#silver sixpence fic
Note
ello ello ello!
i am looking for fics where, human or not, crowley and azi grow up being together being friends and turns to lovers ! thank you for your blessed job <3
Hi! We have #childhood friends and #friends to lovers tags, so check those out. Here are some to add to the collections...
Stronger Than Hurt by TawnyOwl95 (E)
Everything changed the summer that Crowley fell off the Eastgate's garage roof and broke his arm.
Fourteen years later he stood outside a tattoo shop with a picture of the drawing Aziraphale Eastgate had done on his cast, and hoped for a second chance.
Christmas light by Tigerphoenix (T)
After years of neither hearing form his father nor sibling Crowley is convinced to return to his childhood home. He knew from the start it wasn’t a good idea, but he did it anyway. Maybe something good comes out of it.
Aziraphale returns home to his family home every year for Christmas. But Christmas with nine people is exhausting. Nothing wrong with some time alone, right?
I scorn to change my state with kings by bearwonder (T)
They’d seem an unlikely pair, if anyone saw them from the outside — Crowley in black skinny jeans and Aziraphale in beige corduroys — but no one does, and that’s just how they want it.
Crowley and Aziraphale meet in kindergarten. This is the story of their lives.
What About Hope? by AppleSeeds (M)
Crowley met Aziraphale in the spring of 1989 while he was on his lunchbreak from the factory, his attention immediately drawn to the posh boy sitting by the canal writing poetry. It was immediately obvious that they came from entirely different worlds, but the time they spent together was the happiest Crowley had ever known. With Aziraphale, Crowley experienced many firsts - his first kiss, his first love... his first heartbreak.
Twenty years later, they are reunited when Crowley, now a successful writer and vlogger, comes to work as an Associate Lecturer in the university department where Aziraphale is an academic. Seeing Crowley brings back Aziraphale's intense regret for allowing himself to be persuaded to leave him behind all those years ago. Aziraphale desperately wishes to renew their acquaintance, but Crowley seems determined to keep his distance. Aziraphale can't blame him for not forgiving him, since he has never been able to forgive himself, but when Crowley begins to spend more time with him, Aziraphale is left with the hope that maybe they could at least be friends again - no matter how much it might hurt.
And a Silver Sixpence in His Shoe by smolalienbee (T)
If there is one thing to be said about Aziraphale Z. Fell is that he leads an ordinary, quiet life.
He lives in Soho, London, above an old bookshop that he’s been fortunate enough to inherit in his late twenties. He likes sushi and good wine. He has a few friends - like Nina, who works at the coffee shop across the street; or Maggie, who runs the record store that he takes an absolute pleasure in frequently purchasing from.
(He’s lonely. Terribly so. He’s been lonely for about ten years now, since - he does not want to think about that.)
Today is his 35th birthday.
At age 15, Aziraphale made a Promise. At age 25, he had an Earth-shattering fight with his childhood - and closest - friend. At age 35, that same friend shows up at his doorstep and suddenly, Aziraphale’s entire world is thrown upside down.
A story of something unexpected, something old, something yellow, something stolen, something new and something promised.
(It’s going to be a long week.)
Dancing in the Dark by Demonicputto (T)
In search of inspiration for his next album, rock musician Tony Jay is headed to London. It's not the atmosphere he's after, but a reunion with Ezra Fell, his dearest friend from childhood. A one sided, adolescent crush fueled Tony's first songs and, now that they're both older, he's hoping those feelings might finally be requited.
But, Ezra may not be ready for that. In his eyes, their relationship is far more complicated. Unlike Tony, he remembers who they truly are: the demon Crowley and the angel Aziraphale.
- Mod D
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Kiss Me
Based on the song by Sixpence None the Richer
Entry for @ohtobeleah Galentine’s Day
Just Fluff, my first time writing a fic, so I hope y'all like it. Also, a few uses of Y/N.
Word Count - About 500
“I’ve never been to a dance before, Bobby, I'm not even sure I know how.” You said, walking into the barn-turned dance hall.
“You’ve got nothing to fear, just follow my lead. Holy cow, you look perfect in that dress.” He grabs your hand as you walk in.
You and Bob wander around the hall, saying hi to people you know, dancing to the songs you like, and getting the best food from the snack table.
“Time for a slow dance, let’s take it back a little bit, ‘97, Kiss Me,” the emcee announces as lights dim and you take to the dance floor.
"Dance with me?" Bob asked, offering his hand.
You’ve known Bob Floyd forever. Ever since his family moved in next door to you in your little midwestern town. It felt right, natural even, putting one hand on his shoulder as his went to your waist. The song played, but all you could pay attention to was his eyes and keeping him close to you. You wanted the moment to go on forever.
When the song ended, you both decided to walk outside and get some fresh air. The wheat fields gleamed in the moonlight as you sat down on an old fence next to him.
“Hey, Y/N?”
“What Bobby?”
“I love you.”
“I love you too.”
“Can I kiss-”
Before he could get the full question in, you leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. He smiled and hopped off the fence to stand in front of you. A real one this time, under the silver moonlight and as perfect and picturesque as anything you'd ever experienced.
--- Several Years Later ---
“Let’s get Mr. and Mrs. Floyd out here for their first dance!” The emcee announced. The reception guests cleared the way for the couple.
You were worried about dancing in front of all the people you'd invited, but as Kiss Me started playing, you remembered all the perfect moments that had gotten you here with the one and only Bob Floyd.
The summer mornings you'd spend playing on the old tire swing that hung from the tree house in his backyard. The day he forgot you didn't like hiking and he wore the goofiest hat you'd ever seen. The night he took you on a drive to see the fireflies. All the deployments and long-distance phone calls. Every memory the two of you had shared from childhood to now.
“Just like the night we fell in love, right y/n/n?”
“We were in love long before that.”
“The night I decided to do something about it.”
“Best choice ya ever made,” you kiss him, no longer caring that your family and friends were watching.
“How ‘bout you kiss me again, just for good measure?” As the song ends, you share one more kiss.
“I love you, Bobby.”
“I love you too, Y/N.”
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Izzy x Lucius Rec List 1
Canon Timeline
Same Time, Same Place by prizewinningfruitcake
38K. After the events of S1 Izzy and Lucius find themselves in the same port town. Lucius is thriving and Izzy is not doing so well. I find interesting how the characters collide in this one. Eventual Top Lucius, Bottom Izzy. Comfort 10/10. Hot 10/10.
The Crumbs of Love That You Offer Me by Internerdionality
57K. S1 Canon timeline. Izzy and Lucius seem to keep falling together. Top Izzy, Bottom Lucius but later they switch. TW Chapter 3. Hot 10/10
Damned if I’m going to lose it by DefNotForWork
20K. Lucius observes Izzy. Very poignant Izzy character study. Disgruntled Izzy 10/10. Hot 10/10
Only Port In a Storm by Jamierose1228
Very good cuddling fic. Comfort 10/10. Need to be logged in AO3 to open.
AU
Cut to the feeling by katonline
42K. Book convention AU. Lucius as Stede’s assistant. Izzy as Ed’s business partner. Top Izzy. Bottom Lucius. Disgruntled Izzy 10/10. Hot 10/10
Irredeemable Bastards by Cat_In_A_Top_Hat, tardigrape
38K. Art thief’s AU. Pickpocket Lucius. Tech Wizard Izzy. Izzy and Lucius start being competition but then join together. Crafty Lucius 10/10 Art Heist 10/10
But These Are The Wounds Of Love by rimbaudofficial
14K. Shared injuries soulmates AU. Izzy thought he didn't have a soulmate until he started getting injured at a later age and realized his soulmate is someone much younger. Comfort 10/10. Romance 10/10.
Spoons by Roberta Seaport (Deepdarkwaters)
7K. Part of the Seaglass AU series, where Ed and Izzy are BDSM leatherworkers and Stede runs a knitting shop. The author has a companion series that follows Lucius, Pete, Fang and Izzy. This entry, Spoons, focuses on the growing relationship between Izzy and Lucius. Top Lucius. Bottom Lucius. I think it can be read as a standalone but the rest of the series is great too. Hot 10/10.
The girl under you that makes you cry by CyborgShepard
6K. Bar/Cabaret AU. Lucius as cabaret dancer. Izzy as disgruntled bar man and business owner. Sparks fly. Top Izzy. Bottom Lucius. There's a second part in this series that is as good or better. Disgruntled Izzy 10/10. Hot 10/10.
And a silver sixpence in his shoe by CyborgShepard
57K. Camboy Lucius AU. Stede/Ed Wedding AU. Lucius as after hours camboy and Stede’s assistant during the day. Izzy as Ed’s best friend and unsuspecting patron to Lucius's cam site, until they meet. Top Izzy. Bottom Lucius. Plot 10/10 Hot 10/10.
Darkfic /Dead Dove
(Please read trigger warnings in the fic tags. Sensitive readers thread carefully. The following listed fics get more dark as you read down)
Wake the White Wolf by shiphitsthefan
13K. Vampire the Masquerade AU. Vampire Izzy seeks out Vampire Lucius, a known cannibal. You don’t need to know anything about the Vampire the Masquerade world before reading this, I think it adds to the mystery. Dark and erotic. Top Lucius. Dangerous Bottom Izzy. TW Deals with murder, cannibalism and a suicidal character. Disturbing 10/10 Hot 10/10.
Masochists, Sadists and Narcissists; All Hail Terpsichore by Cannibalsnplaid
50K. Ballet AU. It’s written beautifully and the author is a ballet connoisseur. Top Lucius. Bottom Izzy. Beautiful side of Izzy/Ed friendship. TW Izzy deals with current/past sexual abuse. Plot 10/10. Romance 10/10. Hot 10/10.
who would trade that hum of night by CyborgShepard
9K. Lucius has been taken by a rogue band of men and they have abused their prisoner, to say the least. Izzy walks in to the bar where he is held captive. Very dark and cruel but also tasteful, beautiful and heart warming by the end. One of my absolute favourites. TW Sexual enslavement and abuse. Disturbing 10/10 Hot 10/10. Hurt/Comfort 10/10.
#lucius spriggs#izzy hands#sprizzy#lucius x izzy#fic rec#izzy x lucius#ofmd#ofmd fanfiction#fic rec list
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Sprizzy Rec List
Here, take this rec list dedicated to my current favorite brain squatters. For such a small pairing there's a crazy amount of really good fic to read.
This list mainly includes 10k+ fics but there are a couple 5k+ ones in there as well. All of them are complete unless I say otherwise.
I could have included a lot more but I've already been working on this list for too long and I want to post it for you guys.
Please mind tags and warnings before you read.
Canon Era
Comprehension by MaggieMay
His stance hasn't changed - he'd still sooner keelhaul his own bollocks than do Izzy Hands a favour, but an idea is already taking shape in his head - one that he's certain will have absolutely hilarious consequences in either direction, and for all it might get his throat slit, the odds still work out in favour of, for want of a better phrase, fuckery. If Izzy wants to read, Lucius can teach him.
OR: Lucius' personal approach to 'fuckery' involves lewd gay poetry, and one oblivious and feral first mate.
I'm (Not) Just a Notch in Your Bedpost, You're (Not) Just a Line in a Song by Ennaess
It starts with a hand on a sleeve. None of the other crewmembers would have minded--would have thought much of the gesture at all--but no one touches Izzy. Lucius, quite accidently, realizes he would very, very, very much like to touch Izzy. Intimately.
Head and heart on fire by RustyTheTrain
Everyone is back together on the Revenge, and things are fine. Until Lucius helps patch up Izzy after he gets hurt on a raid, and then can't stop thinking about him without his shirt on. It is quite annoying. And inconvenient. The last thing Lucius needs is a crush on the angry, asshole first mate Israel Hands.
by any other name by sugarybowl & wishingonalightningbolt
Once upon a time, Izzy Hands had a steamy weekend with a pirate called Francis Spriggs. A few years later, he boards the Revenge and meets Spriggs' younger brother, Lucius.
Portrait of a Man on Ire by sweatervest
“Yes. To sketching,” Izzy growls. “But on one condition.”Lucius lifts an eyebrow. “And what would that be?”“I sketch you.”
Modern AU
beneath the sheets of paper lies my truth by sugarybowl & wishingonalightningbolt
Ed, Izzy, Fang, and Ivan make up the London-based rock band Kraken, which rocketed to fame in the 1990s. When ballad singer Stede Bonnet reaches out about a collaboration, Izzy has to work with Bonnet's songwriter, an overeager composer named Lucius, to write something that aging rockstar Ed and new-on-the-scene Stede can perform together. What's worse is that Lucius is utterly obsessed with a mysterious songwriter called Basilica, a faceless, genderless musician—and he has no idea that Izzy and Basilica are the same person.
and a silver sixpence in his shoe by CyborgShepard
Izzy likes lines, likes rules. Likes to know where things start and where they finish, definite and resolved. But where the fuck does getting off to Luce begin, and how does sitting on the bridal table at Ed’s wedding with Lucius end?
Or: The one where Izzy is Ed's best man, Stede wants the most lavish wedding possible, and the person in charge of planning it is the camboy Izzy's been subscribed to for the better part of a year.
under the ashes, i'm on fire by izzyxhands
Izzy's having a miserable night at Bonnet's stupid party playing nanny for Ed. Until, that is, Lucius finds him on the balcony and introduces himself. Trans!Izzy modern au.
Work in Progress by sweatervest
After a disastrous interview, crime novelist Israel Hands abruptly retired, leaving his popular Detective Leyendecker series one book short of finished. For the last 10 years, he's been content to work as an editor at Edward Teach's small press. But now Ed's working on a merger with Stede Bonnet's press, and Izzy's expected to work with their star author: romance novelist L. Steele.
