#not to mention Tom wasn’t well known when he was cast

[eemcintyre]

The Door is Open (Tom Cruise)

TW- Mentions of harassment. Other than that, just pure fluffy goodness with a dash of hurt/comfort to send us off.

Summary- you are a production assistant on the set of a 90s Tom Cruise movie, and he steps in when one of his costars threatens you (**I created a fictional movie and a fictional costar bc I'm not about to slander some random real-life actor for no reason lol**). Additional note: in this universe, he's only been married to Mimi Rogers.

A warm thank you to anyone who takes the time to read; this is just me having fun and taking the serotonin where I can get it

“Cut!” the director exclaimed as the cast finished filming the last of the scenes they had hoped to do before lunch. Just as crew members began to mill around set and the hum of conversation started up, as Tom Cruise ran a hand through his grown-out hair and did a couple of arm and back stretches, Y/N entered the soundstage balancing two cardboard trays full of drinks.

Although the caterer provided general meals and beverages, some of the cast and crew preferred to order drinks from an artisan café down the street. And, as one of the production assistant/PAs on the set of “Gold Rush,” it was Y/N’s job to run down the aforementioned street, to the aforementioned café, to fetch the aforementioned drinks, as well as do essentially any odd small job that anyone ranked higher than her asked her to do. And pretty much everyone was ranked higher than the PAs.

Although the work could be exhausting and she didn’t get a lot of please-s or thank you-s for what she did, Y/N was really enjoying the experience for the most part. She found it really interesting to see what went into all of the different units’ work, from set construction to costuming to lighting (when she wasn’t running for bottles of water or copies of the script, which was a lot of the time), but one thing she had not hoped to learn, at least so early on in her film career, was how slimy some of the actors could be.

While Tom Cruise, despite being the most well-known and successful actor in Hollywood, seemed from her observations to be the image of class and generosity, one of his co-stars, Bill Waters, was… less so. To be completely accurate, Bill Waters was a conceited asshole who faked affability around those he felt could benefit him and was used to getting anything he wanted at the snap of his fingers. And one of the things he had recently wanted, and was appalled to have not received, was Y/N. The other day, he had approached her alone outside the soundstage building and forcefully propositioned her, to the point that she had to slap him to escape his hold.

Ever since then, despite her rigorous attempts to avoid him, he had criticized, embarrassed, and overworked her at every chance. A couple of days ago, he yelled at her for taking so long to bring him a dish from a restaurant located across town, and yesterday, he’d purposely spilled the coffee she’d just brought him, just so she would have to get another one.

As she quickly made her way through the room, handing each coffee and tea to its recipient, she tried not to make eye contact with the fast-approaching Bill. When she thrusted the paper cup into his hand, he made a point to stroke her fingers when he took it from her. Y/N glanced up, startled, met with a faint smirk that made her sick to her stomach. She decided not to respond, hoping he would lose interest and go away as she moved on to the next set of people across the room, but he pursued her until he matched her speed-walking pace.

“Hey, this isn’t what I ordered,” he said, putting the cup in her face so that she had to narrowly dodge a passing crew member to not get doused.

“You said that you wanted a caramel brulée latte, and that’s what it is.”

“Oh, I must have forgotten to say that I didn’t want whipped cream. Whoops.” His smirk grew wider and more punchable as she kept failing to out-walk him without attracting attention. “Anyway, I’m not drinking this; you’ll have to run back out so you can get me the right thing.”

“Can’t you just skim it off the top?” Y/N protested, preparing to round a tight corner around a large set piece that several people were transporting, when she felt a searing pain across the front of her torso.

Dazed from the pain and the many eyes that were now on her, it took a moment for Y/N to register that the front of her shirt was splattered with Bill’s rejected coffee. A couple of her acquaintances from the hair and makeup department ran to get her some towels, as everyone else continued to stare.

“What is wrong with you?” Bill gasped, anger coloring his face. After a few moments of stunned silence, another voice chimed in.

“What the hell’s going on?” Tom Cruise appeared, confused, from within the assembled crowd. He sighted Y/N, dripping with coffee, and Bill, red in the face with obvious irritation, and his eyebrows furrowed suspiciously.

“She ran into me and made me spill my drink,” Bill complained, rolling his eyes.

“Hey, I saw you throw it at her,” Tom replied sternly. “You threw a hot coffee at Y/N. Why would you do that?” His voice was level and at a calm, low volume, but in his eyes, one could see that he was pissed. Even in the midst of the immense embarrassment, she was surprised and pleased that Tom Cruise, of all people, knew her name.

Y/N’s friends reappeared with handfuls of towels, and as they made their way to help dry her soaked shirt, Tom took one of the towels to hand to her as well.

“Well? What is wrong with you?” he continued to prod Bill. 

“What’s wrong with me?” Bill’s gestures and expressions were becoming more agitated. “She’s the one who can’t figure out how to order the right drinks, or even hold them- I want her fired.”

Y/N paled, feeling even more sick and now slightly dizzy, at the prospect of her film career going down in flames before it could hardly begin.

“Do you think that, just because you’re more famous than she is, that you don’t have to treat her like a person? Is that it?” Tom glared.

“Do you think just because you’re Tom fucking Cruise that you can talk to me that way? Because I won’t stand for it.”

“I won’t stand for that kind of bullshit on my set,” Tom snarled, his temper finally slipping through to the open. “You can be a decent fucking person or you can get out. We’ll find someone else; no one’s irreplaceable.”

“Except you and whoever kisses your ass,” Bill spat, storming out past the crowd.

“You are out of here!” Tom yelled after him, even though he and everyone else knew that he most likely didn’t have the authority to make such a decision, even given his status in the industry.

Taken aback by the scene they had just witnessed, it took a few minutes for the crowd to dissipate. Y/N retreated outside to the parking lot behind the soundstage, dabbing at her stained shirt, her mind reeling with the very real possibility that her time on the “Gold Rush” set was over.

Realizing Tom had followed her out and was gazing at her with concern, she mustered “Mr. Cruise, t-thank you; you didn’t have to do that. I don’t want to cause any problems…”

“Did you throw a hot coffee on him?” Tom asked gently.

“N-no…?”

“Did you just curse everyone out?” The hint of a smile flickered at the corners of his mouth.

“No…”

“Well, unless you start doing that, you have nothing to worry about, as far as I’m concerned.” He paused, studying how she avoided his gaze. “He isn’t any better than you or me.”

They experienced another awkward silence, as no one else was currently in that part of the lot.

“Was that the first time that happened? Because I remember he also spilled his coffee yesterday. Maybe he’s the one who can’t figure out how to hold things.” Tom met Y/N’s surprised look knowingly, and with that, she found herself beginning to lose her composure.

“No, it’s not the first time,” her voice cracked, and she crossed her arms in a self-soothing motion as tears began to fall. “He’s pissed because I wouldn’t sleep with him- oh gosh, Mr. Cruise, I’m so sorry for crying, this is the last thing you need…” She covered her face, utterly mortified to be having a mental breakdown in front of Tom Cruise. She inhaled shakily in an effort to rein it back in. “I’m okay, I’m fine.”

“I want you to take fifteen minutes,” Tom replied softly, reaching for one of her heaving shoulders. “We need to get you a new shirt- I have an extra crew t-shirt from when they were handing them out the other day- and speaking of drinks, have you had anything to drink recently?” Y/N shrugged, not wanting to admit it and seem even more needy. “That’s what I thought,” he shook his head. “You can sit in my trailer where no one will bother you, and then you’ll be ready to get back out there and finish the day on a high note.”

“Mr. Cruise, that’s very nice of you, but I don’t know…”

He realized she might be wary of the idea of his trailer after Bill had made his move on her. “We can keep the door open the whole time. I’ll sit on the opposite side of the trailer,” he grinned, raising his hands in a yielding gesture for emphasis.

“I- I didn’t mean-” she stammered, not wanting to offend another of the cast members.

“It’s alright.” He waved her forward in the direction of his trailer, and she conceded. “Now, we just have to stop this Mr. Cruise business. Y/N, please feel free to call me Tom.”

~

Once they reached his trailer, as promised, Tom left the door open behind them. After rooting through a few boxes and drawers, he located the aforementioned t-shirt.

“It is a men’s medium, and it’s not exactly a fashion statement…” he winced.

“It’ll do just fine; it doesn’t have any coffee on it, and that’s what I’m interested in.” Y/N finally found it in her to smile before quickly getting changed in the small trailer bathroom. She noted the towels, cologne, and other personal items on the sink counter, and it hit her more fully that she was literally in Tom Cruise’s trailer, a place she never could have envisioned visiting.

When she reemerged, she saw Tom leaning against the wall near the opposite end of the trailer, and a bottle of water that had been placed at the table down by her.

“I hope you like that kind; I mentioned I liked it and they sent me a whole case,” Tom chuckled. “Anyway, I can’t finish it all by myself.”

“Thanks.” Y/N slid into one of the bench seats at the table and took a sip. “At least my last day as a PA will end on a good note,” she winced.

��No one is going to fire you,” Tom insisted. “You’re a kind, cheerful person when you’re not getting hot coffee thrown at you, and you’ve got a great work ethic. Both rare things in this industry a lot of the time. You aren’t going anywhere, trust me; you still have a future.”

Y/N took another sip of her water.

“What are you hoping to do in movies? Are you another aspiring actress, or do you want something more niche like makeup, production design, directing?”

“Not sure yet. I’m still trying to see what I like the most. Reading about it and doing it are two very different things, you know.”

Tom nodded, understanding. “You have family nearby?”

Y/N shook her head. “Tennessee.”

“A country girl," he grinned. "What do they think of your career choice?”

“They’re warming up to it.”

“I was lucky, my family was always really supportive.”

“Do you get to see them very often? It seems like you always go, go, go,” Y/N laughed quietly.

“Not as much as I’d like, but… enough,” he nodded again, as if confirming he was satisfied with his own answer.

Y/N suddenly recalled Tom’s recent divorce. Even though he and his ex-wife hadn’t had any children, they had still been together several years, and Y/N was sure it must have been difficult for him. As they were on the topic of family, she made a point not to mention even indirectly anything to do with those matters.

“Well, everyone’s got to take a break once in a while. Maybe after this picture wraps you can spend some time with them.”

“Yeah,” Tom replied, his gaze momentarily drifting into the distance. “But until then, it’s nice to have some company now.”

“I’ll have another mental breakdown just for you, so we can do it again sometime,” Y/N joked, trying to make light of her humiliation. To her relief, Tom laughed in response, diffusing some of her tension. “I should probably be going. They’ll be looking for me once they run out of drinks.” Y/N rose to her feet, grabbing her water and her soiled shirt.

“Well, if you would ever like to drop by again, my door is open- literally.” He gestured to the open trailer door. “And you let me know if Bill ever bothers you again- I’ve learned a lot of fighting moves from working on this movie and I can kick his ass.”

“Okay. I would love to see that,” Y/N replied, making her way to the front of the trailer and toward Tom. “No,” her tone of voice became serious again, “You’ve already done more than I could have asked for.” In the confines of the trailer, she and he came closely face-to-face as she neared the doorway.

“Well, sometimes, all you have to do is ask.” He smiled warmly and they shared an intense moment of eye contact before Y/N shyly looked away. Tom exited the trailer ahead of her, reaching out his hand for her to take from where he stood on the ground, to guide her down the couple of stair steps. “Now, go get ‘em.”

“It’s true, you really are a relentless optimist,” Y/N smiled and shook her head. They waved each other goodbye, and then she headed back in the direction of the soundstage, feeling like she could face the rest of the day again, and maybe even the rest of the production. Even though all of her anxieties didn’t magically go away, she figured that, with Tom Cruise in her corner, she had little to worry about.

#fluff #one shot #imagine #tom cruise #tom cruise x reader #tom cruise x female reader #tom cruise imagine #tom cruise fic #tom cruise fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #creative writing #just for fun #just roll with it #self insert #x reader #reader insert #im being so vulnerable right now please be kind

[forsakenwitchery]

So since the synopsis for 1x13 has a lot of people worried (me included) I wanted to point out some things that hopefully indicate they aren't backtracking with Tom?.. Tagging @walker-extended-universe and @laf-outloud ‘cause I’m quietly reading you guys and I don’t think I’ve seen people mention this.

Pic 1: I've spent the last week editing a vid with guys of WIndy and I've started paying A LOT of attention to their hats since I had to combine scenes, and I've noticed that in the flashbacks when Abby starts suspecting Shane, the killer wears a pretty specific hat with a textured/braided band (I believe it’s called band, not ribbon?). Know who else wears it? Shane when Abby first sees him in Independence. Granted, in all the scenes after that he wears a different one with a plain smooth one. But still, he IS the owner of the killer's hat. :D And by this time, I've spent enough time editing WIndy to know I've never seen such a hat on Tom (he appears to own one hat with like a smooth two-layered band of sorts). Plus, the killer as of 1x09 has those mimic wrinkles near the lips that Shane has and Tom doesn't (unless he's smiling, and the killer wasn't smiling).

Pic 2: Another interesting thing that I've noticed is that they've reshot this scene because the angle and the face under the hat look a bit different in the pilot and in 1x09. Notice how in the pilot we got more of a closeup shot where you can’t see much of the hat and the killer doesn’t look like Shane + in 1x09 there’s more blood on the hand (and I think the blood pattern on the sleeve is a bit different as well?). It’s a bit of a prof deformation as a cosplayer, but I just tend to look very closely at makeup, costumes, all that. I think this means two things:

1) When they were shooting the pilot, they didn't know if the show would be picked up and haven't cast anyone as Shane. 2) For them to go and reshoot part of that scene with Timothy to show it for all but 2 seconds seems like a hell of a lot of extra hassle if they planned on going back to "yeah, Tom did it, Shane is a red herring". What seems more likely to you guys, that they had spent all that extra time recreating the killing scene because they had nothing better to do or because they maaaaaybe plan on showing it with the killer’s face fully visible, so they had to reshoot it with the actual culprit’s face? I’m betting on the second one.

And now my two cents on some theories and discussions I’ve already seen flying around, putting them under the cut.

Someone left a comment on my latest Tabby vid the other day saying they think that even if Shane killed Liam, Tom should have still known Shane did it from the start, and ummmm no, that's easily debunked by Tom being surprised when he sees Shane has a gun now and literally asking him, “what is this, you carry a gun now?”. In a room with just the two of them, so there was no potential audience for him to play to & it makes no sense for Tom to know Shane is a killer before Abby came to tell him.

The thing I've also noticed with WIndy is how the writers love to plant small details early on and then building upon them later on. I was genuinely surprised by the sheer amount of those small details while editing, almost nothing in WIndy comes out of nowhere just because the plot suddenly demands it. Like for example when Kate jokingly guessed that Hoyt bunked at the undertaker, and then when they needed a Jane Doe, Hoyt knew the undertaker always had an unknown body to sell. Or how Kai saw Kate receive a telegram early on, and many more things like that. With that in mind, they've told us at least twice this season that Tom repeatedly got blamed for things Shane did, so to me that seems like a setup for something similar with Gus' attack/Liam's murder.

Plus at this point... it would make zero sense for Tom to end up being this big bad. He was willing to get beaten up to "make something" of the town, he stopped Calian's execution, he went into the dust storm to save a stranger etc etc. Those are all acts of someone who CARES. Like who's capable of caring, not a cold-blooded killer. Not some sociopathic mastermind, and Tom would freaking have to be a total sociopath to kill Liam, shoot Abby and all of the sudden hurt Gus. Time and time again he tried to help others and was reluctant to hurt others (even indirectly with forbidding the opium den) unless they hurt him (then straight to the torture barn they go). Still, in no universe him ending up as THE antagonist makes sense. He's not the good guy, he's got a long way to go, but THE bad guy? Doesn't sit well with me. I hope they don’t ruin all the amazing buildup they’ve done.

The episode title also bothers me a lot, idkkkk hopefully they're aware Tom is a fan favorite, so killing him off would be like shooting themselves in the foot. Even with fanvids I see how much people are interested in content with Tom specifically, so he's really THE character that can potentially get more people interested in watching the show. I love the whole cast and all the characters dearly, but Tom and Kate became my two absolute favorites, with Tom specifically we got this amazing morally grey character and I just can't imagine WIndy without him, pretty sure I'm not the only one. Backtracking with him at this point for pure shock value would just ruin... well, not everything, but a lot.

Thanks for coming to my TED talk. :D

#walker independence #windy #walker: independence #tom davidson #walkerverse #windy spoilers #maybe? if people didn't read the spoilery synopsis #I know I'm hyperfixating with this show but otherwise it's doomscrolling on twitter for me and my mental state just can't take it

[jesse-eisenberg-interview]

Jesse Eisenberg's Midlife Crisis Awaits

The Fleishman Is in Trouble star talks marriage, gender roles, and that unexpected ending.

At the beginning of Fleishman Is in Trouble, the show is seemingly about a guy getting through a divorce. There's the introduction to dating apps; the reconnection with old friends; the flashbacks of misery. But as you continue watching, it becomes clear this is not a divorce show. Toby Fleishman, a 41-year-old Jewish hepatologist, is also having a midlife crisis. How the hell did he get here? And why him?

His anxiety is palpable. The furrowed eyebrows, excessive blinking, and longing stares are all it takes for viewers to side with a man whose dream of a happy marriage and family is no more. When producers suggested that Jesse Eisenberg play the lead role of Toby, a lightbulb went off for Taffy Brodesser-Akner, who wrote the New York Times bestselling novel that inspired the series and serves as its showrunner and executive producer. It was Eisenberg or bust. “Once it was him in our hearts, anyone else would have been a letdown,” Brodesser-Akner tells Men’s Health. “He is, I believe, the most gifted actor of his generation.”

A gifted actor who’s also a “rare bird,” according to Brodesser-Akner. Rare in the sense for someone to be quick and smart and funny and warm without succumbing to the cynicism that usually breeds from his kind of intelligence (“I’m cynical, it’s just directed inward,” Eisenberg jokes). Rare in the sense that when he calls me directly for this interview in the midst of a seven-hour road trip with his family, he mentions my area code and asks if I’m in Boca Raton (close), then proceeds to ask me questions about my hometown and tell me he has a cousin who went to high school nearby.

Before Eisenberg signed on to the show, that same inquisitiveness led him to buy Brodesser-Akner’s novel on iBooks (yes, iBooks) when he “heard something amazing about it.” But then he heard that Brodesser-Akner was a culture writer and known for profiling celebrities à la Tom Hanks, Bradley Cooper, and Gwyneth Paltrow (“The thing I avoid reading about most in life”). He thought that was what the book was about, so he didn't open it. Cautious curiosity, after all. It wasn’t until he found out Fleishman was being adapted for television and they wanted him for the role that he finally opened it. “Then I read it and devoured it like everybody else in New York at the time and I'm now all caught up.”

Upon Fleishman's eighth and final episode, the FX limited series (currently streaming on Hulu) has an 83 percent rating on Rotten Tomatoes, thanks to its prolific writing and ensemble cast of Eisenberg, Claire Danes, Lizzy Caplan, and Adam Brody. It’s proven to be a masterclass in perspective-shifting storytelling, while also exploring themes of gender, class, desire, and ambition. You'll relate to "the quiet part out loud" moments—even if you’ve never been married or have no plans to be. As the series comes to a close, Men’s Health caught up with Eisenberg to discuss what it was like living in Toby's world, why he refuses to watch himself on-screen, and the fate of Toby and Rachel.

Men's Health: What initially attracted you to the role of Toby?

Jesse Eisenberg: Well, it's a guy who was a little older than me going through what, for him, felt like the end of the world, which is, as an actor, what you want because what you learn in drama school is to live in high stakes. But what I really just loved about the show was that it also took a step back and put his problems in perspective, both from a place of gender that we as an audience are expected to feel a male sympathy that is perhaps not fully earned. And then also just from a place of basically viewing his great fortune in a pretty culturally-aware context. He talks about feeling like he's treated like a poor person, and yet we as readers or as an audience for the show know that he's in a very privileged bubble. So there's a self-awareness to the show while at the same time providing me, an actor, with very high stakes.

I read that you had an anxiety disorder growing up. I’m curious to know if and how you were able to draw from this experience while portraying Toby’s anxiety on screen?

Anytime you're acting in anything, you're typically dealing with some kind of emotional stress. That's just the nature of drama and characters. Actually, I thought this character is about a thousand times more confident and self-actualized than I am. In fact, I would often try to make these little aside jokes in the way I, Jesse, would in my own life to cope with an uncomfortable situation. And Taffy [Brodesser-Akner], who wrote the book and the character, told me he's not like that. He doesn't have the same kind of immediate anxiety and need for coping like I do.

So often eating disorders portrayed on-screen are reserved for female characters. Talk to me about the significance of depicting Toby’s eating disorder and what that process was like?

That was really interesting for me. My relationship to eating disorders is that I had gone to many Overeaters Anonymous meetings with somebody who's close to me for years. You learn very quickly that eating disorders are not just reserved for women, so I was aware of that. Then my other relationship to eating disorders comes from this movie that I did just prior to filming Fleishman Is in Trouble. A month before we started filming, I was playing an amateur bodybuilder who basically force-feeds himself all day. I had spent a year training for the movie with a personal trainer and a dietician to try to gain a lot of weight and muscle. I had spent that year, in terms of my relationship with food, just very frustrated because it's very difficult for me to gain weight. Then the movie ended and I shifted to playing this character who was restricting [with food], so the exact opposite. It was interesting to play this character after thinking about food in a very stressful way for a year.

My relationship to food is a relatively healthy one now. When I'm working I'm very careful about what I eat, but only because I don't want to change my energy level during the day. You shoot for 12 or 14 hours a day, you want to maintain that consistent level of energy. So I don't eat sugar, and I have a very limited amount of caffeine that I proportion out throughout the day.

People have #thoughts on Toby’s dating life (Twitter is mainly just in awe that a nebbish-y, 40-something Jewish man is in his sexual prime). What was it like filming the sex scenes? You were actually nude for one of them, right?

[I'm] working on this show about gender politics—a show which tries to upend thoughts we have about male sympathy—and yet I had to do these sex scenes where the women were definitely going to be naked and it was questionable as to whether I was going to be. I spoke to Taffy and she said, “This is what we're thinking. Are you okay with also being naked?” And my first thought was, let me just ask my wife because I don't have an immediate thought or answer that feels exactly right to me. I presented the situation to my wife and she had one question. She said, “Are the women going to be naked?” I said, “Yes.” And then she said, “Well, then of course you have to.” And I thought, not only is she right, but that's what makes sense for a show about gender politics, that the show doesn't just objectify women.

Speaking of sex and dating, I know you don’t use social media, but have you used dating apps before or were you essentially as clueless as Toby?

In terms of the character's dating life, it's not something that I ever experienced or know about in terms of going online and combing through the dating industry. I thought [it] could not be real when I read about it. And then in talking to people about this show before filming it, they started opening up to me about their dating lives. It was straight women showing me basically dozens and dozens of pictures of men in front of yachts that I'm sure they don't own or go on, and it floored me. I'm a person who doesn't really love options, and to me it would just seem overwhelming.

Fast forward to episode seven, where Claire Danes gives this masterful performance of Rachel’s nervous breakdown. Do you remember watching that episode for the first time? If so, what were your thoughts?

I have not seen a frame of the show. I can’t look at myself. But I read it, obviously, and we did a table reading of it, so I know everything that happens in it.

Is that unique to Fleishman or all of your work?

Oh no, I don't watch myself, ever. I mean, I saw the commercials. The way I can compare my feelings about it is just like, if you go on a trip and then you come back with 100 pictures, you're most likely going to delete 90 of them because you think you look weird. And that's pretty much how I feel about watching myself. I think 90 percent of it is horrible and 10 percent is something I'm happy with. It’s just an excruciating experience to watch myself. But I know that episode well and I loved it and I thought it was just the best.

That episode was of course the first time we learned of the divorce from Rachel’s perspective. What is the subtle messaging around misogyny and feminism that you think people may miss while watching the series?

It's one of these great things that happens in drama where you bring an audience into a story, and then flip the story on its head, and then the audience realizes they've been complicit with something that they now regret. So in the case of this show, the audience is most likely on Toby's side. From his perspective, Rachel looks driven by avarice and ambition, and she seems like a negligent mom and an uninterested wife. That episode reminds the audience of something they probably know, but forgot, which is that every story has two sides. That every person has their own way of looking at something that's just as valid as their adversary. It turns the show from a show that's entertaining into a show that’s profound and instructive.

I loved this line from one of the episodes: “To survive is to evolve, to evolve is to move forward, and to move forward is to recover.” Was there a specific line or scene that resonated with you most?

Oh yes, yes, yes. The scene that resonated with me the most was in episode six, where I go to these two parties. One is a party of Rachel's friends at our new fancy apartment, and the other is a party [with] my old friends. I thought it was amazing in so many ways. On the one hand, it showed the way a character can live in these two lives and accidentally have found himself in a life that is completely unsatisfying to him. I think that could be felt universally, which is just the idea that through making decisions that go one percent in a certain direction every day, you wind up 100 percent in a completely different direction than you had planned.

And then the other thing I think it shows so well are these two sides of New York City that I am a part of. Because I'm in the arts, I'm really part of what I would think of as a more bohemian creative scene. And yet, because I am also in mass entertainment, I find myself also in these very expensive rooms and feel obviously very out of place. But these two things really do exist side by side. And oftentimes there's an overlap of people who will be in both worlds, and I thought that episode captured that so beautifully.

In that final scene, what happens with Rachel and Toby? Does he go back to her? Yell at her to oblivion?

Yeah, I don't know. I'm reminded there was...in the end of the book, where the wife comes back and...I'm so sad it gets me choked up. She comes back to him and she's like, "It's me. It's just me." Basically, somebody you have a history with almost irrespective of the hell you've put each other through, that history still means something. And the question is, what does it mean? Does it mean that there's enough lingering feeling to warrant trying again? Or does it mean that there's so much resentment that the relationship will never be solved?

So, does the show reject marriage or accept it? Considering all three friends ultimately either enter or return to marriage, what does that say about the institution of marriage? Is the lesson simply that it’s flawed? Fleeting?

I think there's a line in the show that "marriage is like democracy. It's the worst form, except for all the others." I guess the thesis of the show is that if we're going to live in this world with these norms, marriage can work and be a really important way to live. But I don't know, obviously for a lot of people it doesn't work. So I don't know if the show is making a blanket statement, but at least for these specific characters it feels right.

You are, from what I understand, a happily married man. After filming this series, does any part of you now question the institution of marriage and its potential consequences?

When you're acting in something, it allows you to live out, in a protected way, the alternate lives that your character is living. So with this I got to, in a safe way, live out the life of what it's like to date on these apps and think about that. It became very quickly unappealing to me. Similarly, living out the life of having a marriage that dissolves and not only dissolves, but dissolves with such a rancor and bitterness...that also is not appealing to me. Claire and I, as actors, got to live out that experience and then go home to our partners with whom we are happily married, and realize that we are lucky. This is something we both discussed—that we both felt lucky at the end of the day that we went home to relationships that were not fraught with the same anger and resentment.

What can other men watching this show learn from Toby, especially those who are currently going through a midlife crisis?

Toby is a guy who prizes, above all else, stability. So to see somebody who has prized and held on to stability over everything else go through a very shaky time is probably cathartic for a lot of people. Because you realize that this kind of instability doesn't just happen to people who are irresponsible. For a lot of people, when they end up going through a chaotic experience, they often assume it couldn't have happened to them. Toby is the last person who ever expected it to happen to him.

Have you gone through a midlife crisis yet?

I think I did when I was 13 because I was very mature. When I was young, [I was] just questioning everything. But I guess you can't call that a midlife crisis because it didn't have to do with age and thinking life was behind me. So no, I guess not.

You’re one of the lucky ones.

Well, there’s still time.

SOURCE

#jesse eisenberg #2022 #fleishman is in trouble

[its-ashley-95baybe]

Ashley read what this one blog just posted

“First of all please don't even call me a Tom fan I'm far from it, so get it right, and second, there's absolutely no way you wrote all that with a straight face the amount of fantasy there it's insane, zendaya might have introduced people to euphoria, but they most definitely did not stay for her, she's literally the character that people care about the least, or are we gonna ignore that it was Maddy's make up looks that got people OBSESSED, or the whole vibe and cinematography, and now in season two the WHOLE Cassie and Nate thing are we just gonna pretend that it wasn't that, that people were excited about and don't even get me started on you saying that people actually know all her projects, babes they don't and there's a difference between knowing and actually enjoying come on, and you know what's absolutely crazy is that yall are still so obsessed with her Emmy I swear yall talk about it more than she does were yall the ones that won am I missing that part?? And also do I need to bring up again the HUGE list of actors who have a long list of well known, liked and successful projects and yet no award, you're gonna tell me they are less important or talented, and finally please hun search the definition of hate for the love of god, just bc you don't like what others say doesn't mean it's hate”

Euphoria didn’t break records in season 1 because people watched it for the other cast members when no one even knew them. Euphoria got so popular on twitter because the amount of love Zendaya gets on that app which made people subscribe to HBO just for Zendaya. Zendaya is the most popular actor right now and this person above hates on her to the point they think she’s not the one bringing in the people. Every article that came out mentioned how Zendaya made this show what it is today and even HBO max came out and thanked her and said it’s all thanks to Zendaya that people are watching this show. This person above and their anon always makes tom to be this guy that brings people to watch his movies when that’s no the case and they always say that he is so popular so if he is how come people don’t care for what he does outside of spiderman? She also mentioned that people got obsessed because of Maddy’s makeup completely forgetting that Men who don’t do makeup watch this show? There’s so many movies and show that have an amazing cinematography but that isn’t bringing in watchers is it? No. These haters can’t fathom that Zendaya brings in people to watch her no matter what shit she’s on. As if there isn’t multiple virals tweets saying that they wouldn’t have watch this show if Zendaya wasn’t in it. Funny thing is she said people care about Rue the least but wasn’t she the number one most mentioned character on Euphoria on twitter? We keep mentioning her Emmy because she is the youngest lead actress in a show to win an Emmy and that’s an accomplishment. Zendaya is critically acclaimed actress no matter how much they try to dismiss that. Also what’s with this obsession of them saying Zendaya is the one who needs this pr more than him? She’s a household name no matter where she is she’s trending number and people will do anything to watch what she’s on but can’t say the same for someone else who needed this pr far more then her. People completely ignored him on his own movie while Tobey and Andrew trended for 3 month straight on twitter. Too bad he will forever be known as Spiderman and Zendaya’s boyfriend.

That Friday the thirteenth is hitting hard this go around. Still going strong lol.

Im glad people are speaking up still.

