#it was placed at a corner in the gallery. me and my friend sat down and sketched the paintings of beautiful naked people quite badly. paper

[oatbugs]

Jack Marsh (2005), Friendship Otherwise - Toward a Levinasian Description of Personal Friendship

#saw carnation lily lily rose by john singer seargent irl today. it was basically at my doorstep all along idk why i never went to see it #it was placed at a corner in the gallery. me and my friend sat down and sketched the paintings of beautiful naked people quite badly. paper #provided by tate britain. she told me about how she couldnt look her boyfriend in the face after a harrowing film about war. when i say the #interview was informal i mean the person who was supposed to be my boss told me let me get you a cider and then he said after #50 years of life he knows people are inherently good and it only takes a little bit of kindness to save this world. he said he tricked #his wife into keeping the baby and then he said he quit his job at a US bank to help people find meaning and in it #he would have liked to find meaning. instead he started climbing with his friends. he said he chews his cigarettes because its a habit from #when he had to hide things from people. the entire time i felt uncomfortable and incredibly enlightened. this is my friends mentor. she has #his pattern of pauses and expletive and penchant for ends-justify-means attitude. i do think im not very clever #but maybe one day i will love you enough to make up for it. i wrote code i dont understand staring at the final error i thought about how #we both thought of how when we're too old to remember the voices of our friends we would like to stand in the pathway of the LHC beam pipe #cut it open and eat light in the freezing cold vacuum (kills you long before radiation will) the invisible puncture wound unfolding dna #back to the start larger than you ever were. you go to heaven once youve been to hell. my friend is in my bed #practicing calculations of eigenvectors by hand and she is uninterested in a visual proof you are uninterested in incompetence #we catch a train this is your kind of burden you tragic hero wincing at that word you only do this because you have to. im the only one #who can. i am a coward in this for the fucking poetry. the visual proofs. the pretty numbers. an architect who was horrible at maths wanted #to be a philosopher and accidentally ended up neck in deep in 70th Error On Visual Studio Code i want to kiss your eyes before we say #goodbye we both know there is no love in the way there should be. I still have your dress in my wardrobe. i hope you make art. #you think im alright head-wise i think you fucking hate me i think ill never be so clever you want me to tell you my idea? #if you wanted more of this world i would have liked to kiss you harder. we cant both be like this. im sorry i cant be with you the whole wa #the love is gone if you have to ask it. his breath catches his eyes feel stiff it is -1.9 kelvin he is near the beam pipe i miss holding #his hand i miss her singing voice i miss his hair and i found the antonym of pain thank you for carrying me home.

[cirilla-fiona-riannon]

Act 4 Prologue (Matias Asbrink)

Translations may not always capture the exact nuances or tone of the original text. Expect grammatical errors and inaccuracies.

At the same time, in Acroite.

Large snowflakes fluttered down like flower petals, painting the traditional stone-built streets white.

The main street, illuminated by street lamps, was bustling with crowds of people. However, there were no troublemakers here, no drunken shouts or fights like in other countries.

In this country, governed by the strictest laws on the continent, those who disturb the peace are quickly apprehended and held accountable for their crimes.

Yet amidst the orderly and well-maintained streets, there was a corner where women gathered unnaturally.

Woman 1: “Please join me at the lovely party I’m having tonight.”

Woman 2: “That’s not fair. Please also come to my party.”

Woman 3: “Where are you off to at this hour? If you’re interested, would you like to join me for dinner?”

Matias: “I have work to attend to. Please excuse me.”

Slipping smoothly out of the midst of the women, with his golden hair gathering the twilight’s glow and snow-shadowed eyes tinged with melancholy, was Matias, the guardian of Acroite’s law.

Though his appearance and demeanor were stern, there was an alluring aura about him that made the women gaze at him dreamily.

Matias: “Haah.”

With a sigh, he casually brushed back his smooth blond hair, eliciting another round of cheers from the women behind him.

A colleague, a judge, then playfully tapped his back as he swiftly walked away to escape their intense stares.

Lars: “Quite the charmer, as always, huh? Matias.”

Pushing up his round glasses, the man smiled teasingly at Matias, and his expression changed to a more relaxed one.

Matias: “Lars, if you saw that, you could’ve helped me.”

Matias: “You know I struggle with women.”

Lars: "I know, but having too many admirers is honestly a problem I envy. I wish I could trade places with you."

Matias: "You wish you could trade places with me? Did you see those women? They had the eyes of warriors determined to annihilate their enemies."

Lars: "I think they were all beauties, though."

Matias: "Whether they're beautiful or not doesn't matter. The only woman I need is my soulmate."

Matias: "She doesn't need to dote on me or stare at me like those women. All she needs to do is wish me luck, fix my tie, give me a kiss, and wave goodbye before I head to work."

Lars: "Yeah, yeah, I get it. I've heard about your embarrassing fantasies more than a hundred times, Matias."

Lars: "Are you alright, though?"

Matias: "I've been saying it since earlier, but I'm not okay. You have to back me up next time."

Lars: "I meant about the trial. The defendant this time is your friend, right?"

Matias: "Ah, yeah. We were roommates for a while back in the Royal Academy. We enlisted together and served in the same unit."

Lars: "You were close then."

Matias: "He was a good guy. Cheerful, smart, and quick-witted. He was good with women too, effortlessly handling situations like earlier."

Lars: "I see. Matias, about that..."

Matias' snow-shadow-colored eyes gaze straight at his colleague, looking somewhat uneasy.

Matias: "It's fine."

Matias: "I'm a man of the Asbrink family."

The Royal Court, which determines the nation’s justice, was filled with a solemn atmosphere tonight.

The defendant and his defense attorney, the government officials prosecuting his crimes, and numerous citizens in the gallery all watched with bated breath as the five judges, especially the guardian of the law, sat atop the judicial platform.

Matias: “I’ll now deliver the verdict on the suspicion of unauthorized leakage of classified Acroite military information.”

Matias: “Defendant, step forward.”

The defendant stepped onto the witness stand.

Though looking severely worn out, his eyes, fixed on the guardian of the law, held a faint glimmer of hope.

It was well known among some circles that the defendant had a friendship with the guardian.

As everyone sought to interpret the meaning behind the intersecting gazes, the sound of the gavel resounded.

Matias: “Death penalty.”

After delivering the merciless verdict, the courtroom fell into a brief silence before erupting into chaos.

Defendant: “Matias, are you really going to kill me!? Me, who ate, slept, and fought alongside you? We're friends, aren't we!?”

Defendant: “You can’t do this!”

While the defendant cried out in despair, Matias appeared entirely unaffected.

Matias: “That does not excuse your crime.”

Defendant: “Isn’t a death sentence too heavy for a single mistake?”

Matias: "The law is justice. If you are a citizen of Acroite, obedience is absolute."

Matias: "All you can do is comply with the verdict that has been passed down."

With a detached voice, Matias continued to gaze directly at the collapsing defendant, seemingly in despair.

Matias: "The execution will be carried out in five days, at noon."

Defendant: "M-Matias..."

As the defendant was taken away, Matias watched them with his snow-shadow-colored eyes.

To dispel the murmurs, he struck the gavel twice.

Matias: "This concludes the session."

As the people left the courtroom in silence, he stood alone.

It was unusual for him to stay in the courtroom after it had adjourned, without a clear reason.

Walking to the spot where the defendant had collapsed during the trial, he gently touched the witness stand with his fingers.

Though his snow-shadowed eyes flickered slightly, he murmured with the same emotionless voice as during the trial.

Matias: "I did the right thing."

Matias: "I'm Matias, the next king of Acroite, a proud man of the esteemed Asbrink family."

Matias: "Until all evil is condemned, I cannot afford to stop."

☆ Ikepri Masterlist

#ikemen prince #ikepri #ikepri spoilers #ikepri jp #ikepri translations #cybird #matias asbrink #ikepri matias

[sweetbillwriting]

The Finer Things

Who Are You? - Part 1

Description: Ines lives a modest life in Brooklyn but have a secret, a valuable painting. Out of nowhere Vincent De Gramont appears and wants to help her sell it. He welcomes her into a life of luxury the question is just why?

Characters: Vincent De Garmont, The Marquis, From John Wick 4.

Setting: This story is set in my own universe, so not exactly the John Wick universe.

Warnings: 18+, prejudice and stereotypical thinking about nationalities, mentions about sex.

Notes: Opinions are the characters' own, not mine.

Here you can find the teaser.

He didn't look comfortable. He didn't look amused. He looked disgusted.

Ines had said yes to the tall man to just talk over dinner. She didn't want to leave her own block, she felt more safe there, so she had decided they would go to the restaurant on the corner close to the gallery. She had always thought it was nice, a restaurant conscious about the environment and their climate footprint but the frenchmen looked around with the corner of his mouth pulled down and his nostrils flaring.

They had been placed by a small table by the bar. The Frenchman asked the staff to wipe it again but afterwards also asked his bodyguard to wipe the table but also his chair. The tall man looked like a spoiled three year old while his dad fixed everything for him. When he finally sat down he started to dust the table with his hand. Ines looked at him amused. He felt like a cartoon character.

"Why the clothes?" Asked Ines with a smirk while looking at his tie. It was knotted as a craft work and she knew he couldn't have done that by himself.

He smiled, much more friendly than she had expected.

"Your clothes say everything about you," said he and gave her outfit a careful look. She wore an oversized burgundy sweater over black leggings. She liked to dress comfortably. She smirked a little.

"So what do my clothes say about me?"

He gave her a look again but seemed to bite his tongue and turned to the waiter.

"Slow service here…"

Ines laughed a little and gave the bodyguard by the door an amused look. She wondered what people reacted most to, the Frenchman's outfit or the bodyguard.

They began to order, she ordered a modern take of green curry while he ordered a dry martini. He had sighed when he saw the menu, then the list of spirits. But he got stuck looking at the dessert menu.

"I will take two scoops of the vanilla ice cream."

Ines looked at him amused. The man in silk and velvet ordered ice cream for dinner.

"Americans make great ice cream… One of the few things you people can do…"

Ines made a sound of offense even if she wasn't.

"You're such a snob!"

He looked at her like it was an obvious fact. He would not deny it.

When their food had come out he looked at her in another way. He was down for business.

"Can I see it? The painting?"

She doubted and looked down at her plate. It wasn't really to show it that made her feel uncomfortable, because he already knew she had it but she needed to invite him into her home then. It would be easy for him to take to violence to get it and because of it being a secret she hadn't insured it and would probably not get any help to get it back.

"Can I call you Vincent?" She asked but he looked offended until he swallowed hard. He probably knew he must adjust himself to her ways to get her respect.

"Fine."

"Vincent, emm… It's in my home and you're a gentleman, I guess?"

"Absolutely." He said without a doubt, like it was a given fact.

"But I'm still afraid you will use violence against me to get the painting…"

Vincent licked his lips and nodded.

"Do you have a friend who can be with us? If that makes you feel safer?"

He looked at her with big eyes. Ines smiled with a blush. Maybe he actually was a gentleman. He did look like one.

She nodded and got a charming smile back from Vincent.

She looked at him eat his ice cream. He had a silly way of doing it. He sucked the spoon almost erotically and she could even see how his pink tongue poked out to lick the back of the spoon. It wasn't the way she had expected a fine Frenchman to eat ice cream but maybe he just liked ice cream that much. She continued to throw glances at him. It kinda looked like he was doing something else and once again Ines blushed. He was far from her normal type but he was beautiful and sexy in a snobby way. Even if he was a silly pedant.

×××

Vincent came to Ines’ home two days later. Her friend Taye was there as her safe person while Vincent's bodyguard got to stay outside the apartment. It was Vincent's idea and Ines couldn't stop thinking that she maybe had misjudged him. He was a snob but maybe not a bad person.

Taye was as tall as Vincent, a former football player so Ines could feel safe but started to feel she maybe didn't need him.

Vincent stood in front of the painting with a hand over his mouth. He looked touched and Ines looked at him fascinated.

"Can I look at it up close?" He said almost carefully and Ines nodded with a smile. Vincent moved so he could look at every pencil stroke.

"I would like to see the back of it," he said professionally and gave Ines a look.

"You can take it down by yourself."

It wasn't such a big painting, the same size as the Mona Lisa but in a modernist style.

Vincent put on a pair of thin white gloves the bodyguard gave him and then took the painting down from the white wall. He sat it down on the underside of the frame on the dinner table. He looked at the back of it, examined the frame and the part of the canvas he could see. Both Ines and Taye looked at him with big eyes. It was obvious he knew what he was doing and Ines even got a bit nervous it would be fake.

"She is a relative to you?" Said Vincent when he once again looked at the painting.

"It's my grandmother," she answered and smiled proudly. Vincent nodded and gave her a charming smile.

"You look like her."

"Thank you…" she said with a blushy smile. She could feel Taye's eyes on her. He probably couldn't believe a snobby Frenchman in a three piece suit and clock chain could make her blush.

"It's obvious he was really in love with her and she was with him. Look how gorgeously he has painted those lips… He couldn't stop staring at them…" said he passionately while looking at Ines intensely. Ines moved closer to him so she could look and could smell the scent of him. He smelled soft and sweet, almost like a feminine perfume.

Ines felt her heart beat faster. The attraction to him had come so sudden and she felt confused about it. She got embarrassed in front of Taye when she stood next to Vincent with blushing cheeks.

"I'm almost sure it's a Pivoine but I need to drive it through an X-ray and do a small test of the color," said Vincent and looked at Ines. "Do you want to sell it? I can help you get double what you have read you can get for it."

Ines swallowed hard and looked at the painting of her grandmother. But it sounded great with money. She could be financially independent.

"How would that happen?" Ines played with her necklace and looked at him nervously.

"The real buyers are in France so we must go there…"

He nodded while looking at the painting. Ines furrowed her brows confused.

"We?"

Vincent looked up at her and pulled in his waistcoat.

"Yes? You will of course be a part of the deal. I will not just take your painting. Of course you will be there. With me."

Ines laughed shocked and looked at Taye who looked worried.

"I'll fix everything. You can just relax and monitor the affair."

Ines continued to laugh and dragged her hands over her cheeks. She had never left the US, not even the state. It was like Vincent knew what she thought because he smirked at her.

"Paris, the best hotels, Michelin star restaurants, the best wine in the world, fashion…" he said seductively and looked at her with his intense big eyes. It was obvious he knew he was sexy. Ines just looked at Taye like she couldn't believe it but he didn't look impressed at all.

"You don't know this man, Ines," he said with crossed arms. Ines just thought about what Vincent said and then her boring life in Brooklyn. She didn't earn much with the gallery and had never eaten food in a Michelin star restaurant. She didn't even know what it meant. She laughed again and let all the impulsiveness, drama searching sides of her from her teens come out again. She wanted this and didn't care that it was risky. You must take risks to win.

"I want to go with you. To Paris. And wear a beret and eat croissants!" She smiled big at Vincent who smirked and took out his hand from his pants pocket.

"Shake hands on that?"

Ines made a little excited sound and took his big hand. It looked like he had gotten a manicure. She wanted that sort of luxury too.

Taye sighed in the background but Ines didn't hear it, she just heard her own heart beating in her ears and looked at Vincent's fascinating face. Paris was also the city of love…

×××

Ines and Taye looked through the window at Vincent de Gramont when he jumped into the black car. Ines just took a closer look at the man. He moved determinedly but soft, like he wasn't stressed but knew what he wanted. He walked into the car with elegant loops even if his legs were so long and then the bodyguard closed the door. Ines looked at him in fascination. She could go with him to Paris and taste the life of luxury. She could confess that she didn't know much about the man but felt she didn't need to. It was obvious he was a rich gentleman just searching for distraction in his easy life in wealth.

"Fuck Ines… How can you think this is a good idea? He will just leave you in the slums of Paris and steal your painting," whined Taye and shook his head. Ines looked at him where he stood with crossed arms but didn't say anything, it was her choice, only hers.

"Sometimes I wish you had parents that could…" he started but then swallowed his words.

"Could what? Hm? Such a fucking stupid comment Taye. Maybe you should learn from Vincent and have some fucking manners!" Ines said upset while she walked away from the window. Taye sighed and walked after her.

"I'm sorry… But like, you don't have manners either. How will you survive in his circle? You say fuck in every sentence!"

Taye was honest because he knew he could. Both of them could say stupid things because they didn't have a filter with each other anymore.

"I will learn! He will teach me!"

Taye looked at her with raised brows.

"Yeah and how to embezzle money. Like a dude in a three piece suit doesn't have some shit going on."

Ines crossed her arms and looked at him.

"You're always jealous of people with money. He was probably born with a silver spoon…" Ines stopped to lay her hands on her blushing cheeks. "In his mouth but that doesn't mean he is a criminal. He is just rich."

Taye shook his head again and sat down on Ines white couch. Her apartment also looked like a gallery. White and airy.

"He looks like a Bond villain, he probably has a white really hairy cat that sits in his lap all the time."

Ines laughed at his silly words and sat down.

"But I will tell Faith about this, you know that right?"

Ines swallowed nervously. Even if Faith was just a friend she could be really dramatic and overprotective. She had succeeded to make Ines change her mind before, just by being angry.

×××

"Are you totally fucking stupid?? He can rape you, kill you…" Faith stopped suddenly in her angry outburst and looked out in the air.

They sat in a modest coffee house. It wasn't that great but they had bought a painting from Ines' gallery so she wanted to support them just like they supported her.

Ines looked at Faith, just waiting in confusion for her to say something. Faith turned her eyes towards her friend again and looked down at their hands.

"Are you sure you can be like, rich from this? For real?"

"Yeah, the painting is worth a lot but with Vincent's help I can get so much more. And like, it's obvious he is rich, he doesn't need the money from the painting," said Ines as her eyes became dreamy.

"Viiiincent," said Faith with a silly voice and wiggled her brows.

"What?" Ines laid all her power to try to sound like she didn't know what Faith meant.

"Is he handsome? A French model? Tall, pale and skinny?" Teased Faith without knowing how right she was. Ines felt her cheeks become warm. She had always liked European men. They were so soft and mysterious. They dared to be in contact with their feminine side without losing their masculinity. She thought about Vincent's perfume again. Maybe he actually wore perfume for women.

"He's…" Ines sighed. "Yeah, he is probably like 6'4 and pale like he was born in the shadows."

Faith laughed.

"You're sure he doesn't live in some castle and just wants you for dinner?"

"He can have my pussy for dinner."

"Ah!" Exclaimed Faith and pointed at Ines.

"You want to fuck him!"

Ines just smirked and took a sip of her coffee.

"So you’re hoping on getting money and dick? How can I stop you from doing that?" Said Faith and smirked as well.

"What about that whole rape, kill..?" Said Ines with an amused smile.

"That can happen here too. It probably even happens here more than in Paris and Viiiincent had a bodyguard, right?"

Ines laughed and nodded her head.

"So I have your blessing?"

Faith sat quietly a while and put her index finger against her lips.

"No."

"No?"

"No."

Ines looked at her confused. She seemed to have been really positive before.

"I want to meet Viiiincent," said Faith and crossed her arms.

Ines looked at her with furrowed brows and panted.

"Oh come on, he will think it's so silly. He's a rich, french business man. I can't bring my bff and be like, 'she wants to look at you'."

"I said I want to meet him!"

"That means that you're mostly going to stare at him. Just like when you met Michael!"

Micheal was Ines ex who Faith more or less had stared at for 30 minutes until she knew what kinda man he was. She was right though, she said he was bad news and he was. He was controlling, jealous and angry.

"I'm good at staring!"

Faith pouted with attitude and Ines sighed.

"Fine. I will call him."

Faith shone up. "But not now. I'll do it alone."

Ines didn't want Faith to mock her for how nervous she would be to talk to Vincent. She had gotten his number. It was a business card but the only thing that was on it was a phone number. Not even his name. But it was in thick white paper with a gold pattern as a frame. It was beautiful, just like him. He probably didn't do anything half hearted.

×××

Ines and Faith sat in the lavish suite in Lotte Palace Hotel. Both of them felt like stains on the white rug. They had a view over the whole of Manhattan and a bit more. Ines, who didn't even go to Manhattan especially often, felt small and insignificant when she looked out.

The bodyguard watched them while they sat and waited on Vincent. Ines wondered what he thought they would do. Doodle on the coffee table?

"Oh come on! Where is the dude?" Groaned Faith and crossed her arms.

"The Marquis will be here soon. He wasn't dressed," said another man coming into the suite's living room. He wore a similar suit as the bodyguard but was much leaner and carried a tray with a silver coffee pot.

Ines tried to picture Vincent in other clothes other than his suits but it was hard. Even if she thought he was really handsome, she couldn’t even think about him without a suit. Maybe he had been naked when they came? Ines looked down at her hands embarrassed. He was probably beautiful without clothes but it felt like it wasn't anything for her eyes.

"Do you want coffee?" Said the leaner man and put out white china mugs in front of them.

"No, I just think The Marquis can come soon. Like it's not good manners to let…"

Faith didn't end her sentence because Vincent had come out to the living room. This time he was dressed in a burgundy colored three piece suit with a black button up.

Faith looked at him and then gave Ines a look. She started to laugh and Ines looked at Vincent with worry.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, but what are you wearing?" Said Faith and continued to laugh at Vincent.

Vincent took a cup and poured some coffee without moving his face. He didn't seem to react to Faith's behavior at all.

"Clothes tell people who you are."

He looked up at Faith and took a sip of his coffee. Those big eyes were telling and he looked at her outfit. The short little crop top and trashed jeans. It seemed like Faith could see what he was thinking and looked at him pissed.

"What are you saying?" She said offended. Ines looked away embarrassed. She was ashamed over her friend immediately picking a fight with Vincent. She had tried to dress more properly and had a white blouse with black jeans. It wasn't impressive but better than leggings but also Faith's outfit.

"I didn't say a thing. How you want to dress is up to you," said Vincent and sat down elegantly in an armchair. He crossed his long legs and balanced his cup on the small saucer.

Faith continued to give him the evil eye but pulled in her crop top like she suddenly felt too naked.

"Ehh… We're just here so Faith can meet you, so she can trust you," said Ines and crossed her legs at the ankle. She had seen on The Princess Diaries that fine women sat like that. Vincent nodded a little and looked between Ines and Faith. He took a sip of his coffee then turned to Ines with a smile.

"I think it's most important that you trust me. That you feel like you are safe with me," said he and laid a hand over hers. Ines looked at his handsome face and smiled.

"She doesn't know anything about you!" Said Faith. It was clear she wasn't as optimistic towards Vincent now when she had met him.

"I know you don't know so much about me, but we will have all the time in the world in Paris for you to find out what you want." Vincent still sat turned towards Ines and didn't seem to acknowledge Faith. Ines looked into his eyes. They were sincere and kind. And he could do her filthy rich while she ate creme brulee in bed.

She shook her head to herself and laughed a little at the thought.

"I'm going with you," she said and hugged his hand in hers. To her surprise he lifted it to his lips and gave her a soft kiss on the back of her hand. Everything he did was so gentlemanly.

"Ines!" Faith almost screamed and kicked the coffee table leg. Ines looked at her with furrowed brows. She wasn't just embarrassed over her friend now but appalled.

"Stop Faith, this is my choice," she said while she and The Marquis still held each other's hand.

"No! This is not your decision! You can't make this decision alone!"

Vincent looked at Faith uninterested and Ines looked at him. It was obvious he wouldn't let anyone drag him down to their level. Ines admired him. Not just his look but also his elegance. He didn't let Faith's bad manner affect him at all.

"I think it's time for you to go, Faith," said Ines and looked between her friend and Vincent. She searched his approval and he nodded once then he turned his eyes to his bodyguard that slowly walked closer to Faith.

"Oh come on! Will you let his bodyguard beat me up now?" Said Faith and stood up. She waited for Ines to say something but she just watched Vincent. Vincent looked at her and when she just looked back at him he gave his bodyguard a look again who answered by laying his hand on Faith's back.

"Let go of me! I can find myself out! Ugly ass frenchmen!!" Faith screamed and Ines blushed with humiliation. Her friend didn't have any class. Or was it a former friend?

She didn't look when Faith was leaving, she just looked down in her lap where she and Vincent still held hands.

×××

Ines didn't really know how to act. She still was in the Marquis' suite and sipped tea out of a really small cup. Maybe she should have left at once after Faith had but she didn't want to risk bumping into her just outside of the hotel. Instead she stayed while Vincent ordered afternoon tea for them. She now sat and looked at several sorts of cakes and scones on the table and hoped Vincent would join her soon.

Vincent walked around in the suite with his phone pressed against his ear, talking elegantly soft french Ines couldn't understand a thing of. She wondered if he maybe had a wife or children but she had a hard time seeing him as that type. She smirked a little at the thought of Vincent changing a diaper in his well tailored suits. While Vincent walked around, both the bodyguard and the other man stood looking at her. She felt a need to act elegantly after Faith's embarrassing behavior and let them stare.

"I'm sorry," said Vincent with a sigh when he finally sat down.

"It's okay," said Ines and smiled at him. Vincent leaned back in the arm chair and looked at her with a pleasant smile.

"It's nice, seeing you here. I think you need to get away from Brooklyn. You look like a woman now, not a little girl."

Ines laughed but really tried to keep that elegant manner. He liked it.

"Can't we go out and shop? You need a new wardrobe for Paris, right?" He said and leaned forward on his knees. His pants were tight and Ines looked away when she realized how well you could see the shape of him through the trousers.

"I don't know…"

She didn't want to say she didn't have money to shop.

"On me, of course. You can pay me back when you have sold the painting."

Ines laughed and Vincent smiled back charmingly.

"Okay… Okay. Do you want to help me? Otherwise I will just go to H&M and Zara."

"What's that?" Said Vincent sincerely and poured some tea for himself.

Ines laughed and dared to take a cake when Vincent did.

"Oh my god, it's like the biggest fast fashion stores!"

Vincent looked at her with a smirk. Once again he didn't need to say anything, it was obvious in his suits, his hair, his skin, his manners that he had never had any contact with fast fashion. Ines once again admired him. She could be like him. Live in suites, eat afternoon tea and wear clothes costing as much as a year of her rent. She could be like him. She wanted to be with him.

×××

They visited all the high end fashion stores but Vincent preferred the French ones; Chanel, Louis Vuitton, Dior, Yves Saint Laurent. When Ines had problems finding clothes he started to point and boss the staff in the stores around. He was intimidating. He tried to speak French to the girl in the Louis Vuitton store but she looked at him like he had threatened her. Ines wondered if he had until the girl said she didn't know french.

Ines collected more and more bags but all of them were carried by the bodyguard. She learned his name was Mylan and he didn't know much English at all. She tried to be polite when they were alone but he didn't even give her a smile.

"The final stop…" said Vincent and gave her a smile. He nodded towards a store with a black and white sign. Ines couldn't place it at first but then realized what it was. Cartier. Home of diamonds.

"This will be a gift from me… All girls need a pair of diamond earrings," he said smoothly while walking into the store, passing the store's guard. Ines laughed nervously, not because of his gift but because…

"I don't have my ear pierced…"

Vincent looked at her confused but then he got something smooth and wet in his eyes.

"Oh, that's so lovely. No piercings or tattoos or anything else… perverted?"

Ines shrugged her shoulders.

"No."

"Just clean and nice…" he still looked so wet in his eyes, then he licked his lips slowly. Ines wondered if he actually was turned on by her lack of piercings.

"Then we get a bracelet. That's even more diamonds, smart girl," he said teasingly and then turned to the woman behind the desk.

Once again Vincent tried to speak French with the employee who stared at him uncomfortably.

"I don't know French," she said and looked at Vincent apologetically.

He sighed, deeply.

"This country…"

Ines smirked and looked around in the store. She already started to get used to his snobby ways.

"I want a diamond bracelet for the lady. White gold, simple chain, classic."

The girl nodded and started to walk around the store to collect things he might be interested in. Ines just stood and looked in a display case. It was a beautiful necklace, a pendant shaped like a flower with yellow and white stones. She could feel Vincent's eyes on her and then he once again started to speak french. Ines laughed.

"She doesn't know French," she said amused and turned to him with a smile. Vincent looked at her, first it looked like he was irritated but then he gave her a crooked smile.

"It's a french store."

"But no French employees."

Vincent shook his head and walked up to her.

"What are you looking at?"