L. Steele turns out to be Lucius Spriggs, twenty years younger than Izzy and flirts like it's breathing. Worst of all, Lucius recognizes Izzy as Israel Hands.
Money Can(t) Buy Happiness by Blackforestfire [series]
Sugar Daddy alternate universe. Lucius and Izzy have an arrangement with strict, specific rules to follow. Each installment in the series shows them drifting farther and farther away from the safety of those rules as feelings and personal growth change their dynamic.
take this sinking boat and point it home by sugarybowl & wishingonalightningbolt [part of series, you can read the Stede/Ed work for context but it's not totally necessary]
Izzy supposes he gets used to having the assistant around. That doesn’t mean Izzy likes him. He’s rude, for one thing, completely fucking bitchy. He talks back, rolls his eyes, treats Izzy—treats him the way he treats authority. Dismissively, without a care in the world, as if he could take it or leave it. The most fucking annoying thing about the stupid fucking assistant is his stupid fucking dating life.
The Indignity of a Tender Touch by CloudsPassMeBy
Izzy has been doing ballet for so long and he will never, never shit where he eats but he likes Lucius so fucking much.
if love is the answer (you hold on) by CloudsPassMeBy [F/F cisswap]
Izzy is dragged kicking and screaming out of retirement to become Lucius’s partner. They may not be able to enter the Olympics as a same sex couple but they’re going to do their fucking best to win Worlds.
Edge of Heaven by RustyTheTrain
The job wasn’t supposed to a forever kind of job, more of a until he got his shit together job. Something to keep him going and earn him a paycheck while he worked on his portfolio, freelanced, applied for internships, did what he had to get a foot through the door to the design and illustration world. So far, he hadn’t actually gotten anywhere with his plans, but he now worked five nights a week at the Revenge instead of three, lived in a shitty little apartment in a crappy part of town, spent all his money on rent, books, clothes, take away food and art supplies, and didn’t save anything. He’d be turning 30 that year and figured there was still time to change things. If he wanted to.
lucius Artpopping his pussy for izzy by CyborgShepard [series] [I can't believe I'm having to rec this title]
Izzy's always glaring, always coming in here every couple of weeks to sit and brood. He doesn’t even tip, just takes up a table in the back and pretends like he’s not positively vibrating with awkward sexual frustration as he watches Lucius’ shows. And it is always Lucius’ shows he comes to watch. It’d be flattering, Lucius thinks, if Izzy wasn’t so fucking weird about it all.
in the middle of fucking nowhere by bitchlesss
Lucius gets stuck in the middle of fucking nowhere with his annoying coworker. Izzy thinks about the past. Until he's too busy to do so.
Special mention
Leda House and the Kraken 'Verse by Vera_DragonMuse [series - different works in the series have different pairings, it's best to read from the beginning but there are several works that focus on Sprizzy]
A modern AU that follows the entire staff of the drag bar named Revenge as well as their partners. Features drag shows, late in life coming out stories, romance in many forms, and as much found family as you could ask for.
#sprizzy#sprigghands#ofmd#lucius spriggs#izzy hands#lucius x izzy#izzy x lucius#fic rec list#ofmd fanfiction#lusrael#rec list
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And a Silver Sixpence in His Shoe
Day 1: Something Unexpected
good omens // aziraphale/crowley // a human AU childhood friends fic // rated T // chapter 1/6
At age 15, Aziraphale made a Promise. At age 25, he had an Earth-shattering fight with his childhood - and closest - friend. At age 35, that same friend shows up at his doorstep and suddenly, Aziraphale’s entire world is thrown upside down.
A story of something unexpected, something old, something yellow, something stolen, something new and something promised.
(It’s going to be a long week.)
read full chapter on AO3 here!
“Azira.”
Anthony calls for him from his peculiar perch on Aziraphale’s bed - sprawled out on his back, with his head hanging off the edge, long hair flowing down to the floor. He stares ahead at a wall; his eyes are still reddened. It’s been a long day.
“Yeah?” Aziraphale responds. His attention, the whole of it, is now on the other boy.
He is - has always been - Anthony’s complete opposite. It shows, quite clearly, in everything about the two of them. Even how Aziraphale sits is a complete contrast to his friend - cross-legged, hands folded neatly in his lap, stiff where Anthony is loose, like liquid. He feels an urge to rock himself back and forth, and he knows Anthony won’t mind, but still, he resists it, straightens his back instead. He listens; just as his parents have taught him - ‘if you care, Aziraphale, you will not move a muscle’.
He needs Anthony to know that he cares.
“Let’s make a promise,” Anthony says. He shoots up like a spring unfurled and before Aziraphale can even blink, Anthony is in front of him, nearly-yellow eyes peering directly into his. Aziraphale doesn’t startle. He stares right back, head cocked to the side.
“What about?”
“Well…” Anthony mirrors him, cocking his head in much the same way. He clicks his tongue. “Let’s promise that… if…”
He’s dragging it out on purpose. Aziraphale knows him. He waits, patient.
“...by the time we’re… hm. By the time we’re 35…”
He leans in. So does Aziraphale. Their foreheads bump and they grin. It’s the first time Anthony has smiled that day.
“...if, by the time we’re 35, we don’t have a - wife or a husband or a girlfriend or boyfriend or anyone, we’ll marry each other. Okay?”
There is no hesitation.
“Okay.”
“Promise?”
“I promise, Anthony.”
If there is one thing to be said about Aziraphale Z. Fell is that he leads an ordinary, quiet life.
He lives in Soho, London, above an old bookshop that he’s been fortunate enough to inherit in his late twenties. He likes sushi and good wine. He has a few friends - like Nina, who works at the coffee shop across the street; or Maggie, who runs the record store that he takes an absolute pleasure in frequently purchasing from.
(He’s lonely. Terribly so. He’s been lonely for about ten years now, since - he does not want to think about that.)
Today is his 35th birthday.
That fact in of itself may be shocking to some people - people’s first impressions of Aziraphale tend to be that he’s awfully, gleefully gay; that he’s extremely eccentric (with his speech, his mannerisms and the whole of his being); and that he’s at least 45. He never corrects them.
He’s planned for today to be another ordinary, quiet day. He has, rather firmly, refused his family’s invitation to a big birthday dinner - they’ve been inviting him, repeatedly and unsuccessfully, for the last five or so years. Perhaps that is one thing that he’s kept from Anthony - this sudden, unwavering confidence that everything will be okay, even when it feels like the world around him is shattering whenever he has to say no to his family.
In any case, his plans for his birthday are simple and painstakingly ordinary. First, he’ll go out to his favourite sushi restaurant and have a perfectly ordinary meal there. He may even, if the fancy strikes him so, buy enough sushi so that he can take some of it back home and treat himself to a breakfast sushi the following morning. It is his birthday, after all!
Then, once he’s full of sushi and sated, he’ll stop by Maggie’s store and buy a new record. A record that he most definitely doesn’t need, considering the rather extensive collection he’s already in possession of, but, well. Birthday!
By the end of the day, nothing will have changed. Much as he’s woken up, Aziraphale Z. Fell, an ordinary bookseller, he will, too, go to sleep as Aziraphale Z. Fell, an ordinary, lonely bookseller. There is not even a second when he entertains the possibility that something unexpected might happen today. Not one. Not a moment.
(He’s turning 35.)
That is until, not long after he’s had breakfast and came downstairs to the main shop floor, there’s a knock on the front door. Aziraphale huffs - his bookshop is most definitely closed today - and then makes a beeline to the door, purely for the satisfaction of shooing away whoever has dared to bother him on his birthday.
(He’s turning 35 and he doesn’t hope.)
He opens the door. He knows, even before his brain has the time to register what’s in front of him. Or who, rather.
“Hey, angel. Been a while.”
read full chapter on AO3 here!
#smolalienbeewrites#sixpence fic#sixpence gomens#good omens#ineffable husbands#aziraphale x crowley#crowley x aziraphale#gomens#crowley#aziraphale#good omens fic#good omens human au#human au#fanfiction#azcrow
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i've been enabled and i'm making it your problem
@autisticempathydaemon and @zozo-01 are FAR better to me than i deserve - and so commences the most stupidly difficult, totally self-indulgent and utterly ridiculous game you may have ever seen 🥳🥳
somehow, i've racked up 31 redacted fics in just under a year (??? how on earth has THAT happened??) and for each one, i've picked my favourite favourite line - it's your challenge to match the line to the fic it's from!
(please, don't take this too seriously - i'm not trying to shamelessly promote myself, or fish for compliments or whatever. all that's happening here is that i'm really proud of some of the stuff i've written over the past year, and it's my blog so i can do whatever i want lmao)
under the cut: first off is my list of lines, and then a comprehensive list of fic titles (arranged by date published, and then separated by series) so that you don't have to go traipsing through my masterlist! there's 31 total - i wonder how many you can get...
(i'll probably reblog this post with answers later, for anyone who may be curious, but again it's not that deep lmao)
oh, and one last thing: MINORS DNI 💕💕 there's nothing explicitly nsft here, but the implication is HEAVY for a few of these, so i'm erring on the side of caution!
(also, it's fairly obvious, but beware spoilers for, like, everything i've ever written lol)
-
ginger's picks:
What do you get when you cross a bullet with a human brain?
Ask for the impossible, just once more, and know that he has never been able to resist you.
sitting cross-legged in the bowl of your pelvis, holding your stomach softly in his lap and stroking it like a pretty cat.
(That’s you, by the way. They’re watching you. Smile.)
his heart beats on. maybe you’re asleep, maybe you’re awake. it doesn’t matter. you dream of him either way.
Books be damned. You, the answer to his prayers, the apple that bit back, and he’s forever in your gentle grasp. What is magic, if it isn’t whatever he has with you?
he doesn’t stay to read it, but there is a small plaque attached to the front of the plinth, glinting in the light. the text reads simply, “THINGS TO HOLD ON FOR.”
Lovely, gorgeous, beautiful Gavin - the man who plays Mario Kart at full volume, and blows kisses to the mirror as he twirls around under your arm in his new dresses, and regales you with story after story of the time he and Vincent didn't mean to cause a low-speed traffic incident, we promise, deviant!
will you hate it, spit it out into your hands, dump it in the trash with the rest of his candied heart?
The tortured scream of an incubus, from whom the world just takes and takes and takes, sealed off from the stars and utterly alone.
(The mug is blue. Elliott is lactose intolerant.)
Vindemiator, the patron saint of the empty champagne glass. Always the bridesmaid, never the incubus bride.
it belongs to you. he does too.
How is it that you find him, over and over, sunshine in his moonbound soul?
He raises his nearly-empty glass to you, a polite suggestion of a toast, charming and melancholy in equal measure. “You love him. I love him too. In us, may he never disappear.”
the howl of your laughter, the flash of your teeth in the mirror - his sweetheart’s as animal as he is.
“When he holds your legs nice and wide, stretching you out, filling you up… Look down, honey, there it is - feel that? Feel how full he makes you feel?”
It's the look that means he's plotting something nefarious again - one of his diabolical schemes that should send anyone with common sense running for the hills, and that probably means you either need to find your passport, renew your life insurance, or check the stability of every flat surface in the house.
Laying herself down amidst the wreaths of flowers, shrouded in lace and tulle, a silver sixpence under her right heel and feeling oh so very blue.
they can’t make a dream like he can make you.
Pantomime villains, or not even that - a whole clan of half-baked sidekicks, tripping over themselves to trip him up, thinking they’re bigger and badder than they actually are.
“You think I need half an hour? Shit, sweetheart, you must be in the mood for more than I thought,” he laughs, phone already in hand. “And here I was thinkin’ you still wanted to be able to walk tonight.”
a rest can look like sleep can look like death. rigor mortis sets in. bleached to bones in the burning sand.
his jaw goes slack. you cannot seriously be expecting him to be fit for any sort of company, polite or otherwise, rose-tinted spit smeared across his face and eyes blown wide with stifled pleasure.
“i swear it on my life. every everlasting day of it.”
All you can do is stare down at the little post-it note by your right foot, bright pink paper stuck cheerily to the front of your current case folder, and try not to look like your heart is melting into caramel.
The smell of smoke, the sound of a campfire, and a single chair to sit on. Yes, a wonderful dream. When does Elliott get here?
head spinning, he pulls hazily at the hem of your shirt, too drunk on your touch to hear your laughter (he can’t quite tell if you’re calling him “needy” or “pretty”, and it really could be either), too desperate to worry about the careless way he’s practically tearing your clothes off you. whatever it was, he’ll buy you a new one.
You’re his, in this room most of all, his most treasured little darling that prefers the taste of his kiss to any wine he gives you, that craves the glow of his adoration as much as the sting of his disapproval, that knows every curve and line and swirl in the wood of his desk where he bends you over it.
Warmth and weight and water. A happy little inchoate, snoozing away in Vega’s arms, and you don’t remember if you dream.
All things are equal on the altar of his adoration and he is your greatest disciple, raising the knife up in his hands and swearing on your name that he will bring you back to life. Watch over him, bless him, smile upon him. Just you wait. One last miracle.
fic titles (standalone first, arranged by date, then series):
green umbrella trees
take a sip
ivory tower
thy fair imperfect shade
can’t help but see
knock knock!
sh-boom, sh-boom!
get in, loser!
I WON’T BOW OUT BRAVELY
ever thine, ever mine, ever ours
五二零
kingdom come
bury the hatchet
return to me
here we are in heaven
original sin
oops-a-daisy
LOVE HEART (the milo and sweetheart series)
SWEET TALK
SOUL MATE
ALL MINE
swings and roundabouts (imperium)
one more paradox
come into my parlour
stranglehold
five more minutes
blood sugar, baby!
wrapped up in clover
to the egress! (the barnum series)
hold on tight
a ring on the carousel
mad or sublime
motion capture (the elliott one)
motion capture
you’re the cat’s meow!
