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fixfoxnox · 1 year

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Something In The Orange - Part 19

Description: Roach continues dreaming

Warnings: Slight/implied NSFW

Note: This is also being uploaded to my Ao3 if you would prefer to read it there!

Word Count: 9.6k

"Dying flowers in the hall with no sun to see

And paintings on your wall that I can still remember

And evenings doing nothing made it easier to breathe

Made a lot of plans left to early to complete"

"False Promises and You" - Evan Honer

It was as the team was leaving Roach’s room, their time that they were allowed running up, that Simon learned why exactly Roach’s entire family had been sneaking glances at him since he’d introduced himself.

The group was gently told that an hour had passed by Roach’s dad. He was much kinder than Roach’s mother, but based on the way that he’d taken it upon himself to remind them of the time they were allowed, Ghost could assume that he held a similar opinion on the team as his wife. They hadn’t complained, only quietly asked if they could return for another hour of time the next day.

Roach’s mother had seemed like she wanted to say no, but, in the end, she simply gave them a short, curt, nod. Ghost was grateful that she seemed alright with allowing them to return. He wasn’t sure what he would have done if they’d said no. Probably try to sneak in through one of the hospital windows. He didn’t say that out loud though.

They were already out into the hallway, making their way back out to the van. Ghost had his hand held tight in Soap’s, using him as a bit of a lifeline as he tried to shake the image of Roach beaten on a battlefield in favor of his recovering form in the hospital bed. It was a much nicer image, though still not quite as nice as seeing him awake would be.

As usual, Soap could read him like an open book. The shorter man had given his hand a squeeze, drawing his attention so that he could shoot him a comforting smile. “He’s alright,” he muttered kindly to him, reminding his spiraling mind that Roach was going to be okay.

He went to respond, but he found himself stopping in his tracks, turning to look behind him as he heard footsteps approaching and a voice calling out, “Carol, stop! You know that he isn’t-”

“I don’t care,” It was Roach’s mother, heading straight toward them. There was determination in her step and she was several paces ahead of her husband who seemed like he was scrambling to keep up. Simon could feel her eyes burning into him, even before she came to a stop squarely in front of himself and Soap, “Mr. Riley, I’d like to speak to you for a moment,” she glanced at Soap, “Alone.”

Ghost was nervous. Of course, he was. But the last thing that he wanted to do was to offend Roach’s mother. He wouldn’t put it past her to use visitation rights to her son against him. He pushed down a sigh that threatened to spill from his lips and turned his head just enough that he could say to Soap, “You go ahead. I’ll catch up.”

Soap seemed hesitant to leave him, his eyes darting between Ghost and Roach’s mother for several seconds before he gave a hesitant nod and another supporting squeeze to Ghost’s hand, “We’ll be waiting for you in the van.”

Ghost gave a nod, watching his boyfriend hesitantly turn away and start down the hall again. Occasionally he would turn back, as though checking on him. When he was finally far enough away, Ghost turned back to Roach’s mother. “Can I help you with something Mrs. Sanderson?

“How long have you known my son?”

Ghost was taken aback by the question. He’d expected her to grill him on what had happened in Russia, what had happened before then, not ask how long he’d known Roach. “I’m sorry?”

She crossed her arms, shrugging her husband's hand off of her shoulder as soon as he’d placed it there. Her eyes were narrowed on him suspiciously, “How long have you known my son?”

Ghost cleared his throat, “Uh, A little over a year and a half ma’am.”

She watched him carefully, “So you’d never met him before that? Not even when you were children?”

Ghost shook his head slowly, completely lost by the questions that the woman was launching at him. “No, not that I know of.”

She seemed to deflate a bit like she’d expected his answer to tell her more. To finally solve some age-old mystery that had been tugging at her mind for years. She ran a hand over her face and gave a tired sigh, “Of course,” she muttered to herself, “I’m sure there are plenty of Simons in the world. Plenty of men with the name Simon Riley.”

Ghost hesitated to ask, “Ma’am?”

She looked up at him carefully, watching his expression as though debating on telling him something. “Gary used to have nightmares when he was younger,” she started lowly, “He would scream a name in his sleep. Simon. That was the name.”