"Nothing," she said, even if she had been mesmerized by the floral pendant.

"The necklace?" He asked and gave it an approving look. He turned to the seller and once again spoke french. Now Ines couldn't stop herself from laughing loudly.

"She can't speak french! Is that so hard to get?"

She looked up at Vincent with humor. He first looked irritated but after a few seconds of looking at Ines he smirked.

"This fucking country… Why don't people know any other language than their own?"

"I don't either!" Said Ines amused but tried to fake offense. Vincent shook his head.

"You must learn french. You work with art."

Ines didn't say anything, just smiled and looked at the necklace. She probably needed to learn french.

"We want this necklace," said Vincent to the seller who came fast with her little key to open the monitor. Ines looked up at Vincent with big eyes. No man had ever given her jewelry. She would have thought it was a big deal to get a simple silver necklace from a man while Vincent didn't make a thing of giving her a necklace with white and yellow diamonds. While standing staring in shock he took the necklace from the girl and put it around Ines' neck. She lifted her hair and looked at herself in the mirror next to the monitor.

"It suits you…" said Vincent and dragged a big hand over her shoulder sensually. Ines stared at herself. Diamonds. Just the word was dramatic. She couldn't stop looking at the necklace and Vincent looked at her amused. Diamonds are a girl's best friend. He knew that well.

"We take the necklace. And the third bracelet. And I need new platinum cufflinks."

He bossed the seller around and she worked fast, terrified of the Frenchman.

Ines turned around and looked at him with big eyes. He stood leaned against the display counter, just waiting for her to say something.

"Vincent… This is too much and you know it too."

He pulled down the corner of his mouth and shrugged his shoulders.

"This is my Zara." He smirked and looked quite smug. Ines laughed but didn't say anything, maybe he would take back his generous gifts then. She continued to look at herself in the mirror but also looked at Vincent behind her in the reflection. What a man he was.

Handsome, tall, elegant and generous. She continued to look at him while playing with the necklace between her fingers. He was a gentleman in a perfect, french package.

×

#bill skarsgård #bill skarsgard #fan fiction #writing #story #bill skarsgård writing #bill skarsgård fanfiction #fiction #john wick #4 #vincent de gramont #the marquis

[offbrandkyoya]

56 the artist named “….”

previous | masterlist | next

The art studio is separate from your college. There was a flyer in the halls saying, “Join now to win 10K and your art featured in a public gallery.” You were sold because you wanted to prove everywhere you mean something. You typically don’t go to the art studio since you don’t know anyone and like your privacy. However, this time you have to because you started painting.

You enter the room and no one bats an eye. You sigh and head straight towards your canvas. Putting your bag down to the side, you began taking out your supplies. You took a piece of cardboard you had inside and started placing paint drops on it. You place the card board on your lap and grabbed your pain brush, dip it in some water, and began to dip it in paint.

You began to focus hard on your work and muting the noise in the room. Your face made different expressions in each stroke you made. It was looking quite beautiful but you felt like it was missing something. The paintbrush led you in the right direction every time so you had nothing to worry.

You were caught in a trance that you didn’t notice someone right next to you, watching. You didn’t hear their voice either until they tapped your shoulder. You jump and turn around next to you. “Y-Yes?” The person chuckled at your reaction. “I’m sorry for scaring you. I just wanted to say your paintings beautiful.” You blush and shyly look away. “O-Oh, thank you. It’s not done though.” “Ah, I see.”

They continue to look at the painting. “What’s it supposed to be?” “Well, um, it’s embarrassing.” “Art is never embarrassing.” They say and you smile a little. “Thank you. It’s supposed to be…” You paused. “Well, I don’t wanna say it yet. It’s a surprise.” “Oh! That’s exciting.” You laugh, “Thank you, um, I’m sorry I don’t know your name.” “Oh it’s alright.” They look at you with a gentle expression. “I’m Albedo.” You smile wide. “I’m Yn. It’s nice to meet you, Albedo.” “Likewise.” You place your stuff down and stand up.

“What are you working on?” His eyes sparkle and he leads you to his canvas. You gasp, “You paint too? And it’s way better than mine!” He laughs, feeling a bit embarrassed. “Nonsense. Im still a bit rusty in some areas.” You place your hands on your hip. “To me you’re perfect.” He blushed a little. “Thank you, Yn. You’re very kind.” You froze as you process his words to you. Your lips quiver then form a sweet smile. “Thank you very much.”

You go back to gazing at his painting. “What is it?” You finally ask. “It’s supposed to be a valley.” “A valley?” He nods, “Yes. Specifically, a memory of mine.” You look at him in awe. “That’s sweet. Is it okay if you tell me the memory?” He nods again. “Of course. It’s a picnic day from a few years ago. My little sister and I spent the day there and it was quite wonderful. Everything was beautiful. The sky, flowers, the fresh wind,” He begins to chuckle. “My sister running around and getting her dress dirty.” You laugh also.

Albedo’s expression slowly turns into a sad one. His smile still there but his eyes were heartbroken. “That day, I didn’t really move much. I simply sat and observed the area but…” He takes in a breath. “I was still motivated to run as well.” You stare at him before going back to his art. The sky was bright with the grass swaying and little flowers sprouting. A little girl was drawn running and you figured it’s his sister.

There was also a mini Albedo at the corner, watching his sister run. You couldn’t help but smile. It was all so cute until you noticed an area that wasn’t painted. You carefully lean closer and it was a sketch of another figure. You couldn’t tell who it was but the figure was waving, you assume, at Albedo.

“Who’s that?” You ask and Albedo looks at you curiously before following your gaze. “Oh.” His voice almost went quiet. “That’s…a friend from long ago.” You hum. “You all look like you had a lot of fun.” You said instead of asking any further. Albedo appreciates that and smiles. “We did but, unfortunately, it rained after.” “Oh no.” You both laugh.

“I’m sorry I took up a lot of your time.” Albedo says. You shake your head. “Nah, it’s okay. It was nice talking to you.” You smile at each other then Albedo nervously scratched his cheek. “Do you by any chance post your art anywhere?” You frown and shake your head. “No, sorry. I post my art sometimes but I usually just talk.” “Oh, okay.” You couldn’t help but feel sad now since you blew your chance befriending this guy.

However, Albedo takes out his phone, and opens Twitter. “I still want to follow you. Is that okay?” You nod rapidly. “Y-Yeah.” You hurriedly take out your phone and show him your user. He smiles as he types it out and then you get a notification. “There. I should let you go do your work now.” “You too.” You give him one last smile before heading back to your station.

You made another friend and you couldn’t help but think about getting Thoma a treat for his help.

- DUN DUN DUN!!!!!!!

- new character and it’s MISTER ALBEDO??? 😱😱

- wonder what’ll happen 😆

🏷️ @sakiimeo @coquettemaiden @rmiyuki @kur44pika @theblueblub @jxxji0309 @dreamsofminnie @ohmyfinggod @redactedhimbo @kunisbeloved @akagism2 @sketcheeee @thefandomcrow @beriiov @thenightsflower @yukiipc @scaraapologist @scarletttcroww @samyayaya @crucnhice @monaypo1 @feiherp @myaaones @warcelia @hangecanweholdhands @yuminako @valiryyz @screechingxiaolover @tiddieshakeshownu @ilovechuuyaa @d4y-dr3am3r @dazaisfavgf @swivy123 @ganyusbrideee @sagegreenthinks @the-left-glove @wonderland-fan @kylexzz @kaoyamamegami @whycantscarabereal @rvoulte @eunchaeluvr @lxkeeeee @silvermah @baby-bread-in @yelleloww @magica-ren @itzblazekun @im-inlovewithy0u @featuredtofu @ynverse

#genshin impact #genshin xiao #genshin aether #genshin venti #genshin impact xiao #genshin heizou #genshin impact venti #genshin childe #genshin kaedahara kazuha #thoma #thomaluc #genshin impact thoma #albedo #platonic diluc and kaeya #genshin kaeya #genshin impact kaeya #diluc #genshin diluc #thoma x diluc #diluc ragnvindr #genshin impact scaramouche #genshin scaramouche #scaramouche smau #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche x you #scaramouche #kaeya alberich

[latibvles]

SAD, BEAUTIFUL, TRAGIC.

beautiful, tragic // to be in it with you.

i’ll find a million ways to say it before i say that i’m in—

masterlist | gallery | taglist

TAGLIST: @liebgotts-lovergirl , @softguarnere , @brassknucklespeirs ,@monalisastwin , @mads-weasley , @eugene-emt-roe

SUMMARY: Reaching the Eagles’ Nest makes the day special in more ways than one.

WARNINGS: None!

Picturesque mountains, sun warming her skin, her eyes crinkle at the corners on a squint as she peers at it for a moment. She didn’t think she’d have much time for sightseeing in a war, but here she is — a working draft of a letter balanced precariously on her thigh as she writes out a thank you for the well wishes from her mother, men and women alike all idling on this road etched into the mountainside. Beside her, Jane is also leaned up against the jeep, gray eyes shut to soak in the rays warming them like stones on a riverbed.

“Your French still any good?” she asks, out of the blue cracking one eye open. That was one thing Daisy began to notice about Jane. When she was feeling chatty, she could never anticipate what the girl was going to say or ask. Daisy raises an eyebrow, looking at her sidelong and gives her a shrug.

“It’s alright, I guess. Why d’you ask?”

“Cause I can’t remember a lick of shit since Belgium but I wanna tell the French to haul ass and get rid of the roadblock.” At that, Daisy snorts at the mild irritation edging in Jane’s voice as she says it, folding up her paper and putting it in her pocket.

“What, don’t wanna beat the French to the nest?”

“I don’t give a damn who wins, I just want to get up there already.” Distantly, a sound of an explosion echoes down the road they’re all sat upon, and Daisy snorts. Last Daisy checked, they were getting quite…  creative with how they intended to blow the roadblock sky high. Namely, combining explosives like a high-risk middle school science fair. Grenades, dynamite, bazookas, all which translated in Daisy’s mind as some idiot having too much fun and losing a couple fingers if they weren’t careful enough.

She’s hoping that the joy found in blowing things up might’ve died down a little bit with the war apparently coming so close to an end — but part of her knows that’s just her own foolish optimism.

But it is, admittedly, nice to know she still has some of it left after all this.

“Someone’s antsy,” Daisy can’t help but snicker, and Jane rolls her eyes.

“Ever the astute observations from my fearless leader.” She watches Jane shake out a cigarette and fish through her pocket for the lighter, lights it, and brings it to her own lips before letting smoke escape. Then she offers it to Daisy.

“Yeah well, that’s what they hired me for.”

“Your wise remarks?” Jane asks as Daisy takes it from her, bringing it to her own lips. They share a look as an engine roars and a jeep whizzes by them further up the road.

“My astute observations,” Daisy concurs, “Also, I think you might’ve gotten your wish after all, Gray.”

The town was dead quiet before they came in. An eerily empty place save for the rumble of engines, emblazoned in the red banners that make her entirely angry now. The moment their feet hit the ground, anything that gleams is fair game — for combat nurse and soldier alike, it seems.

Which is to say: Daisy’s bag is heavy with things that weren’t even hers, nor were they things that she necessarily picked up herself. She didn’t expect Rita to have such sticky fingers, but when the argument was that they’d need nice silverware for the apartment they’ve yet to get, she couldn’t exactly argue with that sound logic. And when Easy Company gets fired up to head further up the mountain — she allows herself a moment of childishness, sticking out her tongue to her friend who would be staying behind in town for the moment with the rest of Fox.

Okay, so maybe she got her pick of a couple candleholders in town, and maybe she was just a little bit eager to see if the stone mountain retreat had anything nicer than that. Which it should, because the damn thing had a gold plated elevator.

She’s greeted with lush couches and carpets, champagne in buckets of water that likely was ice, at one point, and the sound of popping bottles as everybody in the place helps themselves to the stash. Daisy wanders, curious as the men chip pieces off that big stone fireplace. She’s on one of the many balconies the retreat holds when Liebgott finds her first. He smacks one of those fireplace chunks unceremoniously into her hand. Then, he offers her the glass-green champagne bottle he’s carrying with him.

“It’s a special day, after all, don’t say I didn’t get you nothin’,” he hums with a knowing glint in his eye. She takes the bottle by the neck, glances up at him with slightly wider eyes and parted lips.

“You remembered?”

“What kinda dumb question is that?” He asks with a bit of a scoff. “‘Course I did, kid, now hurry up before I take the damn bottle back.” Daisy rolls her eyes and takes a swig, champagne bubbles popping on her tongue and going down smooth. It tastes expensive. She grins as she licks the excess from her lips and gives him the bottle back, and then he takes a swig from it himself before ruffling her hair. “Atta girl. Make any wishes?”

“I’d need candles for that.” He grins again and gives her a shrug.

“Sure we could work somethin’ out. Not like ol’ Adolf’s gonna need them. Y’know this place has a goddamn kitchen? Fully stocked.” He says, a sharp bite to the words. Daisy snorts, partially in disbelief.

“What, you're gonna make me a cake or something? I don’t know if I trust you around a stove while you’re drinking.” Joe laughs, a full sound accompanied by another ruffle of her hair. “Tell you what, you find me candles and I’ll make all the wishes in the world.” That seems to satisfy him, the grin not faltering as he looks up and past her. There’s a clearing of the throat, and Daisy turns around.

Ron stands in the doorway, straight-faced and looking between them, before his gaze focuses on Liebgott.

“I need to speak to Lieutenant Clarke, Liebgott,” he informs in that non-negotiable tone of his. As if they had important business to attend to among the pretty scenery and loungers arranged to overlook the woods below. Joe isn’t an idiot, so he nods, resigned.

“Yes, sir,” he responds with a salute, he walks back inside, disappearing into the building and Daisy watches as that stern look on Ron’s face practically melts away.

He’d been the first one up, with Malarkey and Alton. So it didn’t take a genius to know that wherever he’d stored his gear in this place — it would likely clink and clatter until it made its way to Vest at the post office to get all boxed up. He reaches up to tuck some of her hair behind her ear, shorter strands that had fallen from its braid. Something about the mundaneness of the gesture makes her smile.

“One hell of a day,” Ron observes, giving her a knowing look.

“That’s a way to put it, yeah,” Daisy points out with a curious smile. He tilts her chin up with his knuckle until she’s looking at him completely.

“Make any wishes?”

“Didn’t you hear while you were creeping in the shadows? You can’t make a wish without candles.” She points out, and Ron rolls his eyes as he leans down to kiss her, her chin between his thumb and pointer. His lips taste like whiskey, and she can’t help but think back to the last time he drank — all weepy in her lap and dramatic in the morning. The grin that makes it onto her lips is enough to break their kiss. He gives her a half-hearted narrow-eyed look.

“I don’t creep.”

“Lurking then, it’s not a bad thing,” Daisy amends, and she can tell Ron is biting back what has to be a smile as he fishes around in his pocket.

“Fine. Lurking. Doesn’t matter, I got you something.”

“If it’s forks, I’m afraid Rita might have you beat there. I think the drawers might burst if we get any more.” Ron shakes his head immediately with a soft chuckle.

“Not forks, but good to know.”

What he produces from his pocket is much more delicate than the silverware or the candle holders or the hand mirrors.

It’s a sapphire pendant on a thin, silver chain. Delicate and pretty in a way that makes Daisy’s lips part on a gasp. She’d passed quite a bit of jewelry, but none of it were things she’d ever wear so she left it behind for someone else to take. It was all too chunky, too demanding of attention, too weighty in her hands. This was the opposite. Silver curls around that deep blue sapphire, holding it in place, but it was still the centerpiece in spite of the embellishments.

“Happy birthday, Dais,” he says simply. Daisy reaches up, fingers grazing the cold metal in awe. She then looks up at him, a million questions and statements all posed on her tongue.

“Can you put it on me?” is what she decides on, and to that he nods, and she turns around.

Fingers graze the back of her neck as his fingers work to fasten it. She doesn’t care about how he got it, where it came from — just that he’d picked it up not to mail home, but to give to her. And she shouldn’t expect anything less from him, but everything he does still manages to fill her with something that can only be described as pure wonder.

Ron is wonderful. 

It’s not an epiphany of any sort, if anything, she feels like it’s the most obvious statement she could make. Of course he’s wonderful. Because Ron remembers things about people and makes a point to apply it. Ron knows everything about her, he listens to her. He could’ve given her any of the countless too-chunky rings and necklaces left abandoned in town or in this building. But he doesn’t. He finds the thing he knows she’ll wear and gives that to her instead.

So maybe, she’s just a little bit awestruck at how he could love a person like her in such a way. With such careful precision.

She turns around, throws her arms around his neck, and kisses him. His hands find her waist immediately, holding, squeezing as he returns her kiss with ease, remnants of champagne and whiskey mixing on their lips for a moment before they pull away — barely so, because her forehead presses against his and she makes a point to bump their noses.

“I love you, you know that, right?” Daisy breathes out without thinking. But she doesn’t pull away upon realizing what she’s said. She’d rather stare, and she’s glad she doesn’t look away, because he smiles. The rare one, where his eyes crinkle at the corners. Beautiful, breathtaking, rare but still Ron.

“Yeah? You love me?” Ron asks, his voice edging on a tease. It’s like watching years come off him in the span of seconds. He looks so boyish. She nods, cheeks flushing a bit at his tone, but his arms only wrap around her tighter.

“I do.”

He leans forward to kiss her again, briefer than before, but still firm against her.

“Then I love you too,” he mutters, then another kiss. “And when we go home,” kiss, “You know I’m marrying the hell outta you, right?”

Her heart skips a beat.

“Been thinking about that one for a while?” She asks, and Ron squeezes her hips, hazel eyes moving across her features as he examines her face.

“Figured to wait, that you’d want a ring that’s shiny and new and all yours.” And then he waits, leaving it open for her to contradict him — for her to object in any way she sees fit, but she doesn’t.

“You might have a point there.” She watches the way his smile returns.

“So is that a yes?”

Daisy reaches up to take his face in her hands, coarse stubble beneath her palms as she glides her thumbs over his cheekbones. Her turn to begin a sentence with a kiss.

“Ask me again in front of your mother with a ring that’s all mine, and then  you’ll get an answer. Promise.”

Marriage. The thought had always been there — she’d wanted to get married, at some point, to somebody. As a teenager the idea scared her a bit — the thought that she could pick the wrong person clashing with the fantasy in her head of white wedding gowns and her father walking her down the aisle. It only worsened when she found out about the cheating. If she dared think about anything that wasn’t work, or the war, or James, it would tread into territory of her future spouse wrapped up in a secretary or something. Loving someone that wasn’t her.

Ron isn’t just somebody. And the thought of marrying him doesn’t scare her at all. It’s like a piece snapping into place, something sound and correct that she can envision clearly, even if the details are hazy.

One day in a not-so-distant future, he’s going to ask her to marry him. And she’s a hundred percent certain that she’s going to say yes.

The door opens and with that, the whooping and laughter from Harry and Nixon bounce off the walls, bottles of what she can assume is whiskey on ice in a bucket tucked into his arm. She catches Ginny behind the two of them with a small smile on her face, shoulders shaking in laughter.

“There he is! We aren’t interrupting something, are we?” Lew asks, more hypothetical than anything as Ron lets his hands fall to turn around. Ginny, on the other hand, eyes the new piece on Daisy’s neck and gives her a knowing look.

Lew doesn’t wait for an answer, he throws himself on the lounger with a catlike grin, and Harry reaches for one of the bottles.

Ron gives her a look as Harry pops off the cap, and all Daisy does is laugh.

#fic // sad beautiful tragic #ronald speirs x oc #ronald speirs x ofc #band of brothers oc #band of brothers fic #hbo war fic #hbo war oc #hbo war ofc #told yall it would be at the end of the month #which like totally snuck up on me #but HERE IT IS!!

[yume-09]

Pink

Han Jisung × Reader Phone Swap AU

Word count: 1,332

I was running as fast as I could – I was late for my class and I didn't want to be any later. I woke up late, took too long getting ready and traffic was terrible on top of it all. All this mixed with five shots of espresso wasn't doing my body much good.

I turned the corner and – oh god… I hit something. That's it, I'm gonna fail. There goes my phone, the screen is probably cracked, that's gonna cost a lot.

"Are you okay?" The wall that I ran into started talking to me, I'm going insane. He was quick to grab his phone off the ground, I suppose he dropped his too.

"I'm.. I'm fine." I mumbled as I reached down to pick up my phone. There was a little scratch on the screen that I noticed immediately.

I went to classes, I went to get coffee and to get dinner. I had gone the whole day without bothering to check my phone but when I did –  it wasn't mine. That was definitely not mine, who's even is it? 

His, it was his.

Who would ever have themselves on their lockscreen? Him, this random guy I accidentally swapped phones with. This random guy – who I now realize, as I go through his gallery, is undeniably attractive and I have his cell phone.

I felt guilty scrolling through picture after picture of him and his friends as if it wasn't his fault that the phones got mixed up in the first place. I saw selfies and portraits, thousands of screenshots he was ever so reluctant to delete, music sheets and silly photos from the grocery store. I could see into the kind of person he was.

Why had he not tried to contact me through this phone? He could easily input his number and call me, it wasn't hard. He couldn't have possibly gone that long without checking his phone at least once, well with the amount of friends he has. I might as well do that, I don't want to infringe on his privacy more than I already have.

He picked up the phone immediately.

"This isn't my phone," He spoke over the telephone lines.

"Well no kidding, Sherlock," I laughed.

He made an annoyed grumble, "Well do you want your phone back or not? Cause it seems like you really don't,"

"Only if I get to at least keep your number," 

"Alright, alright, you can keep it," I could hear his smile over the line. I wrote down the number on a small sticky note.

"We can make the exchange tomorrow, 9:00 at the coffee shop next to the school?" I suggested.

"Alright," He confirmed, "So I'll see you tomorrow," He quickly hung up.

There was a sort of anxiety to the situation. What if someone important tried to text or call me? What if he steals my phone? What if he starts sending crazy text messages? I could see that he wasn't that type of guy but questions like that don't just disappear.

I spent most the night looking at his phone and scrolling through his tiktok, his for you page was full of influencers and kpop stuff and of course the occasional vine or two. He didn't post but he had stuff saved, dances and make-up tutorials. I sort of began to wonder if he didn't have a girlfriend for a specific reason.

Just as we planned we met up at the coffee shop. When I walked through the door I spotted him immediately. He was in a black hoodie and black ripped jeans with some absolutely gigantic shoes – which I don’t blame him for wearing shoes like that, he’s not that tall.

“You have the goods?” He asked as I sat next to him at the coffee shop table. He flipped the hood of his hoodie over his head and pulled my phone out of his pocket, “I have yours if you have mine,”

“You’ve done this before, haven’t you?” I asked with a smirk, taking my phone back and giving him his.

“Done what? Talk to a pretty girl or make a suspicious deal?” He smiles, powering on his phone, probably to make sure that I didn’t do anything odd to his phone. I didn’t do anything odd but he might notice that I saved a few tiktoks and edited a couple pictures in his gallery. He went right to his contacts and smiled big when he noticed my number, and name, already there.

I powered on my phone and everything was intact just as it was when I left it and his name and number were in my contacts. His name was surrounded by soft blue hearts and he had it in a pretty font.

💙𝐻𝒶𝓃 𝒥𝒾𝓈𝓊𝓃𝑔💙

Han Jisung – the man who accidentally stole my phone, and heart, was named Han Jisung. And of course, he had to put my name in his phone in the most extra way possible.

“Promise I didn't do anything weird – unless you consider taking pictures of my dog weird… Actually, can you send those to me?” He assured.

I scoffed lightly, digging through my gallery to find the photos he wanted. There were like ten just of his dog and a couple of him, he couldn't go one night without a selfie? I sent them all to him and then asked if he could send me the ones that I edited of him.

He erupted with laughter like some sort of giggle volcano as he went through his gallery. I had drawn mustaches and glasses on him and left significant text commentary on his photos.

“Minho is not my boyfriend,” He laughed, looking over my commentary and editing, “And Bbama looks amazing with a mustache,”

“You look good with one too – I think I put one on your boyfriend as well,” I chuckled, looking over as he went through the photos.

The best one that I edited was probably the one of him shirtless. I had taken it upon myself to draw a shirt for him since he hadn't even bothered to put one on for the picture. He got a good laugh out of that one, saying something about how it was such a tragedy to cover such nice muscles (I didn't agree.)

We quickly became good friends and we both opted to learn more about each other before pursuing something more than a friendship.

Until, well, tonight.

I opened my door for him as usual, leading him into my home and onto my couch. He let out a little huff as he sat down, sitting in the exact same way he always does and hogging half the couch.He grabbed the TV remote and started playing something, I wasn't sure what, I think he changed it every minute or two.

I was in the kitchen, preparing something for dinner. I set the table, grabbed us plates and called him into the dining room to eat. As as He entered the dining room he looked over at me and there was a certain sparkle in his eyes that I couldn't miss.

“Hey,” He spoke, “I love you,” It caught me off guard that he uses such strong words so quickly but I couldn’t deny that I felt the same.

“I love you too,” I muttered back quietly. He had a smile, ear to ear, that was absolutely smug and goofy – things like this is what made him so attractive. His eyes lit up and he looked so happy.

“So what does this make us?” He asks.

“More than friends, finally,” He let out a soft chuckle and walked up to the table.

“Finally,”

#skz jisung #stray kids #skz fanfic #skz fluff #skz han #han jisung #kpop fanfic #skz writing #Phone Swap AU

[mimisempai]

If it's not love, then what is it? - Chapter 1

Summary

Hob takes Dream to a newly opened neighborhood gallery. They are surprised and shocked to find among the works of art a painting representing them in 1889 at the White Horse Inn. But when this painting seems to upset Hob, Dream realizes that there is a whole part of his lover's life of which he was not aware.

Notes

When I can't sleep, my brain brings me plot ideas that I wouldn't have thought of a few minutes before... That was last night... and here we are.

There will be two more chapters with an epilogue depending on the length. They will be released every Monday.

On Ao3

Rating T - 1895 words

June 7, 1889

White Horse Inn

Lushing Lou, who was drinking her umpteenth glass of beer tonight as she did every night, watched Hob Gadling as he entered the inn soaked to the skin. 

She had never seen him with such a desperate expression. He was usually a cheerful person so it was surprising to see him like this.

She looked at him out of the corner of her eye as he sat down in the same place as before. But alone this time. His companion had not returned. 

It looked like they had had a pretty serious argument judging by their expressions. 

She had never seen the other man here before. Which was a shame because he was a sight to behold. 

He had looked furious when he left and Lou had seen Hob almost run after him. 

Lou was fond of Hob; he was one of the few men who was good to her without expecting anything in return. The coin he had tossed her that night was not the first time Hob had been generous with her. What was nice was that he didn't flaunt it, he didn't show any condescension or charity. Besides, he would tell the tavernkeeper to give her another one, he never gave her money directly. 

This evening had been exceptional, Lou had seen in his eyes that Hob had not appreciated her proximity to his... friend. 

Yes, generally speaking, Hob was really nice. 

So Lou thought she couldn't leave him like that, looking so sad over his glass of wine. Therefore, she walked over to Hob and dropped into the free chair in front of him. 

"Come on Hob, I've always heard it's not good to drink when you're alone." 

Hob sighed, "Louise..." 

Lou exclaimed, "Hob! Since when do you call me Louise?!" 

Hob looked at her in a way she hadn't been looked at in a long time, with a kind of respect. 

He said softly, without smiling, " It' s your first name, isn't it?" 

Lou nodded and they drank for a few moments in silence. 

The young woman decided to break the silence, "Is something wrong?"  

Hob didn't answer and Lou insisted, "I know we're not particularly close friends, but I've been told I'm a good listener, you know." 

Hob watched him for a long time, took a sip of wine, then leaned over and said softly, "Well, you see, that man who was sitting where you are now..." 

Nowadays

Hob walked beside Dream with a quick step and turned around every couple of seconds to talk to him in a very animated way, waving his hands, "I'm really curious to see the works on display in this new gallery. Plus by local artists from now and then. Can you believe it? Maybe I've been around some Picassos and didn't even know it."

Dream watched with amusement as Hob enthused even though they weren't there yet.

"Ah this is it!" exclaimed Hob.