💕💕💕💕💕💕💕
#im not putting this in the main tag bc it's totally shameless and i would be flayed alive#lmao we move#having a bit of fun while i procrastinate my essay lol#i put all of the lines into a randomiser so they are in a completely random order - no relation to the original posting order 🥰🥰#do have fun! whether you ignore this post completely or have a go i do not mind 🥳🥳
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writing patterns tag game
tagged by @chrysalizzm! This is a fun one, thanks Chrys!
Rules: List the first line of your last 10 (posted) fics and see if there's a pattern!
1. throw a penny (for my children)
"It has been three days and Revali has learned three things."
2. pick up your gun (put up those gloves)
"Grian vaults off the rooftop, flicking his wrist outward with the motion."
3. the quests of the blood god
"This is the story of the Blood God."
4.we finally found shelter (tucked away inside a wall)
"The cold gnaws at Philza’s hands, as he cups them over his mouth, and blows into them, trying to spark a little warmth into numb fingers."
5.and the universe said!
"Here are some things about the end of the world: It’s amazing how much normal life you can fit into it."
6.gentle autumn leaves (won’t you stay with me)
"It’s a rumbling, hot day."
7. nets of silver and gold have we
"Tommy has a list."
8. a song of sixpence (and the blackbird in the pie)
"It’s a very pleasant spring afternoon to walk through the woods and Technoblade is definitely enjoying it, meandering along the pebbled path up from the village and pausing every so often to look at the wildflowers." (technically Comfy wrote this bit)
9. drafting escape plans (but this ain't no shawshank)
"Impulse emerges from the darkness, blinking in the subtle glow of the icy caves."
10. home (in this place)
"Phil finds Ranboo in the ash."
Tagging @pixelperfunctory, @droidofmay and @theminecraftbee!
Chrys suggested just doing this on it's own document, so it doesn't get too long, which seems like a good idea-- but feel free to just reblog this!
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And A Silver Sixpence in Her Shoe
Summary: It's a long-standing tradition for brides to wear something old, new, borrowed, and blue on their wedding day.
A four part series, each chapter exploring a different aspect of this tradition, leading up to the long-awaited Jones-Parker wedding.
1. Something Old
2. Something New
3. Something Borrowed
4. Something Blue (and Red)
#Happy One Year to this fic!!!#spideychelle#petermj#silver sixpence fic#i dabble in moodboards#me? making moodboards for completed fics instead of working on WIPs?#it's more likely than you think
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Do you have any fic recs for established relationship Peter/MJ?
I SURE DO
in the merry month of june series; give it all up for your hand in my hand; by @she-grulk
safe by shearmouth
to fill your heart (like no three words could do) by @amyabbotts
and a silver sixpence in your shoe; cause Spider-Man comes tonight by @spiderman-homecomeme
after the war by @upcamethesun
even a small love by penelopes
next time on hoarders by dandybear
all you knead is love by @iovewords
available light by @promiseofthepremise
adulting 101 by pokeydotes
my lover’s the sunlight by @enteetea
life signs by @pepperminttegan
each descending peak by @weezly14
I’ll be buried here with you series by @abc2411
no better version of me I could pretend to be tonight by @applejuiz
the jones-Watson-parkers by @watsonmj
If you read and enjoy, don’t forget to kudos and comment!
#seek speaks#spideychelle#petermj#fic recs#seek recs#i tried to focus on fics that specifically have them being in an established relationship as a KEY part of the fic / plot point#i love giving recs 😌
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Hiii! Happy holidays! Hope you’re good! Do you have any recs that take place during seasons 1 and 2? I’m doing a re-watch of the whole show and now I really want to find some good pre-TRF fics. They can be pre-slash too, also preferably no smut please <333
Hey Nonny! I do have some! This ask gives me a chance to do a part 2 to my S1 fics :) Mind the tags, though, and you'll be able to filter out the smut-free ones :)
SEASON 1 FICS (Written Before S2) Pt. 2
See also:
Season 1 Fics Pt. 1
Pre-ASiP fics
TGG Related Fics
TGG: Pool Scene
ASiB Fics
THoB Fix It Fics
THoB Fics Pt. 2
Post-TRF Divergence
The Four Incidents by TheGirlWithRedHair22 (K+, 1,064 w., 1 Ch. || S1 Compliant, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, John Whump, Accident, John POV, Hand Holding, Worried Sherlock, Sherlock’s Self Esteem) – The first time John was present when someone insulted Sherlock, he brushed it off as a strange coincidence.
Poppies For John by grannysknitting (T, 1,102 w., 1 Ch. || Hurt/Comfort, Friendship) – Rememberance Sunday fic - John notices a discrepancy between Sherlock's stated intent and his actions. Sherlock, for once, explains himself. Friendship or pre-slash, your choice. Intended in honour of those who defend us.
Sleep Tonight by Jenn1984 (T, 1,220 w, 1 Ch. || Hurt/Comfort, Bed Sharing, Worried Sherlock, Sick John, Hugs/Cuddles, Touch Neediness) – Fingers begin prying open his jacket looking for a wound and John would really like to swat at them. No, he's not hit anywhere, he's just damn sick.- John Watson has a fever.
A Better Fate Than Wisdom by flawedamythyst (G, 1,339 w., 1 Ch. || First Kiss, John’s Sexuality Crisis, Pining Sherlock, Happy Ending, Fluff) – Nearly four hours pass between their first kiss and their second.
The 3x John Carried Sherlock, and Once ViceVersa by ShinkonoKokoro (K+, 1,673 w., 1 Ch. || Fluff, Friendship, Three and One, BAMF John, Sherlock Whump, Worried Sherlock, John Gets Shot) – It happens more than he suspects.
The Perfect Place by SilverSmile (K+, 1,955 w., 1 Ch. || Humour, Romance, 5 and Ones, Fluff, Experiments, Bed Sharing) – Sherlock attempts to find the perfect place to sleep, but his little experiment proves to be far more difficult than expected.
Insomnia by TheSingingGirl (K+, 2,635 w., 1 Ch. || Friendship, Humour, Bed Sharing, Sleepy Sherlock) – Sleep is merely the next frontier in what has become the battle to keep Sherlock alive. It's because of this that John ends up in bed with a sociopath.
Sleepless nights by El loopy (T, 5,467 w., 3 Ch. || Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, Panic Attack, Worried Sherlock) – Sherlock has a nightmare and John wants to know what it was about. Set during season 1. Three-shot.
When We Sleep by PrincessNala (K+, 6,660 w., 1 Ch || Post-TGG, Alternating POV, Bed Sharing, Anxious/Worried Sherlock, Hurt/Comfort, Hugs) – Sherlock needed to feel every beat of his heart, every rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. It was the only way to completely assure himself that John was alive and right there next to him, and not dead, no, never dead…
A Silver Sixpence by _doodle (NC-17, 16,400 w., 2 Ch. || LJ Fic || For a Case / Case Fic, Fake Relationship, Humour, Romance, Marriage Proposal, Awkward Idiots, Cuddling, Touching, Kissing, Love Confessions, Bed Sharing, Friends to Lovers, Fake Until It’s Not, Schmoop and Fluff, Bottomlock) – “John, we need to get married. It’s for a case, not any romantic notions on my part pertaining to our partnership,” Sherlock said, with brutal honesty, and without even looking up.
A Study Of Living With Sherlock Holmes by AllesandraQuartermaine (T, 50,234 w., 22 Ch. || Post-ASiP/Pre-TAB, Domestics, Friendship, POV John) – Learn about what happened between John and Sherlock January 31st and March 22. From John's pov on how to survive and learn to live with one eccentric mad genius known as Sherlock Holmes.
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I read a lot of Johnlock fics this month (March). I should mention all fics on here I rate 5⭐. Anyway - please send me more fics. I'm thinking of actually reviewing some properly idk... undercut
Hooking Up by isitandwonder
Say You'll Stay With Me by justacookieofacumberbatch (buffyholic)
Locked Room Mysteries (or, what really goes on at 221B) by LipstickDaddy
What Happens in Vegas (is legally binding in the United Kingdom) by moonblossom
The Honeymoon Suite by Salambo06
Disguises are always a self-portrait by yellowteapots
I can't pretend by Salambo06
What Meets the Eye by worldaccordingtofangirls
The Newlywed Game: Johnlock Edition by patternofdefiance
Two two one bravo Baker (download)
Till Death Do Us Part by prettysailorsoldier
Classified(s) by blueink3
Caught In The Act Series by ShirleyCarlton
How to Sleep with Your Enemy in One Semester by 221b_careful_what_you_wish_for
All the Days by reapersun (comic series)
First Night Out by verityburns
Booted by Sexxica
Closeted by Sexxica
Fortune Favours the Wet by CaffieneKitty
Just a Touch of Lips by Salambo06
The text . By luluco69
About That Second Date... By KuroBakura
Johnlock Goes to the Movies Series by Dylan Mischa Letacis (dylanletacis)
For Your Eyes Only by Cap1942
John, I'm in love with you by orphan_account
Inevitable. By palegingerade
La petite mort by KittieHill
It Was, In Fact, Me by fortunatelykeendetective
Long Distance House Call by Random_Nexus
A Text Worth Remembering by sherlockian4evr
Conjecturing and Romance for the Hopeful Detective by Auzzie
Midnight by only_consulting_detective, orphan_account
Love you by OldPingHai
The Kissing Disease by cottonballz_of_death
Poetry & Texting by Mssmithlove
Putting up Shelves by khorazir
The Best Thing in My Life (is your absence) by Itsallfine
Through A Glass by Mildredandbobbin
Trapped and Upside Down on the M6 by BootsnBlossoms
Intimacy Series by sussexbound
The Thin Line by Odamaki
A Silver Sixpence by _doodle
The Chemical Dilemma by Neko_Johnny
Spin The Bottle by helloliriels
Illusory Correlation and Confirmation Bias by VanillaBroompolish
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memories & misconceptions|tom holland
chapter one: right where you left me.
friends get married
↳ read here where Tom was before the wedding. (harry styles fic)
I am so excited for this! As you all know PERENNIAL is ending but I’m beyond excited for this new fic, I hope you like it as much as me! Please comment and share!
This is a 2 fics in one, meaning I’ll write Tom’s fic and @erodasghosts will write a Harry Styles fic. It’s a choose your y/n, let’s say. The y/n for Tom will be named Thea on Harry’s fic, and Harry’s y/n is named Kat in this one. The stories are connected, it’s a group of friends coming back to an old town.
story summary: After you were foolish enough to believe a summer would be followed by a romance, and that a friendship would become something more, you promised you’d never open up again. Not to Tom, at least. You’d keep your feelings in songs. And when everyone left, you were left with no choice but to stay on that old stupid town and build yourself a new life. So when Tom happens to be driving the perfect getaway car to escape the fantasy, you might be able to mend your friendship and perchance finally admit your true feelings for him.
chapter summary: You became the girl who lives in delusion, who got frozen, who got stuck. Time went on for everybody else but now you’re a bride who you barely recognize. Forgotten and broken friends are back to see you walk into the perfect fantasy. If you can make it through, that is.
pairing: band member! tom holland x y/n
friends to enemies to strangers to lovers idiots to lovers
warnings: smoking, angsty, wedding
word count: 11.1k
story masterlist.
prologue
next chapter
playlists: y/n | tom
wanna be tagged?
“Something old,
something new,
something borrowed,
something blue,
and a silver sixpence in her shoe.”
You had been humming to yourself for the past half hour, even if it was ironic, the rhyme seemed charming and calming enough to make you forget the actual nightmare accompanied with it. Those were the only words concerning the event that you could bear, at least those rhymed.
The other ones like “There she is, the blushing bride.” Were not singeable, or not enough at least.. Though they were always said with joy and sweetness, and often accompanied by a wrinkled-eye smile and giggles. They were so blaring, and you usually never knew how to respond. You’d often just give them a worried smile followed by a deep breath.
You have had trouble breathing for a while, every time the subject came on. Your chest was tied, and you felt lonely. You were not ready.
Door locked, lights dimmed, music playing as you were trying not to lose the sanity that was left. Rushing, pacing around, your hands shaking, your chest sinking down, as you were trying to understand the current situation. Everything was packed now. Almost.
Shaking, shaking, shaking. Running out of breath. ‘Young Turks’ by Rod Stewart was playing in the background. A song that made you particularly happy.
“What else….?” You asked yourself as the night snuck from your window. Seemed like darkness was all left, and not the kind you liked. You wished you could talk to Kat. She would know what to say. But you were on your own.
But suddenly, you had to stop, a certain song started playing.‘Dreams’, The Cranberries..
“No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no. Not that song.”
You hadn’t listened to that song in years. You quickly reached for your phone and realized you really were playing the forbidden playlist. You let the song play faded in the background, as you caught your reflection on the mirror, mirror with pictures of your friends, when you were young and happy. Pictures with Kat, with Andrew, with Harry… and with Tom, who seemed to be the very owner of the song that had caught you off rhythm. The owner to the reason as to why you had stopped listening to that song.
Pictures of the five of you, those pictures from that photobooth, back when the five of you didn’t care that you didn’t actually fit in that booth but you’d made it work.
You looked away, feeling guilty. Tom’s words were echoing through your room, fading with the song.
“You are not this,” he said.
You ignored it, changed the song and playlist and kept your gaze running through the room, a room that had not changed a lot through the years, but had been a witness to your own light being dimmed. You focused on your pictures with Nicholas, your future husband. His lips on your cheek, your cheek against his, with the brightest smile.
“I should pack those,” you said to yourself and continued the rhyme.
You were getting married. The very next day, you’d be walking down an aisle, where you’d say ‘I do’, the one sentence that was reduced to something so banal, the day you’d start your ‘happily ever after’.