“We only ever heard a last name once,” Roach’s father added slowly, “In his teen years, he’d fallen asleep on the couch. He’d been muttering to himself, something about a mission. A ghost. A Shepherd. Some sort of drive. Fire. We didn’t think anything of it at the time, that was until he said the name again. We hadn’t heard it in years at that point.”

“He said the name, Simon Riley. Just said it, then stopped talking. Like he just needed to get it out of his system,” Roach’s mother sounded on the verge of hysterics as she continued rubbing at her face, “You can imagine that we connected that the Simon from when he was younger was likely this Simon Riley. But we never heard anything else about it, not until today when you walked in and introduced yourself.”

Ghost was quite grateful for the face mask that he wore, knowing that it likely helped to hide his face enough that they couldn’t see the way his mouth had dropped open. Shepherd? Ghost? A mission? All things Roach had apparently seen in a dream when he was a teenager. There was some sort of anxiety pulling at his chest, his mind calling back to a dream he’d had the previous night.

He’d been in Russia with Roach. Their teammates had been killed. Roach had been shot. Ghost had been desperately dragging his injured lover behind him, calling out frantically for exfil. They’d made it to Shepherd, he looked different in the dream but Ghost had known it was him. He asked about a drive. Ghost confirmed they’d gotten it. Shepherd betrayed him. He shot Roach. Ghost hadn’t been able to react in time. He was shot too. His world faded out around him quickly as blood seeped from his neck. The last thing he remembered was the fear and guilt for the man next to him. For a version of Roach that he hadn’t been able to protect.

He came back to himself, taking in a shaky breath of air before shaking his head at Roach’s parents, “Thank you for telling me. But I’m being honest, I’d never met Roach before he joined the team.”

The two watched him for a moment, Roach’s mother seemed to deflate more. Finally, they gave him a nod. “Thank you for staying to talk with us,” Roach’s father was the one to say the words. Roach’s mother didn’t say anything else to him, only turning back to start toward Roach’s room again. Ghost and Roach’s father watched her for a minute.

“She really doesn’t like us,” he said quietly.

“It’s nothing against you,” Roach’s father placed a hand on his shoulder and gave him a small squeeze paired with a tired smile, “She’s just worried is all. Come back tomorrow, I’m sure Gary would be happy to know that you guys kept coming.” He gave him one last pat on the shoulder before turning to follow after his wife. Ghost watched him go.

After a few moments, he turned around, slowly beginning toward the outside of the hospital. The words of Roach’s parents rang in his ears. He wondered how it was possible that Roach had known about his and Shepherd's existence long before he’d joined the military. He wondered if Roach had the same dream that he’d had the previous night. He wondered if that was even possible.

“Stop pulling your punches,” Captain MacTavish told him. He slowly extracted himself from where he’d wrapped around Roach and pinned him to the ground. He held a hand out to him once he’d stood, pulling him from the floor.

Roach let out a little grumble, “I’m not pulling my punches.”

“You are,” Soap crossed his arms at him, “Know how I can tell?” He reached out and grabbed Roach’s upper arm, tugging him closer. Roach let himself be moved into yet another hold. He didn’t move as the man wrapped his arm around his neck and pinned his arms in place. “I can tell because you know exactly how to get out of this hold.”

It was true. Roach had been taught by Ghost how to get out of nearly any hold that he was put in. He’d even learned some new methods from the Ghost in his second life, he was more than capable of breaking free if he wanted to. The issue was that he was desperately worried about accidentally hurting Soap during training.

It was a stupid worry. Something that he’d never been bothered about before. Captain MacTavish could fend for himself well and they both very clearly knew how to spar without actually hurting the other too bad. Still, there was something about the entire situation that made Roach hesitate. Part of him was worried, so worried that he would accidentally hurt Soap while training. That he would land a hit that would shatter the illusion that his mind had created for himself. It was an odd worry, but he would rather let himself be pinned to the mat over and over again than potentially make a move that would wake him up from his current dream.

“Alright, alright,” Roach sighed in the hold. His eyes glanced across at Simon who was watching him carefully. He’d removed his mask about ten minutes into the training session and Roach had felt his eyes burning into him the entire time. “You can let me go now.”

