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hartigays · 3 years

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Rafebarry Prompt for you! So what about some of Barry’s pals being over at the trailer and they’re all just like “Damn Bro” at seeing Rafe (who’s just living his best chaotic life, being Barry’s housewife/partner in crime) and Barry’s just all smug about it like “Yeah. I’m hittin’ that. Be jealous.”

tw: mature themes (drug use, sexual implications) and some homophobic language (just a comment from some loser tho)

rafe’s bike tears through swampy grass and dirt with a vengeance as he pulls into barry’s front yard, leaving tire marks in his wake.

when he pulls off his helmet, the first thing he sees are people spilling in and out of the trailer. people rafe doesn’t recognize - some of them attractive, even.

which is… infuriating, to put it lightly.

barry clearly hadn’t felt the need to keep rafe in the loop, inviting him over without informing him that half of the cut would be in attendance as well.

like, seriously, what the fuck? rafe had thought - well. he’d intended to come here to pick up some blow, and maybe, possibly, perhaps let barry have his way with him while he’s at it.

barry can’t have his way with him if half the population of north carolina is stacked up inside the trailer. and that’s just. frustrating.

rafe kind of wants to drive his bike straight through the trailer, mowing some partygoers down and end this whole shebang right here and now. but, as barry has made explicitly clear time and time again, rafe is Not Allowed to harm and/or kill people on his property.

it’s sometimes irritating, this whole thing they’ve started. this casual fling that’s maybe not-so-casual anymore considering rafe agreed to be exclusive with barry not even two days ago.

there are just. so many rules, like no maiming, or killing, or… actually, that’s about it. but that’s two rules too many. rafe doesn’t like rules, or being told what he can or can’t do.

barry is just lucky rafe likes him. kind of. sort of. somewhat.

otherwise, barry would be drifting along the bottom of the ocean somewhere, flesh being nibbled away at by fish and sharks and the like.

rafe flings his helmet towards his bike, not bothering to see if it landed anywhere convenient, before storming across the yard and shoving himself through a cluster of people to get inside the trailer.

barry is sitting on the couch, all sorts of people surrounding him, looking like he’s already fucked up beyond belief.

which is also annoying, because he was supposed to get fucked up beyond belief with rafe, then mandhandle rafe into bed to have his wicked way with him. like always.

“ayy, country club!” barry practically shouts over the noice, his accent even thicker and more drawn out than usual. “you made it!”

“yeah, barry, i made it,” rafe snaps, then sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose.

look, he’s not against parties or anything. actually, he’s quite in favor of them. he just… did not plan for his day to go like this.

rafe wanted barry’s full attention, which is now virtually impossible given the amount of bodies that are currently filling the room.

barry just looks at rafe with glazed eyes, leaning back casually against the couch cushions. “aw, don’t you go pouting on me ‘n shit, rafe cameron. ain’t you always down for a party or some shit like that?”

“a little heads up would’ve been nice,” rafe tells him, his temper rearing it’s ugly head again and bleeding into his voice. “look, can i just get my shit so i can get out of here?”

rafe moves around the coffee table, elbowing a few drunk idiots out of his way as he does. barry eyes him as he comes closer, before suddenly swinging one arm out and wrapping it around rafe’s waist. he ropes rafe in close enough that rafe stumbles a bit over barry’s feet, sprawling right into his lap.

“see, ain’t that more like it, country club?” barry purrs, his lips pressed against rafe’s ear.

rafe feels a shiver rocket down his spine, but also a flare of anxiety.

barry is certainly fucked up beyond comprehension, and they haven’t exactly talked about making their relationship public. rafe has no idea if this is something barry will regret in the morning and end up cutting rafe off.

but to be fair, if barry did wake up and decide to tell rafe to fuck off, rafe would probably just kill him. he might just kill him anyway, just because he feels like it.

and since barry’s inevitable death is hurtling towards them at breakneck speed, rafe might as well enjoy barry’s final moments while he can.

so he lets barry kiss him, full on the mouth, on display for the hundred or so other people milling about the room.

rafe, regrettably, makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat when he feels barry’s tongue dip into his mouth, sweeping across his own.

regrettably, because some fucking weird ass next to barry leans in close to watch. rafe can see the movement out of the corner of his eye.

but barry isn’t deterred. he might be a little encouraged, even, because he deepens the kiss even more, pressing in so close that rafe feels like they could crawl inside of each other and form one cohesive nightmare of a person.

“ain’t peg you for a fag, barry,” the guy comments, his words slurring. he burps after he speaks, and barry detaches his lips from rafe to look over at the source of the noise.

“the fuck you just say to me?” barry snaps, digging his fingers into rafe’s hips to keep him in place when rafe moves to get up, ready to just slit this guy’s throat and be done with it. “ain’t you in my damn house, fuckass? who the fuck you think you’re talkin’ to?”

“hey, man, didn’t mean no offense,” the guy says, raising his hands in mock surrender before burping again. “jus’ askin’.”

“getcho’ dumbass out my house, bro,” barry tells him, removing one hand from rafe’s hips for only a moment, just to shove the guy out of his seat.

the still nameless man just shrugs, gulping down the remnants of his beer before getting up and disappearing into the crowd.