How bloody terrifying.
“Something borrowed….”
The wedding dress was hanging, contending to be worn the next day, with those pearls and with those yellow carnations. You looked away but then your hand still had the ring on your hand, another casual reminder. How funny, an actual engagement ring, not a ring pop, like the ones you used to use when you played ‘wedding’ with Kat, when you were children. How many times had you not dreamed of this day. You were getting what you wanted, weren’t you? A perfect life.
A life where you were wanted.
The mirror was still staring at you, as if it was calling you out because you didn’t recognize your reflection. You decided to play the music again, to find yourself there. You barely felt like yourself anymore, whoever the perfect fiancée y/n was supposed to be had taken over you. A vague memory of who you were hung around the room, colored walls, music sheets and song lyrics, and those pictures of people who you thought you once knew. Whose life had continued. Owners of the music on the playlist, from Fleetwood Mac, thanks to Harry, 90’s and other divas like Madonna, courtesy of Andrew, The Beach Boys, thanks to Kat, 50’s thanks to you, 80’s to Tom and any song that the group decided that would fit you. Young Turks was a kind of anthem to the five of you.
You stared at the boxes. Still a lot to pack. Your blue heart was a stranger to you, covered in lies and deteriorated, a pondering heart insecure of the madness. Your heart wanted to listen to the music.
“Something old, something borrowed…. No, something blue?” The rhyme was forgotten.
You had to concentrate and calm yourself. The wedding was going to be perfect.
They had planned this for months. Perfect wedding. From the flowers on the aisle to the centerpieces that would be criticized by friends, because weddings though they are meant to bring joy it often brings the unsolicited attention from the envious bickering bitches.
It was supposed to be the happiest day of your life. But would it? It seemed but an extension of the life you’d had now. You hoped you’d be happy.
Because your life had only been this plain existence. Nothing exciting, nothing thrilling anymore. Nothing like the life you used to have. You were still Y/N…. No, you were not.
You were a bride. But you weren’t y/n.
Everyone you cared for would be there. Almost everyone. People had come from the far off places they lived at now, like your best friends. The ones in the pictures hanging around in your room. The people who seemed to be the only light that could guide your way. The best people in the world, you’d often describe them.
The people who had left with part of you. Maybe that was why your mind could not be found right now.
But they were back. The best people in the world would finally come back to you. Harry, Andrew… and Kat.
Four out of five.
Friends. Or—people who used to be friends. Even if they had left and if you had stayed. Even if their stories had continued, with new poems, new clothes, new friends, new music muses. Turning pages.
Not you, you had stayed. With no choice to leave. Still same old perfect y/n. Or an attempt to be, for someone at least.
They were back, 3 of 4 at least you were sure, had shown up. After years of scarcely seeing each other you would finally be together. Four out of five seemed good enough.
Tom had not responded to your invitation. Not right away, at least. And then one day he answered.
“Congrats. I’m not sure if I can make it.”
You knew he wouldn’t. And what even was that response? So cold.Even if he’d always been cold.
Though they’d all left, Tom had been the one to truly leave you. And everyone else, really. Harry had said it was because Tom was not a friend person, sometimes you even regretted caring so much, but you always thought you’d remain friends. You had always been. Even when he broke your heart, you had remained friends. Not that he knew he’d broken your heart. Such shattering things they are, silent heartbreaks.
He could be a friend, like he had been after it, he could be one if he dared to show up at your wedding. There was a part in you that wished for it, for him to come and realize you were still there. But he wouldn’t.
Because you had pushed Tom away, with good reason. Or maybe not, maybe it was but your pride, and maybe Tom had been right about every very thing he’d said to you, but you wouldn’t admit that, not to him. Not to anyone.
His own words were shattering your head, echoing your deepest fears.
“You’re bullshit, y/n.”
You were complete bullshit, there was no choice left for you, because no one seemed to comprehend the piercing dreams that you loved to daydream about to forget about the illusion you had to pull. Easier to live in a fantasy.
You knew that Tom would see past the farce, had he shown up, he would’ve known what to say, and you know you would’ve loved to hear it. That was a lie.
Though Tom often didn’t care about anything, you knew he could—or he had cared at some point for you. He probably didn’t now. And he wouldn’t like the y/n you were today.
But maybe this was the most y/n you could be. The mess. Not the perfect y/n.
Y/N who had no inkling of what to do next, y/n who simply wanted to collapse.
Maybe Tom had been right, the perfect y/n was bullshit. This mess was who you were.
“No, no—something new,” you continued. You would not start thinking about Tom. It would only add to the mess. And though you were a disaster you knew you could not be a disaster tonight. This was the moment when you had to be perfect. The y/n everyone knew. Perfect little y/n.
He hadn’t come anyway, why should you even give him a thought? Your pride was bigger.
4 out of 5.
At some point you thought neither Kat or Andrew would show up either.
Harry had. He was the ‘maid of honor’. After you’d fought with Kat, he had given himself the title. You hadn’t offered. He had just decided it. On brand for him, honestly.
It had been weird. Your best friend, Kat, for the first time, had not talked to you in months. It had all happened so quickly, and you were still angry. You still had invited her, though. And she did come.
You missed her the most. Because Kat was the one person you never thought you’d lose. Everyone would come and go, but not Kat. Kat was supposed to be your constant. Now she was out of your sight too. It hurt the most to lose her. It was your fault. Or maybe hers.
Kat had been your best friend for better or for worse, friends before even memory granted you to remember. It was always the two of you, ironic how you had fallen apart over an argument you didn’t even remember. Kat was usually a guidance. She was free, and open minded. She had her life solved, she was decisive, and even if she wasn’t she would make everyone believe that she was. Kat was perseverant, which could be translated into being very stubborn. Honestly, Kat was the baddest bitch to ever step in town, but she was cold and she knew you from head to toe, she probably was the only one to know without you actually having to admit out loud, your… thoughts on Tom years ago, not that there were any, but if one was to appear, she’d know. She knew you thought Tom was an idiot, that’s it.
Kat was beautiful, fierce, intelligent. Everyone around it saw it. Even… Tom. Which is probably why you often avoided thoughts concerning Tom.
You didn’t blame him. Kat was incredible. But you did blame her for your falling, because one can only give so much love to someone that won’t love you back.
She knew you perfectly, which was often a blessing. Until it wasn’t, hence why you’d fallen apart. Ish.
Kat had had the perfect life, until she blew it off, probably because she was too blinded to see it. Kat often lost things because she never let herself feel, and when she did, she exploded and hurt everyone around her. Often you and Harry.
You weren’t sure if you were going through what you called ‘a friendship breakup’, which might be even worse than actual relationship breakup. At least with relationships the breakup is talked about.
There is no: “It’s not you, it’s me.”, or no “You deserve better”. No, the problem with friendship breakups is you never formalize them, and just one day, you simply fade out.
You’d had them with both Kat and Tom now. You’d been holding your breath ever since.
At least with Tom you had said the words: “I never want to see you again.”
You hadn’t meant it. You wished he knew you hadn’t meant it. But maybe it had been the wisest choice. Finally letting him go.
But Tom was proud and an idiot. He’d been the first one to leave you, even when you had been there for him even when a summer hadn’t been enough. Him and Harry had a band, you used to like singing to-with him, you could breathe with him. But he was an idiot…Which only meant you missed him more, from time to time, but you wouldn’t tell him. Or anyone, for that matter. He had been an asshole before he left, without even saying goodbye. Without any warning.
So you decided you’d have your own pride for your own. And for your own heart.
He had been the only one you hadn’t seen since they’d all left. You were sure he would not come to the wedding. He had changed, probably. But at least there had been some sort of friendship breakup.
And with Kat it simply happened. After her breakup with Harry, she simply decided to put the blame on you. She let the emotions grow too far and then exploded. You were the casualty. Or maybe you’d grown tired of her, too. Blaming you for one more thing.
You were to blame for her breakup with Harry, she said. Maybe you shouldn’t have tried to encourage her to go to Paris. Because she always judged. She never spoke her feelings, and she would lose Harry, and she did.
Nothing you could do now. She probably did not care about losing you.
And there was Andrew, the fifth member. The only one who hadn’t changed, who hadn’t let life get in his way. The happiest of the five of you, probably the only one with a brain cell of his own.
You knew both of you could always count on each other. But he probably was on Kat’s side. But he was your future brother in law, he’d have to change lanes soon.
You thought Andrew wouldn’t come because Andrew had never liked Nicholas, even though Nicholas was his step brother. No one liked Nicholas. But Andrew was, unlike all of them, unconditional. And it was his brother, after all. So he had to show up.
There was a part of you that believed that Kat and you would eventually solve it. You had not, yet. She probably didn’t want to. She didn’t need you in her new life.
It probably would not help that her ex was your maid of honor. But even if no one understood, you had accepted it because you couldn’t afford losing another friend, and you knew that Harry, even if he only cared for himself, would be one.
It had all gone downhill after they'd left years ago to live in London, leaving you behind, with your very own loneliness, and Nick. At first, everything was fine, with all of them, except for Tom, of course. Whom you’d lost even before he’d left.
But then… it just broke apart. Kat had said the friendship had fallen apart because you hadn’t left. You blamed it on yourself too.
But 3 out of 4 showed up.
Not Tom, though. And it...barely hurt now. You would’ve thought that he would’ve. But you had said it, that you never wanted to see him, ever again.
You were great at losing friendships. Who’d be next? Andrew? Harry?
There was always that thought in your head. How the best of friends had drifted apart, how much you missed them, and how you probably didn’t belong with them anymore. You still talked from time to time, but you guessed that being the only one who stayed gave you some sort of disadvantage.
They had their lives in the city, jobs and busy lives and probably new friends. They’d all become distant. To you, at least. Why wouldn’t they? You were nothing new, silent in that corner, standing there perfectly, with that life that seemed picture perfect. Nothing new.
While they were actually living.
They would not even remember the perfect days, with music blasting from Harry’s car, as you all hung out in that one place no one knew, just to laugh with each other, no worries of what the future had ahead. You would remember, sometimes.
But you knew they’d grown past the need of remembering. They were all different now, not you, though.
But it didn’t matter now.
You….were getting married. New memories. Perfect y/n.
Though everything was perfect, it didn’t feel like it, however, everyone feels nervous before their wedding day. Therefore, you adjudged your current actions to the usual anxiety that came with weddings. Even if you were thinking of running away tonight, before anyone could stop you, so impulsive.
The thought had come to your head, ‘run away, y/n’, and it hadn’t left.
And it wasn’t because of Nick. You loved him. But the thought of walking down an aisle to a perfect play pretend was horrifying. You needed to get away. You needed to be a mess.
“Princess, I’m home!!” you’d heard someone yelling outside your house. You had specifically asked not to be bothered. You’d asked everyone to leave you alone. But only one goddamn person in this world called you princess.
You felt your heart stop as you stared at the mess your room was. You thought of jumping out the window and run away already.
“Y/N, it’s Harry, open the fucking door,” he yelled. “y/n! Princess! I-I’ll bloody-”
You opened the window to see him standing there, you peaked your head out.
“Harry?” You asked, surprised.
“No, the Wicked witch of the west, idiot, o’ course it’s me, bloody ‘ell, open the door,” he said.
“No.”
“Y/N, I’m the maid of honor, open the door.”
He would be able to help, he’d know what to do in this situation. And he was the maid of honor. You ran to open the door to him, and before he could do anything, you jumped to hug him. He was surprised, but hugged back anyway.
“What? A bloody minute ago you didn’t fuckin’ want me and now you’re-I won’t even ask.”
“I’m a mess,” you stated. But when you pulled back you realized he was a mess, too. He seemed off. Which was odd coming from him.
“Yes, you are, that’s no news, darling, now can we talk about what’s important here?”
“Right, I’m getting married-”
“No, why the fuck did you invite Kat to the wedding?” He stated, angrily.
Of course, he would not care about the obvious. This was Harry. You could only roll your eyes at him. Maybe this would help. He’d be able to get your mind elsewhere.
“She was my best friend,” you stated.
“Ah, so what am I, then? Fuck Andrew, Tom and me, huh?” He scowled but immediately smirked, laughing cockily. “Ah, no, never mind—Right Tom and you aren’t friends anymore. He is exiled.”
“Harry I don’t-” you felt your cheeks boil up as you shook your head. “I’m going to ignore that.”
“Weren’t you two angry at each other?” He questioned. “When you’re angry you don’t go to a person’s wedding. No right to come—“
You paused. Did he mean— “Who came?”
“Kat. Why did you invite her?”
Oh. Of course. Kat.. “You really thought I wouldn’t invite her when she’s been my best friend since practically diapers?” You scowled. “I may not be on the best of terms, but she’s still important. And you, out of everyone, should understand that.”
He looked away, he knew why you were calling him out. Though they’d broken up, you knew he loved her, and you knew that no matter how big his pride was, he’d still be there. Or you hoped.
“Your precious best friend,” he stated with venom, avoiding your gaze. “Ran away, I was mee’ing her and she bloody sprinted off” he scoffed.
It wasn’t usual for Kat to run away. But it wasn’t usual of Kat to avoid speaking to you, so lately she was full of surprises.
“I— she did what?” You questioned. You didn’t believe it.
“Ran away, so convenient, she called me and then… ran away,” he seemed confused.
“You saw her?” You questioned.
“Yes.”
“Did she really run off?” You questioned.
He looked away. No, of course she hadn’t. She had probably called him out and he hadn’t liked it.
“You know what, Harry? I can’t deal with this right now,” you walked into your kitchen, all your stupid house had wedding arrangements everywhere. Everything was reminding you of what was going to happen the very next day. You opened the fridge, there was a bottle of rosé wine waiting for you.
