requested by: anon
enemies to lovers, forced to sleep in the same bed [room] trope.
wc: 1.3k
tags: not rly enemies to lovers, more like enemies to enemies that fuck
Enemies to lovers Jay learning that this stupid fucking trip forces the two of you to interact. That alone is enough to piss him off and activate the petty part of his brain.
Enemies. That's a fucking fact.
Imagine how he felt when he learned his cousin is dating you and bringing you to the fucking family trip? Trust, he did just about everything to prevent it. Including sending you hateful messages, semi-threatening that if you showed up he would absolutely piss in your cereal.
Well, you showed up anyway. And unfortunately, no one bought cereal for the kitchen so it looks like he needs to find a different method of making you miserable.
What's even more unfortunate? His cousin has no idea that he hates you. And why does he hate you? Well, given that you rejected him all those years ago for prom in a hella humiliating way....does he really need to explain?
For years he was made fun of for it, and you laughed with everyone at him. Not with him, at him.
Fucking bitch. That's what you are.
And you continue to be that bitch this whole time too. Knowing he had a thing for you, unsure of if he still does but still acting like he does.You don't need to know that he'd definitely still hit that shit. In more ways than one. Across the head seems more appropriate at this point though.
"He needs to leave early." Jay's mother explains to him in a semi-whisper. "Guess the sea-food got to him."
Jay silently gives himself a high-five at the idea that you'd leave with your boyfriend, his cousin.Unfortunately, you don't. In fact, you over-stay your welcome solely because your boyfriend's family loves you so much and practically begged you to stay.
At least Jay has his own room, right?
WRONG.
Oh, his demise hits him in the chest that very next morning, learning that his bitch-ass parents replaced his cousin's room with a different family member. Apparently they had wanted to come but all the spots in the house were filled up.
Now, they're on their way and you're moving your shit to the living room.
"Jay, why don't you let her have your room? It's only polite."
"Fuck that" is what Jay would say if it weren't for his father looming with a death glare.
"No, no!" You gleefully cut in. "If he's okay with just sharing the room, I'll be okay!"
He rolls his eyes. Just because there's a pull out couch in the room doesn't fucking mean he should have to share it. With you no less.
・・・・・・・・・・・・・・
Did you do that on purpose? Maybe.
Do you love your boyfriend with your whole heart? Not really.
What most people aren't aware of in this family is, well, your boyfriend isn't exactly the best person to be involved with.
Oh, he left because he's feeling sick? No he didn't, you saw that text on his phone.
Despite you loving his family, and his family loving you, neither of you really love each other these days. Additionally, neither of you really have the heart to break up due to the benefits you both get simply for holding the title of boyfriend/girlfriend.
So, you trying to pull one on Jay both before and after your boyfriend saw himself out the door feigning sick? Definitely on purpose. After all, if you and your boyfriend are past the point of even trying to make intimacy work, it's not so bad that you both find it elsewhere.
Kind of like a mutual relationship where's you're not dating except for when the family comes together and the two of you pretend that love hasn't fallen through the floor.
Imagine Jay's face when he found out, deep into the night where it's silent save for the rain pattering against the window.
"I'm not actually dating him, you know?" You blurt out of the silence, wanting to push somehow for Jay to admit that he still wants you. If anything, to boost your own confidence and force him to abandon whatever respect he has for his cousin to keep it under wraps. "He left to go fuck his actual girlfriend."
"Okay?" Jay huffs out, pretending he doesn't care but actually loving the juicy hidden secret. "What does that have to do with me?"
"Well, Jay Jay-" You smile in the darkness, cuddling close against the pillow and lending a small chuckle at the way he's situated himself on the pull-out bed. "It has everything to do with you if you want to fuck me."
You hear him inhale at your words before breathing out in a shaking breath.
"You are so fucking full of yourself." He starts, lifting up so fast into a sitting position that he nearly feels lightheaded. "After the way you humiliated me? You think I want to fuck you now?!"
You shush him quickly, wanting so badly to mock his inability of volume control. Which...that could be fun.
"Please, you've wanted to fuck me since you learned what fucking even was."
Fair, Jay thinks, as he narrows his eyes at your barely-visible figure in his bed.
"You're being ridiculous. I wouldn't stoop so low." He argues back, voice a bit weaker, like it's breaking. Then he flops back down onto the pull-out, ignoring the uncomfortable creaking of the bed.
"Relax. I'm just trying to get laid here, it's not like we have to date or anything."
As if that's not what Jay has wanted since fucking prom?! Casual sex?! With you?
"You're kind of a whore, you know that?" Jay spits, aggressively rolling over to face the wall, not at all to hide the fact that he's absolutely about to shove his hands down his pants.
"Do you want me to be?" You encourage him to think like your boyfriend used to. "Want me to apologize for the way I treated you?"
He remains silent, squeezing his eyes shut and willing for all of this to just be a dream, though he'd be fucking pissed if it actually was.
"Don't you want to punish me for it?" You continue, softening your voice now, lifting yourself on the bed and crawling to the edge of it. "Make me say sorry? Make me regret the day I never let you do it in the first place?"
"Fuck off." Jay tries to control himself. The need to absolutely fuck you into the mattress, shut that pretty mouth up? It's intense right now. "Stop trying to come onto me."