Soap clicked his tongue, “Not until you break my hold.”

“What?”

“Break my hold,” he spoke the words again. “Don’t hold back, we’re going to stay right here, just like this, until you decide to stop holding back. Break my hold.”

Roach stayed frozen for several minutes, considering his options. He didn’t really have many. He’d allowed himself to be pulled into this situation and now Captain MacTavish intended to force him to take their session more seriously. He shot a pleading look at Simon, hoping that the man would be willing to help him. He was met only with a raised eyebrow.

He gave a sigh. It seemed like neither of the men were going to give him much of a choice, “Alright,” he finally muttered, shifting his feet into a better stance, “But you asked for this,” he warned.

He decided to play with the move that he’d learned recently from training in his second life. He hadn’t had many chances to practice it with everything that had happened with Makarov, so this would be a good chance for him to finally test it out.

With his plan in mind, he quickly moved, slipping one of his feet back to roughly kick against the back of one of Soap’s ankles. At the same time, he slammed himself back, letting his head hit Soap’s face. He earned a groan at the movement and, in the next second, Captain MacTavish was tilting backward, his balance lost. The unexpected movement caused his hands to loosen around where he had pinned Roach.

Roach took the opportunity to slip out of his grasp as they fell back. He turned himself enough in the air that when he landed, air knocking from Soap’s chest, he could quickly shift himself up to straddle Soap’s chest and shift his legs to lock around one of his arms. He flipped himself backward, holding onto the limb tightly as Soap was forced onto his side by the momentum. From there, Roach was able to pin his other arm with his feet.

There was a pause as he held tight to Soap. A small cheer cut through the air and he looked up quickly to see the grin that had fixed itself on Simon’s face as he watched Roach pin their Captain.

There came a chuckle from the man underneath him, returning Roach’s attention to the task at hand, “Good,” Soap let out, shifting slightly, “Keep that up. Don’t go easy.”

Suddenly he was shifting, his arm moving out from under his legs as he shifted around. Roach tried to regain his control by tugging on the arm he had between his legs, his feet pressing harshly on the Captain’s shoulders as he moved around to try to break his hold. It did nothing for him when Soap lifted him up slightly to slam him to the ground. Air knocked from his lungs, his grip came loose enough for Soap to break free fully and launch another attack on him.

They continued back and forth for several minutes. One of them would get the other in a hold, the other would break free and get them in a hold. Finally, after moments of this back and forth, Roach managed to get the upper hand in just the right way that he could shift his hold into something tight and threatening as his foot placed a promising bit of pressure at the base of his Captain’s throat.

There were several moments where Soap attempted to break out of the hold before, finally, he was relaxing back to the ground with a grin. “I tap.” Roach immediately extracted himself from where he was tangled up in Soap’s legs. His foot moved away from the man and he shifted himself so that he was simply straddling his hips.

He looked down at the man smugly, “Still worried about me pulling my punches?”

Captain MacTavish gave him a grin, “Worried about you getting a big head. C’mon, up off me before your boyfriend blows a gasket.” Roach gave a wince before rolling off of his Captain and shifting up to his feet. He glanced back to Simon as he moved, noting the pinched expression on his face as he watched them. “Where did you learn that one?” Soap asked as he stood to his feet.

Roach gave a bit of a stretch as he moved, “From Ghost, who else?”

“I didn’t teach you that,” Roach’s head snapped over to where Ghost was watching him closely. The man started slowly toward them, his movements careful as he walked.

“Yes you did,” Roach insisted, his eyebrows furrowed, “Just a month ago! You said you needed to teach it to me so that So-” he paused, his eyes wide as he realized suddenly that it wasn’t this Ghost who had taught him the move, but the other Ghost. He’d taught it to Roach after Soap had pinned him in training. “Oh,” he cleared his throat nervously and ignored the eyebrows that were raised at him, “I must be thinking about someone else.”

“Someone else?” Simon crossed his arms, a careful expression on his face, “You know another Ghost?”

Roach resisted the urge to tell him that yes, actually, he did know another Ghost. Instead, he simply shrugged and shuffled nervously, “I just got things mixed around, that’s all.” His voice went low and nervous, he wouldn’t meet their eyes.