“Why does she even do that?” he followed after, snatching the bottle from you, opening it as you took out two glasses. “I can’t believe she’s being this immature. Now things really are over.”
How odd, you were getting married and they had broken up, when you thought it would’ve been the other way around. You thought Harry and Kat would eventually marry and that Nick would eventually break up with you.
Maybe you had wanted both things too much for a third outcome to happen. Which you easily ignored.
They were meant to be forever, now merely memories. Pride had been stronger. What could’ve possibly gone wrong between them? At least they’d had the chance, now they were strangers who would miss each other’s warmth in the middle of the night, or try not to follow the echo of each other’s laughter when they were in the same room.
Their love shouldn’t have unraveled and shattered so easily, how had they pulled away? If their very kiss hadn’t been enough to keep them together, what hope did you ever have?
Love often comes with regrets. At least they had loved. Choosing not to love can become a bigger regret. Choosing to love when it’s unrequited might be even more painful.
And so, you thought Harry would let his own pride blind him. As it usually did. Harry was not a mystery to you, the guy cared too much… for himself, but he cared too much for Kat, too.
Kat was proud, too, so it had come as a surprise that she had shown up even if she knew that Harry was coming.
You glared at him with irony as he poured wine only for him. “Really? Her? Immature? Did you just not question why I invited her?”
He handed you the glass and then simply drank from the bottle. You rolled your eyes, watching him. “Can you go talk to her?” He asked.
“No, I cannot, I don’t think she’d talk to me—Besides!, read the room, Harry!” you snapped motioning to your whole house, scattered with everything you’d need tomorrow. You snatched the bottle and then poured a glass for him, not fond of the idea of him drinking from the bottle. “Can’t you see it? I’m getting married tomorrow!”
“No, you’re scared to talk to her, or too proud,” Harry said, downing down the glass. “Like you always are—Because pride gets the worst of you and fear leads you to get away from people.”
“I am not,” you snapped. “And please don’t project your own problems onto me, I’m not the one to push everyone away—“you answered with poison. “Besides, this—Can’t you be a good maid of honor for once? I'm bloody getting married tomorrow!” You reminded him, yet again.
“Did you say bloody? Oooh, you’re angry then, swearing and shit,” he mocked, pouring more wine for him. “let’s get wild, but what the fuck do you mean? I have been the perfect maid of honor, darling. You were the one to ask me not to throw you a bachelorette party—You made me cancel your stripper—“
“Harry!” You complained, interrupting him. “Can you stop?”
Harry smirked. “I’m just—saying that you didn’t let me be a great maid of honor.” He side glanced at you.
“I will not deal with your crap right now, I know everything is about you, but today and tomorrow this is about me, alright?”
“It’s always about you,” he said, “perfect little y/n, ain’t it?”
You stopped. Those words were too familiar. You glared at him, with the same very threatening glare you’d given Tom years ago.
Harry smirked but you knew he was scared of continuing, “I’m messing with you, but wow, those get you, huh? No wonder you told Tom to fuck off, he used those same words didn’t he?”
You took a deep breath and avoided his glance. “He had no idea what he was talking about.”
“Did he not?” Harry scowled.
You looked up to stare at him, judgingly.
“Fine, bloody ‘ell, darling,” he hid behind his glass. “Are you going to exile me, too?”
“I might,” you sentenced.
“You won’t, because I’m the only one you have left,” he reminded you. Harry knew how to poke some guts. “Are you really going to push me away?”
Your glance relaxed, or sort of. Knowing damn well he was right, everyone had abandoned you so you were not going to lose another friend. “I’m just asking you to be a friend, Harry.”
“I’m just-pointing out, wasn’t this what Tom told you about?” His brows furrowed, he genuinely seemed interested in that subject. A subject you’d been very reluctant to talk about.
“I don’t want to bring Thomas into this conversation.”
Tom also played another big part. Ignored part.
“Fine,” Harry shrugged. “What is wrong with Perfect little y/n’s life?”
You downed the glass of rose, ignoring him. “I can’t get married.” you stated.
Harry nodded, understandingly. “Why not?” He questioned.
You paced, balancing on your tiptoes, around the kitchen slowly, you hated this. You couldn’t put your mind together. “I just can't get married, I can't—I just don’t believe it’s happening, everything is so overwhelming, and my wedding was supposed to be happy, and I--I have dreamed of this since I was young, but I don’t feel that joy I felt when planning it, I thought I--I don’t know I thought at least I’d have my friends here… Or my mother.”
“Is she not coming?” Harry questioned.
You took a deep breath and looked away. “No, she isn’t coming.”
Your parents had divorced, you were over it now, it’s fair to point out. You didn’t mind the divorce, however, the fact that your mother had left just as you were turning into a rebellious teenage daughter who needed her the most was something that did sting. Birthdays, Christmases, graduations, concerts, nothing. No event had seemed important enough for her to show, you would’ve thought she’d come to the wedding. She wouldn’t.
She’d never been when you had the one question about love, or when you needed advice over parties, dresses and hairstyles, she wasn’t there to reassure you it’d be fine when taking your driver’s license test, she didn’t give any boy advice, and she wasn’t to assure you it’d be fine when your friends had left, or to give you some wise advice when you’d fought with Tom, and now she wasn’t here to calm you down when you were too overwhelmed with this, the day before your wedding day. And she wouldn’t be at your goddam wedding.
Yes, you had Nana. But you hadn’t been enough for anyone else. Besides, you knew Nana was getting old, and Nana had to be taken care of. Not be overwhelmed.
There was that thought in your mind, how she wouldn’t come because you weren’t perfect enough for your mom. How flawed were you for her not to want you? Or how much did she despise your father for you to be a reminder of him that she thought was not worth it.
However, you’d grown past the need of worrying about it, you didn’t need her in your life, she hadn’t been a part of the past one, why did she have to be part of the new one?
“Please tell me you’re not fucking pulling a Sophie from Mamma Mia and only marrying Dickolas to fucking bring your three possible dads to the wedding,” Harry growled. “Or in this case, to bring back your friends and mother.”
“What?” You frowned. “No-This isn’t that.”
Harry watched you. Though he was the maid of honor, he’d been absolutely no support to the marriage. Yes, he wanted a party, but no, he did not want you to get married. He had been the one to constantly try and make you…
“What if I run away?” You asked.
“As if you would run away” He said as he stopped you to pour more wine into your glass.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” You snapped.
He sighed, “Y/N, love, you are perfect, running away would mean to fucking destroy your plans, and we both know how much you hate ruined plans.”
“I do,” you admitted.
He opened a cabinet to get out some chips, “yes, so calm down.”
“I can’t! I’m s’pposed to get married tomorrow!” You yelled. “I can’t calm down. I’m getting married—“
Harry watched you, rolling his eyes at your sudden commotion. “You’re-You’re getting married? Really? To whom?”
You were about to kill him. “Oh my god, Harry!”
He laughed, “fine you’re getting married to Dickolas! Why can’t you accept that?”
“Can't you see it?” You questioned. “I am freaking out.”
He shrugged, “You always freak out, that’s who you are, darling.”
“But—I—” You glared at him,but you knew he was aware this wasn’t your usual freaking out. Yet he still played it cool. “It’s cause—I’m not—I am—I don’t know! It’s complicated, it’s scary to think the life I’ve been dreaming of is just—Coming, you know? It’s finally coming, and it’s just… Oh god, it’s what I’ve been planning since I was a kid. It’s—oh my god, it’s— I have been only planning this for my entire life! And I have done nothing but planning this and… I haven’t… I haven’t….” You didn’t even know what to say, so you decided to try and calm yourself down again you took a deep breath. “Something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue, and a silver sixpence in her shoe.” You chanted to yourself again.
“What the fuck is that?” Harry was judging you, as he watched you having your mental breakdown. “Are you bollocks?”
“I—I don’t know, it helps me relax,” you admitted. “It’s cause—how—how did you do it?” You asked.
“Do what? I’m not married,” he frowned.
“But—you got engaged,” you reminded him. “How did you… How did you know how to… If you get engaged that meant-”
He took a deep breath. “May I remind you, we called it off, we fucking broke up...So... Don’t go there,” He seemed itched by that subject. “Do you really think I know what to say?”
“No,” you admitted but you really wished he did as you kept pacing around the kitchen. Kat probably would.
“Why are you even freaking out?” He questioned, watching you, probably slightly amused.
You only directed a single glance to him. “Who the hell am I?” Because that was the question you had been asking yourself for a while now. Why did it feel like every choice you were making was being made for you? As if you had absolutely no say in your own life. Seemed like you based your choices on however big their smiles were.
“You’re y/n, nice to meet you, I’m Harry,” he rolled his eyes.
“Harry!”
“Y/N!” He mimicked you.
He had to be the worst maid of honor of all times. You stopped. “It’s cause… It feels like...I am—not.”
“What?” He furrowed his eyebrows.
“Am I Y/n? I don’t recognize myself, every time I look into the mirror...” you said, as you could see yourself reflected on the window. “Who the heck is she?”
Harry watched you and then stared at the glass of wine on your hand, taking it for him. “Maybe stop drinking.”
“I mean,” you took a deep breath. “I just… I saw some pictures of... Us, the five of us, and I saw that girl, and she seemed happy and then…What the hell happened to me?”
Harry seemed to know the answer, he, however, decided to avoid telling it to you.
“What happened?” You pushed.
“You fell in love with Dickolas,” Harry decided to say. Dickolas, the nickname that had come even before you dated. When Nick’s mother and Andrew’s father had married. Harry had come up with it, Tom had used it and…. you had started to date him. Such a turn of events it had been you ended up dating him. Dickolas. You were dating him. Even more surprising now, you were going to marry him.
“No,” you rolled your eyes. “I—I mean, I did but that’s not what happened.”
“You changed,” he pointed out.
“No, it’s… I guess being the only one left in town changed me,” you admitted. “I was abandoned by all of you.”
There was more to it.
“You decided to stay, but I’m sure that is not what changed you,” Harry watched you, “I know you’re going to hate me for this.”
“Don’t dare mention Tom,” you warned him before he could even start.
He smirked, “See? If you thought of him even before I could mention him-”
“No,” you avoided his glance.
He watched you, “I’m not even implying anything, and I shouldn’t, and I’ll stop even bringing that other subject, but y/n, you did lose him, and I know you’ve been avoiding talking about it all this time, but you lost a very good friend, and that shit changes you, you stopped singing when he left, and music was a whole fucking part of you, y/n,” Harry explained. And it seemed like it was the first time he was ever making sense. You really had stopped singing, “And you just lost Kat, too,” he continued. “Do you expect yourself to be the same? You’re not that girl from those pictures, you’ve grown.”
Everything he had said made some sort of sense. You had been forced to change. But you felt like you hadn’t changed at all. You had stayed, still, in that same corner in your room while everyone left you. You were same old y/n, sure, more hurt now. “No I guess… I guess not,” you confirmed. “But… What if- maybe Kat was right and I am a coward, and-and-I-I mean- lately all I’ve been hearing is Tom’s voice-”
Harry rolled his eyes as if he was finally understanding the situation. “Oh, see? Tom! now I know why—”
“Repeating over and over, how I was bull—How I was a lie, and maybe I am?” You said. Maybe you were. Just a lie. “And maybe yes, I’ve been hurt and everything. But… Have I shielded too much on my wedding? Maybe I am a lie.”
“You’re—You’re still you, y/n.”
“I just—am I really to become a wife?” You questioned, to yourself, mostly. “I don’t know how to feel, I am not ready. And I know you’re here, and I… I just needed my friends, you know? To assure me that it’s okay, that this is the right choice to make.”
Harry was quiet then. And he never was quiet.
“I can’t keep pretending I am perfect,” you finally said. What had been scaring you for a long while.
“Are you going to monologue, my dear?” He asked.
“Am I really to… become a wife who lives in that stupid white picket fence house?” You said and looked out the window.
“Oh, you are monologuing.”
“I… Harry! I can’t be a wife! I suck at everything that means being a wife like waking up early in the morning, and making coffee, and… Kids” You gulped, it was getting scarier. “And all the other wives, they’re reduced to that title! They go to the pub each Thursday afternoon to have a beer that warms up mid conversation, I… I hate warm beer, Harry! And they talk about boring things!” You yelled at Harry who only watched you with slight concern. “I mean they’re probably ignoring that their husbands are shagging someone else, and they all have hobbies? Like yoga or… Spinning, dunno, I hate yoga—” you took a deep breath, so bloody ironic. “And I’ll have to go to those parties and they never play music I like and always keep quiet and give fake smiles and then go home each night, to sleep next to a man, knowing that both them are miserable but they pretend their lives are perfect! But… How can my life be perfect if I don’t have any of my friends, and I know everyone believes I am perfect but...I… can’t keep pretending.”
Harry watched you, carefully trying to choose the next words knowing that whatever he would say to you, would make you change your entire life. “Ok, you’re fucked,” was his choice.
“Harry!”
“Y/N! What do you want me to tell you? I—you don’t want to get married.”
“No,—No! I mean I do, yes I do! I—I do!” You said, trying to convince yourself. “But I can’t.”
“Well, fucking walk away before it’s too late.”
“But I love Nick!”
Harry seemed just as panicked now. “Why? He sucks!”
“He loves me!”
Harry took a deep breath. “Fine, what if you postpone it, then? Or want to run away right now?”
“No, I… Maybe, I just, no, I need some reassurance, I am too nervous and I’m not…”
“I—look, everyone gets nervous—Even—I could’ve gotten nervous! And I never get nervous!” Harry started.
“Please you were terrified of your engagement, you called it off and broke up before you could even start planning the wedding because you’re an idiot.”
“Fucking rude, but see? I mean—you just said it yourself, you got to plan the wedding, eh? That means you wanted it!”