And when you do, he's actually disappointed. He hears the way you crawl back into position and roll over in silence. The room stays quiet for a little while, but he can't sleep now.
Arguably, you can't either.
"You're so fucking annoying." Jay huffs, rolling off the pull-out and instantly getting on the bed with you, hovering over you, letting you feel how hard you've managed to get him. "If you're able to actually shut the fuck up, take your shorts off and roll over."
You hum, delighted by his weak mind state. Loving that in a way, he admits it. Finally, he admits it. All those narrow-eyed stares at you weren't just from hate. He definitely wanted you, and he still does.
You do as you're told with a mocking laugh, shoving your shorts down your thighs and rolling over for him.
He makes quick work, already slapping his length against your ass cheeks before instantly pressing his tip into you with a pathetic, whiny little groan.
"Thought you'd be rougher." You smile against the pillow, only to feel his hand in your hair. He tugs you back with an uncomfortable arch now cramping at your back. "Thought you wanted to make me sorry.”
“Can you please shut the fuck up?” Jay groans, shoving his full and thick cock straight into you with a solid thrust. “Hm?”
Well, now you can. Because oh my god? He’s been this big the whole time? You could’ve been bouncing on this countless times already and you’re only now feeling how good it is? Crazy mistake on your part.
You couldn't mock him back if you tried right now, with the way he releases your hair only to push your head into the pillow, fucking into you so aggressively that you can barely even breathe. He really is making you sorry.
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Can I please request, four platonic yandere brothers with helpless y/n who only grew up relaying on their brothers
My god, i take so long to answer, anyways teehee, im finally answering things yayayayay
my trip back home is uh not going to happen i think, very sad, anyways
also omg, four brothers
also also, im lazy so for now, their names are numbers :p
Reblogs and comments are appreciated
Having four brother to look after you is probably great when you're young but a pain when you're older, combined with the fact their yandere behaviour it's probably hell on earth.
You have to ask them permission for any and everything you do, and unless they say yes, you won't be able to do anything. If involves a friend, one or two will always be hiding in the background in case something happens.
The eldest, One, makes all his brothers report everything to him, where you go, what you do but he himself, never steps in to stop you from doing something, instead, he'll have Two or Three do the dirty work.
One is your beloved brother, who'd never do anything to make you upset, he may be pulling the strings but he'll never out himself as the villian.
One probably has the best job out of all the brothers and he has no problem handing you his card to go buy whatever you want, eat whatever you want. Hell, he takes you to expensive restaurants every now and then.
Even if you ask for a luxury car, he'll get it for you, no questions asked.
What his parents couldn't do, what they couldn't buy you, he'll buy it for you, he'll make sure you never lack in anything, whether it's something you need or something stupid, he'll hand it to you.
Having a good job, also means he's quite busy, but he makes time for you no matter what, one call and he'd drop everything to come to you, after all, his company should be more than equipped to deal with things in the absence of their CEO.
Two is the second eldest, the more strict brother, one who seems he'll scold you for sitting the wrong way, when in reality, he'd never do anything like that.
Despite being the one who finds a way to spoil all the plan One disapproves of, he makes sure to let you down gently, how horrible of an idea it is, how dangerous the outside is, especially when you're so looked after by four brother, the world is not as kind as they are.
Being a professor, Two is out most of the day but when he comes back, he always makes sure you have something to eat or buying something you want to eat. There isn't a single day he doesn't come back with a trinket in his hand.
Two is the brother you go to when you're having trouble with your assignments, he'll take all the time he has to explain it to you, no matter how busy you are, no matter how many assignments he has to complete, he'll always ready to explain things to you If you ever go into the same field as him, he'll pull some strings to get you into the same college he works in.
Two knows better than anyone how much you hate when people raise their voice at you, after all, he was the one who always comforted you after you got yelled at for not being able to understand your school work.
Two does not hesitate to go argue with the teacher if he sees and mishap in your grades, Two has years of experience and multiple connections, he'll make sure that teacher never gets to grade another paper again or if you get a lower grade than expected, he;ll go through the paper with you.
Three is someone who quiet, but the moment he opens his mouth, only sarcastic sentences and insults fall out of his mouth and even you as his sibling are not immune to this, although, he might tone it down so he doesn't get smacked by One again for making you upset.
Three is the brother you'd call after getting in a fight or if people were being creepy towards you, he wouldn't hesitate to break their nose off, and he always reaches the spot suspiciously fast.
Three might not be as rich or smart as the other two but he sure as hell knows how to deal with problems through violence. It's the only way he knows to look after you, you who used to get into ridiculous arguments, who used to stand there and accept every insult, not doing anything afraid to disappoint One or Two. He used to deal with people back then, he used to drag you away when your parents were fighting over something stupid, if he could he would have made sure you never has to see those things but back then, he wasn't as strong nor was he as capable as he is now.
Three is the brother you go to when something goes wrong with your car/bike, he'll fix it up for free, arguing how it got this bad because you took it to some random mechanic outside.
God forbid, Three ever find out a mechanic overcharged you with something, he'll go down there and pick a fight before demanding One to shut down the place.