“Well,” Soap started, his voice careful, “Doesn’t really matter where you learned it. It was a good move.” He gave Roach a grin and Roach returned it, thankful that he hadn’t pressed the issue further. “Should we keep going?”

Roach gave a nod at the same time that Simon spoke, “I’d like a go.”

There was a pause as Captain MacTavish looked between them for a moment. There was something in his eyes that told Roach that he wanted to say something, but, after a moment, he simply gave a nod, “If Roach is okay with it.”

“Sure,” Roach responded, trying not to let any nerves show through in his voice. Training with Simon was always different, more intense. Roach couldn’t remember the number of times that he’d been pinned to the mat by the man only to, in the next few minutes, be dragged back to their room to be pinned to a bed instead. Typically, if they were training together, it was better for everyone involved if they were alone when they did it.

The fact that Simon wasn’t asking for Soap to leave, wasn’t asking for privacy told Roach that their sparring was going to be different this time. More serious. He couldn’t understand why, couldn’t understand what he’d done to spark it in the other man. But he knew what was waiting for him.

Soap moved off the mat, Ghost and Roach readied up, getting into their positions. Ghost’s eyes were predatory as he watched Roach, sizing him up like an animal he intended to hunt and eat. It made Roach give a shiver in anticipation, something warm burning at him already. He took in a deep breath, trying to calm himself.

“Alright,” Soap called from the side, “Free to move.”

In the next second Ghost was darting forward. For such a large figure, he was incredibly quick. Roach was barely able to move out of the way of his attack, sliding himself low across the ground to dodge his arms and turn to face the man. Ghost was just as quick in reacting, his body turning so that he could grab tight to one of Roach’s arms.

There was a brief moment of struggle before Roach was tilted over his shoulder and slammed onto his back on the ground, a groan leaving his lips. There was no fancy hold, no fancy way of pinning him. Only Ghost dropping down to pin his legs down with his own. Then his wrists, roughly seized and slammed to the ground above his head.

Roach struggled, but he knew it was a lost cause, he wasn’t strong enough to break Simon’s hold, and, judging by the smirk that the man wore, Simon knew it too. He struggled for another few moments before finally collapsing back with an indignant whine, “Fine, I tap.”

Simon didn’t release him immediately, instead, he hovered over him for another moment, dropping to give him a quick peck on the lips before pushing himself up and off of the ground. Roach could feel his face go red as he took Simon’s offered hand and pulled himself from the ground. “Show off,” he grumbled, no real venom behind the words. His eyes turned to Soap as he fully caught his balance on the ground. The man was watching him closely, an unreadable expression on his face as his eyes shifted just slightly to glare at Simon next to him.

Roach went to question him, his mouth opening slightly, but he was beaten to it by Simon, the man turning back to the Captain with a smug smile and calculating eyes, “All done Captain. You’re free to take back over.”

There was some sort of unspoken tension between the two men, one that had Roach glancing back and forth between them carefully. “No,” Soap answered finally, his jaw clenched tight as he spoke, “We’re done for the day.”

“What?” Roach asked, his eyes pleading as he stepped closer to Soap. They’d barely been training for an hour, usually, they went longer than that. Something panged in his chest as Captain MacTavish turned away from him to start gathering his things.

He remembered with nothing short of annoyance that these training sessions were some of the only times that he’d been able to spend around Soap in his first life. Most of the time, the man was sequestered away in his office, working on something or another with no one else around him.

Roach was finally back to his first life, finally back to where he could spend time with the two men that he cared so strongly for, and now? Now their time was being cut short. He couldn’t understand why. Something rang in his mind, trying to press through, trying to explain to him. He refused to listen to it. He couldn’t listen to it. “We’ve only been training for an hour,” he complained.

“Sorry, Roach,” Captain MacTavish turned back to him, his eyes soft, “I’ve got some paperwork that needs to get done.” He glanced up at Simon with a glare, “I’m sure if you want to keep training, the Lieutenant would be more than willing.” He didn’t say anything else before marching out of the room, his body tense as he moved.