One of Hob's students had given him a brochure advertising the opening of an art gallery displaying works by local artists. Of course his lover had been eager to go there and bring Dream, a little less enthusiastic, but nevertheless interested.

They passed through the glass door and were greeted by a friendly-looking young woman who explained that the gallery was like a mini-museum, on several floors and that they could wander freely between the different wings.

Dream decided to follow Hob and let him guide them. Looking at his joy and his passion was a work of art in itself. He couldn't help but smile when he saw him marveling at each painting or sculpture.

"1692?! This artist used to live here, maybe I met someone with such a talent every day and I didn't know it!"

Dream contemplated for a few moments the sculpture in question while Hob was already heading towards the next painting.

When he joined Hob in the next room, he immediately felt that something was wrong.

The silence was total, where before it was filled with Hob's chatter.

Hob was as if frozen in front of a painting and when Dream arrived near him, he saw that his lover was deeply moved, so much so that his eyes were full of tears. 

He called softly, "Hob?"

But Hob seemed lost in thought, his eyes fixed on the painting and mumbling something unintelligible.

Dream brought his face closer to his lover's and could hear what he was saying, "Lou... Lushing Lou... I didn't... I didn't know. When did she..."

Then Dream looked at the painting that seemed to upset Hob so much, and he himself could not hold back a gasp. It was a painting of Hob and himself in 1889. The artist had perfectly captured the mood of that moment they had shared with Hob. Just before everything went to hell.

They were both smiling at each other, and there was an aura of incredible softness. It was so accurate that he felt like he was there again, feeling that fleeting moment of harmony. It could only be someone who had been there at that moment. Who had been able to perceive what had transpired between Hob and himself. 

He leaned over to read the caption on the painting and could not hold back another gasp.

On the legend one could read: 

Title: 

If it's not love, then what is it? 

Estimated date : 

June 7, 1889 

Artist: 

Louise Baldwin-Gadling 

(1864-1920) 

Of course it was someone who was there. 

Of course Dream knew who Louise Baldwin was since he was the one who had revealed her backstory to Hob that night. 

He turned to Hob and asked, "Baldwin-Gadling? Hob, why does she bear your name? What does-"

This seemed to snap Hob out of his stupor and he shook his head sharply, "Before you get the wrong idea, I want you to know that this is not what you think it is. I swear to you-"

Dream, seeing that Hob was starting to panic, grabbed Hob's hands to calm him down, "Hey, hey, calm down, I'm not blaming you. I never asked you to be a saint and knowing the way I left you, I would understand if-"

Hob shook his head, "No, I swear, it's nothing like that...I can ex-"

Dream, seeing that he was going off into a litany of apologies again, pulled him to a corner of the room where there was a small bench. He made him sit down and sat next to him, keeping his hand in his. Fortunately, since the gallery had just opened, there was no one in the room.

"Okay, calm down and when you're ready to talk, I'm listening."

Hob nodded and let his eyes wander over the painting.

It was strange how memories that seemed blurred could come back vividly without being expected.

"Robert Gadling! I told you not to come into my atelier without knocking! I don't want you to see what I'm working on. You won't see it until it's perfect." 

Hob could not hold back a small smile at the memory of Lou, a streak of paint on her face, her hair in disarray and her eternal white blouse that was dotted with colored stains and charcoal.

"Why doesn't Mom want us to go into her workshop?" 

Hob knelt down in front of Lou's son and said with a smile, "Alexander, the day I understand women, I might be able to answer you. Come on, let's leave your mom working and go have some fun." 

The young boy nodded enthusiastically and ran ahead of Hob then turned and said with a serious look, "You know Hob, I'm so glad you're Mommy's husband. She smiles a lot more since you've been here." 

Alexander, Louise... it had been so long, but the pain was still so vivid even after so many years.

He couldn't hold back a tear that ran down his cheek. It was intercepted by Dream's thumb as he said softly, "Hey Hob, if it's too painful, you don't have to talk about it you know."

Hob shook his head vigorously and grasping Dream's hand that had remained on his cheek, he gently kissed its palm before replying, "It's painful, yes, but they are also happy memories, memories that you somehow made possible."

"Me?" asked Dream, now confused.

Hob smiled slightly and said, "Yes, you. If you hadn't told me Lou's story, if you hadn't left like that, then things might have been different. Without knowing it, you were the unwitting instigator of one of the most beautiful relationships I've ever had with anyone."

Seeing Dream stiffen a little, he hastened to continue, "I'm talking about friendship, Dream. There was never anything romantic between me and her. Nothing but a beautiful and deep friendship based on respect and honesty."

Once Hob was sure Dream understood, he took a deep breath and began his tale.

"It all started, when you left me in the middle of the street outside the tavern and I came back to drown my sorrows in a glass of wine."

He smiled at Dream to make it clear that there was and would be no resentment in what he was telling him. After all, they had hashed and rehashed this moment, forgiveness had been asked for and granted.

Hob lightly squeezed Dream's hand in his and continued, "Lou came and sat at our table in your chair and offered me a sympathetic ear. I don't know if it was sadness or drunkenness that made me speak at that moment, but it was easy to confide in and she was the one and only person I told the whole truth to. I told her everything, Dream, about me, about you and me but little about you, since after all I knew little."

It was the first time that Dream fully realized what Hob's immortality meant. The secret he had agreed to continue to carry and all that it implied, never having someone close to him who knew the whole truth. At that moment, any hint of jealousy towards Lou deserted Dream. He was almost relieved to know that there had been someone in Hob's life at that moment. Someone he could be completely himself with.

He couldn't help but burst out, "I'm so sorry, Hob."

"Sorry for what?" asked Hob, now confused.

"I only just realized the weight my little experiment had put on your shoulders. I-" 

Dream was interrupted by Hob's finger on his lips, "Hey, I'll remind you that you asked me every time if I wanted to continue living and even when you didn't, I knew I could ask you to stop. But here's the thing, your lover loves life too much to be without it, even if some things are sometimes difficult. Besides, I have you now, so that's all in the past."

Hob pressed a light kiss to dream's lips before continuing, "We talked late that night. When we parted, and I saw Lou leave, I thought about you and what you had told me about her life and I had this crazy idea that I told her about the next day."

Seeing the way Hob was smiling, that endearing cheeky smile, Dream was already looking forward to the rest of his story.

June 8th, 1889

Auberge du Cheval Blanc

"Lou, I think we should get married." 

_________

Still not beta'd

Still not my native language

Still hoping you'll enjoy this story  🥰

Still thanking you for bearing with me 😝

Dreamling Masterlist here (to find the next chapters)

#the sandman #the sandman netflix #dream of the endless #hob gadling #dreamling #dreamling fic #centennial husbands #centennial boyfriends #morpheus #morpheus x hob #hob x morpheus #dream x hob #hob x dream #lushing lou

[lv1rose]

Evening Ritual

I drag upon my joint and wonder, in this dilapidated shed, a palace of symbolic decay. I consider my place in this world, what this damp dumping hole means for me. As I breathe out, I realise I find it to be a beautiful exception.

Life has found its way to this place. Vines penetrate the far-side wall - where it meets the roof - and, having crawled across the roof, they appear as if reaching for me. Their organic shapes and green leaves serve sweet contrast to the broken and abandoned furniture which inhabit the place, holding both the scene and the building together. Rays of dying daylight thrust through the space, showing smoke swirling silently about in a ballet - I picture Starry Night.

Shadows creep around me. They slide their tendrils above my head, along rotten beams and long-broken fluorescent tubes.

Another toke crackles through the quiet solitude. Seeds popping from the cheap weed and the thyme I mix in to make it last. The force with which I inhale crinkles the paper as I fill my lungs fully. A fresh wave of air pulls through the lit grass, a flaring amber glow fills the room. As smoke blasts my brain out the back of my skull I recall a campfire. I trace my dumb, squinted eyes across my surroundings, searching for a memory, and find it nestled in a corner.

Illuminated by a hole caved into the roof by time there is a shopping trolley. From where it came, I do not know. Nor do I remember when it ended up there. I don’t think my housemates do either, nor is it important enough to bother with. Instead, my mind, flowing like that turbulent smoke, drifts into recent memories.

A fifth of my life ago, nearly, I sat around a campfire of sorts, drunk, with now-old faces around me. They too had a trolley - whose origins lie in drunken theft - which was currently functioning as a brazier. As we sat they made a pyre of their accumulated academics, their books, notes, and such. It was a casting off of their studious youth as they migrated into their true lives. These would be some of my final tender moments in their care.

Among the intimate group was my first lover, a papery man with shining copper hair. My thoughts circle around him for a moment but cannot settle on a way to capture him in words, except to situate him among the attendant gallery.

Besides him sat an antagonist, only the first of which I have lived. His brazen, boyish character is on the far side from myself, with my ex-lover between us. Huddled with this innocent menace was his friend and overlooked, unrequited love. She is memorable in her compersion for she was often the architect and chief tease of other’s satisfaction, though mature enough to seek her own and with self-compassion to not do so by playing Tantalus with love.

They all seemed so normal. Surprisingly, they accepted me in spite of the contrast I was. Normal here means many things. Their circumstances each of a kind much more stable - though not necessarily happier - than my own.

But, I reflect, these are merely the images I have left of them, portraits. As I remember them, they do not really exist. I wonder if I have ever really known anyone or if I know anyone now. The question is an old companion of mine. A third once joined us frequently, until someone truly saw me and knew me in some small way. A long silence ensues between us.

In the time I spent wanding down memory lane, my joint went out. I put it to my lips in a tentative test, sometimes I can breath it back to life and get the dying embers to burn again. Not today. I adjust my seating on this dismantled exercise bike, carried home from the side of the road, and rest a foot upon a busted up dishwasher someone had gifted to a previous housemate. Now, with access to my pockets, I fish among my keys and phone. I fumble for a moment but I am soon brandishing a small yellow cylinder, a lighter - a gift. On its side is an image of a marijuana leaf dressed like a peace-and-love hippy. Its tacky design is charming to me, so it has come to be my favourite and a constant evening companion.

Lighting up as I draw breath through the leaves, I coax them to burn well. Too well, as it happens, as the end catches like a birthday candle. I blow it out, wishing not to have to go to work tomorrow. There are only a few days until the weekend but there are only ever a few days until the weekend and no weekend is ever truly enough. I give thanks to those workers who struggled for our right to the weekend - may they rest in peace - raising my burning offering in a toast.

As if conferring with these spirits I contemplate my own workplace. It seems if I want to unionise the place I will have to start from scratch. My coworkers seem apathetic to the idea even as I relate it back to their daily complaints about the job. Maybe if I give them a plan of action, make it seem real, they’d believe we could pull it off. Even then, several of them seem to have some plans to improve things for themselves, alone. The spirits are silent, not having any solid answers: different conditions means a different struggle.

I sigh and take another heavy drag. I want to hold my breath for as long as I can - not wanting to waste anything - so I leave enough room in my lings to breath in again. Concentrating, my mind stands still. Feeling the need to breathe in, I taste the dankness on the air. A mix of smoke, dust, and damp. It is more real this way: no office air which tastes like plastic; no false pretence. This is the real world. Finally, I exhale - slowly, so as not to splutter - and the high rushes in.

Tomorrow weighs upon me like an anchor.

“So little time, so little time,” I mutter to myself. Work will be dreadful if I don’t get enough sleep, I think, but the earlier I sleep the closer I bring tomorrow, the closer I bring another workday. An boiling pit of anxiety and rage opens in my stomach. Is this the rest of my life? Working to survive - surviving to work? Until I die?

I know where these thoughts are headed.

Another deep breath of smoke staves them off. With some small difficulty I climb off the bike and begin pacing back and forth along a clear strip of concrete and boards. Not enough. I peek around the door and get briefly blinded by the sun, low in its final arc. Peering down the driveway onto the street I see nobody. I hear nobody. I put out the joint.

Taking a final glance back inside, I slink round the door and dive into the garden where nobody can see me.

I pace the garden path in search of some slight comfort. My legs numb from sitting at a desk all day. Summer is waking up here, though the longer, warmer days have not yet reached their unbearable peak. Some mornings the frost still clings to the pavement, making for a treacherous commute. There is some disagreement in the house over whether this is preferable to the soup-like thickness of heat and humidity that washes over us each Summer. With all that comes with it, I much despise the cold, and I am one against two in this. For now, though, there is an agreebly comfortable, windless warmth - the kind well suited for my pacing - giving climate for a fungal fruiting of thoughts.

Familiar concerns arise in me. I can only hope nobody will trace the smell back to me as they walk down the alley which runs besides my house. Normally I hide in the shed out of some belief that it will contain the smell and nobody will have any cause for concern. So far, none have been raised. I question my motives, as I always do, am I thinking about this to quench my own shame? Is this some contrived reassurance that I am doing no harm? I know the war on drugs is a machination, a false prestense, another counter-revolutionary strategy, but doesn’t that make it all the more risky for me?

I chew on the idea for a moment.

“Pfft,” I puff derisively. Who am I kidding? I am not even worth looking at: a crushing reassurance. Still: I hope not to trouble my neighbours. If I did, I doubt my current resident antagonist would ever let it go.

Having settled into a comfortable pacing I roll the spark wheel, keeping the flame flickering until I’m breathing smoke again. My thumb is numbed by countless repetitions of this evening ritual. The aching stiffness running through my wrists and fingers reminding me of work, again. I take another hit. Without looking I can tell this joint won’t last much longer. I always chance it, only rolling one, but it won’t cut it today. Gonna have to go back and roll another.

For now, I sit and watch birds hop along the roofs.

It’s the usual routine when I head inside. I left air freshener by the door - lavender - and use it to cover up the smell lingering in my clothes. Gliding inside, I spray ahead of myself - in case I left a trail when I went out with the first one. Misty droplets fall around me. Chemical rain.

Everyone else is still resting after work but soon the kitchen will be busy with preparations for various evening meals. We’ll socialise by getting under each other’s feet, then retreat back to our privacies. Day in, day out.

I give a gentle sigh and head to my room.

First things first, incense. I pick something nice from my selection. Not sure what it is meant to smell like exactly, it’s kind of soapy smelling but beyond that I couldn’t say. Lost the box a while ago. Once lit, I place two of them in a wood holder, a long box with a hinged lid, perforated with decorative, leaf-shaped holes. Another gift. It reminds me, as it always does, of the one my Mum has.

Smoke rises up from the sticks in thin pillars, twisting and waving like dancers, dissipating at their peaks as their ascension slows.

Taking a pinch of ground-up weed, I try my best to roll it into a competent joint. I always try to keep some ground and ready to use. Grinding makes it smell like I’ve smoked in the house - a real hassle.

I botch my first roll. Can’t get the sticky part to stick. I start over, keeping the tip, and - after a little messing around - I am rewarded with a passable joint. Looking closely upon my efforts I am still not very good but my rolls are getting tighter. A small accomplishment. Not one I can share, though.

Grabbing my lighter, my phone, and my prize, I once again wind my way through the house.

While I’ve been focused on rolling, one of my housemates has headed downstairs. I don’t see them but I do hear their phone playing from the bathroom. Some familiar buzzwords are being said, telling me who it is.

“Hey, Jay!” I call.

“Hey, how was work?” He responds, flatly.

“Fucking terrible, as always. Yourself?” My tone is blunt but not miserable. Cheery would be an odd way to describe it but close enough. Even closer would be to say that I spoke as you would expect of someone who expected misery, received it, and was satisfied by their prediction.

“Eh, had better, had worse.”

“Glad to hear it was alright, at least.” Empty words designed to evade. Even if now were a better time, we see the world in such different ways that delving any further into the topic would have us butting heads. I leave him in peace and head for the garden once more.

It has already started to get cooler outside and some small birds are settling into the conifers.

#writeblr #am writing #writers on tumblr #writers of tumblr #writing #writers and poets #writerscommunity #writerblr #writerscorner #420 #420stoner #420weed #cannabis #pot #ganja #420daily #420life #420culture #alienation #nostalgia #nostalgic #my work #orignal writing #original post #shed #abandoned #smoking

[downton-bridgerton]

cobert + no. 14 of the physical affection prompts pls 💗

#14. play wrestling

Physical Affection Prompts

"You better come back here right now!!"

Cora Crawley shouted as she runs across the upstairs gallery of her family's Newport mansion. She was trying to catch her husband...who apparently got ahold of her old journal from she was a young woman

"Not until I find some pages to read out loud!!" Robert said, flipping through the small leathered book as he runs down the flight of the mansion's large stairs

"Robert Patrick Crawley, I swear to God—"

"Dear diary," Robert said in a mocking American accent "I am finally here in London with Mama and Harold! My friends were right, this place is really a fairytale!!"

Cora tries to snatch the journal away from him, but he raised his arm up high and continues reading

"I am here for their season, and I am so nervous! All the ladies are beautiful, and I'm not sure if I'm good enough to face the Queen! Is she going to like me? I sure hope!"

"Alright! That's enough, Mister" Cora jumps up to the best of her abilities, only to fail once again. Her husband escaped her grasp and paces around the grand hall of the mansion, reading another entry as she tries to catch up again

"Oh my dearest diary, I may have just met the most handsome man on this planet! His name was Robert! He said that he was a Viscount, but I all I noticed of him was his beautiful smile and charming personality!"

He looks up to her wife, and grins "So you think I was handsome and charming?"

She chuckles softly, and nods "You still are" she said, "But now, you're very much annoying, too"

She swiftly tries to snatch it, but Robert swerves, spinning to the other side

"He danced with me at my first ball in the Palace!" he continued as he spins in circles trying to avoid her "Not only is he handsome, but a great dancer too! We glided through the ball room with ease, and he was—HEY! "

Robert suddenly lets out a laugh as she suddenly tickled him. Cora knew that he was sensitive on his hips, and used the perfect opportunity to tickle him so, sending him stumbling down the ground...or so she thought

He quickly got ahold of her, which sent them both down the ground. Robert's back hit the cold marble floors first, and towered over by his wife. The two locked eyes at one another, with her blushing hard and him smirking like a fool

"Well...this is quite a position to be in" he teased, earning a slap on his chest and a light laugh from her

"It is," she grins playfully at him "But now I have you pinned down, can I please have my journal back now?"

"Pinned down? You're lucky you just knocked me over with the power of tickles–"

In one swift motion, Cora grab hold of his wrists and puts his arms above his head. Robert was clearly caught off guard, immediately releasing the journal out of his hand. His eyes widened and yet...he felt quite aroused, too. He never knew his wife could be so...dominating

"How about now?" he heard her again, snapping back from his thoughts "Have I pinned you down quite well?"

"Y-Yes...most definitely" he said, trying his best to speak clearly

Cora knew he was aroused, noticing his already hard bulge under his pants with the corner of her eye. She chuckles softly, and reached out for her journal that was above them

"Now, if you'll excuse me," she said as she released him from her grip "I'll go and hide this somewhere safer for you to not see again"

Robert could only watch his wife as she gently pecked his cheek, casually stand up, and walk away as if nothing happened. He carefully sat up on the floor, processing what had just happened

"What the fu—"

#cora? dominating robert?? more likely than you think 💀😌 #this is was rather fun to write 😆 #thank you for sending this!! 💗 #cora crawley #robert crawley #cobert #downton abbey #corasorangejuice #mutuals #physical affection prompts #*my drabbles and writing #my post

[hrtsmom]

“Thank you, Garen,” Kahri said, as he began to close the door. “I will put in a word for you with the queen, if I reach her.”

“I believe you will,” his friend replied. “We will meet again soon.”

I locked the door and dropped the key on the floor outside. Kahri placed Garen’s knife nearby. “Come along,” he said then. “We must hurry if we do not want to be captured again.”

He led the way back to the stairs. “The ballroom is on the next floor,” he told us. “Let us hope we can reach the queen before we are discovered.”

We went upstairs, and found ourselves in yet another lantern-lit corridor. But this one was broken at intervals on one side by doorways opening into the grand ballroom. The doors were unguarded, so for a moment we stood looking in at the dancers.

I had never seen people dressed like this before. Both the men and the women wore clothes of brilliant colors, decorated with rich embroidery. Jewels sparkled on the throats, wrists and fingers of the women, making them look like so many dancing stars. At one end of the room was a gallery where the musicians sat, playing almost non-stop. Long tables covered with food were ranged down one side of the dance floor. Those who were not dancing gathered around the tables, chatting, eating and watching the dancers.

“Where is the queen?” I whispered.

“Come this way.” Kahri led us to the right. We followed the corridor, which ran all around the outside of the ballroom, until we reached a corner. Kahri stopped at the last door on that side and gestured inward.

I looked, and saw a slim, dark-haired woman sitting on a low throne. Somehow she didn’t fit my idea of a queen, although the only queen I had ever seen was Maya of the Landlen. Dariel was somewhat smaller than myself, and she wore her dark hair in two long braids, bound by a plain silver circlet around her forehead. Her dress was rosy pink, and simpler in style than those of most of the other women in the room. She sat watching the dancers, tapping her foot to the music. Every so often, she bent over to speak to a young man who sat on her right in a lower chair. When she smiled at something he said, she looked almost exactly like my mother.

“So how do we get to her?” Yvan asked. It was a good question. Between us and the queen’s throne lay half the width of the ballroom, nearly every inch of it packed with dancing courtiers. There was no way we could even enter the room without being noticed immediately.

Kahri smiled. “That should be easy enough. Come with me.”

He led the way around the corner and along the corridor until we came to a doorway covered with thick purple drapery. “We are behind the throne here,” Kahri whispered as we stopped. “Now we shall see – ”

Just then the edge of the drapery was thrust aside, and the young man we had seen sitting beside Dariel stepped around it. “I did hear something, Your Majesty!” he exclaimed. “There are intruders!”

In a moment Dariel herself appeared, and the two stood staring at us. “Shall I send for the Guard, Your Majesty?” the young man asked.

I took a closer look at him and swallowed hard. My dream-vision had suddenly come to life before me. This was the man whom I had seen so many times in my sleep, as well as in the vision Chael had spun for me. He looked at me without recognition; apparently the dream hadn’t come to both of us.

“I do not think that will be necessary, Brylent.” The queen’s green eyes studied the four of us intently. “Are you the intruders whom the castellan spoke to me about earlier?” she asked.

“I imagine we are, Your Majesty,” Kahri said.

“I take it you are no longer under guard, then.” She smiled suddenly. “Yet you do not seem very dangerous – except perhaps to my clean floors. How did you come to such a state, Kahri Aldien?”

#fiction #fantasy #fantasy adventure #The Throne of the Sun #indie author #I made this

[fakeloveaskblog]

(Hi, me again. I’m very excited to see what the Remus get up to.)

From Remus and Remy’s perspective, Janus and Logan were the ones warping and distorting before being pulled suddenly off to the side and blinking away, and they are left alone to begin their date.

Glow Eyes

“And here we are!" Remus waved his arms around towards the tiny building hosting the art exhibit.

"It's...humble" Remy replied.

"Lesser known art can be just as good!"

The art gallery was crammed in between several other buildings. It had two floors but the bottom one was mostly taken up by the reception and a kids corner where younglings could draw.

Remus paid for them while Remy fumbled with their cane. They didn't really listen to what their friend and the receptionist were saying but their tones were weirdly familiar as if they had talked before.

Remy flinched when they felt a sudden warmth against their hand and looked up to see Remus grinning at them as he took their hand in his. He was still wearing that completely overdressed outfit from the morning. He looked like the epitome of dressing to impress.

They went into the only room on the first floor that actually contained an art piece. The air was light and breezy and the sound of water rippling filled the small room. Some weird contraption that looked sort of like a mini water tank was connected to several different plants.

It seemed like the two of them were the only people there right now so Remy sat down on the floor while watching his friend stare the piece up and down. Before circling around it. Before reading the sign on the wall about it. Before circling it again.

As he thought his nose scrunched up which made his eyebrows furrow so it looked like he was holding back a sneeze.

"Okay. I'm not getting it" He announced.

"Looking real cute tho girlie!"

Remus flexed his arms while smiling "I see that my incredibly masculine aroma is already getting to you"

"Yeeahh y'know that masc stench mixed with plants just really gets me going likeee tottalllyy" Remy joked back.

"Just imagine all the worms and nasty insects that could be hiding in the plants!!" He traced his eyes over the room one more time before holding out his hand to help them up "Wanna check out the upper floor?"

"Nah girl I just wanna go home like immediately...Kidding..Course I wanna" They took his hand "Can you like say that by the way? Like saying you don't get it?"

"Shit is a sniper gonna shot me if I admit to not understanding every single art piece ever" Remus replied dryly.

They shrugged "I just thought you're like the artsy type. I kinda just like assumed telepathic brainwaves just sent the meaning of whatever piece you were looking at straight into your brain”

“Nah nah. Usually I- Oh do you have enough spoons enough to take the stairs?”

“...I guess” They lied.

“It’s okay. The elevator isn’t locked like at some other places. I’ve checked!”  Remy gratefully let their friend lead them to the elevator. He kept talking as they took the short ride up “Usually I get a hunch for what the piece could mean after looking at it. Like some itch in my brain. And then I gotta think for a while before it clicks. Though if I don’t get the itch like immediately I usually get bored and just leave it which I know! I know! I should give every piece a chance! I just got rats for brains!”

The second floor was empty of people as well. A few paintings were hung on the walls, all of them with surrealist imagery. They walked past the top of the staircase, they could still see parts of the plants from up here.

“I don’t get any itches at all. At most I get some like thought once you’ve explained stuff to me” Remy said.

“Yeah well I’ve stuffed my brain full of information about art. Of course I’m gonna get it more than you!! It took me AGGEES to get anything before I learnt about all those fucked up dudes going around in france and germany during the early 1900′s that created like the base for all of modern art! Like I have NO idea what was going on with Egon Schiele aside from the prostitution addiction but I GEt it!”

Remus was looking at the paintings while he talked. Remy still had their arms locked around his upper arm. They learnt their cheek softly against his shoulder as he talked, even if that meant they had to lean down a little.

“The whole world of art opened up to me when I learnt to hate Bauhaus and the horrible fucking funkis trend!! It’s not even typical art!! It belongs in the category of architecture!! But whenever something goes to shit I can just curse out Bauhaus!”

“God It’s like with Randeen Nicholas!! HATE that guy! He like ruined 2 entire album covers for Miss Britney Spears with his boring ass style!!”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about but yeah!! FUCK HIM!!”

He smiled at them and lightly bonked his head against theirs which made them laugh. He continued to babble on about what kind of painting techniques the artist could have used to get the effects. Most likely dry brush. Maybe a hint of watercolor crayons.

“I wish I could touch them” Remy said mindlessly “Like when you go into a clothing store getting to feel how the fabric feels and how it was sewn is like tots the best part y’know? Maybe I’d get it more if I could feel it”

Remus made a mental note “That’s not a bad idea”

“Really?” They smiled.

“Yeah. I think I could literally look at paint drying if I got to touch it”

There were only two other rooms on this floor. Remus let his friend choose which way to go and they went to the room where there was a bench. Which they immediately sat down on of course.

There was a projector next to the bench shooting the images of a short film onto the starkly white wall. All of the windows in the room had been covered with thick dotted fabric matching the dotted patterns in the film.

The sound filled the room like fog. A low rumbling that made their ears vibrate. They glanced between the film and Remus. He had formed his fingers into a sort of frame and was looking around the room.

“Whatcha doing? Looking for quick exists in the case of a sudden like assassination attempt?” Remy joked.

“No- Maybe I should do”

It went a few seconds before Remus suddenly bursted into an explosion of stims. His arms flapped as he sat down right next to them on the bench. He leant even closer so his face was right in front of theirs.

“I’m planning! Scheming even!”

Remy let up into a sly smile as they leant closer to him as well “Planning for what?”

When they spoke Remus could feel their breathe blow against his cheeks, that’s how close they were.

“I’ve been talking with Ro-Ro and I’ve talked with the lady in the reception before...I’ve been...We’ve been thinking if maybe it would be possible if I could....I could hold an exhibition here-”

“An Art exhibition? Like showing shit off??”

“Yea-”

Remus didn’t even have time to finish the word before Remy had thrown their arms around him. They hugged him tightly while his arms hang loosely along his sides. He suck in a deep breathe as his cheeks turned pink.

“SHIT-” Remy shot back and let go of him “Sorry I like tots forgot to ask if you were like comfy with a hu-”

This time it was them who got interrupted by a hug as Remus snuggled up against them. Remy smiled as they hugged him back. They felt how he rubbed his hands in circles on their back.