Four is the youngest and closet to you in age, someone who's always up and about. He'd be dragging you to different places to try out different things.
Always going against One and taking you places, One disapproves off, claiming how you'll be completely safe with him and that nothing could go wrong.
Four knows how much it upsets you when Two or Three stop you from going somewhere when everyone is busy, so he makes it a point to take you there whenever he's free.
Four has always been stuck to your side like glue, back in school when no one wanted to sit with you and now when all your friends happen to be busy all the time.
He'd make it a point to show how awful your friends are, hanging out with others while ignoring you everytime. Unlike the other three, Four doesn't mind if your feelings get hurt a bit, perhaps sitting in a cafe, waiting for your friend for hours will teach you how unreliable they are and how much better your own brothers are, when they drop everything to come attend to your needs.
Of course, he doesn't go too far, four is well aware how one already disapproves of his ways and the last thing he needs from his brother is a lecture.
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Tom Ryder x fem!reader
Summary: You're Tom's makeup artist for a movie he's shooting and you absolutely hate him. However, one round of karaoke later, your feelings temporarily shift.
Genre: Fluff, smidge of angst, Enemies to Lovers (very one-sided lmao)
Warnings: Tom is a stupid asshole (but he's also just a mess), swearing, light misogyny, slapping, alcohol, being drunk/high.
The bar is dimly lit and the loud music resounds in your ear as your knee bounces. You stir the straw around your drink, sighing as you turn to Vanessa, your co-worker. "He left me another post-it note on the desk yesterday telling me he wants a new lip oil because his now tastes weird!? His last one is only from last week and it's the same brand he always uses! I'm so sick of his bullshit, V," you drop your head in your arms and then peek up at Vanessa again, "He's such a dick."
Vanessa laughs, sipping on her margarita, as she shrugs, "Didn't you know that when you took the job, honey?"
"I mean, sure. But those could have been rumors," you pout and sit up, moving some hair behind your ear as you look around the room, where other crew members have gathered around the karaoke machine.
"Listen, don't think about Tom Ryder. You're off the clock and everyone knows he's a world-class asshole—a pretty world-class asshole, I will let him have that," Vanessa hums and also turns her attention to the rest of your friends and co-workers as she claps her hands.
You look down at your drink, your cheeks feeling warmer than usual. Not thinking about Tom Ryder was easier said than done when you had to work on his face 5 days a week. He was so infuriating most times, either talking down to you when you worked or wouldn't cooperate with anything you told him to do because he was on his phone. Sometimes he really makes you want to stab the mascara stick into his eye.
Still, you can't deny he's extremely handsome and that just annoys you more.
Suddenly, you hear a bunch of cheers and hoots from outside, directly accompanied by the sound of the door slamming open. When you hear an all too familiar voice, your eyes widen and you snap around to make sure you hadn't just imagined it.
Tom Ryder coming to one of the crew parties? No fucking way. Obviously, he's always invited to them but in a very arrogant fashion he never shows up—which is one of the reasons you do, because he never does.
Only this time he did and he's not alone.
Tom is dressed in another one of his boisterous outfits, his shirt loosely unbuttoned to reveal his chest and a peak of his toned abs. Pink-tinted sunglasses sit on his nose and his dirty blond hair curls messily around his face.
He looks drunk, or high, when he walks in and you can't tell which one it is because he's constantly moving and laughing. He's accompanied by a few other low A-list actor friends he has and a pretty blond model hangs on his arm, her giggles instantly infuriating you.
How can she stand to be near him for more than a minute? Even less hold his arm and be his eye-candy?
You turn back around, desperately attempting to calm the bile rising in your throat. God, you hate him. You feel even worse when he leans beside you at the bar and orders a drink from the bartender, snapping his fingers as he does. He doesn't even address your presence beside him and your blood boils.
Your anger immediately turns to disgust when you hear the man hosting the karaoke scream out Tom Ryder's name.
"Tom Ryder everyone! I loved your new movie, man, it was awesome! How about a song?" the man asks, eyebrows wiggling as the crew clap (mostly out of politeness) and his friends make loud, drunken noises like a bunch of animals.
"C'mon! One song—for all the pretty ladies in the crowd!"
Tom seems intrigued when the man mentions the girls. You roll your eyes and your hand tightens around your glass as he walks up to the host, raising his hands in surrender and feigning humbleness. "Alright, alright, I have to give the ladies what they want, don't I?" Tom boasts, winking at one of the camera girls he never looks at otherwise.
Someone put you out of your misery now.
The host seems ecstatic to have someone this famous next to him and asks Tom for a quick photo, which Tom obviously doesn't turn down. You pretend to gag when Vanessa turns to look at you and smirks at Tom's behavior..
"How about a duet, Ryder?" The host asks as he hands him the mic.
"Nah, I usually sing solo," Tom says, his words slightly slurred, and then he leans in to whisper something in the host's ear—which probably goes something like, "Unless she's got a nice rack, then by all means invite her up here."
You lean in and whisper into Vanessa's ear, "Ten bucks he takes home the girl he ends up singing with," you say with a frown, your voice a little strained. Vanessa laughs and then the worst thing happens.