Roach watched him go, his face twisting up in confusion. He glanced back at Simon, but the man was already beginning to move past him, heading toward where his mask was. He watched him quietly for a moment before beginning to trail toward him as he shoved his mask on, “Simon?” he asked, his voice pleading.

“Sorry, Bug,” Simon turned back to him, his sunglasses slipping into place, “I’ve got some things I need to do. I’ve already put them off enough.” He stepped forward, his hands coming up to stroke lovingly at Roach’s crossed arms for a moment, “I’ll see you at dinner, okay?” He lifted his mask just enough that he could lean down to peck at his lips. He didn’t wait for Roach’s response before turning and following out the door after Captain MacTavish.

Roach stared at the door, a horrible feeling taking over his chest as his mind reminded him of the taunting words that Makarov had spoken to him only a week prior.

“The universe kept so much streamlined. So much carried over from our first lives. Do you not wonder, if perhaps it was not a deviation, but something that the universe knew and you didn’t?”

He’d forced himself to ignore it at the time. Forced himself to ignore the burning question that Makarov had clawed from the depths of his mind. That insecurity he’d told himself was stupid. It was his own brain fighting against him. He told himself that Simon loved him. Had been dedicated to him and him alone.

Now though, as he stood alone, staring at the door where both his boyfriend and his Captain had just suspiciously disappeared through one after the other, he couldn’t be so sure. Now, those thoughts pricked at him again and dug into his mind. There was a tension between the two men, one he wasn’t able to fully understand.

As he stood, his emotions growing wilder and wilder, he thought about how desperately he wished that he wasn’t there. He thought about how desperately he wanted to see Soap and Ghost, his Soap and Ghost.

He shook those thoughts off, pushing down the plague of self-depreciation that filled his mind. He reminded himself, this was his Soap and Ghost. This was his life. This was what he’d been wanting. This was what he’d tried so hard to get back to.

It did nothing to wipe that sick feeling that rose in his chest.

Roach stood in front of the office door, picking at his fingers nervously. He’d been standing there for several minutes at that point, trying desperately to work up the nerves to actually knock on the door.

There was a weight that had settled over his chest from the moment that he had been left alone in that gym. He had to know. He had to see.

He’d tried to return to his shared room with Simon. Tried to lie down and sleep, but there was that feeling, that little feeling in his mind that told him that he couldn’t sleep. There was something he needed to see, something his mind was trying to get him to understand and accept. He only hoped that it wasn’t what he thought it was.

He’d left his shared room with Simon, trying to find his way to Captain MacTavish’s office by his memory alone. He very quickly found himself lost. Luckily for him, there were a few people who were able to point him in the right direction. They’d given him an odd look when he asked, likely because of who he was, but outside of that they’d said nothing to him other than a quick offer of directions. He was grateful for it.

Now he was standing, trying to work up the courage to just knock on the door in front of him. He tried to convince himself that he had no reason to be worried, no reason to feel so sick. Still, that little place in the back of his mind wouldn’t settle, it demanded that he knock. Demanded that he recognized what it wanted him to.

He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself before carefully raising his hand and giving three quick knocks on the door. There was a moment of pause before Soap’s voice called out, beckoning whoever was at the door to come in. Roach hesitantly gripped the handle of the door and pushed his way in, preparing for the worst.

What he saw, was simply Captain MacTavish, sitting at his desk with a pile of paperwork at his side. There was relief as he looked around the room. What had he been expecting to see? The two men that he loved locked away in the office, doing something inappropriate? The thought was a foolish one. Still, that part of his mind that had been begging for him to come to the Captain’s office hadn’t ceased, Roach still didn’t see what his mind was begging him to.

“Roach?” Captain MacTavish pushed himself back in his seat, an eyebrow raised at him, “What is it?”

Roach opened his mouth to speak but closed it quickly. He couldn’t exactly tell the Captain the truth of why he’d come to the room. “I,” he started nervously, “I was just, I just, well, I’m bored.” He winced at the poor lie.

Soap tilted his head at him, “You’re bored?”

“Yes,” Roach confirmed with a wince, “I thought I might sit with you for a bit? Maybe help with some paperwork?” His voice trailed off at the end as a sheepish look took over his face. He realized how silly he probably sounded to the man in front of him.