“i think you guys are cute,” a girl giggles from where she’s seated, across from the couch rafe and barry are currently planted on.

barry looks up at rafe, and it’s almost fond and god, that’s disgusting. rafe wants to soak himself in it, let it marinate until it’s deeply ingrained in every fiber of his being.

“sho’ are,” barry agrees with her, still looking up at rafe. he’s got one hand beneath rafe’s shirt now, nails raking over his back.

rafe shudders, wishing he could dissolve every person in this room right this very moment so he can curl up inside barry and make a home there.

“gotta say, ‘m a little jealous, man,” some other guy pipes up from barry’s other side.

rafe looks over at him, one brow arched, finding the guy staring right back as he hits some sort of pipe.

probably filled with meth, based on the state of the guy’s teeth.

classy.

“guess you just gon’ have to be jealous, then,” barry tosses back, not bothering to spare the guy a glance before returning his mouth to rafe’s.

the party comes and goes, faster than rafe anticipated, but that maybe can be attributed to the fact that barry keeps rafe glued to him at all times, practically devouring him every chance he can get, and showing him off to every person who happens to look their way.

rafe will admit, it’s a little satisfying, knowing how proud barry is to have staked his claim. he’s surprised that he’s so okay with barry being so possessive of him, too.

rafe cameron normally does not like the idea of being owned by anyone or anything. at least, he hadn’t up until now.

at this point, he’s pretty sure he’d let barry put a dog collar on him that reads property of barry the coke dealer, without complaint.

now, lounging in barry’s bed, sweat-soaked and panting, rafe sparks a blunt. he takes a long hit and passes it to barry.

“you did this on purpose,” rafe says, knowingly.

barry just grins up at the ceiling like a shark, shrugging as he hits the blunt.

“you’re pretty, rafe cameron. and you’re mine,” barry tells him, passing the weed back. “what’s it hurt to show off a little? you ain’t die or nothing.”

“never said it was a bad thing,” rafe snorts. “just maybe give me a little warning next time you plan to parade me around as your trophy wife.”

“like you ain’t get off on all them people talking ‘bout how jealous they are that i get to have you.”

barry has a point, rafe will admit. not out loud, mind you, but still. in the quiet of his mind, where no one else can hear, he agrees with barry wholeheartedly.

“can you blame them? i mean, look at me,” rafe says with a snooty little sniff, running a hand along his jaw. “you landed yourself a masterpiece. people are gonna notice.”

“you so damn full of yourself, country club,” barry snorts. “imma have to knock that ego down a peg. i been too nice to you.”

“says the guy whose ego grew ten times larger just by being a show-off about his boyfriend.”

barry rolls over onto his side, watching rafe hit the blunt with heavily-lidded eyes. “boyfriend, huh? ain’t we a bit old for that?”

“you literally called me your boyfriend like, fifty times today. do not even- ”

barry shuts him up mid-sentence by taking the blunt from rafe’s hand and putting it out on the ashtray next to the bed, tangling his fingers in rafe’s hair, and pulling him in for a kiss that’s all tongues and teeth.

rafe wanted to finish his sentence, had planned on finishing it, but barry doesn’t give him the chance. not with the way he’s kissing him right now.

within a matter of moments, rafe forgets what he was planning to say in the first place. but whatever, he’s fucking tired, barry feels good and smells good and tastes good. so what if he’s a trophy wife, so what if he may or may not get off on people being jealous that barry gets to date him. to own him.

it’s all arbitrary.

instead of figuring out what he was going to say, rafe breaks away from barry’s lips, fastening his mouth to barry’s neck and biting down.

his teeth sink in deep, and he hopes with everything he has left in him that it leaves a scar.

#rafebarry #outer banks #hope u enjoy!#my fics #ask #goodnightandbillyrobicheaux

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dracoqueen22 · 4 years

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Making Friends I - Conversation Starter

Title: Conversation Starter Universe: Tethers Characters: Tempest Teapot, Dakota Sorrel, Rathi of the Cinders, Easton Rating: K+/G Desc: Tempest is surrounded by pretty people, but Easton is the newest face, and so it must be up to her to make the first overture.

Easton loitered in the periphery of their camp like a stray animal who couldn't decide if he wanted to be kept or not. He sat on a stump, legs curled lotus beneath him, long white braid tucked over a shoulder, studiously ignoring their entire party. Tempest couldn't stop staring. He was so pretty. Pretty like women were pretty. She didn't know men could be so pretty. She imagined him painted up like a princess, his hair dripping in jewels, his body draped in fine materials, perhaps a dress to swish around his ankles. Oh, they’d suit him well. He was pretty enough for it. She gnawed on a strip of dried venison and contemplated their guide. He was tall, too. A little on the thin side. Gods, he had the longest legs, too. They went on for days. He wielded a longbow, which meant he had strong arms and hands. Good for lifting things. "You're drooling," Dakota said. "I'm not!" Tempest said. Except maybe she was. So she wiped at the corner of her mouth.

"He's so pretty," she mumbled around the meat. She shifted her weight, calves aching a bit from the casual crouch she'd dropped into.

"Aye, and likely to bite your head off if you try, so don't bother," Dakota grumbled as he bent over the new pair of socks he was knitting for her. It was a strange thing. Her socks kept getting holes in them, right at the tip where her big toe was. She went through socks like most people went through... well, something they tend to go through quickly anyway. "Maybe he's nicer on a one-by-one basis," Tempest contemplated aloud. She sucked her fingers clean. "He just needs to get to know us." "I don't think that's going to help," Dakota warned, but there wasn't much strength behind it. Just a kind of tired resignation. Good. He was learning. Tempest stood up, hissed when her calves protested, and bent over to rub at them. "I'm going to go talk to him," she declared after the initial spasms ended. Dakota sighed. Tempest adjusted her clothing, dragged a hand through her hair, and then realized she'd kind of dragged a bunch of jerky-spit through her curls, too. Oops. "Wish me luck," she said and picked her way through the camp, skirting around the low fire and tossing a wink at Rathi as she passed. "You beat me to it," Rathi said with a slanted look at Easton, a bit of hunger in her eyes. Tempest couldn't blame her. He was so damn pretty. Then again, their whole party was gorgeous. Tempest wondered how she got so lucky to be able to travel with a whole group of pretty, pretty people. She could ogle all day and never get bored, except Dakota. He was pretty in his own way, but Tempest didn’t ogle him. That would be weird, and a little gross. He was like her little brother. She had to keep an eye on him for his safety, not for ogling him. "You can have the leftovers," Tempest promised. Rathi chuckled, and Tempest let her be, approaching Easton without bothering to hide the fact she was doing so. She didn't want to sneak up on him. He seemed like the type to shoot first and ask questions later. Closer now, she could see he was reading. He balanced easily on the log, and a book was open in his lap. He leaned to the side, one elbow on his knee, chin balanced on his knuckles, and though he looked completely absorbed in the book, Tempest figured he had to be paying attention to his surroundings. He had to know she was coming. Still, she tromped extra loud on a few crunchy leaves just to make sure. Easton’s short-sword was within reach, and though she couldn’t see the longbow, she figured it was close at hand and ready to draw in a flash. “Isn’t it too dim for you to see that?” Tempest asked as she moved to crouch in front of Easton, so that he couldn’t hide from her by looking down. He turned a page without meeting her gaze. “I have dark-vision,” he said. He had a deep voice, deeper than she would have expected for someone so lithe. Tempest propped her elbow on a knee and her chin on her palm. “Oh. Well, that’s handy. I wish I had dark-vision.” He said nothing. He focused on his book as if he thought she’d give up and go away, probably in an annoyed huff. Well, Dakota would. Probably Tyrael, too. Not Tempest though. Her curiosity outweighed all of it. He had such pretty eyes, too. They were honey-brown, but toward the pupil, they were an amber-red in little uneven spikes. She thought he was maybe a half-elf or something, because he had those slightly pointed ears, and most elves were of the lithe sort. “Whatcha reading?” Tempest asked. She didn’t understand the fascination with reading herself. Books were boring. Sitting in one place to read a book was even more boring. There were much better ways to spend her time. Easton tilted the book so she could see the spine and the cover and the title. Not that it helped. Tempest could read, but not whatever this language was. The writing was broad and looping and the letters made no sense to her. “Okay, so I can mostly read Common, and I can kinda speak Elvish when someone is talking to me nice and slow, but there’s no way I know what this is,” Tempest said. She could also speak Halfling, but doubted that was relevant. He lowered the book so it was easier for him to see. “Then you don’t need to know what it is.” “Wow.” Tempest’s eyebrows crawled toward her hairline. “You’re nice to look at, but you’re kind of a jerk, aren’t you?” Easton blinked and finally looked at her. He lifted one sculpted eyebrow -- did he sculpt those himself? “Should I be something else?” “Huh?” “We’re strangers,” Easton pointed out. He sounded impatient and put out, like her very presence grated on him. He hadn’t told her to leave yet though so she figured she was winning as long as he didn’t say it outright. Tempest pushed air through her lips. “So?” She stared at him, like Blizzara used to stare at people who were being rude and ought to know better. “Doesn’t mean you have to be rude about it.” Easton, without taking his eyes away from her, marked his place in the book and closed it, resting one hand on the cover. “What do you want?” Ohhh. Progress! Tempest grinned and rocked a bit where she crouched. “You said it. We’re strangers. How about let’s fix that?” “And if I’m not interested?” He had a weird way of talking, too, lingering on certain words like someone told him he was supposed to emphasize them, but he kept forgetting which ones it was. Maybe Common wasn’t his native tongue. Tempest tilted her head, aiming her left ear toward him so she could hear better. “That would be a shame. I’m a pretty interesting person.” His lips twitched, like he was fighting off the urge to smile. “An odd one at least.” “You probably think you’re insultin’ me, but you’re not,” Tempest squinted at him. She swallowed a laugh because she thought that might make him clam back up, and she was already making progress. Besides, looking at him was hardly a trial. He was just so goddamn pretty. “I rest my case,” he said, but there was a shadow of a smile in his lips, on the edges. She wondered what he’d look like with a real smile, with his eyes bright from humor or happiness. Tempest grinned and pointed at his mouth. “I saw that.” He, however, pretended she hadn’t said anything. He gave her a keen look, like he was measuring her, probably in the same way she’d measured him. “... Tempest, right?” “You remembered!” Tempest stood up, wincing as her calves protested, and shifted from foot to foot. “I’m proud of you. See, we’re not as much strangers as you thought.” He rolled his eyes, and some of the tension in his shoulders eased away. He looked at her directly which was nice because Tempest did not want to have to crouch again. Her calves did not like it. “Now you’re being a smart-ass.” “What gave me away?” Easton snorted and sat back a little on the log, looking more engaged this time. “Fine,” he said, with a vague gesture. “What do you want to know?” Oh, boy. So, so much. But she had to be careful or she’d scare Easton away. “Hmm.” Tempest tapped her chin before planting her hands on her hips. “What were you reading?” “It’s a bestiary.” Tempest blinked. “A what?” One of Easton’s lips curled with amusement. “Bestiary,” he said, repeating the word slowly. “They’re encyclopedias of various creatures.” “Does it have pictures?” “A few.” Tempest frowned and rocked back and forth on her heels. “I prefer pictures,” she said, and decided to tiptoe into more personal questions, maybe get him to open up. You had to be careful with these stubborn, asshole types. They clammed up faster than a… well, clam. “Where are you from?” Easton’s lips thinned. His face immediately closed down, and Tempest cursed herself for asking the wrong question. “Nowhere in particular,” he said, and his voice grew thicker, as did his accent, like words were the hardest thing to manage. “It doesn’t matter.” “Sad past, huh?” Tempest asked, careful to keep her tone light and airy, like she wasn’t really invested in the answer, even though she most definitely was. Easton squinted. “What makes you say that?” Tempest tilted her head from side to side, staring up into the canopy of the trees. “Dakota gives me the same answer when I ask him about his hometown. I put two and two together.” “Perceptive of you,” Easton said. “I’m a perceptive person!” “Except for the part where I wanted to be left alone.” Easton picked up his book and brought it into his lap once more, opening it to the marked place. Damn. She was losing him. “No one really wants to be alone,” Tempest said, because she knew this to be true. People might say they wanted solitude, but the truth was, they just didn’t want to be hurt anymore, and couldn’t trust the world wouldn’t hurt them. “I do,” Easton said. Tempest scoffed and rolled her eyes. “Then you’re lying.” “Am I.” It wasn’t a question, not the way Easton said it. His head tipped down, back to his book, and Tempest was left looking at the crown of his head, the intricate knot of his long, white braid. She wondered how soft his hair was, or if he liked it being pulled. “We’re done here.” Tempest opened her mouth to speak, but then snapped it back shut. Easton and Dakota were a lot alike, but she got the feeling, she couldn’t push Easton quite like she pushed Dakota. With Dakota, there was a little kernel of affection she could prod at. Tempest knew the name of that kernel only because Dakota had muttered it in his sleep once. Mathias. His little brother. Who Dakota loved above all else. Tempest knew her existence tapped into the part of Dakota desperate to care for another person, and Tempest was willing to slide into that slot, if it brought Dakota out of his shell. Easton, however. Easton would need a different approach. So Tempest smiled brightly, though Easton wasn’t looking at her. “Alright, well, enjoy your book.” She left with a parting wave, but Easton didn’t acknowledge her departure. He kept his attention focused on his book as though it held all the mysteries of the universe. Well, it was a start at least. Tempest hummed to herself as she traced her route back to Dakota’s side, passing Rathi along on the way and offering her a wink. Rathi gave her a thumbs up, but went back to whatever quiet conversation she was having with Celeste. Tyrael was already asleep, wrapped up in his blanket and curled in the roots of a tree. Dakota didn’t look up when she approached, but he spoke when she flopped onto the forest floor beside him. “How’d it go?” Tempest grinned and folded her arms behind her head, looking up at the stars through the canopy of trees. “I’m going to adopt him.” “I don’t think that’s how it works,” Dakota said, and there was a hint of chastisement in his tone, probably a tone he’d used with his younger brother too many times for him to count. “Why not?” She slanted him a look, idly noticing that he needed a haircut sooner rather than later. “I adopted you.” Dakota’s brow furrowed, but then he peered at the yarn wrapped around his fingers, and Tempest assumed he was frowning at a knot. “I am reasonably certain it was the other way around.” “That’s what you think,” Tempest said. She watched Dakota for a moment. It never ceased to fascinate her, how deftly his fingers moved, almost too quick to track. How he could take a bundle of colorful yarn and within an hour, a sock had taken shape. She’d always heard orcs were clumsy, brutish creatures, but there’s nothing clumsy about Dakota. Tempest figured a lot of stories she’d heard about a lot of things were just that – stories. They didn’t often match the reality of a thing. “He’s lonely,” Tempest added after a minute. Dakota snorted. “I doubt that very much.” “He is. He just doesn’t want to admit it, so he’s a jerk to people.” “What makes you say that?” Dakota asked as he squinted at his work, in much the same way Easton had squinted at the pages of his book. Tempest crossed one leg over the opposite knee and set her foot to bouncing. “You two are a lot alike.” Unsurprisingly, Dakota said nothing. His face darkened into a glower, and he sighed, doing something with the yarn in his hands. He shook out the sock, in all its garish colors because he knew Tempest liked having ridiculous socks. “Let me see your foot,” he finally said. Tempest stuck her foot in his lap, her worn socks covered with dirt and leaves, her big toe sticking out of the hole. She wiggled her toes. Dakota rolled his eyes, but he held up the sock to the bottom of her foot to check the fit as if this wasn’t the fourth pair he’d knitted for her. He checked the fit every time, and Tempest wondered, had he done this for Mathias, too? Had he knit socks for his younger brother, and had to check the fit as Mathias had grown? “It’ll work,” he said. “Take your dirty foot back.” Tempest grinned and obeyed. “We’re gonna keep him,” she said, slanting a look at Easton, who she could barely see around the crackle of the fire, still bent over his book and studiously ignoring everyone else in the party. “I guess we’ll have to see which of us is right,” Dakota said, and went back to work on her socks. Pah. Tempest already knew what the end result was going to be. Easton was one of them. He just didn’t know it yet. ***

a/n: Feedback is absolutely welcome! Feel free to reblog, chat in the tags, send me some comments... etc. I’d love to know what people think of my characters, the universe, etc. This is gonna be a pretty hefty series, I promise! I’ve got loads and loads more content to come.

#original fiction #original fantasy fiction #series: tethers #draco writes original fiction #dakota sorrel #tempest teapot #easton | riordan shaye #rathi of the cinders #the adventuring party which is yet to be named

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heartbreakerholland · 6 years

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a temporary home [t.h. & h.o.]

part 3

Warnings: swearing, lots of arguing, a bad ending, 90% a tom chapter

Word Count: 4.1k

A/N: thank you to everyone for being so patient! i took a well needed break, for sake of my mental health, but i am back with the next part for this mini series! don't forget to give me feedback and tell me what you think might happen next! also, i am SO sorry if the read more doesn’t work!

[masterlist] [join a tag list]

[pt. 2]

•••

Tom sat up in his bed, staring blankly at whatever his television was playing for him. He was too pent up in his thoughts to focus.

As soon as he heard soft snores come from Harrison's room, the brunette swung his feet off the bed. He stared at the ground for a moment, contemplating if this should really be done.

"Ah, fuck it," he told himself.

His socked feet padded over carpet then soon the hardwood floor after leaving his room. He slid them one beside the other, hoping the floorboards wouldn't creak and possibly wake his best friend. He knocked softly on your door, hoping there'd be no answer coming from you. It would be an acceptable excuse for not talking to you like he should, right?

"What?" your voice groggily called from the other side of the door.

"Damn it," Tom whispered. Now he actually does have to talk. He cleared his throat. "Y/N? It's Tom. We need to talk. Are you decent in there?"

He heard a mumble from you, which he hoped was a yes. He slowly turned the doorknob and welcomed himself in.

"What do you want?" you mumbled on your bed having clearly just woken up, faced away from him. "I'm sorry about Beth, okay? You don't have to talk to me because Hazzy said so, I know you hate me."

He rolled his eyes at your use of his friend's nickname, but pushed aside his annoyance and replied. "I guess I wasn't being too fair on you, so I'm sorry."

You slowly turned your body over to face him and pat the edge of your bed, signaling to Tom that he could sit. He did.

"Erm," you started. "I'll forgive you if you forgive me about Beth?"

He stared at you, ready to get this over with. "Alright." He stood up again and clapped his hands together, satisfied with this outcome. Easy. "Sounds like a done deal to me."

He took a step towards the door, ready to get some rest himself.

"Wait, Tom?"

God fucking dammit, he thought.

He turned around. "Mmm?"

You blinked. "You didn't deny hating me."

He blinked back. How the hell was he supposed to reply to that?

"Uh. . ." What was he supposed to say? Yeah Y/N, I didn't deny it because it's kind of true?

You chuckled and sat yourself up. "Do you think you could tell me why? I've got to have done something, right?"

He sighed and rubbed his face. To put it nicely, you weren't his favorite person. Of course there's more to it, but those were reasons he wasn't comfortable sharing.

"It's just me," he lied. "Not you, me. Can I go now? I'm tired." He took another step closer to the door.

You let out a dramatic sigh. "Tooooooom. C'mon. Be a good sport. What is it?"

He turned back around, ready more than ever now to put you back to sleep his own way. "I've got more energy to sleep, not hurt your feelings, Y/N." There. That was truthful.

You studied his face for a moment, then scrunched your eyebrows as if they were telling you that his reply wasn't good enough. "Tom, I'm living with you now. We need to face this problem eventually, and I'd rather do it now when my moving in is fresh, y'know? If you need to hurt my feelings to tell me the truth, then do it." You sat up straighter, bracing yourself.

He let out a hard breath. "You're just annoying, alright?" Half truth. "Whatever H sees in you, I don't. Don't take it too personally, Y/N." He impatiently scooted closer to the door. He wasn't in the mood to have this conversation and frankly, he didn't think he ever would be.

You swung your feet back and forth but stayed attentive to Tom's figure. You were somehow wide awake and he didn't like it one bit. "C'mon Tom. We both know there's more."

His fists clenched, you having already gotten on his nerves. "Drop it, Y/N." After a beat, he said, "I'm going to sleep." He took no time turning around completely and reaching a hand for the doorknob.

"No, Tom!" you suddenly exclaimed, which startled the both of you.

He turned his head around to see you were now standing up straight and had your fists clenched down at your sides. Your chest rose up and down faster than normal, and your eyes were wide.

"I'm tired of this," you said.

You now had his full attention, as he had moved around to lean his back on the door and cross his arms lazily, as if watching a boring show.

You continued, your voice gradually rising with each sentence. "You're gonna listen to me, alright? I'm done playing whatever game you're trying to win. Like I said, we are living together now and I deserve to know whatever you have against me." Words were spoken faster one after another, and you were running on this sudden adrenaline and dared to keep going. "Sure, I let you give me shit before, but it's different now because I am here and I'm not leaving anytime soon, alright? So spill."

He smiled to himself and chuckled, which only infuriated you more. You felt heat in your face rising and heart pounding with anger, ready to slap his insulting smirk off. Why was he so calm? It was aggravating.

Before you could speak your mind while still drunk on the sudden adrenaline, he replied.

"You just make it so easy, you know that, love?" Tom mused. "I can say and do whatever I want, but you let everything get to you and it's just so easy. . . A bit sad, really."

A flash of hurt uncovered in your eyes, but you ignored the choking feeling in your throat and stepped closer to Tom.

You were well aware it was never a good idea to be speaking bitter truths out loud. You prided yourself in having self control and being the bigger person, holding your words back so not to cause damage that would be there long after an argument.

This was not a moment to be proud of.

"Oh yeah, Tom?" Your toes were mere inches from his, and you looked him dead in those cursed brown eyes with all the bitterness you could find in yourself. "Say and do whatever you want, huh? Say I'm annoying all you want, but you should keep in mind that people can think the same for you."

Confusion came and went across Tom's features, signaling a small victory for yourself. You continued with an evil smirk similar to what he had before.

"If you weren't a self-centered fucking prick, then maybe you'd have realized that I wasn't the reason Beth didn't want to see you again. You did that all by yourself, Thomas."

You crossed your arms in triumph while his fell, along with his face.

High on this win, your mouth kept running.

"Yeah, Mister Perfect. Wanna know what she told me when you weren't listening? You were just another pretty face to look at, and not much else to her. Even a stranger can see that a brick has more personality than you."

Those weren't exactly her words. . . at all. You weren't even sure where this word vomit was coming from. Tom wasn't that bad and even you knew it, but anything you said at this point could be the truth to him. You had his attention and your own pent up anger, and what better combination?

The hurt appeared over his features and was stuck there. Looking at it, you suddenly realized what went wrong. You had gone too far, said a lie that would surely stay in the back of his mind forev—

"Keep telling yourself that, darling.”

His eyebrows were scrunched and he was looking down at you. Tom had a calm exterior but it was like you could actually see pieces of it cracking away to show that you had hit his boiling point.

"If it really helps you sleep at night," he murmured, "then keep telling yourself tha—"

"Oh what the hell is that supposed to mean!"

He towered over you and you instinctively stepped back. He kept creeping forward and caused you to go backward until you hit the edge of your bed from behind.

"You know exactly what I'm on about!"

You were half seated on the bed while Tom was still completely standing, nearly hovering over you.

He continued. "Don't you play innocent, you fuckin' snake! First you went off and ruined Harrison's life but that doesn't mean you could go off and ruin mine too, you div!"

You were both breathing heavily, the air in your room thick and hot. "What're you on about? Harrison and I are best friends, dumbass! How would I ruin his—"

"Oh you fuckin' know how! Pretend like you didn't do it all you want, but I know the truth! I know the truth, and you're a fuckin' bitch for doing that to him."

Tom calling you that caught you completely off guard.

You held yourself up with your arms and returned his threatening stare, though all that repeated in your mind was bitch. After a silent moment, you composed yourself and spoke up again. "What the hell are you talking about? Harrison and I are best friends, and you damn well know I'd never hurt him, Tom. Stop feeding yourself bullsh—"

"You're bullshit!" His fists were clenched, eyes never leaving you. His accent grew thicker and you struggled a bit to understand the slurred words mixed with his high volumes. "You're fuckin' full of yourself, Y/N, y'know that? All ya fuckin' do is worry 'bout yourself and ya never care 'bout anyone else 'round ya!"

He never gave you a chance to speak up or interrupt. Tom was on a roll now, and it would require just as much luck as finding a four leaf clover in his hair to stop him.

"I was the one pickin' up all 'ose pieces of 'im that you broke when ya left for that dumbarse, James. I'd think you'd have remembered but I thought wrong, 'cause you're so caught up in your own little world!"

"What—"

"Don't fuckin' 'what' me! You think I don' know 'bout what you did with Isabella, huh? I'm not fuckin' stupid, Y/N." He stopped suddenly, chest rising and falling rapidly with his hard breaths.

You were frozen, staring at him. You watched as his reddened skin calmed and went away, while his fists slowly unclenched.

To say you were shocked would've been an understatement. Sure, you had regrets, but you pushed those memories down and swore that they'd never resurface. Obviously, based on Tom's words, you were wrong.

You gave him a moment to calm down and catch his breath before speaking. It also gave you time to think of what you needed to say next.

You looked down at your feet hovering over the ground, with Tom's practically right underneath yours from the close proximity. Neither of you dared to move away from each other.

"I didn't mean to do it," you muttered.

You purposely shut those memories out, and from how long ago it happened? It was hard to even remember how exactly things went. One of the few things you were sure of, however, was what you just told Tom.