“I—I guess—“you realized.
“And it’s you, y/n, please, you’re always freaking out, so this is normal, you’re always a mess!”
You scowled and slapped his shoulder. “Hey!”
“I’m your friend I am allowed to say that,” he reminded you as he placed his hands on your shoulders in a lame attempt to calm you down.
“No, you’re not..”
“But I’m right, you’re always nervous and freaking out every single detail because you’re perfect little Y/n. And ‘perfect little y/n’ is scared because you want everything to be perfect. So this is fine, you’re good, it’s okay, the wedding will go perfect. As perfect as you are.”
You realized it. He probably was right. You were nervous but it was normal. That was it. “I’m—“
“And you’ve wanted this your whole life,” he reminded you. “The perfect life, remember? That picture perfect family, with the house and the kids and the dog… Yes you have to pay the price of being friends with those boring wives but you’ll be happy. And I’m still here, y/n.”
He was right, that was what you wanted, a perfect family and Nick could give that to you. The life you’d always wished for. Everything planned ahead.
“However, if you’ve been thinking about Tom,” he smirked. Harry had always bothered you with Tom. Rather baseless mockery that had made no sense. “When have you been thinking about him?”
You rolled your eyes. “I’m thinking about what he said to me—when I—how he said I was becoming someone I wasn’t and—“
There was more. Though you had been at loss to make your feelings be what they truly were.
“What did he know? He doesn’t know you better than yourself,” he reminded you. “Y/N, Tom is a fucking idiot don’t ever dare to listen to him. Besides, that was fucking years ago. It’s okay.”
He was right. Tom was an idiot. And it had been years ago, he didn’t know you right now. “Right—but—-It’s cause I—I don’t even recognize myself anymore and how can I get married?”
Harry shrugged, “you can always leave the altar, that would be quite a show, very entertaining.”
You rolled your eyes, “don’t be an idiot.”
“Well, then, fucking relax, let’s get your ass drunk, and let’s pack something hot for your honeymoon, and make you forget you’re nervous.”
You shook your head, “I—No, I need to get my mind off the wedding—let’s talk about you and Kat.”
“No, tomorrow’s your wedding day, and even if you’re marrying a trash bin,” Harry said smugly, ignoring your glance. “I’m the maid of honor, ain’t I, darling? It’s my time to shine.”
“I find it really hard to believe you don’t want to monologue and complain about Kat,” you stated. “And if you want to be a good maid of honor, get my mind off the stupid wedding.”
He took a deep breath, “let’s go outside for a smoke.”
“I—know a better place for that,” you said.
Harry probably had not expected you to lead him to the old treehouse, at your Grandma’s house. The house you’d be going back to. Nick had had the brilliant idea to buy your old house from her to give your future children a childhood as magical as yours. She was moving somewhere smaller.
It felt weird. Nana was everything to you and now—It felt almost like losing her too.
“This place is still—as shitty as I remember it,” Harry pointed out, as he took out a package of cigarettes, lighting one, he puffed it once and then offered it to you. You had made sure to sneak in, just so your grandma wouldn’t know but you knew she probably did.
The treehouse. The place where the five friends would hang out and forget their problems. From when Kat and you were innocent children playing dolls, to the five teenagers sneaking some cigarettes and beers. The best memories you had of them, the ones you liked to hold on to. Dancing, laughing, singing. How many late night conversations did you not have there. Where all of you sincered with each other, like you and Harry probably would now.
“It’s not bad,” you said, chuckling, as you puffed the cigarette and he lit another one, keeping it to himself this time. “Nick wants to—Tumble it down.”
Harry turned to you. “Of course Dickolas wants to tumble it down.”
“He says our children deserve their own—“you shrugged. “But—“
“I’m surprised it hasn’t tumbled down by itself,” he said, looking around.
“Yeah, I’ve been—keeping it up,” you admitted. “I come here when I don’t want anyone bothering me.”
“Why?” He faked disgust.
You shrugged, “brings back good memories, when times were simpler, besides, no one knows about this place. Or they don’t care.”
“Who would?” Harry chuckled. “Well, I guess it does bring back happier memories, when the five of us actually were friends.”
“Yeah…When time was on our side. And… Nana always makes sure I’m alone if I need to be.”
Nana, your grandmother, who’d been grandmother to all your friend group, always ready with dinner and advice whenever anybody needed her. The woman always knew what to say, and she’d been the saddest when she’d learned you and Tom fell apart. She’d often try to get you to talk to him, but she understood why you didn’t. Seemed like Nana was just as surprised when Kat and you fell apart too. You knew the woman was well aware of your loneliness.
She had asked if your falling apart with Kat had something to do with Tom.
He seemed sad, too. “Yeah. How is Nana by the way?” Harry asked. “I’ve been meaning to talk to her about life, but I haven’t had the time with the whole maid of honor duties.”
“Yeah, she’s fine…” Nana had been the only one to question why you were marrying Nick. You hadn’t been able to give her an answer but she hadn’t pushed. “Talk about what? About what happened with Kat?” You questioned.
But you didn’t want anyone talking to Nana. Nana had things to worry about herself and talking to stupid young adults about breakups was not it.
Harry avoided your glance as he leaned against the excuse of a wall that the treehouse had. He fiddled with something in his pocket.
“Harry?” You asked.
“Yeah.”
It was not usual for Harry to be quiet. Harry was… too much. Which was kind of the reason why you two were very good friends. Even if he didn’t want to admit it. Both of you were very alike, always trying to please everyone around. Harry could match your energy and you could match his. Kat once described the both of you as “arrogant bitches whom she loved”, Tom had agreed, ‘You’re too much’. Probably you were. Too much to handle. . Everything was a show for both of you, and you’d always compete to be the ‘most’, and that frequently led to both of you fighting for it.
Tom and Kat were alike. Harry and you were alike.
So this situation wasn’t alike for either of you. Please, your wedding was the one day where you’d be getting all the attention you had yearned for and now you were scared of it? And now Harry was avoiding his turn to give a dramatic monologue?
Something was off. You probably both needed Kat, Andrew and Tom. Seemed like getting the attention only from each other wasn’t as fun.
He finally pulled out a small velvety black box.
Oh.
“She gave it back,” he announced and then took a deep breath. “I--She gave it back.”
You understood then, it was over. Kat had given back the engagement ring. A real engagement ring. Like the one on your hand. Funny how both of you had worn rings at the same time, not ring pops this time. Real engagement rings.
But now you were the only one with one. It was weird, how many rings had she not stolen from Harry, and this was the one that he actually gave her. And now, she had none.
“She officially ended us,” Harry announced with slight faked amusement. “She…” Harry licked his lips. “I didn’t think she would and… She bloody said I was the one to decide that it had officially ended.”
“I mean, you broke up with her,” you reminded him. “You literally left her.”
“Do you know how tired I was of not knowing if she was indifferent?” Harry asked.
You sighed, “Well, she probably…” You rolled your eyes. “Wasn’t. But,” you sighed. “You should’ve known better.”
Harry clenched his jaw. “Are you on her side? Even if she blames you for the breakup?”
“Maybe I am to blame, because I forgot how stupid you are, I—should’ve warned her not to date you,” you barked at him.
Harry rolled his eyes at you. “Can’t believe you—“Harry scoffed. “As if you didn’t know how it feels to not feel enough.”
You had. And he shouldn’t have said it. “I know better than anyone what it feels like to be left behind, and be blamed for it,” you stated. Ignoring the other statement.
Harry rolled his eyes, “This isn’t the same as what happened between you and Tom, dear.”
“Why the heck are you bringing Thomas up?,” You frowned. “Thomas and I stopped being friends. You broke up with her because you’re an idiot. Very different situations.” You knew Harry was the best at avoiding.
“I—.”
“I know Kat, of course she’d give it back.”
“You don’t know her anymore,” Harry said, letting out a big cloud of his mouth.
“Did you expect her not to? Is your ego that big that you expected her to beg you to come back? Please! She doesn’t want to do anything with you, you know her! She will be and actually was petty. ”
“I wanted to solve things, eventually,” he said condescendingly.
“You never gave her an explanation,” You scoffed. “Did you expect her to wait for you?”
Harry glared at you. “I just never thought I’d lose her.”
You didn’t either, and there you were. “Well, it’s on you. Seems like you walked out because you feared she would.”
“Seems ironic, coming from you, did you not wait for Tom all these years to apologize? Or to-”
“It’s different. Thomas was my friend, and he hurt me, and you know that,” you quickly snapped. “He was supposed to apologize. but— Harry, you broke up without any stupid reason and you are angry she was the one to call it off finally. Don’t avoid this.”
“You’re being too loud, y/n,” He fiddled with the ring. “She gave up on us—.”
“She?” You laughed. “You—you gave up on her! You effing gave up on her for whatever reason you decided this time!”
“Effing,” Harry chuckled at you, “But—“
“Is it your stupid pride? Did you want to have the last word? Is it?” You called him out.
He puffed his cigarette. “No.”
“If you loved her then why did you leave her?” You snapped. It had come from deep inside. Probably the question held double meaning. “How many things did she not give up because of you and you threw it all away?”
He glared at you, “I was—scared.“
“Scared?”
“You’re the last person allowed to judge for being scared of that kind of situation.”
“I am not.”
“You are, you fucking know I’m talking about being scared of your feelings for someone because you don’t know if they’re reciprocated and then—scared of holding them back, and then fucking scared of not being enough when the time comes.”
You knew a thing or two about it. Being scared of holding someone back. Being scared of not being enough. Though it was different, because you often avoided your own fear of not having your feelings reciprocated. You did not want to accept you knew what he meant. Because he probably referred to Tom, and you.
“I know about compromising,” you stated. “I know about staying better than anyone. So I have the right to call you out, look at me, I went beyond my own pride and ego and even gave up on some dreams for Nick. And I gave up on Tom.”
“Yes, you know about giving up,” Harry watched you with irony, he rolled his eyes, “You really are clueless sometimes, huh, y/n?”
You glared at him. “I may be but I accept it.”
“Love is so fucking complicated, y/n, I know you don’t know much about that because of how bloody perfect your life is, and because if your idea of love is walking down that aisle tomorrow, then you and I have a very different way of loving,” Harry clicked his tongue. “No, deep down, I am perfectly aware you know what I’m talking about, because you more than anyone know that giving up sometimes is the smartest thing to do.”
You glanced away.
“Loving someone, y/n, and you know this, sometimes means you have to let them go, for their own good,” Harry said. “Walking away may be the bravest thing one could ever do.”
You stared at your cigarette, knowing damn well you couldn’t get Harry to reason. You did have one question for him.
“Why does she blame me for the breakup?” You questioned.
“Why the fuck would I know?” Harry shrugged. “She blames you for everything.”
“Why did you let her blame me for it?” You questioned. “Why—? You didn’t even try to explain it to her.”
“I haven’t spoken to her,” Harry snapped. “Until today.”
“But—why?” You questioned. “I didn’t do anything—Why did you have to drag me down with you?”
“I didn’t.”
“But why does she blame me?”
Harry shrugged. “It’s like when you blamed me for you and Tom.”
“You are to blame for that, I am sure that by your stupid insinuations you drove him away,” you snapped.
Harry rolled his eyes, “Come on, are you still mad at that?”
“I don’t even know why you—why did you even—You were the one to make things awkward for us, ” you stated, “and then you—You’re so selfish Harry, I don’t blame Kat for ending it all.”
“Excuse me?”
“Everything has to be your way, and if it isn’t then you just give up and blame everyone around you. You think that walking away is brave when it’s only you being too arrogant to admit you’re wrong.”
Harry shrugged. “Well, you don’t have to worry about it anymore. You can tell me you never want to see me again too after all of this is done.”
“No,” you rolled your eyes. “You’re an idiot. But I still love and care for you, besides I know you love me too, you can’t leave me. I’m too good for you to leave me.”
“We’re all we have, aren’t we?” He sighed as he opened an arm for you, you walked to him, as he hugged you close. “You deserve better, y/n, than whatever you’re settling to.”
Harry and you, had always been best friends. Very close. The most magical thing about your relationship with Harry was that you could call each other out but hug each other seconds after. You could be honest with him. And he would be, too. Neither of you were scared of saying your feelings.
You sighed, “You’re right, the wedding should’ve been bigger.”
“What’s your something blue or whatever the fuck you were chanting?” He questioned.
“It’s the rhyme, the things that you should wear at your wedding… Something old…”You had to pause. “It’s an old hair pin, I…” You cleared your throat. “I… It’s pretty…”
Harry frowned. “A hair pin?”
“Yeah,” you cleared your throat. “I have it since… I dunno, for a while, it’s the… The one that… Thomas bought for me, when the whole hair fiasco happened in that one concert,” you hoped you didn’t have to continue explaining it. You did not want to elaborate on your process making the decision to have something related to Tom on your wedding day.
You could tell Harry was trying to come up with a sly comment. He went with, “Oh, alright,” instead.
“Yeah, uh, something new…. My pearls, something borrowed… My dress… it’s Nick’s mothers dress,” you explained.
“Ah, that’s why it’s…” He didn’t finish the question. But you knew he was trying to say it was hideous. “Right.”
“And something blue,” you licked your lips, watching the smoke come out from the cigarette, a diversion you much required. “It’s… the bracelet that Kat gave me.” A bracelet you’d had for your whole life, your friendship bracelet. How much did it mean now?
Harry watched you, “I will….refrain from commenting on your decisions.”
“Great, because I won’t elaborate on them,” you said. But it was simple, you wanted to have both Kat and Tom close even if you were oceans apart from them, at least you’d have them in your heart. “And also, my dad’s s’pposed to give me a coin for my shoe, to wish prosperity or some crap.”
“Will he give you one?”
“No, barely anyone knows about that one part of the rhyme, but I like… singing it,” you admitted.