[picsinhead-blog]

Tim’s Favorite Movie Project: Lethal Weapon

Lethal Weapon (1987)

Directed by Richard Donner

Starring Mel Gibson, Danny Glover, Gary Busey, Mitchell Ryan, Tom Atkins

Released March 6, 1987

Plot: On his 50th birthday, homicide detective Roger Murtaugh (Danny Glover), a family man, is assigned a new partner: Martin Riggs (Mel Gibson), an ex-special forces loose cannon who may be suicidal. When they stumble onto a drug smuggling operation that has ties to both of their time in Vietnam, Riggs and Murtaugh must set aside their differences in order to shoot or blow up all the bad guys in LA in time for Christmas dinner.

One of my favorites because: If there is one single hallmark of a Richard Donner movie, it’s that each of them is populated by extremely well defined, well written, perfectly cast and often iconic characters – Damien Thorn, Superman, the Goonies, Frank Cross (y’know, from Scrooged). Riggs and Murtaugh are the be all to end all of Buddy Cop Duos – the men could not be more different on the page, the actors could not be more different, and their on-screen realizations could scarcely be more opposed, and their chemistry is through the roof. (Mel Gibson is so good as Riggs, you almost wonder if he’s crazy in real life!) I’m also a huge sucker for a Christmas-set genre movie – more on that in coming entries – and Shane Black never used the holiday casually. In Lethal Weapon in particular, the theme of personal loss and loneliness during the holidays contrasts with the theme of family and togetherness, both in the main characters and in the crime plot they find themselves in. Hunsaker, a member of a tight knit “family” of former military drug smugglers loses a daughter just before Christmas – in a way, acting as a twisted funhouse mirror amalgam of both Riggs and Murtaugh. Lethal Weapon opens with a Christmas song, drugs, boobs, and a suicide, and continually ups the ante – it’s a brilliant mix of exploitative sleaze and exploitative schmaltz.

My relationship to this movie: When I was in sixth grade, we read an article in a weekly reader kind of magazine that talked about violence in movies and whether it was harmful for young audiences (or something). The article mentioned Die Hard by name (among others). After class, I asked the teacher, Mrs. Legault, what she thought of Die Hard. Her reply: “Oh, I love it! It’s great. Do you like it?” I said I did, and she said “Have you seen Lethal Weapon?” I told her I hadn’t, and she said “Oh, I’ll bring you all three of them to borrow, you have to see them!” Mrs. Legault was someone I had known for years as the lady who sat in the pew in front of us at 7:00 Mass every Sunday morning. And now she was bringing me all three Lethal Weapon movies on VHS, neatly rubber banded together. They weren’t movies I’d grown up with, to that point, and Mel Gibson wasn’t a star I knew. My parents didn’t love these movies (that I was aware of) and I had no preconception of them. 13 year old me did not know what I was in for – I must have watched them all three times each, maybe more for Lethal Weapon 2 before giving them back. Lethal Weapon has become a holiday standard for me, perhaps not on the same level as that other ‘80s cop action classic, but it’s still a movie I’ve seen dozens of times and know by heart.

My favorite _________: This is my favorite action movie set at Christmas that stars Mel Gibson (the other being Fatman, which, if you haven’t seen it, you should – it’s probably better than you think, but even if it’s not, Walton Goggins.)

List Position at Debut: Lethal Weapon is the third entry in this project and starts out at number two. 

#favorite movies #lethal weapon #mel gibson #christmas movies

[vendettaparker]

Bound to You: Chapter Twelve— Little Dove

“Did you get enough love, my little dove Why do you cry? And I'm sorry I left, but it was for the best Though it never felt right [...]

The hospital asked should the body be cast Before I say goodbye, my star in the sky Such a funny thought to wrap you up in cloth Do you find it all right, my dragonfly?” — Sufjan Stevens

Summary: Tom quickly realizes how deeply his betrayal stung. However, in his attempts to make it better, he only adds more fuel to a raging fire, leaving a tiny trail of blood in it’s wake. 

Word Count: 15.3k (omg kill me)

Warnings: angst, swearing, typos, mentions of miscarriage, physical violence against a women/domestic abuse, labor/childbirth, mentions of sex, character death, assassination

mini A/N: i literally cried writing some of these parts bc they were so sad. so i am 1000% serious when i say to read with caution. this chapter is not for the faint of heart. if you want to read it, but aren’t sure if you can handle it, pls take breaks or dm me and i can give you the run down of what happens to make it easier to digest or to help you decide if this is something you can handle. in the end, this is the best i can do to help you, but your media consumption is completely on you. so read responsibly!

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist    

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

“Now hush little baby,” Dahlia cooed to her little doll as she tucked it tightly into her bed, “mommy’s right here.” She pressed a quick kiss to its head and smiled brightly at it. 

You rolled your eyes as you watched her, busy tying your doll to your wooden horse to see how fast you could push it down the hall—possibly down the stairs if you could get that far without Lola catching you or Dahlia snitching. 

“What’re you doing?” Dahlia came over to ask once her baby was “asleep”.

“My baby is going to be a horseback rider,” You said simply. 

Dahlia side-eyed you, “She can’t, she’s a baby.” 

“Mhm,” you protested,” she can be whatever she wants.” 

“No, that’s not how the game is played,” Dahlia said, “you’re supposed to take care of the baby, not get it injured.” 

“It’s just a toy.” 

Dahlia crossed her arms, “It’s pretend.” 

“Oh,” You shrugged, “well then we can just pretend that my baby is a horseback rider.” 

Dahlia shook her head, an amused smile danced on her lips, “You’d be a terrible mother,” she giggled. 

You smiled, “Probably.” 

“That’s okay, though,” She added, “I’ll help you be a good mother.” 

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Tom could hear your scream all the way in his office. He wasn’t far from your chambers anyhow, but the horrible, terrified, bloodcurdling scream you let out was piercing—he wouldn’t be surprised if Harrison heard it all the way in Norway. 

He dropped the book he was reading—a boring excerpt he hoped would lull him to sleep, of course, it didn’t do much, and he hardly slept without you by his side as it was—and bolted down the halls, ignoring the concerned looks from servants and guards in the hallways. 

His first thought was treachery. The new guard he had assigned you was a fine young lad, but he was still young and had a lot to learn. Tom should have known better than assigning him the most important job in the whole castle. Giving you a new guard was more for his benefit rather than yours, he knew Ivy was the best and would never harm you, but he couldn’t have you conspiring. He couldn’t have Ivy filling your head with any more falsities, not until he’d eased your mind and you’d learn to love him again, not until he was sure your faith in him was restored. 

But now, all that reasoning seemed ridiculous as he ran through the halls with his sword by his side, bouncing on his hip, bruising it with its weight. How could he be so daft? A young lad rather than a seasoned bull? He should’ve thought that through better. 

Ivy caught up with him somewhere on the run, and together they ran to your room. She spared him a single glance, noticing the fear and determination in his eyes. She almost felt sorry for him, but nevertheless, she pushed the thought away and kept the pace. 

The chamber doors were opened and the new guard Tom had assigned to you, a young bloke named Miller, was at your side, trying to discern what had happened. 

He saw no one else in the room. No signs of forced entry and nothing else of that would concern him more than the fear in your eyes. You were looking down between your legs with shaky breaths as your trembling hand held the covers away. 

You were a blubbering mess. All tears and cries, snot and saliva dripped down your face as you stared at the red on the sheets. Your bottom lip was jutted out and quivering as you sniffled. 

Ivy rushed past Tom, stuck at the door in shock. 

“Get back,” She instructed the young guard, “find the physician, then Ida, that’s her chambermaid. Go on now.” 

The guard nodded and quickly left the room, pushing past Tom. 

You looked at Ivy tearfully, “I-I didn’t—” you shook your head, “my baby,” you cried, “wh-what’s h-happening?” 

“I don’t know,” Ivy frowned, sitting on the bed. You immediately buried your head into her neck, releasing your cries there.

Tom moved into the room, coming towards both of you hesitantly, “Darling?” He croaked, tears brimming in his own eyes. 

His worst fears had materialized in front of him. You, sitting in a pile of blood. However, now, somehow it was worse. Now, it wasn't just you. 

“Does it hurt?” Ivy asked, pushing your hair away from your face.

You shook your head and opened your mouth to say something but she shushed you before you could, “Don’t speak,” she instructed. 

Tom moved to sit on the bed, at the end by your feet. You didn’t pay him any mind, but Ivy’s cold gaze never left him. She was watching, her icy stare daring him to do or say something to worsen this. 

He placed his hand on your leg and she held your head to her chest tighter. “It’ll be okay,” she said softly. 

Ida came rushing in, Arthur on her heels close behind. 

“Your grace?” She asked, rushing to your side as well. 

She took Ivy’s place, inspecting your state while Ivy went to Arthur. 

“Come on,” she placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder, leading him out of the room, “this isn’t for your concern.” 

“But what’s going on?” He asked, rubbing his eyes, both from the sleep he was woken from and the tears he could feel brimming. 

“Get some sleep, Arthur,” Ivy said, “I’ll see you in the morning.” 

Arthur took one last look at you, burying your cries into Ida’s shoulder, Tom at your feet, rubbing a soothing hand on your leg, trying his best to keep his own tears at bay for your sake. He gave one last look to the boy, offering him a small nod, instructing him to go, and who was Arthur to defy a king? So he did. 

It felt like hours waiting for Miller to come back with the physician. Though it was only minutes—perhaps twenty or so—it felt like an eternity. Hours of torment feeling Tom’s burning stare at you while you were at your weakest. Hours of torment feeling the blood drying and becoming tacky between your legs, unsure if another gush of it would come out, unsure if your baby was okay, unsure if they were even alive. 

But finally, he came. 

He pressed a cold hand to your stomach and hummed, his face set into a hard frown. 

“Do you have any discomfort?” 

“No,” You shook your head, “just—just the bleeding.” 

He didn’t say much else as he pressed into your gut. Ida climbed into the bed beside you and held your hand. 

“Is the baby okay?” Tom asked, speaking up from the doctor’s side. 

“I’m feeling for movement,” He said, “if I give the little guy a shove here or there, maybe we’ll get lucky and he’ll shove me back…” 

You all waited on bated breath as he kept pushing around, tapping and pressing wherever. Finally, after you were ready to give up and the tears had come back, accepting the finality of it all, you felt a flutter. 

“There,” the physician said, pressing into the spot again, only to be met with a press against his hand back, “the baby’s okay.” 

You released the breath you’d be holding as tears streamed down your cheeks, “Are you sure?” You asked, pressing a hand to your own bump, “she’s okay?” 

“Yes, your grace,” he gave you a small smile, “I’m sure this was just a little scare, but we can never be too careful. Bed rest for the rest of your condition I think will be best.” 

“Yes,” You agreed, rubbing soft circles over your belly, sniffling, “but the bleeding? Why was—”

“There are many reasons,” the physician said, “I can’t say for sure what it was this time, but the baby still seems strong. Most likely, you will deliver soon.” 

“That’s great,” Tom cut in with a smile, “isn’t it, darling?” His eyes were glistening, “It means our little one will be here soon—”

“Please get out,” You frowned, wiping your eyes from their remaining tears.  

The physician nodded, “Get some rest, your graces.” He said, bowing his head before leaving.

Tom sighed and sat on the bed again after he left, “You shouldn’t have been so short with him, he was only trying to help—”

“I was talking to you.” 

Tom pursed his lips and nodded. He turned to Ida who was removing the sheets from the bed, working around where you were laying, “Ida, could you give us the room please?” 

She looked up at you, waiting for your order. Tom rolled his eyes at the small act of defiance—she never truly listened to him. 

You nodded for her to go, “Go fetch some fresh linen.” You instructed. She nodded and off she went. 

“(Y/N),” Tom placed his hand on your leg, “I know you’re still cross with—”

“Cross doesn’t even begin to cover it,” You said. 

“—But we are still husband and wife. I am still doing the best I can to keep you safe and take care of you—both of you. I love you, even if you’re going to be upset with me. I know you’ll forgive me and that it’ll take time but for that to happen you can’t keep shutting me out. You need to work with me here. You’re right, we’re partners in this and—”

“I won’t forgive you.” You shook your head, “Never in my life, will I ever forgive you for what you did. I hate you for what you did.” 

“You don’t mean that,” Tom said quietly. He’d suffered through your venom before, but never before have you ever aimed for his heart like this. 

“Yes, I fucking do.” You spat, “you and Hawthorne are one in the fucking same. You both usurped me, but at least he didn’t try to claim that it was in the name of love.” 

“It was!” Tom snapped, jumping up from the bed and pointing an angry finger in your face, “I did it to protect you and secure a future for us here, in England! This is our home, (Y/N)! Stop living the fucking fantasy of Scotland! Your father is dead, Dahlia is dead, James is dead, Scotland isn’t ours; you don’t get to go back! This is our life!” 

A single tear fell from your cheek, and though he was heaving with anger, all Tom wanted to do was wipe it away. But he couldn’t, not when you were looking at him like that. Not when he’d once again let his anger get the best of him. 

“Get out,” You cried, shoving him away from yourself the best you could from your bed, “get out!” 

Tom stumbled over his boots, tripping over himself. He decided not to fight it, finding his footing and leaving the room. If he stayed, he knew he’d only make it worse and God forbid he should provoke you enough to make you harm yourself or the baby more by physically trying to fight him. 

He found Ivy, waiting by the door with Miller, a knowing look on her face as he stumbled out of the room. He had no time nor patience for her snide remarks. 

“You,” He pointed to her, “go in there and do whatever it takes to make her content. Take Arthur to her tomorrow, have my mother come with tea, have Lady Maude visit, get her a puppy for all I care, just keep her in good spirits.” 

“Yes, your grace,” Ivy nodded, about to walk into the room, but Tom grabbed her arm, halting her a moment. 

“If anything happens to her or that baby in the next two weeks, I will hold you personally responsible, you hear?” 

“Yes, your grace.” 

Tom nodded and let her go. He looked at Miller and nodded him off, “To the wall with you for watch now, go on.” 

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

This was the worst dinner Tom had ever had to sit through. Not only was his mother glaring at him the entire time, disdain and disappointment in her eyes, but so was Harry. Although, his eyes held something darker—hatred perhaps. 

And then there was Lola and your mother, gossiping like little hens about how lovely and calm everything will be once the two countries are united. 

“Tom, dear,” Lola smiled at him. He planted a small smile on his face in return, trying to make it seem like his mind wasn’t drifting back to you every chance it got, “Guinevere and I had this wonderful idea this afternoon over tea.” 

Tom nodded for her to continue. 

“If you and (Y/N) have a girl, we should arrange for her and my son to be wed!” Lola clapped her hands together, “Not only will we be unioned in treaties, but also in marriage. It’s a lovely thought, isn’t it?” 

Tom’s smile fell and he bit his cheek harshly, holding his tongue the best he could, “I’m not sure,” he looked down at his plate, “our baby isn’t even born yet, it seems too soon to dictate their life like this.” 

“Oh, it’s just planning, dear,” Your mother cooed, “nothing’s formal. But it’s a great opportunity. And the sooner you figure this out the less you’ll have to worry about it in the future. I mean, oh Lord, the stress of getting Dahlia and (Y/N) married off. Dahlia was easy, you liked her, didn’t you Nikki?” 

Nikki pursed her lips, “She was a lovely girl; they both are.” 

“Yes, but of course, (Y/N) is nobody’s first choice. That was a harder task. And if you two should have a daughter that’s anything like her—well, you should just be thinking about it soon, I’d say.” 

“I don’t think this is a conversation we should have without (Y/N),” Tom said, attempting to end the topic of discussion. 

“Perhaps not,” Lola agreed, “but it’s not as if (Y/N) is the most agreeable person. She’d never listen to these plans, Tom. But you’re such a good listener, and you are king, so in the end, it’s truly only your opinion that matters.”  

Tom nodded along, “Yes, I suppose so—”

Nikki stood from her seat abruptly, knocking her chalice of wine over as she did so. 

“Mother?” Tom asked, looking up to her. 

“I’ve lost my appetite,” She huffed, frowning at Tom, before walking off. 

“So have I,” Harry stood as well, taking his wine with him, along with a pitcher to refill. 

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Nikki visited you frequently. She was there every morning to wake you, though most times she’d just let you sleep in, and her and Ida’s conversing would be the cause of your stirring. She’d come with teas and cookies and lots of books to read. She was a glowing light in these dark times for you.

As was Arthur, who’d been getting increasingly better at chess. 

“When will Hawthorne be arriving?” You asked as Nikki poured you a cup of tea. 

“They’re all out there waiting for him right now,” She sighed, “selfish bastards.” 

Your eyes widened at her choice of words, “Nikki?” 

“Thomas and the whole lot of them,” She huffed, “all out there waiting to let traitors into our court. While you’re in here, confined to this room. It’s maddening, the way this is playing out.” 

Nikki’s ramblings, though not intended to, stung. She always did ramble when something truly got to her, and her calm nature dissipated the minute something truly wrong was afoot. And now, her ramblings served as a constant reminder of how wrong this all was. 

Your lip quivered as you rubbed a hand on your large, protruding stomach, “Yes, it’s… not fair,” you frowned. 

Nikki looked up and saw the distress on your face, “Oh, but worry not my love,” she put her hand atop of yours, “it’ll all work itself out I’m sure. And this baby,” she gave your hand a squeeze, “well, they're gonna make it all okay. I promise.” 

You gave her a small smile, before looking out the window at the Spring sun, desperately trying to fight through the clouds. Nikki’s smile fell the moment your gaze was torn from her. How could she ever tell you about the conversation had at dinner just the night prior? 

“I hear the horses,” You said, “it sounds like a lot.” 

Nikki rubbed your arm soothingly, “Nothing we can’t handle.” She smiled softly. 

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

There were four carriages bounded for the castle from what Tom could tell. Harry and Paddy stood on either side of him while Lola and your mother stood just slightly behind. Ivy stood off to the side, a permanent scowl on her face, hidden by her helmet. 

When the first carriage stopped in front of them, Lola clasped her hands with excitement. Tom could hear her behind him, whispering to your mother about how long it had been since she’d seen her family. 

Hawthorne was not the man Tom expected him to be. He didn’t ooze authority or drip intimation. He came out of the carriage in his fanciful clothes, but to Tom, he looked like a man playing dress-up. But still, he curbed his tongue and offered him a smile. 

“Lord Hawthorne,” Tom greeted him kindly, “it’s a pleasure to meet you.” 

“King soon, no doubt,” Hawthorne laughed, taking Tom’s hand in his thin, pale, lanky one. 

Now that he was closer, Tom could study his features a bit more. His eyes were sunken in it seemed, and his cheeks were hallowed. He was a small man—if Tom truly wanted to he could probably break his ribs with a good punch or two, placed just right. It picked Tom’s brain to think that this was the man that caused so much grievance for your family. 

He was shorter than Tom, though he’d be a bit taller if he stood at his full height, but he crouched a bit or cowered more like. His hair was dark and parted down the middle and his voice had a shaky lilt to it. 

“Yes, no doubt,” Tom agreed, “I hope your journey was not too terrible?”

“No not at all, your grace,” Hawthorne shook his head, “the weather was a bit of a pain but nobody controls that as you know,” he chuckled. 

“Yes, well, I hope your stay in England should prove fruitful to both our reigns,” Tom nodded curtly, stepping aside, standing alongside Hawthorne as they faced towards his wife, who was smiling brightly, giving him a small wave, “it took a bit of difficulty getting these arrangements together, so I hope you can understand my hesitancy during some negotiations. My wife will need far more convincing than I, I presume.” 

“Ah, (Y/N),” Hawthorne pressed his lips into a tight smile, “I understand completely. No one knows her temperament quite like I, your grace.” 

“Really?” 

“Oh, yes,” Hawthorne nodded, “we used to be quite close. Her father and I were good friends.” 

Tom frowned at the statement. Folly, he thought, no one would do such a thing to a friend. Liar was his next assumption. Though he knew these negotiations must go through, he refused to be persuaded otherwise. Hawthorne was a liar and a snake. He should never forget that.

The next carriage was a tougher pill for Tom to swallow—a much more bitter poison. Harry’s the one who caught it first. When he first saw Farley getting out of the carriage, as it shook and rocked with his movement, his immediate reaction was putrid disgust. Somehow, he’d gotten ghastlier than the last time he had seen him, hooting and hollering, swearing on the Holland name. On your name as well. Harry wouldn’t stand for that. 

“Woah,” Harry and two guards walked over, Tom stopping his conversation with Hawthorne to divert his attention to his younger brother’s woes, “what the fuck is this twat doing here?” Harry pointed to Farley. 

“You will address Scotland’s head advisor with respect, little boy.” Farley scoffed. 

“I’d treat shit on my boot with more respect, you fucking slug—”

“Harry!” Tom scolded his brother, standing between the two. One look and the guards were standing down, “I discussed this already with Hawthrone. Farley and Lizzie will be welcomed back with open arms for the time being.” 

Harry’s mouth opened, closed again, and then opened once more to let out a bitter, dry chuckle, “You discussed it with Hawthorne, did you, mate?” He asked, before motioning back to the castle, “and what of (Y/N)? Did you discuss it with her?”

Tom scoffed and shook his head, but Harry pressed on, “No, of course, you didn’t.” He chuckled humorlessly, “And what of the child? You said yourself that the child would never set foot on the royal grounds—”

“There is no child,” Lizzie interrupted, her vice tiny and raw. A contrast from the powerful, shrillness Harry was accustomed to, “I lied.” 

Harry shook his head when he saw her. She was dressed in lovely pink silk. Her shoes were shined and her jewels were heavy around her neck. Her entire outfit was more elaborate and ornate than what she wore when she was a lady in court. But her face was another matter entirely. 

Her bottom lip was busted and scabbed over and her eyes both held bruises directly under them, purple in the center, yellow on the edges. There were two small, yet deep cuts on her cheek, both would surely scar. She already had small scabbed-over cuts littered across her neck. Her stance was wobbly and her breath hitched when Tom’s gaze met hers. She looked scared. Completely unlike the girl he once knew. 

Tom’s frown, already etched onto his face, deepened at the sight of her. 

She had a child in her arms, pulling at her golden locks, tangling them in its fingers.

“I am deeply sorry, your grace,” She said softly to Tom, “my lies and treachery were most foul—” 

“As you can see, your grace,” Farley placed his large hand on his daughter's shoulder and she tensed up, “we’ve already punished her for her disobedience. Of course, I understand if you’d like to question her further or institute your own form of discipline.” 

“I see,” Tom nodded, “well I don’t see why any further actions should be required. Let us simply put the matter behind us.” 

“Thank you, your grace,” Lizzie looked down at her shoes, curtsying with a hiss due to the ache in her bones, before running off to give Lola her son. 

“Go on,” Tom motioned Farley off towards the castle, “I’d like a word with my brother. We will be swiftly behind. Welcome back, Lord Farley.” 

Farley smiled widely, his multiple chins popping out and his yellow teeth glowing, “Thank you, your grace.”

The fat man waddled off to catch up with Hawthorne and his daughter while Tom and Harry strolled leisurely behind. 

“You’ve gone mad,” Harry shook his head, watching as Hawthorne kissed his wife in greeting and held her in his arms, “surely, this won’t go right. You saw what that did to her as well as I.” 

“I did,” Tom nodded, looking at Lizzie, staring blankly at the castle, more specifically to the windows that looked into your chambers, “they harmed her far more than we would have.” 

“You must send them off.” 

“It’s too late for that,” Tom shook his head, “I’ve already welcomed them here. I’ve already let them into our home. I can not start a conflict now, not with (Y/N) in the condition she is, not with a new baby coming, and more certainly not when they are here, in the same castle as my most precious treasures.”

Harry clenched his jaw, “This is wrong and you know it. Something bad is bound to happen.” 

“Stop it,” Tom scolded, “nothing’s going to happen. We’ll abdicate Scotland to Hawthorne and that will be that. We’ll still have England—our home.” 

“Home is not merely a place, Tom,” Harry said, “it’s the one thing you and (Y/N) both don’t seem to understand. Land, places—that’s all meaningless. It’s the people you love, that’s your home, that’s your legacy. What is this all for, if not for (Y/N)?” 

“This is for (Y/N)—” Tom tried.

“No, it isn’t,” Harry argued, “because in the end, she doesn't want this and she won’t love you for it.” 

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

“You lied,” Farley looked at the humiliation on his daughter's face, “you lying, adulterous harlot!” He bellowed, striking her harshly across the mouth. 

He had come home to the outskirts of England, to the chateau where his family was permitted to live. His journey had taken months, so by now the child should be well developed and his daughter should have been showing completely. But when he arrived, her baggy clothes did little to hide the fact that there was nothing underneath them. 

“I did not lie!” She cried, holding her face in her hand, “I swear I was with child, I swear I am!”

“I have already given my loyalty to the new king of Scotland and in return all he asked for is this baby that you claimed to be with, and now…now you’ve gone and screwed your entire family over!” Farley pushed her to the ground before quickly grabbing her by the hair and yanking her back up again. 

“W-What—what are you doing?” She cried as he marched her to the carriage outside, “W-Where are we going?” 

“You will explain this to the king yourself.”

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

In a way, Hawthorne’s non-threatening appearance was a bit of a blessing to himself. Because deep down, the truth of his character was darkness and a constant need for more. More power, more gold, more riches, more loyalty—he was a man not easily satiated. 

Of course, he loved his wife and son more than most other things in the world, but they only served as shitty reasoning for why he needed more. He rationalized that he needed more so that he may provide for them. But really, he needed more because he was empty inside, and no matter how much he had, the emptiness was never quite filled. 

That’s why Hawthorne was so despicable, because he looked like a kind, small man. But the reality was much crueler. 

“You swear that you were with King Thomas’ child?” Hawthorne questioned, pouring himself a glass of wine. 

“I-I do, your grace,” Lizzie nodded, her own wine being poured. 

“Hm,” Hawthorne pondered it a moment as he sipped his wine, motioning for Lizzie to do the same. 

She came into this meeting frightened, completely shaking in her seat. But Hawthorne has eased her nerves with his facade of kindness—and cruel ruse. 

She took a sip of the lavish, sweet wine. 

“What do you think happened then?” Hawthorne asked, “Babies do not just disappear, and certainly not from their mother’s wombs.” 

“Well I—” Lizzie frowned, “I’m sure the baby is still there, it's just taking time to grow.”

“Did you lose the baby?” Hawthorne asked, “Was there lots of blood one morning when you woke up?”

“No, your grace,” Lizzie pressed a hand to her stomach, “I didn’t lose my baby.” 

“Then there must not have been one to begin with.” 

“I—”

“From what your father tells me,” Hawthorne began, “you were scorned when King Thomas did not return your affections. Is that true?” 

“I was hurt, yes,” Lizzie nodded, “because we were going to have a baby and he was leaving it all to me.” 

“There was no baby,” Hawthorne shook his head, “let‘s start by getting that into your dumb little head, yes?” 

Lizzie’s small smile fell, “Your grace—”

“You lied.” Hawthorne stated simply, “Do you want to hear my theory?”

Lizzie shook her head, “Well, listen anyway,” Hawthorne instructed sharply, “I think you knew that Thomas was done with you. He had a queen now, so why would he need the dumb whore that he used to fill his needs with? I think that you fooled yourself and him and all those around you because you couldn’t handle the rejection. I think that there never was a baby, but by the time we all figured that out, you were hoping Thomas would have already picked you. Am I missing anything?” 

Lizzie began to protest, “Your grace, it’s not like that. I—”

“I have the facts, dear Lizzie,” Hawthorne motioned for his guards to come over and restrain her, “and the fact is, you lied. I don’t care for liars in my court. Take her to the dungeon.” 

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

The past few months had not been kind to Lizzie—not that she had done much to deserve any such kindness—but her father assured her that now that her punishment with Hawthorne was complete and they were set to travel back to England, things would be looking up for her. 

“Chin up, dear,” Farley said to his daughter after they were seated at the dinner table. A long table with a feast Tom had had the cooks prepare to welcome the Scottish visitors and welcome back the returning Lord and his family. Though one would expect these words to be spoken with softness, Farley said them lowly, almost as an order, “we are finally in England once more dear. This is what you wanted, is it not?” 

Lizzie looked around at the faces of her old friends across the room. Girls who whispered about her, but turned away the minute their gazes met her. She was a disgrace. She then looked back up to her father, “I don’t think this is what I had in mind.” She said quietly, “I wanted my old life back, father. This is not my life.” 

Farley rolled his eyes as he cut into his meat, “I thought you wanted Thomas back? Well there he is now,” he motioned with his knife to the king at the head of the table, looking off into the distance with a frown on his face, “so close you can almost touch him.” 

“He won’t want me now,” Lizzie said, “not now that—”

“Hush up about that,” Farley grumbled, “we'll never find a proper husband for you if you keep going on about that horrid—”

“I’ve been disgraced, father—”

“You have disgraced us all. You’ve got your punishment. Now be glad you’re even allowed to sit here with us as equals.”

She may have wanted Tom. Of course, she did, or else she would not have gone through all this trouble that she had. But sitting here now, sore and broken, she didn’t think Tom was worth so much trouble anymore. 

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

“They’ve had a feast without me,” You pursed your lips into a line, when Ida entered your chambers with a tray of food, piled high with all of the goodies the kitchen had to offer that day. 

“I’m sorry, your grace,” Ida set the tray on the table and came to help you sit up, “it was a dull affair I assure you. Nobody was fond of the guests.” 

“Hm,” You hummed when Ida placed the tray in front of you, “no need to lie to spare my feelings, Ida. I’m sure Tom is out there talking all about this union with Scotland and the traitors who usurped my throne, I’m sure he’s making it sound lovely to the people. I’m sure they rejoiced at the welcoming of Hawthorne.” You said bitterly, stabbing your small game hen with your knife. 

“That’s not quite my reference, your grace,” Ida took the knife from your hands and helped you cut the bird, “it’s the Farley’s they’re loathing.” 

“Farley’s?” You looked up from your plate, “What of them?” 

“You haven’t heard?” 

“I don’t hear much cooped up in here.” 

“They ran to Scotland after being asked to leave the English court,” Ida explained, “and Hawthorne gladly took them in.” 

“I’m sure he did once he heard of Lizzie’s condition,” Your heart sank as you spoke, remembering the child that was now in your court. The child that Tom had once denounced, but now welcomed back with open arms. Was this a replacement for the insolence of his wife? No, you mustn’t think like that. Those intrusive thoughts will have you crawling back to him, feeling sorry for yourself. 

“That’s another thing, your grace,” Ida continued as you ate, “Lizzie has no condition. It was a ruse.” 

“A ruse?”

“Yes,” Ida nodded, “a falsity in hopes of winning his grace’s affections.”

“And he’s welcomed her back?” 

Ida pressed her lips tightly together before frowning. She hesitated a moment, placing a hand on your arm, “Quite willingly,” she said dejectedly. 

“I see,” You set your utensils down and pushed the tray away slightly, “I’m done. Thank you, Ida.”

“(Y/N),” Ida said softly, “you’ve hardly had any. The baby will be here soon, you need your strength.” 