"You," the host shouts and you look up alarmed. Your eyes are wide when you realize everyone, including Tom, is staring at you. "The angry-looking girl in the back. Why don't you come up and join him? I doubt he'd bite."
Laughter, including some nervous ones from your friends, resounds around the room as Tom's smirk widens. You'd be surprised, you think. You find your voice again and say, "Um, can't you ask one of them?" you point to the group of eager fangirls swarming around the small stage as they ogle Tom.
"C'mon, sweetheart," Tom slurs, squinting at you, "One song won't kill you."
But you might just kill him.
Vanessa, the traitor, nudges you again and you stumble from the stool. You glare at her but when all your friends, including Tom's more obnoxious friends, chant encouragements you feel completely trapped.
The walk to the small stage feels eerily similar to a walk of shame as you look to your co-workers in hopes someone will save you. No one does and you ignore the stares from all the girls who wish they could take your place.
You're blinded by the lights as you step on the stage and approach the host. "Atta girl," the man smirks patronizingly as he hands you the second mic. You scrunch your nose at him and then look up at Tom, expecting him to be ignoring you like he usually is, but instead, he's staring.
His cheeks are pink from being intoxicated and he tilts his head, watching you clutch the mic nervously.
The host doesn't warn you when the song begins to play and he walks away. You realize too late you and Tom are now alone and everyone is watching you as dread slowly fills your stomach.
You don't even know how to sing! This is so humiliating.
The familiar melody of, "Don't Go Breaking My Heart," fills the air and you feel the heat rise in your chest and up to your ears. Your heart is pounding so loudly you can only faintly hear Tom start to sing the song. He sounds fairly good and you aren't surprised considering he's an actor.
Your voice catches in your throat and you feel tears rise. You don't sing when it's your turn and the crowd is silent.
Suddenly, you jump when you feel a strong hand on your hip and you snap your head around to look at him. Your hand finds Tom's hand immediately, gripping it, and just as you're about to pull it away, he leans in and whispers, hot against your ear, "Baby doll, you're making me look bad," he states, his tone as condescending as it always is, and your heart does a somersault in your chest.
He looks down at you this time, his blue eyes lock with yours for a moment and his hand falters on your hip. For an actor, Tom Ryder has surprisingly no poker face because when he sees your distressed state, his demeanor shifts, and instead of frustration, he takes on a different approach.
He takes your hand, suddenly twirling you around and you make a small sound as you stumble. It's been a few seconds since anyone has sung the song, so he sings again and this time, his eyes stay on yours as he sings your lyrics.
"You know this," he mouths, encouraging you as he does this weird, clearly drunk-induced shimmy that makes you laugh despite your better judgment. He points to the small screen where the lyrics are displayed.
You take a breath and then sing, focusing on him instead of the crowd and your head feels light. You would have never guessed there would be a day when you'd find comfort in Tom Ryder. Your friends clap with amusement and laughter swirls around the bar as you both continue to sing and dance.
Occasionally, Tom will pull you in closer but you'll move away, flustered, and when the song finally ends, you move back and almost trip on the mic's cord.
With a gasp, you expect to fall flat on your ass but instead, Tom wraps his arm around your waist and pulls you into him as your palms press on his chest. You're breathing heavily and so is he, his hand is still on your back as his eyes roam over all your features until you push him away and walk down the small stairs and back to the ground where all your friends are whispering and clapping.
You feel like you can't breathe, your heart beating so quickly. You mumble a quick "excuse me" to Vanessa, snatch your purse from the bar counter, and open the door to outside. The cool air calms your burning skin and you lean against the building.
What the fuck was that? Why was he looking at you like that?
"You know, it's normal to be nervous around someone like me," Tom's voice interrupts your panic and you spin around, not expecting to see him. "But running from me? Now, darling, that's truly a first," he finishes with a chuckle and an obnoxious smirk.
"You're so full of yourself," you whisper automatically but then your eyes round as if you've realized what you'd said.
Tom looks surprised but he also remains cool as he strokes a hand down his jaw and puts it on his hip. "Mm, I assume you're not a fan then."
You cross your arms and look anywhere but directly at him because fuck, why did someone so incredibly stupid and pretentious have to be so darn hot? "You could say that, sure," you shrug. "Not everyone likes you, Tom Ryder." You shut yourself up as soon as the words leave your mouth. This isn't exactly something you should say to someone who you work with.
However, Tom's expression sours and he lifts his eyebrow. "You don't like me?"
You turn to him, eyes locking with him this time. "That isn't what I said."
Tom's eyebrows crease and he squints at you, removing his stupid sunglasses and they push back his blond hair. "You're confusing me." He sounds genuine.
You can't help but chuckle at his idiocy and surprisingly for you, your laughter makes him smile. He leans in and you lean away, eyes round when you realize how close he's becoming. "You have such a sexy laugh," he says cockily, "Bet I can make you do it again."
You hate to admit this but your heart does flutter at his words. Can anyone really blame you? It's Tom. Fucking. Ryder. You try to remind yourself how much of a dick he is—and always has been—but as you look into the blue of his eyes, his reassuring touch burns imprints on your skin and you feel dizzy.
Shit.
"You look familiar," Tom straightens himself, "Have I seen you somewhere? You been in any magazines? You certainly have the look."