Soap leaned up, peering around him for a moment before asking with furrowed brows, “Where’s Ghost?”

Roach shrugged, “I don’t know. He had some stuff that he needed to do. He didn’t tell me what specifically.” He stepped fully into the room then, hesitantly beginning to close the door behind him. When Soap didn’t try to stop him, he shut it fully, turning to face the man again.

“Does he know that you’re here?” Soap leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed, “He probably wouldn’t like this.”

That made Roach a bit frustrated. What did it matter if Ghost didn’t like it? Why would Ghost care so much that he was spending time with Soap? They were all friends at the end of the day, it shouldn’t matter if Roach wanted to spend some time with him.

“Does it matter?” He snapped lightly. He regretted it immediately, sending an apologetic look to Soap, “Sorry.”

Captain MacTavish raised a hand at him, a small smile on his face, “It’s okay, Roach. If you want to sit in here with me you’re free to. He gave him a grin, “And I’m not going to say no to a little help with paperwork.”

Roach couldn’t help but return his grin. There was something about Soap that was just infectious, he just drew Roach in. It’s why he found himself so easily drifting across the room toward him, ignoring the seats in front of the desk in favor of walking over to Soap’s side and leaning against it so that he could better speak to him. He enjoyed the look of surprise on the Captain’s face more than he wanted to admit.

“Can I ask you a question?” He stretched out behind him on the desk, amusement burning in his eyes as he watched how closely the man in front of him monitored the movement. He still seemed taken aback by Roach’s boldness.

“Go for it.”

“Why aren’t you and Ghost getting along?” Roach tilted his head at the man, asking the question that had been burning in the back of his mind since he’d seen the two of them interact. “You guys used to get along. And I think if you tried,” he paused, trying to choose his words carefully, “You could get along very well. Almost as well as Simon and I do.”

Soap didn’t seem to understand the double meaning behind his words. Roach could see the way that his face had gone hard at the mention of Ghost, a tinge of disappointment sticking out to him like a sore thumb. What had Soap wanted him to ask? “It’s nothing, Roach.” He lifted his head to meet his eyes, Roach could tell he was lying, “We get along just fine. We just butt heads sometimes.”

“Liar,” Roach called out to him, tilting his head. “All that you two have done lately is fight. I don’t like it.” Soap looked up at him curiously and Roach answered before he could ask, “You’re important to me,” He fiddled with his fingers nervously, “I care about you a lot, Soap, and I don’t like to see people I care about fight.” There was a moment, the Captain stared at him with surprise burning on his face. His eyes had gone a bit wide and Roach wondered for a moment if he’d said something wrong. “Captain,” he started nervously, Soap cut him off.

“You called me Soap.”

“What?” Roach could feel panic rising up in his throat.

“You called me Soap,” The Captain stood from his seat moving to cage Roach into the desk with his arms, “Where did you hear that name? Hmm, Bug?”

Roach gave a bit of a shiver at his tone. He leaned back against the desk further, trying to put some sort of distance between himself and Soap before he lost his ability to think. It was a bit of a lost cause as his face went red and his mind started running circles around itself trying to come up with an excuse. “I just, um,” his eyes darted from Soap’s eyes to his mouth for a split second, dangerous thoughts entering his mind. Based on the surprised glint in the other man’s eyes, he’d definitely noticed. “Heard someone on base call you it,” he settled on lamely.

Soap raised a brow at him, “Oh really?” He took a step closer to him a chuckle leaving his mouth at the small gasp that forced its way from his lips. Roach couldn’t understand what was happening. This had to be something that his mind was creating, something that his mind was putting in place. But why?

He could naturally explain it away as some sort of coma or death-induced wet dream, but that didn’t cover why his mind was still screaming at him, still trying to get him to understand something that he couldn’t. He wasn’t going to object to Soap pinning him to the desk, but there was something else that his mind wanted him to see.

“Really,” he responded finally, his voice shaky.

“So,” Captain MacTavish leaned closer, breathing in his ear, “You came all the way here to confirm it for yourself? Is that it?” There was a pause, his hand came up to grip Roach’s upper thigh, “Or did you want to see how I’d react to it?”