You rubbed your large stomach and sighed, “I’ve lost my appetite.” 

Ida frowned, “I know things have been hard lately. I know you’re tired and angry and stressed, all rightfully so, but please, just take it one step at a time.” Ida begged, taking your hand in hers, “Just a few more bites?” 

Ida had been with you through all of it. During this entirety of the past year, she has held your hand and wiped your tears. She cradled your head and brushed your hair and listened as you ranted and raved about all the injustices you’ve been met with. And it wasn’t without any reward of course. Because in return she got you as her friend. She also got to listen to your stories and your praises. She got opportunities she never thought imaginable. And she got security within your loyalty. 

You nodded finally, giving in because you knew it was for the best. 

“Your grace,” Ivy opened your chamber doors, “you have a visitor, shall I let them in?” 

“Who is it?” You asked. 

Typically if it were Nikki or Arthur, Ivy wouldn’t hesitate to open the door for them. If it were Tom though, there’d be a long, loud quarrel outside, one where he’d finally cave and leave you be. You’d always wait on bated breath as you heard Ivy refuse him entrance into his own chambers. He was annoyed; you could tell by his tone, but he knew he had to give you something. So he gave you Ivy. 

Ivy cleared her throat, “It’s Lizzie, your grace.” 

You scoffed, “What could she possibly want? To gloat, perhaps? I have no interest in hearing what she has to say.” 

“No, your grace,” Ivy shook her head, “I think you should hear her out. Just for a moment at least.” 

“Fine,” you conceded “let her in.”

The minute you laid eyes on her, the anger and hatred you could feel clenching your heart began to soften its grip, though only minutely. She looked fragile now. So unsure and unconfident in herself. When she glanced at Ivy and Ivy started her back down again, it was a stark contrast between the two characteristics. Lizzie used to be the girl that did the staring down, but now she cowered. 

And when she looked at you, she felt a similar sense of pity. Though you had the life she had once dreamed of having, you looked more trapped than she. You looked tired too, but more than that you look… shattered. It was something in your eyes, she thought. The fiery glint that used to captivate Tom—and completely piss her—off was no longer there. 

Ivy nudged Lizzie’s shoulder before she made it very far into the room, a small reminder. Lizzie gasped quietly and quickly scrambled into a bow, “Your grace,” she said, “thank you for agreeing to see me.” 

“Well,” You shrugged, “I don’t have much else to do.” 

“They’ve clipped your wings too,” Lizzie said without much thought, forgetting herself for a moment. The irony of it was just too good. Two women who used to vie after the same man—and sure she may have had to truly vie for Tom while he was always somewhat in the palm of your hand—now ruined, at least somewhat on his accord. It was nearly laughable. 

The other girls in the room didn’t think so. Ivy and Ida both waited on bated breath for your response. Ivy was already ready to escort her out on your command. 

Instead, you laughed. It was a small, light chuckle, but any laughter from you had been unheard of these past two weeks or so, so anything was a step up from the brooding depths of despair you’d enclosed yourself in. “Yes,” you smiled, “I suppose they did.” 

“I apologize,” Lizzie shook her head when Ivy shot her an unamused look, “that was unkind of me. I’m in no position to make such thoughtless comments.” 

“No,” you shook your head, “you’re not. But still, it’s true enough. Come sit,” you motioned to the chair next to your bed, “tell me what it is you came here to say because I know you didn’t just come to point out the truth.”

Lizzie sat while Ivy and Ida stood side by side, watching the two of you. 

“You two may go,” You said to them, “Ivy, you’ll wait just outside the door, yes?”

“Of course, your grace.” Ivy nodded, holding the door for Ida before walking out herself. 

“So,” You continued to poke at your meal as you spoke, “why did you come to see me?” 

Lizzie picked at her nails and studied them closely, avoiding your curious eyes as she answered you, “I’m not even fully sure if I’m being honest,” she sighed, “I just didn’t have anyone else to go talk to. I have a lot of wrongs to right. I figured I’d start here.” 

You nodded, “An apology is quite insignificant compared to want you’ve done in this court.” 

“I know,” Lizzie agreed, “but it’s all I can give you. It’s…” Lizzie’s voice cracked, “it’s the best I can do to make things right.” 

“What happened to you?” You asked, “When they found out you lied.” 

Lizzie’s frown deepened and her face twisted into discomfort at the question. But you just patiently waited for a response. 

“They locked me up…kept me in the dungeons of the castle. There was a man who would come in, almost daily on Hawthorne’s orders. He’d chain me up and…” Lizzie began to try to explain it, but it was a painful memory, weeks of pain, maybe months, “I’ve learned my lesson.” She said instead, “I was wrong to lie. It was cruel and horrible of me.” 

“Why are you here now?” You asked, “Not just in my chambers, but in England as a whole? Did your father still win favor with Hawthorne?” 

“He did, your grace. We are both here as guests along with Hawthorne.” 

“And now what?” You asked, “You return to my court and pretend as though nothing happened? Do you think you can go back to being a proper lady after all of this? 

“No,” Lizzie shook her head and swallowed thickly, “my friends won’t even look at me, let alone speak to me. Though, I know they whisper about me. I’m sure of it.”

“It doesn’t feel so good, does it?” 

“No, your grace,” Lizzie sniffled, guilt bubbled in her gut as she remembered the harsh way she and her friends used to speak about you. She’d felt a lot of guilt surrounding the way her situation with you played out. This small meeting with you, getting to truly see how much her actions had impacted you, only made the guilt seem justified. 

“Nothing will ever be the same,” She said softly. You sat in silence for a moment before she spoke again, “But my father does plan to marry me off while we are here.” 

You let out a dry chuckle, “Surely, that’s a jest.” You shook your head, “What lord in this court would marry you? This is assuming the entire castle now knows your truth.” 

Lizzie laughed as well, “I know, it’s presumptuous of him to think I could be married off so quickly.” She agreed, “But I don’t think money is the main factor for him anymore. Finances seem to be quite well since he is Hawthorne’s right-hand man. I suspect he just wants somebody to take me off his hands, and perhaps if he is lucky, it’ll be at least a somewhat beneficial financial match.” 

“I see,” You nodded, “but what do you want?” 

“Pardon?” 

“For your future, I mean.” 

“I don’t think I have much say in that anymore.” 

You took a deep breath and rubbed a soothing hand over your baby bump, “Can I tell you something? A secret of sorts, I suppose?” 

“Of course,” Lizzie agreed, “it’s not like I have anyone to tell now anyhow.” 

“It should have been you,” You said, “all of it. The baby, the marriage, the crown. You wanted it, you should have had it. I certainly don’t want it anymore. I know it’s a terrible thing to say,” you sighed, “and I love my baby, I truly do. I just—I can’t help but wish somewhere along the way I had done something different. You know?” 

Lizzie nodded, unsure of what to say. 

“They think that I’m down for the count now. They think that since I’m so busy creating this life, here confined to my bed, I have forgotten how they have betrayed me.” You glared at the chamber doors, “but I swear, the minute my child is born and I am well again, I’ll get them back. Even just Tom. I’ll get him back for this.” 

“I thought you loved him?” Lizzie said quietly. 

“I thought so too, but love doesn’t make you hurt people the way he hurt me.” You looked at Lizzie again, “And you—if you truly wish to go, then you can. The things that keep me here are not the same that keep you. There is a ship leaving tomorrow morning, headed for the new world, I’d get on that one if I were you.” 

“I don’t know—”

“You will never be free here,” You said bluntly, “you know just as well as I. Ivy can get you out of here by dawn. I have jewels and gold you can have to finance you on your journey. The choice is yours,” You assured her, “but if you’re any better than the Lizzie I once knew, then you’d take this out I am giving you. Another will not come.” 

Lizzie left your chambers with a bag of gold and pearl necklaces tucked into her skirts along with a letter, written from you directly to the captain of the ship, granting her safe passage. Ivy escorted her back to her room to gather her belongings, only a few things that she could carry on her back. 

She was gone by dawn. 

Farley caused an uproar in the castle attempting to look for her, but his devotion to her was truly shown when he gave up the search after only a day. 

“Foolish girl will get herself killed,” he grumbled at dinner that night when everyone looked at him with pity and sympathy, “and it’d serve her right. That harlot of a girl.” 

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

  It was two days later, during tea with Nikki when the slight discomfort in your back and abdomen began to morph into sharp jolts of pain. 

“(Y/N)?” Nikki paused telling her story and looked up from her book at you when you abruptly set your teacup down, causing a bit of it to spill out the sides, “Are you alright, dear?” 

You placed your hand on your protruding belly and breathed out a shaky, slow breath, “Mhm,” you nodded finally, “yes, just a—” you let out a yelp and gripped your stomach harder, “Ah!” You hissed, breathing through your clenched teeth. 

“Oh, dear,” Nikki got up and rushed to your side, “I think it’s time we get the midwives in here.”

“What?” You looked up at her, “No, no, it’s way too soon. I just need to lie down and rest some more—” You were cut off by another strong, sharp pain in your abdomen. 

“Okay, okay,” Nikki gently pushed you back into a laying down position, “I’m going to get Ida and the midwives, okay?”

“No,” you shook your head adamantly, “it’s t-too soon—”

“Just in case,” Nikki assured you, “right? We just want to be sure you’re okay, right?” 

You nodded, tears faintly glistening in your eyes, “Okay,” you agreed. 

Three midwives came in and within the next half hour, you were standing bent over the end of the bed, sharp pains coming and going every so often. Ida had fresh, cold water and a rag as she sat on the bed and kept running the cool water over your face to soothe you. One midwife rubbed your back soothingly and talked you through your breathing while the other got towels on the bed and medical supplies set up. 

“A-Are you sure it’s time?” You asked as they led you back to the bed to lie down. 

“Yes, your grace,” One of them said soothingly, “the pain is giving you breaks, so it’s time to start pushing.” 

You began to cry as the pain coursed through your pelvis and gut, “But I’m not ready,” you cried, gripping Ida’s hand. 

“Yes, you are,” Ida assured you, “you can do this.” 

Tom could hear every cry and scream that left your lips as he and Harry waited outside your door for any news. Nikki came out with her hands clasped together to give the boys another update. 

Tom immediately suspected the worst when he saw the look on his mother’s face. 

“She’s losing a lot of blood and the baby is still a long way in coming,” Nikki said, “the best you boys can do is go get some rest.” 

“What about you, mother?” Harry asked, “Don’t you need some rest too?” 

“No,” Nikki shook her head, “I’m going to stay with (Y/N). I need to get back in there.” 

Nikki went back into the room and Tom stood from his seat on the floor, “I’m going in there too,” he declared, determination set in his eyes, “she needs me.” 

“No, mate,” Harry shook his head, “you’re the last person she’ll want in there—” He was cut off by another blood-curdling scream from you. 

Tom shook his head and went into the room anyway. 

You were perched up on the bed with your legs spread apart and Ida behind you, keeping you cool by running a rag over your sweaty forehead. The towels beneath you were red with blood and the midwives were breathing in sync with you to keep you on track. 

“Thomas,” Nikki’s tone was scolding when she saw her son at the door, “you can't be in here.” 

“I—I need to be with her,” Tom pushed past his mother to get to your side, “Darling?” Tom placed his hand on your shoulder. 

You shrugged him off, tears streaming down your cheeks, and another wave of pain coursing through your body, “N-No,” you cried, “get out. Get him out!” 

“It’s time to push again, your grace.” One of the midwives said. 

“No,” You shook your head, “I won’t, not till he leaves.” 

Nikki grabbed her son by the shoulders and pulled him away from your bedside, “You need to leave, Thomas. I’m sorry, but you can’t be in here.” 

“No,” Tom shook his head, “she needs me. My baby is being born, a-and she’s in pain and she’s just s-scared that’s all,” tears began to pool in his eyes, “she needs me, mother. Please, I—just let me help her. I-I just want to hold her.” 

“Come on, your grace, you’ve got to push,” The midwife said, “you don’t have a choice.” 

You screamed and gripped Ida’s hand as you pushed as hard as you could. 

“You have to go,” Nikki urged her son, “I’m sorry, but—” she looked back at you, “you can’t hold her now, Thomas.” 

Nikki finally got Tom out of the room and barred the door with a chair in front of the handle. 

Tom stared at the door as tears fell from his eyes into his cheeks. He sniffled and wiped them, but kept his spot right in front of the door. 

“Tom?” Harry placed a hand on his brother’s shoulder, “are you okay?” 

Tom shook his head and wiped the oncoming tears with the back of his hand, “She hates me,” he said defeatedly, “you were right. She’ll never forgive me.” 

Harry squeezed his brother’s shoulder. A small comfort, more than he’d shown Tom in weeks, “Maybe one day—”

“No,” Tom shook his head, “no, she won’t forgive me. You said so yourself.” 

“I know what I said,” Harry nodded, “and I still stand by part of that. But, even though you hurt her so much, when you were good, you two were really good.” Harry said honestly, “maybe one day you could be good again.” 

“She won’t even let me hold her…s-she’d rather die than let me hold her. She’d rather die than let me love her…” Tom cried, remembering how you turned away from his touch, even in the throes of unbelievable pain. Even when your life and your child’s life were on the line. 

“Tom,” Harry tried his best to soothe his older brother, “she’s scared and in so much pain. T-This just—this isn’t something you can help her with.” 

Tom nodded, “I have to do whatever it takes to make this better,” he said, determination set in his eyes. 

“What do you—” 

“I messed up,” Tom admitted, “there’s no more denying it or dancing around that. I’ve hurt her so harshly,” Tom shook his head, “I just have to hope that it is not beyond repair. Whatever it takes from here on out, I’ll do it. Because I can’t live like this, Harry. I love her, and I can’t keep doing this.” 

Harry nodded understandingly, “What about these dealings? You still expect (Y/N) to give up her claim to the Scottish throne?” 

“No,” Tom sighed, “but Hawthorne is already here, there’s nothing I can do about that now. Perhaps there are some compromises that can still be made.” 

Harry nodded and patted his brother’s back, “We’ll see.” 

Nikki came back out again after another hour or so. Tom was on the floor with his head in his hands and Harry had retired back to his chambers. He was about to fall asleep with tears drying on his rosy cheeks and drool falling from his lips. 

“Tom?” Nikki spoke softly to her son, placing a hand on his head and running her fingers through his hair, “Honey?” 

“Mother?” Tom looked up at her with tired, droopy eyes. 

“You have a little girl,” Nikki smiled down at him, “why don’t you go in and meet her?” 

Tom nodded and stood up before beginning to follow Nikki back into your chambers. But he stopped at the door before he could go in, “What about (Y/N)?” He asked, “S-She won’t want me in there.” 

“She’s asleep,” Nikki assured him, “it takes a lot of energy to have a baby.” 

Tom nodded and went into the room. The midwives were cleaning around the room while Ida fawned over the baby in her arms, cooing at it and swaying gently. You were sleeping peacefully in the bed. So soundly, you almost looked dead. 

Nikki could see the gears in Tom’s head turning, “Don’t worry,” she placed a hand on her son’s shoulder, “she was up earlier, holding the baby and laughing. She’s okay, just exhausted.” 

Tom nodded and wiped a tear from his eye. 

“Ida, dear,” Nikki whispered to her, motioning for her to bring the baby over. 

Ida brought the baby, wrapped and swaddled in white linen, over to Tom and placed her in his arms. The baby cooed and fussed a little before settling down and looking up at him with big brown eyes. She spit a little, sticking her tongue out at him. Tom smiled, holding her close to his chest. He brought a hand up and gave her a finger to hold. She instinctively grabbed it. 

“(Y/N) named her Dahlia,” Nikki said, “isn’t that lovely?” 

“Yes,” Tom sniffled, “it’s—she’s beautiful.” 

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

All you could think of was your little girl. She took up every ounce of space in your head. From the minute you woke up to her little cries to the minute you fell asleep listening to her soft little coos. All you could think of was her and how perfect she was. 

It was hard to have any hate in your soul when you had that little angel in your arms nearly every second of the day. 

And then Tom would come in. And the little bubble of bliss you surrounded yourself in popped.

 In the weeks that followed, Tom had completely shifted his attention from dealings with Hawthorne and Scotland to spending time with his daughter and trying to keep you happy and healthy. 

He’d come in the minute he woke up, a slight skip in his step because he knew he got to spend some time with Dahlia. She was the light of his life. 

The peace was mostly kept by him coming in and taking his time with her while you rested. You were so exhausted, getting up every three hours or so with her, that you hardly cared who took over while you slept. But Tom always tried to make sure it was him. 

“She’s lovely, isn’t she?” Tom said quietly, after taking a selfish moment to watch from the doorway as you fed your daughter. 

The small smile of contentment fell from your face when you heard him. “Yes, she is. She’s perfect,” you ran your thumb over her cheeks as she suckled. 

“How are you feeling?” Tom asked, stepping fully into the room. The tension was thick, but he was willing to wade in the thick of it for you. He knew it would take a lot of time and care for the two of you to get back to where you once were. 

“Fine,” Your reply was short and courteous. 

“Have you been in the nursery yet?” Tom walked around the room, trying to busy himself to avoid simply awkwardly standing, waiting for your responses. 

“No.” 

Tom nodded, setting the empty teacup he was studying intently down, before moving to a book, the next subject of his divided and facaded interest. “I made a few changes in there,” he said as he flipped through the pages, “nothing too grand. I just know that there were some more things you wanted to be done before the baby came, so I made sure it got done for you.” 

Dahlia unlatched from your nipple and began to fuss, spitting the little milk she still had in her mouth out onto her chin. 

“Oh, you silly girl,” you cooed, ignoring Tom’s comments. You wiped her mouth with your handkerchief and pressed a kiss to her puffy cheeks, “you’re making such a mess,” you cooed. 

Tom smiled as he watched you. You held her close to your breasts and rocked her gently after patting her back until a quiet little belch came out. 

“I’m surprised Ivy let you in here,” You said quietly, looking out the window after you felt Dahlia relax and fall asleep in your arms.

Tom chuckled softly, “I am too,” he said, “but she’s been going easy on me this week.” 

You simply nodded and continued with your silence. 

It was maddening for Tom. Part of him didn’t even care if you lashed out anymore—he could take it, but he needed something from you. 

He swore weeks ago that he’d do anything to win back your affections, and if that meant taking a lashing, then he would take it lying down. He’d take it right now. Because in the end, nothing else hurt more than your apathy towards him. Even when you were little and you would taunt him and rile him up, that was better than this. At least you acknowledged his presence in your life. Because this—nothing was worse than this. This silence would kill him softly. 

“(Y/N),” Tom sighed, “please, just—say something?” he finally caved, “Talk to me. I know you're mad, I know. But I just want to make it better. I swear, I’d do anything—I’d take any retribution you give, but please, my darling. I-I love you and I can’t go on like this—“

“What do you want me to say?” You asked quietly, “That I forgive you? That I love you too? You want my lies?” 

Tom bit his tongue and hung his head. He wiped his eyes, knowing tears would soon come with the way this conversation was going. It always ended like this somehow. 

“No,” He choked out, shaking his head, “I just want you. Anything from you.” 

You scoffed, scooting to the edge of the bed and getting up to place your sleeping girl comfortably in her bassinet next to your bed. 

“(Y/N), please—“ 

“Shh,” you hushed him gently with your finger pressed to your lip. You rocked the cradle tenderly, as you spoke softly, almost a whisper. Partially to keep Dahlia asleep and partially because the words were so hard to find, so hard to say. 

“I have nothing left to give you, Tom.” You sighed, “I gave you my body, my soul, and my heart and you have proven quite clearly that you can’t be trusted with such precious things. Why would I give you any more of me? I don’t even want you to have her,” You stroked Dahlia’s cheek, “but by fate's cruel design, you are her father, and it doesn’t seem fair to deny her your love, if you should have any in your blackened heart.” 

“How could you say that?” Tom asked incredulously, “You know the makings of my heart, (Y/N)—you own it. Don’t you dare insinuate that I do not have love for her or for you—”

“For me?” You whipped your head up to him, “How could you say that?” You threw the words back at him harshly, “Do you not see with your eyes as I do, Tom? Are you so blinded by your own idiocy?” 

“Do not insult me when I come to make peace with you—”

“You struck me,” You said sharply, “and even when you had once said you would never strike a lady. You used to hate me once. You used to look at me with disgust and cruelty. And then somehow you fell in love, or so you claim. And so did I, though it was never a claim because I am not a liar and I could never fake that type of love. And then you—you go and hurt me? You have your whore and you have your secrets and then finally you just do the worst you can do—you be the worst you can be—and you-you struck me.” Your voice began to crack as you continued, “You play my head and my heart like your own personal instruments—I can hardly keep up. I feel—I feel dizzy with anger just thinking about all of the things you’ve done—all of the mistakes—all of the lies—”

“I never lied,” Tom tried, “I love you with my entire being. (Y/N), my love, I’m so sorry—”

Tom was cut off by your raised hand as Dahlia began to stir, the voices over her bed becoming too loud for her sound sleep. 

“You should go,” You wiped your eyes, “she needs rest, as do I.” 

Tom let out a sigh and nodded, making his way to the door. He turned back to you before he could leave, “Once these meetings are over and Hawthorne is gone, I want us to start again, (Y/N). I’ll never stop loving you or fighting to win back your affections. You’re my wife and that means the world to me. That can not be undone. You can not hand my heart back, it’s yours.” 

“I won’t give up my claim, Tom,” You stated.

Tom shook his head, “(Y/N), you must be reasonable—”

“I know you think Scotland is not important—that’s it’s just land—but it’s more than that. That was my home. All the memories I have there with my father, with Dahlia, with James, I can’t just give that up. And even more than that, I can’t just give Hawthorne what he wants. He killed my father, Tom. It was treason in the highest degree. It was murder. I will not stand back and let him take my home after he has already taken everything from me. And I thought you of all people would understand that. But instead, you—you let him into our home? You bring him close and welcome him as though we are friends? That’s not fair. So, no, I will not abdicate my claim.”

Dahlia began to cry as the tensions rose in the room. Tom was about to respond, but your attention was pulled from him to focus on her. So he simply nodded and left. 

He walked down the hall with your words in his mind. That's not fair. And in the end, he realized, you were right. It wasn’t fair. He had screwed up and he had to fix it. It was time for Hawthorne to go home. Dealings be damned. 

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Hawthorne was a sickeningly patient person. One may wonder how patience could be taken as a fault, and Hawthorne would be a prime example. He was a smart man and he knew rushing the process of matters only meant that most likely plans would not be fully thought through. At least with any extra time given, he could plot and scheme longer than intended, hence why he didn't mind Tom's lack of effort when it came to negotiations after Dahlia was born.  

His wife did mind, as England was a muddy, grimy place in the Spring. She was ready to pack everything up and head back home to Scotland where her roots were planted strong. 

“I’ve been here for months now,” She complained to her husband as they lounged in their chambers, “I want to go home. I miss our castle. William missed home too,” she looked over to their sleeping son, completely drained from the day's activities, passed out on the bed, “he can’t find his way around here at all.” 

“He’s hardly one,” Hawthorne reminded her, “he can’t find his way around our castle either. You must have patience, dear.” 

“I fear I have far too much,” Lola sighed, taking her brush from the vanity and running it through her red locks.

“They’ve just had a baby,” Hawthorne said, “of course, Thomas would want his time away from politics, it’s only reasonable. You certainly must understand that.” 

“I do, I do,” Lola assured him, “I’m just tired. Lord knows this weather is no help at all.” 

“Hm,” Hawthorne hummed, refocusing most of his attention back onto his book.

A knock on the door pulled the two from their own thoughts. Their guard opened it and poked his head in. “Excuse me, your graces,” he said, “but the King would like an audience if you don’t mind.” 

“Of course,” Hawthorne set his book down and stood from his chair, “let him in.” 

Tom thanked the guard as he entered and the door closed behind him. Hawthorne and Lola stood before him and bowed in his presence. 

“Ah, there’s no need for that,” Tom smiled, “thank you both so much for your patience. I apologize for my intrusion.” 

Hawthorne shook his head, “Nonsense, it is your castle after all.” 

“Yes, well, I figured since I’ve kept you waiting so long for an audience with me, I’d come to you right away with what I’ve decided.” 

“Decided?” Lola asked. 

“(Y/N) will not be giving up her claim to the Scottish throne,” Tom informed them, “in fact, as unfortunate as it is, I do not think it’s wise for the two of you to stay here any longer.”

“Thomas,” Lola shook her head, “you can’t mean this. You have worked so hard on these dealings. You must think this through more. We’ve come all this way—”

“Darling,” Hawthorne held his hand up to silence her, “you must address him properly,” he scolded her, “he is still King. That is far more than I can say for myself.” He turned to Tom and nodded, “I understand your hesitancy with these negotiations, but we’ve hardly discussed the possibilities for the future and truly mapped out how this transition of power would proceed. I do think you must think this through more. You’re young, and this is a huge decision, it can’t be made so swiftly.” 

“I assure you we haven’t made it too swiftly,” Tom said, “(Y/N) has thought about it for a while now and I agree with her. I must do what’s best for my family. I’ve just had a daughter and I must also think of my wife. Scotland is her land—only mine by marriage—and then it will be my daughter’s. I shouldn't be the one to give it away. Besides, the church already recognizes this claim. In the eyes of the Lord, this is right and just.”

“Well, perhaps we could discuss this with (Y/N)? You’ve already given your claim away. The documents are signed on your part. We should discuss this with (Y/N).” Lola suggested, tugging her husband’s arm, noticing his newfound silence. 

“I think not,” Tom shook his head, “she’s just had a baby and is quite done with these dealings as is. I doubt any discussions with her would prove fruitful.” 

Lola looked at her husband, her eyebrows furrowed and a frown plastered on her face. But he merely shrugged her off and looked to Tom, “This matter can be resolved swiftly, your grace,” He said, “I don’t mean to be rude or to offend in any way, but are we sure that (Y/N) is in the right mental state to rule land as vast and populated as Scotland?” 

“My wife is more than capable of ruling,” Tom defended, crossing his arms, “besides, it is her birthright. It is in her blood. That quality is not one that is merely taught—it is a gift. She did not have to steal, lie, or cheat her way to the throne.” He spoke with venom at Hawthorne’s insinuations. 

“As I said,” Hawthorne offered a small smile, “I mean no offense. I just know of her temperamental nature. Women can be temperamental creatures. As her husband, you must know this—”

“I know of my wife’s passion and love for her duty and subjects,” Tom snapped, “that is what I know.” 

“Of course, your grace,” Hawthorne nodded, “I would just hate for something… harsh and drastic to happen because you failed to report your wife’s unruly temperament and inability to rule to the court.” 

“Is that a threat?” Tom asked, running his hand over the sword strapped to his side,“Are you threatening me in my own home?” 

“No,” Hawthorne shook his head and avoided eye contact, “I-I just was—voicing my concern.” 

“Well my wife’s temperament is none of your concern.” 

“Of course, your grace,” Hawthorne nodded, “if you'd just give us a few days to gather our belongings and we’ll be out of your hair.”

“Of course,” Tom agreed, eyeing Hawthorne suspiciously before leaving the room. 

The second he stepped out of the room he released a breath of relief. He immediately began to walk to your chambers to tell you the news. 

“Send word to Norway,” He instructed Ivy as she walked alongside him, “Hawthorne is heading back to Scotland, I want Harrison and Sam sent there soon to oversee that power is taken from him immediately. Tell them to return home first, to see my daughter and (Y/N) before they are sent off.”

“Yes, your grace,” Ivy smiled, nodding before walking off. 

“That doe-eyed, idiotic bastard!” Hawthorne threw the book in his hands at the wall, knocking over a painting mounted there, “He’s a fucking child, trying to play king. What a jest—How dare he—“ 

“Darling—” Lola reached for her fuming husband, touching his cheek in an attempt to soothe him. He swatted her away, slapping her wrists harshly. 

“Don’t fucking touch me,” he spat. The raucousness caused their son to stir and whine in the bed, “and fucking shut him up!” Hawthorne yelled, pointing at the crying toddler. 

Lola rushed to her son's side and held him close to her chest as he cried.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

You first gave into the hand on your cheek, stroking it gently. You hummed softly in your slumber as you felt the warmth of it on your face. It reminded you of when you were little and you had a fever, so Dahlia would be up all hours of the night soothing you by holding you in her arms and stroking your hot cheeks. 

It also reminded you of Tom, and how he’d admire you in the morning when he woke before you. He’d watch you as you continued to sleep, but his excitement to love on you would always get the better of him and soon he’d be stroking your cheeks and touching your soft lips with his thumb. Then, just as you were stirring awake, he’d be showering you with a barrage of kisses. You’d always wake with giggles and tired pleads of ‘stop’ and ‘it tickles’. But you loved it. Soon you were kissing him back. And there would go your first hour of the day, wasted in the sheets. 

The memory made you frown and turn away from the hand on your face. You blinked your eyes open and groaned when you saw Tom’s hopeful face in front of you. A small smile painted on his lips, that wavered when you rolled away from him. 

“Wait,” Tom placed his hand on your shoulder, “darling, I’m so sorry to wake you—”

“How did you even get in here?” You complained, “Where’s Ivy?” 

“She’s sending a letter for me,” Tom squeezed your shoulder in an attempt to soothe you, but you merely shrugged him off. 

“What do you want?” You sighed, sitting up and rubbing the sleep from your eyes. You looked over at the bassinet by your bed and noticed Dahlia sleeping peacefully, blissfully ignorant of the pest that disturbed your slumber, “Dahlia’s still sleeping, you can come back later but—”

“No,” Tom shook his head, “I want to talk to you,” he offered you a small smile, taking your hand in his. 

“I—” You pulled your hand away, noticing the way Tom's face fell in the candlelight, “I’m tired.” You tried. 

“Please, just listen then,” Tom pleaded. You hesitated for a moment, but eventually conceded and laid back down, getting comfortably nestled into the covers while Tom sat above them. 

He took your hand back into his as he spoke and began rubbing small circles over it with his thumb, “I’ve sent Hawthorne home.” He informed you, a big grin making its way onto his face. 

“What?” You asked, sitting up slightly, “Tom…have you? Are you sure? What did you say?” 

“Of course I’m sure,” Tom smiled, “you were right, darling. I was ignorant and stupid and I let other people think for me. But never again,” Tom placed his hand on your cheek, “you and her,” he nodded over to the baby sleeping soundly in her bed, “are the only two that matter to me. You are the only two that should advise me so much, especially when it comes to something that will alter our futures in such a drastic way. I told him he needed to leave court and that you would not be signing your claim away.”

You turned your cheek away, “Tom,” you frowned, “I’m not sure it’s as simple as sending him away from court. We’d still have to take the power back—”

“I’ve already got it planned out, my love,” Tom assured you, “but I won’t make any final decisions without you. Come to the next council meeting. Harrison and Sam will be back from Norway soon and the minute they return, we will start planning. I know now that it’s not just land and I’m sorry I made it seem like it was.” Tom pressed a kiss to your forehead, “I know it’ll take more time for us to be okay again, and I’ll wait for you, but I’m trying to do what’s right and take the steps I need to take. Is—is this okay?” Tom asked hesitantly. 