You ignore the so-called complement and stare at him. He has to be kidding. You've been doing his makeup for over six months now and he supposedly sees you almost every day. You worked on his face every single day—how could he not recognize you? You open your mouth to ask if this is a joke but he interrupts you.
"Seriously, I must know you from somewhere. Gimme a hint, baby,"
Your stomach sinks and you feel so so stupid. Tom doesn't sense your shift as he's still focused on whatever fleeting emotion may have been between you before as his hand finds your hip.
Instantly, your palm connects with his cheek, and the sound cracks into the air. "Don't touch me," you say harshly, ignoring how shaky your voice is.
Tom looks at you, his hand over his bruised cheek, "You hit me?!" he says in disbelief, "What the fu—"
You don't stick around to hear his whining as you turn around and run from him.
Again.
"Hey–wait!" you hear Tom's shout but why would you turn around now? Tears of frustration brim your eyes as you hastily walk down the empty sidewalk.
There is no way you're fucking crying over Tom fucking Ryder right now, you tell yourself and pinch the inside of your eyes.
No way.
You ignore Vanessa's incessant calling and her worried texts when you arrive at your apartment. You scream in frustration, throwing your heels across the room and scaring your poor cat, Pumpkin, as she sprints into the living room, her claws against the floorboards.
Quickly, you follow her and scoop her into your arms, "'M sorry, baby," you coo and nuzzle your nose into her fur. "I'm sorry Mommy scared you."
You hear Vanessa's fifth call from your purse but you're too exhausted to deal with her and the fallout from what had happened tonight, so instead you sit on the couch and cuddle with Pumpkin, scratching behind her ears.
* * *
When you pull into the parking lot of the new set the next morning, you haven't slept well and you feel like shit—it doesn't help that they're filming outside today, in the summer heat, and grainy sand infiltrates into your Converse.
You groan as you walk over to the makeup trailer and see Vanessa waiting for you. You almost called in sick this morning until you realized how guilty that would make you look, so you sucked it up.
"Y/n?!" Vanessa shrieks and pulls you behind the trailer. "Where have you been?! I've called you a hundred times, why haven't you answered any of them? I was worried Ryder somehow took you home and that I'd lost 10 bucks—"
"Gross, why would you think that?" you say with disgust as if you weren't surprised to hear that after you left Tom hadn't returned to the bar.
"I mean, for one, Ryder was missing and no one knew where he went. And second, are you shitting me? Girl, the tension was more than palpable! You were practically dry-humping Tom Ryder in front of everyone!"
You feel like someone has just punched you in the stomach and your voice comes out high and nervous when you exclaim, "I was not! It wasn't like that, V! Is that what everyone thinks?" Vanessa nods as an answer and you want to scream.
"I swear, I- nothing happened—even outside—I- funny story I slapped him because he's a jerk and I- I don't like him!" you ramble and your heart thumps quicker when Vanessa looks behind you and her mouth curls into a devious smirk.
"Don't look now, sweetie, but your boyfriend just arrived," she pauses and checks her watch, "An hour late. As usual." Vanessa looks you dead in the eyes and then she teases, "Chop chop, time to put makeup on your man."
Your eyes widen and you pull Vanessa further behind the trailer so Tom won't see you or her. You hold her shoulders. "Please switch with me for today. He won't even notice the difference, and Allie doesn't need to have her makeup done until noon so that way I don't have to see him! Please, V, I'll do anything!"
Vanessa crosses her arms, "Nothing happened with him, hm?"
You look at her, your eyes round and pleading, "Please."
"Fine, but you're paying for my lunch later," she says and taps your nose, "and giving me a detailed rundown on what happened with Ryder."
You nod reluctantly, whispering a small thank you under your breath as she turns to walk into the makeup trailer behind Tom. You let out a breath, leaning against the trailer. You know you'll have to face him at some point—just not now.
The day drags on and on as the heat is becoming almost unbearable. You stand to the side, your makeup kit secured to your hip as you watch the scene from under a tent. It's another action sequence and it's very obvious Tom's makeup is fading from the warmth and his sweat.
Shit, you realize, he needs a touch-up. Vanessa didn't use the correct primer.
You look around, hoping to see Vanessa and tell her Ryder needs a touch but the director's voice cuts in and you tense, "Cut! Someone come to fix his face!" Jody turns to you, her eyes kind as her voice becomes a little less stressed when she sees you're prepared for this, "Can you fix his makeup?"
Shit, shit, shit.
This is your job, you can't say no so you walk out onto the set where Tom is leaning against a prop rock. He straightens himself and when he turns, he doesn't have the chance to process your presence as you guide him down and fumble with your kit.
He's taller than you so he's leaning down so you can fix him up properly. You put your hand on his jaw, near his ear, to steady him as you touch up under his eyes and near his cheekbones.
He's staring at you and you know he recognizes you this time, his blue eyes wide and puppy-like.
Silently, you add some powder on his cheeks and nose so the product sticks better this time and when you let him go, Tom opens his mouth to speak, but you shake your head no, and then you turn your head and hurry back behind the camera.
Your ears are burning from embarrassment as you walk directly to the makeup trailer, without looking back at anyone.
You've barely closed the door when it slams open and you scream. You spin around just as someone tries to hold onto your arm and on instinct you grab the hairspray that's in your kit and spray it directly into… Tom's eyes.
He screams too, his voice high-pitched and very un-sexy, as he clutches his eyes. Seeing him only causes you to scream again. "Ryder?!" you exclaim and immediately take his arm, pulling him inside the trailer as he wails like a child and rubs at his eyes.
You slap his hands away and push him down under the faucet, pouring water into his eyes and in the process drenching his blond hair and ruining his mascara.
"Fuck," he groans as he sputters out water as he jerks away from you. You move closer to him and without thinking hold both of his cheeks in your hands, looking directly into his, now slightly irritated, eyes.
"Does it hurt?" you whisper, clearly concerned.
Tom rests his hands on yours and pulls them away, "What do you think?" he groans and blinks a few times. "You're the girl—" he mutters and pinches his nose, "at karaoke. I remember you now."
You realize how close you are to him now and, overwhelmed, you step back. "Lucky me," you mumble sarcastically and take his arm, pulling him to one of the seats. "I have to fix your face again or someone is gonna fire me."
He's weirdly docile as he looks at your work as you dry his hair. Once you're done, he speaks up, "Why'd you run from me? I mean, c'mon, the way you looked at me with those fuck-me eyes—"
Tom has no shame and of course, he wouldn't. He's probably never really been rejected in his entire life and women have most likely let him speak to them like this. You pause and pull his chin harder so he's looking at you as you continue with his mascara.
"Tell me honestly Ryder, do you even hear yourself when you speak?" you ask, your voice strained.
"What?" Tom asks, sounding genuinely confused.
"You're an asshole. That's why I ran from you." You drop his chin and your word vomit comes out without you being able to help it as you cross your arms, "I mean—I have been doing your makeup for months! And you've only ever left me your stupid post-it notes when you have a demand! No "Hi," "Good morning," "How are you?" No. Nothing like that. And I tried! I really tried in the beginning because like everyone else on this fucked up planet I thought you were awesome."
Tom opens his mouth to make a snide comment but you instantly press your finger to his lips.
"I really thought, "I'm so lucky to be Tom Ryder's makeup artist!" and then I found out Tom Ryder is a shit person that doesn't—"
"I'm not a shit person," Tom deadpans and stares at you as if your words have hurt him.
You tilt your head and drop your arms to your side. You don't even know what to say to him anymore.
"Okay, okay, I'm sorry I made you feel shitty, okay?" Tom defends and his cheeks are pink, "I just—I am really bad with faces—and I-I was completely shit-faced and high on–"
He pauses, stands, and wraps his hand around your jaw, his thumb stroking your bare cheek as your eyes widen and you tense. Something about his charm makes it impossible for you to move and because his touch is gentle, you aren't too worried. For now. "'M sorry. I am. Can't we call it even since you hit me and sprayed me in the face with whatever that fucking was?!"
He continues, "—listen, I liked karaoke with you and I was shit-faced so I know I must have been a dick."
"You're always a dick, Ryder," you comment, your tone less mad than earlier.
"Then, you don't know me very well," Tom shrugs, "or like at all."
"So—you're saying all this dick-ishness is a persona?" You sound very skeptical and Tom just shrugs as his thumb strokes over your skin once more and then he drops his hand, putting some distance between you and him.
"No. Not entirely. But, you know, that doesn't mean I'm incapable of genuine feelings, Y/n."
You're surprised when you hear your name fall from his lips. Tom sees your expression and another one of his smirks curls at his lips, "As I said, I remember you now. Always did—my hot makeup artist—ask anyone—ask Gail, I mention you a lot. I was just hammered, you know? High out my mind—and it heightened all my fucking senses that I couldn't get your laugh out my head for hours."
"If you're joking," you say and glare at him, "it isn't funny."
Tom puts a hand on his heart dramatically, "'M not. Scouts fucking honor."
You look at him and for once, you can't read him. "Well, either way, that doesn't change how much of an asshole you've been to me. You never said "hi" but you told Gail about me? Sorry, but that doesn't impress me."
You walk up to him and tilt his head using his chin, examining his make-up once more, and then you take his arm and try to pull him out of the trailer, "Now, c'mon, you have a job to do—go do it," you hiss.
"But—"
"No," you start but he won't move. He turns around and stares at you. Fuck, he's strong. "Why won't you leave?" you ask, breathless as you step away from him.
"Do you hate me so much that you won't even consider that I genuinely find you interesting?" he asks with a hint of insecurity in his voice again. "That I liked spending time with you and I think you're pretty."
Your chest tightens and you sigh, "I- I don't know," you admit and you look up at him. You can't deny that your feelings have shifted and a little voice in your head screams that this is a trap and he'll eventually break your heart.
"Here," Tom fumbles with the pants of his costume and pulls out a pen and a post-it note.
"You seriously just carry those on you?" you crack a smile, finding that weirdly endearing.
Idiot.
"Yeah," Tom says like it's the most normal thing ever and then he writes down something on the paper. When he hands it to you it's the name of a restaurant. You frown, it's your favorite restaurant. He'd written a time beside the name.
"How do you know this is my favorite restaurant?" you ask.
Tom looks up, his smirk turning into a smile. "I didn't—it's mine."
Your frown deepens, "Hm, I didn't take you for a low-priced family-run Chinese restaurant kinda guy—don't you have a personal chef or something," you say and look at the time he's written down, "What is this anyway?"
Tom shrugs and adjusts his hair. "I do but I like this place. The family who owns it never tells anyone I've been there, it gives me some privacy," he sounds serious and he walks closer to you, "Don't tell anyone, it might ruin my reputation and then your favorite restaurant might be swarmed by a bunch of fangirls," he smirks, pleased with himself.
You can't help but chuckle.
"And this," he points to the time, "is where I'll be tomorrow evening if you'd like to join me," he says nonchalantly and then opens the trailer door. Just as he does, he takes his phone and takes a picture of the time so he remembers it and he sends you a wink. "I won't wait long but if you do come, it's on me."
You stare at the paper and realize Tom Ryder has just asked you on a date. You look up but he's gone and your heart does about ten thousand summersaults as your brain screams in agony. Your cheeks feel warm as you fold the paper up and put it in the pocket of your jeans.
You're so very screwed.
You hear a ding and then a text from Vanessa saying, "Ryder's mic was on—crew heard absolutely everything—we didn't wanna interrupt your moment," she adds a mocking winking emoji but you don't care.
That's the least of your worries now that you have a date with Tom Ryder.
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Belobog was my fave main quest but a lot of it is so. Contradictory. It's like they had multiple groups doing different shit and none of them checked in with each other for consistency. And you see this so much in Gepard's profile.
So in the main quest, they made him unfailingly, unquestionably loyal to Cocolia. Gepard's character arc is him learning to question authority etc etc. And this isn't even a bad thing; that's a story worth telling! It makes good conflict between him and Serval! And I love that we got Gepard as a boss battle and I get to see him all the time in SU!
But then you look at his character stories and it's like. The complete opposite.
According to his profile, Gepard has already HAD this awakening, long before the Astral Express, and he'd already decided Cocolia sucks. Even outside of his stories, there's a pretty damning readable between him and Pela.
He even disobeyed direct orders right in front of her- he has been disobeying orders for a while now!
So I've decided I'm marrying the two different sides of this into a 1.5k fic-ish thingy, because I think there's some fun potential there with Gepard not trusting Cocolia, but still having to pretend to be a good obedient little soldier.
Anyway. I love to think of it as like. Gepard knows Cocolia has sunk into her apathy. He can see it in her eyes every time he looks at her. She doesn't care. Not about him, not about Pela, not about all his soldiers on the frontlines giving their lives to protect the citizens. And that's... It makes him bristle a bit, but ok. Gepard can deal with this. Even if Cocolia no longer cares, as long as she does her job then it's fine. Having compassion behind an action doesn't matter as much as the action itself. If Cocolia's heart is no longer swayed, then he'll just have to care twice as hard to pick up the slack. He considers it part of his duty as a captain of the guard anyway. It's fine. Gepard can deal with it.
And then, Cocolia starts coming down to the restricted zone. Issuing direct orders.
And Gepard realizes he is in way over his head.
Because Cocolia orders him to stay back and issue commands from the ramparts, away from all his comrades, away from where he can protect them.
Gepard had thought nothing could be as bad as watching a fellow guard die right next to him. But the first time he watches someone struck by a killing blow, so far away, it hurts. Every defensive scar across his arms itches, his fingers curl in want of a weapon, the cold cannot numb his hands enough as they desperately ache for his shield. It hurts.
Gepard tries to find any reason to stay. Because surely... He knows Cocolia has lost her love for her people, but surely... She wouldn't...
One day, Cocolia orders for their gunners to advance 20 yards. There are no survivors. She almost looks like she smiles.
Gepard doesn't sleep that night.
Pela brings him the report at the end of the first month; and then the month after that, and the month after that. A significant uptick in losses, and all of it started on that first day Cocolia started overriding his authority and issuing her own orders. The ends of Gepard's pens have all been nearly chewed off. Pela outright calls Cocolia an idiot, and Gepard corrects her. Cocolia isn't an idiot. Gepard had known her through Serval, knew her through all her college years and then some, and he knows how intelligent she is. It's not that she's stupid, and it's not that she's inexperienced, it's nothing of the sort.
Cocolia knows exactly what she's doing.
She must, there's no way she could make such a horrible mess of things so badly by accident. And Pela, quick as a whip, sharp as a tack, always too smart for her own good, catches onto the meaning behind Gepard's correction without any further prompting. The tent goes deathly quiet, nothing but the wind howling outside.
"...She's trying to kill us," Pela whispers, her voice swiftly suffocated by the silence.
Gepard swallows. He can't bring himself to correct her this time. There is nothing he could say that he would actually mean.
His gaze drops, back down to his desk and the reports on it. The names aren't listed, just the numbers, but Gepard knows them, knew them, and there must be something wrong, something he's missing, because why, why would she-? What could this possibly accomplish-?
“Gepard! Focus!” Something snaps right under his nose, and Gepard startles, eyes instantly honing in on Pela's irritated face as she leans over his desk. She holds his gaze for a moment before she huffs and begins to pace, wedges a knuckle between her teeth and bites like Gepard hasn't seen her do since cadet school.
Pela angrily strides from one end of his tent to the other, words hissed between her grit teeth. “What are we going to do?” In the dim lighting, Gepard can just barely see the damp spot of blood weeping under her gloves. “We need a plan.”
“A plan?”
“Wh- Yes, a plan! Unless you want more people to die!” Pela rounds on him then, all the wrath of a blizzard, winds roaring and snow sharp enough to cut.
“We don't even know-”
“What does it matter?! She killed-!!” Pela cuts off with a garbled noise when Gepard leaps up from his desk, hastily shoves his hand over her mouth. The prosthetic, not the flesh one, because he knows better than to assume Pela won't seize the opportunity to leave teeth marks in his skin.
“You're right. I'm sorry, I'm sorry; you're right. But you need to keep quiet.” Pela quirks an eyebrow at him and Gepard can read the question in her face. “Because we both saw what she did to Serval,” he hisses.
It's amazing the snow plains haven't thawed out yet, the amount of heat Pela can put behind a glare. The mere mention of Serval, and the smoking ruins Cocolia had made of her life and career, have her bristling up like a riled cat. The sudden hot breath she takes fans fog across his metal skin, and Gepard wisely keeps it in place until Pela finally sighs and reaches up, taps her fingertips against the back of his hand.
The second she's free, Pela bats him away and then her knuckle is right back between her teeth again, Gepard leaning back against his desk with his arms crossed to watch her resume her pacing. “If we spread the word, she'll have us discharged and make sure we can't even touch the frontlines,” Pela's voice seethes like an open sore. Gepard nods but keeps his silence. He knows better than to get in her way.
“And if you and I are both out of the picture, Belobog is fucked.” A little harsher than how he would have put it, but there's no denying that they're both important to the city's survival. Pela has the restricted zone running as efficiently as ever, and Gepard had become the youngest captain on record for a reason. “We need to keep this tight under wraps, at least for now… It can't leak to anyone higher up the chain.” Another nod. “Serval might know other discontents…” Another n-
Gepard's head snaps up. “No.”
“No what?”
“No. We're not involving Serval in this.”
Somehow, even the same tone that leaves entire squadrons shaking in their boots has never worked on her. “You're not deciding that for her, Gepard.”
Pela hadn't seen the worst of it, though, back when his sister had just been banned from the Architects. Serval's pride hadn't allowed it. Pela wasn't the one to find her passed out bottle still in hand, hadn't been the one to wash the sick out of her hair or carry her to bed.
Serval still has trouble thinking clearly when it comes to Cocolia, still can't quite bring herself to be objective. And Gepard maybe doesn't want her to be purely objective- but he would worry a lot less if she thought twice before she acted more often.
“At least let me be the one to bring it up to her.”
“Whatever, fine,” Pela gestures affirmatively at him as she paces past, and Gepard sighs. Good, at least that's one thing he can help.
From there, it's a lot of hemming and hawing and frustration. Cocolia has them under her boot, and Gepard and Pela both know it. Even with the way she's been cracking down on freedoms lately, Cocolia is still, overall, liked by the people. It's unlikely anyone would believe them. They don't even have solid proof, because most people don't know Cocolia as well as they do and won't see the clues in the same light.
The Fragmentum has been ramping up in recent years, too. Everyone is struggling just to survive as is, they can't afford a fight on two fronts. Gepard is a damn good captain, one of the best for that matter. But they're at a massive disadvantage, his experience is narrowed to fighting a defensive battle against monsters, that's all he's ever done. That's all anyone there has ever done. He has no way of finding first-hand knowledge for taking the offensive against a human opponent, and if he goes at this blind, there's no way he'll get everyone out unscathed. He's going to lose people. He's going to lose a lot of people.
He'd never thought before that Cocolia would have it in her to have someone killed. And with this new knowledge, he has no guarantee she won't go after Serval or Lynx if she decides to retaliate.
Gepard has to remind himself to breathe when he realizes this.
Pela writes down every name the two of them can come up with. Lists and lists of names and groups and anyone they can think of who might be an ally in all of this. They memorize every bit of it, make their plans of who to talk to and when. Gepard watches the sparks reflect off Pela's glasses as they burn the evidence together.
Pela finally leaves, far too late to make it home, but says she wants to stay in the restricted zone anyway to investigate. Gepard watches her make her way in the direction of Dunn's tent, watches her back until she's out of his sight and squashes down the urge to follow and keep an eye on her. His tent feels empty.
In the morning, Gepard is up before the wake up bells. He drags himself out of bed, leads his soldiers through their morning training. The same people gravitate to each other everyday. Friend groups and training partners. There's an ongoing rivalry between a few squadrons that everyone bets on. Some of them have lockets around their necks, keepsakes, mementos. Some of them wear wedding rings.
Gepard is suddenly, painfully aware of something acidic clawing at the inside of his throat, of a heavy weight low in his chest that blooms, takes up room until it threatens to spread his ribs. His mouth tastes of bile and blood.
He rearranges the schedules. Puts himself down for every open patrol into the Fragmentum, makes sure he'll be on the frontlines every single time Cocolia visits.
He only hopes that it's enough.
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