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asweetprologue · 3 years

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me lámh le do lámh - Part I

Ahh I can’t believe it’s finally done! After a year of working on this beast, it’s finally ready for me to share. This is something I started way back last summer, and I decided to finish it as my project for this year’s @geraskierbigbang. It will be ten parts in total, and I will post one part per day until it is complete! There are several art pieces that were created by the wonderful @herostag and Miranda.draws for this story, which I will link when the appropriate section is posted. For a summary and further links, please see the masterpost.

Next | Ao3 | Masterpost

“Alright,” Geralt said. “Don’t laugh at me.”

Yennefer looked up at him with bright eyes, curious and already mirthful. She was sitting across from him in his quarters, reading through a tome she’d found in Kaer Morhen’s disheveled library. Geralt had just come from a bath after hours spent training Ciri in the yard, and the room was filled with the warm evening light, supplemented by the fire crackling in the hearth. Yennefer had insisted on carting dozens of tapestries and drapes to hang around the drafty keep, and the room was nearly stuffy with their bulk keeping the heat in.

Yennefer gave him an amused smirk. “I will make no such promises before I even know what you’re going to say.” The gentle teasing brought a fond smile to Geralt’s face. After the events of the mountain all those years ago, things had been understandably tense. Yennefer had been reluctant to join them when she had finally met up with Geralt after Sodden, but had eventually agreed to seek refuge in the witchers’ keep and teach Ciri to control her magic. Once she’d met the girl it had all been a wash; it was clear as soon as their eyes met across the room that Yennefer was as much a part of Ciri’s destiny as Geralt was.

Geralt had expected that to either mend the rift between them enough for things to go back to the way things were, or make things even more awkward. Instead, they found themselves in a sort of in-between. Over the years his affection for Yennefer had only grown, but he found himself looking to her more and more as a friend—maybe his best friend. After Jaskier, of course.

Speaking of. “I was thinking about Jaskier.”

Yennefer rolled her eyes obviously. “As you are so frequently wont to do. The thaw will come soon enough, dear, and you can run off in search of your bard.”

Geralt felt his ears grow warm. Witchers couldn’t blush, not truly, but he still felt the tingle of it as he fidgeted with embarrassment. “That’s not what I meant,” he said, absently tracing a finger against the grain of the wooden table. There were two goblets of wine sitting between them, but so far neither of them had begun to drink. “Do you know how many winters it’s been since I found Ciri?”

If she was confused by the odd turn in subject matter, Yennefer didn’t show it. Instead she looked thoughtful. “Two, perhaps three? You know I don’t follow the seasons with diligence.”

“Neither do I,” Geralt agreed. “I was thinking the same though, two or three years since the fall of Cintra. Which means Jaskier is…” He paused, trying to do the math. “He was a few years past forty, during the dragon hunt, I think. He must be closer to fifty now than not.”

Yennefer raised an eyebrow at him. “I recall mentioning something about his crows feet. What of it? Humans age. Are you only just discovering this?”

Geralt forced himself not to grumble. In a way, he was only discovering it. He’d known humans across the years, of course, and knew that many that he’d once been acquainted with were no longer alive or were in their twilight years. For decades Geralt had wandered through the world, changing no more than a ghost would, touching the lives of regular mortals for a brief instance, maybe a few times if they were particularly unlucky. No one had stayed by his side, dedicated themselves to a relationship with him, the way that the bard had. The amount of devotion that Jaskier showed to him had made Geralt antsy, in earlier years, and then confused and angry by turn. He had hated the idea of someone needing him, had hated needing someone in return. The way his chest felt heavy when he and Jaskier parted ways had left him furious with himself and the bard.

And then Ciri came into his life, and everything had changed so quickly.

With Ciri, it didn’t matter whether Geralt felt like he should care for her, or if he wanted to. He needed to. Without him, the girl would die, or be kidnapped by Nilfgaard for who knows what purpose. He had to feed her, and clothe her, and teach her, and he had to love her for her to thrive.

She made it very easy. It was only afterwards that he realized how much of an idiot he’d been to Jaskier, and the thought of how he’d treated the bard over the years had plagued him. It had been months before he could find him to apologize, but Jaskier forgave him almost immediately—which Geralt found both relieving and infuriating at the same time. This was the first winter they’d spent apart since. Geralt left the keep more rarely now, heading out on the Path only when the months grew truly warm and returning at the first hint of falling leaves. Ciri was safe on her own, he knew, but he missed her when he was away. And he could admit now that one of the forces driving him back into the world over the last few years had been the itching desire to find Jaskier again and settle the yearning in his chest for another year. He was less inclined to venture forth when his bard, his daughter, Yennefer and his brothers were all in one place.

This winter Jaskier had begged off, saying that he had “work in the south,” which could mean anything from spending a decadent winter in the court of some noble or sludging through the front lines as a Redanian spy. Geralt had learned not to pry too deeply into Jaskier’s business when he wasn’t around. It was often either too explicit for him to stomach or too confidential for Jaskier to share freely.

It worried him, being away from the bard for so long. He could get hurt, or captured by Nilfgaard, or worse. But what really terrified Geralt was the idea that he would find Jaskier in a tavern along the Path and realize that the bard had grown old, to find silver in his hair and wrinkles beside his eyes. “He’s getting too old,” Geralt said to Yennefer, who looked at him with sympathetic eyes.

“You must have known when you started travelling with him that he would eventually leave you,” Yennefer said, not unkindly. “Humans are so short lived.”

“I didn’t exactly get a choice about becoming his muse,” Geralt said with a huff. Despite his improved relationship with Jaskier over the past few years, he still found it difficult to admit that he had always been more than willing to let the bard tag along. If he’d wanted to travel alone, he would have. But he never had. “I just didn’t realize…”

“It always comes sooner than you think it will,” Yennefer sighed. She set her book aside and picked up her goblet of wine, turning to look out the large window their table sat in front of. It faced west out of the keep wall, towards the mountains and the forest beyond. The sun had set below the craggy peaks, throwing the snow covered valley below into darkness. Geralt could just make out the ruins of the old tower, its stones dark against the white landscape. “You can’t cure his mortality, Geralt.”

“We did.”

The look that Yennefer gave him was sharp, almost angry. The firelight in the room turned her violet eyes darker, like mulberry wine. “At great cost,” she snapped. “I can’t imagine you would put him through the Trials.”

A stab of panic shot through his gut at the thought. “No. Of course not. He wouldn’t survive it anyways. Only children stand a chance at all.”

Yennefer nodded, apparently satisfied that Geralt hadn’t completely lost his mind. “The boy hasn’t got an ounce of Chaos in him, in spite of his rather chaotic nature, so I highly doubt they’ll accept him as a late trainee at Ban Ard.”

“There must be other ways,” Geralt said, feeling petulant. “Less conventional.”

“I cannot believe we are actually discussing this,” Yennefer said, rising to her feet. She picked up her book from the table as well as her glass. “There is no way to achieve immortality, especially not without sacrifice. You know that, Geralt. Drop this foolish line of thought.”

Geralt rose after her, reaching out to catch her retreating wrist. A grasp loose enough that she could break it, if she wanted, but Yennefer paused. “Please, Yen. Just… look into it for me? I can’t—the thought of—” He cut himself off, dropping his hand away from her arm. The look she gave him was more pitying than he would have liked.

“I’ll do some research, but nothing more. Don’t get your hopes up, Geralt. There’s a reason there are so few of us,” she said. Her face softened slightly, as much as it ever did. Despite Ciri, Yennefer was still made of more glass and fire than anything else. “I know you love him, even if you can’t admit it to yourself. I promise, I will do my best.”

Geralt nodded wordlessly as she left and wondered if Jaskier's eyes would be as bright next time he saw him.

For weeks Yennefer said nothing about his request, and Geralt refocused on spending time with Ciri and preparing to depart for the spring. Lambert and Eskel had already left a month before, as soon as the road down the mountain began to thaw, but Geralt had hung back. The roof needed repairs, a difficult job to do in the midst of winter, and it was a hard task to leave for Vesemir alone. It was always like this, now—him looking for odd jobs to keep him at Kaer Morhen, with Ciri, making excuses until Jaskier’s jitteriness or Vesemir’s raised eyebrows forced them on the road again. Some of that was mitigated this season by the silence he heard when he found himself listening for the sounds of lute strings strumming gently in the background, and Geralt’s increasing anxiety about Jaskier’s wellbeing. Even so, it was hard to leave Ciri behind.

The girl was progressing rapidly as she entered her teen years, the chubbiness of her youth morphing into lean if awkward muscle as she continued to work on her swordsmanship. When Geralt and his brothers weren’t pushing her through drills, she was studying monsters and alchemy with Vesemir, or practicing her magic with Yen. She never seemed to tire, eagerly absorbing any lessons passed on to her and desperate to prove her worth. The only person she seemed to let her guard down around was Geralt, who found himself often goading her into mock wrestling matches (which he refused to throw on principle) and humoring her when she became restless and wanted to explore beyond the keep. Kaer Morhen was dangerous in the winter, but as spring approached and the deep snows on the surrounding mountains began to thaw, the duo spent more and more time trekking through old ruins and sleeping beneath the stars.

He could put off his journey south no longer.

“I’m going to be fine, Geralt,” she said, rolling her eyes at him. He wondered if he’d been this petulant as a teenager. Certainly Lambert had. “I can take care of myself, and Yen will be with me.”

Geralt tapped her wooden training sword with his own, indicating that she should prepare to go again. When he was a boy he’d trained against the other foundlings, stumbling around like pups through drills and sparring matches. Ciri trained against full witchers, and only Eskel ever faked a misstep here or there to allow her to get in a good hit. When she won a fight for the first time, it would be on her own merit.

The girl raised her sword into a decent fighting stance, and Geralt moved to correct her footwork. Her sword work was exceptional above the belt, but she consistently forgot her stances, throwing herself off balance. They’d begun putting her on the pendulums to force her to focus, dancing between posts to attack the dummies. Geralt had spent many a night rubbing salve into her bruised shoulders, gained from taking fall after fall from the low poles. No one forced her, but if there was one thing Ciri hated, it was admitting to weakness in herself. “Sword up,” Geralt said, and launched into his attack.

He stayed on the offense, forcing her to practice the defensive drills they’d started going over recently. “I know you’ll be fine,” he said, continuing their conversation. His breathing was relaxed, almost meditative through the slow exchange of blows. “Just seems cruel to leave you with only the old man and Yennefer for company.”

Ciri giggled despite herself, and Geralt found himself grinning back before he smacked her lightly in the ribs with the training sword. She swore—Lambert, Geralt thought with chagrin—and danced back a few paces. “Gotta focus,” he said, still smirking at her.

She poked her tongue out at him childishly and reposted off of one of his blocked attacks. He easily swayed out of the way, but the movement was fluid and smooth, which meant someday it would be fast, faster than he could dodge. He gave an encouraging nod.

They continued to spar for another half an hour or so before breaking, heading to the well to fill their water pouches. Geralt sat on the short ring of stones and Ciri slumped on the ground beside him, leaning against his leg. The simple trust and familiarity she exhibited around him still took him by surprise, sometimes. “I’m leaving tomorrow,” he said, rubbing a hand over the top of her head. Her hair was almost as white as his.

She sighed, wiping dripping water from her chin as she tossed her water pouch down. “I figured,” she said. “Say hello to Jaskier for me, when you find him? I missed his songs this time.”

Geralt’s caress turned into a playful ruffle. “I will. Any requests for books?”

“Ones about Elves,” she said immediately, “and Skelligan alchemy. It’s different from ours, did you know? The Druids—”

Geralt chuckled. “I know. You’ve said half a dozen times. No fairytales this time?”

The girl hummed, reminding him for a brief and touching moment of himself. “Just bring Jaskier back. He tells about your adventures so much better than you do.”

“He’s certainly made a career out of it,” Geralt grumbled, feigning annoyance. “I’ll do my best. You know how he is.”

“You missed him too,” she said, hitting his knee with one closed fist. “I know you did. You get all…Well, more grumbly and mopey than usual, when he’s not around.” She wrinkled her nose up at him in exaggerated disgust. “It’s gross. But I do want you to be happy.”

Geralt knocked back against her gently with his knee, swallowing around the feelings that rose in his throat. “You just think I’m a boring old man who won’t help you put toads in Eskel’s bed. But you never even ask. I’m the expert, not Jaskier.”

Ciri laughed, bright and crisp in the morning air, and Geralt felt warm despite the fading winter chill. Tomorrow he would leave, and he would find Jaskier, and next winter he would tell Jaskier that he had to stay at Kaer Morhen. For Ciri, if nothing else. And if it was more for Geralt’s sake than anything, well, no one had to know.

Yennefer found him before he left, saddling Roach in the stables.

“Go to Triss,” she said by way of a greeting. Geralt knew what she meant by the gravity in her tone and the tension sitting in the corners of her mouth. “Ask after Ida. I don’t know where she is or if she’ll speak with you, but a Sage is the only one that might be able to give you anything.”

Geralt reached out to grasp her hand firmly in his own. “Thank you, Yen,” he said honestly.

The sorceress sniffed. “Well, you owe me one, I suppose. I hope you find what you're looking for. But be careful.”

“I won’t do anything that might put him in harm’s way,” he promised. “I swear it.”

“Good.” She gave him a slight smile before leaning in to brush a kiss over his rough cheek. The simple touch warmed him from inside out. “Say hello to the bard for me. Tell him I heard about that disastrous competition in Vizima. Ought to have him stewing for a good long while.”

Geralt rolled his eyes. “I’ll give him your love as always.”

“Goodbye, Geralt,” she said, patting his arm lightly. “Be safe. You know how to reach me, if you have need.”

“I do,” he said. “I will. Take care of Ciri.”

“It’s more the other way around, I’m afraid,” she said with a soft smile, and Geralt understood exactly what she meant. Ciri had saved them both, in more ways than one. Every time he left her was more painful than the last. Someday, he knew, they might travel the Path together, a witcher, a sorceress and their daughter. Maybe even a bard, if he was extremely lucky.

Geralt hoped he would be.

#geraskier #geralt x jaskier #geraltxjaskier #geralt/jaskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #big bang #geraskier big bang 2021 #multichapter #fic #fanfic #the witcher #witcher #writing #my work #geraskierbigbang #me lamh

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inevitably-johnlocked · 3 years

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Do you have any fic recs of Sherlock being soft for John and John only.

Hey Nonny!

Ahhhhhhhh your request had me thinking that yes I do, and I did tag a few fics with “soft Sherlock”, but I’ve never started a list, so here ya go!

SOFT SHERLOCK

See also: Sherlock Soft With Children

Soft. Happy. Content. by inevitably_johnlocked (G, 223 w., 1 Ch. || Sleepy Cuddles, Bed Sharing, Slice of Life, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Spooning, Morning After, Sherlock POV) – Sherlock reflects on his state of mind. Part 6 of I-J's Tumblr Ficlet Collection

A Perfect Figure by ecb327 (K, 622 w., 1 Ch. || Romance, First Person POV Sherlock, Pining Sherlock, Introspection, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Light Angst) – Sherlock build a spot in his mind palace for John.

I Knew You Loved Me by inevitably_johnlocked (T, 743 w., 1 Ch. || Morning Cuddles, Fluff, Clingy Sherlock, Idiots in Love, Slice of Life, Morning After, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Declarations of Love, Pet Name, Bed Sharing, Snuggles) – John and Sherlock share a lie-in the morning after their first time. So fluffy and gross your teeth will fall out. Part 4 of I-J's Tumblr Ficlet Collection

Peacock by ClassyGirlsWearPearls (T, 1,189 w., 1 Ch. || Romance, Cranky Sherlock, Soft John, Hand Holding, Soft Sherlock) – A study in Sherlock and John.

Mizzle by MrsNoggin (K, 1,233 w., 1 Ch || Friendship, Fluff, Platonic Johnlock, Humour, Slice of Life) – John can't decide if it's raining or not. Sherlock doesn't understand.

And, Usually, He's the One Who GIVES Me a Headache by Cumberbatch Critter (T, 1,315 w., 1 Ch. || Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, POV John, Cranky John, Headaches, Head Massage) – A migraine is never fun.

Together is What we Have, Together Protects Us by Phantom of the Black Pearl (K+, 1,566 w., 1 Ch. || Post-TRF, Friendship / Platonic or Slash, Hurt/Comfort, Insecure Sherlock, Worried Sherlock, Slice of Life) – After a case one evening in the flat Sherlock voices a concern that causes the pair to consider why they've chosen to stick together after all that's happened

Here to Stay by MockJayPhoenix12 (K, 1,574 w., 1 Ch. || Post Reunion, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Headache, Bed Sharing, Care Taker Sherlock, Hand Holding, Fluff) – On Sherlock's first day home, John wakes with a migraine.

Evermore by SosoHolmesWatson (G, 2,068 w., 1 Ch. || Post-S4, 5-Year-Old Rosie, Love Confessions, Song Fic, Parentlock, Oblivious John, Pining Sherlock, First Kiss, Love Confessions, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Disney Songs, Beauty and the Beast) – For the past years, John and Sherlock have lived at Baker Street again, raising Rosie together--as friends and nothing more. Ever since the little girl has watched her first Disney movie, she is obsessed with princesses. When John comes home one day, he finds his friend and his daughter in the middle of a reenactment of her current favourite. Part 1 of Made of Music

Let the Sun Fade Out by nothingislittle (E, 2,711 w., 1 Ch. || Fluff & Smut, Praise Kink, PWP, Obsessed Sherlock, Bottomlock, Heart-Tearing Love) – "He could warm the sun itself, Sherlock thinks, could heat their flat with just his presence, could brighten the room with one dazzling smile or just the sparkling in his eyes. John is everything, he’s beautiful and he shines, he’s everything."

Unquantifiable by 221b_hound (M, 2,799 w. 1 Ch. || Est. Rel., Sherlock/Sally Friendship, Grumpy John, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Pet Names, Texting, Sweet Sherlock, Princess Bride References) – John remains a terrible and foul-tempered patient, but he does try to make up for it with pet names and text message silliness. In the meantime, Sally Donovan visits Baker Street for a hint about the Milverton case, and has to deal with a Sherlock Holmes who can't find words big enough to thank her for saving John's life at the warehouse. For afters, there's a viewing of The Princess Bride. Part 33 of the Unkissed series

Pillow Talk by 221b_hound (E, 2,925 w., 1 Ch. || Post-HLV, Est. Rel., Preening Sherlock, Limpet Sherlock, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Sex on Furniture, Scent Kink, Masturbation, Fluff, Soft Sherlock, Sherlock’s Bum) – John gets home late from work and Sherlock is nowhere to be seen. John walks through the flat, distracted by memories of all the excellent sex they've been having, and finally finds Sherlock asleep in the upstairs room - apparently having fallen asleep mid-wank while inhaling the scent of John's pillow. Well, you should always finish what you start, John thinks... Part 3 of Lock and Key

The General Idea by agirlsname (T, 3,022 w., 1 Ch. || Retirement, Promise of Forever / Proposal, POV John, First Kiss, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Soft Sherlock, Idiots in Love, Crying / Emotional Sherlock, Love Confessions) – After twenty years of friendship, John is used to Sherlock acting weirdly. But the news Sherlock finally brings himself to deliver change the carefully built dynamics between them, and John realises it's time to act.

Affirmation by jamlockk (E, 3,096 w., 1 Ch. || First Time, Dev. Rel., PWP, Love Declarations, Emotional/Overwhelmed Sherlock, Comforting/Caring John, Gross Fluff) – "Sunlight dappled John's skin, casting a glow across his spreadeagled form as he dozed among the rumpled sheets. Sherlock knew the expression on his face was hopelessly soft but for once did not care about showing his true feelings so openly. He simply stood there, in the doorway, gazing at the impossibly beautiful man currently snuffling softly in his slumber." Part 8 of All the ways we love

Untouched by KittieHill (E, 3,239 w., 1 Ch. || Kissing, Frottage, Virgin Sherlock, Body Worship, Sherlock’s Scars Mentioned, Masturbation, PWP, Rimming, Multiple Orgasms) – Sherlock leaked a lot. John had never needed lubricant. John loved watching it, had once spent an entire afternoon edging Sherlock so he could watch as the thick precome drip, drip, dripped onto Sherlock's belly.

Morning Sunlight by slashscribe (E, 3,565 w., 1 Ch. || PWP, Morning Sex, Fluff, PWP, Established Rel., Soft Idiots) – A thin band of soft morning light peeks between the curtains and stretches across John’s torso, laying dormant across his forearm, dipping into the space between his arm and his chest, illuminating his right nipple but just brushing the edge of his left, disappearing into his armpit, and reappearing again right over Sherlock’s eyes where his head rests, nestled against John’s shoulder. Sherlock is not annoyed by the light’s intrusion on his sleep, not when it rests so soft and tantalizing on John’s skin, a work of unintentionally erotic art. A PWP with so much emotion.

Living Musical by VeeTheRee (G, 4,149 w. 1 Ch. || Est. Rel., Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Hobbies, Summer, Song Fic, POV Sherlock, Painting, Play Fighting, Soft Sherlock, Dancing, Love Declarations, Hair Petting, Promise of Forever) – A one-shot of John and Sherlock being domestic during summer. There is paint, fluff, and music from Imagine Dragons, namely from the album 'Speak To Me', specific song in this one-shot is 'Living Musical'. Part 1 of the Happy Fluffy Johnlock Time series

Date Night by inevitably_johnlocked (G, 4,451 w., 1 Ch. || Anxious / Worried Sherlock, Caring John, Schmoopy Fluff, Fidget Cube, Baking / Cooking, Date Night, Established Relationship, POV Sherlock Holmes, Understanding John, Grumpy Sherlock, John’s Bum, Kisses, Hugs, Domestic Fluff, Touching, Hair Petting, Light Humour) – It's John and Sherlock's first Date Night as an official couple and Sherlock needs it to be PERFECT. Mrs Hudson helps. Part 7 of I-J's Tumblr Ficlet Collection

If He Knows by shamelessmash (M, 4,513 w., 1 Ch. || TSo3 Fic, Pining Sherlock, Bed Sharing, Angst, First Person Sherlock POV, Texting, Internal Monologue, Blanket Forts) – I imagine mornings: John handing me a cup of tea, hair sticking out at odd angles. How he would bend down to kiss me, smiling fondly as he pulls away. The way his skin crinkles at the corner of his eyes, the way his skin looks in the morning light. The soft sigh as he sits in his chair with the morning paper, the way his toes curl in the carpet, the way he rolls his shoulders before sinking deeper into his seat. I watch him, how he is when he is content, as it should be. As he deserves. Happy. With me.

all things warm and tender by darcylindbergh (E, 5,177 w., 1 Ch. || PWP, Romantic Fluff, Rimming/Anal/BJ’s, Body Worship) – Grinning and giggling, John slides back down under the sheet and pulls it over his head. He finds Sherlock waiting for him, eyes bright and hair wild, the firelight bleeding through the thin fabric, colouring everything in soft peach and topaz, and in that moment he is so suddenly, unexpectedly, ethereally beautiful that John forgets how to breathe.

Pillow Talk by scullyseviltwin (M, 5,183 w., 1 Ch. || Post-S3, Angsty Fluff, Pillow Talk, Bed Sharing, Worried John, First Time Morning After, Soft Sherlock, Sexuality Discussion, Love Confessions, Kisses and Cuddles) – John has been looking at Sherlock for ages, it feels like.

a very soft epilogue (my love) by darcylindbergh (E, 5,395 w., 3 Ch. || Retirement, Domestic Fluff, Dancing, Dogs, Grumpy Old Men) – Across the pillows, Sherlock shifts and hums, the creases of his face deepening and then smoothing before settling. John watches him wake up, his chest swelling with affection and fondness, and thinks he’ll never get tired of Sherlock in the mornings, sleepy and soft. It’s been some forty-odd years, and John hasn’t gotten tired of it yet. Part 5 of things fairy tales are made of

Naked by sussexbound (E, 6,166 w., 1 Ch. || Frottage, Fluff, Intimacy, First Time, Love Declarations, Trust) – John takes a deep breath, and then lets out a long-suffering sigh. “Sherlock, how would you feel if you were sitting out here doing one of your bloody experiments, and I just waltzed out of the loo and started fixing myself breakfast completely starkers? Hmm…? ”Sherlock’s lips inch up at the corners into a pleased hint of a smile he can’t seem to suppress. Part 2 of Intimacy

Christmas by WhimsicalEthnographies (E, 7,673 w., 1 Ch. || Worried Sherlock, PWP, Drunkeness, Christmas, Est. Relationship, Idiots So In Love) – John feels a lump rise in his throat, and it hits him, again, that this beautiful, infuriating creature is his. Completely, one-hundred percent his.

How To Give Your Boyfriend Who Doesn't Know He's Your Boyfriend the Best Valentine's Day Ever by unicornpoe (T, 9,832 w., 1 Ch. || Valentine’s Day, Fluff and Crack, Soft Sherlock, POV Sherlock) – Sherlock is pretty sure that John Watson is his boyfriend. He's also pretty sure that John doesn't know it. But with a little help from a magazine, some friends, three crepes, five dates, one awesome CD, and a stalker van, John is bound to realize just in time for Valentine's Day.

Someone I Love by hudders-and-hiddles (M, 10,002 w., 2 Ch. || Canon Compliant, HLV-Filler Fic, Pre-Slash, Jealous John, PIning Sherlock, Angst & Fluff, UST/URT, Dog Tags) – John gets married and Sherlock finds comfort in wearing John's identity tags around his wrist.

To be loved by Strange_johnlock (E, 12,436 w., 8 Ch. || Post S3, Established Relationship, First Person POV Sherlock, Pet Names, Soft Sherlock, Mild ADHD, Protective John, Captain Watson, Body Appreciation, Bottomlock, Rough Sex, Travelling for Holidays, Introspection, Sherlock Loves John So Much It Hurts) – John is so deeply integrated into the work, both as my conductor of light, and as a great shot with a vicious right hook who tackles men -and women- no matter their size all in my defense. He protects me with all he can without question, and this loyalty is surely more than I deserve. Or: Sherlock is counting his blessings.

holding steady by darcylindbergh (E, 12,724 w., 4 Ch. || Post S4, Love Confessions, First Kiss, Growing Old, Gone Fishing, Mood without Plot, Soft Sherlock, Caring Sherlock, POV John Third Person, Anxious Sherlock, First Kiss / Time, Touching, Feeling Old, Sherlock Worship, Crying Sherlock, Cuddles, Comforting, Introspection, Retirement, Hand Holding, Forehead Kisses, Caring John, Bed Sharing, Emotional Love Making) – Sitting on a thick wool blanket at the end of a rickety dock side-by-side, legs dangling over the edge, a styrofoam container of wet, dark dirt between them, they’re fishing. John knows what this is about. This is about finally figuring it out.

On The Fence by BeautifulFiction (T, 13,770 w., 1 Ch. || Fencing, Case Fic, First Kiss, Insecure John, Pining John, Hug, Greg Finds Out) – The murder of the King's College fencing champion leads to revelations about Sherlock's past. Will it be the point that tips them from friends to lovers, or will they remain on the fence?

The Invocation of Saint Margaret by Ewebie (E, 15,831 w., 1 Ch. || POV John, Crossing Timelines, Light Angst, Fluff, Series 3 John / Series 1 Sherlock, The Matchbox, Mushy Romance, First Time, Bisexual John, Pining John, Bottomlock, Love Confessions, Sensuality, Emotional Love Making, Snippets of Time) – When Sherlock Holmes opens the matchbox from The Sign of Three and John finds himself years in the past, back to that first dinner at Angelo's with a much younger Sherlock Holmes. Is he dreaming?

Division by MrsNoggin (E, 19,542 w., 11 Ch. || Coffee Shop AU || First Kiss/Time, Fluff, Barista Sherlock, Clingy Sherlock, POV John, John’s Limp, Bed Sharing, Fluff, Sleepy Cuddles, Sensuality, Touching, Virgin Sherlock, Insecure John) – John likes mysteries. And every morning he dips into the local independent coffee bar with his newspaper and ponders another... one Sherlock Holmes.

Out of the Woods by SilentAuror (E, 20,471 w., 1 Ch. || Post S4, Romance, Slow Burn, Flirting, Drunk Sex, Practical Jokes, POV Sherlock, Bottomlock, Possessive John, Pining Sherlock, Frustrated Wanking, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Blow Jobs, First Kiss/Time, Virgin Sherlock, Love Confessions, Soft Sherlock, Dancing, Bum Appreciation, Hanging out with the Yard) – Sherlock is fairly certain that John has taken to flirting with him of late, but can't be entirely certain of it. At least, not until a case takes them into a forest, along with Lestrade's team and something happens that will change everything about their lives...

How To Unfold a Heart by elwinglyre (E, 25,477 w., 7 Ch. || Post S4 Fix It, BAMF John, Mentioned Eurus, POV First Person Sherlock, Case Fic, Fluff, Slow Burn, Topping from the Bottom, 3 Yr Old Rosie, Introspection, Sexual Fantasies, John Worship, Ogling, Hand Holding, Kidnapping, Domesticity, Sherlock Whump, First Kiss/Time, Doctor John, Caring John, Soft Sherlock, Sensuality, Touching, Crying, Love Confessions, Anxious Sherlock, Rimming, Toplock, Fingering, Bossy Bottom John) – To Sherlock’s dismay, John’s return to Baker Street with Rosie is only temporary. Sherlock’s daily visits to Regent Park with John and Rosie illuminate his lost childhood memories and missed opportunities. But with each trip to the park, Sherlock also feels a growing sense of hope. That is until the past horrors return unexpectedly in a cryptic note folded in the shape of a heart. To decipher the message, Sherlock must uncover the nature of the hearts around him, including his own.

A Quiet Life by DiscordantWords (M, 25,176 w., 6 Ch. || Post S4, Retirement, POV Sherlock, Awkwardness, Established Relationship, Family Dynamics, Minor Character Death, Questionable Parenting Choices, Non-Linear Narrative, 20 Year Old Rosie, Meddling Mycroft, Pining Sherlock, First Kiss, Love Confessions, Angst, Sherlock Whump) – There had been three days of silence and a funeral. Sherlock had the terrible feeling that whatever happened next would depend, entirely, on him.

Deck the Halls by itsalwaysyou_jw (T, 31,018 w., 24 Ch. || Advent Fic / Multiple One-Shots, Assorted Tags) – One Johnlock ficlet for every day leading up to Christmas. Who is ready for pining, first kisses, established Johnlock, and everything in between? This collection of stand-alone ficlets will have it all.

Gold Rush by ShirleyCarlton (E, 71,783 w., 17 Ch. || Post S3 / No Mary, Friends to Lovers, Mentions of Past Sexual Abuse, First Kiss, Case Fic, Slow Burn, Alternating POV, Switchlock, Angst with Happy Ending, Marriage Proposal, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Abduction, Anxious/Insecure Sherlock, Miscommunication, Emotional Lovemaking) – John has divorced Mary and pops round to 221B one evening to find Sherlock in the middle of a case. As Sherlock tries to find the identity of a young woman’s stalker, John realises he can no longer deny his feelings for Sherlock – which then, to their befuddlement, turn out to be mutual. Shy kisses and tentative embraces ensue. But will Sherlock be able to cast off a shadow from his past that he thinks might prevent John from wanting to stay?

Definitions by siennna (T, 101,528 w., 12 of ? Ch. || Dev. Rel., Pining, Fluff and Romance, First Kiss, Love Confessions, Fluff, Cuddles, Girl’s Night, Texting, Virgin Sherlock, Drunk Sherlock, Background Mollstrade, Hair Petting, Laying on Lap) – Sherlock’s journey in defining his flat mate and stumbling through the muddled world of emotion. {{This feels complete; the chapter count is listed as ? but I feel like it is done}}

Against the Rest of the World by SilentAuror (E, 151,714 w., 20 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Post-TRF, Hiatus Fic, POV First Person Sherlock, Present Tense, First Kiss/Time, Big Brother Mycroft, Escaping from Capture, Soft Sherlock, Toplock, Insecurity, Infidelity, Travelling, Introspection, Pining Sherlock, Depression, Fantasies, Yearning for the Past, PTSD Sherlock, Suicidal Ideation) – Sherlock has been away from London for nine hundred and twelve days and counting, and has no idea what sort of reception to expect when he finally returns.

#steph replies #johnlock fic recs #my fic recs #soft sherlock #Anonymous #long post

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mrs-hollandstan · 3 years

Text

Make Me Love You || Frat Boy!Tom [epilogue]

Warnings: sexual comments, pregnancy and children, marriage and weddings, just cuteness, mentions of IVF, mentions of parental issues, language, mentions of marital issues, mentions of fuckboy!Tommo

Word Count: 7,996

Author's Note: Thank you, thank you, thank you, for those that have stuck with me through all of this. It's been a journey and I'm so grateful for those that stayed for the whole thing. This series has been such an important part of my life and writing and I don't know how I'll function without it, but I'm grateful to have finished it and gotten it out there for others to enjoy. 💖

Series Masterlist || Add yourself to one of my taglists

Welcome to Our Forever

Thomas & Y/F/N

August 5, 2023

White roses and eucalyptus line the wooden board announcing your wedding to the man of your dreams. Maybe not the best decision to have a summer wedding, but Harrison and Ivey had only wed some three months before, and you refused to take away her shine. As it was, when she sat beside you in her auburn colored dress to have her hair and makeup done, she was glowing, reminiscing on her big day with a brand new wedding band to go with her engagement/wedding ring, and a new ID showcasing the Ivey Eleanor Osterfield namesake.

It wasn't necessarily the first time you four girls had been together since graduation, but the time that you spent together had dwindled since going out into the real world. Phoebe was making bank as an emergency room nurse at UW Emergency just off campus and she and Keaton had started living together in University District. Cole had moved Scarlett into his apartment once Keaton had moved out and she's been working as a financial analyst the past two years. He'd mentioned proposing to her, but hadn't officially done so yet. Ivey and Harrison were living in an apartment not far from you and Tom, Harrison working at the Seattle Art Museum, and not too far from him, Ivey was working as an editor in downtown Seattle. Still, after two years, the four of you were meeting up for date night often, you and Ivey mostly discussing wedding plans and crazy stories from your day, while the boys talked sports and alcohol.

Since graduation, you and Tom had adopted a little gray pitbull from a local shelter, similar to Tessa, whom you named Rosir. With the help of your dad and the first few paychecks from your therapy office, you were able to purchase a car, a Subaru Crosstrek, which you and Tom used for weekend getaways and vacations. He'd even taken the time to revisit the same house he and the group stayed in in Oregon two springs ago with you.

"You remember how you told me you wanted something like Ivey and Harrison that night shit went to hell?" He had asked you as you lay in bed one night, bare chests pressed together and Rosie laying just off to your side on the floor, squeaking her toy. You had hummed and nodded, leaning on his chest,

"I regret that."

"Don't say that. I just hope that it's been better than what they have. I've tried to make you happy." You smiled up at him and nodded,

"I've never been happier than I am now." You had reassured him. He'd smiled and leaned in to kiss you. You'd discussed the shitshow that was the last two years of your relationship and how now, you couldn't see being with anyone else and you were convinced that your kids wouldn't have what you did, with a fractured family. Most of Tom's wounds had healed and he was focused on you, his career path, and your future. You were putting everything that had happened in the past behind you for the better now, focusing on your wedding, your marriage, the future.

"You nervous?" Phoebe asks as an artist drags a brush with eyeshadow across her lids. You shrug as you're drawn from your haze,

"Less nervous about marrying him than I am about graduation." You admit. She smiles,

"I'm in love with you two. He's fucking lucky to have you." She murmurs, closing her eyes again. Ivey sighs,

"I think you've beaten me out at being the most gorgeous on your wedding day."

"No, don't say that. You were absolutely stunning."

"Yeah, but are you seeing yourself? Tom is going to lose his shit." She explains. You smile, staring at yourself in the mirror as your makeup artist brushes blush along your cheeks. You giggle,

"Okay, fine, I do look hot." You murmur. The three of you laugh along before Scarlett sighs and moves into the room,

"Your dad and Cole are fighting again." You roll your eyes,

"I almost just wish they hadn't tried to reconcile." You tell her. She smiles,

"I mean... at least they're trying for you and all of our future kids." She reasons. You sigh,

"Yeah, I guess." She sits behind the three of you, waiting until you're all finished before she helps you slide into the a-line dress you'd chosen, the girls gasping,

"Oh Y/N, you look gorgeous." Ivey says. Phoebe and Scarlett agree and when Nikki enters the room, she gasps and covers her mouth, tears springing into her eyes,

"Oh Y/N darling..." She mumbles. You smile, taking her hands when she approaches,

"Do you think he'll like it?" You ask her about her son. She nods, sniffling softly,

"Oh I think you could wear a burlap bag and he'd think you were exquisite, but this..." She nods, "he'll absolutely love you in this." She assures. You smile,

"Great. You look amazing yourself." You tell her, looking her over in her maroon colored mother-in-law dress,

"Well thank you sweetheart." She murmurs, a dusting of red coating her cheeks. She clears her throat,

"I uhm, I have something for you." She says. It's only then that you notice the worn black box in her hands. You follow her to the small couch, sitting just beside her before she opens the box and reveals an old pearl necklace, "My grandmother got this as a gift and it's been passed down through our family. My mother wore it on her wedding day, I wore it on my wedding day. If you'd like... I want you to have it, wear it today and any day in the future as my first daughter-in-law." She tells you. You stare at it, mouth agape,

"Oh gosh... Nikki... are you sure?" She nods immediately,

"Of course. They're to be passed down. Hopefully you get a daughter to do the same to and the tradition can continue in our family." She tells you. You dab at your eyes with a tissue,

"Thank you so much. It's beautiful." You tell her, moving forward to hug her. She hugs you back, kissing your cheek softly. She helps you latch it around your neck and by then, the girls are completely ready,

"It's time Y/N/N." Ivey tells you with a cock of her head. You take a deep breath,

"Gosh... really?" She shoots you a sympathetic smile and nods,

"Fortunately." She tells you. You allow Nikki to fasten your veil into your hair and hand you your bouquet, the girls each collecting theirs before you stand before the full length mirror, staring at yourself. You take a deep breath,

"The next time I step foot into this room, I will be Mrs. Tom Holland." You murmur more to yourself more than anyone. You watch Ivey smile in the mirror before you turn to them and nod,

"Okay, I think I'm ready." You tell them. They each nod before leading you from the room, walking the short distance to where the boys are waiting at the end of the hall. Tom had more groomsmen than you had bridesmaids, but you didn't really care. Three of his seven groomsmen were walking alone, his brothers leading the pack down the aisle together. You honestly thought it was cute. Cole maneuvered his way over to you to kiss your cheek as your father appeared,

"You look beautiful." He tells you. You smile, glancing up at your dad,

"Thanks Cole."

"You know mom would be more than proud of you." He reminds you. You nod, indicating to the veil,

"And she's with me." When your dad had offered up the diamond encrusted lacy material your mother had bought for her own special day, you sobbed and agreed without a second thought. It was such a simple yet meaningful gesture, especially coming from your dad and you haven't thought twice about it since. Cole's eyes are glistening as he nods and Scarlett slips her hand in his bicep.

Sam, Harry, and Paddy are the first down the aisle together, Tom's smile wide when he sees them. Ivey and Harrison are the first couple down the aisle with her as your matron of honor. Scarlett and Cole are next with her being your maid of honor, but you told Phoebe she was also your maid of honor. You weren't letting her feel left out in this situation. Gil was last down the aisle, helping your flower girl and ring bearer, both younger cousins of yours, down to their respective sides. You take a deep breath as you watch Tom stand at the head of the aisle, nervously swaying side to side, hands clasped in front of him. Your father flexes his bicep to imitate a squeeze,

"Don't pass out on me. At least let me get you to him." He jokes. You smile,

"Course not. But... this is the last time your little girl will be a Y/L/N." You tell him. He hums, glancing down at you when you look up,

"You'll always be a Y/L/N, but I'm okay with you being a Holland. Tom is a good man." He reminds you. You smile and nod,

"I agree." You murmur before "Canon In D" starts, giving you your cue. You take another deep breath before your father starts the walk, and all of your guests stand. Your dad reaches out and pats your hand as you walk out into the sunlight, your videographer (thank you dad) crouching beside your fiancè to capture his reaction which is quite honestly, the sweetest, most heart touching thing you've ever seen. He reaches up to brush his tears away, pivoting from foot to foot quicker as he takes a deep breath and blinks away the flood of tears that threaten to spill. You smile up at him, walking steadily with your father until you're standing just before him. He takes a deep breath as your minister asks who gives you away. Your father replies and hands you to Tom who helps you onto the small pedestal across from him. He sniffles softly, staring down at you with so much love in his eyes.

The ceremony progresses quickly and before you know it, you're announced as Mrs. Tom Holland. Tom smiles wide before he's wrapping an arm around your waist, the other curled up your back as he dips you, sealing your deal with a final kiss. You hold him to you, staring up into his eyes when he stands you straight before he pivots on his feet, smile as wide as it can get as you're announced as husband and wife. He gives your hand a squeeze and waves it in the air as your guests cheer and clap.

You scurry off, holding onto Tom as he kisses you over and over again and continuously tells you how beautiful you look while your wedding party makes their way back down the aisle, your bridesmaids and his groomsmen all crowding around you with congratulations thrown your way. You flaunt the ring, and before the guests pour from your venue and towards the large brick building for the reception, Tom's family and your dad and Heidi follow your wedding party to the designated picture area.

The pictures, you can tell, are going to be absolutely gorgeous. Harry and Nikki were both more than happy to be the wedding photographers, and absolutely denied being paid for the work. But you'd seen sneak peeks of some of the shots they'd snapped of your wedding party and you were in love. You'd finally sobbed, and Tom had let you when Nikki flashed you a photo of yours and Tom's foreheads pressed together, his hand brushing along your cheek, wedding band shown off blatantly. It hadn't hit you, how serious getting married was and now it was.

You'd been the last to depart the area where your professional photos were taken, Nikki and Harry leaving you for a private moment to yourselves, the first in nearly two days since the boys stole him and the girls had stolen you. You'd stood in silence for a moment, admiring the scenery of the woods around you before he'd untucked a hand from his pocket and reached out for yours. You'd threaded your fingers together,

"Has this been the wedding of your dreams so far?" He asks softly. You smile, nodding,

"Since I was a little girl I dreamed of marrying a prince. Now I have him, and this," You gesture around you, "This is more than I could ever ask for. It's been beautiful so far and merging our families has been a dream." You tell him, taking a step closer to him. His smile widens,

"Good." He murmurs. Standing on your toes, you lean in and kiss him. He hums,

"Can't believe I married the girl of my dreams." He murmurs. You giggle,

"It is all very surreal. All of the times we talked about marriage and kids and now we're here, doing it."

"Hell yeah, I don't fuck around." He jokes. You roll your eyes,

"But... now that we have a moment... what do you think of the dress? Your mom said I could wear a bag and you'd still think I look stunning."

"Oh definitely, but... yes... this is absolutely gorgeous. You look stunning darling. More so than ever." He tells you, holding you at arms length to look you over. You twirl for him, the bodice of your dress flourishing around you and Tom smiles,

"So beautiful." Dragging you back in, he leans in to kiss you, arms bound around your waist, your hands rested on his shoulders, smoothing down them. He hums,

"We should sneak off and have married sex now." You giggle, tipping your head back which draws him in to trailing kisses down your throat,

"Yeah, I'd like to see you try and do a quickie in this dress. You'll get lost in it." You tell him. He chuckles,

"I believe you. You've got a lot of tulle goin on here." Nodding, your rest your hands atop his shoulders, staring up at him,

"You've made me so happy the past four years... I can't wait to spend the rest of my life with you." You tell him. He smiles,

"The feeling is so fucking mutual." He tells you, hands curled around your back. He presses his forehead to yours and sighs,

"I promise to make you happy every day of my life. You mean the world to me." He tells you. You sway him softly, holding his waist,

"I promise to do the same."

"And after tonight, we'll go to Fiji and have a good time, just the two of us, and then we'll come back and try for a baby." He starts. You giggle again,

"You have our whole lives planned out then huh?" You ask. He nods,

"Definitely. Won't be long now before we're house hunting and moving a sweet little babe in." He murmurs in your ear. You sigh,

"Is it bad that I kinda wanna stay in the apartment for a little while after having a baby?" You ask. His eyebrows furrow and he shakes his head,

"No, not really. We... did talk about turning that spare into a nursery for her. We could go through with it."

"And we're still stuck on them being a her huh? You do know I'll kill you if we have a boy first and you even think about being disappointed." You tell him. He hums, eyebrows knitting together again,

"No, of course not, I would never. Any baby that comes from you is loved by me darling. You don't have to worry about it." He confirms. You nod, letting the silence permeate between you for a moment before you sigh,

"We should probably be heading back. No one can do anything without us." You tell him. He chews the inside of his lip for a moment before sighing himself and nodding,

"Yeah... let's go get a beer." Smiling, you hold your hand out for his again, lacing your fingers with his. He smiles as the prongs of your ring scrape against the pad of his finger and you give a tug of his hand to lead him up the trodden path towards your reception. Once on the concrete, leading up to the building, Tom squeezes your hand, glancing at the sign announcing you as husband and wife,

"I cannot believe I am Mrs. Thomas Stanley Holland." You say. He chuckles again,

"Sounds so fucking amazing." He tells you. You smile,

"It does. I get to change my nameplate at work. Mrs. Y/N Holland. So exciting." He smiles before you round a corner and your wedding party is there, beers in hand and cheering directed your way. Tom waves his hand, cheeks flushing red and chuckles leaving his lips,

"Stop, stop-"

"You're a married man now Tommo!" Haz starts,

"Yeah, what happened to the forever bachelor thing? Who are you and what have you done with our Tom?" Gil jokes. Tom rolls his eyes,

"A beautiful girl crashed the party and roped my ass in." He admits. You smile and accept a beer from Cole, another handed to Tom,

"Well congrats. You two make a beautiful couple. And... now you're my brother." He tells Tom, dragging him in for a hug. You smile, watching your husband and brother hug before Cole turns to you,

"And you look beautiful Y/N/N. Mom is so so so fucking proud of you. I just know it." He tells you again. He leans in and kisses your cheek. Ivey pops up from inside the venue,

"Alright guys. We're headed inside. Back into formation." You smile, looping your arm through Tom's. You'd chosen to have your DJ announce your wedding party, the group dancing in and once you make your way inside, it leads into your first dance. The other Holland boys lead, both sides of the families laughing at their antics. Ivey and Harrison follow, then Scarlett and Cole, and Keaton and Phoebe, finishing with Gil. Tom squeezes your hand in his arm as the DJ speaks again,

"And now, ladies and gentlemen, the moment you've all been waiting for, I present to you, Mr. and Mrs. Tom Holland!" He cheers, the roaring from your guests loud as Tom escorts you in the door, twirling you and showing you off to your family. Your cheeks hurt from the smile you carry and Tom let's out an airy laugh as you hand your bouquet off to Ivey and he wraps you in his arms, holding your body close as the first notes of your first dance song play through the speakers, all eyes on you. But none of it matters. All that matters are the chocolate colored eyes you know every inch of. The ones you've come to love and the ones you get to stare into for the rest of your life. He's yours, and you're his, and this is what forever feels like.

---

You giggle and cling to Tom as he carries you across the threshold of your suite. He gently sets you on the bed, watching you lay out beneath him,

"So stunning." He murmurs. You roll your eyes and sit up a little to pull your veil off,

"I see the cheesiness hasn't dissipated."

"Well no. It'll only get worse from here. Instead of taking it as my girlfriend or fiancèe, you're taking it as my wife. Now you for sure aren't going anywhere. It's so much worse." He tells you. You giggle, kicking your heels off. He sighs, raking a hand through his hair,

"Is it bad if I say I'm glad that part is over?" He asks with a cock of his head. You shake your own head,

"No... it's stressful. Especially for me when there was so much for me to trip over." You tell him. He hums,

"You did great. You looked amazing all night and you were such the little party host."

"I'm the bride, I have to be." He sits on the bed beside you, clearing his throat,

"Yeah, I guess." Sighing, you roll so your body is pressed into his side. He leans back on the bed on his elbow, loosening his tie,

"It was a pretty good night. You did good on the planning love." He chides. You smile,

"Thanks babe. I put my heart, soul, and money into this perfect day." He nods, raising his eyebrows,

"That's for damn sure." He murmurs. You giggle,

"I couldn't imagine any other wedding being more perfect than ours. It was really fucking beautiful."

"To be fair, your dad paid for a lot and my parents contributed too." He reasons with a shrug, staring up at the ceiling when he moves to lay back on the bed fully. You smile, leaning in on his chest. He sighs,

"I loved every minute of it."

"That's all that matters. You only get one wedding and it should be perfect."

"It was. I love you." He smiles and leans up to kiss you,

"Love you too darling." You sit in silence for a moment before you sit up and take his hand,

"Unzip me, I have a surprise for you." You tell him. He hums, sliding the zipper down your back and moving to lean on his elbows again as he watches you slip from the wedding dress, revealing a beautiful set of ivory colored lingerie, an intricate piece that draws Tom's eyebrows up again,

"Well that's one hell of a surprise."

"I had every intention of wearing blue but this is a wedding night set and I couldn't pass it up."

"Yeah, no, you'll have all kinds of opportunities to test out different lingerie. Heaven forbid you pass up this opportunity for wedding night lingerie." He murmurs. You smile, stepping from the puddle of tulle, lace, and satin at your feet and leaning in on his knees,

"So I assume you like it." You coo. He snorts,

"When have I ever not liked lingerie on this sweet little body?" He asks. You giggle,

"Never."

"Exactly." Moving his hands onto your hips, he drags you into his lap, your lips covering his. He hums into the kiss, moving his hands up your back. Your fingers move down to unbutton his shirt. You smooth over his stomach, his hands traveling down to hold onto your hips,

"Shall we try and figure out what's so different about married sex?" You ask him. He smiles, pulling back to look into your eyes,

"I think that'd be quite great actually." He murmurs. You smile down at him,

"Just think... you don't have to worry about getting me pregnant now because we're already married." He chuckles, watching you reach behind you and unclip your bra, tossing it aside. He licks his lips,

"I'd love to know what these'll look like when you end up pregnant." He murmurs, moving to massage your breasts into his hands. You tip your head back, holding his shoulders. You slide your hands beneath his button up brushing it from his shoulders. He sighs,

"So perfect."

"So yours." You murmur. He chuckles,

"You're damn right." You giggle before he's leaning back, pulling you with him. You lean on the bed over his shoulders, leaning in to kiss him,

"I love you husband." He smiles wide,

"I love you, wife. More than you'll ever know." You lean back in to kiss his throat, his hands skirting down to your hips until the cold metal of his wedding ring is pressing into your lower back.

The next night, after landing in Fiji and checking into your bungalow, Tom slides down into the sand beside you. He sighs, squinting in the setting sun and holding a beer out to you. You take it, thanking him softly and sipping from it. He does the same as you look him over. He looks calm for the first time in months. His hair is flat and he's wearing a tee and a pair of cotton shorts, no shoes on. You smile when he looks at you and his eyebrows furrow,

"What?" He asks through a laugh. You shake your head,

"Nothing, I just love you. You look good right now." You move to lay your head over his shoulder. He takes a deep breath, laying his head over yours and reaching out to squeeze your knee,

"Happy first night of forever." He mumbles. You squeeze his body against yours,

"So far, so good." You tell him. He hums,

"Can't go wrong with me." Giggling, you sip from your beer again, leaning your arm on his knee,

"I will admit, seeing "Mr. and Mrs. Holland" on the door was a really surreal thing for me." You tell him. He smiles, moving his hand up into the light to look at the ring on his finger,

"I've always been called Mr. Holland in a professional sense but... hearing Mrs. Holland and knowing that it's in reference to my wife and that you're finally, fully mine is like... insane." He admits in return. You nod,

"I agree." You murmur. Nudging the neckline of his top down, you brush a finger across the hickey you'd left the night before. He smiles,

"The markings of a spoiled little wife."

"I really don't think I'll ever be over the whole wife thing. Like... hearing you say it blows my mind. I definitely thought I'd be your girlfriend for the rest of my life and you'd never be ready to marry me."

"I was ready to marry you the second you came back from New York after Spring Break."

"Liar."

"I did. I never wanted to let you go again. I had fucked up and never wanted to risk losing you again." He explains. You smile, looping your arms under his and leaning your head on his shoulder,

"That's truly adorable. You've still had your moments but... I have no doubt that all the growth you've done since that whole mess has helped you. Really." He nods,

"I feel a lot better, that's for sure." He tells you, sighing. You hum,

"I'm glad. You know... we both have to be in a good mindset to have a baby."

"Speaking of, you are okay with having a baby like... soonish right?" He asks. You shrug,

"Yeah, sure, why not?"

"I just obviously wanna make sure you're comfortable and we're on the same page." He tells you as you move to lounge between his legs. You scoff,

"Bitch I just married you. There isn't a thing you could do to make me uncomfortable. We're one now." He chuckles, laying his hands over your stomach,

"But you would tell me if something is out of your comfort zone right?" He asks. You nod, eyebrows knitting together,

"Course."

"Good." Leaning your head back against his chest, you sigh, closing your eyes. He presses his lips to your temple and leaves them there, breathing you in. The setting sun provides a nice warmth,

"I say we just never go back to America. We just run away and become permanent travelers." Tom chuckles,

"And abandon my very expensive diploma, I think that's a dumb idea love." He tells you. You hum,

"You could very well get a big break in Europe without the degree." You reason. He hums,

"That'd be great to take you back to my home."

"Well since we'll be traveling, you very well could give me a better tour of your little hometown." You confirm. He nods,

"That sounds really good." A silence settles over you, the sound of the waves crashing being the only noise around. He reaches up and rubs over your shoulders,

"I'm glad we're here."

"Me too." You tell him quickly. He smiles,

"I'm really glad you agreed to marry me." He says. You giggle,

"Me too." His smile widens. He leans in and kisses you softly when you rise to your knees and turn to face him,

"I think we should revisit the newlywed sex." He implies with a raise of his eyebrow. You hum,

"Me too. Definitely." He chuckles softly before he's standing and taking your hands, leading you back through the sand to your bungalow, pushing you on the bed softly once he slides the door closed.

---

*Seven Years Later*

"Mia darling, please don't do that." Tom calls to your oldest child, hoisting Harper, your current youngest into his lap with her holding his fingers and climbing his chair. He focuses on the two year old, her hair falling down her back and her legs tangled up in her dress. He rubs her back once she snuggles into him, kissing her forehead.

Not long after your wedding, you were pregnant with Mia. The second Tom found out she was a girl, he couldn't drop the smile, convinced that the talk of having a girl first all throughout college was just divine intervention. Seeing your husband as a father that first time was unlike anything else. He couldn't put his baby girl down. You were his girl, and he followed you around like a lost puppy, but the second you gave birth to little Mia Faye, he was hooked. And the process continued with your first son three years later, Wyatt James was held in Mia's lap, who was always in Tom's lap. And then again with his second baby girl, Harper Monroe. And now here you are, pregnant with your final baby, another sweet boy who Tom talks to daily, first thing in the morning before he wakes your three older kiddos to bring to bed and see you and at night, right before you go to bed, wishing your little wiggly bean goodnight. He already has a name, Oliver Ethan, and you're excited to have a complete family, four kids to grow up together and travel with, something you and Tom have loved doing since being out of college.

Cole sighs as he sits beside Keaton who holds his and Phoebe's daughter, Emma's tiny purse, glancing up at his ex-roommate,

"'S the matter? Being the father of the birthday boy is tiring?" He teases. Cole rolls his eyes,

"Not only that, but when his papa decides it's time to spoil him and he wonders why mommy and daddy don't do the same, it can get interesting." Cole explains. You smile, rubbing the baby bump over your dress. Tom watches you,

"I'm just glad that he has a papa. You and dad have gotten along pretty well since he's moved out here." You tell him, reaching up to stroke through Tom's hair to soothe you both. Cole crosses his arms watching his daughter, Daisy, follow Scarlett around, Logan and Ashton, Ivey and Harrison's older boys by her side like they always are when the group is together,

"I guess so, yeah, it's been... weird. He avoids bringing up mom which makes it awkward but... he's a good enough grandfather. The kids like him and if Scarlett needs help and I'm not available, he's been there." He explains. You nod, leaning into Tom's side. Harper twirls your hair around her finger sleepily, Tom leaning in to kiss her pudgy cheek,

"Regardless, you guys are talking and actually acting like father and son. Now we have like an actual family again." He nods,

"Yeah..." Keaton yawns,

"And what about you Ke? Now that dad's back here and starting that branch of his company here and you're working for him again, how's it been?" He glances up as Phoebe slides into the chair beside him,

"Yeah, it's good. Back to better payment, being the assistant. It's pretty nice."

"And no such luck with the baby making?" You ask. He smiles, looking to Phoebe,

"We're getting there. It's been a hard process but... IVF has been going pretty well."

"I'm trying to calm the fuck down." Phoebe starts, dragging her fingers through her hair, "I know that going through all of this, the IVF'll fail and then I'll get pregnant naturally." She says with a roll of her eyes. Keaton smiles,

"The embryo we transfer next month is a girl. Our little Sophia so... hopefully. Fingers crossed." He says. You smile and nod,

"All our fingers are crossed." You tell them. Keaton smiles, glancing up as Wyatt runs up to you,

"Mommy..."

"Yes my love?" You ask of him as he leans in on your legs,

"Can I go with Mason to his room to see his toys?" He asks you. You brush his hair from his eyes,

"Did you ask Auntie Scarlett or Uncle Cole if you could?" You ask him. He glances around,

"Mason asked auntie."

"If she tells him yes, you can go with him but- hey, Wyatt... but if you go in his room, you need to be careful and don't do anything bad okay? Pick up after yourself like we tell you to do at home." You tell him. He nods before running off to find his cousin. Tom is smiling when you look to him again,

"What?" You ask. He shakes his head,

"You're just a really great mum is all." He mumbles, helping Harper slide from his lap again, "Where are you headed love?" He asks, but she ignores him and runs off towards the jumper. You giggle at the pout on his lips, glancing up when Ivey sighs behind you. Her and Harrison slide in between you and Keaton and Phoebe, the little green blanket she left with half an hour ago to quiet the crying cradled in her arms again,

"He okay?" You ask. She nods and rolls her eyes,

"He's had a little bit of colic so... he's just cranky but... he's fed and asleep. He should be good for a little while now. Logan and Ashton been good?"

"Yup, only pulled Daisy's pigtails once." You joke. She huffs,

"I believe you. Ashton, if you don't tend to him in time, pulls your hair to get up on your chair or whatever he wants. I swear... sometimes if Harrison doesn't collect them while I'm feeding or something, he's sleeping on the couch." Harrison snorts,

"Yeah, we've had to take up stock in ice cream to keep the boys away from mum." He murmurs. You giggle, watching Ivey roll her eyes before she reaches an arm out and rubs over your belly,

"How's this little one? You're about in your eighth month huh?" She poses. You nod, pressing a hand to the base of your belly,

"Yeah... he's doing good. He was super rambunctious last night. We were up all night last night watching him swim and kick. He's gonna be our biggest baby I think." You tell her. You carry a huge smile and taking a glance at Tom, you see he does too. He's so proud of this family you've created. He loves you and all three, almost four kids you have,

"And Rosie is back to being her protective little self with new little man?" Harrison asks. You nod,

"Soooooo much. She's normally with the kids but if I sit down, she's right in my lap, head laid over the bump." You tell him. He smiles,

"She's been pretty great eh?"

"Oh and her and Tessa get along so damn well when my parents bring Tess down." Tom pitches in. You smile,

"They've both been great. We were blessed in a lot of ways."

"That is so good. She's been such a great girl for you."

"She really has, and Y/N never had animals growing up so she's been a great little companion for Y/N's first time." Tom explains. Ivey nods, glancing up at you,

"And she's grown up with the kids technically." You pose. Ivey smiles,

"That Christmas card... so damn cute. You guys with the matching kids and Rose. I can't believe how tall Wyatt is getting. I bet he'll be taller than Tom before we know it." She winks as Tom rolls his eyes,

"Ha ha. Very funny." She smiles,

"You know I'm kidding. He's so cute though. All those freckles. He looks just like you Tommy."

"Well he's lucky then." Your husband murmurs, smiling when you swat at him. He leans over and kisses your cheek,

"He's hooked on his mumma though. Doesn't ask me for shit. Goes straight to her."

"Well you've got two baby girls that go to you. So... I'll keep him." You defend. Tom chuckles

"Who is that? Is that Auntie Y/N/N?" You glance up just in time to see a tan little boy move into your line of sight, giggling. You smile up at him,

"My little Hunter!" Gil chuckles as you take his little boy, laying him in your lap to tickle him. Tom laughs along as the little boy squeals and Gil leans in to kiss your cheek and then Ivey's,

"Bout time you showed."

"Mmm, Minah kept changing his outfit." He mumbles. You hug Hunter into you, smiling as Tom ruffles his hair,

"Why didn't she come?" Harrison asks. Gil rolls his eyes,

"Uhm, her mom's in town. But... I don't think she would've come anyways." He tells him. Ivey cocks her head sympathetically,

"Still having problems?"

"Yes, and she wants another baby like that'll magically save our relationship." He remarks. You smile up at him,

"Well I dunno about you but I think this little one is great." You tease, tickling Hunter again. Gil's smile returns when Hunter giggles,

"He's the only thing that keeps me sane." He tells you. Tom nods,

"That's how it works." Reaching out again, Tom brushes long strands of hair from Hunter's eyes,

"I think Wyatt and Mason went to Mason's room. You wanna go see?" You ask him. He nods, squirming from your arms and running off. Scarlett catches him in the doorway, standing on her toes and pressing a hand to his head. She smiles before walking to the table you all sit at,

"Are we having fun? I see there's only one kiddo here right now. Hi sweet boy."

"He's not so sweet right now." Ivey mumbles as Scarlett leans over her shoulder and coos into the blanket in her lap. Surprisingly, the little one smiles a toothless smile up at his aunt, the smile growing wider when she reaches down and pokes his nose,

"Not feelin good baby?" Ivey shakes her head,

"Colic still."

"The gripe water didn't work?" Scarlett asks,

"Very briefly." Ivey confirms. Scarlett clicks her tongue,

"Damn. Poor thing." Ivey nods, rocking the bundle. When both girls look up, they find you smiling at them. Ivey giggles,

"What?" You shake your head, blinking tears away,

"Nothing... just wondering how we got here. What happened to the girls I was introduced to eleven or so years ago? We were so young and carefree and look at us now. We're all moms. We're all wives and killing it all." Tom hums, reaching out to brush the stray tear that falls away. Ivey clicks her tongue, blinking rapidly,

"Oh babes. You pregnant and me coming down from postpartum doesn't help this shit." She moves in, laying her head over your shoulder. Scarlett whines before she's brushing Tom aside and wrapping her arms around you and Ivey. Phoebe's heeled boots click as she rushes in to join the group hug, Owen, in Ivey's arms cooing up at her too. She smiles,

"I know I was quite the party girl but... these little ones are the best things we could ever do. Ten... almost eleven, twelve when I get a clear head, these are our greatest accomplishments." She tells the three of you. You nod, pressing her hand over your belly,

"Definitely." Your baby boy kicks out against her hand in agreement, making the four of you giggle. Tom smiles too, watching you and the girls hug before you part and you take his hand, squeezing and pressing it to your belly. He hums as he rubs the bump,

"He's gonna be a rambunctious little thing. Reckon we'll be exhausted after chasing just him around." He says, scooting closer to you. You smile, reaching up to drape your arm over the back of his chair, trailing up his back,

"Well you're the one that had the years of experience of chasing girls around so I think you're suited for the job daddy." His smile widens,

"Please never mention that in front of the kids. I don't need my little girls knowing and my little boys thinking it's okay that their dad was a womanizer in this very gender equalizing, accepting time." He murmurs. Leaning into him, you kiss his cheek,

"I promise not to."

"Thank you." Scarlett, who had previously walked away, starts back towards you, wide smile on her face,

"I have another tiny slice of cake. I know you and baby boy want it Y/N." You gasp, holding your hands out,

"Oh my God yes, you're a lifesaver!" You squeal. Tom watches, chuckling softly as you snatch the thin slice of chocolate cake with vanilla buttercream frosting from your sister-in-law. You offer some to him, but he shakes his head. He glances up at the bouncy house, clearing his throat after a moment,

"Uh oh. The sugar monster's coming. You made a grave mistake accepting cake behind her back like that." You glance up, watching Harper trot towards you, climbing back into her father's lap. He holds her steady moving his legs closer to you to allow her to chomp the piece of cake from your fork. He tucks hair behind her ear,

"That's good huh lovey? You are never getting to bed tonight little one." You giggle, watching a sparkle flash through Harper's vibrant brown eyes,

"But with her daddy's puppy dog eyes, no one can resist her." You reason. He nods and leans in to kiss her cheek,

"Well that's for sure." He murmurs. Once you've finished the cake, Tom holds Harper close, the little one allowing her daddy to love on her. He glances at you and raises an eyebrow and you know exactly what he's asking. The second she saw the cookies upon entrance, it's all she was stuck on for a while. She's such a daddy's girl because he spoils her and you just know he's asking if he can give her a cookie because she's been so good with no tantrums. You chew the inside of your lip,

"Just one."

"That's all I'm asking for anyways." He confirms. You nod,

"Fine then. Nothing more though." He nods, pulling her from his shoulder,

"Harp, I have a surprise for you, you wanna know what it is?" He asks her. She nods, standing on his thighs, holding onto his hands. He smiles, "You want a cookie? I know you wanted one earlier." Her eyes light up and she nods, bouncing on his legs gently. He chuckles,

"Alright sweet girl, let's get you one then, yeah?" She nods again, clinging to him as he stands and your heart flutters. To believe that the same man that fought you on a relationship and constantly pushed you away, is now holding your two year old daughter to his hip at a kid's birthday party is beyond imagination, and it is the most beautiful thing ever.

---

You smile as Tom grabs your wrist, pulling you flush to his body,

"I know you're exhausted love, and I'll go get you some ice cream after the kids are in bed but... I missed seeing you with all of our friends. You looked stunning all glowing and pregnant out there." He tells you, pressing a hand to your belly. You smile, reaching up to stroke his cheek,

"You're the sweetest." His smile widens before he leans down to kiss you,

"I've spent a long ass time loving you and it's not going anywhere anytime soon. Especially when you're pregnant with my baby. You and those three... almost four in there, I'd kill for." He reminds you. You sigh,

"I really lucked out in the husband department then huh?" You ask. He chuckles softly,

"Guess so, yeah." Popping open the passenger side door, Tom waits until you climb inside to close you in. He climbs in beside you quickly, turning the car on before Mia speaks up,

"Daddy?"

"Yes love?" He asks, turning in his seat to face her,

"Can we listen to Frozen?"

"No," Wyatt speaks up, "put on Cars."

"How about we meet in the middle and settle for some Brother Bear or... Lion King?" Tom poses, settling the argument your kids'll inevitably have. And it works. Tom finds the soundtrack for Brother Bear in his phone, quickly shuffling it and stuffing the device in the cup holder. His Spotify has slowly become Disney movie playlists since he's become a dad and he loves every second of it. Harper swings her feet, staring out her window as she hums along to a song, Tom watching her in the rear view mirror with a smile plastered on his lips. You reach up and stroke over the back of his neck, leaning over to kiss his cheek,

"You are so perfect Tom Holland." You tell him. He draws his eyes off the road for just a moment to look at you,

"Well that makes two of us Y/N Holland." He says, taking your hand in his and kissing your knuckles. Squeezing his fingers in yours, you sigh and twist in your seat to look at your babies.

Wyatt resembles his daddy the most. He has the same signature curls and eyes and you can already see he's starting to inherit the same nose Sam has and those Holland freckles have emerged. He's definitely a little mama's boy and with the way the girls favor Tom, you hope Oliver will follow in his big brother's footsteps. Mia has Tom's eyes too, but her features resemble you a little bit more. She has your hair type and color, and your nose and eye shape. Tom loves that about her. Harper has more of your features as well, but she's a near perfect combination of the both of you, a gorgeous little girl that Tom coddles the most because she'll let him. He's been in love with all of your babies since the day they were conceived, the most amazing father and husband, getting up at ungodly hours to let you sleep in and him take care of the kids. He's always been an early riser because of golf and now, being a dad, he has the skill to master it like he was never sure he'd be able to. His true calling in life, the cure for his anxiety, has been you and his babies.

Dragging his hand back up to your lips, you kiss it,

"I love you so much Tom Holland." You whisper. He smiles, taking his eyes off the road for just a second to look at you,

"And I love you. More than you'll ever know." He replies, dragging your hand up to kiss it. Tears spring into your eyes again as you stare into his eyes and recognize that boy you met nearly eleven years ago, the one that only wanted to be with you sexually and wanted to avoid you emotionally. You recognize the boy that tore apart your relationship again and again, but always chose to get better for you. And now he's the most perfect husband and father. And that's all that matters to you.

Yes, you were nervous moving to Seattle, starting new, but your friends, Tom, they've made it easier to live. They've changed your life for the better. They’ve given you immense amounts of love and Tom, himself, has given you a love like no other that created four beautiful babies. And you wouldn't change a thing. Moving from Beverly Hills to Seattle, has proved worth it.

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mminttae · 3 years

Text

Clandestine | 02

-> Pairing : Jeon Jungkook x reader

-> Genre : tattoo!artist Jungkook, mafia! JJK,mafia au, bloody!missions, slight violence, got secrets they can't tell, angst, romance, Jungkook's part time job is flirting, sad (backstory), Y/N is strong!

-> Summary : who would have known that just doing a part time job at a night club would lead you to the tattoo artist Jeon Jungkook's messed up world. One letter related to the secret comes out of your mouth you'll be laying in Jungkook's arms but alive or not, that's not guaranteed...

-> Word Count : 4.286 K ( A/N: I’m increasing words )

-> T/W body language, killing, curse words and intimacy are included in the story (you may read if you're comfortable with these)

Part : 2

<< previous chap

.・゜-: ✧ :-playlist -: ✧ :-゜・．

Jungkook's mouth opened and closed like a goldfish. Even if me saying that line didn't flatten him enough I knew the nickname did as it always have been doing. It was clearly visible that he didn't expect me to be this bold suddenly. But he being himself smirked after a couple of seconds as his hand snaked up to grab my wrist pulling me more closer "Sure princess.. Do you want to go to the trip now? " His tongue rolling over his bottom lip as his piercing doe eyes holding so many thoughts looked at my lips then to my eyes.

"I don't want to interrupt but the trip has to be postponed "Jimin interferes in the moment, his eyes narrowed and only looking at me as if scared that the younger guy would throw him out if he locked eyes with his. Making a 'tch' sound Jungkook raises his eyebrows at Jimin in a manner that reads he's asking why postpone. I yeet his hand which was holding my wrist and get off from the table clearing my throat while fixing the skirt and apron. Jungkook clearly disappointed for not being able to hear my answer gets up from the seat while putting the black leather jacket around his shoulders. Jimin and Taehyung following him gets up too grabbing their bags. Jungkook walked up to me while fixing his bangs with his index finger.

"Gotta go princess a client's waiting" Nodding I proceeded to walk away but I could hear Jungkook saying with a sad dramatic tone. "Atleast act that you don't want me to go". I'm afraid I won't be able to because I myself don't know what this client of yours gonna do if you don't go on time. Is the person waiting even a client or not? Knitting my eyebrows I look back only to meet with strangers taking up the seat. The three tall mesmerizing men with inks on their body not to be seen anywhere. I don't know what's going on in that foolish yet extremely clever brain of yours but...

Be careful Mr. Artbook..

End of YOUR POV

Mid summer yet the night breeze is able to run shivers down your spine. Not a single soul in sight.

10 at night maybe the shopkeepers closed down the shutters and went to bed. Not many shops here in this area to even begin with. The only workshop's bell which rings here is the Jeon's Tattoo corner which has been ringing from the morning today , seemed to have stopped in the evening but now making its sound again. "Argh I should really break down this bell "

With an annoyed expression the black haired guy opens the drawers searching for a fresh towel. The tall man who just entered the shop walked past the desk table, turning the door knob and allowing himself inside the cozy room. His loud footsteps on the wooden floor telling Jungkook that the guest has arrived.

"Where were you? I waited here for five minutes then went inside the nearby plant store to kill time"

Taking off the long coat the tall silver haired guy walks up to the chair positioned in the middle of the room beside the various tools. "Sorry hyung, Taehyung and Jimin wanted a new tattoo so went to hear out their designs"

Jungkook says, eyebrows knitted while he fishes out the stencil of the beautiful clematis he has drawn beforehand of the leader's arrival. Smiling to himself he walks up to the seated boss whose like a big brother to him, he puts the stencil aside. Taking out a black rubber band from his pocket he takes his hair and ties it up to a small ponytail before taking out a drawer full of tattoo needles and inks. "Heard that Yoongi started boxing classes with you"

The older male speaks as his lip corners slowly moves upwards. Jungkook giving out a laugh says, "Yea Yoongi hyung be moving like a turtle. "

The thought of his hyung boxing and whining that it's hard is enough to make the little one giggle. Taking out a small wooden stool with one hand as the other one was holding the tattoo gun, Jungkook sits himself beside the strong looking man who rolls up his shirt's sleeves revealing all the different type of arts and words of different languages tattooed on his arm.

"Need chewing gum?"

The younger one asks at the thought that it might hurt but the older one replies plainly that he's fine after all his skin had been coming in contact with this gun for a long time now. Jungkook nods before resting the needle on the free space on the top of the man's biceps before starting to draw on it, the awestrucking clematis. "Was thinking of getting a lip piercing but not being able to get it cuz of the adults in the house"

The man says while his dimples makes visits to his cheeks.

"The exact same reason why am postponing on getting an eyebrow piercing"

Jungkook replies as he carefully moves the tattoo gun sideways on the man's bicep.

"So when are you planning on telling your sister?"

He asks as the silver haired guy closes his eyes once realizing what Jungkook meant.

"When the time's right.. "

He replies, slowly opening his eyes his gaze meeting the ceiling.

"But first we need to pinpoint Mr. Choi's location"

Replying with a small and quiet yes Jungkook draws the details on the flower carefully.

"Seokjin has been checking the cctvs regularly and the only thing he found was the black hyundai stopping at a night club at exactly 7pm every Tuesday and Wednesday"

"What's the night club's name? "

Jungkook asks as he draws on the small leaves.

"Hell's night club"

With just the mention of the night club's name Jungkook's hand stops moving as his eyes widened. "Isn't that the club you often visit with the others? "

The silver haired man asks making Jungkook quietly nod his head. If the most feared mafia in the country slash his team's biggest rival had been going to the exact same club at the exact same time as his how come he never saw the familiar old man's face? He thought.

What kind of person does the man disguise him as that even Jimin who encountered him multiple times doesn't notice. "You should be careful and try to see your clients faces carefully and see if they match that old fart's face or not"

Jungkook humming a response continued on giving the clematis it's final touch. Finishing the tattoo he removes the gun making the silver haired man sit up straight and fix his shirt.

"You know what to do right?"

Jungkook asks referring to putting on Vaseline ointment on the tattoo and stuffs. The older guy nods while fetching his coat. "I'll get going then. Thanks for the tattoo kook"

Jungkook simply nods his mind stuck in a different topic. Putting the equipments away and tidying up the towels as the older guy leaves the shop and disappears into the darkness of the night in the empty alleyway, Jungkook couldn't help but think about what you were up to. His mind stitching up different negative thoughts together.

"If Mr. Choi is really going to that club then he must have seen Y/N always talking to us..... What if he does something to her? " Jungkook asks to himself and the next thing he does is take his bag, turn off the lights, lock the doors and run off to meet you.

• -

"I'll be off then"

Bowing politely you take hold of the two big disposable bags and huff out a breathe when you realize how heavy both of them were. Kicking the back staff door with your leg open the first thing you see is Jeon Jungkook leaning on the wall infront. His hair tied up in a small ponytail, a bag hung around his shoulder and inked hands resting inside his jeans pockets. His eyes falls on your hands holding the disposable garbage bags, sighing he walks up to you.

"I thought your job was to serve and take orders not bring out garbages" You looked down at the bags in your hands while saying, "I was coming out anyways it's no biggie"

You flashed him a small smile but his eyes looked worried and his face tensed. You wondered what happened but didn't dare to ask thinking that he will only answer with 'none of your business' . Yes Jeon Jungkook unknowingly says harsh things without thinking when he's tensed. Jungkook takes the garbage bags from your hands and put it beside the door when his eyes lands on your right hand which was bandaged. His eyes widen and he quickly took your right hand examining it while asking

"How did this happen? Are you okay? "

Embarrassed you put your hand away from his warm ones and answer while smiling, not making eye contact

"It's okay I'm fine these kind of injuries are meant to happen if you work in a bar." Jungkook not convinced took your hand again now keeping it infront of him not letting you pull it back. His eyebrows knitted . "You were totally fine this evening tell me what happened". Chewing on your bottom lip you look down, fiddling with the hem of your shirt.

"Y/N tell me what happened.." Jungkook says once again this time his voice laced with concern as his hands caressed your hair. You were actually a bit taken aback at how the always dominant voice of Jungkook is making its way to you in a concerned and soft way.

"A drunk guy harshly pulled my hand wanting me to sit beside him but I fought back and he suddenly let go of me making me loose my balance at hit the edge of the glass table behind and that's how I got this"

You say while looking at your bandaged hand which was now resting in jungkook's warm palm. He softly held your injured hand and lower down a bit to meet your height. Looking at your eyes he said

"Tell me who did this. Tell me who did this to you I'm gonna fucking kill him"

In a calm soft voice but the last part obviously didn't come out in a soft way. You laughed and pushed him a bit away from you. "It's okay am fine don't overreact he was drunk" But Jungkook not buying the answer walked closer to you and again with a serious tone asked you . "Tell me how he looked like"

Knowing that he won't let go of the topic unless you give him a proper answer you sigh, rolling your eyes while describing the drunk man you happened to meet inside the club. "He had small eyes , a sharp nose and dark stubble on his face and.." You trailed off thinking what else did the man have but Jungkook interrupted asking in a quick manner

"Did he have any sort of tattoo on his wrist? " Replaying the moment inside your head you widen your eyes a bit and nod your head, "Yea he did.. Was that a crown? A crown maybe"

Exactly knowing who that drunk man you encountered was Jungkook's chest sank at the thought that the old man touched you with his dirty hands. Gulping down the saliva that formed in his mouth he without thinking pulled you to his chest engulfing you in a hug. He wasn't sure why he felt like protecting you but he wanted to . He wasn't supposed to feel this way now that he set his mind on the plan his brain made up on the way here but..he did. He wanted to make sure you were safe.

Widening your eyes at how Jungkook suddenly hugged you, your mind went blank. There's no doubt in how fast your heart was beating. To be honest to yourself you were actually frightened when that man tried touching you in an ill manner but now being in Jungkook's arms you felt safe. You felt safe when he was around. Jungkook's arms around you got tighter as he nuzzled his face in the crook of your neck.

So this is how you gonna play it Mr. Choi

He thinks.

•-

Flashback 5 weeks back

Stretching your arms you give out a small yawn before grabbing the books from the table and making your way out of the auditorium. Walking while looking at your surroundings you didn't notice the tall man standing infront of you. Too immersed in the same old paintings hanging on the walls you hit something hard making the copies and books in your hands fall down. Without looking up at the person you bumped into you quickly said 'sorry' while kneeling down to pick up your supplies. The tall gentleman kneeled down too helping you with picking up your stationerys. You got up, the man following you soon. This time facing the guy properly as both of you made eye contact you were about to say thank you when your voice abruptly decided to not come out.

The man had soft long black hair .The kind of hair you would want to play with all day. His baby doe eyes staring at you, his lips parted. The oversized hoodie he was wearing made him the grizzly huggable bear image more.

As your eyes scanned him from head to toe, your lips a bit parted, the guy not being able to control his laughter at how cute you looked when your eyes went big as if you saw something really interesting and you'd like to study that thing more, he gave out small giggles making you quickly close your mouth and look at him. Noticing how every students in tha hall were staring at both of you, you shifted your weight from one leg to another leg uncomfortably. But the guy's Adorable bunny smile didn't go out of your notice. His eyes wrinkled as he tilted his face and asked you softly

"You okay? "

Blinking couple of times you nodded your head making him shyly scratch his nape and mumble 'thank god'. Your lips automatically curved up when your eyes landed on the ID card hung around his neck

"Jeon Jungkook"

Once realization hit you that you were now standing infront of your college's hearthrob while looking like a whole mess which you didn't care about that much until you bumped into him, your cheeks got tinted in a light blush. Pulling your lips in you tilted your head a bit to the side making your baby hairs fall over your face.

"Hey kook!"

A loud deep voice entered the ears of the people standing in the hall making them turn their heads to the two seniors waving their hands at Jungkook's direction, a big wide smile plastered know their face. Jungkook takes out his bracelet covered wrist from his pocket and waves at them. Jimin running towards us and wrapping his arm around the tall guy's shoulders he notices me and flashes me a smile

"Hey Y/N"

Waving your sweater paw at him as a hey you smiled. You met Jimin and Taehyung a couple of times before in some group works with seniors. You not really interested in gossips of the college noticed just a few days ago that Park Jimin, Kim Taehyung and Jeon Jungkook are the well known hot trio of this college.

"Y/N.."

Jungkook repeats your name to himself before looking at you once again , smiling while saying

"Sweet name"

His sweet honey voice saying your name was enough to melt you. If it was any other guy right now you would have simply said thank you for helping you pick up the books and walk away without saying anything but surprisingly Jeon Jungkook made you stop. "I'm hungry didn't have breakfast this morning" Taehyung whines while holding his tummy earning a slap on his head from Jimin. "we are going for lunch wanna join us? "

Jungkook asks you making you widen your eyes at the sudden invitation and Jungkook earning some smirks from the seniors beside him, Jimin elbowing his arm while wiggling his eyebrows. Jungkook simply rolled his eyes at his hyungs before looking at you for a reply. You glancing at your silver wrist watch said "I would love to but I should get going. I have some stuffs to do"

Jungkook quietly nods his head before flashing you a smile.

Is he always smiling?

You thought noticing that he had been smiling since the moment both of you met. "Y/N's always studying hard"

Taehyung says earning a nod from Jimin making you shyly scratch your nape.

The Brunnete haired approached you giving you a pat on your shoulder before saying "Study well but don't forget to have lunch okay? "

You flashed him a smile while nodding. Jungkook waving his hands at you as a 'bye' walked past you with the two boys. You looked back at three of them noticing that two of them were wearing hoodies and one of them were wearing full sleeved tees.

It's so hot these days why are they wearing hoodies on top of tees?

Shaking your head you quickened your pace and quickly got out of the college grounds. Walking to the bus stand while looking around at the cozy coffee shops on the streets you keep glancing at your watch from time to time to make sure that you're going on time or not.

Now here's a secret about you that no one knows

You're a student at an art college but you are also a student at a law school. Your father runs the family business of electronics. Yes the electronics company ranking the second best in the country out of all the other electronic companies, which he wants to hand over to your big brother after he retires. Your mother always wanted a child of her to be a sculptor. Borning late in the family with the talent of art you were forced to study this subject whereas you were interested in prosecution, catching criminals and stuffs. What you were most interested in were being a mafia or an assassin but you gave up on those dreams and decided to study law. Your parents only giving their all attention and care to their first born, didn't care about you that much. The only thing they wanted from you was becoming a great sculptor and bringing praise to your family.

After nights of confusion and judgement you decided to study in the law school that you got admitted, secretly with the money your grandparents left you. Your grandparents left some money for you and your brother before passing away and thankfully they were enough to pay for your study books expenses. But maintaining time for your law school as well as the art school was hard but you managed to make time after dropping off from some extra courses of the art college without telling your parents. But it was hectic. Your college hours starts from 7 am. And you have classes till 9am then a break at 9:15 am to 10:30 due to dropping off from some extra class. Your law classes starts from 9:30 so during the break you quickly leave the grounds and head off to the law classes. Then you return to the art college at 10:20 when it's a break at your law school. Then once again when it's a lunch break at the art school you head off to the law school while munching on some snacks, obviously not getting time to have proper lunch. And when it comes to events you had to make up excuses at the law school for not attending as your parents would obviously not skip their daughter's presentations.

It would be more hectic from today cuz you just applied to a job at a night club. There's a course for learning shooting at the law school but you don't have enough money to pay for that so it's time to earn some money.

•••

Stretching your arms while getting up from the seat you had been sitting on straight for 2 hours, you give a yawn before taking out a scrunchie and putting your hair up. All the classes for the day are done. Putting the back pack around your shoulder you bow at the teacher before leaving the school premises. Walking inside the bus and sitting on one of the seat you take out your phone and start typing to your mother , 'Mom I'll be late tonight as I got some extra lessons. Don't worry for me and you don't have to send car I'll come by bus'

"No one's gonna worry about me though"

You say to yourself while letting out a small laugh and looking out at the window. Everything vanishing from your sight at a fast pace as the vehicle picks up its speed upon seeing the empty road. Some of the street lights flickering due to not being fixed for several days now. You take out the 'guideline' paper of the bar you're gonna work in from backpack, going through the structure of the building in your mind and remembering all the rules explained to you yesterday when you went to apply for the job. This night club only seemed to be safe for you to work in now. By safe means you would have no worries of the common students who spends time in bars and clubs to see you. If anyone recognizes you then it's game over. Plus the pay is high too.

The phone screen lighting up as a notification popped up you unlocked the phone before seeing from whom the text is from.

Bro: heard you're coming late at night should I pick you up from the way while coming home?

"Geez already told him?"

You say to yourself once realizing that your mom told your brother to pick up but your brother being nice asked if you want to be picked up first or not. Smiling at his text before typing your reply It's ok you don't have to come. The office is far away from my college anyways. Get home safely.

Waiting for a few minutes to see his reply which you didn't get you turned off your phone and put it inside your bag. Looking out from the window thinking why he didn't reply when he saw your text whereas usually he would try to come pick you up, being the 'protective' brother. You got down from the bus as soon as the bus came to its stop. You walked for a few more minutes from the bus stop till arriving at your destination.

Hell's night club

•••

It's been only five minutes of you serving drinks but you're already tired. How can a human body and mind work for 13 hours straight without any rest. You did mess up some tables a couple of times for which you were now getting a scolding from the manager. You looking down bowing slightly while your hands in front of you.

"Miss Lee Y/N did you properly see the table numbers today? "

The old man asks to which you nod. "Then why are you messing up? " He asks in a raised voice making you flinch and quickly mumble a sorry. You lift your head up a bit to see the old man sighing while pinching his forehead, clearly visible that he's angry. "I'm letting you go as this is your first time don't make mistakes anymore"

He says making you bow and say

"Thank you"

He looked around trying to see if any waitresses are free. Sighing at how there's no one free without counting you he gave you a look before handing you a tray of various kinds of drinks. "Take this to table no. 14. And do not make any mistakes. They are regulars here I don't want them gone" Nodding at him you set off to find this table no. 14 . Noticing how your skirt got up a bit you tried pulling the skirt a bit down with one hand as the other one was holding the tray, you quickly withdraw your hand without fixing the skirt upon seeing the tray tremble in one hand. Quickly holding the tray in place and scanning if any drinks were spilled, you sigh in relief. You looked back to only lock eyes with the manager . He staring straight at you with his cold eyes. You gave a small awkward smile and walked towards table 14.

The table no. 14 seemed to be surrounded by many big men. All had some sort of tattoos on them. A familiar man sitting in the middle holding a pen and scribbling something on a notebook. His inked arms full on display as the silver earrings were still being able to shine despite the dullness in the scene. His long bangs falling before his eyes not letting anyone see the face beneath it.

You quietly approached the table and when you raised your eyes from the ground to the man sitting in the middle, your legs automatic came to a halt and your breath hitched.

Jeon Jungkook right there was sitting. The table in front occupied with various weapons and him sitting like a whole five course meal, fingers playing with the dangly earrings

This is totally not what I expected

#jungkook tattoo #jungkook ff #mafia jungkook #tattoo artist jungkook #jjk imagines #bts imagines #bts namjoon #bts yoongi #BTS jimin #bts hoseok #bts seokjin #bts taehyung #wow i'm posting

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fermented-writers-block · 3 years

Text

Lus and the Human Portal Clone Theory

Even before Keeping Up A-fear-ances aired, I have been working for almost a year now on running through all the possible various suspects with wonderful folks like @sepublic , @anistarrose , and @elementalist-kdj . Like the post title indicates, from sheer process of elimination, the only conclusion that made sense to me was a clone made of Luz by the portal door, and I’ve been working on refining and reworking said conclusion up to the version I will lay out here.

Now, as @safetayy , @theowlhouseheadcanons , and @50shades-of-blue have heard from me before, the portal I've long suspected was not made to go from the Demon Realm to the Human Realm, but rather to go from the Human Realm to the Demon Realm by humans, for humans. This is because it then could tie into the hypothetical existence of a Luz clone without having the issue of asking where Eda, Lilith, and King's clones are, as the clone in this case is the result of a function of the door to create a basic level duplicate of any human that passes through it rather than it happening for just anyone that passes through.

With this, it's because the suitcase form of the portal looks as thought it indicates it was used for temporary trips to the Demon Realm, much like how suitcases were used when railways and international boats made travel more accessible for the middle and lower classes. For example:

Going by the way the door “faces” and the way it swings open, the ergonomics of the portal makes it look an awful lot like a right handed out swing door, with the Human Realm on the “inside” and the Demon Realm on the “outside.” And the arrow in the diagram depicts the general direction of traffic that such right handed, out swing doors are typically design with in mind - ergo, showing what way the portal appears to facilitate travel in.

Now, before you ask, the reason why I think the portal could have been created in the human realm in the first place is that it might require an extra component/bit of help or two from the Owl Deity which I’ve discussed before in the past as hinted by these connected designs:

I’ll explore how I feel the revelation that such a twist about the portal’s origins could play into the themes and narrative of the show under the cut, but overall, I feel these are potential significant details to keep in mind for the rest of this arc of building a new door and handling the idea of Lus having initially been made as a temporary-duration clone, hence how "Luz" comes off so uncannily in the letters as she wasn't meant for long term impersonations.

That, and why I named this the Human Portal Clone theory, for those wondering about the name.

Alongside this, my thought has been that walking back through the portal to the Human Realm basically makes the portal send a recall signal to tell the clone to return to it, where the clone would be reabsorbed into the portal and its memories are given to the original. However, with Luz going back into the Demon Realm for a brief time in YBOS, I am of the mind that it doesn’t just make another clone, but rather that doing so merely made the door turn off the recall signal and allowed "Lus" to resume the impersonation.

And as for the clone itself and why they’re writing letters to Camila, well, imagine it from Lus' perspective. To her at the time of creation, the last thing she probably knew was that she had been chasing the cute little owl that took her Azura book into the woods, and right when the bus to Reality Check Camp was about to arrive.

Also, if you think about it, Lus being the work of someone we/don’t know yet raises way more plot threads/questions than answers compared to being the work of the portal, as outlined below:

TLDR at end of post for those wondering

Belos? How and why before YBOS where he actually started paying attention to Luz for the first time and actually got his hands on a portal?

Eda? Why would she do all this and not tell Luz she can goof around without needing to worry about her mom or the camp/in time to fool the camp, especially when it took a good amount of time for Eda to even start feeling that close to Luz?

Hooty got ruled out from the getgo since he can’t hold pencils, King just isn’t that subtle, and everyone else that Luz knows has the major issues of just straight up not knowing about the camp in the first place. Well, that and a lack of another known method of getting to the Human Realm in the first place.

The camp? Why would they worry about a missing camper whose disappearance is all HER fault and thus would more logically result in a call to her parent than some convoluted clone conspiracy?

And finally, some currently completely unknown third party?

If we’re talking a Changeling, A) it’d be easy for Luz to dismiss them and B) that just makes all the ominous portrayal of Lus super straightforward instead of a subversion like is the show’s shtick.

If we’re talking dimensional counterparts, A) they have to REALLY have led a very similar life to Luz’s in order for there to be enough common ground for Luz to listen, and B) dimensional counterparts aren’t even a confirmed or likely thing that people cooked up from Episode 1 side characters influenced by Amity’s concept art.

And if we’re talking some complete surprise third party group or another, it doesn’t make sense to introduce a third party and their motives and plans to the show this late in when Belos is already taking up the bulk of it all.

Hell, if anything, the continued existence of the duplicate in of itself would indicate that the target of the conspiracy is none other than Camila Noceda than anything to do with Luz or Eda, especially with the complete lack of anyone taking advantage of Luz and or Eda.

From the getgo, Witches Before Wizards already hard-baked into the show the idea that Luz is NOT inherently special or anything into the foundations of the show from the getgo - ergo, Camila likely just is an absolutely regular human being, someone who has no justification for such a convoluted conspiracy to surround them.

That said, I believe that the idea of the portal having originated from the Human Realm could potentially play into some interesting stories to be had with Camila and Lus here, especially as the conspiracy board shot from the promo was confirmed by Dana to apparently be from S2A, not from the episodes past Yesterday’s Lie:

After all, with Luz searching the library for a way home this coming episodes, perhaps she might figure out something the next couple of episodes that allows her texts to send through, which would logically lead to the above picture. That, and Camila and Lus being confused by and trying to figure out what’s going on there.

I mean, the cabin in the woods likely has a very close connection to the portal and it’s origins given how closely tied the two structures seem to be, and as far as we can tell, Luz never mentioned the cabin in her videos to Camila, but if Lus tries to retrace her steps, that would be a natural vector to lead Camila to the cabin and thus allow us a chance to actually investigate it.

That said, all following the trail would do is lead her and Lus to a dead end at the abandoned cabin, where they would have nothing else to do except discuss their complicated relationship concerning Luz and twiddle their thumbs while waiting for Luz to finish things on her end - which while something I think would be interesting to see, I just don’t see how much of a way to keep them in the greater picture of the show without some kind of project or activity that the two of them could work together on on screen.

And that’s what leads me to a particular train of thought here, starting with the question of what if Luz FAILS to make a working portal over the course of S2A and such?

With the possible in-universe mystery over what the heck is going on with Lus, perhaps the cabin might hold some notes from the original last human owner - if not potentially the creator - of Eda’s portal as well as potentially some of the same materials and such from previous trips.

Cue CAMILA building a working portal, following in the footsteps of the original creator and such and thus finding a reason to stay on screen, all the while potentially demonstrating both why Belos wanted the portal instead of making his own, as well as diving into the Owl Deity’s connection with the original portal. Heck, maybe the Owl Deity is only accessible in the Human Realm and that plays a part in Belos wanting to get to the Human Realm, which would bring Camila directly into contact with the magic her daughter has been interacting with.

Also, just imagine the internal conflict going on here with Lus. After all, helping Camila build a portal to get the original Luz -and hoo boy would that be a tough thing to grapple with- would most definitely do that and make both Lus AND Camila question how much the latter likes Lus vs Luz.

Like, just imagine it. There would be major chances for Lus and Camila to discuss what would happen if and when they’re finished with the portal, and what will happen to Lus’ relationship with Camila if and when Luz gets back.

Does Camila really prefer her daughter to be all more “normal” like Lus, or does she prefer the old, “weird” daughter from before the summer with Luz?

Perhaps she might be able to figure out how to strike a nuanced balance between the two, and all on a metaphorical journey to truly build a better connection between her and her daughter(s?).

TLDR: Or in short, I can’t help but feel it would be fitting to see Camila building a bridge WITH Lus TO Luz.

Particularly, by being the one to craft an actual working portal in the Human Realm instead of Luz in the Demon Realm, showing a parent putting in an active effort to get down to their child’s level rather than waiting for said child to try to get up to their parent’s level even if they can’t or find it incredibly hard to do so.

#the owl house #the owl house theory #owl house theory #toh theory #toh #owl deity hooty theory #camila noceda #lus #lus noceda #luz noceda #toh speculation #the owl house speculation

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wevegottogetaway · 3 years

Text

El Patrón

I’m so excited to finally be posting this piece. I’ve been working on it for the past few days and it’s been consuming my mind. If you like angst, smut, art student Harry, and great plot twists, this story is for you, so buckle up, cause you’ve got 13700 and then some waiting for you! And on that note, I don’t thing I have many words left in my brain... so, hope you enjoy xx

TW: smut, fool language

After her first day back to classes, Y/n is not surprised to see Harry Styles’ lanky frame standing behind the bar of Bottom’s Up. She hoped that he would bugger off to work some place else but alas, all her summer prayers were unanswered. For yet another semester, she would have to endure bartending by his sides, trying with all her might not to jab a corkscrew at his throat every time he opened his gob. Granted, she could have switched jobs herself, but the pay is too good to turn down and the bar sits literally right around the corner from her place; a match made in heaven if you ask her. Besides, she’s been mastering the art of tuning out the insufferable green-eyed prick for two years now, so what’s one more? Of course, knowing it is likely to be the last - having just kicked off the final year of her psychology major - makes the news easier to stomach. And with any luck, the fool did some sort of soul-searching over the break and came back a changed man.

"Well, well, well. Look who decided to grace us with her delightful presence again. Knew you couldn’t stand to live without me, y/l/n." Harry greets her with a smirk as he looks up from his phone.

Well, some much for change, but luck has never been on y/n’s side anyway; she knew it was wishful thinking to entertain the idea of a pleasant or even tolerable Harry. "Shut it, Styles. I’m not in the mood for your bullshit," she quips back and goes straight to the employee’s locker room to dispose of her stuff and swap her top for one bearing the bar’s logo. Once done, she takes a brief look in the tattered mirror still hanging by the door to readjust her ponytail, before joining her co-worker behind the counter. The bar is rather quiet for now, clock having not chimes 6pm yet, but y/n expects the place to be soon crawling with students drinking the classes’ return off their mind.

The next few minutes are spent in unexpected peaceful silence, y/n prepping for the upcoming rush while Harry idly sits by, not lifting a single finger to help her out. Admittedly, he’s completed all his pre-shift duties during the last hour, but y/n doesn’t think it warrants the smug look painted on his face as he watches her battle a jar of olives with an old opener and a concentrated frown. So peaceful silence was a bit of a stretch, maybe.

Then to make matters worse he decides to taunt her, "I see you’ve grown zero muscle strength over the break. Too busy vegetating on the beach?"

The surge of anger triggered by the provocation is enough impetus for her to crack the can open, but it doesn’t stop her from turning to face him, "I see you’ve grown zero neuron in that thick head of yours. Too busy making people miserable instead?" she counters with flaring nostrils and a look of disdain hardening her features.

"Ah, still got a feisty mouth on you. ‘Was worried you might turn soft on us." Harry sasses back, but y/n doesn’t bother telling him off this time. No matter how strong her comeback, he’ll just brush it off with that smile of his that irritates her to no end. That’s the thing with Harry, the bastard has the thickest skin of all, he’s downright unattainable. And believe it or not, bad-mouthing doesn’t come naturally to y/n, he just seems to draw it out of her, perhaps as the trigger of some kind of survival instinct. Time and time again she’s tried to come up with a quip that would leave him speechless, tail between his legs, but he always has a wittier reply to throw back at her. For so long they’ve been playing this debilitating game of ping pong and she has yet to claim a point to his countless wins.

It’d been the case since their first meeting on that dreadful Friday two years ago. Y/n was about to embark on her second year at uni and decided to get a job so she could afford her own place instead of the dreary dorms she’d gotten used to. Bottom’s Up had seemed to be the perfect choice, a 2 minutes walk from the sweet little apartment she’d just visited a few days prior. She’d been excited for her first shift that night, air still warm from the Indian summer sun drawing a plethora of eager students to come enjoy their last day of freedom. Her happy jitters had quickly dissolved once she’d made her way in the staff-only area located behind the bar though. There, she’d walked in on a very frustrated Harry vociferating at a lost-looking colleague, "how many times do you have to fuck up before doing your bloody job, Steve? Stop sitting on your lazy ass, or I swear I’ll-"

She’d come to this Steve guy’s defense then, furious at the tall curly hair jerk for bullying his way around, "stop it, you asshole. You can’t talk to people like trash, who do you think you are?" Granted, she didn’t know it at the time, but the lost look on Steve's face was in fact pretty standard for the amount of weed in his system; nor did she know that the lad could actually win the Olympics of lazy asses hands down, should such a discipline be appended. It was too late to call off the hostilities though. War had been declared, and aside maybe from that one time he had graciously accepted to cover for her when she’d had a trip to Brighton planned for one of her classes, no truce had ever been reached. Besides, she’s sure it was more so because he was low on cash rather than to fulfill the hidden desire to help her out for once in his life.

Now, as she finishes wiping her work surface with a wet cloth, y/n wishes more than ever to be teleported in a parallel universe where she doesn’t have to work with the bane of her existence, much less see his annoyingly handsome face four times a week. (Also, exams would only be optional in this alternate reality of hers, but that’s another fantasy for another day.) Mainly, she’s just glad she doesn’t see him around campus ever, the art building standing all the way across from the psychology department. At least she’s Harry-free the moment she steps out of the bar; she’d probably have a nervous breakdown if she had to put up with his antics outside of work.

***

A month in the new semester, the novelty of it all has finally worn off to make way for routines to settle in. Y/n’s weeks now consist in a well-practiced cycle of sleep, study, eat, work and occasionally go out with her best friend Mia. Her shifts at Bottom’s Up still prove to be challenging because of the company she’s forced to keep but things seem to have calmed down at the bar too. Students are now less inclined to party the week away, mainly indulging during the second half of the week, but more importantly, Harry appears to be less of a smug bastard and more of a sulky sod. For some reason, the lad has been stuck in a sullen mood, constant frown wrinkling his forehead. He has reverted to distant one-word answers as though he is saving a dictionary worth of words for whatever conundrum is going on in his brain. Y/n doesn’t mind though, and almost welcomes the transition if it means less digs taken at her expense.

Now y/n finds herself on her way to the campus library for a much needed paper-writing cramming session (the assignment is due the following day and she barely has two thirds of the work completed). After a quick stop by the coffee shop down the block, she finally strides in the lobby of the library, ready to dive nose first into the riveting matters of cognitive psychology. She’s already so focused mulling over concepts’ definition in her mind, that it takes her a minute to realize something is going on.

It’s nothing major really, no big fire rushing around the premises or fist-fight breaking the crowd into a frenzy. No, just everyone seemingly hushing and gasping, bewildered expressions etched upon their faces as they keep pointing towards the nearby study room. Truthfully, y/n might have been completely oblivious to it, it she weren’t a psychology major; but reading people’s feelings and interactions is kind of her thing, so she does notice the bubbly energy infiltrating the usually quiet space. What could possibly have them so intrigued, she wonders as more students come out of the room with the same looks of wonder.

Her confusion is finally quelled when she steps into the study room in question and her eyes fall on what has everyone so engaged. On the wall to her right, between two sets of shelves brimming with decades-old books, hangs a life size canvas of audacious shapes and bold colors. Not one seems to have been left out, the painting seemingly transporting the viewer in a psychedelic albeit appealing trance. It’s full of contrasts, an embodiment of serenity and boldness at the same time, and y/n can’t stop ogling the masterpiece for the life of her. The amount of passion is so obviously overwhelming, yet she can feel all of the artist’s emotions underneath each of the brushstrokes.

After another minute of wondrous observation, her thoughts are interrupted by a foreign voice. "El Patrón? I wonder who that could be," the stranger wonders aloud, and her eyes immediately drift off to the bottom right of the painting to catch the small but unmistakable signature: black cursive letter spelling the two words withholding the real artist’s identity. The mystery only adds up to the appeal of the work and y/n already feels a bubbling feeling in the pit of her stomach at the idea of ever finding out what beautiful soul is responsible for such mind-bending work. She hopes this won’t be last she sees of it.

***

It’s Friday night and unfortunately for y/n, she’s stuck at work with her least favorite person in the world. It’s all the more unfortunate that Harry seems to be back to his usual annoying self, his thoughts finally free from whatever trouble had plagued them, and eager to fall back into nuisance mode. Less unfortunate for y/n and much to Harry’s discontent, Mia decided to stop by and keep her company. Though she feels slightly sorry for her having the act as her buffer for the night, y/n figures she’s more than making up for it with every free cocktail she keeps sliding towards her friend. Their conversation is scattered at best since patrons keep interrupting them for a fresh pint of ale, but as the night slowly dies down they manage to talk longer than 20 seconds.

The manager of the bar has long clocked off and gone home, as per usual on Friday nights, leaving both her and Harry the pleasure to indulge in a few drinks of their own. They don’t do it every week and always keep it low-key of course; Mia’s tonight presence mostly accounting for y/n’s partaking while Harry just likes a nice glass of tequila when the week-end comes around and there’s nobody to tell him off about it. One thing they never do though, is drink together, like two friends celebrating yet another week they survived at uni. Come to think of it, the only thing they do share is a job position and their never-ending bickering. Cheers to that, y/n takes another sip of her gin martini in sarcasm.

She’s brought back to reality by Mia as the tipsy brunette lets out a loud gasp before she inquires in a slightly high-pitched voice, "y/n! totally forgot to tell you, went by the library today and you’ll never guess what was there!"

"Oh my god, you saw the painting too, didn’t you" y/n answers, excited at the idea of discussing the whole thing with her best friend. Truth be told, the majestic work of art hasn’t left her mind since she’d first seen it a few days before.

"Yes" Mia squeals in confirmation, "I mean, it’s kinda impossible to miss. I wonder how they got it there without anyone seeing."

Y/n has wondered the same thing and she came to one conclusion, "they probably sneaked in last Sunday after the library closed, it’s the only time the building is empty," Mia humming in agreement. The campus library is opened 24/7 all days except on Sundays, so realistically speaking it is the only window of time that would allow for such an experiment. Whether said experiment required an actual break-in or was conducted in full legality remains a mystery but that is just bygones in y/n’s eyes. She’s much to mesmerized by the work to give a damn about how it got there in the first place.

"Oi y/l/n! What are you two fawning over this time" Harry chirps in the conversation, uninvited as always, and y/n hates how condescending he just sounded.

"Not that you could ever understand something with substance, if your lack thereof is any indication, but it’s none of your damn business," y/n spats out dismissively but Mia’s Margarita-induced brain seems to have forgotten all about their concerted hatred for piss-taking bartenders.

"Harry, you’re an art major aren’t you? D’you know who’s behind that beautiful painting at the library?"

Y/n tilts her head back in a sigh at her friend’s behavior before turning to watch the puzzled look on Harry’s face. He seems to silently gauge the both of them; for what, y/n doesn’t know, and then his whole expression switched to a blasé look. He shrugs in disinterest, "who cares? ’s just one more Banksy wannabe who’s trying at it too hard ‘f you ask me."

Y/n takes it as a personal offense, her admiration for the painting outweighing any instinct she has of avoiding the brazen man taking a sip of his tequila on rocks across from her, "of course you’d say something like that. You’re just jealous you’ll never compete with his talent."

Harry raises a brow at her accusation, "and how would you know since you’ve never seen any of my work?"

It’s a valid point, but not enough to rebut her. "Doesn’t take a genius to know a shallow mind like yours could never create something as deep and transcending. That would require actual emotions from you Harry and we both know the only emotion you’re capable of spreading is irritation."

For once she’s confident she’s gonna have the last word, but in true Harry fashion he just gives her a bored look as if to say ‘is that all?’ towel thrown over his shoulder, "right, and here I thought talking to people like trash was a bad thing. You should really take a page out of your own book, y/n, wouldn’t want anyone to think you’re as big of a jerk as I am." Then he turns back to face the room full of customers, and tends to one disheveled looking guy slurring out an order.

Y/n barely registers the friendly "alright Joe, but ’s the last one," Harry rasps out to the guy, her ears are still ringing from the last words he’d said to her. More specifically, the little truth they held despite how much he deserved the backlash, and y/n absolutely loathes the way her throat seems to be closing in on itself. She’s afraid she’s turning like him, bitter words at the ready and always trying to outdo his own taunting spiels. Before anxiety can settle in her bones though, she swallows back the knot tightening in her airways and goes back to serving customers and conversing with her friend.

***

The next time it happens, she expects it even less. A couple weeks have passed since her gruesome interaction with Harry at the bar, and along with her doubts, all thoughts about art have seemed to vanish from her busy mind. She’s had a few tests occupying all her free time and now that they’ve been done and over with, all she can think about is calling Mia up to plan their next night out; she needs a few drinks that she didn’t make for once.

She’s about to take her phone out of her pocket to send her best friend a text, when she enters the lecture hall of her Monday experimental method and research design class. The déjà-vu feeling that creeps up her spine stops her from completing the action, and y/n frowns at how her fellow students seem to be all entranced in deep conversation, exchanging baffled looks with one another. Even the sleeping kid that sits at the back seems to be more alert than during their last fire evacuation procedure test.

It’s then y/n turns around to see what is hanging at the front of the room, covering the large board. This time, the colors were carefully handpicked by the artists, flashes of pink and yellow dancing along to a frenzied rhythm of salsa as their union creates powerful jets of oranges across the canvas. It vaguely reminds her of the pendant she wears on a daily basis, rose gold laurels wrapped around a delicate sunflower, an orange topaz incrusted in its center. The painting is of abstract nature much like the last one, but the movements of the brush still bring her mind back to the jewel presently nestled between her collarbones. How odd.

The piece is slightly smaller than the last but no less impressive, catching the attention of even the least artistic eye. The sensibility of the artist is so distinct, intentions clearer and more in touch than most people with their own. For a second, y/n thinks she’s glad the pieces have only been ones of unadulterated happiness and colorful bliss so far, because god knows how heart-wrenching the outcome would be if all this uncorrupted honesty was used to fill canvas with pain.

As the professor enters the room, everybody settles back on their seat, and wait for the chap’s reaction. "Well, that sure is something. It seems we have a bit of a mystery painter on our hands, don’t we; and a talented one at that," y/n’s professor smiles at the class as he pulls a computer out of his satchel and places it at top of the front desk. His words make her look back at the artwork, this time settling on the small signature reading El Patrón on its corner. And it’s all it takes for Y/n’s obsession with the anonymous artist to be back in full force.

***

That night she can’t stop raving about the painting as she starts closing the bar after a long and tiresome shift. She’s got a shoulder pressing her phone to her ear, Mia on the line, while she absentmindedly sweeps the floor. Normally the exertion of the job would have her stifling yawns and her bones aching but tonight her voice is perky as ever as she recollects the pinnacle of her day, "you shoulda been there Mia, it was gorgeous. And same as last time, like you’d be minding your business, doing your thing and then boom, it’s there. Damn, this guy is a genius."

As she comes back around the counter, Harry makes sure she notices the roll of his eyes. He’s been wiping and tidying the bar space after making sure everything is stocked up for the next day, all the while listening to her drone about El Patrón and his stroke of genius, praise after praise falling from her lips. She completely brushes off the patronizing gesture and that’s perhaps what irritates him the most. She’s barely acknowledging him or his stunts with all her attention placed on the mystery painter and well, Harry quite likes riling her up. Doesn’t do it out of spite, but merely because he likes the way it ignites a fire in her that he’s seldom seen in people. But now, all her fire is directed elsewhere and he doesn’t know what to think of it.

***

Over the next month, the rumors around El Patrón spread like wildfire as more and more of his works are found scattered around campus. Much to y/n’s delight, she always seems to fall upon them as though they’ve been placed specifically on her path. It didn’t start as obvious though; the first following pieces hung in common areas around campus such as the lunch hall or the student center but as time went by they tended to follow her whereabouts somehow. Y/n knows she’s probably fabulating but when she’d stumble across two absolutely stunning pieces in the lobby of her gym and at the entrance of the psychology building, she couldn’t help but feel deeply attached to them. And the possibility that this mystery artist might have the same attachment to her, only fuels her obsession further, sending her reeling with all but one nerve-wracking question: who is this guy?

And it’s not like she’s the only one pondering over their identity either. Hell, the genius has literally everyone on campus under their spell, trying to uncover the enigma of the year. Everyone seems to be determined to find clues, easter eggs hidden within the paintings that could lead them closer to the truth. El Patrón has effectively turned the whole uni into a large-scale game of Cluedo, people speculating left and right and swapping theories about who it can or cannot be, what year they are probably in, or whether they have an accomplice. Nobody has ever executed such a tour de force in the history of campus, and it has everyone one edge, y/n included, desperate to be in the loop.

The fact that each painting is more beautiful than the last and always seems to connect with her in personal ways doesn’t help her daydreaming either. Take the one she found at the gym for example, for a few second she’d sworn she was looking at a familiar piece of the English South Coast, dark hues of blue fighting dots of white, reminiscent of the way foam always seems to top even the most raging waves as they crash along shores. She’d only had to close her eyes to feel the wind blowing her hair in a thousand directions and the sand engulfing her feet, making its way between her toes and every crevice of her skin. She was still in the middle of her gym when she reopened them though, her sport bag straddling her shoulder as she kept gaping at the painting in adoration.

Her suspicious keeps nagging at her head, the desire to unveil the identity of her beloved artist getting stronger by the day. The feeling is almost unbearable when she spots yet another work of his across from Bottom’s Up. The coincidences keep piling up and the more she mulls it over, the more she’s convinced this mystery guy is talking to her. Damn, is it possible to have a crush on someone because of their work? After months of this cryptic scavenger hunt, she’d dying to know if all her theories are right and the fact that she has no way to find out, is positively killer her.

That’s why when she stumbles across a flyer for a midterm exhibition gala hosted by the art department as she waits in line at her favorite coffee shop, she doesn’t think twice before jotting down all the info. In a week time, most of the uni’s art students would be gathered up in one place to present their term’s work. The chances are too high for y/n to pass up the opportunity, her guts telling her he’ll be there. It makes sense doesn’t it? Surely, this El Patrón ought to be an art student if not a teacher. How else would they have access to all the campus amenities most of the paintings were found in?

As she goes to pick up her coffee from the counter, y/n walks with a newfound spring in her steps; she really can’t wait for this gala to happen.

***

Y/n stands at the entrance of the art building, a black floor-length long-sleeves open-back dress hugging her curves in all the right places. Her heart speeds up at the nervous jitters crawling underneath her skin, and the million question swarming her frantic mind. What if he actually doesn’t know her and doesn’t give a damn about her thoughts on his work? What if it’s actually a woman and she’s been hiding a man’s pen-name to consolidate her deceit? Is she about to make the biggest fool out of herself by coming to this exhibition? She doesn’t know anyone here, nor has she ever been to this kind of event before but she’s decided this guessing game has run its course. Maybe this all thing has nothing to do with her and that’s okay. All she really wants is to have a chance to tell this exquisite mind how remarkable their work is; the rest be damned.

Y/n slowly makes her way inside, and after a quick stop at the coat room to dispose of the unnecessary garment, she is finally greeted by a room full of dressed-up people roaming and chatting around, champagne flutes in hands. How cliche, she thinks with humor, before picking up a glass of the bubbly beverage. It’ll help sooth the nerves, she reasons as she starts walking around the place to observe each of the displays. Despite not having had a glimpse of her number-one painter yet, she finds herself having a good time. Most of the work offered to her is engaging in one way or another; some pieces quite provocative is their depiction, others straight out pushing the limits of 2D, with structures coming out of the canvas as though they were about to grip at the viewer.

Turning at a corner, she comes across his art before she sees him, having almost forgotten art was supposedly his thing too, and she realizes she actually knew someone here apart from the mysterious painter. She takes a brief look at his tall frame, the baby blue suit over his crisp white shirt fitting him perfectly. A black tie is completing the look, and it makes y/n waver for a second. She’s never seen him dressed in anything other than jeans and the bar’s t-shirt every employee is supposed to wear on call. Granted, even that he can make work better than anyone else she can think of, but that suit is something else altogether.

Her eyes shifts back to his work, not wanting to waste too much time on his appearance; she is here on a mission after all. She can’t deny his painting is good as much as she wants too. It’s made of a perfectly executed optic illusion that has her pause for longer than she intended to. The colors are picked wisely only adding to the entrancing design, tempting the viewer to reach out to the painting to convince themselves that this is fact a pretty subterfuge and no reality; the frontier between both worlds much too hard to distinguish. Just like for the rest of the exhibition, a single plaque hangs underneath the canvas, introducing the title of the piece above the name of its artist: Fine Line by Harry Styles. Damn, the bastard had to be talented…

"Is it as depthless as you thought it would be?" A hoarse voice interrupts her inner thoughts. She knows it’s his at the first word and already she regrets ever thinking positive things about him.

"Funny, I would have shared a compliment but you just had to go and open your stupid mouth," she bites back as she fully turns around to face him. She can feel is eyes shamelessly scanning her body, sending her nerves on overdrive. She wants this exchange to be as curt as possible, she’s got important matters to tend to.

"Here for you mysterious bloke, I presume?" he inquires in a taunting voice.

"What’s it to you, anyway?" y/n dodges the question with another, hoping it’ll steer the conversation toward its end.

She’s answered by rosy pouting lips, a hand on his heart in faux vexation, "ouch, was just hopin’ you’d come to see me, and now you’ve just crushed my dreams, love."

The pet-name is not lost on her and Y/n has had enough. In own gulp she downs the rest of her champagne and forces the glass to his chest for him to hold as she makes her way past him, "just leave me alone and go be a pain in someone else’s ass, Harry." She doesn’t wait to see if he’s following her as she marches across the room in long and purposeful strides.

Something in the corner of her eyes catches her attention right then. Halting abruptly, almost making someone walk right into her, she turns her head to the side and that’s when she finally sees it. A whole part of the wall has been dedicated to his work, a shrine of his most outstanding pieces randomly hung against the white surface. Y/n recognizes each and every one of them, but then her eyes take in the extra work added for the exhibition: next to each of the pieces are displayed a bunch of photos capturing the students’ expressions as they first discovered the paintings. Dozens of faces lighting up in amazement, widening eyes and finger pointing at the unexpected intrusions; some show confusion and puzzlement while others simply behold laughter and animated conversation.

In the center of the wall, a video is projected. It’s a compilation of those same moments but this time captured on tape. The sound was removed, but as y/n takes in the faces of her fellow students she can almost hear the sound of their laughters; she’d been there for most of it after all. She thinks the idea is amazing, El Patrón has managed to make the viewer a permanent part of the art. The paintings are marvelous of course, full of emotions and passion, but the mysterious artist has gone one step further by also displaying how those emotions had reflected back on the audience. It is an ode to art, to the power of sharing, and proves art is limitless; not owned by museums, not bound between walls and certainly not restricted for trained-eyes only. Because art isn’t all about beauty, it speaks for the need for sharing that human have but often forget, and this is a perfect reminder of it.

The next tape playing has her eyes doubling over the video, a small gasp escaping her lips as she takes in her own figure. It was taken the day she found the painting at the gym and unlike all the other videos she’s alone. No group of students by her side elbowing her in disbelief, or sharing a puzzle look with her. Just her doe eyes gleaming at the painting, lips slightly parted in pure wonder, as she studies every inch of the canvas. And the feeling that this might mean just as much to him as it does to her comes back crashing on her. She’s not paranoid; this artist his using her as some kind of inspiration, she’s sure of it. Random cannot be this accurate, it would defy any laws of statistics.

After the slideshow finally moves on to the next video, y/n looks around in the hopes of finding the man that has wormed his way into her heart. She’s imagined it a thousand times over during the past week. A young man would be discretely standing on the side, watching the evening pan out and waiting for her to find his work. Then they would make eye contact and he’d make his way over to greet her and share more of his beautiful mind with her. That’s the happily ever after she’s hoped for since that first painting in the library, but alas everyone around her seems to be engrossed in conversation about this and that.

"I thought he would be there too," the unexpected voice makes her jump. She recognizes the student from that first day, she’d also be intrigued by the mysterious man.

"I know, all of his work is here, he has to somewhere around," y/n tries to convince herself. She hasn’t given up yet, she won’t let herself unless she goes home tonight empty-handed. Only after that will she stop searching, she promises herself. If he doesn’t show up tonight, then that’s because he doesn’t want to be found.

The girl next to her has the same disappointed tone when she explains, "you’d think so, but I’ve been asking everyone around and nobody has a clue still."

Before y/n can come up with her own rationalizations, someone starts speaking in a microphone, asking for everyone’s attention. It’s a man in his early fifties making a speech about the whole reason behind the exhibition so y/n pegs him as the head of the art department. "Thank you all for coming tonight, it is always a pleasure to see so many of you supporting our young talents. As you may know, tonight’s exhibition signs off our students’ final work for the semester, and will also see one of them receive a one-time collaboration with a renown art gallery in the city. Now, before the judges finish deliberating, let me tell you a bit about the topic of this exhibition which, by the way, serves as the main criteria for this contest. Our artists were asked to work around audience engagement and crowd reaction. The task was to produce art that would prompt an active response from the viewer and go beyond a passive experience. I hope this info helps this event take all its sense, I’ll let you all meander for a couple more minutes before we announce the winner. Thank you for your presence."

Since she has a couple more of minutes, y/n decides to take advantage of the fresh insight she was just given about the artwork and goes around the exhibition one more time. The whole thing does take on a new meaning, now that she knows what was going one in the students’ mind as they first got their assignment. But what has her in awe really, is El Patrón’s coup de maître in all of this, because unlike any other applicant here tonight, he’s had the strongest reactions from the public for months now and had even documented it. So really, in a way he’s already won, no bias to blame. The amount of work and planning behind such a tour de force surely has exceeded everyone’s expectations and secured the number-one position for the still-to-be-revealed artist. In the pocket, as they say.

"Alright everyone, without further ado we are going to announce the lucky talent selected by the judges tonight," the head of department speaks up again. "On behalf of the whole department, I would like to salute each and every one of the students that presented their work tonight. Skills are certainly not scarce among you all, and as always it gives me great pleasure to see you all grow into yourselves alongside your craft. As you know, there can only be one of you coming up to this stage tonight and I must say, this semester has proved to be full of surprises. Never in my 26 years working here have I ever seen something of the sort, so ladies, gentleman, I have no idea who is about to join me now, but please give a warm round of applause for El Patrón!"

The room explodes in loud cheers as people clap their hands in honor of the mysterious artist. Y/n probably the loudest amongst them all, is still craning her neck in every possible directions trying to catch sight of anyone moving towards the stage. The standing ovation quickly fades into silence as everyone realizes nobody is coming to claim their prize. The usual hushing following any of El Patrón’s stunts is once again spreading across the room to match people’s incredulity at the situation. It was one thing to keep their identity a secret, as it was clearly a crucial condition for the plan to work, but now that it is all over and done, prize ready for the taking, it doesn’t make much sense.

"Mister El Patrón? I think you more than deserve to drop your mask and receive your prize," the host reiterates in hopes that the much awaited artist comes out of his lair, but he’s met with the same result. Perhaps he’s not here after all, or perhaps y/n was right to think he might not want to be found, but regardless a strong feeling of disappointment takes over a body. He won’t be coming, she knows. No matter how many times the host calls for him, he won’t be coming.

She lets out a long sign in frustration then, she really thought tonight was the tonight. But now that the evening is coming to its end, tears pearl at the corner of her eyes and she just wants to go home and forget all about El Patrón. Aren’t artists supposed to be dark and twisted anyway? Maybe she just dodges a bullet, she tries to make herself feel better, but no amount of sarcasm can save her from the painful pinch at her heart. As she comes to term with the fact she won’t get any more answers by staying (and possible ever), she decides it’s her cue to go.

On her way to the exit, her eyes fall upon Harry��s slightly hunched figure. He seems deep in his thoughts, eyes fixed towards the floor though he’s not looking at anything in particular. For some unknown reason, y/n is not irked by his presence like she usually is. He’s just lost a great career opportunity so his preoccupied disposition is understandable. Feeling as though she needs to end the night on a different note - whether positive is yet to be determined - she approaches him slowly as not to startle him. "Your painting is really good. I’m sorry you didn’t win, but you should still be proud," she softly tells him to cheer him up. At least, one of them might get to go home in higher spirits.

He looks up at her then, curls bouncing on top of his head, as he aligns his two glistening emeralds to her own gems. He seems quite surprised to hear her voice, probably rightfully so since he can count on one hand (scratch that, one finger) the number of times she’s actively sought him out for conversation. She can tell he’s debating whether to say something or not, as they keep their eyes locked. It’s probably the longest and only civil exchange they’ve ever had, and somehow it manages to soothe some of her sorrows.

Y/n likes this reflective side of him, she realizes. Not that she wishes him any torments (at least not tonight) but his quietness makes him look vulnerable in that beautifully human way for once. That’s twice he’s proven her wrong about the assumptions she had on him, tonight: first his talent, now his character; she doesn’t know what to make of it. Silently, she accepts the timid smile and light nod he offers her in gratitude, before making her way to out at last.

***

Two days after the night of the exhibition, y/n still has a hard time to let her grievance go. Her mood has yet to upgrade from crappy at best, and the fact that all the artwork has been removed from their previous spots is not helping much. Of course she knew they had been put down for the big night, but her heart still missed a beat when she went to the gym only to find the walls of the lobby bare of any craft that would liven up their otherwise dull and colorless structure. Just like her state of mind, she’d joked. And y/n is not one to throw pity parties, especially to herself; but then again, she’d never fallen under the charms of a faceless virtuoso because his art brought to life parts of her that she’d believed otherwise dormant, only to be metaphorically stood up at the end of the process. So really, what does she know anymore?

Now that she’s back at work, she revels in the constant effort she has to provide. The ever-growing list of task to complete gives her mind reprieve and focus, but she still hasn’t budged from her unusually distant and withdrawn self. Even harry’s own standoffishness hasn’t caught her attention; a week ago, his awkward demeanor would have flashed red flags all over her radar. An unfiltered narcissistic prick he could be, but y/n has never known him to be anything even resembling reserve; apart maybe from that one fate-less night not even 72 hours ago when she found him on the outskirts of the attention even though she knew full well that he is more of center kind of guy.

As they’re about to start closing, the awkwardness becomes more palpable by the second. They’ve skirted around it during the whole shift, the steady solicitation of customers enough to ignore the growing tension; but as the last of the patrons finally make their way out of the bar, an eery silence settles in their wake, making them both want to crawl out of their skin. Even the heavy-served drinks they’ve indulged in, despite the absence of their respective motives, hasn’t help assuage the strain between them. Instead, they start their usual routine in overrated silence, y/n in charge of the floor while he tends to the bar. Then before long, Harry bursts the uncomfortable bubble they’ve locked themselves in, voice void of its usual teasing tone, "so, what’s got you so grumpy?" he inquires.

"Please don’t start, Harry. I really can’t be bothered tonight," y/n sighs in response, failing to recognize the note of concern in his question and thinking she wouldn’t survive another bickering session. It hasn’t been the lad’s intention though, so her false accusation has his thick skin itching against his will. To be honest, Harry’s never taken much offense from any of their past squabbles no matter how hard she’d come at him, but this one he can’t brush off. Not when for once, he’s trying to be decent, dropping the attitude he knows rubs her the wrong way and she responds by telling him to get lost.

"Fuck sake, I wasn’t tryin’ to start anythin’" he berates her for lashing out unjustifiably, "you need to take a chill pill." The hostile reaction as her pausing mid-swipe in the middle of the room. He was always so unbothered by everything she said, she hasn’t expected him to be so hard on the defensive (or even know what a defensive is in the first place).

Still, she doesn’t appreciate the same chastising tactic he’s used on her countless times, especially because given his serious temper, she knows he means it for real now. "Oh I’m sorry Harry, I didn’t know what sympathy actually sounds like coming from your mouth," she quips back in sarcasm.

The response makes him livid, "you tell me I’m a jerk every chance you got, but you sure know how to be a bitch, y/n" he spats before finishing wiping the counter. As his hand reaches the end of the surface, he finds his half-empty glass of tequila, most of the ice completely melted through the amber liquor by now. He takes one long sip in a vain attempt to calm his nerves but the alcohol merely tingles the back of his palate and warms its way down his stomach. His mind is still burden with frustrations he doesn’t know how to alleviate; the end of term, the exhibition, his career’s future, and y/n’s stubborn nature all wreaking havoc in his tired brain.

"Shut the fuck up, Harry. I didn’t ask for your attention," y/n retorts, trying not to expose how bruised her heart is. While he’d mocked her plenty during the past two years, he’d never resorted to calling her names, unlike her; so the insult does more damage than she’s willing to admit, even coming from Harry. And to think she’d thought of him as a half decent being not three days ago…

"Right, I forgot only anonymous bastards are worthy enough of your attention," he replies before checking the shelves behind the bar to make sure they’re stocked enough for the next shift. "And even when they turn out to be cowards, you still choose them over the people that are actually around you. You need to open your eyes and wake up, it’s pathetic."

Y/n has almost finished cleaning her area but at this point, she’s ready to call it quits and run as fast as she can, away from him. "Go fuck yourself, you don’t know anything you’re talking about," she manages to croak past her swelling throat and quivering lips. The man in front of her is breaking her heart even though he’s never had it in his calloused hands, and y/n doesn’t know why.

"Fuck this, ’m done," he quite literally throws in the towel, leaving it in a bowl on the counter before making his way back to his drink. In a swift movement, he grabs the bottle of tequila to pour himself a new one. "You keep blindly mopin’ about your precious painter, I don’t care, you’re probably right anyway," he says before chugging the bitter spirit in one go and slamming the bottle of tequila down on the counter in a loud bang that has y/n jump in fear. "I don’t anything about bloody anything," is all Harry says as he locks eyes with hers, before making his out of the bar, not bothering to put the bottle back to its rightful place.

Y/n is still trembling from the exchange, and it takes her a hot minute before she can finish what she was doing. As she resumes wiping the floor with shaky hands, she tries to even her breath out. Why had he been so hurtful? What could have possibly impelled him to utter such malicious words? The questions are still reeling in her mind as she twists water out of the mop for the last time. Once the floor is spotless and all the tables are no longer sticky with spilled alcohol, chairs stacked up onto them upside-down, she makes her way back behind the bar, checking that Harry didn’t leave any of his duties unattended before his theatrical exit. She spots the bottle of tequila sitting lonely on the counter but just as she goes to reach for it, she freezes.

It’s a cold shower pouring over her body all at once then, dots finally connected as her eyes read over the label of the fat bottle she’s seen him take out of the stack countless times before. Everything that happened for the last few months falls into place and suddenly there is no mystery left to be solved. ‘You’re probably right, I don’t know anything about bloody anything’ Harry’s final words keep playing on a maddening loop in her head.

Y/n takes in the small bee design printed under what is unmistakably the last piece of the puzzle she’s been craving to complete: one word that has her stomach churning in a myriad of emotions she can’t possibly untangle. Anger, relief, surprise, fear, curiosity, warmth and more, are all rushing through her in one colossal wave, because printed on that bottle in black capital letters is the brand of Harry’s favorite drink: Patrón.

***

The next day, y/n navigates through her classes purely on autopilot mode. She doesn’t quite remember picking the floral blouse nor the light-shade pair of jeans she’s wearing, and barely recalls the brief conversation she had with an old lady during her bus commute to campus. One thing she sure as hell hasn’t paid one iota of attention to, is the behavioral psychology class she’s just got out of. Two hours she spent pacing up and down every twist and turn of her mind only to come out more lost than she’d started. Add to that the fact she’s running on 4 hours of sleep, she’s quite simply a recipe for disaster. Fortunately for y/n, she isn’t due at work tonight, having called sick this morning, because sleep-deprivation aside, she still has no idea how she’s supposed to face Harry.

The revelation of the night prior is still something she has trouble wrapping her mind around, as it goes against every constructed opinion she’s made about her life. Harry is Patrón, she’s pretty sure. Harry, the allegedly conceited asshole she’s been bickering with since their first minute spent together, is the mind-blowing painter that had taken residence in y/n’s heart since the first time she set eyes on his art. The two characters have yet to fully merge into one in her mind, despite the fact it makes perfect sense to her.

The Brighton painting, the one inspiring her necklace, it was all true. And with that revelation comes two intimidating truths y/n is kind of scared to delve into: one, all this time she’s been right to think she is the muse behind this all scheme; two, if Harry is the mystery painter, that makes her Harry’s muse more specifically. And that’s the part of the equation she struggles the most with, because up until last night she was pretty positive that the twat despised her (the night in itself being prime evidence of that) but now she doesn’t know what to think.

It’s like there are two versions of Harry battling in her brain, splitting her heart in halves; the one that made her miserable at work for years and made her cry last night, and the one she’d gotten a glimpse of at the night of the exhibition. The one that hid a fully blossomed bouquet of emotions behind teasing banter to protect a diamond-rough talent that had the power to touch just about anyone’s sensibility. The one that had her wrapped around his finger in awe with that beautiful mind of his. The question is, can she or will she see this Harry the next time she’s facing him or will all their bad-blood history come crashing down on her instead? Y/n doesn’t think she’s ever fit more the definition of having mixed feelings about something.

On her way home, she makes sure she doesn’t fall asleep against the bus window, despite yawning every thirty-seconds. It feels like the trip is taking forever, she almost lets out a cry of relief when the automated voice finally announces her upcoming stop. Once she’s thanked the driver and stepped out of the bus, she’s met with a gust of brisk air, instantly blowing her hair all over her face. She draws the lapels of her coat tighter around her shivering body and starts making her way towards her apartment building.

It doesn’t take her long to complete the walking distance to her place and tread her way up the stairs, but the sight greeting her in the hallway of her floor almost sends her down on her ass. Because right across from her door, is Harry hanging yet another one of his chefs-d’oeuvre. He’s dressed casually in his usual jeans and t-shirt ensemble, with a thick grey hoodie covering his broad upper-half in a feeble attempt to combat to cold weather raging outside. As he reaches in the back pocket of his jeans to retrieve a sharpie - no doubt to apply his trademark signature - the movements of her feet on the laminated floor catch his attention. Spinning around in a jolt of surprise, he realizes too late that he’s been caught red-handed. There was no going back this time, but he doesn’t necessarily see it as a bad thing.

There is a short moment where they are both just standing in front of each other a few feet apart, as their eyes bounce back in silent conversation, before y/n softly breaths out, "so it is you." The weight of her words has him swallow in nervousness, "of course it’s me," he replies in a gentle tone. A smile pulls at his lips when he realizes she’s not running for the hills or bursting out in a furious rant.

"I just…how? why? I mean, you gotta help me understand Harry, cause I’m pretty fucking lost over here," she blurts out with wide doe-eyes begging him for answers. Her obvious jitters earn her a soft chuckle., and for a hot minute all he can bring himself to do is study her snuggled figure and the way she keeps fiddling with her keys. It’s so endearing to him, if they were at his place, he would have offered to make some tea. The thought has him hesitantly looking at the door across from them, "can we maybe talk inside?" he inquires, beckoning his head towards her place. "I know I haven’t given you much reasons to let me in, but I promise I’ll explain everythin’," he feels the need to convince her, " after that, you can kick me out if you still want."

The last bit has her smile timidly, "yeah, let’s go inside. I wanna hear what you have to say," y/n admits as she steps to the door and unlocks it. She’s intrigued by how gentle and well-mannered the man following her to the living room seems to be, light years away from the rowdy lad she’s come to know.

For a second, y/n is worries about the state she’s left the apartment before she rushed to classes this morning, but her apprehensions quickly go away once she takes in the sight of her rather tidied living space. A velvety throw blanket is covering the couch in a makeshift comforter from the way she spent the night on the couch, and apart from a few class notes scattered across the coffee table, everything seems to be where it’s supposed to be.

They both discard their top layers on the armchair adjacent to the couch, Harry slipping his hoodie off above his head in one swift gesture, while y/n simply lets the sleeves of her coat slide down her arms. He brushes his hair back into submission with one swoop of his hand, before sitting down on the couch and directing his attention back at her. She decides to leave some distance between them, taking the other end of the sofa and the move desperately makes him wonder what thoughts are running through her head. The only way to uncover them however, is if he starts talking first; and so he does.

"So uhm," he starts clumsily, clearing his throat, "remember the first day we met, you walked in on me telling some stoner guy off," he watches closely as y/n nods. "It was our first ever conversation and we fought through the whole thing. I was pretty pissed when it happened, not gonna lie, but once I got home and slept it off, I thought it was really cool how you’d stand up for that random guy." The admission has her eyebrows raising but he keeps going, "and okay maybe, just maybe, I found it a lil hot, the way you tried to put me back in my place."

He stops to make sure he hasn’t offended her, "tried to?" she challenges instead, Harry laughing at her objection.

"Right, maybe you did. My poin’ is, no-one really calls me out on my bullshit, so it was kinda refreshing that you did. But then the next day, you were still mad at me, an’ we bickered that time too. It felt like you’d already made up your mind about me. So in a way, all I had left was doin’ this thing where I push your buttons and rile you up. Know it doesn’t make sense, but it was the only way you’d interact with me so I kept doin’ it, because being jerk-Harry was better than having nothin’."

He pauses for a minute and waits as y/n swallows all the information. All this time he’s been teasing her just to have some sort of connection, no matter how perverse, while she thought he just hated her guts. When she shares this thought with him, he shakes his head with a smile, "never hated you. If I ‘ad, I wouldn’t have bothered talking t’you."

Suddenly, her chest feels lighter, as though all this months of anguish had evaporated from her mind, now that she knew their rocky relationship was the result of miscommunication, "sound logic, Styles," she replies in good humor. Then she remembers the El Patrón’s fiasco so she urges him to go on.

"My final. Right. Well as you know, we were given the assignment at the beginning of the semester, and I came up with the idea of creating this alter ego that would plant his work around campus. I thought by taking people’s by surprise I was guaranteed strong genuine reactions. People are always more opened when they don’t expect it. Like if I had just brought my paintings on the night of the exhibition, the same people wouldn’t have reacted that way, probably because they’d know they’d be observed so they would have adjusted their behavior accordingly." They both know he’s getting slightly off trail, but watching y/n so enthralled with his words makes it hard for him to stop. Fact is, for month she’s dreamed of meeting and picking at the brain of this mysterious painter, and now that he’s sitting on her couch, walking her through his thought process, she finally feels like she is.

"Anyway," he resumes the storytelling, "I started with that painting in the library and it worked so perfectly, I knew if I followed the plan I would have somethin’ really good. But then you just had to go on an’ rave about the paintings without knowing they were mine, and it was killin’ me inside. Because I knew if there was a real chance I could change your mind about me, I’d do anythin’. But no matter how much I wanted to, I couldn’t tell you. Couldn’t jeopardize my final… so I tried to tell you through the art. I started painting stuff that made me think of you and placed the pieces in locations I knew you’d pass through. It was the only way I could tell you."

Harry’s confession had Y/n’s heart beating so hard in her chest, she can almost feel it thumping through her ears. Her next question is on the edge of her lips, but she takes her time tracing each of Harry’s graceful features until his eyes catch hers, "tell me what, Harry?" she asks barely above a whisper.

His response comes in three bashful steps: first his lips curve into a shy grin that has him look down with rosy cheeks; then his hand inches its way along the soft fabric of the couch to gently hold her fingers, thumb grazing over her knuckles; and as he looks up from their joined hands to connect their gaze once more, he finally spells it, loud and clear, "tell you that I like you, y/n."

The sentiment sends her own emotions reeling in a tornado of passion. This is it, this is what she’s been half-knowingly wishing for, and now that she knows the truth in full, she’s ready to embrace it. Her eyes twinkle in bliss, a growing smile illuminating her face as she squeezes his hand in a silent invitation to slide closer to her. Harry is much happy to oblige, and once he’s sitting directly next to her, knees grazing her own, he cups her face with one of his bear-paw hands. A few strands of hair are caught in the cuddling gesture, but none of them care. Harry just keeps smiling at her, waiting for her next move, and his beam grows two sizes wide when she mirrors his affection. "I like this side of you," she whispers fondly, as her thumb draws slow circles across the skin of his cheeks.

Harry closes his eyes at her words, "this is the real me, I promise," he reassures in an almost pleading tone, vulnerability seeping through. And y/n feels like she’s lying down on cloud nine really, because dropping his fortress of pretentiousness is all she’s ever want from him. With a hushed ‘okay’, she finally brings her mouth to taste the rose-tinted flesh of his. It starts off chaste and slow, lips dovetailed in perfect symbioses like they are made to cohabit, but quickly the kiss heats up to a full on make out session. "Show me, then", y/n mutters out when they part for a breather.

Harry slowly nods his head, before helping her straddle his lap and y/n immediately brings both her hands to his neck once she settles her hips against his. The friction already had them deeply inhale, trying not to work themselves up too fast, but Harry doesn’t think he’ll have much self-control when it comes to y/n. Already he can feel his cock fattening up inside his brief, the tingling sensation making him roll his hips up into hers. Their lips are back in a sensual duel, tongues tentatively taking their turn to lick their way inside the other’s mouth. Every now and then, he teases her bottom lip with a graze of his teeth, and the move as her tugging the root of his hair at the back of his head every single time without a fail.

He loves discovering all the quirks and tells of her body, thinks he could spend hours on hand learning every single one of her curves and memorizing each of her special spots. The smell of her fragrance infiltrates his nostrils as he dips his head to her neck to plant open-month kisses along her skin. Head angled towards the ceiling to make room for his ministrations, y/n can’t do much but let her hands scout any expanse of skin accessible to her. She starts at his shoulder, squeezing the flesh to feel out the strong muscle laying underneath, before making her way down his tone arms, then to his hands currently holding onto to her waist. She gives them an affectionate pinch at the same time she presses down onto him with a deep moan, and Harry retaliates with a buck of his own.

As he starts kissing down the exposed skin of her cleavage, y/n finally drops her head to place a tender kiss to his hairline. One of her hand is back at his neck, holding him firmly to her chest as he licks at the valley of her breasts down her sternum. The other worms its way underneath his shirt from the neckline, nails grazing down his back in soft enough pressure not to leave any marks.

Harry’s descent is obstructed by the soft material of her blouse, so he takes the garment off of her in one swoop, and places his hands back on her newly exposed body, rubbing up and own the skin. As his mouth goes back to the supple flesh of her breasts, y/n increases the pace of her hips grinding on his cock. The sensations seem to be not enough and too much at the same time for her; the heavy material still covering their most sensitive parts in the way of her pleasure, while Harry’s work has her going into overdrive under his velveteen mouth and calloused fingers. She starts kissing her way up from his shoulder to the edge of his jaw, and Harry revels in the sound of her moans tickling his ear.

Done with the excess of fabric between them two, y/n grips at the top of his shirt and pulls it upwards, leaving him shirtless. "Fuck, I didn’t know you have so many tattoos," she babbles against his lips, while her hands smooth over the ink.

"Plenty you don’t know about me, love," Harry chirps as he bask in the praise and the feeling of her skin of his.

He then circles one arm around her waist to bring them chest to chest, and the contact has y/n once again intensify the friction between their crotches. "Wanna find out," she murmurs against his neck while she grinds on his clothed member, "Harry, please take me to bed."

He jolts at the quick bite she delivers to his neck, the impish gesture her way of saying ‘now’ but before she can make her way out of his lap to bring him to her room, he presses her back down with both hands on her waist. "Nuh uh, y’not goin’ anywhere. Want you to come once, b’fore I take you to bed, pet," he says, smoothing his hands over her ass to guide her rocking motions. The term of endearment sounds so innocent yet dirty all at once, it sends a chill down her spine. Nobody had called her that before.

"Can’t," she shakes her head, "can’t feel you through the jeans."

"Alright then, stand up," he calmly asserts and she doesn’t hesitate to comply, standing in between his spread legs, in her flimsy bra and jeans. "Take ‘em off then, ’s what you want no?" he sends her a tantalizing look and bites at his lips as he watches her peel the pants off her legs. He can’t help the light squeeze he gives himself through his own jeans, as y/n stands in front of him awaiting his next instructions. "Come sit on my thigh now, think should be enough to make this pretty pussy tingle in all the right places, no?"

Y/n’s insides are already twisting in a knot as she settles back on his lap and lets the rough material of his jeans against the softness of her cotton panties spread a prickling sensation through her pelvis area. Quickly, she resumes undulating her hips, gripping back at Harry’s neck to pull him in a languid kiss, pleasure vibrating against their lips. It is not long before her pace picks up, and her eyes shut at the intensity of her bliss. "That’s it, pet. Already makin’ a mess of me. You’re doin’ so well," he coaxes her with his words.

As promised, y/n feels the lips of her sensitivity start to throb at her impending release, the sensation making her clamp her thighs tighter around his meaty limb. As her knee now presses against his bulge, Harry cries his sudden pleasure out in her mouth, and that’s all it takes for her to let her orgasm consume her. She unravels on top of him, one of her hands shooting to cup at her pussy in an attempt to quell the overwhelming throb. Harry draws soothing caresses down her back as he look at the sticky mess she’s left in her panties, damp patch matching the one tainting the material of his jeans. "All ruined, just as they should be," he smirks at the sight before giving her a sweet kiss.

Flushed skin and blown pupils, she slowly regains her breath, "take off your pants and take me to bed now?" she requests.

"You’re quite demanding for someone who’s just gotten off," he keeps taunting her. After all, winding her up has always been one of his favorite thing to do, and dare he say in the past two years, he’s gotten quite good at pushing her buttons. Now he’s got new ones to figure out and play with, the thoughts has him pulsing in his jeans.

Y/n doesn’t relent in her advances, she’s never been one to bow at his mockery, "thought you like how bossy I could be. Something about the way I put you in your place, if my memory serves right."

"Anytime, anywhere, you’re the boss of me, love. But this," he cups at her cunt, adding pressure on her clit, "this is mine to have. Understood?"

Y/n’s about to combust from all the desire firing up every one of her nerve-endings. His words might be the strongest aphrodisiac she’s ever experienced, she can’t wait to see what more tricks in has up his sleeves. "Now get up and show me the way to your room, pet," he softly commands before leaving a peck on her cheek.

They both get up from the couch, and y/n guides them both down the hallway to her room, her hand wrapped in his tightly. Once they’re standing by the bed, Harry is surprised to face a patient y/n, biting her lips and awaiting his next directive. He doesn’t think he’s ever been more turned on in his life, "undress me, love" he murmurs against her skin after kissing her forehead.

His jeans are quickly discarded but before his boxer briefs follow suit, y/n can’t help but tease him in reprisal, "looks like I’m not the only one who made a mess in their panties."

He lets out a boisterous laugh while she smears open mouth kisses along his stretching jaw, "mmm, I’d rather make a mess somewhere else," his innuendo causing her to gasp while he works the strap of her bra. Once she’s gotten rid of his last piece of clothing, his cock springs up, free of it’s confines, dollop of pre-come already pearling at his tip, and sticking to the skin of his stomach.

With a gentle grip at her hair, he has y/n’s head tilted backward, to let his mouth make its way towards her already pebbled nipples. Since she can’t look down, y/n blindly reaches out to wrap her hand around Harry’s thick shaft and starts massaging him in languid strokes. "Your hand feels so fuckin’ good around me, pet, I wanna fuck you so badly," he hisses around her nipple, before kissing his way back up to her lips.

He starts backing her towards the bed in small steps, but she brings a hand to his chest at the feeling of the edge of the mattress brushing against the back of her knee, "wait, wait, wanna taste you first," she insists and Harry doesn’t think he could ever say no to that face, no matter how much he wants to just sink home inside of her in this moment.

"Fuck, you’re killin’ me, love," he pinches at her waist and lays his forehead against hers, "you want my cock in your pretty mouth, before I drive it home in your cunt, is that it?" She nods, eyes turning into two lustful fireballs. "Okay, love, but y’ can’t keep it on your tongue fo’ too long, cause I really need to fuck you, alright?"

Y/n hastens to lower herself when he bids her "right then, on your knees and open wide fo’ me," and her brows furrow in confusion as she watches him stray from her spot. Picking up a plush cushion from her bed, he places it on the ground for her to knee upon, "there love, want you to be comfortable," he runs his fingers through her hair, and her heart grows three sizes bigger at how tender he can be in amidst his filthy ways.

Sensually, y/n brings her lips around the crown of his cock, her tongue teasing its way across the salty skin. Once she’s licked up all the previous mess, she starts working her way down his cock, hand stroking at the base. After bopping up and down a few time, she removes her month from his swelling cock, and lets a string of spit fall down onto its head and make its way to his balls. "S’right, pet. Get me wet," Harry rasps in appreciation. Now that she’s got him properly slicked, she goes back to pumping his hardening cock and takes him into her warm inviting mouth, determined to have him all the way inside. She feels her throat expands to accommodate his thickness, and the pressure makes Harry tighten his hold in her hair, "fuck, that’s it, love. Take me good."

Muscles already tensing up in preparation for his climax, when y/n’s hand finds his full and swollen balls to roll them together like dice, he is quick to calm her zeal, "Christ pet, you gotta stop before I can’t help myself," but his tone hardens when she defies his demand, "come on now, s’enough."

Once she pulls off, the sight of her flushed face and puffy lips induces an animalistic groan to come out from his chest, as he thumbs through the wetness coating her chin. Taking the hand resting on his hip to guide her up, he captures her lips in a searing kiss, the taste of his arousal blending in their mouths.

His hands come down to knead at the flash of her ass, before he scoops her up and on the bed with a quick flex of his biceps. "Harry, please," she whines in impatience, hands gripping at his sides to pull him down against her. His rock hard cock slides against her clothed pussy, pins and needles cruising along their skin and only fueling their eagerness.

"Need me in your belly, pet?" Harry keeps working her up, as he slides her soiled panties down her legs, "need me to fuck you so good, you forget I was ever a jerk?"

She’s putty in his hold, legs wrapping around his waist to feel the pressure of his member on her bare lips , "yes, yes, I wan’ it," she pleads.

Harry would love to tease her further, have her writhing and proper begging underneath him, but at this point it would be self-torture to even consider. Instead he pumps at his shaft to give himself some relief, their sex so close his knuckles graze at her clit every time his fist comes at the top. "You ready?" Harry utters softly while spreading and skimming her cleft with the head of his cock. It has y/n gripping at his hair, a series of delirious ‘yes’ tumbling form her mouth, so he doesn’t wait a second more to push his tip past her threshold and begins his descent in her warmth. "Fuck, t’feels so good. So wet, and tight, and warm," he thinks out loud once he’s stuffer her full, balls pressing against her ass.

Y/n whimpers against his lips, urging him to start moving to quell the building pressure coiling in her belly. A slow roll of his hips finally gives her reprieve causing her to moan in gratitude. She’s already so close, it baffles her how this man could have her coming apart at the seams without doing much. His thrusts starts gaining zeal then, betraying his own yearning to take the final leap. "So tight, love. Can feel you squeezin’ me, are you close already? Is my girl gonna cum fo’ me again?" he grunts in her ear while he pounds into her dripping cunt. Y/n doesn’t offer a response, too caught up in a daze of bliss, but her clenching muscles is all the answer he needs to start nudging his thumb at her clit. A several flicks across the sensitive bud later, her orgasm is pulsing through every bone and fiber of her body, walls hugging Harry’s cock so tight, it has to pause his hammering.

Waiting for her to catch her breath, he peppers delicate kisses along her cheek, "was that good, love? Think you can give me another, uhm?" he asks when she’s regained some of her senses. The pressure at his groin is growing more and more the longer his cock remains unmoving entombed within her vice, and the luscious agony must be written all over his face, "yes, Harry, wanna be good for you" y/n cups his jaw tenderly.

He nods at her approval, "good girl," delivers a sweet earnest kiss to her pouty lips as he pulls out and spins her around to lay on her stomach. His hand brushes the hair off her skin so he can sew a string of kisses at her shoulder blades and neck. Painfully red, his cock is propped between her buttcheeks, "can I take you like that?" he punctuates his inquiry by rolling his hips backward, tip lingering at her soaked entrance. Y/n clutches the sheets firmly, as she murmurs a faint ‘please’, back arching at the thrills consuming her mind.

Harry plunges in her wet core in one smooth swing, hand digging at her hip to keep her steady as the other one interlaces with hers to lay on the mattress above her head. Unforgiving lunges have y/n cinch around him, face buried in the sheets and muffling salacious wails of pleasure, and he doesn’t think he’ll be able to steer from his end for much longer. He slows his cadence to steady and firm strokes, slipping a hand around her waist to polish her swell.

A million tremors spark off the onset of Y/n’s climax as she shudders in a firework of ecstasy. Harry doesn’t relent until he’s worked her through completion and can no longer stop the coil in his loins from snapping. His release fills her in several spurts of wet warmth before he flops down next to her, positively fucked out.

They both lay unmoving in comfortable bliss for a few minutes, before y/n plops her head on his chest and an arm around his torso, her leg sneaking in between his. "Well, here goes two years of sexual tension," Harry says jokingly, fingers drawing abstracts design on the skin of her back. It might just be his favorite canvas to paint on from now, he muses before chastising himself at the onslaught of filthy thoughts tagging along. A playful slap on his abdomen takes his mind out of the gutter, "don’t ruin the moment," y/n says in fake admonition before placing a tender kiss on the spot she just abused.

"M’sorry, love. M’just really chuffed to be in your bed finally," the last word reminding her that while she’s struggled to come to term with her feelings for him, ransacking her mind for a possible change of heart, he’d only seen her in but one light. The revelation still has her floored and giddy, "can I ask you something?" she asks as there was still one question pacing back and forth the pathways of her mind. Harry hums in acquiescence, "anythin’ love, by brain is yours."

She feels his hand cradling her skull followed by a small peck to her forehead, and she smiles at the gesture, "why did you stay away that night at the exhibition when you got the prize? Why not coming forward?" It’s been bugging her brain since it happened. Although she didn’t have much insight on anything at the time, most of the pieces of the puzzle fell in place after the big reveal; but this, she still can’t make sense of.

Harry lets out a long breath, organizing his thoughts, "two reasons," he starts off tiredly. "One, I kinda like having this secret business going on, and like, as long as nobody knows, I am in control of how and when it happens, you know? And the moment I let go of that, I can’t go back." He searches her face for any hint of confusion but she’s just patiently listening. "Two, when we bumped into each other at the gala, I got convinced you’d never see me differently regardless of how good a painter I was; and that had become a big part of who El Patrón was."

It’s the first time she hears his alter ego’s name from his mouth and with how flowingly natural it sounded coming out of his lips, y/n suspects that it’d been a conscious decision on his part. She recalls their interaction that night, the way they fell in their usual ways of ping-ponging vindictive words until one of them has enough and leaves the premises (usually y/n). A lump starts forming in her throat at the recollection of all the other fights they’ve had and how they’d all been pointless wastes of time and energy, now that she knows she is meant to be in his arms. She wishes things could have been different but the warmth of his body around her overweighs her regrets. They’re here now, looking bright toward the future, and it’s all that matters.

"I’ll keep your secret if you want, be the Lilly to your Hannah Montana," she tells him lightly before they both laugh at the silly reference.

Happiness and glee has Harry tightening his hold around her shoulder, "nah, I don’t wanna play double-agents anymore. I wanna be the guy who gets the girl." He dips his head to catch her lips between his own, reveling in their newfound intimacy. Turning her face against his chest, Y/n impresses her bashful smile on his swallow-tattooed skin, before she lays a trail of pecks tickling the area underneath his armpits, "well, you got me now."

➪ Masterlist

#harry styles one shot #harry styles fic #harry styles imagine #Harry fic #enemies to lovers #angst #so much angst #smut #I didn't think I could be this filthy lol #uni au #artstudent!harry #art #harry fanfic #harry styles writing #reader insert #harry styles au

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lydias--stiles · 3 years

Text

my sweet romantic teenage nights

juke | high school + diner au | title: scenes from an italian restaurant // billy joel

Magenta’s Palace was an artefact from the glorious American Dream; a fluorescent gem wrapped in that 60s architecture and old-fashioned uniforms. It was also the hang-out spot of most LF Arts students, right in the heart of Los Feliz and on most kids’ path.

Luke used to roll his eyes at the place, thinking it was corny and certainly not the place a punk-rocker like him would go… until he tasted their gnarly waffles. And burgers. And milkshakes. His love for good food trumped his desire for street cred and ended up like the rest of his peers: a regular at MP.

Alex and Reggie never had qualms with it. The former was rather happy Luke got over himself and Reggie was simply pleased to spend more time with his friends. It became tradition to eat there every Friday after school. Sometimes they stayed until the early hours of the night talking, sometimes it was to fuel up before a gig.

Settling in their booth (theirs - Luke has made sure to carve the underside of the table with their names), Luke sighed contently. “Boys, this gig is gonna be fire.”

“I still don’t know how you convinced the guys at Raven’s Nest,” Alex mused, glancing around for a waitress in a candycane-coloured uniform.

Reggie nodded gravely. “Yeah, they’re scary.”

“Used my charm,” he smirked. “Dialled it up like I always do.”

The blonde snorted. “Sure.”

Luke’s face crashed. “Fine. I used our fake’s when he didn’t believe we were eighteen.”

His friends grinned, Alex snapping his fingers. “There it is.”

The chipper Nora glided towards them, slaloming between tables with her notebook. Alex’ remark didn’t bother him, crossing his arms with a shrug. “Does it matter? I got us in. They’re gonna love us. Nay! They’re gonna eat this set up!”

“You better be right - hi, Nora - cause it’s a bar for bikers. Real ass bikers,” Alex replied, shooting Nora a smile.

“Hello, boys,” she greeted, her signature red hair tied in a messy bun. Reg used to have a crush on her when they first visited, until they realised she was twenty-three and in a committed relationship with a guy from USC studying medicine. Yeah, he had no shot. Luke had to console him by buying five chocolate shakes and blasting Elvis Presley in the car.

Despite this, Reggie still had a soft spot for her, smiling kindly at the waitress. “Our usual, please.”

The notebook got tucked in her apron with a bright nod. “Coming right up!”

As Nora swiftly returned behind the glossy bartop, parlaying the order to the kitchen, the entrance opened. The bell above chimed, three girls appearing beneath it.

Oh, shit.

When Luke enrolled into LF Arts as a green fourteen year old, he had planned to only focus on music and nothing else. He’d blaze through his classes and become the best in music and then, with his obsessive nature at a peak, would launch the band into the next stratosphere. That was the plan. Music, music, music. (And food from Magenta’s.)

Fourteen year old Luke wasn’t aware girls like Julie Molina existed though. That changed on the first day. She came to the front of the class, blew everyone away with a Taylor Swift cover and shot a toothy smile when she finished - like it was nothing. Like she didn’t have the voice of the century. (Like she wouldn’t mess with Luke’s plans of becoming the best, damn it!) Though his initial reaction was envy, he quickly realised it was rather a disgruntled crush than actual dismay.

She was cute. Still cute. After every summer break, he expected her to be less pretty so that his nerves could calm down for once. Nope. Julie Molina was pretty as hell.

He has never seen her here on Friday’s. Why now? Why now when they were mentally preparing themselves for a gig that could get them their asses kicked if they didn’t perform well? Luke needed to focus! Not think about where she’d sit and what she’d talk about and what she was going to eat.

His eyes tracked as Julie, Flynn and Kayla were in busy conversation, barely aware of their surroundings. Her head rolled back in a laugh at something Flynn said, eyes shut in glee. Luke flushed red, averting his gaze to the scratched up table. His friends were snickering, Alex muttering a ‘Jesus…’ under his breath.

Luke snapped his arm. “Stop being a dick.”

“Why don’t you just ask her out?”, Reggie pondered, absentmindedly making origami with the thin napkins.

“I think he needs to talk to her first to do that,” Alex teased before Luke could respond, earning another glare.

It wasn’t like he and Julie never spoke. They were seniors, they had multiple classes together and spent many hours cooped in the same music classroom. He was even part of her group project in junior year! They’ve talked! But it never lead to anything, his lingering stares falling for her oblivious profile, her never once looking back at him.

The connection Luke always craved hasn’t been there, though he always felt like they could have that. Musical spirits were alike, right? At least his crush wasn’t as hopeless as Reggie’s on Nora.

The girls chose a booth right next to theirs, Julie in his direct line of sight. Alex was buzzing in his seat from stifled laughter, visibly trying to not turn his head and address them. The guitarist felt like dying, not even the steaming plates of burgers set in front of them enough to lift his mood.

Luke leaned forward, voice a hiss. “I can talk to her. I just… haven’t felt the need to.”

Reggie patted his shoulder sympathetically. “It’s okay, buddy. You don’t have to lie to us.”

Frustration began simmering his skin, the scowl deepening. He wasn’t lying! Maybe a little! He’s been waiting for the right time to approach her, say and do the right thing to sweep her off her feet like the fucking rockstar he was. Had he been preparing his lines since he was fourteen? Also maybe. They were being revised.

Alex often told him he shouldn’t put Julie on a pedestal. That she was just a girl. It made him wonder if he was the only one that first day of high school that felt it. That awestruck whooping in his chest from seeing her curls dance around her almond eyes and hear how each lyric was laced with a passionate smile. Even at fourteen was he aware of how special that was. Julie wasn’t just a girl. She was the coolest girl he’s ever met and he didn’t even know her that well. He couldn’t imagine actually becoming friends with her, uncovering all facets of her personality and not get overwhelmed by her Julie-ness.

Huh. His crush went deeper than he thought. Yikes.

At the end of the day, Luke could admit that he was simply a teenage boy nervous to talk to a girl. ‘Nervous’ was like a curse word to him though, that admission a secret he’d take with him to the grave.

“Eh,” Alex quipped, egging him on. “Luke’s a terrible liar. He doesn’t have to tell us for us to know it’s true.”

His hands slammed down on the table, words spouting from his lips. “Girls! Can we get your napkin dispenser?!”

Fucking fantastic, Luke.

All three perked up in surprise, Flynn twisting in her booth to curl her nose and tilt her head. “Why?”

“It’s empty,” he bluffed.

Kayla craned her neck and instantly caught Reggie’s handiwork scattered across the table. “No, it’s not.”

Julie sat next to her, blinking in confusion. “Why do you need our napkins?”

Her smooth voice directed right at him caused a thrill up his spine, a grin involuntarily tugging on his lips. “Cause Reggie needs them for his crafts.” Playing along, the bassist lifted a janky frog with a wink. “I’m very dedicated.”

She matched Luke’s smile, amused. It was the most interaction he has had with her in months, the utter euphoria of it all bursting at the seams. Propelled by her smile, he slid out the booth and into Alex’ side, throwing his arms over the seat right next to Flynn’s head. The girl remained deeply unimpressed by him, gaze flicking past his physique. Damn. If he ever wanted to get anywhere with Julie, he had to get in Flynn’s good grazes. Kayla seemed chill though.

“What’s with the frown, Felicity?”, he joked.

Kayla giggled at the mention of Flynn’s actual name, the girl in question rolling her eyes. “All I’m wondering is why you have to bother us about napkins, Lukas.”

“Flynn,” Julie shook her head with an exasperated grin, “maybe wait for your strawberry shake? I think you’re being hangry.”

Her friend loosened up, sinking back in her seat with a playful pout and mumbling a resigned ‘fine.’

Luke took that as his sign to continue. His gaze fell back on Julie, hoping he wouldn’t sound too eager. “You guys come here a lot? I haven’t seen you here on Friday’s.”

“Who’re you asking?”, Julie asked, looking between her and Kayla. Oh, man. Small talk really wasn’t his forte. He couldn’t charm himself out of this one with music jargon or fake IDs.

His smile turned stressed, flailing his hand around. “Uh, all of you.”

“Sure,” Flynn snorted.

Alex slapped a hand on his mouth at her retort, almost in pain of not laughing his ass off. The prize of ‘Worst Friends Ever’ went to Luke’s - for fuck’s sake, couldn’t the drummer at least try and help him out?!

“Just wanted to celebrate Kayla’s good mark on her new song,” Julie continued, wilfully ignoring the other’s behaviour. Slinging an arm around her friend, she shot her a bright smile. “Her bridge was amazing, right?”

All three boys nodded fervently as Kayla ducked her head bashfully, murmuring a ‘thank you’ and then relieved from all the attention when Nora walked up to them. Luke’s body didn’t twist to sit normally again, too invested in finally speaking to them, finally having that contact, that he didn’t even care if he seemed like a weirdo. Julie and him! Conversing!

“Speaking of music,” he casually uttered when Nora was off again. His signature smirk crawled on his lips. “We’re playing a gig tonight.”

This peaked Flynn’s interest. Perhaps the prospect of food made her more amicable. “Where?”

“Raven’s Nest,” Reggie proudly proclaimed.

Kayla frowned, worried. “Isn’t that the bar with all the bikes outside?”

“Thank you!”, Alex exclaimed with a sigh. “It’s insane!”

“It’s not,” Luke bit back. If Sunset Curve wanted to make it big, they had to play big! Gigs like these would get them on the stages they dreamed of. Soon, it was goodbye, Raven’s Nest and hello, The Orpheum! “Real Californians go there to hear real fucking music.”

To his surprise, Julie hummed in agreement. “My dad says it used to be where the subculture kids hung out before MP got cool.”

“Yes!” His grin was huge now, overflowing with joy. This was enough adrenaline to get him through three gigs at once! His finger pressed into the cracked leather. “Exactly! And we’re gonna slay it. You should come watch!”

The latter blurted out without wanting to, his eyes growing wide in panic as Reggie and Alex stilled in their seats and Flynn peered up at him with laser-focus. Shit. Was he telling on himself? Did she pierce through the charisma that this was just a poor attempt at flirting? God, he really should’ve prepared his speech for impulsive moments like these.

Luke still needed to endure some growing pains before he got good at flirting.

Julie chuckled, a hint of red appearing on her cheekbones. It enthralled him. Was she embarrassed or flattered? “Uh,” she bit her lip, “I don’t know if I can get in. Don’t you have to be eighteen?”

He raised his brow. “C’mon, you don’t have a fake?” At those words, Alex dropped his head on the table with a thud. Luke had enough of his own shit too. ‘Mortified’ didn’t even come close to how he felt about his blabbering mouth.

Levelling his challenged look, however, he realised he wasn’t lost quite yet. Julie’s eyes glittered with mischief. “I do, actually.”

Breath caught in his throat. Yup. Coolest fucking girl in the universe. Julie Molina had a killer voice and a fake ID and probably did a whole lot of other dope stuff he hadn’t found out yet.

“Julie,” Flynn but in. “It’s a biker bar.”

“Where our classmates are playing,” she argued. “I can always try.”

“You’ll die.”

“I think I’ll be fine. Like Luke said-” No. She could not say his name and expect him to keep his cool. His fingers gripped the conjoined couch tighter. “-everyone’s there for the music.”

A careful smile slowly grew on Kayla. “We can tell your dad you’re with us.”

Flynn gaped at her. “We-?! I- okay.” Lifting her hands in surrender, she added: “Fine, we’ll tell Ray you’re at the movies with us.”

Wait, was Julie turning down a movie night with her friends to see him play? Did that mean something? Has he been so focused on trying to find or create a ‘vibe’ that he forgot to actually look for signs of her own? Damn. Now he really couldn’t screw this set up. Sunset Curve was gonna play until their hands bled, hopefully impressing her just a little bit.

It was settled then. After both groups had eaten, Julie separated from hers and joined them on their trek to Raven’s Nest. She was mostly talking to Reggie behind Alex and Luke, animatedly recounting a story about Carlos nearly crashing his drone in her keyboard. Jitters began to tingle his skin, that building excitement right before a gig mixing with Julie’s presence. It felt like one of his dreams materialised out of thin air.

How many times has he dreamt about catching her eye in the crowd as he crooned love songs he never dared to write? Granted, those dreams were centered in a hazier setting, Raven’s Nest quite unromantic opposed to that, but he would take what he got.

(And after, they’d worm their way through the masses of people, meeting halfway, and she’d sling her arms around his neck and he’d pull her into a kiss and it’d be electric. She’d kiss like she sang. It was a recurring dream that left him in a good mood for hours.)

Without much hesitance, the bouncer let Julie in. Luke, unable to keep his giddiness at bay, squeezed her shoulder as a dazzling beam was glued to his cheeks. Julie got in! Julie was going to see him play!

Raven’s Nest was expectedly filled with bearded, burly men. It reeked of beer and strong liquor, raucous chatter spilling from ever corner. They all probably looked like babies in comparison to these dudes, but he supposed his unfaltering confidence made up for it. Luke would get his boys (and Julie) through this. The stage was already prepared for them, amps and mics set up, Alex’ drums waiting in Reggie’s van behind the establishment.

“I’ve seen you play before, you know,” Julie mumbled beside him.

His heart soared without trying, its rate going a mile a minute as his jaw fell slack. All his nerves intensified till a blush crept on his cheeks. “You- you have?”

Her curious eyes flitted from the people to him, sheepish. “Yeah. At Ecliptica. You guys were good.”

A clammy hand raked the ends of his hair. Holy fucking shit. “You sounded like you never heard us before.”

“I didn’t want to seem like a fangirl, or something.” A secretive smile formed on her lips as she leaned into his side. “You know how school is. Everyone trying to be the best, but then act super casual about it?” Her eyes sparked in the yellow lighting, too close for him to think straight. “I didn’t want it to inflate you guys’ egos.”

Luke sputtered out a disbelieving laugh. “You’re doing it right now, Julie.”

“Then you better kill it,” she teased, nodding at Alex and Reggie hauling the drums onstage from the back door. “I think that’s your cue.”

There were two things he thought of right as he ascended the stage.

One, Julie was fat better at this whole back and forth than he was.

Two, he had to direct at least one song to her from their thirty minute set. Just one. Just so that his feelings might come across. Where words ended, music bled from his soul instead.

And so, the band exploded into what they knew best: burning the fucking house down.

So we’re taking the long way home 'Cause I don’t wanna be wasting my time alone I wanna get lost and drive forever with you Talking 'bout nothing, yeah, whatever, baby So we’re taking the long way home tonight We're taking the long way home

The giggly teenagers ended back in the diner after the incredible gig, shouting from the adrenaline and jostling arms to get points across. Even Julie joined in, much to his delight, tucked between him and the wall as she had a heated debate with an excited Reggie - harmonies versus basslines. Lemonades filled in condensed glasses gave them sticky fingers, hers once pushing his chin away when he told a particularly dumb joke and leaving an imprint. Luke was on fucking cloud nine.

Taking the upper hand in the debate, Julie sang a bit of one of their songs (“Let's seize the day, let's run away, don't let the colours fade to grey!”) with all the tricks in the book, silencing Reggie just like that. Alex high fived Julie, the bassist admitting she won this time. Deeply relishing the sound of her singing voice, Luke barely caught what she was saying after.

“This time?”, she laughed. “There’s another time?”

“Why not?” Reggie wiggled his brows, unsubtle as hell when he shot Luke a wink. “Diner Friendship Memories Still To Be Made!”

Alex blinked. “What?”

Her eyes tracked past the boys, the smile turning more timid. It settled on Luke, the boy unable and unwilling to look away. He wanted this night to never end. Clasping her lemonade, she nodded firmly, as if signing Reggie’s silly Friendship Contract.

“Yeah… why not.”

Magenta’s Palace became Luke favourite place in the entire world. Every Friday, Julie joined the boys at their booth, sometimes Kayla and Flynn too. Huddled in those red leather seats with mountains of fries, they shared the first slivers of newfound friendship. Luke has always been very cautious about who he let in his circle (Sunset Curve against The World), but six people in a booth felt cosy rather than suffocating. Like it was always to be like this.

Reggie found an equally enthusiastic jazz lover in Kayla. Alex confided with Flynn that he followed her playlists on Spotify and was obsessed with her DJ skills.

Luke and Julie created their own bubble without trying to.

It was weird. Maybe Alex was right and Luke did put her on a pedestal for so long. Julie was genuinely chill and easy to talk to, probably turned off by him before cause he had been acting like a blubbering idiot. Simply being himself was, surprisingly, more than enough for her. It lit a fire inside of him. Snarky banter about music that challenged him to keep up, overt flirting from him that kept her blushing, sudden ideas about lyrics that threw either for a loop. He wouldn’t admit it at first, but she made him a better songwriter.

Who knew his best songs would be found on stained paper napkins?

One Friday night, long past midnight, the group stood outside as they bid each other a good weekend. Bathed in the pink glow of the LED lights, Luke felt it in his gut. He had to tell her. These past weeks his feelings had only grown tenfold, this incessant buzz rippling every atom of his body whenever she was close. Whenever she smiled, talked, sang. Stealing his beanie, eating his fries, sharing AirPods. Luke loved it all.

It was a lot more than a simple crush.

After Julie hugged Alex, Luke grabbed her into a tight hug. She instantly responded, wrapping her arms around his waist and burrowing herself in his red hoodie. His infatuated smile was hidden by her curls, so fucking happy he’d been impulsive enough to ask for a dispenser that day.

“Hey, Julie,” he whispered.

She looked up, eyes alight with an emotion that left his shivering. “Yeah?”

“Uh…” A smile trembled on his lips, unsure whether he wanted to drown in the pretty brown of her irises or continue talking. Now or never. “You wanna get breakfast tomorrow? With me?”

He didn’t have to live in the fear for long, a smile stretching across her cheeks as she shyly nodded. It was the first time he’d ever seen her this flustered, their hold on each other securing with quiet glee. Had he not been so mesmerised, the awestruck Luke would run a mile from the adrenaline rush.

“Yeah,” she grinned, nose scrunched. “Sounds fun.”

They found themselves in the same spot the next day, the taste of syrupy pancakes melting with his as he kissed her on the parking lot of Magenta’s Palace. Julie’s lips curled into a smile and Luke figured there was no better feeling in the world then that.

(Yeah, he could get used to this.)

Saturday’s mornings had never been sweeter.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

@blush-and-books @willexx @bluefirewrites @unsaid-emily @ourstarscollided

#juke #jatp fanfiction #julie and the phantoms #otp: i think we make each other better

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