“The exhibition is only gonna be going for at most a week. And it’s mostly ‘cause Ro-Ro donated money to the gallery I’m pretty sure” Remus mumbled out.

“Still. Isn’t it like kinda cool?”

Remy moved back from the hug but cupped his cheeks instead. Remus smittened into just a touch of a shy laugh.

“I guess it is kinda cool yeaah”

“Does it have like a theme? Like I dunno murder? Stigmata?”

Remus moved his hand on top of theirs while lowering his eyes “Yeah I uhh I kinda wanna do it about...Os...Or- well I mean more in general about like abuse”

“You sure you could handle that?”

“I want to” He squeezed onto their hand “I wanna get better”

“And this’ll like help?”

“Os is like a sickness filling me. I gotta vomit him up onto paper- I mean- I know it won’t fix me! But I think just- Just putting it into words- Or well art would help y’know? An-and I’ve been thinking that maybe if I’m able to express it with art I will be able to start talking about it with a therapist or something!”

Remy couldn’t hold back their look for surprise “A therapist?”

“Yeah” Remus’ smile staggered a little “I’d never really thought about the possibility of actually getting help ‘cause I wasn’t able to talk about what Os had done with anyone until-” He fidgeted with his thumbs “Until I told you”

He met their eyes and saw as the surprise fell away from their face. The look in their eyes turned soft as they waited for him to continue.

“I’d never really thought ‘bout actually like having a future. It felt like I was dead. Like in limbo y’know? Like my corpse was still in his apartment...But I’ve started to look forward to things again....I’ve started to look forward to seeing you”

The short film shifted scenes making the room suddenly lit up in a bright green. Remus could see his blushing cheeks being reflected in Remy’s eyes.

“...Like there’s some horror films I wanna go see with you at the cinema...And I would love if you could like sew a piece for the exhibition..And I’d think going on a trip with you would be really fun...We could go grave robbing and stuff” Remus continued, stumbling slightly over his words.

Words began to flash on the screen. A calming blue against starkly white. Drops of water echoed through the speakers every now and again.

‘YOU ARE NOW APPROXIMATELY 1895 KILOMETERS, 9 METERS AWAY FROM WHERE ANGEL NIEVES DIAZ WAS KILLED’

Remy shifted in their seat. A few strings of their hair fell down in front of their eyes as they pulled their knees up to their chest. The shoelaces on both of their shoes were untied because they had been just about too high to remember how to do it.

‘AND ABOUT 7 YEARS, 11 MONTHS, 3 DAYS AND 15 HOURS TO LATE TOO SEE IT’

Their lips parsed for just a moment as if they were about to say something before they instead bit on the inside of their cheek. It was so quiet they could hear Remus’ calm breathing. No one else was there. It was only the two of them. And the speaker kept playing the rhythmic drops of rain, or if it was medicine, or poison.

‘IT TOOK HIM 34 MINUTES TO DIE FROM THE LETHAL INJECTION HE WAS GIVEN BY THE STATE’

It was like a strain lifted as Remy relaxed their shoulders and turned to look at Remus “I think I wanna look forward to going to your exhibition. That’ll be my goal”

“Oh I’m flattered-”

“I don’t wanna be high. I wanna see your art without being high. And I wanna be with you without being like high” Remy continued.

Remus let up into a toothy grin and took their hands in his “That sounds like a GREAT goal!”

“What was it you wanted me to make for the exhibition?”

“You don’t have to”

“I want to! I would like tots really like love to”

“BEaaannieee I got loads of ideas! Let me show you-”

Remus leant down to pick his sketchbook out of his bag but stopped mid motion. He glanced up at the screen recounting another murder and took a deep breathe. It was just them. He was now approximately as close as he could to them. Approximately as alone as he could be with them.

“I can show you some other time” Remus said as he went back to holding their hands.

Remy circled their thumb against his palm “Anything wrong?”

“No. No” He chuckled “I just don’t think I said everything I wanted to before”

“...About the grave robbing?” 

“No- Kinda. Maybe”

Remy noticed that his hands were trembling ever so slightly and made sure to lean closer. They tilted their head a little as he searched for words.

“You’ve made me feel alive again Beanie” Remus said as sincerely as he could. He had to gulp back a lump of worry before he continued “You haven’t just like helped me start to think about my future again. You are my future. Whenever I imagine what I want to do you are always a part of it”

The worry disappeared from Remus as soon as he saw Remy’s expression lit up into what could best be called unbridled joy. Maybe even mixed with some anticipation for what he would say next.

“I think I have- No. I know” Remus let out “I know I’m in love with you Remy”

As soon as Remy opened their mouth a dorky laugh left their lips followed by giggling. They blushed so hard their pale skin looked completely pink. Remus couldn’t help but laugh along as he leant his forehead against theirs.

“I’ve got a big stupid gigantic fucking crush on you too Remus!!” They giggled out.

“You doooOOooOOoo”

“I like tooootsss dooo girl!!”

Remus’ cheeks hurt from how hard he was smiling “You’re pretty cooool”

“No but like seriously” Remy moved their arms around his shoulders and bonked their forehead a bit extra into his “It’s so scary to like fall in love again after getting hurt like..like we have...so uhm like...Thanks for trusting me enough to like confess”

“Same to you. I never feel as safe as when I am with you”

“When I’m with you my nightmares lessen”

The two of them shared a quiet moment of simply looking at each other with the new context, the new comfort, of knowing that the other loved them. Remus scrunched his nose to bop it against their nose which made them laugh.

Remus let his hand wander up to his lips before reaching out and gently tracing his finger against Remy’s lips. Their lips which were so close it made his head spin a little.

He looked up and met their eyes. They looked at him with such warmth and he felt how they loosened the way they were holding him. As if they were telling him it was okay if he took his time.

“Can I kiss you?” The words stumbled out before he could stop them.

Remy smiled even brighter “Yes! Please!! Finally!”

Remus grinned back at them before leaning in and-

There have been far too many times when both of their’s privacy have been forced away from them against their will.

Let’s let them have this moment to themself, shall we.

#glow eyes #mini fic #thanks for the ask! #sanders sides #theyre ok with questions tho. it was just this moment they got to have for themself #remsleep #rem^2

[ikeromantic]

The angst/hurt/comfort with Isaac was amazing! Could you please write one with Comte next?

So what started as a first fight turned into a confession? But there is definitely angst and comfort happening ^_^ Approx. 1700 words of it!

The party was grand. There was no denying that. The wealthy and high born danced and drank, their conversations veiled battles in a war that would never end. Le Comte was in his element. He knew who to smile at and how, the words that would provoke or soothe as needed. 

Power was inherently an unstable thing. Prone to dramatic shifts and upheavals as those without sought to have, and those with sought for more.Through the years he’d done his best to prevent tragedy from becoming worse. Sometimes he wondered if it was enough. If, perhaps, Vlad did not have a point . . . if . . .

Le Comte realized he couldn’t see his cherie in the crowd any longer. He turned from his conversation with the minister of trade, searching for her with his eyes and his thoughts. 

“Sir!” The minister snorted, offended by le Comte’s sudden disinterest.

“My apologies. I only just realized my partner has gone.” He set his wine down. “Please forgive my abruptness. I need to find her.”

The minister sniffed. “Yes, the little foreign girl you came with. She probably needs a leash.”

Le Comte suppressed an urge to react. That was the purpose of such offenses. But he would remember that insult, and respond appropriately. He moved past the crowd on the balcony and down the steps, hoping to catch sight of her near the hors d'oeuvres or the punch bowl, but she wasn’t there. Nor on the dance floor. She wasn’t perusing the gallery either.

Worried now, he asked the serving staff if they’d seen her go out. They had not. Which meant she was here, someplace. 

There were rooms upstairs that some retired to - those in need of respite due to drunkeness, and those seeking a private place for a tryst. Le Comte did not imagine her in either group. And there was the garden. 

He walked down the marble steps and into the lantern-lit path through blossoming flowerbeds. The light here was faint and fey, turning the flowers into a dusky rainbow against the shadowed green hedges and limestone garden walls. Benches dotted the path at points, tucked into corners and leafy alcoves. The smell of crushed leaves and heavy blooms perfumed the air, and the distant strains of music from the ballroom gave it a fairytale air.

There were few people about though. This place was too far from the power brokers, the gossip, the action of the place. It almost felt like a different world, le Comte thought. The strange atmosphere distracted him so that he almost walked past the curtain of wisteria draping a small, stone arch. But he was a pureblood vampire and his senses were not so easily limited. 

He felt her there, his cherie. The unexpected light in the midst of a long, dark, and lonely life. She was there, and she was crying. Le Comte paused, uncertain. What, in this place, might have made her so sad?

“Ma cherie?” He pushed aside a delicate strand of purple blossoms. 

She looked up, her cheeks tearstained. She wiped furiously at her face, trying to hide what even a blind man could see. “Monsieur! Ah, I am just . . . I just . . .”

Le Comte sat down beside her and tried to settle an arm around her shoulders. 

“N-no, it’s fine.” She scooted away from him. “Why are you here? Is it time to go already?”

He felt a flare of pain in his chest when she denied his touch. “I came looking for you.”

Her lips parted, then closed. She looked away. “I’m fine. You can go back to your friends. I’ll . . . I’ll go back in a moment. I just needed a bit of privacy.” 

“Cherie.” His voice held an unspoken command. She obeyed, turning to face him again. “You are crying.”

“Yeah?” She smiled humorlessly. “That’s why I needed some privacy. Which you’ve now invaded. What do you want from me, le Comte?”

Her emphasis on his title was unmistakable. “Are you . . . angry?”

“Angry. Sad. Hopeless.” She laughed and it sounded as if she would cry again. “Go back to your friends, your party. Why are you even here? There are more important things for you to attend to.”

“Cherie, are you upset that I left you on your own?” He reached for her, took her hand in his. He let his thumb stroke the back of her hand gently. She was so tense even the muscles there felt tight and twitchy.

She nodded and looked down. “It’s stupid, I know. You have important people to talk to. Things to accomplish. And I’m just . . . what? Your partner? A responsibility until the door works again?” She sighed. “It’s fine, ok?”

But he could tell by her voice that it was not fine. Not at all. She was hurt and he had caused it. The pain in his chest flared to life like a fire finding new fuel. It twisted in him, burning. 

“There is no one more important to me than you. Nothing more important for me to be doing than this.” He brought her hand to his lips and kissed the back of it. He could not find the moment when she’d become so very precious to him. So much more than simply a guest, a friend, a companion for parties. Did she truly not realize?

Her hand pulled from his grasp. “You are always so kind to me.” Tears dampened her eye lashes. “I wish you wouldn’t be, sometimes. You . . . you make this very hard.” Her lips pressed into a tight smile. “Next, you will say how I am family and that of course you care. Please don’t.”

Le Comte felt a ball of ice in his belly. A thick, cold, heavy sludge that pulled at him. Had he said those words to her in that condescending tone she mimicked just now? He had. More than once.

She stood. “Look. I don’t want to mess up your night. I’m going to take a carriage home, ok? I’ll see you tomorrow. We’ll wind your watch and every-everything will be fine.” A tear escaped the corner of her eye, rolling down her cheek. It caught the faint fairy lights of the garden like a little gem. She turned her face away to hide it.

“Cherie-” 

She ran from him. Her dress fluttered behind her, the stylish shoes she wore scuffed and tapped at the paving stones. Her flight took her toward the garden’s far edge, the last few lines of hedges set as a simple labyrinth before the garden ended in a high stone wall.

Le Comte gave chase. He felt torn, wounded. His whole being ached. He could not let her leave, not like this. “Stop,” he called, but she ignored him. There was nothing for it. Ungentlemanly as it may be, he caught at her.

Of course, she refused to stop running when his fingers curled around her elbow. But she didn’t get far. The two of them tumbled to the ground in a tangle of limbs and fancy dress.

He studied her tear-streaked face. “Why did you run from me, cherie?”

She sighed. “I wanted to get away from you. Away from this painful kindness you show me. I feel like if - if I can get far enough away, maybe it will stop hurting. M-maybe I can feel something else besides this pathetic . . . this pathetic yearning. That I can stop wondering what you are thinking or feeling. Stop thinking about what you might like. Or imagining your eyes. Your lips. Your -”

Le Comte’s thumb traced the edge of her bottom lip. He could not help himself. “Is that what you think of, when we are together?” His voice came out low, hoarse with his own hidden emotions.

“Together. Apart. When I sleep. I cannot escape you and I hate it.” Another hot tear escaped her eye.

“Ma cherie . . .” He kissed her temple, where the teardrop rolled and caught in the edge of her hair. “It seems we are caught together in the same trap.”

Her eyes went wide and her breath caught. 

“Try as I might to think of you as a friend. A sister. Family . . . I cannot. I desire you, cherie. I thirst for you.” His breath trembled. “I did not think I could fall in love again. Yet here I am. And here you are.” 

“Abel.”

He kissed her then, with all the passion of lonely eons. A desperate, hungry kiss that left both of them aching for more. But this was not the place, nor the time. Not for what le Comte had in mind. He stood and helped her up, dusting her dress off with care. “Let me take you home, cherie.” He held out his hand to her.

She took it, a smile gracing her lips. “I’m sorry to make you miss the rest of this party. Are you sure you don’t want to stay? I can wait for you at the mansion.”

“I’m afraid I cannot stand to be away from you.” He leaned his head close, breath whispering across her cheek. “And we are not done yet tonight. That kiss was only a promise.”

A shiver traveled down her body, starting at the spot his lips grazed her ear and ending at the soles of her feet. “What . . . what is the promise,” she breathed.

“Love. My heart clamors from it.” He placed her palm on his chest. 

“Mine as well,” she smiled. 

Le Comte looked down. “I am sorry though. Sorry that I made you feel lesser. That I put anyone, anything, above my concern for you. That I did not admit to these feelings sooner.” He placed his hand over hers. “Can I confess that I did not think you would be hurt by the distance I put between us?”

“You can. And . . . I forgive you. Mostly.”

“Mostly?” He looked up, one eyebrow arched. 

“Mhmm. I can’t let you off so easily. So it’s only mostly, for now.” Her gaze was challenging.

Le Comte chuckled and pulled her into an embrace. “It seems I yet have work to do, to earn the rest of that forgiveness. All the more reason, I think, to hurry home.” Then he lifted her into his arms and carried her to the carriage. 

It was good that the driver was one that minded his own business, deaf and blind to the passengers behind it. Good too, that le Comte had centuries of knowledge on hand to defeat the complexities of a lady’s fancy dress . . .

#ikemen vampire #ikevamp le comte de saint germain #le comte de saint germain #fanfiction #fanfic #otome #otome guys #angst and comfort

[queenshelby]

My Friend’s Father (Part Seven)

Pairing: Cillian Murphy x Reader

Warning: Age Gap, Smut

Words: 4,498

Notes:

I have decided to make this into a series.

Alright, no judgment. This was a dream of mine and I felt like I had to write it down. Everyone in this Fic is over the age of 18 and this Fic is in no way based on Cillian’s real family life. It’s pure filth.

*********

Throughout the entire night, you couldn’t help but think about Cillian. You dreamed about the kiss you shared, the touch of his hands on your face and even the scent of his skin.

You knew you shouldn’t think this way about your best friend’s father but it was something you couldn’t control even though you were angry with him.

But there was one person you who you were even more angry with and this was Connor, the man you were actually dating.

You got up early that morning to confront Connor about his behaviour at the art gallery opening and the truth was that you were pretty much done with him. You never had feelings for him in the first place and the truth was that he had simply become a distraction for you. You wanted to distract yourself from having taken a liking in your best friend’s father which, in itself, you knew was wrong.

Connor embarrassed you in front of your friends and Cillian was right when he said that he was acting controlling, even though you didn’t want to hear it, especially not from him.

You knew you had to end it and you knew that it wasn’t going to be a difficult task for you. You had always been a strong woman and you didn’t want to be with someone like that and, just when you arrived at Connor’s house you took a deep breath and did what had to be done.

‘It’s your loss Y/N’ were his words when you eventually left his house after a ten minute conversation but you didn’t feel like you had lost anything. In fact, you’ve gained something and that was experience in standing up for yourself.

***

Just after you encounter with Connor that morning, you went to have breakfast with Denise and her friends at the G Hotel in Galway.

They were all staying at the five-star hotel, courtesy of Denise’s father who had organised the weekend for Denise for her birthday and as a reward for her achievements after she had worked so hard on her project.

‘Happy Birthday’ you said as you greeted her and the others and Denise immediately told you off for being too loud as her head was pounding. It was obvious to you that she was rather hungover from the night the before.

‘You had too much champaign, huh?’ you giggled before handing her the present you had bought for her.

You usually didn’t spend much money on each other for birthdays but, since she was your best friend, you had spent a few hours’ worth in wages and gotten her something meaningful.

She was collecting vintage tea-cups and you had recently found a beautiful Royal Dalton set in a second-hand shop which you knew she would adore.

‘This is absolutely beautiful, thank you so much’ Denise said as she unwrapped it before hugging you gently.

‘You are welcome. I knew you would like it’ you said with a warm smile and, just as you did and sat down next to her, your mobile phone went off.

You received a text message from a number that was unfamiliar to you and when you opened it, you were none the wiser.

‘It was good to see you’ the message said and you were rather confused by it. You had some job interviews recently and wondered whether this was sent by one of the interviewers. Or perhaps someone from university, you wondered?

‘What is it?” Denise asked as she saw the look of confusion on your face when you glanced at your phone.

‘Someone just send me a message saying that it was good to see me’ you chuckled before explaining to her that you didn’t know the number.

‘Maybe it is this guy from university you were talking about a few weeks back? You know, the lecturer in the science department?’ Denise wondered before suggesting to you that you should text back and ask for a name, but you already knew it wouldn’t be him. There was no way he would have your number and you certainly were no longer interested in getting to know him after you had found out that he was married.

You texted back to the unknown number, enquiring who this was and, within a couple of seconds, your phone went off again and you almost choked on your coffee.

‘Cillian’ the message read and you quickly changed the angle of your phone so that Denise wouldn’t see it.

‘And? Who is it?’ she asked while trying to look at your phone.

‘Uhm…just a guy I met a few weeks ago…I ran into him again yesterday morning and I totally forgot about it…’ you stammered quickly but Denise didn’t buy a word you were saying.

‘You forgot?’ she giggled, winking at you as she did and your cheeks blushed almost instantly. ‘Well, he obviously didn’t and you must have given him your number for a reason. Is he hot? What’s he like? I need to know everything…’ she went on to say as, suddenly, without you haven’t sent anything back to Cillian, you received yet another text message from him.

‘For what its’s worth, you looked beautiful’ the next text read and you couldn’t help but smile as you continued to sip on your cup of coffee and Denise most certainly noticed the look on your face and asked you what he said.

‘Just that I looked nice’ you stammered, feeling awful about lying to her about who texted you but there was no way that you could have told her that it was, in fact, her father who you were texting with.

‘Uh, he likes you’ Denise then giggled before carrying on. ‘Well, since you ditched Connor now, you should go and meet up with him and have some fun. After Connor’s one-off ten-minute performance, I have no doubt that you really need it’ Denise said and, just as she did, the conversation across the breakfast table took a turn. Like so often, it now was all about sex and you realised that dissatisfaction was a common occurrence in women your age.

‘I believe that the whole talk about the female g-spot is load of rubbish. It’s a myth’ Amalie observed eventually after everyone across the table complained about the lovers that they had.

It was at this point that you mentally checked out from the conversation and, whilst you thought about the one pleasurable experience you had in your life when it came to sex, you certainly didn’t want to talk about it in front of Denise. Especially not Denise.

Instead of engaging in talks about vibrators and the male anatomy, you decided to respond to Cillian’s text messages after you had received yet another one, telling you that he was sorry. Clearly, he was desperate to hear from you.

‘I see, you kept my note?’ you responded quickly, ignoring his compliments and apologies, and, just moments after you sent it, you received a response from him.

‘Kept it in my wallet. Can we meet?’ Cillian asked and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes just before you received yet another message from him which read ‘BTW this is not a booty call. I just want to talk with you. Please.’

His message made you laugh but you agreed to meet him nonetheless.

‘I have an apartment at the Docks. Can you come there?’ Cillian asked in his next text message.  

‘Alright. How does 4 o’clock sound? Text me your address’ you texted back and it wasn’t long until Cillian sent you the address of his apartment.

‘And?’ Denise asked as she watched you text with the mysterious stranger and you simply blushed again and responded with a short and somewhat embarrassed ‘nothing’.

‘Oh common, tell me Y/N. I am your best friend’ she then said and you confirmed that you would quickly meet up with him this afternoon before Denise’s birthday dinner.

‘Oh la la, you are having a date’ Denise then said somewhat excitedly.

‘We are just catching up to talk Denise. It’s not a date’ you then said.

‘Sure…whatever you say Y/N’ she then said sarcastically which is when, finally, she backed off and you received yet another text message from Cillian.

‘Looking forward to see you, xx’ it read and your heart skipped a beat pretty much then and there.

***

After you went home to have a shower and get changed into some nice jeans and a black shirt as well as some nice lingerie (just in case) you made your way to Cillian’s apartment.

You parked around the corner and walked the rest of the way just to be sure that no one would see your car being parked there.

‘Jesus’ you said somewhat surprised when you walked into the lobby of the apartment building and took the elevator to the top floor after Cillian had buzzed you inside. You had never been to a building like this. It was luxurious and right on the harbour.

When you arrived on the top floor, Cillian already waited for you, glancing through the door of his apartment.

‘Wow, these are some good views. Do you own this place?’ you observed as you stepped inside and set your purse on the desk by the door.

‘Yeah, bought it a few years ago’ Cillian said as you began to shrug off your jacket, but Cillian came up from behind you, and caught your hands. You looked down at your hands, noticing that yours dwarfed in his. They were warm and soft.

‘Let me take this for you’ he said like a gentleman and you were somewhat surprised by his gesture. This was not something you were used to but you liked it, a lot.

‘You know, I didn’t expect that you would text me, especially not after last night. So, what is it that you want to talk about?’ you asked nervously and, just as you did, Cillian cut straight to the chase.

‘I wanted to tell you, in person, that I am sorry about last night. I shouldn’t have lectured you about this guy who you are seeing and the truth is that, yes, I was jealous and I know that I had no right to be jealous and for that I am also sorry. I should have acted differently, especially knowing that you are my daughter’s best friend’ he admitted just before you cut him off.

‘Well, for what its worth, I ended it with Connor this morning because I think you were right about him’ you said with a nervous smile, causing Cillian to cock an eyebrow.

‘I can’t say that I am not happy about that’ he said jokingly before continuing on. ‘But, regardless of this, I think that we need to talk about how we move forward from what happened between us for Denise’s sake’ he then said, causing you to nod.

‘Yeah’ you then said somewhat disappointed before building up your strength in order to say something else. ‘The thing is, Cillian, I know what I want. I just think that you don’t’ you said, cheeks blushing.

‘And what is that you want Y/N?’ Cillian asked curiously as if he didn’t already know the answer to his question.

‘You’ you then admitted and, just as you did, Cillian’s hands caressed your face and he pulled you close and kissed you yet again.

The kiss was slow and passionate and, unlike the night before, you allowed yourself to give into it until, eventually, your lips drifted apart.

‘Are you sure Y/N? Because, I am much older than you and you probably have better offers with more assurances that I simply cannot offer you’ Cillian then asked as he was standing directly in front of you and held you against his body.

‘The fact that you are older actually turns me on’ you admitted before pressing your lips onto his again and then pulling away. You adored his wrinkles and greying hair and you were surprised that he had no idea how attractive he actually was.

‘But what is it that you want Cillian?’ you then asked as you felt his firm chest against you while his warm breath fanned against your neck, sending shivers down your spine.

‘Honestly, I don’t know Y/N. I have never been so fucking confused in my life’ he explained reluctantly, not knowing where to place the feelings he had built for you. You were over twenty years younger than him and his daughter’s friend and this clearly bothered him. He knew that this wasn’t something he could easily overcome.

‘Well, I am confused too but I like you, a lot’ you admitted, also unsure about what this was that you were feeling for him but, what you knew was that you wanted to give whatever this was a chance. You were curious and you were filled with desire for this man standing there right in front of you.

‘And I need to know that you feel the same and that this isn’t going to be just another mistake you are making because, if you are going to walk away after we have sex, then I am not up for it’ you then explained, wanting to ensure that he wouldn’t pull away from you this time.

‘No more mistakes Y/N. I like you and I want this’ Cillian whispered as he pressed his lips firmly right under your ear, slowly kissing down your neck.

‘I want you’ he then said as his breath tickled your skin and the firmness of his kiss made your stomach flip.

‘Then that’s good enough for me’ you huffed out in a laboured breath and just, as you did, Cillian used his hands to spin you around, causing you to face away from him.

Then, his hands dropped to your waist where his fingers gently edged themselves under the hem of your shirt, barely touching your skin. His lips moved, and he left a trail of kisses down your shoulder and towards your arm.

‘I knew this was a booty call’ you teased as you couldn't help but move against him.

‘Do you want to stop?’ he asked as your hips rocked and shifted while he gently brushed his fingers against your skin.

‘Hell no’ you giggled before you lifted your arms and he began to pull your shirt up.

You felt like you were performing some secret dance that we both knew, but that you'd never realised you'd known.

Cillian lifted your shirt inch at a time up off you, and let it fall to the floor. He sighed in satisfaction as he looked down at your breasts.

‘Why are you so fucking perfect?’ Cillian asked and you opened your mouth to answer but it came out as a sigh as his hands tightened around your waist.

‘Let’s take this off’ Cillian said determined as one of his hands inched up towards your breast, and he squeezed it gently. Then, his hands came away from you, and unsnapped your bra.

You practically shook it off of you, and then dropped your hands to your jeans. You needed his hands back on you again as soon as possible and turned to watch him as you kicked your shoes off and shoved down your jeans, your underwear coming with them.

‘Eager, are we?’ Cillian chuckled as he quickly began to undress himself as well after you had given him a look full of hunger and anticipation.

‘We are short of time’ you said as you were momentarily distracted by the sight of him unbuttoning his shirt, but you hurried to kick off the fabric wrapped around your ankles.

‘We’ve got at least two and a half hours Y/N’ Cillian then said as you finally stood there in front of him completely naked.

‘Exactly’ you chuckled as Cillian was still fighting with the buttons on his shirt, and you grabbed the fabric of it and pulled him against you, crushing your mouth against his.

Cillian made love to your mouth with his lips and his tongue. He was firm, slow, and demanding.

You breathed together, tasted together. He dragged a soft moan from your mouth with a caress of his lips. He explored you, letting his tongue run along the roof of your mouth. Your teeth crashed. He sucked your tongue into his mouth, and your stomach clenched and you let out an embarrassingly desperate sound.

Before your first night with Cillian, you'd never been kissed like this. The kisses you shared were more intimate and more sensual than anything you'd ever experienced in your life.

As you were kissing, you finally managed to unbutton his shirt and shoved it open. Your hands ran up and down his chest, exploring his toned body all the while he was relentless in his kiss. His arms wrapped around you, one hand pressing into the small of your back, and the other working his fingers into your hair.

With a small tug of your hair, he pulled your face away from him.

‘I could kiss you all day Y/N, but you said that we are short of time so you better get onto the bed’ he winked and you snaked your arms around his neck and kissed him while he walked you back into his bedroom and towards the bed.

As you were moving towards the bed, he fought with his belt and his pants all while his lips never left yours.

You shuffled awkwardly backwards until the backs of your knees hit the bed, forcing you to sit down. You kept your arms behind you to prop yourself up, smiling as you watched him finish undressing. He was just gorgeous and so goddamn perfect.

‘You are so sexy, you know that?’ you said full of desire while you watched as he pushed his pants down, kicking them off his ankles and standing in front of you completely naked, and... Sweet. Baby. Jesus…your mouth watered at the sight of his hard cock.

‘So are you’ he winked and, just as he did, you met his eyes again after having stared at his cock for a little while. That terrifying intense stare was back, and he looked like he was going to eat you alive. For all you knew, he would.

Without breaking eye contact, Cillian bent down and went to his knees at the foot of the bed, grabbed your legs, and pulled you closer to him, spreading your legs wide as he did so.

‘Lay back’ he ordered and you couldn’t help but bite your lip in anticipation.

‘What are you going to do to me?’ you asked as he was still staring at you. A slow smile graced his face.

‘I am going to make love to you with my tongue until you cum’ Cillian smirked and the idea of his face between your legs made your breath catch.

‘Oh, Sweet Jesus’ you moaned as he let go of one of your legs and put a hand on your shoulder. He pushed you back and then he lowered his lips to you.

Sweet bliss washed over you in an instant. You gasped, and moaned, and shivered. Cillian lapped at you like you were the sweetest treasure he'd ever put in his mouth. A slow, deep rumble from his chest travelled straight into your body through his lips, shaking you to your core. His tongue dove inside you, exploring you. He sucked on the lips of your sex, and the circled his tongue around your clit, sending powerful shocks of pleasure straight to your centre.

He was building you up to something big. Something beautiful.

He eased off right before you exploded, and you cried out.

‘Cillian, don't stop, please’ you moaned and, just as you began to plead with him, his fingers began to gently run through your wet slit.

‘Don’t worry, I won’t’ he said as he slowly pushed two of his fingers inside you before his tongue resumed its work on your clit.

Curling his fingers slightly upwards, he reached an unfamiliar spot deep inside you and, as soon as he reached this spot, you cried out in pleasure.

‘Oh god, fuck, Cillian’ you moaned as his fingers began to gently thrust in and out of you while he made love to you with his tongue.

With his skilled tongue and fingers working you, it didn’t take you long to reach an orgasm. Your legs began to shake almost violently as a wave of pleasure erupted through your body and your walls tightened around Cillian’s fingers.

When you finally came down from your high, Cillian stood up, pushed his hands against your hips, and slid you farther onto the bed.

‘You sound so fucking sexy when you cum like this, without having to hold back’ Cillian observed as he climbed onto the bed. He crawled towards you like a wolf stalking his prey.

‘I want you inside me, please…I am aching for your cock’ you moaned, spurring him on and, without losing any time he spread your legs wide and pressed the head against your slit, gently working the tip in and out, teasing you.

‘Oh god, please, stop teasing’ you whimpered, trying to wiggle against him. You wanted to feel all of him so badly.

‘Be patient, we will get there’ he whispered, and leaned forward so his arms were on either side of your face.

You felt him push a little deeper into you.

‘Oh god yes’ you gasped and winced and Cillian tilted his head and took your mouth with his, kissing you slowly as he rocked in and out. His lips and his tongue matched the pace of his thrusts, and you felt overwhelmed with desire as he slid deeper and deeper inside of you.

‘Fuck you feel so good Y/N’ Cillian groaned as he stretched you and pushed you until he was all the way in, and he pulled his mouth away from yours just long enough to let out a string of curses before he took your mouth again.

You couldn't breathe. Everything about him was amazing. The way he felt inside you was just perfect.

He held your head firmly in place as he kissed you, thrusting into you and grinding his hips so that he hit every single spot you didn't even know you had. Right as you were nearing your climax, he pulled all the way out and pushed himself off of you, pausing to catch his breath.

‘No…don’t stop…I was so close’ you whimpered.

‘Don’t worry, I am not done with you yet but I do enjoy teasing you’ he gasped and you could tell that he enjoyed edging you which is something no other man you have been with had ever done to you before. Unlike them, Cillian had amazing self-control which you thought might come with age.

Almost an hour later, after he edged you numerous times and made you change positions on several occasions, you ended up with Cillian on top of you once again. He slid back inside you, resuming his relentless pace. With every thrust, he ground his pelvis against your clit, and with only a few careful movements of his hips, you exploded in pleasure around him. There was no way you could have held back any longer as waves of heat and ice crashed onto you, and you fought to breathe through the intensity of your orgasm.

‘Fuck Y/N’ Cillian groaned shortly thereafter, feeling your walls contract around his shaft. He collapsed forward onto you, and you could feel him pulsing inside you and filling you with rope after rope of his warm cum.

You loved the feeling of him cuming inside you and his breath was hot against your neck, and he kissed your neck and your mouth again as he pulled back and out of you, giving you a chance to breathe.

***

‘Cillian’ you whispered, barely able to speak even after five minutes had passed since you came down from your high.

‘Yes Beautiful?’ he said, and moved slightly so he could wrap his lips around your nipple. He sucked and tongued at it, and pulled at it with his teeth.

‘Careful’ you laughed, and shifted under him slightly. ‘I’m super sensitive now’ you said.

‘I certainly hope so’ he murmured. ‘Although, I am not done with you yet. We still have an hour before dinner’ he smirked and your eyes widened immediately.

‘Oh really?’ you asked surprised and, when you looked down on him, you noticed that his cock was already hardening again just after a short five minutes of relaxation.

‘Really’ Cillian then chuckled as he rolled you onto your stomach, spreading your legs and crouching behind you.

Without losing any time, he lined himself up with your entrance and pushed back inside of you, eliciting a loud groan.

After doing you from behind for what felt like forever, he'd hauled you up into his lap and made love to you with his arms around you and our foreheads pressed together. You'd watched his eyes widen and roll back in his head as he came inside you again just after you reached your own high as well.

He then kissed you as he slowly pulled out of you, and then carried you in his arms like a bride into the bathroom where he'd showered you, washed your hair and your body, and treated you to another mind-blowing orgasm with his fingers.

‘I am fucking sore Cillian’ you huffed out as you were standing in front of the mirror and retouched your make up with a white towel wrapped around your body. You had only limited supplies with you in your handbag but were somewhat lucky that Denise had kept a few items in one of the bathrooms in the three-bedroom apartment.

‘I am sorry’ he then said as he stepped behind you and applied some more aftershave before kissing your neck.

‘Are you?’ you asked, looking back at him before pressing a gentle kiss on his lips.

‘Not really’ he then smirked before buttoning up his shirt.

You knew that you couldn’t arrive at the dinner together and, after you got ready, you decided to walk to the restaurant first so that Cillian would allow you a ten-minute head start.

But walking was difficult in itself and Cillian had a slight chuckle when he watched you waddle out of his apartment.

Your core was stinging but it was defiantly worth it.

   Tag List:

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@peaky-cillian​

@severewobblerlightdragon​  @ysmmsy​  

#cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy imagine #cillian murphy x you #cillian murphy x y/n

[lumosinlove]

Well, this got longer than I thought it would, so I’ll have to publish in a few parts as I write...

But Happy Birthday, Finn, my favorite :)

Find it here on Ao3

~

Of Silence And Slow Time

part i of iii

~

New York City, 1920

~

Everyone told Finn that the statue looked like him, that he simply must go and see it.

“Really, Finn,” his older brother Alex said. “It’s the eyes, the face, it’s the mouth. It’s uncanny.”

Finn had just looked over Alex and the man and woman he seemed to always have at his side ever since the war ended. Natalie, a nurse whom he’d met in France, and Kasey a Canadian from another unit—they’d ended up in the hospital together.

“It’s in France,” Finn said flatly. “I know you’re forgetting about it all, but I’m not exactly keen on going back there. It took me ages to get home.”

It had taken everything for him to get home.

Alex, to Finn’s relief, nodded at Natalie and Kasey to go get themselves a drink at the bar down the street, told them that he’d meet them there. Finn stared down at the book open and unseeing in his lap. He wasn’t even sure what he was reading, on that he wanted to. His mind didn’t seem to follow him just right these days. Cars became bombs sometimes. Sleep was all dreams.

Alex sat beside him on their parents’ old sofa.

“Fish,” Alex said softly, and moved his hand slow, where Finn could see it, before resting it gently around his shoulders. “You can’t sit here all day. That’s not going to help you, and I know you don’t like it. You’ve never sat still like this.”

“I’m not going back to France.”

“It’s Paris,” Alex said, and gently flipped Finn’s wrist over to reveal the tiny globe his friend Jackson had dotted there with a needle and ink. “You’ve always wanted…don’t let this war stop you any longer.”

Finn stared down at the reminder he’d asked his friend for, ink permanent black. He’d never been farther than New England before the war. Paris, he’d always thought, gazing at his collection of books. Rome. Athens, Barcelona—

Finn swallowed hard. “Looks just like me, huh?”

Alex’s grin was enough to pull one out of Finn, just slightly. “It was bizarre.” Alex squeezed his shoulders. “I’ll even meet you there later if you want, once we’re through with Canada.”

Finn sent a wary glance towards where Natalie and Kasey had left.

Alex raised an eyebrow. “You’d like them. And, who knows who you’ll meet over there. We ran into all sorts of people, people like you’ve never seen. It’s why—” Alex broke off slightly, and looked after the nurse and soldier, too. Finn blinked at the nervous bob of his throat, and then his smile. “There are all sorts of love and art in this world of ours. I know it feels like it’s all war, I felt that too, but it’s not. Please let me help you see that.”

Finn rubbed a thumb over his tattoo, and closed his book.

Everything felt like war. He was so tired of it he thought he’d be crushed.

He looked up at his brother. “I don’t have much money.”

Alex just grinned and slapped him on the back, then pulled him into a tight embrace.

~

Finn arrived in Paris with a lump in his throat. He stumbled through half-French greetings and requests to his taxi, who looked at him sourly and turned out to have dropped him off four streets away from his hotel—maybe on purpose. Maybe because it was barely six in the morning.

Finn was annoyed at first, and then he began to walk.

Paris’ cobblestones were like those in the West Village, only they weren’t. There were glimpses of his home in the uneven tread of his feet, but these stones were darker, as if soaked with more time and more place. It calmed him, while the brief glance towards France’s rolling hills had sent him back to his cabin on the rocky ship, shaking and gasping for air. He’d barely eaten during the entire journey besides forcing down the occasional breakfast sludge, and his legs had wobbled so fiercely upon stepping back onto land, he’d had to sit down.

Finn paused now, closing his eyes and leaning against the nearest building. He’d been so stupid the first time, decked out in his new uniform, eyes on the war like it was some prize to be won. The comfort waned with his scattering mind and Finn tried to draw a steady breath in. The lump in his throat only grew tighter and he squeezed the handle of his small suitcase.

“Monsieur?” came a voice, spilled over with concern.

Finn’s eyes flashed open and he pushed himself straight, blinking through the pale morning light. There was a boy standing there, around his age, with bright blond hair and worried blue eyes. He was tall, with a neat white apron tied around his hips.

“Ça va?” the boy took a hesitant step forward. His eyes glanced towards Finn’s suitcase, and he nodded in realization, then spoke in accented English. “Are you all right?”

Finn looked behind the boy to see the cafe, slowly opening, from which he must have come. There was an abandoned stack of chairs he was putting out for the day, and his apron had an embroidered name at one corner, Finn realized, that matched the sign above.

Le Lion.

“Yes,” Finn breathed, but found himself unable to speak louder. “I’m fine.”

The boy just shook his head, and gestured behind him. “Non. You must sit down. S’il vous plaît. Please.”

Finn didn’t know how to refuse him.

A few minutes later, he found himself stationed at one of the cafe’s tables with a steaming pot of coffee in front of him, a croissant, and a plate of softly scrambled eggs.

“You look like you need more than butter and bread,” the boy had said, wiping strong looking hands on his apron. “You are from America?”

Finn nodded. He had been worried he would be able to stomach the food after the boy went through so much trouble, but upon his first bite of eggs, he felt ravenous.

“Yes,” Finn nodded, brushing his hands off from croissant crumbs. “Sorry, yes,” he held out his hand. “Finn.”

“Leo,” the boy smiled, and took his hand. “It is a pleasure.”

Finn found himself returning that smile with one that, for the first time in a long time, felt like his own. He tried to put coins into Leo’s hand when it was all over, but Leo simply waved him off and said he hoped to see Finn again.

~

The Louvre was more than Finn could have imagined. It was like walking across the ocean floor, new rarities at every corner. And, of course, there was the matter of the statue. Alex had said it would be with all the other works from ancient Greece. He didn’t have trouble following the signs to the correct gallery, walking through the white marble hallways. When he did reach the Greek galleries, his first thought was that the perfectly white statues nearly blended in with everything else, at least until he found a plaque that said it had all been painted once. Finn smiled to himself. Maybe his apparent stony doppelgänger had had red hair, too.

Imagining Alex and his long stride in these halls was easy. And it was quiet here, and distracting, which let Finn close his eyes for a moment, inhaling the scent of old stone, like a church, or a river’s bank.

When he opened them, he had found it. He was staring into his own face. His eyes were blank. He reached up to feel the shape of his own jaw as he looked at the statue’s, on display in the way the head was slightly turned, jaw set, brow low, as if in focus. Finn blinked, pulled out of the daze of seeing it, and his eyes landed on the museum card beside it. There was a word in ancient Greek, said to have been carved more visibly into the bust’s base. Future, it translated to. Thought to be made in the name of a God, though he may be lost now. There is no other surviving work by this artist.

Finn looked back at the eyes, so much like his own he could have seen brown there in the blank irises, and thought about when this strange statue had been carved. He’d always loved the way ancient Greece was sometimes described in poetry. It had gotten him through many long nights in the trenches. Serene, warm, and with nothing to do but lounge in the olive groves. Working the land and coming home at sundown to wine and honey and spiced meat. He’d longed for it. He longed for it still, this simple-seeming past.

The next thing he felt was warm wind. He smelled salt water.

The museum melted around him and his shoes slipped into sand before disappearing entirely.

~

Finn turned around to the sound of someone shouting, worried it was at him, only to find a brunette boy storming towards him—then past him—a foreign language continuing to fly off of his tongue. But more importantly, the boy was dressed in a simple garment of white cloth that left his strong, tanned legs and arms completely bare, and his feet were sandaled. Finn reached down to smooth his suit, only to find it gone, as well, replaced with a similar getup. He stared down at his bare skin, so pale in the bright sunlight.

And then the foreign language morphed, like a scratched record, and became English to his ears.

“—I’m telling you, Leo, I won’t go. Not without you.”

Leo?

And there the blond boy was, sitting in the shade of low trees at the edge of the beach. He was holding some sort of musical instrument, plucking at its strings almost sadly, head bowed.

“You have to,” Leo replied. “The oath says—“

He stopped mid-sentence, having looked up and spotted Finn. It made the brunette turn, and then Finn’s back was in the sand and there was a thin, rough blade at his throat.

Green eyes bore down into his own, a growl ripping from the boy’s throat. “Spartan.”

Finn choked out a breath, his hand going around the boy’s wrist. “No—no.”

“Logan,” came Leo’s voice, and then the knife’s pressure was released, pulled back by Leo, but the boy—Logan—was still sitting firmly on Finn’s hips. Finn felt his entire body flush with the sheer lack of fabric between them, but Logan didn’t seem to either mind or notice.

“I’m not a—Spartan,” Finn managed. “What the hell, I…” He looked to his left, at the sparkling waves lapping there, and then to the two boys looming above him. “Where am I?”

That made both of them freeze, the knife twitching in Logan’s hand.

“Ithaca,” Leo offered timidly, then glanced out at sea, as if that was where Finn had come from. Finn just stared at him.

He was the boy from the cafe. He was sure of it. His blue eyes filled with the same concern as they had on that early morning cobblestone street.

“Are you all right?” Leo asked.

“He is a spy,” Logan said, and went for him again.

Finn was ready this time. He knocked a leg around Logan’s waist, putting him on his back, and then rolled away from him and to his feet, knife in hand. He raised it for the two of them to see and then tossed it a little ways down the beach. “I’m not a spy. I…I’m just lost.”

It was true. In more ways than he’d even thought before.

“Please,” he managed more quietly.

He watched Leo and Logan exchange a look, unsure of what it meant, until Logan turned on his heel and Leo gestured for Finn to follow.

~

“Are you at war?” Finn asked he was led through the city streets. It had been a hot walk up a long road built into a steep hill, all the way up to what Finn assumed was the inner city and acropolis. Water ran along the side of the street—no doubt with sewage—and they crossed via stepping stones, pressing themselves against the walls whenever carts rattled by—carts filled with men with shields and swords or spears.

Logan, who brought up the rear behind him, having retrieved his knife, scoffed. “Aren’t we always?”

“And where are you taking me?”

“Where we take any question we can’t answer,” Leo said from in front of him, golden hair gleaming. “Pascal.”

#finn o'hara #hazelverse #Logan tremblay #Leo knut #o'knutzy #historical #historical au #ancient greece #1920 #wwi

[slasherrabbitmadness]

Bo Sinclair x Female Reader

THIS is a NONCON fic. Please don't read and then get shocked at what you read. You are reading this at your own risk! You cannot get shocked at the content here if you are sensitive to NONCON and read anyways. I am not responsible if you choose to still read this and it's upsetting. Also, there is Forced Breeding included! Read at your own risk.

When I get an AO3, I will be posting this there.

Underthecut - NSFW, NON-CON, Cheating -forced- Oral -Female receiving- Forced Breeding/Forced pregnancy, Degradation. Tagged as Dark Fic

Sinclair Brothers College AU Part 2 Part 1 is here!

Bo will never forget that morning. Never forgot your angelic face buried into his brother's chest, Vincent's face buried into the top of your head, nose nuzzled into your hair.

His voice had hurt for the three days after all the screaming he had done, his knuckles bruised for weeks after he and Vincent drew blows.

He could still hear your screaming, this shrill piercing scream for him to stop. To stop hurting him, to stop hurting Vincent.

Not one scream for him, his well-being.

Bo left the room with a bruised lip and ego.

The image of you comforting Vincent, rubbing his knuckles, kissing his cheek burned in his head. He replayed it over and over.

Bo couldn't get over how everyone seemed to approve of the whole ordeal.

That friend of yours had come running up to you, congratulating you on finally getting with Vincent. Even her tall British boyfriend paid a compliment.

His own friends even poked fun, how stupid he was not to see Vincent slowly making his moves. Vincent and you at the Dairy Queen, you at his art show, how both of you spent hours at the library.

How'd he miss all that?

Bo walked into his dorm, slamming the door behind him as he whipped off his hat, he frowned as he flopped onto the bed. back against the wall as he took in the room.

The large varnished bricks painted a light blue, years of new coats of paint chipping off in the corners. The yellow fluorescent light struggling to light up the room, no doubt the same light from when the dorm was built.

Bo took in his brother's side. Neat, save for a few books littered around, a few on his desk, three on the floor, two on the bed, and Y/n's cellphone.

Bo shot up, eagerly rushing over to Vincent's bed, hands immediately on your phone. He held it in his hands, smirking at the pink phone case with a bear's face on the back. He swiped his thumb over the screen, he grits his teeth at the image of you and Vincent on your home screen. Vincent held his arm around you as he kissed your cheek.

"Putz," he mumbled to himself, Bo's thumb lingered over your lock screen. He pressed in the four numbers, "Shit. She must have changed it." Bo looked up, going over what your new passcode could be. The old one was the date you and him started dating. Bo made sure it was that, and that way he had access to your phone whenever you were careless enough to leave it about.

Bo smiled as he knew what the passcode was. If his brother was anything like him, he'd be just as possessive, "Ding!" Bo tapped his foot in excitement as your phone opened up, he went right to your gallery, brows turned down in disgust.

Picture after picture of you and Vincent. Some tame, others, Bo whistled at the picture of you sucking off Vincent. He hated it, seeing your pretty little face lavish his brother's cock, but for Bo, it was easy just to picture his own in its place.

Another photo, you with your legs spread, hand over your mouth, embarrassed as your pussy was covered in Vincent's seed.

Bo groaned, "Little fuckin' whore." He pressed his feet into the ground, steadying himself. He was taken back to when he'd do the same to you, make you beg for his cum to coat your needy pussy. He licked his lips as he could hear your little whines and begs.

"Cum on my pussy, Bo." Fuck and you sounded so perfect.

"Cum on my pussy, Vinny." He cursed as your voice played over in his head. Hating how easily he could hear your sweet voice be so dirty for his brother.

Bo kept scrolling, his stomach churned, cock-stiffening as he scanned more and more pictures.

Videos, ranging from thirty seconds to two minutes in length. He pressed one, the image of you riding his brother played immediately.

"Oh, Vinny, your cocks making me feel so full." Bo groaned, he turned up the volume to hear the vulgar slaps of your ass against his brother's pelvis. "Oh, Fuck Vinny." Bo watched as you fell onto Vincent's chest as he lifted you, fucking up into you at a fast pace.

Bo watched till the end, his ears burning as your moans and whimpers wafted through the shitty phone speaker. He palmed his erection as he watched Vincent cum deep in you, his brother's disgusting grunts and growls had him snarling.

Bo's eyes remained on the screen. They widened as Vincent pulled out, carelessly spreading your legs open to the camera, both your face and Vincent are not visible, but your pussy was bared. He watches as his brother's seed leaked out of you, hearing Vincent mumbling at what a good little princess you are, how you were made to used, made to be a good little cum dump.

Bo shook, knuckles going white as he held the phone. Your whimpering approval of Vincent's words, how Vincent scooped his cum back up into you...

Bo snapped out of his anger as a text popped up,

-Hey, meet you at the library, I'll only be able to study briefly, I have a surprise shift at the hospital.-

Bo tapped it, immediately taken to your messages with Dan.

Everything between you and Dan was mundane. Study dates that often included Herbert and just random memes.

He exited out, looking over all the people you've been texting. Your texts with him deleted, he huffed as he continued. That girl dating the tall British guy. That weird Billy kid, Freddy, your mom, your boss, and Vincent.

He sat down on his bed as he went through the texts. Some of the texts were mundane, how are you, I'm good. I love you and can't wait to see you.

Bo froze, laughing to himself, leaning back onto the bed as he read the recent texts,

-Remember those awful cramps I've been having? My doctor said it was birth control. I'll be going off it for a few weeks and will be getting that Implanon thing.-

Bo checked the date, "Two weeks ago." he said to himself as he kept reading.

-So bad news, I won't get that Implanon thing for another month.-

-That's okay. We can keep it safe for now. One day though you'll be off that stuff ;)-

Bo shook his head, of course, his brother would be on that train of thought. Getting you pregnant. Watching your belly grow with babe.

Bo seethed, hand running down his front, cock pulsing at the image of you, begging for his cum, asking him to impregnate you. Your belly swelling with the Sinclair seed, his large hand rubbing over you, kissing your cheek, amazed at the changes in your body.

Your tits swelling, begging for Bo to ease the ache in them. Cock stiffening as he suckles on your tender tits.

Bo's attention was snapped back to reality as the door's handle justled. He quickly exited out of the texts, turned off the screen, and threw the phone on the bed, burying his face into his pillow, grunting as his cock angled into the bed painfully.

Vincent stepped in, sneering at his brother. "She forgot something, I won't be long." He mumbled, hand going for your phone.

"Y'her lap dog or some? She can't come get it herself?"

"I don't trust you alone with her." Vincent gave your phone a once over before grabbing a few books, "I'll be gone tonight, I work late, so you can invite that 'cute' girl from the bar." Vincent coughed as he finished his sentence.

"Yeah, yeah..." Bo eyed his brother, pulling his pillow closer into his face.

"You didn't touch this, did you?" Vincent waved the phone around, giving it a once over.

"Why would I touch her shit?"

Vincent shrugged his shoulders, "Bye," He opened the door, "Oh, and Lester is inviting us to a barbeque, he expects you to be there."

Bo flinched as his brother slammed the door. He sat up, freeing his cock, the images of you and Vincent still in his mind, the image of himself pushing Vincent away to replace Vincent's seed with his own...

"The library..." he said to himself, the image of you at the library, pushed over onto one of the corner desks, hidden away from everyone, his cock buried deep inside, pleading with him to cum inside.

Bo gripped the base of his cock, squeezing to let more of his precum drip out, watching as it fell along the side.

"That'd look a lot better in the place it belongs."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You and Vincent stood in front of the campus library, he ran his hands up and down your sides, pinching your ass when he dipped low.

"Vinny!" He playfully pinched his arm, kissing his cheek as you giggled.

"Can't help it, you're so cute." He kissed you again, tongue wrapping around yours, he pushed you closer into himself, your moan being suppressed by the kiss.

You reluctantly pulled away, "I gotta meet Dan. I need his help with my paper. Thanks for getting my phone."

Vincent nodded at you, kissing your cheek again, "I know, I don't want you near him, either."

You nod into his chest, inhaling his scent, linseed oil, and his farmer's market shampoo. You hum as he begins to sway you back and forth.

"I gotta go, see you tomorrow," He pulls away, hand rubbing over your cheek, his eye taking in your sad ones. "Be safe getting home."

"I will!" You shared a kiss goodbye as you excitedly entered the library.

You waved to norman at the front desk, he briefly looked up to give a small smile before returning to his large ornithology book on his desk.

You grinned and waved as you caught sight of Dan. He was in his scrubs with his Starbucks in his hand, smiling at you.

"I can help you for the next hour before I gotta go," He began as you sat in front of him, "Then I got my shift an-"

"Yes at the hospital, I know I know." You sat and opened your books, Dan grabbing one to flip through it, scanning for the important passage,

"Here, you'll want to start here, copy it, and then grab two more sources from the encyclopedias. Has to be from the books, not online."

You rubbed your temples, "Yeah, that's, a lot to take in."

Dan chuckled, "That's the advanced course for you."

You tapped your pencil on the paper of your books, "So, you hear about Brahms and his girl? The fight they had!"

Dan perked up, brown eyes filled with wonder.

The two of you immediately filled your time with gossip, the mention of Brahms's girlfriend and Billy was the only thing being studied.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Bo strolled up to the library, "Twenty minutes to closing..." He shrugged his shoulders as he entered.

He looks around, the lights dimmed, the desk lamps off, save for the few remaining students.

"Can I help you?" Bo snapped his head to the thin, pale man at the front desk.

"Ah, yeah, where are the books on, like art and stuff," Bo looked at the nameplate, "Norman." Bo fumbled with his hands in his pockets.

"In the back," Norman gestured his head behind him, "In section eight hundred to eight hundred and fifty. Don't be long, we are closing soon." Norman sneered as he shuffled the papers on his desk.

"Yeah, thanks." Bo shook his head, as he caught Norman giving him a once over.

Bo clenched his fists as he heard Norman mumble "I don't even think he can read."

He made his way around the library, ducking behind the rows when he thought he saw you, any girl that resembled you had his heart clench in shock.

"No, Vinny, I can't talk right now, text it to me instead." Bo froze, his feet heavy, your voice was curt, he heard you grunt, knowing you just hung up on his brother.

Bo followed the voice, finding you tucked away in the private study area, the tables up against the walls, the lights were severely dimmed, Bo wondered how in the hell you could see the paper in front of you.

He carefully watched his steps, inching slowly behind you, grateful you were distracted in the book, grateful you secluded yourself so far away from everyone else.

A wolfish grin spread over his face, standing over you, he leaned in, hands snaking over you, rushing to silence your mouth,

"Hey, Sweets, miss me?"

Your blood went cold, eyes bulged, you attempted to turn but Bo held firm.

"Miss me? Huh? Ah, maybe you need to look at me first." He whispered into your ear, placing a feather-light kiss.

You retched away, guttural noises being silenced as Bo put a hand around your neck.

"Ah, no no, c'mon now, that any way to react to me? C'mon sweets, you used to beg me, beg me not to leave you, cry whenever I missed a date, moan for my cock to make you come." He chuckled as you squirmed in his arms, the chuckle turning into a soft laugh as you reached for your phone.

"Grabbing your phone for me? How nice of you, Sweets!" Bo whipped you around, slamming you onto the table as he chucked away the books, thankful they didn't fall onto the floor.

You began kicking at Bo, the panic making your blood run hot, giving you a surge of strength.

You knew Bo, knew how much stronger he was, knew you couldn't fight him off. The look in his eyes as his body leaned forward onto yours, chuckling off your kicks.

"Ah, hey, calm down," Bo squeezed on your neck, kissing your cheek as you sputtered out a whine, choking as you gasped for air.

Bo grabbed your phone, your eyes burning as he easily tapped the four-digit code to open it, he went right to the gallery, opening up the video of you and Vincent, "Look at you," The video played, Bo held the phone to your face, forcing you to look, "Taking my brother's cum in your slutty little pussy. Fuck what a good whore you are."

He exited out of the video, going to your texts, "So bad news, I won't get that Implanon thing for another month." He read aloud as he shook his head, "tsk tsk, and I bet you are still fucking, even when it's not safe. I mean, if my brother's anything like me, he won't wanna wrap that shit up."