He chuckled, thinking to himself, then he finally popped the question he had been dying to make, “will you visit me now that you’re married? Dickolas can stay on the couch. Or not come at all.”
“Stop calling him that, and—Move out or make Thomas move out and I might.”
“Oh, don’t worry, I’m kicking him out soon,” he grinned. “But you could visit even when he’s around.”
“No.”
Harry bit his lip, “The group is finally broken, huh?”
“Well, Kat is friends with Andrew, Andrew… will be my step brother, you’re friends with me,” you said. “And you’re… friends with Thomas.”
Harry scrunched his nose, “It’s embarrassing, to admit I’m friends with Tom.”
You laughed, “he—he is a disgrace.”
“He is, but that fucker is still one of my best friends.”
You only looked up at Harry, how could he still be friends with Tom was beyond your understanding. “Great friend he is,” you poisoned. “He dated your girlfriend.”
Harry took a deep breath. “Tom was confused,” Harry explained. “Tom struggles with emotions. And I guess he was confused enough to misplace his… sentiments.”
“I don’t know how you could forgive him,” You said.
“You forgave Kat,” Harry snaked.
“Forgive her for what, exactly?”
“Well, Tom dated Kat, but Kat also dated Tom,” Harry was slick, knowing perfectly how to press an open wound.
“I do not understand where you’re going with that statement,” you lied, knowing he meant you hadn’t even blamed Kat. Because how could you?
“You do understand,” Harry shrugged. “Tom was as scared of his feelings for you-”
“There were none,” you rolled your eyes. “Can we please get over that discourse? It’s been five years.”
“Exactly my point, princess,” Harry clapped his hands together. “We were young, of course I forgave him. Kat was scared. Tom was scared and-”
“And now? You and Kat? You were the one who was scared,” you decided to so easily spill the truth.
Harry shrugged, “Maybe it’s for the best you and Tom never sincered, your fate would’ve been like Kat’s and mine.”
You rolled your eyes. Harry was sure there was something between you and Tom. You knew better, that Tom had been confused and then simply realized you were not of his interest.
“Well, Tom and I stopped being friends before you and Kat broke up, so yes, we were destined to fall apart.”
Harry shrugged, “But the fucker is great with the guitar, and we’ve written some melancholic songs thanks to you and him falling out so thanks for breaking his heart.”
You knew the heartbreaking songs were not about you, and you wondered how much it would take Harry to notice. “You should see the ones I wrote.”
“Oh, the ones about Tom, I assume, I find it hard to believe that Dickolas played any inspiration, and besides, people don’t write songs about people who are easy to get or who you want to run from. Tom would know. Maybe you and Tom have been speaking to each other through breakup songs?”
You rolled your eyes. “Are you sure it’s not your own breakup influencing the songs?”
He sighed. And stayed quiet, for a while and then turned to you, “I know you don’t understand it, but I mean it, y/l/n, sometimes giving up is the bravest thing, and sometimes walking away is the right thing.”
“Is it?”
“I’m just saying y/n, you could always walk away,” he reminded you. “And Pandora Signs could always use some back up singers, even if the main singer is so fucking good.”
“He is okay,” you rolled your eyes. Pandora Signs’ his and Tom’s band. Harry sang.
“Might sound better with your voice,” Harry pushed. “You should’ve hired us to play at your wedding.”
“Ah, sure, Tom would have agreed to that.”
“He misses you, even if he never admits it,” Harry said.
You shrugged. “He walked away.”
“Sometimes… the bravest thing is to walk away.”
Maybe it was...To walk away.
In the blink of an eye you were staring at a bride in the mirror, the conversation with Harry had barely gotten anywhere. From him denying his mistakes, to then freaking out all night because of your wedding. Harry had stayed to calm you down all night and had stayed with you until he had made sure every strand of hair was in place. He had been a friend.
The rose wine had given you a headache, maybe it was something else.
Before you even knew it you were holding your father’s arm and about to walk into it. Your nerves had intensified.Your engagement ring had slipped off from your finger, but your father picked it up quickly. It was raining outside and it just added to the horror.
Your father had adjusted your veil, “are you ready?” He had asked. “I’m so proud of you.”
You gulped with terror. But he kissed your cheek reassuringly, hand back on his arm. It was time to walk to embrace your perfect life.
The doors opened to reveal every single damn face. Family and friends. Every single stupid tear and stupid smile. All the attention. A spotlight on you and only you.
What a nightmare.
You couldn’t breathe but you blamed it on the dress. But they were expectant of you to walk in. You couldn’t. Your feet were nailed to the ground, just like your own very nails now gripping your father’s arm. And the other ones gripping the flowers.
Imagine like you’re with your friends, Harry had advised. And so when the music played, you were able to finally take one step on that long aisle. It had never looked this long, and you felt incredibly small.
Your inner Tom voice had gotten louder.
“You are bullshit, Y/N.”
But you tried to forget about him. Tom had not shown up to the wedding, so there had gone your chance to ever think of being friends with him anymore. But how come you had a song with him? How the hell did you have a song with a guy who had been just a friend? And you—did you have a song with Dicko-Nicholas?
You were trying to recall. Did you? Were you about to marry a man whom you didn’t have a song with?
Harry had also advised to stare into Nicholas’ eyes, waiting for you at the end with a promise to be made. A promise to be broken. Nicholas, who would father your children, and wake up by your side every morning. Him who expected you to be perfect little y/n. Him who would be perfect Nick. A song could come. Yes, the song you’d dance to.
What even was it? Dreams? No. No. Not that song. What song were you going to dance to with Nick?
Nick smiled at you. Wrinkled eyes, wild beam and even shaking, too. So he was nervous too.
Was he not able to breathe, too? Was he also tired of pretending?
You couldn’t keep your eyes on Nick, standing in that black tuxedo, so handsomely. He would look perfect on your side on the pictures hanging on the walls. Perfect life. Yes. With the house and the dog and the roses in the garden.
But he kept smiling back at you, with that kind of smile he had, fooling everyone into thinking that he would not eventually end up sneaking every now and then to have sex with some girl with perfect breasts. A smile that would fool everyone with a farce.
Nick and you were not that different. Both of you were so good at lying. But he did love you.
You, for the first time, couldn’t smile back, and until then you wondered if anyone could see past beyond the makeup and see the true fear. Your eyes landed on Kat. You knew she would.
The next step pained you, because you were walking into a perfect life planned ahead that would take away every single dream you had dreamed. A life that would take away your music.
But their glances were stabbing you. Nick’s mother, Andrew’s father, who was Nick’s step father, Nana. Not your mother, and until then, you realized it.
You locked eyes with Harry instead, his brows were furrowed but he shook your head at you. You looked away.
The guests still had their eyes still glued on you, waiting for you to give up your happiness in order to fulfill their dreams. What they’d been waiting for since high school
Y/N and Nick. Nick and y/n. The picture perfect relationship. They’ve all wanted this. Your father. Nick’s mother. Every person in town wanted this for you, finally your happy ending. Yes, everyone was happy for you. Yes, they wanted this perfect life for you.
The next step was harder. And the next one, and the next one, and then you were halfway there, your fear yet to be tamed. A nightmare, not a dream. A complete nightmare.
You couldn’t bear to take another step, you couldn' keep up this act, and though your father had tried to move you, you had glued to the ground. The white heels had stayed there. Abruptly.
You froze.
Before you could even dare to second guess it, a quiet “No,” had come out of your mouth. And that had been the first time it seemed you’d ever said that word.
Your father glanced at you with confusion.
“No,” you said louder, and shaking your head as you finally decided to take the first step back. You hoped you had been clear this time.
“Y/N?” Your father said. “It’s okay….”
“No! This is bullshit!” You yelled now, dragging your grip out from your father’s as you watched everyone turn their smiles into frowns, you even heard some gasps. You dropped the flowers, stepping back.
“Y/N?” Your father turned to you. He wasn’t expecting this from you.
“Y/N?” Nicholas said from the end of the aisle. You saw it, the fear that he had never had with you because you had been so good at lying.
“I can’t,” you said to your father, as if he was the only one deserving of an apology.
Harry had said it hadn’t he? You’d give them a show, very entertaining.
Before anyone could even react to it, you had run to the back and off the chapel, escaping from the nightmare. One of your heels had been left behind as you ran far away from it, but that did not stop you. Maybe you should’ve listened to Harry, he had suggested wearing slippers, it’d be easier to run in those than in your stupid heels.
Had people tried to follow you? You didn’t know, and didn’t care.
There was no plan to this, you didn’t know what you were doing but you were sure you were not regretting this. You needed to keep running.
Your hair had flown as soon as you had ripped the veil off, you made sure to keep the hair pin, but you snatched off the pearls from your neck, as they fell individually to the floor, you had swiped off your lipstick and you had cleaned it on your dress, staining the purity that they had all tried to convince you it had. Saying goodbye to the perfect bride. You were a mess.
Everything was going so fast, the rain was falling down heavily, but you saw someone in a car in front of the chapel just pulling in. Before any reason could stop you, you rushed to it and hopped In the passenger seat.
And then you saw the driver. Tom wearing a black tuxedo with the tie untied, a cigarette in his mouth. Wait. Tom?
Tom?
“Tom?” You yelled.
“Y/N?” He asked as he puffed the smoke out, coughing out of surprise.
You didn’t have time for this. “Drive!”
“What—? What the fuck? Y/n?” He snapped.
“DRIVE!” you yelled.
“What?”
“Get me the fuck out of here!” You ordered, as your hand was tapping on the board, as you saw everyone heading out from the chapel, running after you. “Drive drive drive!” You said.
“Fuck, I’m—Yes! I’m trying—“and he managed to step on the pedal.
“Have fun! Enjoy the lobster!” You yelled at the people from the window who had run out to see your escape, Tom didn’t even have time to complain properly as he had already speeded your way out.
“Faster!” You said, as you turned on the radio. But before it could even play any music you realized it.
You had run from your wedding.
↳ read here where Tom was before the wedding. (harry styles fic)
story masterlist.
prologue
next chapter
playlists: y/n | tom
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#tom holland x reader#tom holland#tom holland x y/n#tom holland x you#tom holland imagine#tom holland fluff#tom holland au#tom holland angst#tom holland writing#tom holland and you#tom holland reader insert
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so i've spent the last week pretty much exclusively yelling with @cruciatusforeplay about "and a silver sixpence in his shoe" (the azcrow childhood friends fic i'm writing) and. have a quick look at what the fucking timeline for the backstory of this fic looks like. the actual fic takes place over just 6 days. LOVE TO BE NORMAL ABOUT MEDIA.
#bee stuff#sixpence fic#good omens#we're straight up coming up with the entire timeline for the THIRTY FUCKING FIVE YEARS OF THEIR LIFE#shit's wild#this isn't even the finished timeline for the record#there's prob events we already came up with that i haven't added yet#and the bit at the end with a lot more stuff is when az and crow are separated from one another#so the timeline splits#how poetic or something
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Fluff
Otterly Ridiculous Behavior by ciaconnaa - there’s nothing cuter than a date to the aquarium!! And otters of course!!!! Ahhhhhh!!
flowers you keep when you work at a flower shop by peculiarblue - MJ works at a flower shop and Peter frequents there from time to time! Absolute cuteness ensues and I cannot handle it. Love, love, love.
Rockin’ All Over The World by @jsscshvlr - ma’am. The sweetness of this fic. Peter has a massive crush, does anything more need to be said? Amazingly fluffy.
And a Silver Sixpence in Her Shoe by @spiderman-homecomeme - WEDDING FLUFF. The best kind of fluff. Peter and MJ are getting marrieeeed!! Love to see it always!!
dental insurance doesn’t cover pining by @doofwrites - MJ gets her wisdom teeth out and Ned happens to record it. Laughing gas equals truth serum, we all know it and love to see it!
As always, don’t forget to show these authors some love if you liked their fics! @spideychelleweek
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Something Blue (and Red)
Part 4 of “And A Silver Sixpence in Her Shoe.”
AN: Well, it’s been a while, but here is the final part of the wedding fic! Thank you guys from the bottom of my HEART for all of your patience!! It has been a crazy semester for me, but I am finally free!! Look out for more promptmas stuff coming, secret santa, and a few more WIPS in the near future!
Enjoy!
-
In his twenty-four years of being alive, Peter’s not sure that something’s ever been so right-- ever felt so right. Rarely have the stars aligned in such a way, so perfectly as they had in that specific moment as he stood, waiting in the winding check-out line of his local TJ Maxx, his arms already full of items he didn’t necessarily need.
But when he saw them, he knew.
There was nothing else to do, no choice left to make.
No question in his mind as the bored teen mindlessly scans the treasures, as he swipes his debit card, as he answers the age old question on the pinpad, “amount okay?”
MJ, however, seems less than impressed with the purchase, holding the limited edition Spider-Man socks between her fingers as if they might bite her, her nose crinkling in disgust.
“Seriously?” She asks, fixing him with a quizzical brow.
“Seriously,” He beams, obviously more excited than she was. “I had to.”
“Uh-huh,” she speaks slowly, carefully examining the blue and red socks. “And you don’t think that it might have been a little reckless for you, Peter Parker, to buy Spider-Man socks?”
Peter gives an innocent shrug, mouth twitching into a nonchalant frown. “Nah. The cashier just thought I was a big fan. We had a nice chat about Spidey. No biggie.”
Her face remains expressionless as she stares blankly at him, save for the skeptical quirk of her brow.
Peter decides to simply ignore the doubt radiating from his fiancée, his lips pulling back into a mischievous grin. “That’s not all…”
She barely has any time to ask before he hikes his leg up, propping his foot on the couch, revealing the exact same pair of socks.
“Now we can really be the most powerful couple out there.”
MJ can only shake her head in response, forcing an exasperated breath through her nose as the faint beginning of a smile tugs at the corner of her lips. If she were being completely honest, she wasn’t in love with the idea of becoming one of those couples; she loved Peter, more than anything, but…
Enough to wear matching socks?
Peter doesn’t mind her immediate dislike of the garments. In fact, he almost welcomes it. One extra pair for him; just means that he doesn’t have to do laundry as much, right?
(MJ tells him that that’s not what that means.)
And perhaps he wears them a bit too much, especially for someone who’s quite literally donning socks with his own (masked) face on them. It had started as a weekend only, nights-in at home thing, though it wasn’t long before he was wearing them to work, to date night, family dinners, everywhere. She’s never surprised when she sees the masked cartoon peek from under the hem of his jeans.
He claims that they’re comfy, that they’re warm, that all his other socks were dirty, etc., etc.
And really, Michelle doesn’t mind or care all that much. Whatever Peter wants to wear isn’t any of her damn business. It’s funny, it’s cute, it’s just her loveable, dumb fiancé.
But it does make their more, ahem, intimate moments a bit more difficult.
If only because seeing those damn things in all their bright blue and red glory on his feet, after he’s whispered the things he’s whispered into her ear, after he’s been trying to be so sultry and serious.
MJ can’t help but tease.
“Those staying, too?” Her voice is steady, just barely hiding the humor in her tone as she gestures at his feet.
He pauses momentarily, his shirt now crumpled in his own hand, confused for a moment before following her gaze.
And then, she laughs at her own question, hiding her face behind her hands as he playfully throws his shirt at her; he nearly trips as he steps out of his boxers, making a point to show that, yes, MJ, the Spider-Man socks stay on during sex.
It’s no surprise when she sees the very same socks as she steps out of the shower, set out next to his black and white tux the morning of their wedding.
She wouldn’t expect anything less.
A small smile tugs at her lips at the recent memory, just hours before, as she stares at herself in the floor-length mirror, her mother and May both working diligently (yet gently) at the buttons on the back of her dress, Betty standing in front of her.
That same warmth she always feels around Peter has been in full force today, and she even finds the old, yet welcome fluttering of butterflies in her stomach when the dress is finally on . Throughout her life, she’s never quite understood what it meant to “feel like a bride.” It was just a white dress; how could it have so much power? Even when shopping, when buying the dress, she didn’t get that exact feeling. Sure, it made everything much more real, but it wasn’t this .
Yet now, in spite of all of her past notions, she finally gets it; the delicate lace on the bodice and the long, elegant sleeves, the deep-v neckline, that final addition of something blue, and with that same shattered Black Dahlia necklace Peter had given her all those years ago.
Damn it, she feels like a bride.
Her mother subtly wipes at her eyes as she moves to stand in front of her daughter, clasping her hands to her chest with an almost dreamy sigh. “God, you look beautiful, Michelle.”
May nods, smiling warmly, her own eyes sparkling. “Agreed.”
“So pretty!” Betty adds, her giddiness shining through.
MJ huffs out a light chuckle, mumbling out a quiet, “Thank you,” as her hands smooth over the soft satin of her skirt. Her mind immediately goes to Peter, what he’s doing right now, how nervous he must be, and what he’ll think when he sees her, when she walks down the aisle; and just like that, her stomach does a few more giddy backflips, and she bites her lip to keep the excitement in.
“And now,” May starts, breaking the silence, a knowing grin on her face as she moves to open the final box. “For the finishing touch.”
MJ was so incredibly wrong.
Now .
Now, as the veil is placed on her head, she honestly, truly , feels like a bride.
“There,” May says, gently adjusting the fabric a fraction of an inch so that the veil lays prettily against Michelle’s curls.
Again, Michelle’s mother sighs, though along with the misty eyes comes a twitch of a frown fighting back the tears.
MJ playfully rolls her eyes. “I’m not even married yet, Mom, come on,” she gently teases as she pulls her mother into a hug.
“I know, I know,” the older woman says with a soft, sheepish laugh. She pulls back, looking at the two Jones women staring back at them in the mirror. “Give me a break, okay? I’m just so happy for my little girl,” she adds, squeezing her daughter’s side.
Michelle utters another, “thanks,” looking down to hide her widening grin.
“I don’t blame you,” May says with a shake of her head and a kind smile. She looks to Michelle, expression warm and excited. “You ready, Em?”
The bride looks up again at her reflection, taking everything in again.
It was happening.
Today was the day.
And MJ had never been more ready.
--
Peter could have sworn he was dreaming.
This whole relationship even.
In what universe was he lucky enough to land someone like Michelle Jones, to get her to marry him, to marry his dumb ass and all the trouble and shit he gets himself into? What did he do to deserve such a partner-in-vigilante-justice?
He looks to Ned at his left, his best friend giving him an encouraging grin and a subtle (yet actually not all that subtle) thumbs up; then to his aunt, to his mentor, to his friends in the seats in front of him.
But when his eyes finally land on her, his very soon-to-be wife, he finds that he can’t look anywhere else.
Not that he’d ever want to.
He always thinks that she’s perfect, no matter what; she could literally wear a brown paper bag and he’d still marry her. But, cheesy as it sounds, the air feels like it’s quite literally been taken right from his lungs.
Even now, after six whole, wonderful, perfect years together, without fail, MJ still manages to make him forget how to breathe, the sight of her in that simple white dress, holding the bouquet of white roses and black dahlias, making his chest tighten at just how pretty she is. He knows that there’s probably tears in his eyes, but he honestly can’t tell, nor does he care when he sees the faint smirk painting her lips from under the sheer veil.
Again, he really is the luckiest loser in the world.
A lucky loser who happens to be wearing blue and red Spider-Man socks.
What can he say? It’s the nice boost of confidence. Ned has his hats, Peter has his Spidey socks.
He’s unable to hold back or fight his smile--though it’s not like he’s really trying all that hard--as she finally reaches him. She glances down, and he can see the toothy grin from behind her veil, the soft expression causing his heart to swell. He helps her pull the veil back, finally able to see her after a whole day apart.
The officiant welcomes everyone, beginning the ceremony with a short speech of thanks that both Peter and MJ had written before hand.
However, Peter finds that he can’t hear what the man is saying over how beautiful his fiancée is.
He almost doesn’t hear him ask to start the vows.
Peter snaps out of his trance, pulling a folded piece of paper from his jacket. “Oh, yeah! Sorry. Uh, yeah. Vows.” A faint pink blush settles over his features as he stammers. A quiet murmur of good-natured chuckles briefly fills the room, MJ joining in, of course.
“MJ,” He starts. He feels the lump in his throat, the emotion fluttering in his stomach. He coughs, looking between the paper and the love of his life. “You are my favorite person. My best friend in the entire world. Sorry Ned.”
That gets another laugh, both from MJ and the room, and Peter passes a teasing, fake-sheepish smile to his best man.
Ned waves it off with a laugh, shaking his head.
Peter continues. “I feel so overwhelmingly lucky and proud to stand here with you today. Honestly, I feel like I hit the jackpot. When I’m with you, MJ, I’m the best version of myself. Because… with you, I’m always utterly and unapologetically myself. You accept me for who I am, even if I can be a bit of a dumbass sometimes. There’s not much for me to say that I haven’t already said, you know me, and there’s not much to give that’s not already freely given. But… I’ll give it a shot.”
He takes another deep breath, glancing up to see the warmth and love in MJ’s expression, his chest tightening. “I promise to always try and make you laugh and smile, no matter what, even if my jokes aren’t really that funny, because let’s be honest, those are my best ones.”
MJ shakes her head, not even trying to fight back her smile.
“I promise to be a better roommate, and to actually put dishes in the dishwasher instead of in the sink or on the counter by the sink. I promise to send every conspiracy theory I find, even the ones you’ve already heard. I promise to listen to your advice, and even occasionally, I promise to take that advice. I promise to love you more and more. After every win. After every fight. After every laugh.” He pauses for a moment, clearing his throat once more, combatting the shakiness. He looks back up at her, no longer reading from the folded piece of paper. “And finally, I promise to always strive to be worthy of the love you give me so freely and openly, and to never, ever take that love for granted, and to always give it back.”
He wants to make some dumb joke about how she’s a thief, taking his breath away, but he doesn’t.
“I really like you, MJ.”
Her face crumples slightly at the callback, though she holds herself together, if only so she can get through actually reading her end of the vows, as Betty hands her her own paper.
A beat of silence passes as MJ gathers both her thoughts and emotions.
“Peter,” she starts, a slight shake already to her voice. Be it from nerves or overwhelming emotions, she’s not sure. “You’re my best friend. My partner. My supporter. You’ve loved me through easy times and hard times, and I am so incredibly grateful for you and the support you have always given me. Now… Promises have always scared me. Maybe I’ve been too cautious in making them, too afraid that a change in circumstance or myself will rip the world out from under me. But… over the years, I’ve found that they can remind me of solid ground when things get shaky. Here are some promises that I can happily give to you.”
She looks up at him for the briefest of moments, heart warming. “I promise to put you first, and love you, even when you’re purposefully trying to annoy me.”
A warm laugh.
Her grin turns more playful as she looks back down at the paper. “I promise to always admit when I’m wrong--which we both know, I never am, but that’s beside the point--and to forgive you when you are. I promise to try to laugh, a real, honest laugh, at your jokes, even if they aren’t funny.”
MJ hears him scoff, her lips twisting into an even bigger smile at the sound. She continues. “I can’t promise to never make fun of you, but… I can promise to always kiss you after, just to say sorry,” she vows, shooting him another glance. “I promise to be there, no matter what, to help you when you need me. And I promise to keep updating these as we go. Because one set of vows can’t cover a lifetime of getting to grow and change alongside you. Of falling more and more in love with you everyday, which is what I promise to do for the rest of my life.”
She hands the paper back to Betty before taking his hand in hers. She’s pretty sure that’s not entirely in the whole wedding protocol, but she doesn’t care right now.
“I really like you, too.”
And then it all happens too quickly, neither of them seeing or hearing anything else as they exchange the rings.
There are no more words spoken between them, apart from “I do.” No more thoughts.
… besides finally as they hear the fateful, “I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”
And so, Peter does.
He’s not sure what song is playing now as he holds his new wife on the dance floor; he’s certain it’s not a song that you really slow dance to either, but he doesn’t care. After the very first one, he’s sort of lost track, too lost in his arm around her waist, hand on her back, the other holding hers.
He attempts to twirl her, though she has to awkwardly duck down under his arm, the mishap causing them to both erupt in giggles.
“I told you we needed ballroom dance lessons,” Peter tsks, pulling her close again.
“You’re right,” she remarks dryly, though he can feel her breathe out an amused smile against him. “Here, I’ll twirl you.”
He obliges, laughing when he’s able to pass under her arm much more easily. Mid-spin, his eyes land on her necklace once again, and he can’t help the way his heartstrings swell like the first violin section in an orchestra.
“Black Dahlia,” he points out, much like he did on the bridge all the years ago.
MJ nods, chuckling. “Something old.”
He hums in acknowledgement, giving her an affectionate squeeze. “I’m glad you still like it.” He pulls back slightly. “And the something new? Will I get to see that on tonight?”
Her head tilts and she takes a small corner of her lip between her teeth. “Maybe.”
“Can’t wait.”
Soon, the last cadence of the song fades out, and the familiar base-line of My Girl by the Temptations comes on.
They sway together a little longer, before Peter continues. “Something borrowed?” He asks, realizing she’d never told him.
“May’s veil,” she answers simply with a grin. Though it’s been put away again for the reception, MJ gestures to where it would have sat on her head.
Peter’s head jerks back a fraction. It had looked familiar. “Oh, God, how did I not know that?”
“I won’t tell May, I promise,” she teases. “She’ll never know you didn’t know what her own veil looked like.”
“Okay, okay, come on.” He shakes his head in good-humor, growing quiet for a moment. It’s when he doesn’t speak for even longer that MJ grows concerned.
“Pete?”
“Yeah?”
“You okay?”
“Yeah,” he answers truthfully, but she can hear the emotion in his tone. Another beat passes between them before he elaborates any further. “I’m just really happy that you got to… that you got to use that, you know?”
Somehow, she pulls him even closer, into a comforting squeeze. “I know.”
Silence falls over them again as they sway back and forth, not really dancing anymore, though still held in a close, loving embrace.
Suddenly, MJ pulls back slightly, to Peter’s utter confusion, taking his hand in hers and pulling him away from the dance floor and into one of the hallways.
“Where are we going?” He asks through a curious laugh. “What’s--”
“I need to show you something,” she says over her shoulder, before tightening her grip on his hand.
Without any question or hesitation, he happily follows her, the anticipation of what exactly she could be wanting to show him so badly that they needed to sneak away from prying eyes almost too much. They weave through friends and family, dodging questions with relative success as they reach the ends of the reception crowd.
Finally, they reach one of the welcome areas, MJ sits on one of the chaises, practically yanking her new husband down to sit with her.
She reaches down, pulling up the skirt of her dress to show a comfy pair of her black converse--a sight Peter’s not all that surprised to see, yet he still has to chuckle. Mostly in confusion still. “MJ, what--?”
She takes one of her shoes off, showing her very own pair of limited edition, Spider-Man socks.
Now that comes as a surprise. He huffs out another laugh, his brow crinkling as he looks between her sock-clad foot and her mischievous eyes. “Again… MJ, what?”
She leans in to kiss that bewildered expression off his face, only being the slightest bit successful. Her hand remains in his, her smile growing, eyes gleaming with pride and delight as she answers with a nonchalant shrug.
“Something blue.”
#spideychelle#petermj#peter parker x michelle jones#fic#silver sixpence fic#fluff#peter parker#michelle jones
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