Roach’s mind chose that point to remind him that, in this life, he isn’t dating both Soap and Ghost. He’s only dating Ghost. It’s the realization that sets him moving, his hands shoving at Soap’s chest as he scrambles away from the desk and immediately darts for the door, yanking it open to scramble out into the hallway.

He’s mad at himself, he’s frustrated, he feels guilty, he’s mad that he feels guilty, and he wants, more than anything, to be back in the arms of the Soap and Ghost who get along. The Soap and Ghost who were both in love with him and in love with each other. The Soap and Ghost who he could cuddle with and forget everything around him.

As he rushed through the hallways of the compound, trying desperately to get back to his shared room with Simon, he finds the world around him fading in and out. He realizes suddenly that his mind is trying to pull him from this dream world that he’s found himself in, that he’s stressed himself out so much that his mind is trying to wake up.

There’s something keeping him though, something fighting off those waves and keeping him conscious in this dreamscape that he finds himself desperately wanting to leave. He knows if he stays there, if his mind makes him stay, his perception of his first life is going to be changed forever. He doesn’t know if he can deal with that.

He knows it’s that part of his brain that needs him to see, that part of his brain that's been screaming at him since the moment he woke up that is keeping him there. Keeping him conscious. He knows that it's that part of his brain that’s creating everything around him, forcing him to see the truth. It’s all an illusion, all something he’s created for himself, but there is truth in it. A terrible truth. It’s that part of his brain that doesn’t make him pull away when his arm is grabbed, he’s pressed up against a wall, and his lips are covered quickly with Soap’s.

He can’t stop himself this time. His mind won’t let him. His arms wrap around Soap’s shoulders, he pulls him closer. He gasps against the other man’s mouth, his hands scrambling for some sort of purchase against his shirt as he is quickly overwhelmed. Soap’s mouth on his, their tongues together, hands come just under his shirt to grip at the naked skin of his stomach. He can’t think of anything other than this moment, the kiss, Soap’s hands on him.

He can’t think. He’s filled with warmth. He wishes Ghost was there with them.

There are footsteps, stomping toward them, Soap is yanked away from him, he immediately misses his warmth. His eyes open and they lock onto Ghost, the man staring at him. There’s a brief moment, a brief moment where Roach wants to smile at him, wants to pull him closer, and insist that the three of them go back to their room and spend the rest of the day together.

That moment comes crashing down when Ghost whips around to land a hard punch on Captain MacTavish. Roach remembers all at once as fighting begins between the two. This is his first life. These two men hate each other. They hate each other. They love him. Roach realizes what his mind has been trying to get him to understand.

His mind goes back to Makarov’s words as he slides down the wall, all strength sapped from his body at once.

“The universe kept so much streamlined. So much carried over from our first lives. Do you not wonder, if perhaps it was not a deviation, but something that the universe knew and you didn’t?”

He realized that Makarov was right, just not in the way he thought. The universe hadn’t fixed that Soap and Ghost were in love with each other. It fixed that they were in love with him. His breathing grew heavy at the thought, the world fading around him as, for the first time in a very long time, he gave an honest look back on the first life that he’d lived.

Ghost and Soap fought, near constantly. Roach had been stuck in the middle, unable to really hold much of a friendship with Soap because of Ghost’s jealousy. It was different then. He hadn’t minded so much then because Ghost had been everything to him. Ghost was his person, he was Ghost’s. That was it. Captain MacTavish had known that, he’d been respectful, but it hadn’t stopped Ghost from holding his feelings against the man.

Roach loved Ghost. He loved the Ghost from his first life. He loved Simon. He would never stop loving that version of him. He couldn’t. It was written into his DNA at that point. But, he had changed. And that was the issue wasn’t it?

He wasn’t the same person that he’d been in his first life. He had a whole new life under his belt. New experiences, new friends, new feelings. He was in love with both Soap and Ghost. Not just one, both of them. He didn’t want to have to live without them. Didn’t want to go back to a world, a life, where he couldn’t have both of them.

He tucked into himself as tears quickly formed in his eyes and started rolling down his cheeks. All of his second life, all he’d done is compared things to his first life and now? