach. Can we please all go to a nice warm beachwith this android? I am so tired of winter.

I hope this is good enough.

For the second request, I will put thatunder the cut. A lot of this I stole from myself and the adult scenesI wrote for “Chicago”, so there will be themes you’ll see from meagain in my writing. (This ended up being longer than I meant it tobe. Enjoy my novel of Sexy Connor) Bring a fan. It’s about to get hotin here.

Connor and the Sexy Times (my personalhead canon):

Connor is big on communication. He willalways tell you exactly what’s on his mind. What he’s been thinkingabout doing to you. What new things he wants to try. What hisfavorite things were from last night. Did you like what he did? Wouldyou like him to do it to you again? It’s also a big turn on for himfor you to tell him exactly what you want, how you want it. He ismore than happy to meet any of your needs if you just tell him whatit is.

He is bad a nuance and struggles withan SO who plays head and emotional games. He needs clear, preciseinformation on what you want if you want him to do it. He is terribleat picking up hints and reading between the lines. Being with Connorwill definitely improve your communication skills on telling yourlover what you want, like and need.

Connor is absolutely terrible atflirting. When he tries his best to flirt, it’s embarrassing. Alsodirty talk in the bedroom. If you want filthy porn mouth, you’re notgoing to get it from him. He can try, but it’s going to be adisaster. However, when he’s not trying, absolutely stupidly hotstuff will fall out of his mouth without him meaning to. Then he willlook at you blankly when he sees your temperature and heart ratespike.

In the bedroom, Connor is focused andmethodical. He will categorically hit all your hot spots. He knowsthem all; they are filed away in the archives. And he has a wholearchive of you: the shape of your form, all your marks and scars.Every little sound you’ve made while you make love is filed away. Hehas you down to a science even with the angles in which he thrustsinto you and the amount of force you find satisfactory. Where to puthis tongue and his fingers; the right pressure and friction.

Though he has his science forlove-making and his methods down pat, he can still easily adapt tothe mood and tastes of his lover. If you want it deep and slow, hewill take his time and learn you all over again, going ALL nightlong. If you want it hard and fast, he will pin you down and take youat his pleasure. He lives to serve and to satisfy and will not quituntil his partner is completely sated.

Connor loves being touched and cuddledand loved on. He can get drunk on it. If you want to lav him withattention, you will have a happy, heated puddle of android layingbeneath you in complete bliss. If you do it just right, somethinginside him will make a “purring” sound. Connor claims he has nocontrol over that. But you are welcome to try and see if you can makehim purr.

Connor’s turn-ons include: soft wordsof love and affection, clear directions and affirmations, lips,necks, and bare shoulders. He loves the dip of the spine. His fingersalways find their way there, even during casual touch. He loves barebacks and will run his nose or a trail of kisses up and down thespine.

Some of his erogenous zones are: thenape of his neck, behind his ears, the juncture between his neck andjaw, the space between his fingers, and the ring of his power core.That last one is pretty intense for him, so he doesn’t always let youtouch it. You’ve got to wait until he’s in the mood for that.

Unless they’re specifically apleasure/sex model, androids don’t reach climax easily. It is commonthat they won’t reach it every single time you’re together. This iscompletely fine for them. Their bodies don’t absolutely need the“crash” every time for sexual satisfaction. Connor is noexception to this. In fact, constant ‘orgasms’ for an android aren’tnecessarily healthy as it really taxes their systems. A human partnerwill even feel a static charge or a shock during an intense climax.

You can absolutely still have Connorwrithing and whimpering under you without him ending up with a climaxand he will thank you for it. However, during those times when hecrashes (its happens maybe every other time you’re together) he willgive you a good show. That boy is vocal and can make the mostabsolutely sinful noises. When it gets to the point when heabsolutely needs it, he will beg. He will tell you needy andhot how to push him over the edge. He breaks with eyes shut, necktaut and back arched; his cries so delicious you can taste them onyour tongue.

When it’s over, Connor is the king ofcuddles and pillow talk. He likes having as much of your body pressedagainst him as possible and his hands will idly wander the rest ofyou. He murmurs affections and soft humor as he plays with your hairand his fingers wander the shape of you. (Or up and down your spineif you’re laying stomach to stomach. His fingers always find thatspine.) You must wait until he is properly cooled down before doinganything else. (One must take care of their android.) But onceproperly cooled, Connor can always go again if his partner sorequests.

#detroit become human #dbh #dbh head canons #dbh connor #ask tychou

13 notes · View notes

lucelockwood · 6 years

Text

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

“Is there a reason you’re suddenly nostalgic for all of our disaster cases?”

Lucy’s cross-legged on the sofa in the library, her sketchbook open and forgotten in her lap. Instead she’s spent the better part of the evening trying to figure out what has gotten into her boyfriend, who is seated next to her, seemingly engrossed in the book in his hand.

Lucy knows it’s an act. As much as he pretends he’s not paying her any attention, his blush gives him away. Unable to sketch but with fingers itching to do something, she’s got his other hand in both of hers and has been restlessly toying with it all night. Lucy can’t help the smirk that forms as she contemplates his flushed face. Not even a year’s worth of being openly affectionate with each other has tempered his sensitivity to being touched.

Lockwood clears his throat, but he doesn’t look up from his book. “Not sure what you mean, Luce.”

That’s a bald-faced lie if she’s ever heard one, and judging by the way the corner of his mouth is quirking upward, Lockwood is well aware that she sees right through him. Two days ago he’d brought up the “magnificent staircase” in the Wintergarden house while they’d been sparring in the practice room. Then, while preparing supplies for a case the following day, it was the giant hole she’d inadvertently torn in the floor of Aickmere Brothers. This morning? La Belle Dame and Lucy’s one-night-only trapeze act.

Lucy’s not kidding when she calls them disaster cases. She can’t recall a single one of them without wanting to cringe.

Another look Lockwood’s direction shows that he’s still happily pretending that he has no idea what she’s talking about. Knowing he’s paying her full attention, Lucy lists the cases, ticking each one off on his fingers as she does. “The Hope’s burning house, the bone glass auction, Mrs. Wintergarden, Aickmere Brothers, and La Belle Dame.”

He hums distantly, turning a page, but his smile has emerged full force.

Lucy finds that she has had quite enough of this game. She reaches over and pulls his book out of his hands, forcing him to look at her at last. “I was reading that,” Lockwood protests, though the words are half-hearted at best and his smile doesn’t fade.

Lucy glares at him as she stuffs the book between the cushion and the arm of the sofa behind her, out of his reach. “No, you weren’t.”

He concedes instantly, his eyes sliding up to hers without a hint of contrition. “You’re right.” There is laughter in his voice, and Lucy would call him out on his obvious enjoyment of her agitation if it weren’t for the sudden intensity that is his undivided attention.

There are a hundred things Lucy could say to him now, like calling him out on how stupidly cryptic he’s been, or scoffing that of course she’s right, but it’s growing harder to breathe under his soft gaze, and her train of thought keeps getting derailed by the intrusive, traitorous thought that it’s been far too long since the last time he’d kissed her senseless.

Lucy is torn between two polarizing demands, that of needing an explanation, any explanation, for his recent behavior, and that of wanting to shelve all discussions of any sort until much, much later. Lockwood shifts closer, turning so that he’s facing her more fully. His eyes linger on hers long enough for Lucy to feel the heat rising in her cheeks, but then he looks down at their hands, breaking the connection and easing the tension in the air around them. After a moment’s thought, he pulls one of Lucy’s hands into his lap. “I understand why you’d call them disasters,” he says at last, his fingers tracing over hers softly.

“Because that’s exactly what they were,” Lucy says, once she’s recovered enough to remember what she’d asked him before stealing his book and unwittingly bringing the full force of his magnetism down on herself in the process.

“From one perspective,” Lockwood half-heartedly agrees, prompting Lucy to roll her eyes.

“You were ghost-touched, nearly drowned, concussed, and psychically enchained, not to mention impersonated by a ghost that tried to convince me you were dead.”

Lockwood grins up at her. “I wasn’t actually dead, you realize.”

“I didn’t know that, did I? Last I’d seen, you were flying through the air at the mercy of the poltergeist.” As far as she is concerned, Aickmere Brothers had been one giant disaster from start to finish. He knows how she feels about this case in particular, as they’d discussed it at length shortly after her return to the company.

Lockwood turns his attention back to the hand he’s got captive, his expression slightly less teasing. “I’ll admit that one was a little messy.”

“We almost lost the company and this house,” Lucy continues, knowing that it’s likely a lost cause. “I tried to leave forever. We nearly died. So many times.”

“We did have more than our fair share of close shaves. But we survived.”

That doesn’t mean she has to look back on any one of the awful incidents fondly. And he still hasn’t answered her initial question. “It’s not like you to be so nostalgic,” she says at last. Acting of its own accord, her free hand reaches up to comb through the hair at his temple. She can never sit this close to him for long before giving in to the desire to touch him.

Lockwood’s hands fall still as he leans into her touch. When he speaks again, his voice is just the slightest bit uneven. “I was recently presented with a unique sort of challenge that has made a little hindsight necessary,” he says.

That, Lucy thinks, is about as cryptic an explanation as anything he’s said to her all week. But before she can voice this, Lockwood’s talking again.

“I’ll grant you that we’ve faced difficulties, but we’re where we are today because of those cases. Each one was a stepping stone on the path towards becoming who we are today.”

Lucy can at least concede that point. “You always said Lockwood and Co was going to be the best agency in London.”

To her surprise, Lockwood is shaking his head even before she’s finished the thought. “I’m not talking about the company.” In the silence that follows, he brings her hand to his lips, his eyes never leaving hers as he lingers. “Us, Lucy. You,” he kisses her hand again, his attention nothing short of reverent, “and me.”

Lucy finds herself unable to say anything in response. She can barely breathe, let alone speak. When Lockwood straightens, their joined hands coming to rest between them, it is all she can do not to throw herself at him.

“I think you might have wanted to skewer me with your rapier multiple times this week,” he murmurs, and if the look he gives her is more rueful than contrite, she finds she doesn’t much care. “I’m sincerely sorry about that. If it’s okay with you, I’d like to get to the point.”

Lucy can only nod. Lockwood shuts his eyes, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. It is this that tells Lucy what his steady hands and easy smile do not: for reasons she can’t begin to guess at, he is nervous.

But then he’s looking at her again, and talking, and Lucy finds herself drawn completely in. “Tell me, Luce, how did we escape that burning building?”

“We jumped out of a window, as you well know.”

“From the second story, on the slight chance that those bushes might break our fall.” Lockwood’s answer comes right on the heels of her own, his smile wide. “And Sir Rupert, the night of the bone glass auction? How did we get away from him?”

“By jumping . . .” The parallel hits Lucy sharply, cutting into her answer. “By jumping into the Thames,” she finishes, her voice trailing off as she considers the implications.

“Exactly.” Lucy can feel the nervous energy radiating from him as he speaks, his words rushed. “You fell into that hole in the department store lobby and I followed. I jumped right in to get you back, to save you. You are terrified of falling, and yet when I needed you, you threw yourself off of a balcony because it was the only way to save my life.” He gives himself a second to breathe, but he doesn’t look away from her, reaching out to caress her cheek. “Lucy, love, do you see the pattern?”

She does. Eyes wide and heart racing, Lucy understands at last. His motives are so clear that she’s ashamed of herself for not catching on before he’d laid it out in front of her. Hadn’t she asked for this? Hadn’t she challenged him to do it? She hasn’t had time to fully process his words, to second guess the conclusion that she’s jumped to, before he’s moving, sliding off of the couch altogether until he’s on his knees in front of her, both of her hands clasped in his.

Lucy’s breath catches in her throat. “Anthony?”

His given name from her lips sends that delicious red flush up his cheeks, and the smile that he gives her is nothing short of breathtaking. “A week ago you told me that our getting married now would be the equivalent of our leaping off of a warehouse into the Thames.”

“I wasn’t wrong,” Lucy whispered.

He holds her gaze steadily, his dark eyes almost pleading. “No, you weren’t. But it wouldn’t be the first time we held on to each other and jumped.”

The words sink deep into her heart, and Lucy knows she is lost. She could blame it on his voice, tender and low and so achingly vibrant, or on the way he’s looking at her, drinking her in, really, as if she is the reason for every heartbeat that keeps him alive. She could even blame his heartfelt words, words that make this insane idea seem like the simplest, most logical decision they could ever make.

The truth is she was lost long ago. Possibly from the moment he’d first asked her to jump with him out of a burning house.

“We’ve been taking incredible leaps together almost as long as we’ve known each other, Lucy Joan,” Lockwood—no, Anthony says, emotion making his voice break. “Please take one more with me. Please.”

Anthony Lockwood already owns her heart, her life, her life after death, and just about anything else that was ever hers to give. There was only ever going to be one answer to this question. Lucy pulls her hands from his, framing his face instead.

“If I haven’t made it clear already,” she says, for once not even caring that tears are gathering in her eyes, “I’ll jump off of just about anything, Anthony, as long as it’s with you.”

She doesn’t bother to wait for a response. Instead, Lucy Carlyle wraps her arms tightly around his neck and kisses him.

Later—much, much later, as it happens—Anthony produces a ring from his pocket and slides it onto her finger. It’s a family heirloom, of course, and so very perfect that Lucy is fairly certain she’ll be staring at it for weeks. Her appreciation is too much for Anthony, who kisses her so deeply that Lucy thinks her toes will still be curling in the morning.

She doesn’t mind in the least.

#inktober ficlet #day 28 #part 3 #abrupt endings for the win #but watch out for an epilogue #because i can't stop myself #also a deleted moment #because i couldn't get it to fit #but i loved it so much #locklyle #lockwood and co #lucy carlyle #anthony lockwood #my writing #writing practice

214 notes · View notes