Deep down you knew what he meant. You could see it in his eyes and the way they shone with uncertainty. Did I do okay? Am I forgiven? Do you still love me? Unanswered questions that plagued his mind the minute he began talking to you. He could hardly read the look on your face. All he could hope was that he fixed his mistakes and did right by you.

You nodded and wiggled your hand into Tom’s, “It’s more than okay, Tom,” you whispered, taking your other hand and placing it on his cheek, “thank you.” 

Tom sniffled and smiled, pressing a kiss to the palm of your hand that was on his cheek, before getting up, “I’ll, uh—” he cleared his throat, “I’ll be back in the morning to see Dahlia.”

“Wait,” You grasped his hand again, “w-why don’t you just stay?” You offered. 

“Are you sure?” 

You nodded and opened the covers up for Tom to crawl into, “I just want to talk some more. Is that okay?” You asked. 

“More than,” Tom smiled, crawling into the bed beside you. 

You laid next to each other without touching. Every so often your fingers would brush over each other and you’d feel that spark you hadn't felt in weeks, maybe months, it’d been so long since you shared your bed with Tom. 

“Was he angry?” You asked, looking over at Tom. 

“Not quite,” Tom said, “he tried to convince me otherwise, but I would not be persuaded. He was docile afterward. He said they’d need a few days to gather their things.” 

“We must hold them to that,” You said, “I don’t trust them.” 

“Neither do I,” Tom sighed, “but if we’re lucky, the worst of it has passed.” 

“I’ve never been quite so lucky.” 

“I have been,” Tom said quietly, “I got you as a wife,” he took your hand in his, “I count that as pretty lucky.” 

You smiled and squeezed his hand in yours, “Oh hush,” you chuckled, intertwining your fingers. 

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

“You know the plan then,” Hawthorne said to Farley as they conversed over a glass of wine, “you know what you must do and all of the consequences if you shall fail?” 

“I do, your grace,” Farley nodded, and took a sip of his wine, “but I fear that this is too drastic. We have lost—should we not simply accept that and take our leave back to Scotland?” 

“And do what?!” Hawthorne yelled, slamming his fist on the table, starling the man sitting across from him, “I refuse to go back to Scotland with anything less than what I am owed. I came for a crown and I intend to leave with one. If we go back now, who knows how long it will take before Scotland is filled with Englishmen, coming to take over the land in the name of their spineless king. As for him, God, the fool himself. He sends us home as if there is no ill will. As if we can still keep our lands and wealth. But I know the truth. I know the shackles he plans to put on us.” 

“Thomas is a fool,” Farley agreed, “he listens to his wife rather than to reason. But to assassinate—”

“Do you want to see your son again?” Hawthorne asked, shutting the fat man up, “Because if so I suggest you shut the fuck up right now and get to work. That young boy is in Scotland waiting for your return. He’s all you have left now, Farley. You know as well as I that any promises this weak-willed king makes are not truly promised at all.” 

“When do you want this done?” Farley looked down into his wine glass, staring intently at the red liquid. 

“Tomorrow would be best,” Hawthorne said, “They expect us to be gone within the next few days. My guards tell me (Y/N) spends most of her time alone in her chambers, food and drink being brought to her by her chambermaid. That’s where the interception must happen. She’ll have tasters on her sustenance before then, whilst it’s still in the kitchen.” 

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

The next part of the story, you’d never get right in knowing the truth of—not that you ever wanted to—but the only comfort you could find was in understanding what had happened and why. 

In the end, the pieces you gathered you had to string together the best you could for cohesion, and even so, you still couldn’t understand how the world could be so unfair. To make matters worse, the only person who could truly tell why he did what he did was gone. And the only person who could soothe this hurt was also gone.

“Did you see his grace leave her grace’s chamber this morning?” One of the maids grabbed Ida’s arm as she whispered, “I heard he stayed the night with her.” 

“That’s just gossip,” Ida rolled her eyes as she got your tray set up with lemon tarts and tea. She was setting the teacups down when the maid shook her arm again, causing her to spill a bit, “and even so, that’s hardly a tale, they are married after all.” 

“I know,” the maid sighed, “but they despise each other, don’t they? He never sleeps in her chambers—”

“They have a baby,” Ida scoffed, “surely he has laid with her before.” 

“Oh, well, you can get the truth of it, can’t you?” She asked excitedly, “You’re her most trusted chambermaid.” 

“I won’t sully myself to tales,” Ida shook her head, taking the tray into her hands and placing it on a cart to push to your room. She began walking away from the maid, who simply shrugged and found another servant to spread her story to. 

The cart also had trays for other stops she had to make, one being Harry’s room since he had requested breakfast in his chambers. 

“Morning, your grace,” Ida greeted him when he opened the door for her. She placed his plate on the table in his room and uncovered it to reveal the ham, eggs, sausage, and beans he frequently had. 

“Morning, Ida,” Harry smiled warmly at her, but received none back, “why the sour look?” 

“Oh, just some silly gossip I heard this morning. The maids here are horrendous with the wild tales they’ll spin to keep themselves entertained.” 

“What was the tale? Was it about me?” Harry raised his eyebrows, “Because if so, my dear Ida, I’m afraid it’s true. I’m a bit of a rambunctious scamp, some say.” He joked, taking a sip of his tea. 

“Very funny,” Ida cracked a smile, “but no. It bothered me so because it was about (Y/N). I assume it’d bother you as well.” 

“Rightfully so,” Harry’s smile fell, “what’re people saying?” 

“It’s just gossip,” Ida shrugged off, “besides, I have to go, (Y/N)’s breakfast in on that tray,” she motioned to the cart she left in the hallway. 

She was halfway out the door with Harry on her heels, “Wait, well, now you’ve got me curious—” 

“Oh, just some rumors about Tom in (Y/N)’s chambers last night. I doubt they hold any truth given how she feels about him, but even so, they are married and what happens in their chambers isn’t of anyone’s concern.” Ida brushed it off, though it left a foul taste in her mouth to think that you had welcomed Tom back so swiftly when you had just been cursing him out the day prior. 

Harry was about to say something but stopped in his tracks when he saw someone sniffing around the cart that held your food, “Hey! What the hell are you doing?” 

Your grace.” Ida chided his hostile behavior, before turning her attention to Lord Farley, “These are for the queen, m’lord.” She said kindly, “but I’m sure the kitchen has some, and if not I can have an order sent in for you?” 

“Oh, no, no,” Farley chuckled, “that’s quite alright, I should be watching my figure anyhow.” He ran his hands over the large, pudgy belly that shook when he patted it. 

“Okay, well, have a lovely day,” Ida gave him a kind smile before walking off. 

She continued her walk, passing by Tom, who was on his way to Harry’s room to tell him of the new plans regarding Scotland. 

“Morning Ida,” Tom nodded to her, “is that for (Y/N)?” he pointed to the lemon tarts.

“Yes, your grace,” Ida nodded, “she’s moving Dahlia to the nursery today, so I thought it’d be a nice treat.” 

“That was very kind of you,” Tom smiled. 

“Yes, well, I do try,” Ida mentioned to the pastries, “would you like one?” 

“Oh, no thank you,” Tom shook his head, “is Harry awake, do you know?” 

“He is, I just dropped off his breakfast,” Ida informed him. Tom nodded and thanked her before walking off. 

“Good morning Har—” Tom walked in with a huge smile on his face, but it was quickly wiped off when he felt a warm glob of beans coat his left cheek, “What the fuck?!” 

“Did you fuck (Y/N)?” Harry asked, face red and fuming. 

“What?” Tom scoffed, wiping the beans off of his face with the back of his hand, “What are you on about?” 

“Ida said that the maids are whispering about you staying the night with her,” Harry explained, “did you fuck her? After all that you put her through?” 

“Not that it’s any of your business,” Tom said, “but no, I didn’t make love to my wife. We just talked.” 

“Why would she want to talk to you?” 

“I thought you'd be happy?” Tom dodged his hurtful question, “I know you liked her and all, but you said so yourself, her and I are good together.” 

Harry shook his head, “You were sad,” he said, “I was just trying to make you feel better. And I don’t just like her, I love her, not that you care—”

“She’s my wife, Harry,” Tom argued, “what do you want me to say to that? That you can have her? Well, you can’t. Not ever. Not even if I stopped loving her. Our marriage is binding, and I do love her so very much—”

“I fucking know that!” Harry snapped, “It’s all you ever talk about.” 

Tom shook his head and let out a humorless chuckle, “Grow up,” he scoffed, “you need to court someone soon because this can’t keep happening.” 

Harry just rubbed his eyes and sat on the bed, “What did you come in here for?” he asked, changing the subject. 

Tom sighed and took a napkin from the tray that held Harry’s breakfast and began to wipe his face off from the remnants of beans, “I’ve sent Hawthorne and his people back to Scotland, I came to inform you and I want you to go there as well.” 

“When?” Harry asked. 

“In time,” Tom said, “I’m still working it out with (Y/N). But I fear there will be a power struggle and I need my most trusted advisors to make sure power is taken from Hawthorne. That’s you, Sam, Barrett, and Harrison, perhaps Ivy as well. I know I’ll need trusted guards there.” 

“Wait,” Harry looked up to Tom, “that doesn’t make sense, I just saw Farley in the hallway. Will he be sent back as well?” 

“Yes, of course,” Tom nodded, “Lord knows I don’t want him here,” He cracked a smile. 

“Do you think Hawthorne told him of their journey back to Scotland?” Harry wondered. 

“Most likely,” Tom said, “I’ve given them a few days to get their things together, but I expect them to be gone fairly soon.” 

Harry grew quiet for a moment, deep in thought as he held his chin in his hand, “That’s strange,” he finally said quietly. 

“What?” Tom asked. 

“Farley didn’t seem to mind at all when I saw him earlier,” Harry recalled, “he seemed… calm even. Not like someone that just got news of a failed political negotiation.” 

“Perhaps he’s ready to head home,” Tom suggested. 

“I don’t know,” Harry shook his head, “you remember how he acted when he was asked to leave court the first time. Why would now be any different? Because he has Hawthorne looking out for him? If (Y/N) never abdicated her claim, then Hawthorne’s power is no greater than Farley’s, making him weak security if any.” 

Tom thought about it for a moment before shaking his head and burying the thought aside, “I’m sure it’s nothing,” He said, “for all we know, he might not know yet. He’ll know in time, and then perhaps we’ll have a problem as we did before, but until then, can I count on you to be a trusted advisor in Scotland and push my political agenda there?” 

“Of course,” Harry nodded. 

“Good,” Tom patted his brother on the back, “we'll talk more about this later. When Sam and Harrison return we’ll have a council meeting to make sure this all goes smoothly.” 

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

“Good morning, your grace,” Ida greeted you as she brought your tray in, “and good morning to you,” she cooed at Dahlia, who was bundled up cozily in Arthur’s arms. 

Arthur was sitting on your bed next to you as you watched him hold the baby, making sure he was supporting her neck properly. 

“Good morning,” You smiled at her, “thank you for breakfast.” 

“Of course,” Ida nodded, before turning her attention to Arthur, “and would you like anything Arthur? I could go get you something from the kitchen and bring it back up.” she offered. 

“No, thank you,” Arthur shook his head. He had a deep frown on his face and he spoke glumly in response to Ida’s offer. 

“What’s wrong, kid?” Ida asked. 

“He’s upset because I won’t let him go riding today,” You ruffled his hair, tangling your fingers in the mop of curls.

“Oh,” Ida nodded, “well that’s a very wise choice. It’s going to rain today, something terrible. We wouldn't want you getting sick or falling from your horse.” 

“Surely Nikki isn’t letting Paddy out in this weather,” You said, tilting Arthur’s head up so he’d look at you. 

“No,” he said sadly, “Paddy has a lesson today.” 

“Why don’t you sit in on that?” 

“‘M not allowed,” Arthur mumbled. 

“Why?” You questioned. 

“The teacher says he only teaches noble-born children. I tried to sit in on the lesson last week and he kicked me out of the room,” Arthur complained, “it was completely embarrassing.” 

“That’s not right,” You frowned. You wrapped your arm around Arthur and kissed the top of his head, “you’re better than any noble-born kid out there, okay? I’ll have someone deal with that teacher. For now, you can just spend the day with me. How does that sound?” 

“A little boring,” Arthur cracked a small smile, “but okay.” 

“Boring?” You gasped, holding a hand to your chest in faux offense, “I’ll have you know that today is a very special day actually.” 

“Really?” Arthur asked. 

“Yes, really,” You nodded, “today we are going to get Dahlia set up in her nursery. And then we are going to sign documents and go for tea with the ladies, it will be quite fun I think.” 

“Tea with the ladies?” Arthur scrunched his face up. 

“Yes,” You pinched his cheeks, “and we’ll gossip too, that’s the best part.” 

“Well, if I must,” Arthur sighed, but you could see a smile slowly making its way onto his face. 

“Good, now hush and have some lemon tarts,” You offered, taking Dahlia from his arms and motioning for Ida to place the tray in Arthur’s lap. 

Arthur began eating while you and Ida talked. 

“Do you need anything else, your grace?” Ida asked. 

“No,” You said, “but if you could begin preparations for tea at noon that would be lovely.” 

“Of course,” Ida nodded, “I’ll get right on that.” 

Ida was just about to leave when you both heard it. A sound that you’d never be able to get out of your mind.

Arthur began coughing on the bed, gasping for breath as he scratched at his throat. At first, you assumed he’d swallowed something the wrong way, or perhaps even worse, he was choking. 

You quickly handed the baby to Ida and rushed to Arthur’s side, “Are you choking?” You asked though it seemed redundant, seeing as he couldn’t speak. 

Arthur shook his head rapidly before the coughing became more violent and the began to claw at his neck rather than scratch. 

“Get the physician!” You yelled to Ida, and you tried to hold Arthur’s hands away from his throat and tilt his head up so you could see what was wrong. Ida just stood there in shock as Dahlia began to cry in her arms, “Are you stupid?” You screamed, “Now!” 

Ida placed Dahlia into her bassinet and quickly left the room. 

“Breathe, Arthur,” You tried to instruct, taking slow and deep breaths for him to follow, but it was pointless. The struggle was only increasing as his airway closed until finally, you began to hear a gurgling in his throat. You laid his head into your lap and stroked his hair as he struggled, but soon bile and blood began to come up with each heaving cough, yet no breath could be had. 

“No,” you cried, tears falling from your eyes immediately onto the boy's cheeks, “no, come on,” you tried to soothe him the best you could, but the more red you saw the more your gut clenched and the sense of dread you felt within you increased tenfold. 

“Help!” You cried, screaming out to the hall, hoping somebody could hear, “Somebody help! Please!” 

Ida was taking so long, and you knew that you didn’t have time anymore. Arthur had been without breath for so long and the light in his eyes was dying. His strength was leaving and you could feel him fading. 

You took his hand in yours and he immediately squeezed it, before sputtering out another splatter of blood. 

Dahlia was screaming now, shrieking from the chaos of the moment. You weren’t much better. Because soon, the struggle from the boy in your arms stopped, and all that was left was his limp, lifeless body, frozen in time.

The grip of the hand in yours went lax and no matter how tightly you squeezed or tried to hold on, it was no use. 

Blood and bile coated his chin and ran down the front of him. It ran down his nose and out of the corner of his eyes. His poor terrified eyes. 

“No,” you shook him gently, “no, A-Arthur.” 

You let out the most painful wail—if God heard it, he wept as well. 

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

A/N: i don’t think anything i say rn will make this better, so i’m just gonna shut up :/

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[itsallyscorner]

Baby’s First Heartbreak

pairing: marvel cast x teen!fem!reader, Scarlett Johansson x reader, Elizabeth Olsen x reader

prompt: the youngest member of the marvel cast experiences her first breakup.

warnings: not much—crying, a break up.

A/n: Tom is 19 here because this is set during Civil War. He was such a baby omg🥺

You were always a firm believer in having hope. No matter what the situation was, you knew that you had to at least try before fully giving up. You were only 18, but it was the mindset you grew up with. You were taught to face things with bravery and confidence, you faced things head to head with all your might. Though some things never went the way you planned, you were still the ray of sunshine you were, all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, eager to learn and explore the world.

You had the same mindset going into your first relationship. Love was something you’ve always wanted to experience. Sure, you received it from your friends and family. But you wanted the different kind of love. The special one that was shared between two people. The one that made your heart skip a beat and made you breathless. Where staring into that special someone’s eyes felt like you were being transported into another world where it was just the two of you.

You’ve found that kind of love in a boy from your hometown. The two of you had been friends since pre-k, growing up along side each other, and being there for each other’s success and failures. You’ve known him all your life but the feelings didn’t come till sophomore year of high school. It all just clicked all of sudden; that one day where he said you looked cute in his jumper and the next moment you knew you were seeing him in a new light. Junior year, you were both beating around the bush; constantly pining over each other with longing stares and fingers always brushing against each other. Though you didn’t see him all the time due to your job as an actress. You spent half of the school year in your hometown and the rest at Atlanta. Of course he knew of your job and as much as he hated to see you go, he knew you were doing something that made you happy. So he spent as much time as he could with you before your time together came to an end. A few days prior to your flight to Atlanta, under the night sky of your backyard, he admitted his feelings for you. By senior year, the two of you had been dating for half a year. It had been the best moments of your life, you were in love and high on happiness, it was like nothing in life could ever go wrong.

Now here you were, in your trailer on the set of Captain America: Civil War, sobbing you eyes out. You knew loving could hurt, but not this much. You still felt your heart skip a beat, but it was clenching in heartache. You were still breathless, but because you’ve been trying to catch your breath after every sob that wracked your body. You felt broken. The boy you loved had ripped your heart out of your chest and threw it onto the floor, stomping on it till it stopped beating.

You hiccuped as you stared at yourself in the mirror. You were nothing but a fool. A fool who had hope in something that was never going to work. You sniffled as you snatched tissues out of the box on your bathroom sink, dabbing the material onto your eyes and blowing your nose. Your eyes were red and your cheeks were puffy. A sigh of frustration releases from your body. There was no way you could walk onto set without people asking you what was wrong.

You debated asking your assistant to ask your designated makeup artist to do your makeup in your trailer, you didn’t want to be a bother. But your thumbs were already shamefully typing away the request on your phone. A few minutes later Eleanor, your makeup artist on set, arrives at your trailer with her supplies in hand.

She doesn’t directly question you, but she has the look of a concerned mother once she sees your face. You lie to her and tell her you weren’t having a good day and chalked it up to being homesick.

You dreaded going on set. You weren’t sure if you could face anyone without bursting into tears. The moment you felt like you were okay, your heart would clench, reminding you of the ache it was feeling.

You were in your costume, sitting on the sidelines of the set while you rehearsed your lines. The dialogue from the script acted as a distraction from the current pain you were feeling. The tears had stopped but your eyes felt dry, making you blink multiple times to keep them wet.

“Hey, sweetheart.” You look up and meet the stunning blue eyes of Chris Evans. That typical goofy smile of his was etched onto his features. Usually you would reciprocate that smile, but today you just couldn’t find it in your heart to do so. His smile falters when he sees your face.

“Morning.” You greet him, forcing a smile. Concern shadows on his face as he shifts a bit closer to you. “You alright?” He asks, eyes softening at you. Being the youngest of all the Avengers cast members, everyone had a soft side for you. Especially Chris, who saw you as a daughter.

“Y-yeah, I’ve just got—allergies.” You lied, another fake smile forcing itself onto your lips.

“Well have you taken something to help your allergies? Do you need Allegra? Claritin or something?” He looked around ready to call one of the runners on set to get you some meds.

“No! I took some already, a few minutes ago! It probably hasn’t kicked in yet.” You tell him. He eyes you reluctantly, not knowing if he should believe you. He decides to let it pass and nods, “Ok, tell me if you need anything though.”

You hum in response and tilt your head down back to your script.

The day goes on and everyone had caught on to your lack of—being you. The infamous smile everyone knew you by was barely on your face. You didn’t crack jokes with Anthony or share a giggle with Elizabeth. Instead you were quiet, a frown was on your face as you stared blankly at the floor. You didn’t interact with anybody, keeping to yourself and walking off set whenever one of the Russos called cut.

Anthony and Sebastian watched as you walked off the set. You have all finished a sequence of the airport scene and the Russos had given everyone a break while they rewatched the scenes they shot. Anthony’s brows furrowed while he watched your figure go further and further away. He had tried to cheer you up, telling you a joke about how Seb’s arm lube kept leaking out his fake arm. Your response was nothing but a fake laugh—it wasn’t even a fake laugh, more like a huff of laughter.

“She didn’t laugh at my joke.” Anthony thought aloud. Sebastian quirked an eye at his friend, “Does she have to laugh at all your jokes?”

“No, but even if I tell her a corny ass joke, she’ll still laugh at it.” He expressed, throwing his arms up. Sebastian’s lip pouted as he thought back to your behavior on set. You were acting unusual. He turns to Tom (Holland) and asks, “Hey, has (y/n) said anything to you? Like anything bothering her?”

The Brit shakes his head, “Um, nope. Besides filming, I haven’t spoken to her today.”

Anthony crosses his arms, approaching Tom, “Have you tried speaking to her? We’ve been trying to figure out what’s been going on with her today and you’re the closest to her age here.”

“I—I tried to talk to her, but she didn’t seem in a talking mood. I thought I was bothering her so I just stopped.” Tom answered. He gestures to the direction of the trailers, “I could check up on her right now? Maybe I’ll get her one of her favorite snacks from crafties, it might cheer her up.”

Half of a smile makes it way onto Sebastian’s face at the boy’s efforts. Though you were clearly upset and he felt like they were all prodding at your privacy. “Maybe we should give her some time alone.”

Tom frowns at the older man, “But (y/n)’s upset. Shouldn’t we do something?” Anthony agrees with Tom and looks at Sebastian.

Seb raises his hands up in defense, “I’m just saying—maybe she wants to be alone. She went back to her trailer away from everybody. She probably doesn’t want us shoving our noses into her business, we should respect that.”

Chris joins the group along with Scarlett and Elizabeth. He had overhead the group talking and urged the two ladies to join him in on the conversation.

“You guys talking about (y/n)?” Chris asks, hands on his waist.

“Yeah, Seb says we should leave her be.” Anthony fills him in.

“She told me she had allergies.” Chris starts. “She’s an amazing actress, but kid’s gotta work on the lying.” He finishes. Elizabeth and Scarlett glance at each other.

“Well has anyone talked to her at all today? Besides Chris?” Elizabeth asked the group. Everyone shakes their head. Elizabeth sighs while looking around at anyone else who could’ve talked to you. She spots Eleanor hanging along the sides with her makeup belt on, ready for touch ups. Elizabeth calls her over. Eleanor has her brush ready to powder her down, but Elizabeth politely declines.

“You do (y/n)‘s makeup right?”

Eleanor nods, “Yeah, I do.”

“How was she this morning? We’re just a bit concerned since she’s been acting different today.” Eleanor sighs, knowing if she told them it would be an invasion of your privacy. Although, they were all concerned for you and so was she.

“I got a text from her assistant telling me to do her makeup in her trailer today.” She began. “I walked in and her eyes were red, cheeks puffy—“

Chris apologizes and interrupts her, “Because of allergies?”

Eleanor shakes her head, “No, she never mentioned anything about allergies. But she looked like she’s been crying. She was wiping her face when I arrived.”

“Did she give you a reason for why she was crying?” Scarlett questions her.

“She told me she was feeling homesick.” Eleanor answered. Scarlett turned to Chris and shared a look. Elizabeth thanks Eleanor then turns back to the group.

“We need to check up on her.” Anthony says. All the men nodded and began to make their way to your trailer. Suddenly, they were stopped by Scarlett and Elizabeth.

“But (y/n)—“ Tom said pointing to the trailers. Scarlett shakes her head, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“Lizzie and I will go. You guys are gonna overwhelm her with all your questions.” Scarlett insists, much to the men’s dismay. They wanted to be there for you, but maybe a mother figure might help you open up with what’s bothering you. They agree and let the two women go to your trailer. Before they can get to you, they get some snacks from crafties for you.

As soon as you shut the trailer’s door behind you, the tears welled up in your eyes again. It only took a matter of seconds until they fell from your eyes and down your cheeks. You heard some people walk by outside and cover your mouth to muffle the whimpers that came out your mouth. You slid down the door and shoved your head into your hands. You leaned forward against your knees as you cried into your arms. You felt pathetic, embarrassed, anger; you were feeling so many things and the only way to let them all out seemed to be crying.

They heard your cries from behind the door. Scarlett sends Elizabeth an alarmed look as she rushes up to your door. She knocked on it repeatedly, causing you to jump from behind the door. Your cries come to a stop while you try to wipe away the tears as best as you can.

“(Y/n), honey, please open the door.” You hear Scarlett say. You remain silent, getting up and dusting your legs off. You stare at the door, debating whether you should open it or not.

“(Y/n), everyone’s worried about you. We just want to help.” Another voice coaxes you behind the door. Elizabeth. “Please let us in.”

Outside, the two women had their ears pressed up against your trailer’s door. Scarlett tries to get you to open the door again, “It’s only me and Lizzie. I promise.”

There was some shuffling heard behind the door. The door pushes open slowly, making Scarlett and Elizabeth back away. A worried expression appears on Scarlett’s face once she sees you. She cups your cheeks, her thumbs gently swiping away some tears that fell from your eyes. The two of them shuffle inside your trailer. You burst out into tears once again when Scarlett wraps her arms around you. She moves you both to sit on the couch that was in your trailer. She lets you shove your head into the crook of her neck while her hands smoothed your hair. Elizabeth sits behind you rubbing circles onto your back. Your cries broke both their hearts. You were a fairly happy girl, to see you in such pain and heartache was hard to watch.

Scarlett rocks you back and forth, trying to calm you down by whispering comforting words into your ear. She presses a motherly kiss onto your forehead once she sees you start to calm down. Elizabeth waits patiently beside you waiting for when you’re ready to talk. When your whimpers turned into hiccups, Scarlett pulls your face away from her neck to look at you. She frowns when she sees your tear stained cheeks.

“Are you going to tell us what’s going on or are you going to keep bottling it up to yourself?” She asks you softly, tucking strands of your hair behind your ears. Elizabeth chimes in from behind you, “You know, sometimes it helps to tell others what’s bothering you. You don’t have to keep it to yourself, (y/n), you could talk to us.” She gathers your hair together, splitting it into two parts as she began to fish tail braid your hair. 

You take a moment to compose yourself before eyeying the two women. You knew you could trust them. Scarlett was like your on-set mom and Lizzie was like one of your aunts. If you could tell anyone on set what was going on, it would be them.

“He broke up with me.” You confess, eyes trained on your lap. Lizzie’s fingers stop braiding your hair, “What?”

“Peyton, he broke up with me.” You whined, not wanting to say it again. You fiddle with your fingers while a tear falls to your lap.

“Oh honey.” Scarlett cooes pulling you back into her chest. You sniffle and wrap your arms around her torso. Silently crying into her shoulder.

“Did he give you a reason why?” Lizzie asks softly. You move away from Scarlett’s hold and lean against the couch with your knees to your chest. Lizzie wraps an arm around your shoulder for comfort.

You glanced at your phone that was on the coffee table, “H-he texted me earlier this morning. He said he couldn’t do the long distance thing anymore and that he has feelings for somebody else.”

Anger flashes in Scarlett’s eyes, “He broke up with you over a text message?” You nod in response.

“What a dick.” She mutters glaring at your phone. It’s quiet for a few minutes. Until you ask them, “Am I not worth trying for a long distance relationship?”

Lizzie shakes her head, “No, don’t you ever think that because you are.”

You sigh and throw your head back, “Then why did he break up with me? Is there something wrong with me? Am I not pretty enough?” Scarlett interrupts your questions by shushing you.

“There is not a damn thing wrong about you. Don’t you ever let a man, let alone a boy, make you question your worth.” Scarlett advises you a stern look on her face. “You are the most sweetest and loveliest girl I have ever met in my life. You’re kind, you care about the people around you—you even laugh at Anthony’s stupid jokes.”

Lizzie snorts beside you and squeezes your shoulder, “And his jokes are the worst.”

Scarlett continues, “You are a talented young woman already making it big in the movie industry and you did it all on your own. You are beautiful inside and out. You’re perfect, there’s nothing wrong with you.”

“Then why did he leave me?”

“Because he’s an idiot that doesn’t know your worth.” Lizzie answers resting her head on your shoulder. “I know it hurts now but these things happen for a reason. He wasn’t meant for you and you weren’t meant for him. Maybe somewhere in the future you guys will meet and try again. Or maybe you’ll move on with someone new. That’s just how it is. It may sound harsh, but it’s the truth.”

Scarlett nods at Lizzie, “Take it from me, I’ve been married twice. When it seems like you found that special person, sometimes it’ll all come crashing down. And it’s not an easy thing to go through. It’s full of pain, heartache, self doubt and a bunch of other heart wrenching things. But in the end you come out a stronger version of yourself.”

You stare at Scarlett, “How did you do it?”

Scarlett softly smiles at you, “Well, I had lots of friends who supported me every step of the way. But most importantly, I valued myself. I did things that made me happy and took care of myself mentally and physically.”

You bite your lip in thought as you stare at the ground.

“Listen to me.” Scarlett urges you, “You’re young, (y/n). You’re going to meet so many more people in the future that’ll bring you so much happiness and love in your life. Don’t beat yourself up over one boy who decided to leave you because he wasn’t committed for a long distance relationship. You’re going to be okay.” She assures you, cradling your face. Your lips form into a tight smile while you nod in response.

“You have us and the rest of the people outside of this trailer to support you. We’ll always have your back, whatever it is, I promise you that. You’re not going to go through this by yourself.” Lizzie promises you, taking your hand into hers. You hum and rest your head on her shoulder. You pull on Scarlett’s arm to join you and Lizzie. She chuckles and hugs you from behind.

“Thank you guys.” You whisper, genuinely grateful that you had them in your life. Lizzie pecks your temple, “Anytime darling.”

#marvel #marvel cast x reader #marvel cast x teen!reader #mcu #avengers #chris evans #chris evans x reader #chris evans imagines #Scarlett Johansson #Scarlett Johansson x reader #elizabeth olsen x reader #avengers x reader #avengers x teen!reader #Tom Holland #Sebastian Stan #anthony mackie #tom holland x reader #sebastian stan x reader #anthony mackie x reader

[sluttywonwoo]

the bet || j.ww x reader

Summary: you help your boyfriend’s best friend win a bet against your better judgement

Warnings: swearing, lil bit of jealousy, light smut (18+) 

Word Count: 2.8k

A/N: originally posted on my tom holland fic account ( @wazzupmrstark )

Masterlist

“Hey, can I ask a huge favor?”

You hoisted yourself up from your beach towel onto your elbows and pulled down your sunglasses to glare at the boy in front of you. You narrowed your eyes at him in suspicion. What could Kim Mingyu possibly want from you?

“What is it?”

He ran a hand through his still-wet hair awkwardly. “Um, the boys and I are about to play a game of volleyball, and we’ve bet some money on it…”

“Okay?”

“And, well, it’s me and Hansol against Wonwoo, Soonyoung, and Seungkwan. Wonwoo’s their best player and I was wondering if you could distract him? So that we have a better chance of winning?”

“Distract him… how?” you asked, not fully understanding.

“You know… whatever it is you do that drives Wonwoo crazy. He’s your boyfriend, I’m sure you know how to wind him up.”

“You mean you want me to get him hard during your game?”

Mingyu nearly choked at that. “Um, I mean pretty much, yeah. Just do something that will throw him off his game.”

“So you want me to help you guys cheat?”

“It’s not technically cheating.”

“I think your definition of cheating is much looser than mine.”

“So is that a no?” he asked.

You thought about it for a second. “Is there anything in it for me?”

“We’ll give you a cut of the winnings.”

You found yourself grinning. “How much did you guys bet?”

“Two hundred if they win, three hundred if we win. Basically whoever’s on the losing team has to cough up a hundred bucks.”

“Jeez, I can’t believe Wonwoo is risking that much on a stupid game.”

“Are you upset?”

“No, it’s his money he can do whatever he wants with it. I just think he’s a dumbass.”

“Not arguing with that.”

“Do you need me to remind you that you’re betting the same amount?”

“Fair enough,” he chuckled. “So you’ll do it? For a hundred?”

“Yeah, you’ve got yourself a deal.”

“Pleasure doing business.” Mingyu smirked and held out his hand for you to shake. You rolled your eyes at the formality but shook his hand anyway, just as Wonwoo came up to the both of you and clapped Mingyu on the shoulder.

“What are my best mate and my best girl talking about?” he asked, leaning down to kiss you.

“I wanted to go swimming, but Mingyu said you guys are about to play volleyball?” You piped up before Mingyu could say anything. Maybe you should’ve felt guiltier than you did about lying to your boyfriend and for what you were about to do, but hey, a hundred dollars was a hundred dollars . And if everything went according to plan, you’d be getting some good dick too. A win win.

Wonwoo frowned a little bit. “Oh yeah, sorry. Wanna play, love?” he offered. “There’s still some room on Mingyu’s team.”

You made a face. “What about your team? Can’t you make one of your other team members switch?”

He winced. “I love you, y/n, but you’re shit at sports.”

Any trace of remorse left over what you’d agreed to do dissolved in that moment. He fucking deserved what he was about to get.

“The stupid game is that important to you? Asshole,” you scoffed, and put your sunglasses back on before laying back down on the towel.

“Y/n,” Wonwoo whined, and crouched down next to you. “I-”

“Go play your fucking game.”

He stood back up, but lingered for a moment. You could tell he felt bad, but you weren’t having it. “Wanna go swimming after?” he asked in a quiet voice.

“Sure, whatever.”

You could tell he’d walked away when the shadow over you disappeared. You weren’t going to lie to yourself, you were a little pissed about the comment he’d made. Were you shit at sports? Yes, definitely, but could he have at least pretended to love you enough to be on the same team as you? Also yes. He should’ve known you were going to say no anyway.

While you were still fuming you hadn’t even realized the boys had started the game. Not even a minute in and you were already slacking on your end of the bet. You propped yourself back up for a moment to watch. You could see why Mingyu had asked for your help. Wonwoo and his team were dominating so far, and you couldn’t help but admire how fit your boyfriend looked as he served the ball to the other side of the court. You licked your lips absentmindedly, ready to pull him back to the car right fucking then.

You forced yourself to stop watching the game stood up from your towel, brushed yourself off, and began walking towards the water. You made sure to pull your bikini bottoms as far up your ass as you could in the process just to get Wonwoo’s attention as you walked past the volleyball net. Sure, you’d agreed to go swimming with him after the match, but you’d never promised to wait for him.

As you made your way down to the shore, you noted that not only Wonwoo’s head turned to watch you walk, but all five of the boys cast their attention away from the game and towards you. You glanced behind your shoulder for a second, and caught Mingyu’s smirk. He took advantage of Wonwoo’s lapse in concentration to spike the ball back over to their side and score a point.

You heard some yelling and protestation, but pretended to ignore it and continued to wade into the water.

It was warmer than you thought it would be, and deeper. There was a steep drop a few feet in that you might have tripped over if you weren’t careful. You only ended up staying in the ocean for a few minutes; Wonwoo couldn’t really get distracted by you if your whole body was submerged underwater. You weren’t there to swim around anyway, just to get your bathing suit wet so it would stick to your body.

You’d worn one that didn’t have pads in it so you knew that once you got out of the water the whole beach would be able to see your nipples poking through the fabric. You didn’t have a problem with that. Wonwoo might.

While you were down there you got your hair wet too, just for good measure. Might as well pull out all the stops since a hundred dollars were on the line.

You weren’t sure what the score was by the time you made your way back up to your towel, but you didn’t make an effort to ask. What you did know, though, was that Wonwoo was getting frustrated. Even from where you were you could see that his jaw was clenched and his brows were furrowed.

The opposing team seemed to be doing just fine though, and you stopped to watch them high-five each other after Mingyu scored another point by slamming the ball over the net onto Wonwoo side of the court.

“Damn, nice one, Gyu!” you called out from where you were standing, giving him a big smile and thumbs up. It was sort of dorky, not to mention a cheap shot, but if you knew Wonwoo as well as you thought you did, it’d be the perfect thing to rile him up.

“Thanks, y/n!” he shouted back and winked, ignoring the weird look Hansol gave him. “It’s about time you started rooting for the winning team!”

You struggled not to laugh when you looked back over to the other side of the court and saw all three boys scowling at Mingyu. You didn’t even know why he needed you in the first place, he knew how to push their buttons so well already.

Wonwoo’s fists were clenched now, and he looked this close to tackling his best friend to the ground. The two of you weren’t even flirting with each other, not really, but Wonwoo was the most competitive person you knew and it wasn’t always the best color on him. For you to be cheering for the team that he’s not on, and for that team to be winning- there was no doubt in your mind that he was royally pissed. Not to mention, that you just so happened to be cheering for his attractive best friend who may or may not have mentioned having sex dreams about you once or twice in passing.

It was good, but it wasn’t enough. Soonyoung made some offhand comment about how close the scores were so you knew you needed to keep going. You turned your attention away from the game again and lowered yourself down on your stomach on top of your towel and casually undid the strings of your bikini top to “sunbathe”.

If anyone asked it was so you didn’t get tan lines on your back, it was something that a lot of women did. In reality, however, you didn’t give a shit about tan lines, you just wanted to see how Wonwoo would react.

You pulled out your book to read while you tanned, tuning back into the game every once and a while to see how it was going. You could hear Soonyoung and Seungkwan yelling at Wonwoo to ‘pay attention’ or ‘snap the fuck out of it’ and smiled to yourself, excited for what was to come.

After several more minutes, your bathing suit was almost dry and you were starting to fall asleep on your towel. The volleyball game was taking way longer than you anticipated and you just wanted Mingyu and Hansol to win already. You didn’t have any other ideas to distract your boyfriend so you hoped they could pull it off.

Then, what you would call a fucking miracle happened. You were still nearly dozing off on top of your book when a pink Frisbee landed on the sand right in front of your face.

“Sorry about that!” called the voice of its owner and you squinted to see him jogging over to you. A few of his friends weren’t far behind and they all congregated in a little group in front of your towel. They looked to be about your age, maybe a little older. “Sorry to wake you up,” the ringleader apologized again, but smiled like he wasn’t really that sorry.

You propped yourself up on your elbows, one hand holding your loose bikini to your chest, while the other handed the Frisbee back to smiling guy. “No worries, I didn’t mean to fall asleep anyway.”

“What’s your name?” Ringleader asked. “I’m Jeonghan, and these are some of my fraternity brothers.”

Of course. You should’ve guessed. They were all jacked, tan, and had an air of privilege about them that you couldn’t miss. They were objectively cute, sure, but nothing in comparison to your boyfriend playing volleyball behind you. Not to mention their pack mentality freaked you out a little.

“I’m y/n,” you said and held your free hand out to them to shake, still keeping your other hand on your bikini top so you wouldn’t flash them. “Are you guys on a holiday break or something?”

“Yeah, just trying to make the most out of our last few days.”

“You from around here?” another boy asked, not being subtle at all in the way he was eyeing you.

“No, we just took a little day trip,” you explained and cleared your throat, wondering how long they’d stick around and when Wonwoo was going to come over and dick you down out of jealousy.

“We?” Ringlea- Jeonghan asked, cocking his head to the side. “Are you here with your friends?”

“Her boyfriend, actually,” Wonwoo piped up calmly from behind you. You looked back and saw him standing a few feet behind your towel with his arms crossed. He could be annoying, but fuck if he didn’t have good timing.

“Oh-uh, well I was nice to meet you.” Jeonghan mumbled abruptly and nodded to his friends to get back to their Frisbee game. They were gone before you could even say goodbye back.

“Attracting all sorts of attention today, aren’t you, love?” Wonwoo sneered and knelt down beside you.

His words went straight to the heat between your legs and you turned over onto your back to get a better look at him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you lied, daring him to challenge you.

“I think you do, y/n,” he continued. The way he whispered your name sent a shiver down your spine. “I mean, you’re practically naked in front of the whole beach right now.”

“I’m wearing a swimsuit.”

“You know what I mean. And all for what? To make me jealous? So I’d fuck you? Because you could’ve just asked, baby.”

You whimpered, but didn’t say anything and leaned up to kiss him, desperately wanting to feel his lips against yours. He leaned in too, but stopped just short of your mouth, pulling back a bit to look into your eyes. “I could just pull your bikini bottoms to the side, no one will notice.”

You moaned softly, wanting nothing more than for him to do exactly that. You weren’t even sure if you could wait to get home at this point, you wanted him inside of you now. He put a hand on each knee and spread your legs apart, whistling in awe at the wet spot on your bathing suit. You felt your face heat up in embarrassment. “I haven’t even touched you and you’re already this wet.”

“All because of you,” you panted, reaching out for him, but he pulled back.

“You know all of your teasing made me lose the game, right? I couldn’t focus because I was so distracted.” You nodded. “I was so fucking hard the whole match because of what you were doing”

And then your dumbass had to open your big mouth. “So Mingyu told you?”

Wonwoo pulled back, and gave you a confused look, clearly caught off guard. “Told me what?”

“Y/n, that was incredible, you were perfect!” Mingyu exclaimed as he ran up to you and Wonwoo, holding out a hundred dollar bill to you.

You winced as you took it, wishing you hadn’t said anything.

“Y/n, what the fuck?” Wonwoo demanded, even more frustrated than he had been a minute ago. “What were you incredible at?”

“Fucking distracting you, dude. I asked her if she’d be in on the bet with me for a cut of the winnings since you guys had more team members.”

Your boyfriend glared at you. “Is that true?”

“I mean, it’s just a game… and I thought it’d be fun,” you said quietly.

“That’s what you guys were talking about earlier, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah, she didn’t need any convincing she was totally down-”

“Mingyu,” you interrupted, pinching the bridge of your nose, “please, if you have any mercy for my pussy please shut the fuck up.”

His face went scarlet and he shut his mouth without further comment.

“So that’s it?” Wonwoo asked, obviously not ready to drop the subject yet. “You’re just gonna sell out your own boyfriend that easy?”

“You said you didn’t want to be on a team with me!”

“Don’t turn this around on me! You’re the one who helped them cheat!”

“Oh I don’t know if I’d call it cheating,” Mingyu interjected again.

“Shut up, Mingyu!” you and Wonwoo both shouted.

“Look, I’m sorry,” Mingyu said quietly. “If I had known it was going to be this big of a deal I wouldn’t have asked her. I just thought I was being clever, that it’d be a fun way to beat you guys, but I’m sorry I went too far.”

Wonwoo sighed and ran a hand through his wet curls. “It’s fine. I’m sorry I overreacted.”

“So… we’re good?” Mingyu asked, holding out a hand to help Wonwoo up.

“Yeah, we’re good. Next time, though, we’re playing fair.”

“Deal.”

“Y/n, you still want to go swimming, love?” Wonwoo asked, turning back to you.

“We’re not- we’re not going home?” Despite everything you were still incredibly horny, and you’d been patiently waiting for Wonwoo to rail you for what felt like hours now.

“Not yet,” he said and helped you to your feet. “Let’s make the most of our beach day.”

“I think the rest of us are going to find an ice cream shop,” Mingyu added. “Winners are buying. Do either of you want anything?”

“No thanks, we’ll hang out here by ourselves for a while.” Wonwoo answered for the both of you.

He wrapped an arm around your waist as you walked down to the water together and you relaxed, enjoying the feeling of his warm skin on yours. Only once you were out of Mingyu’s earshot did he lean down and whisper “your ass is going to be seven shades of red for that little stunt once we get home,” in your ear. Now it was your turn to be distracted.

lmk what you thought; i always appreciate feedback)

wonwoo tags: @wonw00t 

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#the bet #wonwoo x reader #jeon wonwoo x reader #wonu x reader #wonwoo x you #wonwoo x y/n #wonwoo smut #jeon wonwoo smut #seventeen smut

[witchlyboo]

Definitely, maybe.

Part five: The one who belongs to someone else.

Introduction. Part one. Part two. Part three. Part four.

Paring: Latina!reader x Logan Lerman x Tom Holland x Ben Hardy x Timothee Chalamet x Pedro Pascal x Michael B. Jordan

Warnings: Swearing, angst, misspellings, some Spanish, me learning how to write properly, and NY stuff that I've learned from movies that we all agree to pretend are real.

Word count: 6.4 k

a/n: You been asking for smut, I know, I know, I just wanted to introduce you to all the boys first, and we're getting there, just one more ahead. Also, I'm working on a masterlist because we are getting too many parts already.

All body types and skin tones friendly. You can also enjoy it as a no Hispanic reader. Constructive feedback and misspellings correction is always welcome.

Red and blue lights flash the driving mirror.

—No, no, no, por favor que no sea a mi—You beg to the sky looking at the patrol that is asking you to park, or someone else, there's a lot of cars in this part of the city, there's a big chance is the panic who's controlling your senses.—Dios, mi abuela fue a la iglesia cada domingo de su vida y nunca te pidió nada, please let me have some of her divina recompensa.—But that's not how it works, you end up parking with just a few seconds to think what to say. There's a perfect explication of why you are driving a car that is not yours in the middle of the night and smelling like a minibar.

Then this ridiculous thought comes to your mind, you look expensive, you've never seen the daughter of a senator but you must be close to it, it would make you less of a feminist if you just use your attributes? Ugh, you feel sick just to think about it but don't have enough money to pay a fine, and the constant paranoia of being chased all the time as an immigrant will only get stronger.

You pull down your dress a little so your neckline can do its job but you regret it immediately, and you're pretty sure you look more like an expensive prostitute who stole the car of his lover than some influential men's daughter.

—License and registration.—You hear him say when he approaches your window. You don't like this but you have to play the dumb tourist, the pretty foreign girl that is too stupid to be dangerous, with the look you have tonight it shouldn't be hard. But damn you hate cops, any uniformed man that works for the government is your eternal enemy, and you don't know how long you could keep the nice dumb Latina game before spit on his face.

—There's something wrong, officer? ...You?!—Your sexy and fake high voice is ruined when you see the face of the man who stopped you. This night couldn't get worse.

—Wait, what happened with the party?—Evan interrupts you while you finish some notes for work, little remainders for later when you don't have an eleven years old kid running around you, he's not usually this energic and you have to blame yourself for that, you're describing a life of excess and eccentric fun, something you let behind so many years ago that your own son doesn't know even a bit of it.

—Ugh, a nightmare doesn't worth telling.—You remember vaguely most of it but what keeps fresh in your mind is bad enough to don't want to bring it back.

—But if Timothée is my dad I have to know the important things, including the bad stuff.—Sounds perfectly reasonable and that's what makes you groan at him. Sometimes you feel blessed that your kid is better than you in any possible way, and sometimes you want to kill his brain with video games and reality shows like the rest of the parents.

—Ok, cool, but I'll keep all the +18 content for myself, so this part of the story might be blurry for you.—It kinda is for you anyway.

You should’ve known this night was cursed, you had a feeling because a) your earring fell off at the same time Timothée texted you to give you the party address and say he can't pick you up. And b) he won’t pick you up. Your mother would say that’s reason enough to not go, a real gentleman wouldn’t make you go to an unknown place in the middle of the night on your own in a city like this. But you decide to ignore it because you are a modern woman and because it’s worth it. It better be.

The outfit must be something special. You always take your time to choose what to wear, even if just another regular day, and since this isn't the case you thought about it for hours, that made your mind busy enough to not thinking about Tom and the whole love confession. He texted you saying he'll come for you to go to class together on Monday, which is completely impractical because he's way closer than you but is progress and you're going to take it.

You wanted to ask for Sheep's opinion but you thought she might not care, has been a few days since she started acting strange like she's bothered just to see you breathe. You want to blame his boyfriend to take all her time and attention from you but is probably just her new job, she got a small role in a Netflix show, and even when you're so happy for her, that's the event that has changed her into someone completely different. But you give her time, stress can do bad things to people.

The winner is the exact copy you made of the black and white striped dress Cameron Diaz wore in "The Mask" beautiful, classy, and sexy enough without being too scandalous, not that you have any problem with that, but this isn't the occasion, you don't want to feel like you're being too much or too little, just enough, it's supposed to be easy, right? you were born for this. Just adding some big shiny earrings you got on a thrift shop that look like real diamonds and you're ready, not that you own any to compare. Red lipstick, dark eyes, and a messy bun to get that disinterested pitch every look needs.

Getting there wasn't a problem, you were in the rich part of the city, everyone know who, where and what just to brag about it. The excitement is growing with every second, you check your makeup like thirty times in the elevator and send texts to your mom just to let her know where you are, and because you have to share that moment with someone and you are limited of friends these days.

Timothée opens the door with red eyes, drunk, high, or somewhere in between, you know then you were right about the bad feeling. He jumps on you to kiss you and no matter how much you try to explain the delicacy of your lipstick, he does it anyway, leaving a taste of alcohol and shrimps in your mouth. Taking you by the waist he walks you to a group of people you don't know while you're trying harder to fix the red color of your mouth without a mirror.

—Here is the companion I bought, look at her, that's how five grand per hour look like.—They laughed but you were too disoriented to process all the things he said, it was supposed to be a joke? if it is, why isn't he correcting? Instead, his hand goes straight to your ass and presses it to get you closer to him.

—I'm actually an intern in the costume designer department of the new version of "Sense and Sensibility".—You wanted to mention your recent promotion to hairstylist and makeup artist but that might be too pretentious. Anyway, they don't seem to care what you are or not, in fact, they don't even see you, all eyes are on Timothée

—Oh, well, is easy to forget when you're paying them—All laughs again. Who is this person? Who are all these people, actually? You recognize some influencers, a few cast members but there's no sign of the director, other main actors, not even his co-star. You feel like an extra in a movie where someone will be killed in a luxury party, hopefully not you. You take his hand from your body and clear your throat.—I'm just joking my love, she looks stunning, isn't she? I’ll get you a drink.

He leaves and the group of people surrounding you suddenly dissipated like boiling water, you were on your own again and despite some judgmental gazes is like you’re not there, you’re sure you could just take your dress off and throw it to someone’s face and unless Tim says something about it, no one would care. You’re there as his companion, an ornament, and that’s not enough to earn their attention because it’s too obvious you’re the one in turn.

You walk to the only window no one is smoking and check your phone, you know, the thing you do when you pretend you have important issues to attend, but no, you end reading some old messages, pictures, texting your mom of how much fun you’re having at the party, and somehow you check your filed Facebook messages to find Logan’s name. You cover the screen so fast you hurt your nail, his name is enough to make you tremble like a Chihuahua, you haven’t talked to him since that night, you know from his sister he lives in the house he bought for you two and he’s having the happiest life without you. You want to believe that because that means you took the right decision but deep inside… no, you can’t be that person, you want him to be happier than ever.

You find the guts to open the message, and you read as slowly as is humanly possible. “My angel, I hope this finds you in perfect health…” Dios, just Logan could start a message like that, your smile is almost too big to fit in your face so you bit your nail to cover it a little. “I recently found one of the human body drawings you made for me to study, you’ll be happy to know…”

—That’s a fucking long-ass message.—Tim appears behind you and takes your phone from your hand, spilling some of his drink on your dress in the process. Apparently, he's been there long enough to read part of the message.

—Give it back.—You command in the most severe voice you have, your magical moment got ruined and you remember the hole of hell you are.

—"My angel, I hope this finds you in perfect health. I recently found one of the human body drawings you made for me to study, you must know I still use them now and then"—Timothée starts reading the message, and even when no one is close enough to hear it and you don’t really care about this people’s opinion, that’s not for anyone to read, that’s one of the few parts of your life you treasure the most and you’re not ready to get over it.—You little slut, are you cheating on me with a med student?

—Give it to me.—You repeat trying to take the phone from his hand but he’s faster and walks away putting it out of your reach.

—"I meticulously preserve them, I certainly know any piece of art made by you will be priceless in the near future"—You don’t want to hear it coming from his drunk mocking voice, so you try to ignore what he’s saying and put more effort on chasing the phone.—Should I had kept the jeans where you left the wet spot on? I didn’t know you were an artist, my love.

—Timothée, por el amor de Dios.—Now you're trying to climb him, it wouldn't be that hard to take him down, he's skinny and you're fierce. That's what you thought but he's not moving even with you are on top of his shoulder and his opposite long arm keeps the phone away from you.

—Who is this guy and why is he talking to my girl like this?—You see the olive eyes getting darker and the tone of his voice went deeper than you thought he could do. You desist from taking the phone, you know the bullies love the attention, maybe that's exactly what he wants and give it to him just makes it worse.

—I'm not your girl.—You claim fixing up your dress having enough of games, and you have no reason to keep worrying about losing your job, the filming is done, and apparently your relationship with him too. You don't care about any of that anymore, just want to read Logan's text.

Even behind all the alcohol and the eyes injected in blood thanks for who knows what kind of drug, you can see the disappointment and anger, but it's not a broken heart, Is the hissy fit of a child that loses his balloon and now everyone will pay for it, especially you.

—Are you sure about that?—You can see him swallow hard, almost looking vulnerable, but his voice is defiant and threatening to prove you wrong. He just has to stretch out his arm to reach the open window with your phone in hand, his intentions are clear and the only thing you can do is raise your hands as a reflex.—You were mine the moment you put a foot on my trailer, and I don't fucking share my stuff.—Before you can say a word he drops the phone from the fourth floor.

You know is senseless but you find yourself running out of the party and going to search the device, using it also as an excuse to get away from that place. This is the first time someone makes you feel meaningless, you know the famous' world is cold and lacking in empathy but this is ridiculous, they're a bunch of parasites fed by attention and power. By Timothée.

The screen is crashed and the rest of it is probably beyond repair, not that you're surprised, its life is longer than you've been in the country and you admit you should have replaced it much earlier but you're not the kind to throw away things that still work. However, is not the phone you are worried about, not as much as what it contains.

—That was obsolete anyway, I'll get you a better one.—You didn't know he was following you, his voice interrupts your self-wailing. He sounds calmer and a little embarrassed, but not enough to say sorry, you don't think he's capable of saying it.

You shake your head and start to walk away without a word, you don't want anything from him, not materially, at least.

—Don't make a scandal out of it, it's just a phone!—He yells erasing any trace of regret in his voice. He doesn't see the reaction he expected and that's when he runs after you and with a hand on your upper arm pulls you back, you gasped for the sudden bluntness.—That annoying habit you have of leaving when I'm talking to you.

You push him away with all the strength you have, which resulted in him almost falling on the ground.

—I don't care about the stupid phone!—You finally break, but sadly is not as satisfactory as you thought it would be.—You are mean, vain, arrogant and the worst part is that you enjoy being this despicable human because you have absolutely no consequences to it. Everyone around you just accepts it and I feel so sorry for you because the only possible way for you to fill the void inside is to be surrounded by that crowd of mules licking your steps—To your surprise, he has nothing to say, he's just standing there with no facial expression, whatever he feels is easily covered by his years of experience acting, even drunk.—I can't give you that and it's obvious they don't want me either. What am I even doing here?—You ask yourself thinking where would be the best way of getting a cab, is a rich zone, must be easy.

—Everything is better when you're around—His voice is thin and fragile, you have to process what he said three times in your head to understand his words. You're not willing to look at him yet.—You're not like the others.

—Pure bullshit. You love to repeat that misogynist discourse of girls being in a certain way because is easier than be responsible for the people you choose to be—You were hugging yourself the whole time, is a cold night, but not enough to be bothersome, you enjoy Fall weather—You got me for a moment, I give you that, you fooled me but I'm too tired of guessing what version of you is real—When you return your gaze at him, he doesn't try to hide the guilt anymore, but there's still haughtiness in there.—Now, if you don't mind Mr. Chalamet, I need to get a cab.

—No, you came with me, you leave with me.—There's no trace of alcohol in his voice anymore, a good scolding is enough to put you sober, you know that thanks to your mom. Oh god, you're becoming her.

—You didn't bring me here, gigantic head—You look at him and put your hand in front of him with the palm up. He stares at it for several seconds before put his own on it—Not that!—You shake it and start looking inside his jeans pockets until you feel the metal of his key car.—You can't drive and I have to get home. You'll find it in the studio tomorrow.

That's how you ended with a car way more luxurious than you expected, driving so slowly and carefully that the police stopped you. What a night, but at this point, you couldn't care less about anything that is not that message, is been months and you can't get over it, over him. Not even Ben moans, Tom's comforting arms, or fight with a movie star at 3:00 am. is enough to get him out of your mind.

—So is true, you don't wear anything that hasn't appeared in a movie, huh?—Michael B. Jordan is leaning on the car window with a mocking smile and a sparkle of satisfaction that you would love to punch but his uniform keeps you in line, where you come from police is not equal to justice, most of the times is oppression.

—You know where it's from?—That was kind of comforting, no one at the party noticed. Not that you care.

—Is The Mask, not some Adam Hitchcock's blurb.—He smiles and even when you really don't like him, it's nice to be with a familiar face, you are really tired of running away, scaping for problems that are a result of your null capacity to deal with emotions. Ugh, what a word.

—Is Alfred Hitchcock, actually.—You didn't want to sound priggish, but you correct him with no time to stop yourself, an old habit.

—You got me, smarty, you know more than movies than me. Where did you get this car?—You feel really nervous even when you got this legally, you have your documents and license on time and he's being nice enough to not want to run away in a car that you technically borrowed for yourself.

—It's not mine.—No shit, Sherlock.

—No shit, Sherlock, I was asking where did you steal it.—You wanted to laugh but there's something with the uniform that just doesn't allow you to be yourself.—Are you drunk?

—No, no, fuck, no, it's just, I don't feel comfortable with cops—He raises his eyebrows but that is his only reaction.—Listen, is my boss' car, I'm doing the favor to take it to the studio, and I'm really nervous because is fucking expensive, he's an asshole, I haven't drive un almost a year because you people only use cars if you're rich or your work and lives depend on it. I'm starving.—The last part came out of nowhere, you haven't eaten anything in almost 13 hours, maybe that's the actual reason why you are that moody.

He doesn't answer right away, takes his time to look at you, what makes you blush, he's really close, closer than he's ever been. Does he smell like green apples? Not the actual apples, the artificial smell they had given to them.

—Get out of the car.—Oh no, is he arresting you? Is he finally taking revenge for every time you make fun of his Hawaiian-type shirts? You know you have too much karma accumulated and a cop making you pay for it when you don’t believe in their sense of justice is kinda poetic, and evil.

You don’t want to discuss with someone with a taser, gun, pepper spray, or who knows what else. So you take your bag, the key car, and get off defeated.

—My turn is almost over, I’ll take you to eat something, c’mon.—He walks back to his patrol and you stay still for a few seconds still processing his words, you must look totally devastated for him to offer that. How you see it you have two options, go with him and spend an awkward hour with a person you don’t like or risk getting a fine, Tim can pay it, it’s not a big deal but you don’t want to owe him even the minimal thing.

You get in the car holding on to your bag to feel calmer, this is the first time you’re fully alone with him since you found him half-naked in your kitchen. Those defined abs may never leave your brain.

—Are you cold?—He interrupts your thoughts with his question, you didn’t notice you were shaking. He looks for something under his seat and gives you an NYPD hoodie, you hold it doubting your next move, is not like you don’t appreciate the gesture but it’d be easier to take if it doesn’t get that words printed—Is clean.—He says chuckling when he sees the way you’re looking at it.

—Is not that, just, you know, fuck the police, defund the NYPD, demilitarize the pigs and that stuff.—You say putting on the hoodie anyway, is a cold night and you won't help the institution wearing their propaganda.

—Yeah, I get it, but you can't change the system just from within.—You decide is not the right moment to have a political conversation so you shrug your shoulders and discreetly smell the hoodie, a mix of cologne, green apples, and cheap soap, you know is cheap because you buy the exact same, do its job.

—I'm in the mood for pizza.—You say casually, making a deal to yourself to try to be his friend, he is a small part of your life anyway.—Domino's is open at this time of the night?

—Tell me you're not consuming that shit, dear Lord, you been here for how long, two years? I can't believe your idea of a good pizza is Domino's. Stella hasn't taught you anything?—You're surprised by the level of condescension with a pizza and you mirror his smile, suddenly feeling embarrassed. Your school program includes people from all around the world so you don't have that much experience with actual new yorkers. Logan is rich, so he doesn't really count.

—What's wrong with Domino's? I don't buy much street food, is cheaper to buy things on the food market. Besides, all pizza is good.—The mention of Sheep makes you a little tense, so you don't say anything about it, is not a conversation to have with him.

—Don't blaspheme in the patrol, I just washed it—You laugh, finally, after a terrible weekend. You can see why she likes him, there is something about his voice, smile, and his eyes that feel... calm, like watching Friends after a marathon of Lord of the Rings.—There are rules to survive this city, and I'm surprised you have made it this far without a proper guide.

—Chill out Mr. Miyagi, I'm not from the jungle, and I've learned a lot by myself.—He gives you a lopsided grin as a request, and you put your fingers up ready to enlist your acquired knowledge.—Walk fast, like you're about to be stabbed, something that actually happened to me, with an umbrella—He nods and laughs being related to it.—Number two, no small talk, no one cares, even if they ask. Number three, if you look a stranger in the eye, especially a homeless person, you have essentially invited them to approach you.

—Number four, we never eat from Domino's, Papa John's, Pizza hut, or any other chain restaurant, only trucks and local places are allowed.—You roll your eyes but you get the point, is just, again, you're not much into street food, it doesn't taste like home and the only way to eat food like that is preparing it yourself.

—Fine, fuck capitalism, let's support local places—You make an obvious fake enthusiastic tone but he nods proudly.—Number five, you don't need a car to live here, not even know how to drive. I would have successfully avoided this police brutality if I had followed that rule.

—For someone who is about to eat for free, you whine too much.—He parks the car and gives you a sign to go with him. You see him go to a pizza truck and order, you realize at the moment how ridiculous you look, so before chasing him you let your hair down, take your huge earrings off, and roll up the skirt of your dress until your mid-thighs letting the hoodie cover the rest, and clean the red lipstick with a Kleenex from your bag. Now you look more like a college person and not a rich girl who just got seized.

—Here you go.—He says giving you a slice as big as your head, looks oily and spreading cheese everywhere. Perfect.

—Is it vegan?—You ask receiving the food with an obnoxious face. His kind grind turned into a dread expression and you give him your second laugh of the day.—I'm kidding.

You are about to give it a bite when you see passing next to you a huge rat with the exact same slice as yours in its mouth, running into the dark of the night happy to have obtained the food for its family. They use to scare you when you just moved out but now they're like any other pigeon in the sky.

—Rule... whatever, a rat with a slice of pizza is a symbol for good luck, congratulations.—He pets your head awkwardly, not sure if you're ok with the physical contact, which, surprisingly, you are.

—I see rats with bagels all the time.—Pizza and bagels, that's the main culinary wonders of the city, you like it, not much to object but is hard not to compare it with your home's food.

—Is easy to confuse a rough diamond with a simple rock.—You both eat in silence, enjoying the mixed sounds of the city and all the different smells, the whole situation feels like one of those lofi music videos. You remember thinking about moments like this before getting the scholarship, what would it be like to feel normal in the city of your dreams.

—How do you know that much about movies?—He asks after a few minutes when you take a break to drink something, that pizza is not easy to take.

—When I was a kid a spent much time on my own, so my dad bought me a used DVD reproducer, and at the corner of my neighborhood was this movie store where you could buy 5 pirate movies for one dollar. They were blurred, with a terrible sound, and most of the time with the wrong movie inside but they helped me to not feel lonely. Eventually, the store closed but I've watched everything in it by then—He gives you a warm smile, you never told that story to anyone, not because is too intimate to share, but because no one asked, it doesn't sound like a question with a complex answer.—Anyway, I watched Marie Antoinette when I was like eight, and I decided at that moment that however is done I wanted to be part of that magic.

—You hear all kind of people chasing dreams in this city but is hard to find someone who actually deserves it.—You blush and you cover it with your hair but the smile on your voice is impossible to hide.

—Is that a compliment? You must really want me to like you to date Sheep.—You laugh but you can see his face tense, so you can guess your friend has been busy breaking everyone’s hearts.

—She hasn’t returned my calls in three days so I don’t think there’s much you can do—You nod, all this time you thought he was the reason she is ignoring you but apparently you are both in the same boat.—But yeah, I don’t know what I was thinking, what I should have said is, Marie Antoinette at eight? I can see where all the damage started.

You gasp and throw your napkin at his head, he easily catches it without even looking at it and laughs; that was unexpectedly attractive.

—Why a cop?—You ask, not sure where that question came from, maybe you authentically want to know more about him, he just bought you food, and honestly, that's the easiest way to win your trust.

—I wanted to be an actor when I was a child. This is the city of opportunities so you may think that if you want to chase the big wonder, this is the perfect place to do it. But I grow up surrounded by these people giving their entire lives to get something just given to one in a million so I decided is not worth it. For many years I wondered what I wanted to do with my life and the answer was really clear, my dad was a cop, a good one, or that’s what people say. I don’t remember much because he died when I was seven—Conversations about death are not your strength, everything can turn out uncomfortable if you choose the wrong words.—It might not be that glamorous but if my father died for it, it surely worth it.

—For the good ones.—You raise your almost empty can of Coke and he does the same with a grin that warms the cold weather of the night.

—For the good ones.

The next two hours passed like minutes talking about anything and everything. It just felt right to talk freely with him, you didn’t feel judged for your awkward family moments or your random thoughts, not even once because he told you his too. At some point of the night he borrowed you his gym sweatpants, any of you could just suggest going home but that was off the table, end that peace just for weather reasons would have been a tragedy.

—I read Timothée Chalamet is a dick. Is that true?—The mention of his name remains you of your life and everything that comes with it, including the middle semester project that you must dedicate your entire day, one that is about to start.—What, you can’t talk about it?

—He is a complete dick with no sense of privacy or human decency—And when he interrupts a deep kiss to look at your eyes, smile, and caress your chin, you feel like a character of his Victorian movies. But he didn’t ask that.—But the next week he’ll be no longer my problem.

—That’s why we have rule twenty-three, don’t ask for a picture of a celebrity unless they are local—You have heard about it before but you haven’t got the opportunity to decide if you like that rule because the only celebrities you have seen are from work and that club’s party opening.—That means you’ll be free to go to the Stephen Kings’ movie projection there will be for Halloween.

You don’t know if that was a proposition, a suggestion, or just a simple recommendation, and whatever it is, you noticed he was nervous to ask. Is it wrong? It feels wrong like you were betraying your friend accepting to hang out with his boyfriend without her consent. But he didn’t ask you to go with him so is safe to answer.

—Yeah, I guess—You get a moment, four seconds top, where you shared innocent, curious, and tenting gazes like three graders in the playground. And that’s the further you will allow yourself to go.—We better leave, if the sunlight touch me I’ll turn into dust.

You get off the car hood and go to the side door, but this time he opens it for you. You give him a “seriously?” Look, receiving a little push in your arm as a response.

↬☀︎︎

A distant voice asks you to wake up, softly whispers that turn into caresses on your cheek, your eyes feel so heavy, even when you are well aware of your environment your eyelids keep closed.

—Good morning, Princess—This is the first time Tom calls you that way, the change from silly nicknames to Princess is enough to get you out of hibernation. He is squatting beside your bed, his smile is the promise of a better day, and chasing that idea you give him one small back.—Your mom has been texting me desperately all day, she said you're not answering her calls and is worried.

—Fuck, my phone broke last night, can I call her from yours?—That’s an oversimplification but in the search for a better story, that's what you decide to believe and tell. Tom nods and gives it to you, he looks happy, beyond that, this is the first time you see that subtle blush on his cheeks and the eyes sparkling. You sit on the bed next to his body looking for your mom's number, slowly he moves between your legs, you have shorts and an oversized Back To The Future t-shirt, you got took the time to prepare yourself to bed last night and keep Michael’s clothes inside your closet to wash them, like The Tell-Tale Heart, a little innocent secret who feels dirty somehow

The conversations with your mom are always long, nostalgic and the tears are hard to hold for both parts; after a long life sharing almost every day with her, her absence never feels smaller. But this time is different, Tom is exploring the bare skin under your knee with his warm hands, asking for permission with curious eyes, and when you don’t object to the touch the British boy keeps his exploring mission cautiously, giving special attention to see your eyes in case something change. Is time to hang up when he gives a long and loving kiss to your knee, the less erotic kiss you could think of but so intimate to bristle your skin.

—Not nice to touch someone's daughter when is talking to her mom.—The protest of your voice loses strength at every word, he heard that and just straight his back to reach your face, the gap is almost extinct.

—We're okay, she likes me.—He assures holding your hips and pulling you a bit to him. Tom looks very comfortable with the new closeness authorization, you like it but are not very sure about it yet, most of you still think of him as your best friend.

—Did she tell you that? Are you talking with my mom behind my back?—You laugh when he does, almost like nothing changed.

—She adores me, I swear, I'm invited to Christmas, you know?—You're not surprised, she invites everyone, Logan was too but the first time he got family plans and didn't make it to the second.

—You should go, maybe we can do...—His lips touch yours in a peak at the middle phrase and makes you forget what you were about to say.—Man, the audacity to interrupt...—Then he kisses you again, deeply, using his tongue to taste your inner lip and his hands holding your shirt in fists. That's a twist of events.

—Is that ok?—You hear a weak whisper coming out of his voice but you got so mesmerized on his lips that decided to ignore it and kiss him back instead. He responds to your touch and starts to lean over you to make you lay on the bed.

Jesucristo bendito, is this happening? like, actually happening? you must look like trash, you barely took all the makeup from the night before and didn't take a shower, you start to get so worried about smells, feelings, and what that'll mean to your already too much-spoiled friendship.

However, the time of doubts is done when Sheep starts yelling in the living room, you both reacted running to the sound and looking for your blonde friend. Michael is there but doesn't look like the same as a few hours ago, is annoyed and tired for the lack of sleep, a look that doesn't match him at all.—What did you do?—You ask him fast assuming she's mad for something he did.

—Just in time, the star of the movie, I was wondering how much it will take you to be the protagonist of this.—That is Sheep's voice talking about you and what must be your heart breaking from her words.

—Excuse me?—You wish your tone would be less savage but you can't help respond the same way she did.

—Logan wasn't enough, then you got the drummer, fucking Timothée Chalamet, Tom and now my boyfriend. I'm so glad I didn't leave you alone with my dad or I'd be calling you mom now.—You have no words to that, Michael doesn't even dare to look at you, he must have told her something she misunderstood, but Sheep, or well, Stella is saying things she actually thinks and keep to herself. Tom walks in front of you whispering things to her to calm her down but she is not looking at him, you didn't tell her anything about Tom either so he's taking responsibility this time.—Go ahead and fuck the whole city, Michael if that please you but you're crossing the line with Tom and you know that, you're going to ruin him as you ruin every man that enters in your life.—She has a very you moment having the last word of the dispute and getting out of the apartment with Michael going after her but not putting much effort in it.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Taglist:

@eridanuswave @cjand10 @deluxeplanteater @rorodendra @navs-bhat @coxxxxxpi @leviosatothestars

Thanks for all the love and support, if you have opinions, suggestions, or want to be part of the tag list (Or don’t want to be part anymore) let me know, I appreciate every message.

#ben hardy imagine #michael b jordan fc #tom holland x reader #timothee chalamet fanfiction #pedro pascal #logan lerman fc #definitely maybe #fluff #angst #timothee chalamet #Tom Holland #Ben Hardy

[simplee-dreaming]

The Party

A/N: I spent far too much time deciding how all of their outfits were gonna look so I hope it paid off. Also, I know some things I mention have different names in different countries but I've gone for what I only know as the British version. Hope you like it! (Totally didn't get inspiration for this idea from driving past a joke shop myself...)

Word count: 2951

Summary: The reader attends her first themed party hosted by RDJ, but her outfit lands her in trouble.

------------------------------------

Tonight was the night. The night you had been waiting for for weeks. A party at Robert Downey Jr’s house. But not just any old party, oh no, a party for the Avengers cast. Not even just a party - a themed party.

See, Robert is well known for his themed parties. Of course he’s done the classics such as the black and white theme, the 80s theme, even the “dress as your favourite superhero” theme - what could be more suited? But he’s also well known for his unique themes. For example: dress as what you wanted to be when you were a kid; dress as your favourite fruit or veg; dress as another member of the cast; dress as your favourite gay icon. The list goes on.

This was your very first party with the cast though. Being the newest member, you were super excited to have a great night with them all outside of work - plus little Tom couldn’t stop guessing what this theme could be. It was, of course:

“Dress as your favourite board game.”

Yep. Board games.

You spent ages trying to figure out what board game you were going to dress up as. The main rule of the themed parties was that you couldn’t tell other people what you were going as unless you deliberately needed someone else to complete your outfit.

You were desperate for ideas now that the party was only a week away. It wasn’t until you were walking down the highstreet, and something in the shop window caught your eye, that you finally had an idea. You were standing outside of a joke shop, and in the window stood a dress...designed like a Twister mat.

Perfect.

The day had finally arrived. No one was filming today so you had all day to get yourself ready. Hair and makeup done, Twister dress on, ready to rumble.

You made your way to RDJ’s house at half 8 - late enough to not be the first one there but early enough to enjoy everyone’s company for longer. You smiled with glee as you stepped into the house. You were tingling with excitement as you walked towards the room where the music played. The minute you walked into the room, everyone approached you. And one by one you scanned them all to see what they were dressed as.

The first person you saw was Anthony, he was dressed up as Cards Against Humanity. Not quite a board game but funny nonetheless. The front of his outfit was completely black and the back was completely white. The writing on his front read “I drink to forget _____”, and the writing on his back read “Tom Holland”. You giggled.

Next was Scarlett. She decided to come dressed as Pictionary. Part of her outfit was made with polyester and nylon, and she carried around a whiteboard marker so that anyone could draw a picture on her outfit and others had to guess what it was. This could also be wiped off easily, ready for the next person to draw.

Sebastian was next, you snorted when you saw him. He was dressed as Frustration. His outfit was divided into the four colours: his top right being yellow, top left being green, bottom right being blue and bottom left being red. He had placed a semisphere plastic hat over his head and inside lay a foam dice which jumped about whenever he shook his head.

After Seb came Liz. She was dressed up as Uno. Her front and back were two different colours of the uno reverse card - the front being red and the back being green. The point of this is that whenever someone asked her to do something she didn’t wanna do, she’d just point to her outfit and get out of doing it.

Next was Paul B. He came as Trivial Pursuit. Random questions and answers were plastered all over his suit, such as: “how many feet are there in a fathom? 6”; “What three-word slogan was named the most popular advertisement ever in a 2000 poll? Beanz Meanz Heinz”; and his own personal saying, “Where do snitches end up? In ditches”.

Following Paul was the unsurprising double act. Big Tom and Hemsy. They had come dressed as Snakes and Ladders. Tom had glued a giant toy python to his all-black outfit, and Chris had stuck a cardboard ladder to the front and back of his all-white outfit. Simple, yet effective.

Then came Evans who was dressed as Noughts and Crosses, despite numerous comments from RDJ about it not being a board game. His back was full of paper noughts and crosses stuck to his top but his front had a similar material to Scarlett’s where the cast could play their own game on his front and then wipe it off for the next players.

You scanned little Tom next. He had gone all out with his outfit, dressing up as Operation. He was wearing a light pink coloured top and matching trousers and had stapled all the pieces of operation to their correct areas, such as the butterfly, the spare rib and the wish bone. He’d also used face paint to paint his nose a dark shade of red. Adorably creepy in a way.

Last, but certainly not least, was the man himself. Robert Downey Jr. He came as the popular game Cluedo. And boy did he look fancy. He wore a top hat that had a giant question mark stuck to it, and a tuxedo with a long sweeping tail attached to the jacket. Neatly placed all over his black suit were the names of the suspects, the names of the rooms and the names of the weapons - all written in white. He looked splendid.

“Twister. How unusual. I love it,” Robert said, the others nodded in agreement.

“Thanks, you all look incredible,” you said.

Little Tom held out his arm and led you to the dance floor where you spent the next hour dancing the night away. Big Tom and Hemsy were owning the dance floor with their moves. Many party classics blared through the speakers, including 5,6,7,8...which you knew the dance off by heart but RDJ had to be taught the moves by you and little Tom.

Another hour passed and you were sat with Scarlett, Liz and Paul in the other room where the music wasn’t so loud. Seb was with you but he had asked Liz to get him a drink and she played the uno reversal so now he was on drinks duty.

“Paul, can I borrow your suit just so I can literally look smarter?” You asked, he chuckled.

“Maybe I can just follow you around and relay the facts for you,”

“You could be the Yoda to my Luke. Though I think you’re too big to sit on my back,” you said.

“Here’s your punch,” said Seb, returning with two cups for him and Liz.

“Finally, what took you so long?” she asked.

“I stopped in the party room, Anthony and little Tom are having a competition to see who can do the macarena better,” he said.

“But...the macarena is the macarena…” you said, confused.

“Try telling them that. Tom insisted that the Brits do it better apparently.”

“Well, we do have some absolute bangers,” you chuckled. Paul agreed.

“So where did you get that dress?” Scarlett asked you.

“The joke shop down the highstreet. I was walking past it last week and found it in the window. Thought it would be perfect,” you shrugged.

“Until Mackie gets over excited and plays Twister on you,” Seb said.

“I’d like to see him try,” you replied.

“Ah, here’s the gang. What are you all doing in here?” Robert said, entering the room with big Tom and Evans.

“We’re just sat chatting….wait, have you left Holland and Mackie alone?” Seb asked.

“They’re fine, Chris is with them,” Tom replied. You tilted your head at him and raised an eyebrow.

“Maybe I should check on them…” Tom said, you nodded and he left the room.

“Soooo, how’s it going?” Evans asked everyone.

“We’re all fine but Y/N is a bit twisted,” Seb said. Everyone laughed but you bonked him on the head, making the dice jolt.

“Oi!”

You giggled and slapped the plastic hat again, the dice landed on a 6.

“Eyy I get another go!” You cheered before bonking him on the head again. He sighed but chuckled.

“Well it’s nice to see her dressed as an actual board game,” Robert said, turning to Evans.

“Hey, that’s not fair! Noughts and crosses is a board game!” Evans protested.

“I wanna play,” you said. Evans smiled at you.

You got Liz to play with you and you went first. You decided to play as noughts and took the bottom left corner. After a few rounds, you got a straight diagonal line. You cheered as Liz huffed, but she congratulated you nonetheless.

“I wanna play pictionary now,” you said, turning to Scarlett. She smiled and handed you a whiteboard pen. You thought for a moment then began drawing.

You pressed down on Scarlett’s outfit to make sure you could draw properly. You ran the pen down her stomach and she giggled.

“Hey, careful, that tickles,” she said. You blushed and apologised but continued. Everytime the pen went over a certain spot Scarlett would giggle but she never flinched.

“Okay, I’m done,” you announced. Everyone leaned forward and groaned once they saw it.

“Really? You know none of us can say that,” Seb said.

“First one to say it correctly wins,” you shrugged. You had drawn Mjolnir, something that everyone struggled to say.

“Midge-oh-lair,” said Liz.

“Mjohn-ler,” said Seb.

“Me-joln-ier,” said Evans.

“Hey! It’s Mjolnir!” came a voice from the door. Hemsy had just walked in with Mackie, little Tom and big Tom.

“We have a winner,” you grinned and everyone groaned again.

“Okay now I wanna play snakes and ladders,” you said. You scrambled to your feet and launched yourself at Hemsy, climbing up his tall body and clinging to him like a koala. He laughed.

“Okay, and what do we do now?” He chuckled. You shrugged and hugged him tighter, he returned the favour.

“As nice as this is, princess, I can’t carry you around the rest of the evening,” Hemsy said.

“Alright, hang on. Gotta complete the game,” you said. You motioned big Tom to come nearer and leaned over to hug him. Your legs followed and wrapped around his waist before you slid down his body and landed on the floor. Tom laughed.

“Impressive,” he said. You lay flat at the floor and looked at him, giggling.

“You’re very playful today,” big Tom said.

“I’m just happy to be here,” you giggled, he smiled at you.

“Alright my turn, I wanna play twister,” Mackie said, launching himself at you.

“WAIT!” You cried, panicked by his sudden movement. Mackie didn’t listen.

“I’m not doing anything! I need someone to give me an instruction,” he said.

“Right foot red,” Seb said. Mackie lifted his foot and put it on the first red spot he could see, directly on your tummy. You giggled as he adjusted his foot, rubbing it against your tummy.

“Noho Anthony!”

He looked and realised what he was doing, then smirked and vibrated his foot on your tummy again. You giggled louder.

“The twister mat is making noises, how do I turn it off?” He asked.

“Um, try putting your left hand on yellow,” little Tom piped up. Mackie grinned as he spotted a yellow spot on your ribs. He put his hand down and gave them an “accidental” squeeze.

“Hehey!” You shrieked.

“Didn’t work Holland, anyone else?” Mackie said.

“Try right hand green,” Scar said, smirking. Mackie placed his right hand on the green spot on your side and squeezed again.

“Stohop!” You cried.

“Right well that didn’t work, and I can’t put my left foot on it otherwise I would break it. Any other ideas?” he said.

“You may have to push a few buttons, try turning it off and on again,” Paul said. Mackie squeezed your ribs and sides again and shook his foot on your tummy. You screeched loudly.

“Nope, still making noises,”

“Let me have a look,” Liz said. Mackie had you pinned below his hands and foot. You started to giggle as you felt a single finger run up your neck.

“Nonono Lizzie!” You squeaked as she dragged a nail up the other side.

“There must be an off button around here,” she teased. She gently scribbled all her nails into your neck. You scrunched up your shoulders and shrieked.

“NOHOHOHO!”

“Definitely not here, you sure it’s not there Mackie?” Lizzie asked. Mackie squeezed your ribs and sides again and your giggles turned to laughter.

“Nope, no no, that’s made it worse,” he said. “Someone try a blue spot!”

Evans jumped up and ran over to help. He found a blue spot right on your hip, he placed his hand over it and started squeezing.

“NAHAHAHAHAHA!” You screamed. Trying to buck your body was impossible with Mackie still pinning you.

“Dammit Evans you turned the volume up!” Mackie yelled.

“Maybe the problem lies outside of the mat itself,” big Tom piped up.

“What you saying Hiddleston? That we’re the problem?” Mackie asked.

“Not at all, just that there appears to be parts connected to the mat, but not part of the mat itself,” Tom said, putting his hand on his chin. He slowly approached you and swiped a single finger under your knee. You kicked it away.

“Now it’s malfunctioning,” Mackie informed him. Tom hummed and swiped a finger under your other knee. You kicked again. He then spider tickled under both your knees and you shrieked loudly.

“PLEHEHEASE I’M NOHOT BROKEN!” You screamed.

“God DAMN you made it talk!” Mackie yelled.

“I know what the issue is,” Robert said, stepping forward.

“Do go on?” big Tom said.

“You need to hit all the pressure points at once. It’s like a giant reset button, wear it down till it reboots itself,” he said. Everyone looked at each other.

“Position yourselves,” Robert instructed.

Mackie stepped off of your stomach and knelt by your left side, Seb knelt by your right. Lizzie was still up by your neck and big Tom by your knees. Scarlett was by your right shoulder, Paul by your left. Evans positioned himself by your hips, little Tom the other side by your thighs. Hemsworth and Robert sat next to your feet.

“Nonononono please!” You cried.

“Rebooting systems in 3…” Robert began.

“No please!”

“2…”

“Wait!”

“1…”

“No wait I’m not brOHOHOHOKEN!” You cried as everyone attacked you at once. No one was pinning you down but you could hardly twist and turn with 10 people tickling all your spots at once. They were all ruthless and yet...you sort of loved it.

“PLEHEHEHASE NOHOHOHO!” You cried, flailing your arms around. Mackie and Seb were squeezing up and down your sides and across your tummy, Lizzie was tickling deep into your neck, Scar and Paul had just caught an arm each and pinned it upwards so they could tickle your underarms, big Tom was scratching under your knees and squeezing the tops, Evans was squeezing and scribbling into your hips, little Tom was scratching up and down your thighs and Hemsy and Robert had grabbed a foot each to tickle. It was pure torture.

“KEEP GOING, IT’LL WEAR DOWN EVENTUALLY!” Robert yelled over your screams of laughter. Everyone picked up the speed and you screamed louder than ever before.

You now had your arms and legs pinned by Scar, Paul, Robert and Hemsworth so you tried to buck your hips as much as possible and scrunch up your shoulders to protect your neck but it was no use.

“NOHOHOHO MOHOHORE!” You cried. You let out another loud scream and fell into a silent laughter. Tears filled your eyes to the point where you couldn’t even see Lizzie kneeling over you.

“Reboot complete,” Robert instructed. He stopped tickling your foot and one by one the rest of the cast followed and ceased their attack. You lay there, taking in deep breaths of air.

“You alright twisty?” Mackie asked, sliding up to your head. You nodded, letting out residue giggles. Evans gave you a hand up and propped you up against the sofa.

“You...are...all...evil…” you breathed out. Everyone chuckled.

“You were in a playful mood, we wanted to join,” Evans said, winking at you.

“I never knew you were so ticklish,” Hemsworth said.

“So would you be if 10 people ganged up on you,” you replied. He laughed and nodded in agreement. Little Tom sat down next to you.

“You okay?” He asked, pulling you in for a hug. You nodded.

“Yeah...that was fun,” you clamped your mouth shut after realising what you just said.

“Fun eh?” little Tom teased, quickly spidering your side to make you giggle again.

“We had fun too if that’s any consolation? Could go for round two if you want,” big Tom said. You looked at him and smiled.

“Not today I don’t think, you guys well and truly broke me,” you said, everyone laughed.

“I think I’ve already decided on the theme for next year,” Robert said. Everyone turned to him.

“Tickle Me Y/N,” he said, “where everyone has to bring a random object to tickle Y/N with. First to make her say stop wins.” He winked at you and you blushed and hid your head in little Tom’s shoulder. He chuckled and stroked your head.

“Now that will be a fun theme,” Mackie replied.

#tickle fic #avengers cast tickle fic

[crhinge]

Breaking Down The Classic Rom-Com

I feel like I haven’t written a fun post in a hot sec so lets talk about one of my favorite subjects: Rom Coms

According to wikipedia, a Rom Com, also known as Romantic Comedy, is “a subgenre of comedy and slice-of-life fiction, focusing on lighthearted, humorous plot lines centered on romantic ideas, such as how true love is able to surmount most obstacles.” In the past, Romantic Comedies have also been called “Chick Flicks” but I think this is devaluing of both women and  the romantic comedy genre. 

The other day, I woke up to find that the most wholesome rom-com couple of all time reunited: Matty & Jenna (Aka Mark Ruffalo & Jennifer Garner). This got me thinking about the beauty of the Rom-Com and how unappreciated they can be. It has been years since we have seen a rom-com with the cultural impact of 13 Going on 30, and I would like to petition for more of them after a sad and painful year. 

I can already hear the millions (in my head this blog is extremely popular) of comments “What about To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before?!?” “What about The Kissing Booth?!?” And too that I say, "Good Riddance!” If you’re rating your rom coms on a TATBILB scale, or even WORSE The Kissing booth, I feel sorry for you. Truly I do. So let's dive into the best Rom Coms of all time, but first... 

What makes a Rom-Com good? Well let's start with a relatable as hell main character. I am talking a girl (sometimes guy), who has many flaws, but the audience can see themselves within her/him. Let's use Jenna Rink from 13 Going On 30 as an example. Well, she's literally a 13 year old in a 30 year olds body, but don’t we all still have a preteen hiding inside of all of us? She is 100% willing to be herself at every step, even if that means dancing thriller all alone. She touches on all of our insecurities, while teaching us how to break down our walls. 

Rom-Coms also need characters to make realistic choices. This does not mean that the movie itself is realistic, but rather than you can understand the choices the characters make. Again, 13 going on 30 does a fabulous job of this. Obviously, Jenna traveling in time because of wishing powder is not realistic, but the choices that her and her past self make are. Due to the insecurities of her childhood and a need to feel included, relevant, and powerful Jenna pushes important people out of her life, which happens to so many people in the real world. These decisions force her to miss out on the love of her life, and ultimately, the story ends sadly: the love of her life marries someone else and she is left with tears, wishing powder, and an old doll house. That is until she is able to travel back in time and change the course of her life. 

Lastly, Every classic Rom-Com couple needs to have chemistry. There. I said it. Hollywood loves just casting random famous actors without giving them a proper chemistry read. One great example of this is Julianne Hough and Josh Duhamel in Safe Haven. Both fun, famous, Hollywood actors who have zero chemistry. Mark Ruffalo and Jennifer Garner had more chemistry throwing back Razzles than those two did during an intimate sex scene. 

Alright, now that we have broken down the requirements of a Romantic Comedy, let's jump into the best and worst of all time.

Best: When Harry Met Sally. 9/10. A classic. A tale as old as time. Both Sally & Harry are very flawed, yet relatable characters. Sally is too picky and particular, while Harry is a player. They both suck at relationships, but make rational decisions based on their motivations. We all have friends like these two and their chemistry is on point, both on a friendship and romantic level. They bounce off of one another splendidly. 

Worst: Sleepless in Seattle. 1/10 I know, this is a strong take, but this is a terrible movie about a stalker. Meg Ryan (I don’t even remember her character's name) is the stupidest most unrelatable character I have seen in a long time. She is extremely unlovable, cheats on her SO emotionally, and flies across the country to stalk a man that she has never met before. And then you’re telling me that Tom hanks FALLS FOR HER? Nope. No. I refuse to except this. Plus, their chemistry in this is pretty mediocre (You’ve Got Mail is Way Better) and we only get to see them together once. 

Best: 10 Things I Hate About You. 8/10. I was tempted to leave all high School Rom-Coms off this list, but Heath Ledger is my exception. Talk about likability. Kat is a strong, powerful, independent woman who learns how to be more vulnerable while still being a feminist badass. We all wanted to be Kat growing up. Meanwhile Heath Ledger is the classic bad boy with a soft side, and who wasn’’t into that? Both characters grow into new people throughout the movie making them relatable, complex, and realistic. Not to mention the angel that is Joseph Gordon Levitt, who keeps the audience up beat and smiling throughout the course of this Shakespeare tale

Best: My Big fat Greek Wedding. 10/10.  Have you seen this film recently? Because it is an absolute DELIGHT and so relatable. It dives into the difficulty of family expectation and cultures merging. It also has the cutest proposal of all time with a realistic couple that fights for one another on a daily basis. You laugh. You cry. You get a dynamic cast with wonderful chemistry. You feel invested in the family and the relationship. Just a joyful wonderful film.

Worst: Something Borrowed. 0/10. If you’ve never seen this movie, don’t. Ginnifer Goodwin sleeps with her best friends fiancé and we’re supposed to be okay with it because she liked him first. Hard pass. And she ignores John Krazinski who is right in front of her. She is unlikable, unreliable, and makes dumb decisions that no one else would. 

Best: He’s just not that into you. 9/10  I will go to bat for this movie. It follows several realistic storylines in a Love Actually manor, except they actual seem legit. A woman realizing her boyfriend is never going to marry her. A girl facing the fact that maybe some guys just aren’t that into her, and she isn’t an exception to the rule. A man slowly making the decision to cheat on his wife as they are growing apart. A woman realizing that she is worth way more than her bastard husband. A woman realizing that the person she’s sleeping with will never leave his wife for her. It's compelling, has realistic characters that we can relate to, and still warms your heart in the end. 

Best: The Big Sick. 8/10. Okay to be fair, this is based on a true story so it automatically has realistic characters and decisions. Maybe I should leave this off of the list, but I wish this film got the recognition it deserves. Two lovable main characters who make mistakes that are understandable. Wonderful chemistry between Kumail and his girlfriend as well as her family. 

Best: About Time. 11/10 This is hands down the best Rom-Com of all time and Potentially the best film of all time as well. If you don’t cry in this movie you do not have a heart or soul. The characters are SO insanely likable and adorable.It touches on the importance of family and valuing time and how little of it we have. The chemistry within the whole cast is palpable, and we can all relate to at least one character, whether it is the protagonist Tim, his wife Mary, his sister Kit-Kat, or his father. 

Well it is important to point out the obvious here: this list is lacking diversity in a huge way. All but one of these movies follow a cis, straight, white couple, and that is extremely concerning. People have attempted to make more diverse rom-coms over the past few years, but they all seem to be lacking one of the three core components of what makes a rom-com great: Relatable, realistic, and great chemistry. For example. Crazy Rich Asians was a fantastic film, but the high level of wealth that Nick Young comes from, made his character difficult to relate to, and I’m sorry but the chemistry just wasn’t there for me. Always Be My Maybe’s characters fell flat and it’s not a film I would want to watch more than once. Love Simon made some huge waves for LGBTQ representation in the media, but that ending kiss was unrealistic along with his friends reaction to fining out he was lying, which left the movie anti-climactic by the end. 

Now, the most recent film on this list was made in 2017. And before that 2013. So where have all the Rom Coms gone? Why don’t we see more of them. There are a few Rom Coms that could be contenders on the “Best” list from the last couple of years that include a small amount of diversity: 

Yesterday 7/10. The big question here is does this count as a romantic comedy? The love story isn’t the main plot, but is definitely a large sub-plot. This movie features an interracial couple and is highly re-watchable. The main characters are entertaining, relatable, and have pretty good chemistry. We will see if it stands the test of time. 

The Broken Hearts Gallery 7/10. This movie has gotten NO recognition. The main character, Lucy, is an extremely likable 20 something, not unlike our Ginnifer Goodwin in He’s Just not that Into You. The plot is fun and predictable but keeps you watching. I don’t know if this one will stay on my list long, but it’s definitely up there. 

But here is my challenge to Hollywood: create some new, beautiful Rom Coms that celebrate diversity but that don’t throw away the relatable, realistic, and high chemistry characters that we are just waiting to fall in love with. It’s got like 16 ideas up my sleeve, so just give me a call Hollywood. 

#rom com #romantic comedy #13 going on 30 #when harry met sally #sleepless in seattle #my big fat greek wedding #10 things i hate about you #something borrowed #he's just not that into you #the big sick #about time #yesterday #The broken hearts gallery

[onlydylanobrien]

Dylan O'Brien - NME Magazine Interview

Dylan O’Brien: “I was in this transitional phase – close to a quarter-life crisis”

From YA heartthrob to legitimate leading man – how the 'Maze Runner' star hit his stride after a whirlwind decade

Definitely!” hoots Dylan O’Brien when NME asks if he still has to audition. “I’m not Tom fucking Hanks, bro.” He’s clearly amused by our question, but forgive us for thinking the 29-year-old actor gets cast on reputation alone. A decade into his career, and he’s making an impressive transition from teen TV star and YA franchise hero to charismatic leading man.

New York-born O’Brien cut his teeth on MTV’s hit Teen Wolf series, before landing the lead in the Maze Runner film trilogy based on James Dashner’s hugely popular novels. Leading a band of bright young things that included ex-Skins tearaway Kaya Scodelario, Game Of Thrones’ Thomas Brodie-Sangster and Will Poulter, he honed his craft while racking up nearly a billion dollars at the box office. “My career is a constant acting class,” says O’Brien. “To be able to do the Maze Runner movies simultaneously with Teen Wolf was amazing in terms of getting in reps and working my [acting] muscle.”

Now for the sometimes tricky bit. Many actors struggle with the post-breakout period, but O’Brien is making it look easy so far. This year’s Netflix hit Love and Monsters proved he can carry an old-school family adventure, and new film Flashback (out next week) reveals an appetite for weirder, more cerebral work. He stars as Fred Fitzell, a young man reluctant to buckle down to life as a nine-to-fiver with a boring corporate job and a long-term girlfriend (Mindhunter‘s Hannah Gross). When he runs into a freaky-looking acquaintance from his teenage years, Fred becomes obsessed with finding an old high-school friend he used to drop a mind-bending experimental drug called Mercury with. It’s difficult to say any more without entering spoiler territory, but Flashback is a wild ride underpinned by the idea that we can exist in several realities at once. Even if you follow every plot twist, you might not fully understand the end. “Oh, it’s definitely a headfuck,” O’Brien agrees. “There’s not totally an answer to figure out. There’s a lot of different things that people can take from it.”

Speaking over Zoom from his LA home, O’Brien is bright, thoughtful and really good fun to talk to, especially when he relaxes into the interview, but he clearly knows where his line between public and private lies. When he first read the Flashback script, written by the film’s director Christopher MacBride, his “mind was blown” by just how much he related to Fred. “I felt like I was in this transitional phase of my life that was, you know, sort of close to a quarter-life crisis type thing,” he says. “For whatever reason, it was like me and this script were meant to be. I remember reading it and thinking: ‘I am this guy right now.'”

“There were a lot of things in my personal life that were neglected for a while”

When we ask why O’Brien felt as though he had reached a “transitional phase”, he gives an answer that’s vague but not exactly evasive. For understandable reasons, he doesn’t mention the incredibly traumatic motorcycle accident he sustained while shooting the final Maze Runner film in March 2016. O’Brien suffered severe trauma to the brain and said in 2017 that he underwent extensive facial reconstructive surgery after the accident “broke most of the right side of my face”. Tellingly, he’s never really revealed what happened on set or how it affected him.

Today, O’Brien dances around the details of the accident and other issues he was dealing with at the time, but doesn’t shy away from discussing his inner conflict. “You know, it was a lot of personal things combined with at-a-point-in-my-career things,” he says after a brief pause. He says he’d have been going through some of this stuff anyway, simply because of his age, but it sounds as though success intensified it all. “It was like this whole fucking storm of shit,” he continues. “I was simultaneously so fulfilled and happy about these, like, otherworldly and surreal things that I had experienced in terms of where my career had brought me. I had all this confidence and fulfilment and beautiful people [in my life] – such amazing things to experience at a young age. But at the same time, there were a lot of things in my personal life that were unchecked and sort of neglected for a while.”

O’Brien says that in time, he realised he had to “stop for a second” and “re-explore how I wanted my life to look going forward”. In fairness, you can see why he needed a breather: his career took off while he was still a teenager. After his family moved from New Jersey to Los Angeles County when he was 12, O’Brien contemplated a career as a sports broadcaster – his Twitter bio still bills him as a “no longer suffering Mets fan” – then began posting YouTube videos as moviekidd826. A funny, slickly edited skit titled ‘How to Prepare for the SAT in 45 seconds’, shared when he was just 17, shows he was a born performer and storyteller. YouTube success led to him getting a manager, but his breakthrough role in Teen Wolf still came out of the blue. At the time, he was treading water at a local community college and taking auditions on the side.

Still, he has since taken a rather fatalistic view of this career-making moment. “It’s totally weird because, when I think about it now, I don’t see how it could have happened any other way. I can’t picture myself doing anything else now,” he told Collider in 2011. “It was really sudden and a little random, and not provoked by anything. It was just out of nowhere. It wasn’t my intentional doing.” Today, O’Brien summarises his skyscraper career trajectory succinctly. “I guess I just graduated high school and started acting,” he says. “And then I felt like I was just flying by the seat of my pants and never got a chance to stop.” Thankfully, straight-out-the-blocks Hollywood success hasn’t taken away his sense of perspective. When I say how easy social media makes it to compare yourself unfavourably to others, O’Brien jumps in: “Yeah, that’s very true. I was watching the Billie Eilish doc the other day, and I was like, I’ve done nothing. I’m not an artist at all!”

“No one thought ‘Love and Monsters’ was going to be good!”

O’Brien is also self-deprecating when he talks about being cast in Flashback, suggesting it happened because he had such an intense connection with Fred. “I was honestly like, ‘Who is watching me right now?’ That is the best way I can describe how I was feeling when I came across this script,” he says. “Chris [MacBride, director] and I had this conversation that went so well in terms of [my] understanding this script that I think he’d sent around a lot and [that] very commonly wasn’t understood. I think Chris has even said that the night before shooting, he suddenly had this thought, like, ‘Wait, do I even think he’s a good actor?'”

Though O’Brien has firmly ring-fenced elements of his private life, he’s actually pretty frank about his acting vehicles. He readily admits he was expecting a snobbish response to Love and Monsters, a CGI-heavy hybrid of post-apocalyptic action and romcom that dropped on Netflix in April and topped the streamer’s daily most-watched list. “It means so much that Love and Monsters has gotten the response that it’s gotten,” O’Brien says. “No one thought this movie was going to be good.” His blunt honesty makes me laugh out loud. “No one did though!” he says in response. “And so, fuck that. You know, most of the people who say something to me about the movie, they’re like: ‘I watched Love and Monsters, and it was… good?’ And honestly, that just cracks me up.” For obvious reasons, we hastily decide not to share our response to the film – namely, that it was a whole lot better than expected.

In Love and Monsters, O’Brien plays Joel, a survivor of a so-called “monsterpocalypse” that has bumped humans to the bottom of the food chain. Though he’s known in his colony as a bit of a coward, Joel sets off on a treacherous 80-mile journey to find his high school sweetheart Aimee (Iron Fist‘s Jessica Henwick), which means evading the hungry clutches of various supersize grizzlies including a giant monster-frog hiding in a suburban pond. It’s a simple but pretty out-there premise that wouldn’t work if O’Brien’s performance was even slightly condescending. Instead, his unselfconscious sincerity really sells a film that has as much in common with the family-oriented Robin Williams movie Night at the Museum as darker fare like The Walking Dead.

His obvious affection for the project really comes across during our interview today. “When I read the script, I just thought it was so sweet and funny and smart and unique, but at the same time reminiscent of all these movies that don’t really get made any more,” he says. That’s a fair point: Love and Monsters is neither a fail-safe superhero movie nor a slice of classy Oscar bait. “And when they were talking about how to market this movie, it was so funny hearing all these conversations like, ‘How do we actually get people to watch it?'” he adds. “But that’s a big part of the reason I wanted to do this movie: because it felt like something I missed seeing.”

“I’m lucky to be surrounded by people who want to make something out of love”

So in a way, Love and Monsters was a risk for an actor seeking to establish himself outside of a bankable movie franchise and a hit TV show. O’Brien has only made four films since his final Maze Runner outing in 2018, and insists he hasn’t been tactical with his choices. “I don’t have anyone saying, ‘We need to get you in an Oscar vehicle’, or any of that kind of shit,” he says. “I’m really lucky to be surrounded by people who think like me: that you should do what you’re drawn to, and make something out of love.”

He’s recently finished shooting a mysterious crime thriller called The Outfit in London with Mark Rylance. Directed and co-written by Graham Moore, who won an Oscar for his screenplay to Alan Turing biopic The Imitation Game, O’Brien calls it “quite possibly one of the most special pieces of writing I’ve ever experienced”. He first read the script on a plane and says he “actually stood up and clapped” when he got to the end. Considering O’Brien probably wasn’t flying Ryanair, this reaction presumably attracted a few baffled glances.

Anyway, it must be pretty intimidating walking onto set with Rylance, a multi-award-winning actor revered by his peers – Al Pacino once said he “speaks Shakespeare as if it was written for him the night before” – but it sounds as though O’Brien took it all in stride. He says he’s confident in his abilities, but admits to having a slight wobble whenever he begins a new project. “I’m always sort of re-questioning everything – like, ‘Can I even act?'” he says. “But I think there’s something very natural about that. I think even Rylance could relate to that feeling. Acting is like starting a new year at school every single time.”

At this point in his career, O’Brien has made peace with the fact that some people will have preconceptions about him based on what he’s known for: Maze Runner and Teen Wolf. “People will put you in a box no matter what,” he says. “There was definitely a time when that would get to me, especially when it felt like somebody had a perspective on me that in my soul, I just felt wasn’t accurate.” Still, there’s no doubt he wants to show us what’s really in his soul with more films like Flashback. “If anything,” he adds bullishly, “it just makes me think: ‘Right, I’m really gonna show them now’.”

‘Flashback’ is out on digital platforms from June 4

#dylan o'brien #love and monsters press #flashback press #the outfit press

[lizzy-williams]

𝗣𝗿𝗮𝘆 𝗪𝗶𝘁𝗵 𝗠𝗲.

🧢 Warnings: Spoilers, language, trigger warning

🧢 Theme: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eN9Yqeuo9Fo

Hey Kids by Molina (REALLY slowed down)

((I think that the music really fits the aesthetic of this movie, so like... listen to it while reading?))

- Tom Holland Masterlist

- Masterlist

I don’t think that I’ve ever seen anyone more embarrassed than Emma was that day. I had known the Russels for years. Sometimes they would even invite my mother and I over for dinner. 

But watching Rev. Teagardin humiliate her like that. Calling her less fortunate. She looked mortified. He was scarfing down her chicken livers as if it were a burden. Emma looked almost in tears. 

But when I looked over at Arvin, I could feel the anger radiating off him. Like the sun shining down on asphalt on a hot summer’s day. I knew Arvin was violent. I had seen it my fair share whenever someone picked on Lenora after school had dismissed everyone for the day. 

He wouldn’t fight them then, like anyone usually would. He’d leave. Then come back, picking them off one by one. And after I saw what he did to a few boys the past week, I knew what he was capable of. 

He held his grandmother close that day, his arm wrapped firmly around her shoulder, holding her as she buried her face into his shoulder, the unsettled expression on her face no longer seen by the people in the church who were looking her way. 

When everyone began eating, I watched as the Russels walked out, their heads almost hanging low. I nearly missed them, their escape was almost unnoticeable. Which was good, considering what had just happened. 

I excused myself, my mother giving a quick nod as I stepped away from the conversation. 

“Ms. Russel?” I walked quickly to catch up with them, “Ms. Russel??” 

The first one to turn around was Lenora, her eyes darting to the ground once hers met mine. 

Soon all three of them had stopped, Emma finally meeting my gaze. 

“I-I’m sorry about what happened in there, I’m sure the chicken livers were amazing. You truly have a talent...,” I paused, watching as her eyes softened up, “If you wouldn’t mind, I’d love it if you’d show me how to make them, if you’re willin’,”

Emma reached out and grabbed my hand, a smile on her face as she began to speak, her voice weak. 

“Of course. Thank you, [ y / n ], those words really mean somethin’.”

I nodded my head, “Well, I’m speakin’ the truth.”

For a second, only for a second, I looked up at Arvin. And he looked right back at me.

The diner was almost closed, the clock on the wall reading 10:00 pm. 

My blue uniform was stained with coffee, among other things. My hair was driving me crazy, and my clothes were wrinkled. My tights looked yellowed and my shoes were scuffed. 

God was really testin’ me today, wasn’t he?

The door suddenly opened, the bell above it ringing, making me jump. Everyone else had already left. So it was just me that had to clean up and lock up. 

I guess plans changed now. 

I knew who it was once I took a good look at him. That denim jacket was somethin’ I could recognize from a mile away. 

Arvin sat at the counter, taking his hat off, setting it to his left side, situating himself on the seat. 

“What can I get you, hun?” I knew it was cheesy as all hell to put the ‘hun’ at the end, but whenever I added that, I usually got a bigger tip.

“I’ll just have a coffee.”

“A coffee at this time-a night?” I giggled, “You must be pullin’ an all nighter.” 

He gave an unreadable smile in my direction, and I got the hint, turning around and pouring the last of the coffee in the pot into a tan mug. But I knew he was watching me. After all, what else was there to look at?

I set the coffee down, and for a moment he watched my hands as I set it down. Secretly, I hoped that he noticed the red nail polish decorating my nails. My mother always said red suited me like a tiger with its stripes. 

He then looked up, his golden-brown eyes meeting mine as he opened his mouth to speak. 

“I appreciate what you said to my grandmother the other day. The reverend ain’t got no business treatin’ her like that.”

I gave a simple nod, leaning over the counter and locking my knees. 

“I agree. What he said wasn’t right. Makes me think he might be better off as one of the men on the radio. But then again, he might be over-qualified.”

Arvin let out a small laugh, a smile on his face, and I could feel my cheeks beginning to turn a light shade of pink. 

The music in the background gave a soft atmosphere. 

“My grandma wanted to invite you and your mother over for supper tomorrow night. Suppose you can do that?” he asked.

“Wouldn’t miss it.”

The drive up to the Russell’s home wasn’t too far from town, and mother knew her way there like she was the one who lived there. Her and Emma had been friends for a while, meeting in church of course, and she also happened to know Lenora’s mother. 

We pulled up, the sun just setting. Emma came outside just as she heard the engine of the car, my mother hopping out the car, hugging her tightly. As I opened the car door, I immediately looked for Arvin in spite of myself. 

“Oh, dear, come give Auntie Emma a hug,” my mother called to me. 

“Hey, Emma,” I greeted, giving her a big hug. She always smelled like cigarettes and daisies with a hint of peach. 

“Hello, darlin, you look stunning,” she enquired, referring to the new top my mother bought for me recently. 

I quite liked the pink top. It fit well with my jeans. 

“Where’s Arvin?” my mother asked. I secretly thanked her in my head for asking the question, just so I didn’t have to. 

“Oh, he’s out there somewhere,” she motioned towards the clear branches of the small forest they had behind the house, “Mind wrangling him in for dinner?” 

“Course, Emma,” I smiled, my mother leading the older woman inside. 

I gave a small sigh, looking at the expanse of the skinny trunks of trees. I walked out, the leaves crunching under my feet. At least I knew that he could hear me coming. 

“Arvin?” I called out, hoping to catch a glimpse of the brown eyes that had been bothering me in my dreams for the past several days. 

“Arvin??”

“[ y / n ]?” I heard from behind me. 

I jumped, turning around. 

“Arvin!” I held my hand over my chest, “You scared the hell outta me!”

“My apologies.” he said. 

“Your grandma wanted me to ‘wrangle’ you in for supper,”

“Well, come on then, there’s no use in keepin’ everyone waitin’,”

He grabbed my hand, making my heart jolt as he pulled me along with him, practically dragging me through the sticks. 

As everyone sat down for dinner, Emma set down her special dish at the center of the table. It was the chicken livers she had made for the reverend, looking like an exact copy. 

“These look amazing, Emma,” I smiled up at her, and in return she gave me a grateful smile. 

“Well, what are y’all waitin’ for?” Emma laughed, “Dig in,”

By the end of it, my plate was filled with food. Mashed potatoes, chicken, green beans, and fruit. 

Everyone started to eat, and I looked at everyone, my eyes first met Lenora. 

“So, Lenora,” I began, Arvin’s head immediately snapping up almost on instinct. 

I didn’t blame him. Gene Dinwoodie and his friends always made fun, and eventually, so did everyone else. But I every time I encountered her, I was always nice. 

“I heard you did real good in math class,” I smiled, Lenora looking down at her plate, “Must be nice, you really are smart,” 

“Thank you,” she muttered, a shy smirk on her face. 

I then felt a hand take mine, giving it a soft squeeze. I looked over, Arvin’s face contorted into a thankful expression. 

“She is quite the smart one, ain’t she?” Emma smiled, proud as punch of her daughter. 

And so we ate, and talked, and ate some more. And when Emma brought out the pie after dinner, Arvin and I found our way out to the porch, both of us sitting together on the stairs. 

“I heard what you did to Gene and his friends,” I brought up, Arvin giving a look of guilt, partly hoping I didn’t think lowly of him, “I don’t blame you, he's so dumb, he could throw himself on the ground and miss.”

Arvin let out a full-hearted laugh at that, and I felt the heat on my cheeks come back. He nudged my shoulder as I tried to take another bite of blueberry pie. 

“I don’t think the people in this town realize how twisted people are. Everybody loves Gene, even though he’s meaner than a grizzly bear, and not to mention that flashy preacher.”

“Somethin’ about him don’t seem right,” I agreed, looking out into the night, the light behind us on the porch casting a shadow. 

“I don’t like the way he looks at Lenora.” he admitted, “He’s a lyin’ son of a bitch, he would tell you an alligator is a lizard.”

“I guess it’ll just be between us, because nobody else will hate the reverend. Maybe we can just... pray somewhere else,”

Arvin looked over at me, a glint in his eyes. Somethin’ told me the idea was familiar. 

“Alright then, pray with me,” he set his plate to the side, looking over at me. 

“Oh, you mean right now?” 

“Yeah. Why not?”

So we sat together, praying for nothing imparticular.

And that night, I saw a different side of Arvin. Not the mean, angry bully the other kids would refer to him as. And I was almost certain that I was falling in love with him.

“[ y / n ]??” My mother called from downstairs, “[ y / n ]!!!”

I rushed downstairs as fast as I could, my mother gripping the phone as she looked destroyed. 

“Mama?” I asked walking over to her quickly, taking the phone, and putting it up to my ear. But there was nothing but a dial tone, “Mama, what happened?”

“I-It’s L-Lenora,” she stuttered out, holding her chest tightly, “Sh-She-”

“What, Mama, tell me,” I sat her down, asking her in a soft voice, trying to coax the answer out of her. 

“[ y / n ]... Lenora hung herself.”

I held my mama that night. Held her tight. But the only one I truly thought about was Arvin.

Everyone stood at the side of the grave, an oak colored coffin before it would be lowered into the ground. I held Arvin’s hand, his eyes red and puffy. He had been crying for a while. There was no use in trying to calm him down. He needed to mourn. 

“Oh lord,” Emma held her chest, my mother’s arm wrapped around her shoulders, “There’s just some things we can’t understand,” she leaned down to the coffin, “But you take her into your arms...” She held her bible close to her chest, sobs leaving her mouth. 

“Uh, ain’t somebody,” Uncle Earskell spoke, “Sayin’ prayers or,” he stopped to clear his throat, Arvin giving him a deadly look. 

Earskell stopped talking, Arvin helping his grandmother off the ground, her sobs never stopping, my hand lightly drifting across his back, the action encouraging him to do the same to Emma. 

The drive home was painfully silent. My mother drove, and I sat next to Arvin. I didn’t know what we were. As far as I knew, we were best friends. But I couldn’t help but want something more. 

But I couldn’t be selfish. He was going through a lot right now. I thought that all he needed right now was someone to be there for him. 

As we reached the Russell’s house, Earskell helped Emma out of the car, and I moved out of the way to let Arvin out. 

“Take care of yourself, Arvin,” I said, giving him a remorseful look. 

When I got the little piece of paper on my porch, I thought nothing else of it, putting it with my other mail. 

But when everyone began to talk about the preacher and how he was shot and killed, the things left on his corpse including a girl from town’s panties, I knew he had somethin to do with Lenora.

Arvin went missing off the face of the Earth. It killed me not knowing where she was, his family scared sick. My mother went to go help Emma, knowing that if that woman suffered anymore heartbreak, she would die. 

When I had gotten home from visiting the church, I opened the piece of paper.

My heart almost stopped as I read it. 

[ y / n ],

I am writing this to you because I know that there is no way I can say this to your face. There are things in this world you need to deal with firsthand. I know what happened to Lenora. Our suspicions were correct, he’s bad. Real bad. Just know that what I’m about to do is something I’m not doing because I want to. It’s because I have to. Don’t try and look for me, it’ll do you no good. 

But we will meet again, I swear it. 

Arvin.

But I was gonna go find him. I felt like I had to. He was my best friend. 

I couldn’t do this without Arvin. I was worried sick, trying hard not to think about worst case scenarios.

That night, I packed my bags. I didn’t know where to look first, but somethin told me he would head to his old hometown, Knockemstiff. I packed my bags, and tried my best not to look back, knowing if I did, I would. turn around. 

Two days had passed, and if I was completely honest, I didn’t know my east from my west. I didn’t bother to call my mother. I had other things on my mind. All I had was a bag in the back and a wallet full of cash. 

It was the middle of the day, and at this point I didn’t know if I was ever going to see him again. I clutched the wheel tightly, feeling my chest contract, tears brimming in them as I felt as if I would pass out. 

“Fuck, fuck, FUCK,” I yelled, trying to keep a stready way on the road. It was so hard. What was I doing? Leaving everything I’ve ever known for a boy. My mother had done the same thing, and as much as I loved her, I didn’t want to become her. 

I suddenly swerved to the side of the road, getting out of the car, slumping to the ground. I didn’t know what to think. I loved him. I would do anything to have his hand in mine again. Even if it was just for a second. 

“Please, please, please,” I found myself sobbing, repeating the same words over and over again. 

Everything that had happened. Everything that was discovered. Lenora, her mother, the story of Arvin’s mother and father. Everything built up. 

“[ y / n ]?” a soft voice in the distance, and for a second, I thought it was delusion. Something that was caused by the heat. It sounded like him, but it couldn’t have been. 

God really was cruel today wasn’t he?

“[ y / n ]!” the voice was closer now. I picked my head up and looked in the direction of the voice. 

I screamed on shock, picking myself up, running in the direction of the face that I had been thinking about ever since I left. 

I embraced him, sobbing into his shoulder, my body shaking, the boy’s bag dropped to hold onto me tight. I didn’t want to let go, I feared he would evaporate, disappear again. I prayed God wasn’t playing a cruel joke on me. 

“You’re okay, you’re okay,” I whimpered into his shoulder, my face buried into the crook of his neck. 

I pulled back, putting my hands to his face, one on each side, taking in his face. 

His eyes were filled with tears as well, his expression unreadable. I then took note of the dirt all over him, “Where did you go?” I whispered. 

“Please don’t take me back home,” he started crying, “I can’t face my grandma like this...,”

“I wasn’t planning on it. I wasn’t planning on going back myself.” I admitted. 

“Where are you headed?” 

“Wherever you’re goin’.” 

((Boy oh boy, here we go-))

#arvin russel x reader #arvin russel #the devil all the time #tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland smut #peter parker smut #lol dont sue me because I'm tagging peter parker even though its about arvin

[astriefer]

Just Let Me Breath With You

Pairing: Thomastair

Word count: 3033

Warning: CHAIN OF IRON SPOILERS, injury, blood, mentions of trauma

It all happened in a swift blink of an eye. The demon attack, the fighting, it all passed in a great swipe of Thomas's boleadoras.

The attack was surprising - not because it was an attack, but because it was close to the stronghold of London's enclave- the London institute. Demons lurked in the road, near Fleet street. A get-together at the institute was held that gray, hazy day in London. What precisely they celebrated was beyond Thomas; what mattered was that old and young Shadowhunters as one joined the battle against the horde of Achaieral demons. Their numbers were the larger he has seen ever since the Mandikhor. It didn't pass smoothly - some injured, although Thomas hadn't registered who. During the fight, Henry or Christopher threw at the demons one of their newest innovation. He noticed only a blur, a small grenade-like object, thrown close to where he was fighting one of the demons. He tried to stop the nasty-looking Achaieral demon from flying - with Thomas himself- when smoke swirled from the thrown grenade. There was a hollow thud of metal hitting something, an explosion followed afterward, and the demon disappeared.  Maybe it was better not to inhale, but he was surrendered by the weird, thick smoke. He wasn't blown up from his inside out, so he considered it safe enough. As for now, the gates of the institute were behind him, hanging open to carry wounded and hurtling carriages. 

Thomas's hands were sore and calloused as he rubbed them against his neck. He swayed slightly, an expression of a fool sprawled over his face. He surveyed his surroundings in bewilderment. Soon enough, worried and relieved faces gathered around him. His friends and family crowded him, mumbling altogether to make no sense at all. It felt utmost importance to note to himself not all of his friends and family truly were there. Matthew wasn't, and so was Cordelia. He heard the word "overwhelmed" in all the havoc. He didn't understand what they were talking about - surely they had been fine if they were running around the way they did.

He kept his eyes on them, trying his best to decipher what they were saying, but his gaze inevitably slipped away from them. He caught a brown blur of torn red jacket, grey pants, and tousled dark hair. That instant, the world turned down, and all left was him and this man in another corner of the institute. Even the voices surrounding him ceased to exist.

On the spur of the moment, he briskly departed from his family and friends and walked to him, barely restraining himself from storming toward him. A hand rested on his forearm -  an attempt to stop him - but he shook it off without glancing at whomever it was. Sensing his intensive look, Alastair stared at him with a puzzled countenance. The short man was sitting against a wall, letting another Shadowhunter draw an iratze on his left arm. Thomas remembered Alastair charging to battle, now and in other battles they fought side by side, and relief I've washed him because he didn't seem to be wounded. By the time he reached them, It didn't matter who the other person was. The moment he captured Alastair's forearm, he broke into a run, not bothering to look at anyone as they hastily evaporated from the forecourt. Bad-mannered indeed, but Thomas was sure whoever that was would've understood urgent matter to talk with Alastair if he had known.

The tall man led the other through hurrying servants and leery eyes. Thomas almost knocked over a few people, but he did not find himself to care much more than mumble a half-hearted 'sorry'. He hadn't let go of Alastair, just loosened his grip slightly so he could slip his hand into Alastair's. His hold was firm nonetheless.

"Thomas!'" Alastair called out and caused him to turn his head over his shoulder. By the look of annoyance on his face, Thomas assumed the other man called his name a few times. Or perhaps, it was a result of being publicly dragged by Thomas for no apparent reason. Then he understood. Alastair had to run in order to follow him at this pace. For the first in entirety, Thomas cursed Alastair's shorter legs; but he quickly took it back because Alastair was, of course, the most beautiful the way he is. e slowed down his pace enough for Alastair to walk beside him, still dragging him after him. He felt a jolt of surprise Alastair didn't fight him about that, that he just let him take him to wherever he had in mind. Perhaps he was too stunned to really do anything else but stare at Thomas.

Thomas hadn't stopped to ponder over his good luck and no fuss from Alastair's side. He navigated through the maze of rooms and corridors, guiding Alastair to a casual unused guest room. He thrust the door open, let Alastair and himself enter before releasing his hand and shutting it close. He couldn't quite catch his breath.

He spun around to confront Alastair. Beautiful, he thought. The man in front of him was beautiful. Alastair - with torn clothes and dirt on his face - looked as charming as ever. In the last rays of the London sun, Alastair's eyelashes cast shadows upon his face. His cheeks seemed a bit red - was it because of Thomas or because of the previous fight? - and he chewed his lower lip. Thomas had the sudden urge to raise his hand and separate his lip from his teeth, pass his thumb on the soft mouth of Alastair Carstairs. The older man clearly tried to look expressionless, but he could see he studied him with concerned eyes. Thomas saw the question in them as well. Out of self-awareness, he looked down at his own clothes; they were rumpled and he lost his waistcoat in the fight, leaving him with trousers, a jacket, and a white shirt. All stained Ichor. He peered at Alastair, his clothes, and Alastair again. He must have looked like a corpse. Alastair, however, kept his captivating eyes on him, endearing-looking with his normal composed facade slightly off. 

Alastair's stopped biting his lip and opened his mouth to talk, yet before he could voice a word, Thomas stepped closer and buried his face in the soft hair of Alastair Carstairs. He relished the feeling of Alastair close to him, of his smell and heartbeat and warmth. "You're here. You're fine."

His voice was just above a whisper, but it filled the quiet room. "I wanted to talk with you for days now." Alastair's breath hitched. He hadn't pulled away. He hadn't tried to push Thomas aside. It was Thomas who backed away from their position. Alastair tilted his head up to look at his face and gasped loudly when Thomas crushed him in a hug. He groaned in pain, and it struck him Alastair had been injured.

"You are hurt." Thomas's voice was almost offended. He loosened his grip on Alastair, whose hand came to rest protectively on his side, where his bruise must have been. Thomas recalled all of sudden he had been given an iratze. Was his wound worse than just a bruise?

"It's nothing," Alastair wheezed and took a careful breath.

Their gazes met for a long moment. Alastair didn't squirm. Thomas leaned forward leisurely, testing his boundaries. When his lips collided with Alastair's forehead, he let out a sigh against the soft skin. Alastair stood strained at first, then slowly relaxed. it had not even been a week since the sanctuary, since Belial and his schemes, since Cordelia and Matthew disappeared to Paris. Alastair was avoiding him like the plague, and Thomas couldn't blame him much. He wished he could. It hurt seeing Alastair and knowing he could not be with him the way he craved to be. He suspected Alastair would back away soon, leave him alone in this room, disappear without a second glance. Come and leave like in a dream. Like in their time in Paris. 

Then, "I am glad you are okay as well."

Thomas's heart skipped a beat. Or a few. He abruptly ducked his head into Alastair's neck, close to his pulse. His body lost its tense as he devoted all his heed to the marvelous sound of Alastair's heart, beating strong and fast, addicting to Thomas's mind. Not a minute later he felt small palms pushing against him gently. He drew away begrudgingly.

His eyes were unclear, while Alastair's were shining brightly. Too brightly. He lifted his arm to touch the side of the fair hair on Thomas's head. When he lightly caressed it, Thomas winced. Letting his arm fall to his side, Alastair said, "You are hurt too. You need treatment."

Alastair dismissed his injury because he didn't want to worry Thomas and make it about him; Thomas dismissed it because he didn't want to be away from Alastair. His head was throbbing; it didn't matter. "It's nothing." he tried to enfold the small figure in his arms once again, but Alastair didn't let him. Thomas didn't try again, just silently observed Alastair. The dark man's eyes were conflicted as to if debating over himself what to do now. He sighed. "We can't, Tom. Please."

It was like a heated knife to his heart. He swallowed tightly. "I know," he forced himself to speak. "I am - I keep remembering all you are. All I love about you. Your hair," he counted and planted a kiss on his damp hair.  Alastair looked at him, surprise written over all his face. "Your haughty smile, your dark colors, your eyes-"  sparks of gray in a pool of black that reminded him of a starry sky. "Your lips," He closed his eyes. "your heart, so wide and loving, despite how much you try to conceal it. Your stubbornness, kindness, and selflessness. Your love for mundane movies and history and art. All of it. The feeling I can twirl around you for hours without getting a tad bit tired."

"Thomas," Alastair whispered.

"You deserve to be happy. I wish you would let me show you some of it," he continued tentatively. The man in front of him stood rigid, and it made sprouts of doubt rise in Thomas's chest. 

"Thomas. No. No. We cannot. Don't act like we- as we could ever happen. Don't say those things to try and convince me we can be more than heartbreak for each other."

The knife twisted. Thomas blinked. "I am not telling this to try and win you over, Alastair," he said slowly. "I am telling you this because you deserve to know. Because I want you to know how much you mean to me," he inhaled, feeling a bit lightheaded, and went on. "With my friends, I always hide this part of me. The part you take in my life, in my heart. I can be all I am with you. You understand me so easily, that it takes my breath away. I- I am not as good at words as James is. I am not as wild or charming as Matthew. I am not as talented as Kit. I am me, and with you, I feel it's enough."    

"Tom, it always has been enough."

Thomas sucked in a breath. How could he say this and expect Thomas to keep his face straight and his heart in control? He tried to push Thomas away but didn't let him think less of himself. He didn't let himself what he deserved, what they both did, because he believed they would both end up hurt. "I know so many things are - complicated," Alastair snorted at that. "But right now, everything is lucid, with you here."

He gazed deeply into those dark eyes. They held depths inside them he wanted to learn off by heart. Depths he wished to explore but could not reach.

Alastair shook his head and stubbornly kept his gaze at his dusted shoes. "You think we have reason by our side, but all we have is the burning yearning and stolen time." He knew if he let himself fall this time, he could not stand back. He would lose himself those kind hazel eyes, his deep voice, his brave heart, in everything that is Thomas Lightwood.

"We have more than this," Thomas declared. "I trust you."

Alastair piped his head up, "What?"

"I trust you," he repeated."And I want you, Alastair. I know you do too. But I want you to trust me as well. Trust me when I say I will never say those things just to make you give in and be with me. I am saying them because they are the mere truth and because I care for you."

Alastair glanced away hastily, eluding his eyes. "You are in no condition to make this decision. You- We can't -"

"But do you want us to be? Do you wish us to be together? "

Electricity filled the room, and both couldn't take their eyes off the other. Thomas knew it wasn't fair of Alastair to ask such a question. He knew on his flesh what it is to admit- even simply to oneself - you want something and believe you would never have it. That is how Alastair seemed to perceive them - a false fantasy, a feverish dream that would never come true. Thomas knew as well that Alastair had made it clear he didn't think they had a future, and making him fumble with those pieces of broken fantasy could hurt worse than words could. Yet, a part of Thomas couldn't help but wonder what the other had been through to be so hesitant to let himself be happy.

Do not say it's not possible on my behalf, he wanted to shout. If you wish to break my heart, do it because what you want is not a future with me in it.

"Yes."

Relief came so fast he felt abashed. His heart pounded ear-piercingly through his body. "Tell me," he asked gingerly. " Will you allow me to kiss you?"

Alastair drew in a sharp breath. Color flooded his cheeks. "Thomas..."

Thomas searched his face, which for so long was emotionless when he saw him the past week. He saw the hurt -  how much it must be for Alastair?  he pondered - and the fear. The dark-eyed gentleman wouldn't believe Thomas's words. He wasn't sure he could trust him with his heart. For now, he shall have the certitude for both of them. There was a voice telling him he wouldn't have come to Alastair after the fight if he could think clearly. He pushed that part away, locked it in a cage, and threw away the key. 

He swallowed down the odd, stinging feeling of being rejected. "Will you allow me to embrace you, then? " Just let me breathe with you. Let me hold you in my arms, to reassure us both, to know you are here. "You don't have to. I swear to it." He took a step back to prove his statement.

The judicious decision was to ignore the offer. To turn away from Thomas and all the comfort he had to give. Alastair was on the verge of tears. Thomas hated those tears were because of him. Because of them. Alastair opened his eyes and hummed acquiescently, soft and low.

The shreds of resistance left Alastair's body as Thomas swooped him into a hug. His big hand passed his head on Alastair's back, between his shoulder blades, and to his lumbar. He absentmindedly caressed Alastairs's side, touching Alastair's wound lightly. The smaller man shied away from the contact but immediately calmed back into the hug. He stifled a whine, and in the back of Thomas's mind, he knew they both had to get checked on. Thomas put his cheek on the other man's forehead. He closed his eyes and let out a pleased noise. Alastair's arms slowly cloaked Thomas's waist, holding him close. 

"We should return," Alastair whispered. A few minutes had passed. They were alone, far away from anyone who might hear, but the moment was so dreamlike and tender both were afraid to break the air around them. That alternate reality they formed in this godforsaken room, for a glimpse of a moment.

"I find it so tremendously difficult to do," his breath felt heavy; so did his heart. "Because I don't want to ever let go of you."

He heard Alastair gasp, and Thomas's own breath was quivering. The pulse beating deep in Alastair's chest raced, and Thomas was sure he could listen to it forevermore. The hug felt more private than a kiss, more overwhelming and welcoming and warm and protecting and trusting. "I missed you."

"Tom," Alastair's voice was suffocated, and thick from emotion, as if he was a boat that slowly sank because it's full of water. Thomas tried to retreat, suddenly fearing he passed the line. He must have passed it long ago, and yet Alastair let him, despite his own warnings. Thomas was about to apologize when he felt Alastair's hands tightening around him, and then the blazing understanding hit Thomas that It was Alastair's way of telling it was fine. Haltingly, he returned to their previous position.    

They were hugging, nothing more. But the proximity made Thomas feel a sense of internal peace, like a calm wave hitting the sand lightly. It made his lungs protest because he was out of breath. How could he ever let go? It was better than nothing at all, better than air and staring long at the wall of his room. It was Alastair, and he was ready to take every drop given to him. Yet, because it was Alastair, he could never get enough. It was hard to capture it - the soft looks, the thumping hearts, the yearning and the hurt. Thomas's cheek was still pressed against Alastair's forehead. He shifted to hide his face in his strands, dark like the night, soft as a feather. Alastair's smell was intoxicating. The words slipped his tongue before he knew it. "I am glad I am here with you."

There was a beat of silence. The voice of the man he loved - Thomas almost startled himself by the heedless use of the word love - barely reached his ears.

"I am, too."

#alastair carstairs #the last hours #tlh #chain of gold #chain of iron #tsc #the shadowhunter chronicles #thomas lightwood #chog #cordelia carstairs #thomastair #thomstairs #thomastair fanfic #thomastair fics #my fics #chain of iron spoilers #choi spoilers #coi spoilers #coi #I am sad :) #PLS TELL ME WHAT YOU THINK OF IT I'M ANXIOUS #I feel like Thomastair will be rushed in Chot #so have this #april fool you thought they might kiss and they didn't #Thomas respecting Alastair's boundaries is my life #also I am very not sure about this one #I like writing canon compliant things so imagine them talking between choi and chot and still showing they care for each other? #I actually want them to be slow burn #BUT TO SEE THE SLOW BURN

[startanewdream]

Into her sleep

This is me writing Hinny smut (or any kind of smut) for the first time, so, you know, be gentle?  Thoughts and suggestions are appreciated!

And because I can’t write pure happiness, it’s more of an wankst (wangst?) than anything else.

__________________

Summary: “...after a while Harry found himself taking it out simply to stare at Ginny's name in the girl's dormitory, wondering whether the intensity with which he gazed at it might break into her sleep, that she would somehow know he was thinking about her, hoping that she was all right.”

In which, unlike Harry thought, Ginny was not sleeping.

Rated M, so below the cut:

__________________

It’s well past midnight when Ginny finally finishes her shower and leaves the bathroom. For a few seconds, she just stands on the door, hearing the soft breaths of her sleeping friends, but her eyes are on the two empty beds. Anne and Janet didn’t return to Hogwarts this year. They are both Muggleborns; she hopes, as she does every time she sees their beds, that they just fled with their families.

The alternative is too painful to think about.

And if there is something Ginny’s been understanding lately is pain.

Not that she should be complaining today. By Alecto Carrow’s standards, her detention was easy, but then Alecto is much more smooth than her brothers. Alecto likes her venomous words and, unfortunately, she had finally heard more about Ginny’s relationship with Harry.

Ginny supposes she was lucky if there is such a thing in her life now. But she had three free months in Hogwarts without the Carrows knowing more of her connection with Harry than the fact that her family was close with him; why Snape didn’t mention it to them - or why he didn’t question her himself - she is too tired to guess.

She should’ve known there was something weird when she entered that room on the fifth floor and Alecto was waiting for her with a sweet smile. Ginny had faced other detentions with Alecto - she’d endured a few rounds of the Cruciatus Curse, had felt the pain of a quill cutting her skin, had blacked out once after being thrown in the room - but she had never feared Alecto as then, with that smile that did not fit the room with chains and spots of blood.

‘You’ll clean up today. Muggle style, since you love them so much’, Alecto had said, pointing to a bucket and a mop.

After so many detentions, Ginny just nodded. She knew that her silence annoyed the Carrows more than when she’d scream to them, so she just concentrated on her task, trying to stop her thoughts of who had been bloodied in that room. Not a pure-blood, sure, they were so protective of them. Maybe a First Year, someone who was as innocent as she'd been before the darkness had tried to wrap her…

‘I heard you used to date Harry Potter’, Alecto said then, and when Ginny didn’t answer, she snorted. ‘Maybe you forgot to mention early when I asked you about him’.

Ginny tried to control her breathing. She’d know a moment like that would come up sometime.

‘It was nothing’, she said without looking up. ‘We were just messing around. He dated other girls’.

The truth is far from it, but Ginny expects her apathy is enough to convince Alecto.

‘I see’, said Alecto and for a second Ginny thought she had believed. ‘So he just used you then he dumped you’.

That was low and they both knew it; there was no good answer for Ginny, so she just kept her head down, trying to clean the floor as fast as she could.

‘Boys are after one thing only, you should have known better’, Alecto continued, and Ginny could hear the mocking tone in her voice, could now understand her sweet smile. This was her real punishment. ‘You’ll be lucky if any Pureblood accepts you after you are… profaned’.

Ginny bit her lips to keep from screaming with so much strength she felt the iron taste of blood on her mouth. Alecto was talking as if Ginny was dirty and no matter the fact that she and Harry never had time to really be together, she knew that nothing she’d ever do with Harry would be stained.

But Alecto didn’t deserve to know anything about her relationship with Harry. That was one thing that nothing - not Tom, not that Dark Regime, not the Carrows - would take away from her. The memory of the way his  green eyes spark when he laughs. That dimple in his face when he’s smiling shyly. The way his hair is even messier after he lands from a flight. The determined expression on his face the first time they kissed. The way his eyes had darkened that night when she’d opened her shirt, had taken out her bra -

Perhaps it was the fact that it happened also in an empty classroom, a lifetime ago, but somehow this specific memory stayed with Ginny, protecting her almost as a Patronus against Alecto’s increasingly obscene comments. It was almost easy to turn off Alecto’s voice and after that, Alecto’s fun seemed to be dispersed. She discharged Ginny with a disdainful look, but Ginny didn’t notice for once; when she met Neville in the Common Room and he looked at her with concern (that’s the only kind of look they share these days), she’d been almost truthful when she told him she was okay.

‘I just need a bath’, said Ginny, and Neville nodded, understanding.

Ginny stayed under the hot water for a long time, as if the heat could clean away the filthiness that the Carrow’s presence always brought to her - it was worse than the blood that made her scrub her hands almost to raw skin, it was their evil dark magic. It reminded her of Tom’s diary and that’s the worst part for Ginny.

So she concentrated on her memories of Harry, letting the pure raw emotions she’d felt with him draw the heaviness of the day away.

It had worked for her shower, but as Ginny lays down on her bed, closing the curtains around her except for an opening where the moonlight enters, the stress returns as always.

She is tired and she feels tired. She can’t complain, though, because people look up to her to not give up. Neville and Luna are counting on her as much as she’s counting on them. Neither can fall.

But somehow Alecto Carrow’s voice still echoes in her mind and Ginny closes her fists, feeling her fingernails in her flesh, using the pain to draw away Alecto’s laugh that Harry used and dumped her.

‘No’, she whispers, hearing her voice. Her voice is real. Her relationship with Harry was - is - real. ‘He cares for me’.

She repeats it to herself as many times as she can, until Alecto’s voice is far away in her mind, no more than an annoying fly. Quietly, Ginny takes the Gryffindor scarf she always keeps by her bedside and hugs it close to her body, feeling  its scent.

Even after five months, the scarf still has Harry’s scent.

She sniffs it, letting that musky smell fill her nostril, until she shamelessly wraps the scarf around one of her pillows, hugging it, pretending it’s Harry she’s with. It’s only imagination, of course - she doesn’t have a memory of sleeping like this with Harry, but she wonders if he would cuddle her, if she would caress his hair until he falls asleep first, if he would wake her with soft kisses - she likes to think she would giggle them, marvelling at the fact they were together...

That’s what hurts her the most. All the questions that she doesn’t have an answer to only because there wasn’t enough time.

When these thoughts come, Ginny admonishes herself. Be grateful for what you had together, she says firmly, and waits for what will come in the future. She can do both.

She bits her lips carefully to not reopen her wound, and she hesitates just one second before grabbing her wand from below her pillow.

‘Muffliato!’, she whispers, pointing from one occupied bed then to the other one, her mind already remembering Harry casting the same spell after pushing her to that deserted classroom seven months ago. Her heart beats faster, just as it had then, thrilled by the fact that Harry was the one being bold then.

He’d been so innocent at first, so careful with her and with her boundaries that in the first weeks it was Ginny that had been the one to pull him into empty broom cupboards, who had coached him to wait for her in the Common Room so they could have a moment together alone on that couch in front of the fireplace.

But that night Harry was the one who had searched for her in the library and had called her for a night stroll. Ginny had accepted eagerly and it had been so worthy.

She touches her lips, feeling the ghost of Harry’s mouth over hers - the moment the door had closed, Harry had spent two seconds casting a protective spell on the door and then he’d kissed her as if he’d stayed away from her for years rather than since breakfast. His mouth had been hungry, demanding, and for once it was Ginny that was matching his excitement instead of the other way around.

‘I’ve missed you so much’, he’d whispered, his mouth inches from hers only enough so those words could slip away, and even then it had sounded more as groan than anything.

Their time together had been scarcely on these last few days, with her exams starting and Harry not wanting to disturb her in this final stage. They had barely a time together - other than a good morning kiss and a brush of lips before she went to bed, exhausted, and Harry had not once complained; he was too noble for that.

The fact that he was asking - almost demanding - a few minutes for them - of her - brought Ginny an elation she’d missed amongst all stress from her exams.

Ginny remembers how she had pressed herself even closer to Harry, and how he had lifted her until she was sitting in one of the tables, with him standing in front of her, their heads for once in the same level. It had been exhilarating, but she had wanted more back then and she wants more now.

Just like that day, her hand trembles slightly when she opens the button of  her shirt. With her eyes closed, she can visualize how Harry’s eyes had widened when she took off her shirt, then had darkened when she had removed her bra; he had seemed so torn between his evident desire and his nobility. He had already felt her up during their fumblings on broom cupboards, both above and below her blouse, but this was the first time he was really seeing her naked skin and Ginny would have hexed him mercilessly if he’d dared ruin the moment. Harry didn’t.

She takes off her shirt and the light breeze makes her nipples harden, just how it happened then - or maybe then it was the pure adoration in Harry’s eyes, how he seemed entranced beyond words seeing her naked chest. With an almighty effort, he’d looked in her eyes, asking silently, desperately, if he could touch her, and she had nodded in silence.

Her hand cups her breast, just like Harry did; her hand is less warm than Harry’s had been, but it doesn’t matter. She can reproduce how he’d touched her, carefully as if he thought he could break her - as if he couldn't see the shivers his touch was causing -, before his thumb caressed her nipple; just as before, she lets out a soft moan and the sound excites her now as much as it seemed to excite Harry. Now both of her hands are cupping her breasts, playing with the nipples, letting small waves of excitement flow through her.

She can’t reproduce what Harry did then - how he’d lowered his head until he was kissing her neck, then her collarbone, then the top of her breasts as he’d already done before, enjoying the cleavage of her summer top. But Harry had lowered his head even more, not stopping his kisses, until he’d taken her nipple in his mouth and pleasure had left her out of breath for a few moments, as if there wasn’t anything else in the world but the feeling of his tongue teasing her nipple, his mouth sucking it lightly then harder. She had moaned, not caring of how she had sounded, and Harry seemed to correctly take that as approval; his other hand had gone back to cup her breast, squeezing with the same amount of gentleness and roughness and -

And then they had stopped because there were sounds outside the door and they had thirty seconds - during which Harry thrown his Invisibility Cloak above them - before Filch had opened the door and looked around with mistrust.

But just as Ginny cannot reproduce Harry’s mouth on her nipples, she also doesn’t need to stop now. She wishes there were memories - she certainly tried on his birthday -, but if there aren’t, then she can let her imagination take over of what it would have happened if no one had interrupted.

She lowers her hand, below her waist that Harry had enjoyed holding while they kissed, until her hand slips under her panties. She is not as wet as she can be, but she imagines how Harry would be patient, how he’d be so gentlemanly touching her carefully until he was sure he wasn’t crossing any limits she wasn’t comfortable with.

She touches her more sensible spot, feeling another wave of pleasure, and she wishes it was Harry - with his calloused hands, long Seeker fingers - touching her now, making those gentle circles that make her want more. He wouldn’t know exactly what spot she liked most, but Ginny could show him - and Harry would be an eager student, a fast learner.

If they weren’t interrupted, she thinks she would let him touch her even more; perhaps she would touch him as well, would let him ease the tension and hardness she’d felt during their most passionate make-out sessions. Harry had wanted her, that she knew. She imagines she was still on that table, with Harry standing between her open legs; if she would move her body just a bit forward, she could rub herself on him - Harry would be the one moaning then - and Ginny pretends it’s this she is doing instead of using her fingers.

She slips her finger forward, inside, and now she’s wet, she’s ready for him. She doesn’t think they would go all the way then - Harry would want something far more special than a quickie in an empty classroom -, but she can pretend they are meeting there again, that this is just the umpteenth time that they are doing it, that they can lose themselves in each other. It can be rough, it can be desperate.

She can imagine Harry inside her, how he’d groan and how she’d be moaning with the feeling of him, alive and heart beating and thrusting into her, filling her. She can’t reproduce a feeling she’s only imagining how it would feel, but it doesn’t really matter. She slips out her finger, letting her attention focus on her clit, on that spot where she knows how to touch, how to make her come; for everything else, she and Harry will have time later, and anyway she thinks he wouldn’t mind seeing her giving herself some pleasure. He’d enjoyed it, because that’s who Harry is.

Her fingers move faster in that circle, her breath now coming in short intakes, unstable, and she presses her eyes even more, imagining Harry kissing desperately her lips while he too moves faster, how he’d warn her that he was so close and how she’d kiss him, looking at the desire in his face that matched hers, and say it was okay. She too was close.

For a second Ginny is so fixed on the image of Harry, his brows furrowed while he tries to last a bit longer waiting for her - he’d always wait for her -, that her coming almost surprises her. That final fatal wave of pleasure washes over her and she moans loudly his name - Harry, Harry, Harry - until she feels adrift in the space, as if the only thing connecting her to the world is her finger still touching her clit, pulsing - and Harry, who’d thrust once more and then he’d come, crying her name like a prayer, pleasure and bliss written all over his face.

He’d pressed his lips fervently to hers, unable to properly kiss her; they would hug, hearing each other’s heavy breathes, feeling their racing hearts slowly calming down, and she’d hear Harry whispering to her: Open your eyes, Ginny.

She obeys him without thinking, but all she can see is the canopy of her bed. Harry is not there with her and suddenly everything comes back to her.

She is alone and Harry is just in her imagination. They are even dating anymore. Harry is out there, lost or hurt - never dead, because that is a thought she never lets herself even conjure -, not knowing that Ginny is in Hogwarts dreaming about him, wishing he returns safe, missing him as if he took with him a part of her.

The last bit of that wondrous bliss leaves her and Ginny dries her moist eyes, hating the tears that doesn’t fall. She hugs the pillow with Harry's scarf, closing her eyes and letting herself pretend they are just cuddling, protected in each other's arms.

#Hinny #Harry and Ginny #Smut #Wankst #Wangst #hinny fanfic #t: fanfiction

[twomoonstwosuns]

epiphany

pairing: santiago garcia x y/n

warnings: angst, some swearing, flashbacks, mentions of death and blood, vulnerability, mentions of sex...please read at your own risk

word count: 1.6k

inspired by: ‘epiphany’ - taylor swift

a/n: this is my first time writing for santiago, i hope you enjoy it and it doesn't suck <3

The mountains were silent as he moved, careful not to make his presence known. The smoke and sound of gunfire had cleared, each of the five men holding their breath as their ears strained for sounds of movement from their attackers. The same thought ran through each of their heads. 

Stay alive and get out.

It was a surprise attack, a sudden gunshot from unknown followers as they climbed up the mountains. Their military instincts kicked in and took over, even when Benny got shot in the arm. It was just a flesh wound, nothing that could deter him from shooting when he heard the next gunshot. 

There was one man left. Five against one.

And then Tom was hit, a bullseye to the head. There was no way to survive something like that. Santiago shot his assailant twice and fell, blood dripping from the wounds and onto the rocks. A brief moment of silence passed before Benny’s voice pierced the air, yelling for his fallen comrade as he rushed over to him. Santiago felt numb, not acknowledging the next few moves he made. All he heard was Benny mourning over the loss of their friend. 

It didn’t even register that the brothers were punching each other until they were nearly falling off the cliff. Santiago jumped into action, Frankie joining him and tearing the brothers apart as ‘stop this shit!’ spewed angrily from his mouth. 

A chill ran up Santiago’s spine, the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. They were being watched. Movement caught his eye and he looked. Lorea stood a few feet away, a rifle in his hand that was pointed directly at Santiago’s head. 

But he was supposed to be dead. Santiago killed him himself. 

Ten of his guards stood beside him, each of them pointing a gun at the others. They were surrounded and outnumbered. A wicked smile crossed Lorea’s face.

“Espero que estés listo para morir.”

Santiago’s breaths were shaky and he took as many as he could, not knowing what one would be his last. He didn’t want to die, but there was a brief moment where he caught a single glimpse of relief he would feel if he did. All he’d ever known was the military…how he gave his life over and over and over again and for what? To go back to civilian life without any help from the Colombian or US government? He deserved more, his friends deserved more, which is what brought them back to Colombia to steal Lorea’s money. 

But look where that got them, Santiago thought. A helicopter crash, an ambush that left one wounded and one dead, millions of dollars left behind because they were too ambitious and couldn’t take it all with them. 

Tom was someone’s son, someone’s father. And he was gone because Santiago wanted to steal the money he thought they were robbed of. That glimpse of relief from the guilt and the pain and the anger Santiago knew he’d feel for the rest of his life suddenly didn’t seem so bad…

…until the the shot was fired. 

》 》 》

It’s always the same dream.

Santiago would finally succumb to sleep, sometimes hours after he lays down in deafening silence and his mind finally stops reeling. And then before he knew it, he’s awake again, the violent images of Tom’s death replaying in his mind. At least the part about Lorea coming back from the dead to kill him wasn’t true. He just wishes the rest of it wasn’t either. 

This time, he had fallen asleep on his couch. The beginning of a new movie had already started and he doesn’t recognize it, but he also doesn’t really care. A quick look at the clock shows that it’s just after two in the morning and a heavy sigh and a whispered ‘fuck’ leave his lips and he turns the tv off. He runs a hand down his tired face and sits in the silence. He’s alone with nothing but his thoughts and none of them are pleasant.

He debates calling you. A one night stand turned into another one night stand which turned into the both of you reaching out whenever you were drunk, lonely, and horny. He had attempted therapy at the suggestion of Frankie, but walked out before the hour was up. But it’s early on a Friday morning and he knows you have work in the morning.  

He decides instead to grab his keys and go for a drive. Empty roads with the windows down and a classic rock radio station playing in the background would surely relax him.

The drive to clear his head brings him to your house, the route so familiar now that Santiago doesn’t realize he’s driven to your house until he’s outside of it. The lights are still on and he recalls you telling him once that you were a night owl, so he wasn’t too surprised to see that you were still awake.

He knocks on the door softly in case you had gone to bed already and he almost lets out a sigh of relief when you answer the door in sleep shorts that peeked out from beneath an oversized t-shirt. Your hair is down and disheveled from laying against the pillows of your couch and Santiago thinks it may just be the most adorable thing he’s ever seen. 

He doesn’t kiss you, no hand on the back of your head and crashing his lips onto yours. All he does is stare, like you weren’t real. Just your presence in front of him now was like the light at the end of the tunnel, the desire to rush towards it nearly overwhelming him.

It had been awhile since a woman made him feel like that. He thought there was a possibility with Yovanna when he went to track her down in Australia. Their chemistry was undeniable, but looking at her only made him feel ashamed. It was him giving her safe passage out of Colombia in exchange for Lorea’s whereabouts that led to Tom losing his life. 

He blamed her for awhile, but he mostly blames himself. 

“Hey…”

Your voice brings him back to reality. He opens his mouth to say something, but all that comes out is a breath that shakes. You can see the pain behind his eyes. It’s the same pain you’ve seen get drowned in alcohol and hidden by lust at the bar you both frequent. 

“Do you want to come in?”

“I don’t…” His voice is low and defeated and it makes your heart ache. “I don’t, um….” 

Santiago sighs, not knowing what to say to explain why he stood at your doorstep. The only thing he knew for sure is that he isn’t looking for sex…and he hopes like hell you won’t turn him away.

You give him a small smile and step aside, welcoming him inside

The warmth of your home a sharp contrast from the chill of the night air and giving him goosebumps. The glow of your bedroom light cast a faint glow into the hall and he follows it like a siren call.

“Do you want something to—“ He isn’t behind you and you turn just in time to see his shadow disappear into the hallway.

Santiago lays back on your bed, breathing out all the hurt and anger he’d been feeling as the scent and comfort of you engulfed him. After turning off lights and plugging your phone in, you carefully lay next to him so you wouldn’t scare him. The only sounds that are heard is his breathing and the rain outside. You’ve seen him get caught up in his mind before, but never like this. You don’t ask him what’s wrong…whatever it was is clearly more complicated than a shitty day at work. You know as well as anyone there are some things in life that you just can’t speak about.

Instead, you watch him carefully and put your hand on top of his. He closes his eyes as another shaky breath escapes him. The touch of your hand on his grounds him, reminds him that when he closes his eyes, he’s not actually back in Colombia and reliving the death of his friend. He’s home, in your room, feeling safer than he’d felt all week. 

Santiago curls onto his side, arm sliding around your waist and pulling you into him. His forehead falls against yours and you gingerly put your hand on his cheek. A tear escapes his eye and you tenderly wipe it away, letting him pull you even closer. 

“It’s okay,” you whisper into the darkness of your room. Those two words squeeze his heart in a vice grip and he allows more tears to fall as sobs start to rack his body. His hold on you tightens and he’s scared to cry but he can’t stop. “I’ve got you, it’s okay.”

He cries himself to sleep in twenty minutes and you move just enough to grab the blanket to cover yourselves up. His head rests against your chest and you gently run your fingers through his salt and pepper hair. It had never been like this with him before. A couple rounds of sex with talking and flirting in between always ended with one of you leaving the other to go home. 

And yet as he lays against your chest and looks peaceful for the first time all night, you find yourself wishing you can be that for him all the time…his relief and his peace. 

[permanent tag list]: @dameronsgalaxygal​

#santiago garcia x reader #santiago garcia x y/n #triple frontier fanfiction #santiago garcia fanfiction #santiago garcia x you #santiago pope garcia #santiago garcia angst