Tears pooled in your eyes, slowly falling along the sides into your hair. Your eyes pleading with him, 'don't do this, please.'

Bo huffed as he pulled down your skirt, panties coming along with it. He took in your pussy, licking his bottom lip as he caught a glance at your shaved pussy, thankful that his brother has the same taste as him. "You look so good, that pussy nice and clean for me, gonna look good with my seed spilling out."

"I'll let you breathe properly if you promise to be quiet, can you do that for me?" His baby blues stared into your eyes, you wanted to hurl as you saw a sick softness to them.

"I'll, b-be- go-good." You choked. You gasped in sweet relief as bo removed his large hand from your neck. Your phone in his hand was held to your face as you realized he was filming.

"You better open up these legs for me, little whore like you should be used to spreading her legs, hm? Taking my brother's cock while dating me. Well, you can have my cock again, and I'm gonna make sure you'll never fucking forget this. Like I'll never fuckin' forget waking up to you." Bo placed the phone down, propping it up against your books, "With cum dripping out your pussy in Vincent's arms."

You looked away as you heard Bo's belt clink his zipper coming undone, "I can easily scream,"

"Scream? ha, the place is practically empty at this point, who's gonna come as you scream? 'Norman' I can tell he's already too self-absorbed to care for another." Bo leaned down, his breath hot over your cunt.

"Please don't, Bo please, I'll do anything!"

His signature cocky grin spread over his lips, "Oh, you will, first, I get a taste of this," He plunged his tongue in, a soft moan as your taste hit his tongue, his eyes looking up at you, then to the phone.

You squirmed as your walls involuntarily pulsed around his tongue. You squeezed your eyes shut, hips shaking as he flicked his tongue over your clit.

"You taste so good, fuck better than I remember," He sucked hard, laughing as you whimpered. "See, little slutty body like your can't help but react."

Wave after wave of pleasure crashed through you, Bo's large hand roaming your body, dipping under your shirt, sliding under your bra to squeeze your breast.

"Fuck it feels good too, remember how you used to beg me to suck on them?" He pinched your hardening nipple, "Look at the camera." He cooed.

He dipped two fingers into your heat, making you groan as he pressed down and sucked hard on your clit.

You breathed heavily through your nose, fighting the urge to let out a wanton moan. Tears flowed as your hips voluntarily bucked into Bo's face, his tongue sending wave after wave of euphoria through you that not even Vincent could manage.

Bo shook his head, a raspy moan muffled by the lewd noises your pussy made as he fingered you. He looked up, smirking into you, your pussy clenching around his fingers, how you covered your mouth to fight back the deep moan.

You ran your hand through Bo's brown hair, he moaned, taking the action as approval for his ministrations. You pushed on him, your airy moans muffled by your palm as you came. Bo stayed latched onto your clit, suckling and flicking it, tongue deep to your cunt to lap at you, groaning as it pulsed around his muscle.

Bo shot up, licking his lips of your cream, "Ah, see that, wanna taste?" You shook your head, mouth a no. He leaned in, one hand angling his cock while the other grabbed your neck.

His tongue wrapped around yours, muffling the whine as he slammed into you, his cock stretching you out, a slight burn mixed with pleasure.

Bo wasted no time, slamming hard into you, his cheeks pink as he groaned into the kiss, he lifted his head, "Ah, fuck, needy little pussy fuckin' missed me. Ah shit, I fuck." He grunted above you, his body pressing you into the table, "Fuck, it missed me, fuck it missed me."

You sobbed under him, your mind going to Vincent, trying to picture it was Vincent on top of you, it was you and Vincent making love in the library, not Bo. Not Bo sending waves of familiar pleasure through you, his cock stretching you out.

"Please, don't cum in me, Bo, please don't."

"Wah? cum in you? Sure, I can do that, after all, your little pussy was made for it." He sneered at you, a dark look flashed over him.

You punched at him, "I'll scream."

"You scream and that video gets sent to Vincent. Doesn't matter I'm hav-having m-my way with y-you." He stuttered between thrusts, "Just a video of you getting impregnated by his older brother. He won't want you."

You sobbed as tears spilled as you turned away from him, Vincent flashed in your mind. His smile, his light blue eyes, his hands holding yours.

Your body tensed as Bo's cock felt intoxicating, the familiar rhythm, his harsh kisses, mind being taken back to you on his bed, how he'd hiked your legs over his shoulders as he pushed them onto your chest, a cocky grin as he fucked you deep.

"Bo," You whimpered, "Please," you continued "Just not inside."

He slammed harder, groaning as you clenched around him, "Feels like it wants it inside. Don't lie to yourself, Sweets."

You couldn't, the tears fell, you whimpered Vincent's name, "Hurry, Bo."

Bo couldn't hold back, your sexy little body squirming under him, your pussy clenching around him, your spent leaking onto the table, your stifled moans. "Look at the camera as you cum, look as I cum in you," He turned your head towards the phone, tears freely falling Bo licked your cheek.

His breathing, his thrusts, his cock filling you so well, his raspy praise. You stared, "I'm sorry, Vincent." You scrunched your face as Bo positioned in and out, a low groan reverberated from his chest.

Bo laughed as he came, his seed painting your insides, coating your pink walls, picturing it shooting deep into your womb, his little swimmers getting to work.

You fought back the urge to barf, his cum filling you send a ripple of pleasure through you.

Bo hissed as his breathing slowed, the realization of your nails digging into his shoulders, came to his senses. He slowly pulled out, grabbing the phone, to capture his seed dripping out of your pussy.

He wrapped his hand around your throat, squeezing, a threat. He continued to film, "Ah, look at that, good little slut getting bred. Just like she was made too."

Bo brought the camera to your face, "Say, 'Hi, Vincent!' ha" he laughed as you kept your vision off him and the camera.

"it's okay, I know you're thinking of getting that plan B. But you'll be coming with me tonight, I'm gonna make sure my seed takes." Bo released your neck, thumb running over your lips as you coughed.

"Get dressed, we're gonna get a hotel, this is from over." He leaned in to kiss your cheek, "My good girl, mine again." He hugged you as he sent the video to his phone. He laughed as he felt you shake in his arms,

"I wonder what Vincent will do when he sees this, gosh I can only imagine." He hummed and swayed you back and forth, "You'll look great with my child in you, can't wait, ah you'll be so beautiful."

#Bo sinclair #Bo sinclair x reader #Bo sinclair x you #Bo sinclair imagine #Bo sinclair x y/n #Vincent sinclair #Vincent sinclair x you #Vincent sinclair x reader #Vincent sinclair imagine #house of wax 2005 #smut #lemon #dark fic #slasher x reader #Slasher x you #Slasher imagine

[all-things-fic]

Rekindled

A/N: Firstly, I want to say a massive thank you to everyone who nominated me as November Author of the Month. I wasn’t expecting that at all and it was a lovely surprise!  Secondly, here is Rekindled. Hope you all enjoy it!

This was originally meant to be for @majorharry​‘s 20k challenge, but I failed on that front. It’s a long one so grab yourself a brew / beverage of choice and get comfy!

I’m about to disappear again as I usually do and start working on my Christmas fic, as well as those Quarantine Harry updates.

Tonight had started out like any other Saturday evening. 

You had been out with friends. Cosy little pub off a cobbled backstreet, in a secluded corner. Very British. Very cramped. All old wood and leather bound seats. The slight smell of stale beer in the air and plenty of chatter that sometimes had you shouting to ensure the friend sitting two people away from you was able to hear. 

This was a pub that you frequented for quite a while now. A pub that made it so some in your friendship group could grab a proper ale, while others opted for more of a fruity alcoholic beverage. A real all rounder. Did a nice roast on Sunday - eat in or takeout, choice was yours - for a reasonable price by London’s standards. 

The minute he had walked in, you had noticed him. You could recognise his hunched shoulders anywhere. Forever silently willing him to stand up straight and embrace the way his height made him tower over some of his friends. Rather than have him try and make himself smaller. Part of you believed it was to buy him time so he wouldn’t get noticed whenever he knew he was going to be in particular place for longer than an hour.

He had been joined by a male friend. Someone you also knew quite well. Someone who you had seen quite recently actually. An art showing over at Cob Gallery being the reason for your meeting which hadn’t happened too long ago. You remembered the invite being shoved through your letterbox, a far cry from when he used to shunt you a quick text and write your name at the bottom of the guest list using Sam’s kohl eyeliner on the evening of the event itself.

You’d taken the piss out of him that afternoon, a quick phone call telling him that he was “no longer the Tomo Campbell I know”. 

That had been two weeks ago. So, you knew it would be rude of either you, or him, to not acknowledge the other. And you knew he would be the one to cave in. 

And you were right.

Tomo’s friendly brown eyes had glanced at you one too many times, over Harry’s shoulder for him to not give you - or anyone else who may have made the meeting slightly awkward - away. 

The continuous trailing of his gaze had in fact caused Harry to chuckle awkwardly, joking at how he wouldn’t let Sam know of his wandering eye as they shared a night on the town. The joke fell short though, as did his chuckle, when at the last glance over Harry twisted his body around to see what all the fuss was about as he leaned against the bar and let his eyes fall onto yours.

You broke his gaze, reaching forward for your balloon glass full of gin and pressed your face as far into it as possible. A feeling filled you that made you hope the hot flush you felt underneath your skin hadn’t started to give away your unnecessary panic. 

See things with you and Harry hadn’t ended badly. In fact, it was more like a fizzle. A bit like the sweet that pops against your tongue. Sometimes you enjoyed it and other times it was unfulfilling, some would say annoying. The latter explained the ending.

No big fights. No fat, hot tears rolling down cheeks. No loss of voices from slanging matches and screaming until the early hours. It just... Ended. 

That fizzle was what made it amicable. You both breaking it off to go and do your own thing. Neither openly keeping up to date with the other, but still absolutely aware of what was going on. In your case that was a lot easier, in his not so much. However, Harry somehow managed to master the art of leading questions without seeming too much of a beg with mutual friends.  

As he looked on at you taking the longest sip from your drink, he had smiled awkwardly before he allowed his eyes to roam the scene of your group of friends and tried to analyse what met his gaze. A group of eight, men heavily outweighing the women with their five to your genders three. 

He would definitely class himself a liar if he was asked about where his mind had gone, and he said that it hadn’t gone to queries around relationship statuses and potential partnerships with any of the men around the table.

He eyed them, all five of them. Definitely wasn’t the guy three people away, neither was it the guy sat diagonally opposite you. They were blonde, definitely not your type. Well, blondes hadn’t been your type the last time he had been between your legs.

His eyes had been zoned in on the guy that had his back facing him, he wasn’t sitting directly opposite you. Instead he was seated in the opposite seat, but one. Better positioning for someone who wanted to obtain a cheeky glance and still be inconspicuous to the group around him.

“I’m gonna have to go and say hello,” Tomo pulled Harry out of his trance, his eyes lifting up from the beer mat that he had been tapping agitatedly against the bar top once he’d turned away from the scene. 

“‘S fine wi’me, mate,” Harry softly smiled, reaching for his drink and taking a large sip. 

“Come an’ get it over with, H.” 

Harry had quietly eyed Tomo after his open ended suggestion of joining him. His eyes slightly sceptical at the proposal but somehow his legs took over his decision making as he trudged behind his artist friend and got introduced to those faces he didn’t know and acknowledged the ones that he did.

Pulling up a pew at the table had been a lot easier for Harry than he had expected. Dragging the wooden stool to sit himself in between you and the guy to his right, who he now knew to be Conor and the person he really wanted to know the name of was Joe. Joe was a wanker- well, banker. Same difference, right? 

Conversation wasn’t always smooth sailing. The larger group helped however. Also helped him get his moments with you and you with him. Moments that neither of you had known you needed before being sat with his knee brushing yours, due to how cramped your table had suddenly become. 

And it was sweltering now. The bare knee of your ripped jeans, knocking against Harry’s bare knee from his ripped jeans as he edged himself closer to the table wanting to catch what the topic of conversation was down at the easily the “laddier” end of the table. 

Harry had fit right in. Of course his demeanour changed with certain people. Those he had already been in the presence of those years previous were immediately hit with morbid delivery and sarcastic humour, while others were met with his sometimes hard to crack shell. 

And like always as the night had gone on the crowd had tapered off. Some had decided to go onto a club, an offering your declined not wanting to spend the night with people rubbing up against you and feeling like one of the oldest people in the room.

Some of your friends had gone back to their other commitments, like Tomo who made it quite clear he didn’t want to miss his “curfew” that Sam had given him considering he was the one on swimming lesson duty in the morning. 

That ended up leaving you and Harry. Surprisingly a pairing that you hadn’t expected to happen that evening and even more surprising, one that you weren’t particularly dreading.

You knew it had something to do with the gin, and definitely had something to do with the tequila. 

Part of you was thankful for the less than responsible drinking habits you had taken that evening. It allowed you to remain calm as your ex-boyfriend sat across from you looking like time was on his side and aging was being kind to him.

It was definitely being kinder to him than it was to you, anyway. 

Bastard. 

Conversation had been a mixture of light and heavy. Harry showing you a series of different pictures he had taken on his travels as he jetset around the world with his album and his modelling contract (that he adamantly assured you wasn’t a modelling contract), and basically just his very healthy bank balance.

The heavy had been you bitching about the contract project you had been working on and asking him if he would be willing to potentially commit a serious crime with you against one of your colleagues. He’d quipped he probably wasn’t suitable but he was sure he knew a guy. 

At one point, his eyes had dropped down to your pedicured toes in your black strappy heels. When he managed to drag his eyes away for your feet,  and rested his chin on the inside heel of his palm, you knew he wanted to say something. 

“‘M pretty sure we have matching pedis,” he groused, voice so low that if you hadn’t been watching his mouth you wouldn’t have caught a word of what he had just said.

Eyes flicking up to his green gaze, you saw the light shimmering through them. Clearly he was amused by your expression of shock and potential bemusement from his statement.

“Sod off,” you chided, pushing gently at his arm. “You’re joking.”

“‘M not darl-“ he cut himself off with a clear of his throat. “‘M not, an’ if yer lucky later I might take m’socks off to prove it an’all.”

“Not sure if I like the insinuation of there being a later.” You paused for a small amount of time, before adding, “Nor the confidence in how you said it.” 

“God loves a trier and so did you, once.” 

He eyed you from the corner of his vision, mouth wrapped around the lip of his glass as he knocked back what was left of the alcoholic contents inside. 

You were sure he hadn’t meant to let that one slip but there was no way he was going to let his expression give him away and silently confirm with you that thought. 

How had the two of you picked up as if you hadn’t missed a beat? 

“You never did mind me keeping them on though, did yer?”

That was enough to break his gaze. To cause a silence you didn’t know how to fill. To suddenly make you feel incredibly parched as if you hadn’t been necking gin after gin, all evening. 

“How yer getting ‘ome?”

His question cut through it all. His voice of concern, matching his watchful gaze as he looked up at you from the empty glass he had begun twirling on the mahogany wood. 

“Was just gonna Uber it back.”

“‘M a fifteen minute walk from ‘ere, d’ya know tha’?”

“I do know that,” you acknowledged, eyes looking over at him and seeing the way his hair had begun to curl close to his temples from the way he perspired in the heat of the pub. 

“‘Course you do. Done that walk a fair few times ain’t we?”

You hummed. The feeling of your lips lifting into a soft smile at the memories of the two of you walking hand in hand through the dark London streets. Harry with his head down, trying to look inconspicuous. Also, so he could watch his feet and try his best not to trip up over them. 

The times he’d done that thing you loved. Where he would forgo holding your hand and instead walk slightly behind you with his arm wrapped around your shoulder and across the top of your chest. His lips heavy against your hair as he hid his face and chuckled breathily against the shell of your ear when he hadn’t been watching his feet and indeed, tripped. It was always inevitable. 

“So wha’s another nigh’?”

And really what was another night? Other than potentially a messy morning. 

Not before long you were wrapping the chain handle of your bag across your body and tottering out of the booth you had occupied all night. 

Silently you had battled with yourself as to whether you should use the bathroom, but didn’t think you needed it considering how you hadn’t had the rush of pressure usually felt when you were really desperate to relieve yourself.

Shame the feeling didn’t last as you felt a huge gust of cold wind, thanks to London autumn air, washing over you. 

With your arms folded around your body as you walked, you tried your best to shield yourself as the lights of passing cars hurt your tired eyes. Harry had been talking to you about all sorts of rubbish, filling in the gaps of dead air that weren’t taken up by the noise around your both.

“My shoes are going to be fucking ruined,” you grumbled, hearing the sound of muddy stones clacking and crunching underneath your heels. 

Harry chuckled at your obvious disdain, keeping himself close to you in the dimly lit area. The stride to his walk was confident, a little more power behind it than unsteady. He had consumed drinks, but not enough that he didn’t realise how close both he and you were to his home.

As you walked, your eyes surveyed the area. A group of people were getting closer, a few hoods lifted making it hard for you to figure out their make up. 

Before you could give yourself time to think, you unravelled your folded arms and reached down for Harry’s hand. 

“Think we could cross here,” you spoke, a chatter to your voice both from the cold and this unusual anxious feeling. Your eyes darted over the road, left and right before you turned as the group approached you. 

A boisterous boom of laughter left one of the groups mouth, causing you to sharply look back down the street. The grip of Harry’s hand against yours changed, his fingers taking your traditional hand hold to one of interlocking digits. 

He felt moved by the way you appeared to still hold the desire to be protective over him. 

“‘M alrigh’,” he pulled you to him, using his hand and causing you to turn your front and press into his side. “Jus’ let ‘em pass us.”

You silently nodded.

“‘S just a couple’a lads walking ‘ome after a night out,” he mumbled. “‘S all it is. You’re alright.” 

This feeling felt foreign as you felt a tightness in your chest while you stood still with him in the middle of the street. You hadn’t expected to feel any sort of hesitation but you, like everyone else, had heard about the incident which had taken place with him. Virtually on the doorstep of his own home too.

Harry offering you comfort and reassurance just as quick as you were to do so for him, had you finding a weird source of strength and confidence. He welcomed the pressing of your forehead to his cheek, knowing if he tilted his head slightly his lips could brush so tenderly against your forehead, your temple. He would most likely get a smell of your shampoo, wondering if you still used the same as before. 

The grip of his hand loosened against yours, his clammy palm, which felt soothingly warm, ran up against the long sleeve of your top. It curled around your neck, holding you securely to him, before he wrapped his arm around you.

Then he dropped his lips, them pressing to your temple and then lower to your cheekbone. He lingered, his breathing slightly quivered as the noise from the group got louder. 

You lifted your head slightly, Harry rearing up just in time to ensure you didn’t headbutt him. His chin was soft as he looked down at you; it took the edge off. His eyes were manic as they moved, there was no mistaking it but everything else about him came off so calm. 

He blew out his shaky sigh, causing you to dart your eyes over his and gently push up onto your tiptoes in your heels to softly kiss his lips. You knew he wasn’t expecting it, you didn’t even know what you were doing before you did it. Yet, you relaxed the minute he drew you even closer using the arm he had curled around your upper back to hold you close.

A wolf whistle caused you to smile against his lips, as he did the same. His gentle breathy laugh bouncing against your lips as he chanced it and pressed pecks against your lips in quick succession. 

“Evening lads,” Harry nodded his head once he came up for air, making sure he got a good look of two of them and making sure they knew that he had. They cheered in praise at the two of you and your public display, threw out a couple of slightly lewd and alcohol fused comments at the scene. One even going as far as to take the red and white striped scarf from around his neck and whip it furiously above his head. “Someone’s ‘appy. The Arsenal must’ve ‘ad a win.”

You nodded as you eyed them, completely embarrassed by the way you had misread a group of loud football fans for violent thugs. You weren’t necessarily far wrong, but still. 

Chattering teeth caused Harry to pull you close to him. “Let's get you in before you catch your death.” 

***

Shoes had been left at the door. 

The aching balls of your feet grateful for the cool wooden flooring and curling into the luxurious fabric of the rugs currently beneath them. 

You’d watched as Harry toed off his obscenely dirty Vans, and walked ahead of you towards the back of the house. The place where his envious lounge and open plan kitchen could be found.

Harry’s home had this way of being welcoming, no matter how long it had been since you had last graced its presence. You assumed he’d made it this way for a reason, especially when that reason was his way of life. Leaving for long periods of time to then return again, to pick right up where he had left off. 

And in many ways, that was how you felt about the current situation. 

Handbag now discarded at your feet, you sat with your side resting against the back of Harry’s teal velvet couch. Surrounded by expensive scatter cushion after expensive scatter cushion, a collection he had amassed during your time apart. 

He was playing the playlist. Not just any playlist, the playlist. The one he would always turn on, volume low, so it was more of a hum than anything else after you’d gotten back from a night on the tiles and fancied a night cap. 

You didn’t need to zone in on the sounds. It so happened that you had heard the playlist so many times before that you didn’t need to have it blasting through the speakers to know the track list. It was burned into your brain and would be for a very long time.

The worst thing of all was that he knew. He just knew. 

His lips had taken on this quirk. Slightly upturned more so on one side of his face than another as he stood at the kitchen island, feeling your eyes watch him as he put together his perfected cheese on toast supper.

It was an offer you couldn’t refuse. A large glass of Cabernet Sauvignon held loosely in your hand as you whispered along to the song playing in the background, mouth watering at the thought of the carby goodness Harry was preparing for you both under the grill of his oven.

The smell that filled your senses was delightful and exactly what you needed to soak up the alcohol you had previously consumed, never mind the alcohol you were about to. 

“Do you want any brown sauce on yours, or ketchup?” You heard him talk louder as the tray he’d been cooking on clattered against his oven hob. 

You stayed silent as you watched him, tea towel over his shoulder as he plated up your toast while his mouth barely sang along to the playlist. Gently lifting the bread off the grill before letting it drop quickly from his grip to the plate because of how hot it was. 

He looked up at you from under his brow, hair fallen into a middle part around his face. His eyes enjoyed the way your legs had curled up beneath you as you rested your right cheek onto your hand and fondly watched him.

You seemed relaxed to him, albeit amused. 

“Don’t even think about laughing at me when ‘m cooking for you.”

You smiled - cheese on toast was hardly cooking - pulling your glass of wine to your lips and taking a sip. “Don’t know why you don’t just get a knife and fork, you numpty.”

“Saves on the washing up doing it this way,” he winced as he dropped another slice to the second plate. 

“And makes you lose your fingerprints in the process.

Harry shook his head as he pressed his thumb to his lips and licked the sore burn, before he gently blew against it. “Never did answer my question,” he reminded, wiping his hands on the towel thrown over his shoulder.

“Ketchup’s fine. Ta.”

Watching him reach across for the bottle of Heinz, you saw him squirt the sauce onto your plate and then saw him do the same to his own. 

Seemingly happy with his work, he whipped the towel off his shoulder and to the side, before scooping up the two plates and striding over to you with ease. 

“Voila,” he spoke, offering you the answer to your predicted hangover prayers, in cheese on toast form.

Reaching forward, you gently took the plate off his hands with both of yours and let your eyes drop down to the melted goodness. Keeping your eyes down you took in the decoration that Harry had added. He’d taken to drawing a smiley face onto the top of the cheese using the ketchup.

“You’re such a silly sod sometimes,” you spoke, lifting your eyes as you watched him drop down onto the couch next to you and get himself comfortable.

Legs up on the coffee table in front of him, almost horizontal with his plate gently resting atop his rounded stomach. Head tipped back and vision lazy, his lips tilted up into a crooked smile as he looked over at you. 

“‘S it okay?”

“Looks it,” you replied, lifting up the toast and taking the biggest bite you could muster. Your nose came into contact with some sauce from your hunger-driven vigour. “Proof is in the tasting though, I s’pose,” you continued, mouth full and covered by your hand to avoid him seeing the chewed up contents. 

You hummed as you closed your eyes, enjoying the taste of the simplistic home cooked food and melted goodness. So simple in taste, but so effective. 

From where Harry lounged, he softly watched you. All relaxed, closed eyes, with a drop of tomato ketchup decorating the end of your nose. 

Before you had the chance, and he couldn’t fight himself, Harry reached up to gently swipe at the sauce and remove it from your skin.

You opened your eyes, blinking over at him as he pressed his thumb between his lips and licked away the sauce he had retrieved. His eyes were mischievous as they glanced at you before he took a bite out of his own food and savoured the taste.  

The groan that left his throat as he chewed was a sound familiar to you in other capacities, causing you to squeeze your legs together and forcefully take another bite of your own toast.

“Tell you what? If there’s one thing I do, ‘s make a bloody good cheese on toast.”

You smirked, amused by his boasting. “Nothing like a slice of conceited-ness as a platter cleanser, for afters.”

“Summat much more appealing for afters, don’t worry about tha’, darling. Got you sorted.” 

***

Bellies full and content, you slipped further down onto Harry’s couch. The two of you finding yourself closer together ask you basked in the warmth of Harry’s home.

“You weren’t lying when you said your nails matched mine,” your voice was sleepy as you spoke, right foot hitting Harry’s left slightly as you brought up your earlier conversation at the pub.

He chuckled into your hair, watching you lift your foot and gently place it atop of his. He made a space for it, moving his right leg so that there was an even bigger gap between his feet to slot yours between.  

“I think mine's a bit lighter to be honest,” you continued, eyes scrutinising his painted nails as much as they could from down the length of your body and his. 

“That’s some bullshit,” Harry groused, rubbing his feet gently against yours to warm them, his voice causing his chest to vibrate against your head as it rested there  “I even had it on m’ hands but I’ve been picking at it. Look.”

Harry obnoxiously held his hand in front of your vision, wiggling his fingers causing you to reach for his fingers and hold his hand still. Sure enough, he was true to his word, presenting you with chipped nail polish that was nothing more than the odd tiny dot against his clean nails. 

You smirked when he pushed them slightly closer to your face than intended, “Alright, think you’ve proven your point.”

Hand knocked back he brought it forward again, “‘M not so sure, try again.”

The only response you could muster up was a giggle fit for a schoolgirl, Harry’s response to pull you even closer as he softly smiled. 

A silence overtook you both, as you closed your eyes and let yourself become more intune with the music playing around you. 

Your face was pressed into the side of his neck able to inhale his worn in aftershave and the soft startings of stubble down the side of his throat. 

The silence was heavy and you knew exactly why. Listening to the base of the song across his speakers mixing with your staggered breathing and rising pulse. 

You knew you shouldn’t but you couldn’t help yourself. It wasn’t like it needed attention drawn to it. Yet, the words were tumbling off your lips regardless. 

“This song always makes me…you know.”

The words were mumbled but of course he caught them because he did know. But it was whether he wanted to go there. 

The thought of talking about sex and the sex you had together in a coherent state wasn’t ideal. He wouldn’t have anything to blame his honesty on, if he wasn’t more inebriated than he currently found himself.

“Think we need some more wine for tha’,” he mumbled, lips pressed to your forehead as you hummed in agreement and felt him begin to shift to raise himself from the couch to retrieve a bottle.

***

More wine wasn’t a good idea and you knew it. From the way your tongue was much looser and your lips a lot more numb now. 

The two of you had begun to dance on a weird ledge after he’d refilled your glass. The kind where you were openly flirting and backbiting against the other to try and see who could inflict the moment that had the two of you wincing. 

“Who caught your eye while I was out of the picture?”

“Who didn’t catch yours?”

Harry was sitting on the couch, side pressed into the back of the couch. Leaning with his elbow and allowing his face to rest  in the palm of his hand as he looked at you.

“Alright,” he stressed with a raise to his eyebrows and a quirk to his lips. 

You were a bit flustered due to the way your back bite to him revealed how you were actually caught up in his business of seeing other people when you tried to act like you didn’t care.

Clearing his throat Harry adopted a soft tone to break you out of your fluster.

“There was one girl. Took her to dinner two times.”

You held his eyes with yours, watching the way he slowly smirked, “But you already know that don’t ya?”

Before you could stop yourself, you threw the throw cushion sitting to the right of you, at him.

“Watch the wine,” he said around a laugh, as he raised his wine glass into the air and pushed the cushion to the floor before it had a chance of creating him a cleaning catastrophe in the early hours. 