He took a deep breath and moved to sit next to you on the bed, both of you finally calm from your outbursts.

"Didn't mean to do what, huh?" He said softly. "Get rid of her or fall in love with him?"

You immediately looked up at Tom's face. "I'm not—I wasn't—I never was in love with Harrison!" He smirked at your rambles, but you didn't notice it and continued. "I just—I didn't mean to—It was just a little crush, alright! You know that Tom, you're the only person I told! Don't tease me about it."

He put his hands up in a don't shoot motion and shook his head playfully. "I'm not, Y/N, I'm not. . . What I'm sayin' is, you go around preaching that you're so perfect, that nothin's wrong with you. But it sounds to me like you just forgot what you've done."

You looked down at your hands, finally feeling embarrassment from Tom's truth.

"Harrison. . ." Tom continued slowly, looking at you. "You hurt him, Y/N. Now don't go off telling him I said that, because he didn't want you to know that he was as hurt as he was. . . I don't think he knows it himself actually, but yeah, you hurt him just as much as Isabella did."

You raised your head and met his gaze. "What am I supposed to do about that, Tom? That was years ago. It was always something that everyone silently agreed not to talk about."

He shrugged, and raised himself from the bed. "Aye, do what you want with it. You asked why I don't like you. I answered."

You grinned. "Does that mean we're friends again? Back to how it was before?" It was childish, the way you asked, but maybe you felt a little too desperate to be on good terms with Tom again to say anything differently.

He chuckled and motioned for a hug. "Yeah, alright. Whatever."

You lifted yourself from your bed and welcomed the side hug graciously with a smile.

"Don't think we could go right back to how it was before—that was how many years ago? Jesus." Tom said. "We weren't even that close back then either. But sure. Friends, I guess."

He freed his arm from around you and began walking back to the door, and you followed with a smile.

"No more tea with too much sugar is a start," you teased.

"No no no," he said. He put his hand on the doorknob but didn't turn it just yet. "That's all you—You've just got bad taste, darling."

You scoffed and playfully put a hand over your chest in mock hurt. "What's that supposed to mean, Thomas?"

"Blonds and no sugar, really?"

"Tom!"

The buzzing of your phone woke you up. You groggily looked at your window, greeted with the morning sun shining through the blinds and the tweeting of birds to accompany it. You groaned before picking up your phone and answering, not bothering to check who was calling.

"Y/N! Y/N!" A high pitched voice exclaimed from the other end. "How could you not tell me?"

You scrunched your eyebrows in confusion. Finally opening your eyes, you looked at the caller ID and saw it was Beth calling you, and also that it was considerably late in the morning for you to still be asleep.

You cleared your throat, dry from sleeping, and hoped it wouldn't sound rough. "Not tell you what?"

You coughed, it clearly having not worked. You sat up and grabbed a water bottle at your bedside table, drinking it while listening to Beth's voice.

"That Tom Holland is freaking Spider-Man!"

You put the bottle down and rolled your eyes. Seriously? She was calling about that?

"Well, yeah," you replied grumpily. "I just assumed everyone knew already."

"I didn't!" She was so loud that you had to take the phone away from your ear.

You sighed, already seeing where this would be going.

"You live with him, right?" Beth continued. "Can I come over? We need to talk—"

"Sorry, Beth," you interrupted. "I don't think that's a good idea. I have to go now, bye."

Before she could put another word in, you hung up. You were disappointed, to say the least. She seemed like a genuine person, but a second of possible fame revealed otherwise, like it always did.

You sighed again and put your phone down. "There goes another friend," you muttered.

You shook it off. This wasn't the first time, and you knew it wouldn't be the last. Perks of association, as Harrison would joke. Sure, Tom got special treatment for being in the spotlight, but you and Harrison and any other friends of Tom's had to deal with the people trying to climb out of the shadows. This was just another one of those times, and maybe it meant constantly losing friends, but you and H tried to see the bright side of things. "At least it shows where their heads' at," he would say, followed by your agreement.

You crept out of your room, phone in hand, and groggily rubbed your eyes.

"There's the beast!" a voice announced.

Spots briefly danced in your vision, but as soon as it cleared you were greeted with the sight of Tom and Harrison. They were seated comfortably on the couches with an ungodly amount of pizza boxes on the table in front of them. They were watching a soccer game—or football, as they'd say—and were too invested to formally greet you.

The sky outside was a cloudy gray, completely illuminating the flat and the boys inside. Tom's dog, Tessa, was curled up and sleeping next to him. Harrison, alone on his side of the couch, glanced from you and the television screen.

You walked up behind Harrison, who called you the beast, and greeted him by ruffling his hair. He allowed you to do so for a moment then stopped you by placing his hand on your wrist.

He looked up at you and smiled. "'Ello, love. Saved some pizza for ya."

You smiled back at him. "Thanks, Haz." You walked around the couch and grabbed a slice from the table. You placed your phone next to the boxes then sat yourself next to Harrison.

You weren't sure how obvious it was to the guys, but you definitely felt lighter, like the talk with Tom last night lifted a weight off your chest. It was about time, if you really thought about it. You never realized until now that you met James around the same time you met Tom, and since then he treated you like an unbreakable curse. The short explanation that he gave you last night made the pieces click together, and it had you finally see where he was coming from. If you had to help heal your friend's cracked heart while the one who did the breaking was still in the picture, you probably would've acted just the same.

You weren't as into the game as the boys were, even after you finished your pizza. It was going slow, and the team they were rooting for didn't seem like they would win anyways.

You had your head resting on top of one of the couch's arms and your legs over Harrison's lap. Full from the food and completely comfortable laying down, sleep welcomed you no matter how loud the boys got from the game.

"Who the fuck keeps messaging Y/N?" Tom said aloud. Your phone had been vibrating on the table for a while, though it did nothing to disturb your nap.

Harrison shrugged, his hands softly massaging your legs. "Wanna check?" he asked. "Might be important."

"Why can't you?" the other boy said. He was already comfortable in his spot on the large couch, and he still wasn't as close to you as Harrison was to be going on your phone either.

"I don't wanna wake her up."

Tom rolled his eyes and got up. Having to find a comfortable position again was annoying, but hearing your phone constantly go off was worse. He lifted the screen to his eyes and skimmed the messages on your lock screen, all from the same person.

Each message reached into him and brought out a lump in his throat. It was Beth, and she was messaging you about him. That wasn't even the worst part, it was that she kept saying that she wanted to see Tom again.

"Who is it?" Harrison asked.

"It's. . . Uh."

Suddenly your phone began ringing again, the caller ID showing it was the same person. Without thinking, Tom answered the call.

"Hello?" he started. He sat himself back on the couch, and Harrison generously turned the volume of the television down.

"Y/N?" Beth said from the other side. "Is this Y/N?"

"No, this is Tom. Y/N's, erm, asleep right now."

"Oh, perfect!" She sounded giddy, to his surprise. "I wanted to talk to you actually."

"Oh did you?" He placed an arm over his chance, smirking at what he expected Beth to say.

"Yeah," she continued. "Y/N's not let me talk to you—she's said that I shouldn't—but I'd really like to go for another shot at a date, if you'd like?"

His eyes travelled to your sleeping figure, oblivious to the situation at hand. He felt his skin gradually heat up with anger, unable to believe that you were bold enough to keep Tom from dating someone he clearly liked. First Harrison, and now him?

Your body began to stir, and Harrison motioned for Tom to end the call already so you wouldn't wake to see him on your phone.

As soon as your eyes began to flutter open, Tom kept his watch on you and replied, "Y'know what? I'd love to. You've got my number, yeah? Alright, just text me, love. Cheers."

He ended the call and observed your reaction to his delight. You looked astonished, to say the least, while Harrison sat in confusion.

"Who was that?" you asked him carefully.

He shrugged and tossed the phone on the couch cushions, pretending that he didn't want to wring you dry. "I'm sure you've already got an idea, darling."

"Tom."

"It was Beth. She had a very important message, which apparently you tried to hide from me, eh?"

You and Harrison tensed at the words, Harrison ready to defend you if he needed to.

"Tom," you said again. You rose from the couch and stood to face him. "You don't know the whole story—"

"This is bullshit," he interrupted. He stood and faced you completely, and you winced at his words. "I knew I couldn't trust you. You listen to my lil speech last night, say we should give it a go at being friends, and not even 24 hours later you're already going off behind my back? Really, Y/N? I'm done. I wish I could say I'm surprised."

Harrison stood too, slightly behind you. He raised a hand, like Tom was a wild dog that needed to be caught. "Tom," he warned. "You've got to chill, mate. I'm sure Y/N can explain if you let her."

"If I let her?" Tom said louder.

You backed away a bit, realizing this wasn't one of those times where you could put your word in. You stood next to Harrison, both of you anticipating Tom's next move.

He spoke softer now, as if regaining his temper. "Look," he breathed out. "I'm sorry for yellin' so much, Y/N. We know that's not me. I promise, it's not me. But I'll just let you know now that you can tell me any excuse you want, explain whatever you want, but I'll never believe you. Friends don't keep friends from goin' on dates." He gave you a small squint at that last sentence. "Clearly you've got some work to do on knowing what a friend does. You've been havin' problems with it for a coupl'a years now."

Harrison scrunched his eyebrows in more confusion, looking back and forth between the two of you. In another beat, Tom walked away and into his room, Tessa jumping off the couch and following him.

Harrison lead you to sit back on the couch next to him. You slumped your shoulders and put your head on him, which he welcomed with an embrace.

You were exhausted. Only a couple of hours had gone by with relief. The air was cleared, the water got a bit cleaner, the weights were lifted. It was the next step with Tom, but now you'd gone back ten steps and you didn't know how to get any further.

"This is too much, Haz," you finally said.

He rested his chin on the top of your head and was rubbing your arm comfortingly. "I know, love," he murmured. He didn't ask for you to explain what had just happened, and for that, you silently thanked him.

"Should I try to talk to him?" you asked, speaking towards Haz's chest.

You felt him shake his head slightly, and you sighed.

There was a part of you that was grateful of what Tom said, specifically because he didn't mention a certain someone that the two of you spoke of the night before. You could deal with whatever backlash he had for you, but you didn't know if you'd ever be able to handle Harrison knowing what happened with her.

Everything was laid out on the table between you and Tom, but he was the only one who could use anything to his advantage. It was like you were there only to watch and see whether or not Tom dared play his cards to win.

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