“Hate you,” you mumbled, turning to your right to look at him from where you had reached forward to put your wine glass down to the table. Before you sat back you ran your index finger against the rim of your wine glass and tapped your nail gently against the base. 

“‘s tha’ why you’re sat eating cheese on toast and drinking wine on my sofa at almost 2am,” he spoke against the rim of his glass, knocking back what was remaining inside.

“I’ve been coerced to be here,” you replied, watching him reach forward, raising his eyebrows at your false suggestion. When he sat back against the couch he was biting back his smile, his eyes shining and crinkles deeply set in the corners.

“Know where the door is,” he goaded, raising his eyebrows again, arm raising to point in the direction of his hallway. He waited for your response and in that time leaned forward towards the coffee table once more, grabbing the wine bottle and topping you up before moving onto refilling his own.

Your eyes dropped down to the rich red liquid as it sloshed against the clear glass. While his words were telling you to leave, his actions were doing the complete opposite. 

Filling the silence he asked, “So, how many dinners am I competing with?”

“Three” you mumbled as you lifted your drink and took a sip for courage. 

Harry’s head titled as he surveyed you, “Bloody hell you didn’t hang around!”

“I have no more cushions left,” you spoke to his cheeky comment with a light hearted threat of throwing something at him for his brazen clap back. “Only my wine.”

He smiled at your warning to throw it all over him before he drawled, “And we wouldn’t wanna waste tha’”

You hummed in agreement, freely taking yet another sip. Finally, something you agreed on. 

Harry kept his eyes on you, waiting. The two of you almost seeing who would cave in first to try and dig for more information on the relations of the other while you were apart. What he really wanted to know was how many men he was competing against. Was it one man three times, or three separate men? 

With all the questions buzzing around his head, he knew it would be him who would give in. 

He was correct. 

“Gonna let me ‘ave a look then? Pull ‘em up on your phone. ‘S only fair. Mine was taken out of my hands.”

His ambiguous comment alluded to the paparazzi pictures of him that had been splashed all over the tabloid online outlets, as well as every other social media platform known to man. 

You didn’t hesitate, the alcohol in your bloodstream almost encouraged you as you reached for your bag at your feet and took out your phone. Said liquid confidence even helped in your handing over of the phone. “Pass codes the same,” you said, as Harry stared at you before he dropped his eyes down to the screen and tried the first code that came to his mind, your birthday.

The screen shook at him, causing a sheepish smile to pull up onto his lips as he thought about his second guess. He punched in the code of your mother’s birthday and unlocked the phone within a short five seconds.

You did notice the stall to his movements, clearly realising how part of this was wrong. It wasn’t his, or your, business to know everything in such detail.

Sensing his hesitancy also, you told him where to find a photograph if he was so desperate for a nose; on your private Instagram page. He took that as a small victory cause he knew you still had pictures of him on your profile that hadn’t been taken down.

You gave him names, knowing that it was an invasion of privacy for the men in question but equally not caring. His thumb was fast as it typed and spelt out the name into the search bar. Harry also not caring at how desperate he was to see his competition. 

“Hold this for me,” he said, passing over his wine glass so that he could cup your phone in both his hands, his undivided attention firmly on his foe. You looked on as you saw him zoom in on the picture of guy number two, who had the chance of a third date.

He was silent as he looked and swiped and read comments. He didn’t know if this was the type of man he was expecting. Had he even been expecting anyone at all?

Running his eyes over the pictures he was greeted with what he could only describe to be your average City man. All overcoats and expensive suits. 

Looks wise, he understood. Perfect five o’clock shadow. Seemed tall enough in photos. Obviously liked a gym session or two. However there was one thing about him that just looked so out of place- 

Breaking the silence, he said, “Can’t even do a tie properly can he?”

“Neither can you,” you shot back.

“Don’t have to when you have someone willing to help.” 

He looked at you from under his brow to see if you were going to correct him. When he realised you weren’t, he continued, “Never been tempted to fix his,” he asked, swiping across to look at another picture. 

“He hasn’t worn a tie on a date yet,” you responded.

Harry zoned in on the use of the word yet.

“What’s he drive?” He asked randomly, continuing the swipe through the pictures with his right thumb. 

“Range Rover Sport.”

“Probably on finance,” he spoke his comeback quickly, expressing his true feelings. It wasn’t going to be on finance but no one could blame him on wanting to throw a cheap shot in some way. “Doesn’t really seem the type to be blessed with the big dick energy. Overcompensating somehow.”

You found yourself biting down against your lips, trying to stifle a laugh. His pettiness has reared itself in less than ten minutes and you could see the way it wove through his features, with a quirk to his eyebrows and a scrunch of his nose. He was dismissive and you supposed he had every reason to be, you were after all sat on his couch. 

“Why do you really think I’m giving you another try,” you smirked, nails tapping at your glass again.

He held your gaze, “You planning on testing me out, seeing if it still works?”

“Might do,” you took another sip of your drink. “Depends if I have the energy.”

“Why do you think I gave you summat to eat?”

You breathed out a laugh as your mouth fell, right hand reaching up to slap him across the top of his arm. He seemed pleased with himself as he locked your phone and loosely held it out to you.

“‘S enough of looking at tha’,'' he hummed, licking gently at his lips. “How did you meet him?” 

Again a breathy laugh left your lips as you stared at him, incredulously. Harry’s eyes easily held yours as he waited on your answer.

“You aren’t in the least bit interested,” you licked your lips, the taste coating them slightly bitter from the lingering wine residue. “Don’t know why you’re trying to make it seem as if you are.” 

“Humour me, darling,” he mused, lips softly lifting. “Or humour him, whichever you prefer.” 

And you know you shouldn’t be doing this, laughing at the expense of someone else in such a way. You saw the larger swallow from Harry too and you knew he was feeling the same. 

However, here you were, giving eyes to a man that you didn’t think would get to see you in such a way again. 

“And why would I want to do that?”

“Cause at least one of us would make it worth your while.” 

You felt your breathing quicken as you held Harry’s eyes. He did nothing to deter you from holding his gaze. 

“You have to stop being so nice,” he added. “If he isn't doing anything for you, that’s okay.”

Reaching forward you rid your hands of your phone, letting it slide against his coffee table. “And do you not think you slightly have an unfair advantage?”

“I think,” he paused, his eyes looking at you. “I think we had something good.”

“Had being the operative word-“

“And I think we could have something good again. In fact I know we could.”

You stalled at his words. The confidence behind them. It was admirable how he was shooting his shot. Especially given you knew how inside he was most likely quaking with nerves.

“Tell him no.”

His words made you chest feel tight, his hand reaching across the distance between the two of you on the sofa. His palm facing up, you slowly lifted your hands to sit in his.

No sooner had your skin come in contact, Harry clasped his hand around yours and softly stroked his thumb to the back of it. He dipped down, lips meeting your knuckles before he tugged at you so softly you almost felt you had imagined it.

He wanted you closer, the arms length distance now too much as he started to show himself to you. His pettiness and his affection, they strangely won you over. Stoked something within you that had you edging further towards him.

Hand unlatching from yours, he lifted his left arm and wrapped it loosely around the back of your neck. With little persuasion you dropped your forehead against his jaw again. 

Harry’s swallow was audible as his fingertips softly stroked at your shoulder. His breath softly fanned against the skin of your temple, his lips turning to press the faintest kiss to your hairline.

“Tell him to piss off.”

You chuckled, breathily, head knocking itself back to look up at him. Eyes light with a sense of joyous infatuation at the moment you found yourself in.

Harry shifted, his right hand quickly discarding both your wine glasses before it placed itself against your hot cheek. The coolness of his slender fingers soothing and welcomed. 

“Tell him no,” he breathed, as his lips hovered close to yours, as he tilted your face upwards to meet his. 

With your eyes closed you felt a sense of guilt, for some unknown reason. It wasn’t like you were committed to anyone outside of the situation that you found yourself in, but you felt slightly wrong for what you were doing. Harry sensed it, able to read the downturn of your lips for what it was. He nudged his nose gently against yours, allowing his eyes to take their time in admiring your expressions and waited on the unnecessary internal conflict to ease. 

“Want me to tell him?” He asked, leaving breathy and wet kisses down your cheek, and along your jawline as you tilted your head back. “‘S not a problem.”

Your mind was swimming as you found yourself sinking back into the couch beneath you. Harry’s voice melting you as he continued talking, “Really get him to take the hint that you’re not interested.”

He kept his face buried against the underside of your chin as it pointed up at the ceiling, hands tracing down your arms and cupping at your hands to press them into his hair as he sucked at your skin.

“I know what you’re doing,” you hummed, scratching at the back of his head, enjoying the feel of his soft locks beneath your touch. 

Harry deeply groaned as you pulled at the strands, “What’s that?”

“Trying to have your way with me when I’m under the influence,” you joked, quirk to your lips. “Always was that little bit more placid that way.” 

You felt the way his lips moved from underneath your chin, finding the corner of your mouth, before he pulled up to look at you. He eyed you, all heavy lidded and messy lips. “You’re not tha’ pissed are ya?”

“No.”

“Then I’m definitely more than jus’ trying.” He reached for your face, lifting your chin and angling it how he wanted. “‘M taking, ‘m begging,” he spoke confidently, unashamed. 

His lips were dominant as they engulfed yours, a groan leaving your throat as your kiss was messy from the offset. His lips puckered and pulled, drawing you closer to him as he breathed through his nose and gave you his tongue.

Your chest was heaving as he skimmed his lips against your face, mouth finding the sensitive skin of your neck once more as you bit down on your bottom lip and tried not to laugh. 

“Charming of you to want your way with me on your couch.”

Harry chuckled against your neck, face lifting shortly to look at you. His pupils were blown out already, as his skin took on more of a rosy flush from the beginnings of his exertion. That or you’d embarrassed him.

“Sorry, I should’ve asked,” he mused. ”Where’d you want it?”

Legs curled gently around the backs of his thigh, still covered by the denim of his jeans, you pressed against them with the heel of your foot. 

“Where’d you think?”

He knew exactly where. You were a simple creature. You liked simple things. Sex was always fun to have all over the house, but depending on the level of intimacy you craved, depended on where you were willing to open your legs.

Tonight was a weird one for you to decide upon. The fumble on the couch, while it was exciting and showed you Harry’s desperation to have you once more, it would be over before you knew it. Also it would most likely leave you with a horrible crick in your neck as your keepsake. 

You didn’t want that. You wanted your keepsake to be the ache in your thighs from how he had taken you in different positions because while a bed was boring for some, it allowed you the option to roll around for as long as your bodies permitted. Bending in all different shapes and ways that sometimes neither of you would’ve been able to imagine. 

He broke you from your thoughts once more, hand gently finding your bum and tapping against it. “Up yer get,” he spoke, starting to push himself up knowing you wanted to go upstairs. 

With your legs curled around his, Harry couldn’t go too far. He chuckled with amusement as he dropped his eyes down to his legs and yours, before looking back up. He didn’t need to even ask as he looked at you, leaning forward he inhaled through his nose as he kissed sweetly at your lips and lifted you.

A smile pulled onto your face, causing difficulty to continue kissing. “Stop tha’,” he mouthed against the corner of your lips, as he hoisted your legs. “‘M trying to take charge here.”

“Why do that when you’re still so good at taking direction?” The lilt to your voice was one of glee, you had easily gotten your own way. 

Tousling your hair and flicking it away, behind your shoulders, you rolled your lips into your mouth as you felt the slight bruising from his expressions of desire. He was watching you as you looked at him, doe-eyes sparkling with intrigue and adoration. 

“Give us a kiss,” his deep voice ignited a warm fire within, as he still tried to assert himself while he walked the two of you away from his open plan lounge and closer to his kitchen.

You continued to eye him, enjoying the way he wasn’t going to back down. You just needed to stand your ground just as much. 

As your bum hit the work surface, your hands traced over Harry’s cheeks, cupping his face before moving to grip at the counter. Head tilted slightly, he looked down the bridge of his nose at you through hooded, dark eyes. 

He stepped in between your wide open legs and enjoyed the closeness that they brought when you brought them together to keep him to you. Heavy breathing filled the silent air as you both traced each other's features with touch and sight. Taste could wait, but it would get here soon enough. 

He gulped as he swallowed. 

“Please.”

At first it was gritty. His voice tight and throat dry. His lips forming the word confidently. 

Again he swallowed. “Please, gimme a kiss. You kiss me, like before.” 

The victorious hum that left his lips was one that you would let slide, as his hands ran down the length of your arms and reached up to wrap around your own. He placed them back onto his face, mouth breaking away as he left open mouthed kisses to your left palm, nose nudging at the end of your long sleeve top where he inhaled your worn away perfume. 

He could feel your pulse as he curled his fingers around your wrist. It was strong and rhythmic, inviting to his primal desire which caused him to gently nip at your flesh with his front teeth.

Turning his eyes back to yours, you silently asked him for another kiss with your soft and slow blinking gaze, knowing he wanted to get just as reacquainted as you did. 

He obliged, pressing closer to the counter and letting his lips meet yours quickly. His quick change in motion caused you to reach behind you to steady yourself, your hand coming into contact with an item you couldn’t identify until you gasped and pulled away thanks to the smashing sound. 

“Shit, I’m sorry,” you whispered quickly, trying to catch your breath. Harry’s eyes turned to take a look at one of the daintier wine glasses he had pulled down from the rack earlier but chose not to use. The item now lay broken against the flooring of his kitchen. 

“Really should tidy up before we go up,” he groaned, mouth pressed into the side of your cheek as you surveyed the mess made on his coffee table over the other side of the room. He reluctantly pulled away from you, walking the short distance to the broken glass.

“Watch yourself,” you said, meaning his bare feet around the glass.

Crouching down, Harry started to collate the bigger shards of glass together, stacking them up against the tiles of his kitchen floor. As you peered down, still sitting on his kitchen island, he looked up at you.

“Couldn’t do me a favour? Go an’ grab the dustpan and brush.”

You blinked. Was he alluding that he kept everything in the same place? Given how he’d asked so vaguely, knowing you would understand. 

Softly, he smiled up at you and chuckled around his words, “Same place as last time, yes.”

Taking a while to kick into action, you slowly slid off the work surface and let your feet softly pad over to the other side of the kitchen. The third cupboard from the right, on the lower half of the kitchen was where Harry kept items that Anne had brought him. You know, the things that Mum’s knew would be important but somehow never crossed their children’s minds. Regardless of whether their children were grown adults.

Sure enough, there sat the same blue dustpan and brush. The item was as vibrant as the last time you had seen it, in similar fashion. Leaning down you grabbed at it, shutting the cupboard gently using your foot and walked back to Harry.

You handed it off and heard his whispered thanks, as you rested the side of your hip against his cupboards. 

“Don’t think I’ve had this out since the last time you so elegantly broke one of my favourite glasses.”

You knew he was messing with you but that didn’t stop the blush of embarrassment, hitting your skin, and filling you with warmth. “I’ll replace it.”

“‘M jokin’, ‘s fine. Only a bit o’ glass-“

His sentence was cut short as the two of you jumped, the sound of a phone filling Harry’s space.

“‘S not mine,” he jutted his lips out, as he pushed himself up from his crouched position and carefully walked towards the bin with his broken glass.

You turned towards the noise that was your phone and how it blared from Harry’s coffee table, where you had placed it earlier. Walking the short distance, you reached for it and was met with a familiar male name.

Biting your bottom lip, you swiped across the phone and pressed it to your ear. His soothing voice greeted you, slightly worried in tone as he breathed a sigh of relief.

Letting your feet take you to the kitchen island again, you responded telling him you were fine and how sorry you were that you hadn’t let him know you had gotten home okay.

From over the other side of the room, you watched as Harry quirked a brow at you while he picked up the empty bottle of wine and wine stained glasses from the coffee table in his lounge. 

You weren’t home. You were far from home.

“Who is it?” He mouthed as he got closer, glasses clinking as he placed them onto the work surface of the kitchen island, after discarding the bottle of wine as loudly as possible into the bin. 

You pulled the phone away from your ear showing him the name that he had earlier been typing into your Instagram search bar. Under the dim light you could see the slight squint to his eyes and the way his nostrils flared. 

He darted his eyes from the phone screen and back to yours, watching as you put the phone back to your ear. 

“Yeah I had a great night, ‘m just tired.”

Harry dropped his head, a smirk forming on his lips. You were far from tired and this was nothing more than a moodkill. With his hands pressed to the worktop, he looked up at you as you stood diagonally opposite him. 

Eyes glancing down to your left hand that was spread against the work surface, Harry reached for it. The tips of his fingers running gently between the divots of your knuckles, before his hand slipped underneath your fingers and tugged you towards him.

You slowly obliged him, as your eyes moved to his face. “Come to bed,” he mouthed, watching as your top teeth worried at your bottom lip. His right hand moved to slip around to your lower back as you arched, pulling your chest away from his trying to keep his mouth away from the phone.

“Come to bed wi’me,” his voice was a whisper now, not quite loud enough for the person on the other end of the line to hear but a next step up from how he was previously just mouthing his words to you. 

As he tried to distract you, he dipped in and out of your conversation which was the most monotonous thing he had ever found himself eavesdropping into.

With your chest open to him, he nosed his way along your skin, head nudging at your hand that held the phone. His lips pulled into a smile as you faked a yawn, clearly trying to politely give the man on the other end a hint that you were done.

Still he heard the drone of this guy, who was now even repeating things he had previously said to try and keep you on the line with him. You weren’t interested though, too preoccupied by the way that Harry was once again pressing kissing to the skin that he could get too. 

Before you knew what was happening Harry had clearly had enough. 

“We’re tired, pal. Take the hint,” he spoke into the phone that still rested against your ear, his lips finding the bottom end of the receiver. “‘S time for bed.” 

You had to pull the handset away from your ear, not wanting to hear his reaction from the sound of Harry's voice. You blindly ended the call, keeping your eyes on your ex-boyfriend, whose green-eyed monster had made itself known.

He helped guide your phone down to his marble countertop and watched as the phone was brought to life with a call. The same name appearing on your screen as he tried to call you back.

Harry didn’t take long to decline the call, quickly turning the phone to silent and placing it face up once he’d finished. Again, it lit to life, this time buzzing against his work surface rather than omitting a jarring noise into the silence the two of you shared.

“‘S a bit creepy in’t it?” 

His question lingered as his eyes moved between the phone and you, watching another call ring out. “If he rings again, ‘m gonna answer.”

As expected the phone lit up for the fourth time. However, before Harry could reach for the item you pushed it, causing it to slide against the work surface and away, just enough that it was out of his reach. 

Harry clenched his jaw, his muscle pulsing as he looked at you. “‘S he always like tha’?”

“He’s just realised the girl he was dating is in the company of some other bloke.” 

“Dating or taken on dates? There’s a difference,” he raised his eyebrows. “‘S a huge difference an’all.”

You stared at him, watching him lower his body to lean against the counter with his elbows and wipe down his face in frustration. Unwarranted at that. 

“I don’t like ‘im.”

“Of course you don’t,” you hummed. 

Sharply he turned his neck to look at you, “‘s tha’ supposed to mean?”

“That I agree.”

“No,” he frowned. “It was how you said it.”

“I can handle myself.”

“I’m not-“ he cut himself off, sigh heavy. “I’m not saying you can’t.” 

He pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes, thinking of how to navigate his way out of this. 

“‘M saying that you don’t always have to,” he dropped his voice, slowly standing and letting his itching hands reach for you. 

With his hand resting against your ribs, you stayed still. He didn’t guide you anywhere, he waited. Waited on your next move. When he felt your stoic figure relax underneath his touch, his tight chest expanded. Maybe he could talk himself out of this one.

“When we tried this before,” he softly spoke, pulling his hand away from you to motion between you both, “We shared the load, started to become a team.”

“Yeah and look where that got us.”

He felt his lips twitch from your negative deadpan. “‘S got you back ‘ere again tonight so ‘m doing summat right.”

Shaking your head at him, he rolled his lips into his mouth trying to fight his pleased smile. He dropped his eyes to the counter below him as he mumbled his sorry. 

“If you were to ask me, I think we did alrigh’.”

“You would say that.”’

You watched as he jutted out his lips, before running his hand down his mouth and facial hair. He leaned on his palm, his eyes taking you in and wishing you would speak.

“My Mum talks about you all the fucking time,” 

“Say tha’ like it’s a bad thing.”

“It is when you’re trying to get over someone,” you glanced at him from the corner of your vision.

“Now why would you want to do that?”

“You didn’t seem to have a problem with it,” you were scornful. He shook his head, clearly amused. 

“I’ve still got half of your belongings upstairs, if you wan’ ‘em. You have no idea.” 

You squinted your eyes at him. Trying to read him. “Appearances aren’t always what they seem. Don’t know how many more times I’ll have to tell you about papers and social media, ‘s all a load of bollocks.”

Standing once more, Harry rolled his shoulders and brushed his hair off his face. Once his hands were at the back of his head, he linked his fingers and turned to look at you. Head resting back on his hands, the two of you held each other’s eyes. Him from the corner of his vision, you dead on. No words passed between the two of you. 

“‘M going to bed,” he sighed, dropping his arms and tapping gently against the kitchen counter twice before pushing away. 

His body screamed dejected as he walked away, his shoulders sagged and head down as he walked through his home, towards the second floor and his bedroom. 

Swallowing thickly, you rolled your lips into your mouth again before you spoke his name. The way you called for him caused Harry to stop his movement, back continuing to face you as he silently waited for your next move after you voiced your plea.

You let your feet take you to him, abandoning your phone on the kitchen island and trying your hardest to ignore the white hot anxiety that overtook your being. 

Close enough to touch now, you looked on at your shaking fingers as they gently reached out for him. Your feet took you as close as they could, arm wrapping gently around his abdomen and feeling it quiver with a nervous exhale. 

Lips against the linen of his shirt collar as you pushed onto your tiptoes, hoping that the wine stain upon them wouldn’t attach itself to the cream garment. His head dropped forward, exposing the curvature of his neck to you as his hand gently slid over yours and he rested his fingers between the splayed gaps of your own. 

Gentle squeeze. Reassuring reminder. 

Take your time. 

“Come show me this stuff.”

***

There was always something exhilarating about someone leading you upstairs. The different ways in which it could play out. Playful with a swing to your hands, sensual with a gentle tug to keep your close.

The feel of Harry’s hand in yours was always wanted. Every stroke of his thumb against your knuckles or the back of your hand, a reminder of the affection you had been missing.

His eyes looking over his shoulder at you as he came to the bottom step of the second set of stairs. A silent reminder that you could back out at any time. 

The floorboards still creaked in the same place as always and part of you hated that you didn’t need him to lead you down the hallway because you knew exactly where his room was. 

However, taking yourself to bed never possessed the same majestic undertone as when someone else did.

You were now sitting with your legs tucked underneath you at the end of his bed, rummaging through the box of things that he had neatly packed together for you so they were ready for you to have back if you ever came to collect them.

Every so often you would pull something out to him, showing it and either sharing a story or laughing. As you looked up at him now, showing a tequila shot glass and shaking it suggestively at him, he looked every inch ready to sleep.

Harry was stretched out straight on his bed, his linen shirt still covering his upper body but the buttons were all undone, revealing his chest and stomach to you. Tattoos on display to your eyes that you hadn’t seen for what felt like forever.

The top button of his jeans had been undone as he got comfortable and his ankles were crossed, with his right leg over his left. His eyes were heavily lidded and blinking slower and slower each time you presented him with a new item. 

Double chin forming from the way his head was propped up, he spoke deeply in acknowledgement of the glass with the less than elegant design on the side. 

“Remember getting through a whole bottle of tequila with that,” he drawled, hands clasping on top of his stomach. “Don’t know why we didn’t just pass the bottle between the two of us.”

“That’s because someone insisted that if we were gonna do it, we had to do it proper.”

“Haven’t got a clue what you’re talking about.”

“That’s convenient,” you deadpanned knowing that there was probably some truth behind his words given how inebriated you had both been at the time.

Thoughts aside you continued looking into the box to see a worn slogan shirt peering up at you. Pushing aside the half empty bottle of perfume that was once your favourite, you silently admired the tee that you knew didn’t belong to you.

A soft smile pulled itself onto your lips. Sometimes nice boy Harry was unbearable. He’d taken to folding the shirt that you adored as if it were on a shelf in a posh(er) department store than usual. Think more John Lewis than Debenhams.

Slowly you pulled the item from the box and enjoyed the feel of the soft cotton against your fingers. You loved that the shirt’s collar was slightly saggy, a sign of how loved it had been.

Your voice left your throat as more of a dreamy sigh than you imagined. “I loved this shirt,” you spoke as you held it up in front of your face, eyes tracing over the blue slogan of ‘Enjoy health. Eat your honey.” and the cheeky looking bee that was drawn within the circle.

Who didn’t love an innuendo?

Without a second thought, you let the item fall into your lap, hands quickly turning to pull at your black v-neck top and reveal your matching black lace bra underneath.

Harry slapped his hand against his eyes, quickly covering them. The sound caused you to look up at him. “Don’t be so daft, Harry,” you spoke, fighting your smile by rolling your lips into your mouth as you saw him splinter his fingers and look at you through the gap he had created. 

“Could give a guy a little warning,” he groaned, continuing to peek over at you. 

Shaking your head, you enjoyed the way the cool fabric fell down the skin of your stomach as you covered yourself once more. You knew if you were to turn your head slightly and press your nose to the collar, a mixture of your perfume and his cologne would remain.

You fought the urge however, as you pulled your hair out from underneath the collar and quickly pushed your hand up the back of the shirt to undo your bra. 

It was almost second nature for you to remove your underwear to get comfy within your comfier clothes and the sagging of your bra cups away from boobs was always a delightful feeling at the end of any night. Drunk or otherwise. 

You pulled at the straps of your bra from underneath the sleeves of your shirt, before diving your hand under the hemline and dropping the item less than gracefully into the box that held your other items.

“Think you’re forgetting who that actually belongs to,” he drawled, head resting against the pillows beneath him now and watching you rummage once more.

“I think you gave up the privilege of wearing this item the minute you dropped it inside this box all neatly folded like you worked a shift at Topshop rather than Manderville’s every Saturday.”

He cackled, head tilted back as he enjoyed your self-righteous indignation and absolute pisstake. 

“All Saints was more my thing.”

“That’s because you’re fake indie.”

He was amused as he shook his head over at you with a silent smile. “And being fake indie is exactly why you decided to live on the edge of Camden and not in the thick of Camden itself.”

“Don’t act like you didn’t once tell me that you’d want to raise a family in Hampstead.”

You felt your face heat up at the way he’d completely called your bluff. “That was when I was young and naive.”

“As opposed to us now? Being old and decrepit.”

Again you were silent as you started to put the items around you back into the worn cardboard box. 

“Why’re still fuckin’ around wi’that box?” 

Your eyes snapped up at him as he kept your eyes. “The only thing you should be fuckin’ around with, is me.”

Raising your eyebrows, you said, “Now who sounds young and naive. Anyway, what happened to you just taking.”

Harry was silent as he took in your words, his body slowly rising from his lounged position and he sat up to approach you. You dropped your gaze down his chest and to his stomach, enjoying the slight rolls of his abdomen as he adopted his new seated position.

His eyes were focused as your gaze found his once more. A soft determination. This sheen to his skin in the lamp lighting of his bedroom, causing him to naturally glow. 

Once he was secure in his upright position, closer to you, Harry snatched at the box with one hand and picked it up to sit it down on the floor at his side of the bed.

He then swooped suddenly, hand scooping around your waist and drawing you to him with squealed laughter. His lips fell against your cheek as he shushed you, aiding you as you moved position to get comfortable. 

“Remember the first time I had you in this bed?” He asked, chest to chest with you. Your mouth was agape with your quickened breathing, as his lips puckered slightly at the corner of your mouth and he gently leant his nose to yours.

You both watched each other through heavy eyelids, breathing mixed in rising anticipation. A soft nudge of his nose as he asked, “Do yer?”

A nod was all you could muster. 

“Was good sex,” he husked, hoodied eyes holding yours. “Was always good sex.”

You hummed in agreement. Feeling the way your nerve endings came alight as you pushed your fingers through the hair at his temple. 

Heat flowed through your body, circling in your stomach as his words echoed. 

“Still gonna be good sex, ‘f you’ll let me. Better even.”

The faintest smile pulled at your lips, causing your eyes to glisten. 

“Eh,” he nudged. “You gonna let me, or tell me otherwise?”

“Personally, think you’re just talking a good game.”

“You know ‘m fucking not.”

Harry pulled you to him, his mouth claiming yours easily. So hungry and intense. Lips that were desperate to show you what you had been missing. Lips that were desperate to wipe away the touch of another, asking you what the fuck you were even thinking in trying it with some other bloke? 

Gone was the brushing of lips, faint and fleeting. Harry’s liquid confidence started to come into play as his lips formed into a smile when he gave you his tongue and hummed as he did. 

Harry cupped your face as he slanted his mouth over yours, soft moans leaving your throat as you kept him close. 

Lips were coaxing, as he groaned between quiet wet smacking sounds that otherwise would have had you cringing. 

Now he had you however, how could he part? Your smell was intoxicating to him, as was the touch of your fingers in his hair and nails gently scratching at his scalp. His mewls were catlike when he pressed his wet lips to your skin.

Breathing now more like a pant, it puffed against your elongated neck as he pulled away and made a beeline for your clavicle and then chest, movements slower. Chestnut hair tickled the underside of your chin and caused the faintest of smiles to ghost across your lips from the way it felt.

His nose nudged the collar of his shirt that sat against your body enticingly. The smell of your perfume everywhere to him. 

Now lower down you found his forehead was pressed to your clavicle as you felt his teeth playfully tug the cotton between them. A puff of air left your nose as you bit down onto your bottom lip to try and suppressed your giggle.

“Smells like us,” he hummed, mouth breathing hot and heavy against the shirt that sat directly above your nipples. “‘S tha’ good.”

Your only response was the tipping back of your head, fingers carding heavily through the hair at the nape of his neck. 

Had he always been this skilful? Vocal, sure. But it never quite hit you like it was doing tonight. His deep hums and moans, his hands spreading so confidently across your back to hold you to him.

And when you cradled the back of his head and pressed that was when you found yourself moaning his name deep from the back of your throat as his mouth gently sucked at your hardened nipples through his beloved shirt.

His name left your lips again, this time  in the softest gasp as a small frown hit your eyebrows and your hips started to faintly roll atop his. He moaned gratefully into your chest, his tongue wetting the fabric of his shirt so it clung to your raised nipple.

As he nosed along the cotton, he found your second nipple, his hand quick to raise to the first and squeeze at your breast that had not been forgotten. His touch wanted - you and it - to know that.

This is what you’d been missing so long. A sense of feeling you had buried somewhere else. Blocking out the way he managed to make you feel more alive than anyone else had. 

With cheeks hollowed as he suckled, you whispered, “That’s nice.”

His hum of agreement vibrated through your chest as he kept his face pressed against you. 

Everything about him became deliberate and slow, his hands now moving underneath your shirt and fingertips gently grazing at soft, warm skin prickling goosebumps in their wake.

Sliding lower his left hand palmed against the back pocket of your jeans, fingers catching against the thick and sewed seams. Hand pressed heavy to aid the soft rock to your hips, tapping lightly to the top of your bum.

“‘M gonna take these off,” he hummed, looking up at you from where his face was still pressed into your chest.

“Are you?”

It felt as if the room spun before you could even comprehend what was happening, a squealed laugh leaving your lips next as your arms tightened around Harry’s shoulders. He lightly lifted and rolled you, your back landing against his mattress gently as your laughter tapered off.

His lips were sponging kisses to your jawline and cheeks, as you felt the backs of his fingers slide gingerly against the exposed skin of your stomach. Slowly you felt the fabric pull away and fall slack against your stomach when he managed to twist the button with one hand, as your arms fell against the mattress and into the pillows that were slightly pressed higher against the headboard.

“Took you long enough,” you goaded, a smirk lacing your lips as you felt Harry pull away and watched him kneel sitting back with his feet against his bum. 

His face was a picture, clearly amused, as he swiftly pulled his own shirt away and threw it behind him. Hands slowly trailed back up to the waistband of your jeans as he lightly hovered over you.

His head found your stomach, the soft skin on show from where the tee had ridden up. Soft puckered kiss, he lifted his head and pressed his chin into your stomach. 

“Last chance,” he voiced, soft. While he wasn’t willing to forget about it all, regardless of the ache he had between his own legs, you had to be in this with him as much as he was. 

Blinking down at him, you moved your hand up to gently push through his hair and without words raised your hips off the bed enough for him to get the message.

The smile that pulled at his lips, was so triumphant you had to knock your head back to stop yourself from chastising him for being full of himself. 

Your hands however couldn’t help themselves as they joined Harry while he pulled your trousers down your legs and watched goosebumps rise upon your skin from their exposure to the cold. 

Now he was at the end of the bed, you dropped your head to the side to look at him. The way he looked as he carelessly threw your item of clothing over to the chair that sat in the corner of his room. 

His eyes slowly came back to you, as he followed his own motion and saw the faintest of smiles dance across your features. 

“What yer thinking?” 

You were thinking a lot of things. Mainly more so how mystical he looked in the soft glow of the London evening that was creeping in through the haphazard way he had drawn his curtains. Your smile only deepend at how it was more so from the street lamp lights than any full moon, but he didn’t have to know that.

Of course he would want to though, because your smile was more so on show now thanks to the thought in your mind.

Harry shook his head as he fought his own smile, dropping his face slightly to watch his hands as he fiddled with his own jeans.

“Whatever’s got you smiling, ‘s doing nothing for my ego as ‘m undressing m’self in front of yer.”

You knew he wouldn’t be able to help himself, which is why you lightly laughed. 

He spoke your name in a pretend warning.

“‘S doin’ everythin’ for you,” you spoke sultry, “Don’t even try it. Got a girl half naked and waiting for you.”

At those words he looked up at you, through his curtains of thick waves that had fallen into his line of vision. 

You breathed deeply, eyes unable to move from his captivating stare even though you knew he was practically naked from the waist down. You knew from the way his upper body moved as he pushed down his jeans; you knew from the sound of the clothes bunching around his ankles. 

Now you found yourself wondering again. Wondering if he still kept his condoms where he had done last time. Sometimes in the bedside table drawer, other times hidden in the top of his wardrobe. 

Were you going to see him twist and turn, get him showing you how white his bum cheeks were in comparison to his infuriatingly evenly tanned thighs and legs? Or was he going to hold your eyes, dip his knee into the bottom of his bed and crawl up you once more so he could grab one from the bedside table.

“Not just any girl,” he finally replied, his knee dipping into the bottom of the bed. You supposed that answered your question. 

“No?”

A small shake of his head. 

“The girl.”

Harry chuckled, giving himself away as he watched the way you relaxed deeper into the mattress as he found your legs easy to accommodate him. 

“I’ve never been the anything,” you emphasised.

With his lips against your cheek, you felt his puffed breath as he responded, “Yea, you fuckin’ have.”

You kept him to you with a hand against the back of his head, fingers woven through his hand unable to not enjoy the feel of his silky locks beneath your touch. Reacquainting yourself with everything that you thought you had lost.

His lips unlatched from yours with a soft, wet sound as your eyes rolled back into your head when he started to trail kisses down your cheek, down your neck once more.

There was no mistaking how greedy they were, his chin knocking yours and his teeth scraping against your skin as he held your jaw with a steady hand in hope of keeping you still beneath him. 

Legs moved from where they were open, softly brushing at his sides so your calves wrapped and touched the back of his thighs. The feel of his hairs against your smooth legs becoming a weirdly exhilarating reminder of your closeness once more. 

Head buried in your chest, you felt him locate the wet patch against the cotton from his previous play and quickly enclose his mouth once more. Warm hands pushed beneath your body and the mattress, sliding underneath and raising your chest further to his face. 

Your mouth fell open as you felt the pressure of his lips and tongue, enclosed around your nipple again, grow stronger. With a hand in his hair once more, you wondered if he was going to take you out of this shirt, or fuck you in it. 

As the pressure lessened, with your head pressed into the bed beneath you, you heard the rustling of his nose and face against the shirt. He rubbed his face against you, inhaling and moving his hands closer to your lower back. 

Hands in contact with your underwear, you felt him smooth over the fabric of your bum. He pulled at your thigh, before pushing at your knees with a gentle but assured touch. 

“If I remember correctly,” he started, voice muffled as his face was still pressed to your breast. “This leg needs to go here, like this. Mm?” 

Clammy hand splayed against your thigh, you felt him direct your other leg, “And this one needs to be a bit lower, otherwise you get cramp.” 

There was a pause, and you could feel the way his lips were twitching atop the cotton of the tee. Matching yours at the flippant comment that was only funny because it was true.

Humming again, he added, “Keep ‘em like this. Keep me here like this.” 

Doing what he asked, you bit back a moan when he moved to fit his palm over you through your underwear. The warmth from it radiating through you, making your throb and giving you the urge to fold your legs in on it.

Tentative strokes were what you received, at first. Up and down, coaxing you and drawing you into him. Then his fingers became more confident, certain in their touch, moving with a sense of familiarity you had been missing. 

“‘S this okay?”

His voice was soft, hard to hear over your breathing and the blood starting to rush around your ears. You found yourself nodding, however. Giving him the permission he desired, making his next movement the easiest. 

His fingers hooked, slipped underneath the thin piece of fabric and the quiet groan that left his lips only had you moving your legs that bit higher. 

“‘S it nice.”

Harry was enticing. From his oozing velvety voice to his careful, barely there touch. You were lost to him. Finding it hard to breath as your body begged for you to be actually - really - touched. 

With a heavy swallow, you felt your eyes fall shut with your slow, deep breath and let your head turn to the side, finding the edge of a propped up pillow to shield your torture expression. 

“Don’t hide from me,” his voice lazily made itself known, as he looked up from under his brow at you and caused your eyes to drop as you looked down your body. He descended lower and lower, hands pushing up at his tee against your stomach, to reveal your bare skin to him. 

Spongy kisses, encased by stubble, pressed into your skin. His fingers never once let up in their tease, touch opening you up for him. The soft twitch of your legs when his fingers landed on your clit, sliding over it. 

“Relax for me,” he hummed. “You good… s’it feel good?”

Confident nod, you swallowed again. Tongue pushing between your lips to lick away the dryness. 

“Okay wi’this?” 

Another nod.

The press of his fingers onto your clit caused you to breathe deeply. A hiss of ‘yes’ as you exhaled. 

“Tell me if it’s changed.”

And you knew what he meant. His desire to know if you still liked things the same as before important to him. 

You couldn’t help the low and long moan that left your throat. Neither could you stop the lift of your hips from the bed as you twisted your body as he stroked at your clit. 

Heavenly ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs’ were pulled from you. Encased by ‘yeses’ of various pitches. Harry’s nose was buried into the skin of your ribs, having managed to push the tee you still wore to underneath your boobs and in the process expose more of your skin to him.

His mouth sucked against your skin on the inside of your left boob, just at the underside, and from the groan he omitted you knew you were going to be left with an almighty love bite. 

“Oh,” you sighed, as you felt his tongue lave at the mark, again nudging upwards and taking the shirt with him. Tongue over your exposed nipple, alert from the cold and due to your aroused state. 

Your lower half was warm, fire stoked while he stroked at your clit. A sharply exhaled ‘fuck’ from you had him smiling around your nipple. The last time you had found yourself getting this wet - soaked and slick, the kind that meant your walls were smooth and would pull him right in - had been with him. 

A laugh left you from underneath your breath, one not noticed by Harry who was too lost in the feel of you beneath him. The thought of anyone being able to get you this way from an act so virginal was unknown. Of course, he was the exception. Of course. 

“Hear tha’?”

So lazy he couldn’t even ask you properly. 

“Nice an’ wet.”

The slip of his fingers moving lower had you humming delightfully, legs falling open a bit more as his fingers danced at your entrance. The contrast of the heel of his palm to your clit was welcomed, warm but dry in comparison to heavily wet fingers. 

You could feel yourself pulsing as his palm gently rubbed you again, nervous energy had you teetering. Fingers at your center. You wanted them, you wanted him in anyway he would give you himself. 

Quiet, apart from staggered breathing, he smiled to himself when he felt your walls give way to him and his two fingers with ease. Your moan was voracious, a clear need apparent as the edges of it died against your dry throat. 

He knew it was his name. He had heard it like that before. Plenty of times. Said in the same tone too. Sprinkled with incoherent desire. 

“‘S that want you wanted?” He found himself asking. “Should’a just said.”

And you would’ve if you could. But instead your head was tossed back and your toes were curling into the sheets. 

These were the moments he has missed. When he really thought about your time apart. The moments where the two of you were so lost in each other that the nonsense that slipped from each of your lips was met with no judgement but rather embraced. 

Reacquainting after time apart. Rekindling your desires and unspoken love for one another. 

Eyes on your face, he couldn’t  quite see you how he would’ve liked but he did nothing to change it. His own want went out of the window in favour of you getting and keeping yours. 

The smell of you was everywhere as he dropped his eyes and pushed his face against your boobs once more. A man quite willing to suffocate in his need to want more. 

He could feel your falling apart under his experienced touch, relentless and unfleeting now. His fingers curled and with each ‘come hither’ your breathy moans only drove him on. 

“Fuckin’ ‘ell,” he spoke through gritted teeth, the tension in his arm burning at his wrist. Mutters of desperate mantras - ‘come on, come on’ - mouthed to your skin.

And you could - like this - you could. But did you want to?

While you were feverishly hot, everywhere, for him - body unable to stop rolling with each pull of his fingers - your head knocked back and softly shook from side to side. 

“No,” you moaned lightly, “Not yet… Harry.” 

“No?”

His questioning had you dropping your eyes, head still lolled to the side with pouted expression. 

Mind still slightly hazy, you stared at him. He was still in his underwear, very obviously hard. Head nudging slightly, you breathed, “Come here.”

Empty. That’s how you felt when he slowly moved his fingers and left you clenching around nothing but the cold air of his bedroom. 

His right hand was against your skin, middle and third finger slightly hovering away as they were coated in you and he selfishly didn’t want to lose that to your flesh but rather his tongue. 

Legs welcomed him, smoothing around the backs of his thighs once before lifting and using your  feet to try to push his underwear down. 

Harry let out a noise you hadn’t heard in a while, a mix between a grunt and chuckle. The kind that created an aggravated fire within you.

“‘S not gonna work,” he mumbled, eyes closing as he felt the warmth of you against his clothes bulge. Your one thigh lifting to encourage him to roll onto his back.

And he did, taking him with you. A mess of awkward limbs tangling. With shaky knees you climbed over him, eyes down and taking in his underwear.

A pair of black briefs fit him just right, hugged him and holding his straining cock. 

Your eyes slowly rose up his body, his chest lifting and falling with heavy breathing as his chin softened while he looked down at you with his fingers just about leaving his mouth from where he’d cleaned your arousal off of them. 

You felt his eyes peering at you as you lowered down, nose first teasing against the waistband of his underwear before you found your lips pressed kisses to the tops of his thighs. Enjoying a little bit too much the feel of his leg hair against your nose and lips. 

Hand lifted, it blindly sought out the waistline of his pants and allowed fingers to slip inside to pull down the material. 

Just about past his thighs, you locked eyes with Harry. His soft blinking gaze and content smile had you grinning impishly, knowing in the faintly lit room he would most likely be able to make out the blush upon your skin. 

You’d saw but more arousingly heard his cock move as the briefs which encased it gave way and it fell back, heavy, against Harry’s lower abdomen. And that was where it lay, next to the hair in Harry’s stomach and down to his pubic region. 

Small crawl to get you better situated, you flipped some of your hair over to your opposite shoulder and felt him touch the back of your head with a barely there graze as you licked up the underside of his cock.

“Shit, darling,” he breathed, voice blissful above you but filled with a rawness only brought on by sexual vulnerability. 

Looking up his body, you could see the grin that had made its way to his lips. His teeth quick to bite it away, with little to no avail. 

You licked again, mouth moving lower to delicately suck one of his balls into your mouth. 

The groan that left him was husky, right from the back of his throat. The kind that gave you shivers from how unguarded it was. His legs widened against the bed, your eyes diverted to his thighs from his movement. How thick they looked as they flattened beneath you on his bed. 

Wrapping your hand around him, you ran your thumb over the head of his cock. Up and down. Slowly taking in every movement and what it did to him. Just like you remembered.

“‘S this right?” You asked, hand and mouth working him and his balls over. Looking up once more you watched him hum, with the smallest of nods. His lips were rolled into his mouth, dimples prominent as they dipped into his cheeks.

His nostrils flared as he breathed and his hair had started to fall across his forehead from how he’d been dipping his head back into the pillows beneath him.

“Squeeze me ‘ere,” he reminded you, voice holding a slight tremble, his hand encasing yours and encouraging a tighter hold as he leisurely dragged both his and your hand up and down his cock. “Slowly- tha’s it.”

You pulsed between your thighs as you watched him moving your hand with his, each downward pull showing his glistening head more and more. Heavy swallow, you knew he was holding back and you would be lying if you said the visual wasn’t encouraging you to take him in your mouth properly.

Almost like second nature you did exactly that. Licking at your lips as you lifted up and wrapped your lips around his exposed tip. When his hand faltered from the pleased sound you voiced now you were on him, you were able to slip from under his grip and felt him continue to wank as you suckled so teasingly. 

With each bob of your head, you felt his hand pull away more, as your mouth and jaw stretched around his hard cock. 

“Yea’,” he groused, deeply when his hand fell to give way to your mouth and move to shift your curtaining hair. Harry rolled his hips up gently, eager to get the last bit of him down your throat. Old him would’ve voiced it too, but he felt this moment didn’t call for that.

He softly fucked your face, if there were such a thing. The nudges of his cock warming through your core as the throbbing sensation that had been lingering between your legs only grew.

Harry fought against himself to make you gag, teetering on it with each raise of his hips as his glassy eyes barely focused on you. Too engrossed in the filth he wished to voice. 

“God, look at you,” he dropped his head back. Ironic really. Unable to continue looking as he said it. It was tame in comparison to how he wanted to speak.

So, he laughed. Breathy at first, before becoming a little bit louder. You lips twitching into a smile as you lifted off of him and gently tugged before letting it fall and bounce proudly erect. Kissing up his stomach and placing your knees either side of his hips. 

He had almost forgotten you weren’t completely naked until you sat on top of him covered up. Eyes too taken by your face to care, as you blinked down at him with a doe-eyed expression that made him want to lap you up in any way he could have you.

His right hand pulled you down to him, lips greedy against yours as his left hand found the top of your bum cheek, trying to blindly find his cock and guide him into you regardless of knowing it wouldn’t work.

“Like this?” He asked as his lips hovered at the corner of yours, wanting to know if you wanted it this way. “How’d you wan’ it?”

“On top.”

“Me?”

Your voices were breathy as you spoke around the faintest of kisses. Both eager to start from the feel of you both so close to each other. 

The faintest of nods was given to him and it was all it took for him to roll the both of you, further continuing to ruckle up the bedsheet beneath you.

“Do I need one?”

And you knew you should be responsible and not shake your head no at his ambiguous mention of protection. All rushed and breathy, chest heavy as he exhaled in a nervous rush, but you just wanted him. Bare and in you. 

Underwear was quickly removed before you’re resumed your position. 

He watched you softly as you shook your head no, Harry pushing the shirt up under your boobs, your arms wrapping around his neck as he continued to kiss at your jaw and cheeks. 

“Planning on staying over?” 

Feeling him shift up and jar his head back, just enough to get a good look at you, you stared at him not knowing how to respond. It was practically morning now, so hadn’t you already? 

His hands moved your legs as you thought, his one holding you where he needed you to be. 

“Don’t think ‘bout it for too long, darling,” he joked nudging his nose gently against you as he watched the way your lips went against you, smiling at his words. 

“Let me know how long we can go for,” he added, gently taking his cock that was sprung and bobbing between you into his hand. He looked down and tapped it to your wetness, sliding it down with a press of his fingers to the topside of his shiny cock to line himself up.

“Gonna let me have you all night.” 

Your breathing picked up, chest trembling slightly at how much more of a statement those words sounded than a question. An amorous glance looked back at him, slow blinking and head lolled gently to the side. 

“Eh? Sleep in the mornin’?”

A deep and shaky breath had your mouth falling, your eyes slowly shutting as you felt him push in. You were right when you thought about how easily you would take him earlier. Body crying out for a good fuck. 

“Fuck me,” he groaned deeply, head dropping forward and hair hanging down. You reached for him, wanting to see his face.

Harry obliged you, his face turning to find your wrist and pressing a chaste kiss to your skin. “Missed havin’ you like this,” he breathed. Quick bite down to his bottom lips, nostrils flared.

“‘S tight.”

He knew the remark was boyish. Unable to stop himself as he eased out and rolled his hips back into yours. Each push and pull giving you a little more of him. Deep frown etched between his eyebrows as his breath caught in his throat, mouth slightly fallen and lips starting to dry. 

“Haven’t-“ your voice croaked, head dipping into the pillow beneath you.

Haven’t slept with anyone in a while. Haven’t slept with anyone since you last slept with him. Haven’t had the desire to. 

He hummed in agreement as the two of you felt the words fall away from you both. Harry’s concentration firmly on each roll of his hips as he gave you more of him. The rhythm he set being one that you could only describe as intimate. Familiar. 

He was warm on top of you as he alternated between grinding dips of his hips, thrusts that were tantalisingly slow, making your hips roll up to meet him and causing him to smile at how you wanted it. 

He had to voice it. “You want it, don’t you?”

He only knew so easily because he did too. He had done the minute he fucked the whole thing up and let you slip away with his dwindling text messages in response and shorter phone calls every time you had a chance.

Your hand glided to the back of his head, the other down to his bum as you encouraged him to give you his entire weight. He was close but you want him closer. Close was never close enough. 

Was that enough to answer his question of wanting it, wanting him? 

Squeezing at his bum, you fought the urge you had to give him a slap, too caught up into the heavy groan that moulded into your face as he pressed his nose to your skin.

“You make me good,” he lowly gruffed against your cheek, his hand trailing down to take yours from his bum.

Fingers laced and pressed against the mattress upon which you lay, you tilted your head back and pressed it harder into the pillow beneath you. You keened and mewled beneath him, breathy noises of indecipherable words as the head of his cock bumps your spot inside. 

“You make me feel good.”

You were taken by his gasp, how desperate he sounded as he hiked your leg higher, wanting you to spread yourself open for him. His hips don’t give you much choice other than to play along as he moved with an assiduity you had never found with any other man. 

He allowed you to feel every inch of him going in, pulling out and going back in. Teasing himself and you with a slow and measured pace that had you passionately panting underneath him. 

“No one gets it like this.”

Looking at him with heavy-lidded vision, you wove your fingers through his hair and tugged. His face contorted blissfully, breath catching in his throat before it heaved out of his mouth as his chest forced him to exhale. 

You were nodding, agreeing with him. No one had you like this. Him like this. It like this. Sweltering and sticky. 

Teeth gritted, he grunted as he thrusts grew heavier now with more conviction behind their motion. 

“Deeper,” you gasped, “Yeah.”

“Yeah?”

His pelvis was heavy against yours now, making it difficult for you to lift and roll your hips to meet his thrusts. And he knew you loved it like this, he still knew that. 

Legs practically pushed to your chest, held there by your own fruition as they rocked and rubbed up against his fleshy sides cradling him to you, feet bobbing in the air with toes curled.

The sensual roll he was giving you caused the grip of your fingers to go slack against his head. You could feel him smiling against your skin, as your breath hitched in your throat and your hand squeezed at his. 

“Touch my arse,” he moaned, sliding his hand out of yours and breathing in quick succession until your hand met his bum cheek once more. 

This time you didn’t falter, gently tapping and feeling the tension to his thrusts as he clenched. Quick squeeze and nails digging in creating crescent moons against his white bits. “Yeah darlin’, know I like it like tha’.” 

Head turned to the side, you messily brought your mouths together. He chuckled as you broke away, probably from the words he’d just spoken. Laughter dying down into a hum as your feet wrapped around his lower back.

His lips were dry as they met yours, too caught up in how his mouth hung open, to make them wet and inviting, as his need to breathe was evident. 

“No ones like you,” you admitted. “No one comes close.”

He revelled in the whine of your last word, how it had your back arching and allowed him to wind his hand around you to lift your bum slightly to encourage your hips to continue meeting his.

He knew you were tired, the breathy whines that were spoken up towards the ceiling were not lost on him. And he knew he had to keep going, to give it to you how you deserved. To make up for the lost time, to say sorry for ‘being a bit of a dick’. A lot of a dick. 

When you knocked your head back, your eyes were unable to concentrate and he was mesmerised by the visual of complete, unadulterated lust that was present on your features. Hair sticking to your temples from your exertion and face void of any concern. 

“Make me come,” you whispered your plea, feeling him bury his face into your neck and drop himself down flush to you. With one hand woven through the hair on the back of his head, your other stayed at him bum feeling the grind of his groin against yours as he lay on you. 

He was sensual now, if not a little tired himself, as his breathing left his mouth in hot pants against the side of your neck. You could feel yourself beginning to flush from the heaviness of his body as you both rocked from the force of his motions and the fullness of him above you.

With rustling sheets and sounds of grunts, your cooed ‘oh’ left you, as you felt the motion of Harry’s hips pickup pace. Your fingers clawed into his hair, lifting the strands and softly pulling as your body ached in the most delectable way.

Harry groaned around a smile, muffled by your skin as he could feel his stomach start to tighten; his orgasm impending. He tried to hold off as much as he could, eager to watch you come undone first in the best way he could as he was rendered speechless and breathless alongside it.

Instead you were both a mess of tangled limbs, with rocking motions so vigorous that you felt yourself moving up the bed. A symphony of noises - slapping skin, feeble grunts and creaking bed.

Harry wheezed, knowing he sounded pathetic by too caught up to care. Through hooded eyes you caught sight of his mouth falling agape before he ground his teeth together as his thrusts heavily rolled into you, nudging your entire body.

Your mouth fell as his name unashamedly fell from your lips. Demandingly, but in a juxtaposed whisper, you told him to give it to you. 

“I am,” he whispered. “Oh, I am, darling- Mmhm.“

You whimpered, feeling each breath get harder to produce as your abdomen began to tighten and your chest heave. “I’m coming,” you hastily whispered. Voice nothing more than a pant. 

Looking up at Harry, you watched his bottom lip become captive to his teeth, as his nostrils flared while he breathed. His thrusts were at their heaviest now, wetter and sloppier but getting the job done.

“Gonna- oh.”

This was the loudest you’d been in a while. Moans long and dying off into wordless bliss as your muscles tensed and your orgasm rolled through you. Leaving you as nothing more than cloudy thoughts, and a warm, floaty body.

You felt the bounce of his laugh against his skin from his breath, as he continued to move above you and moulded you into nothing but a high-pitched mess as he wouldn’t stop.

Body falling slightly slack, relaxed and pliant to the bed, you felt Harry move his face into your neck and nudge his hips once more. His ruts were less rhythmic, rough grunts and indecipherable slurring only matching his pending euphoria. 

With his final, heavily thrust, his hips slammed to a stop against yours. Your breathing stuttered as you held him to you, hands moving over his shuddering shoulders and ears listening to his muffled groans which vibrated through you.

“Yea’,” he drawled. Low from the back of his throat. “Yes.”

***

Sunday mornings were made to be slow. To bask in the stillness. To hear nothing but the blood that was rushing through your ears.

It was far too bright to be considered early morning. Not with the winter months looming. 

You stretched your limbs, listening for the crack of your back as your hands reached for the t-shirt that was still awkwardly bunched up to your armpits. 

Rolling your body slightly you reached for the hem and pulled it down, letting your head fall to the side to see an empty bed which allowed a sense of regret to creep into your morning thoughts. Blinking slowly, you almost missed the sound of the bedroom door gently bouncing against the wall.

A hushed, “bollocks” spat out for the other side of the wood causing your lips to twitch upwards in a smile. 

A pause came to Harry’s movements as he caught your eye in nothing more than a pair of fresh underwear and mismatched mugs in each hand. 

“Stayed the night,” he hummed, eyes softly shining. A soft smile pulled onto your lips as he left a cup of tea closer to your side of the bed and you watched him start to blow gently at the lip of his own mug. With his mouth about to take a sip, he asked, “Fancy staying another?” 

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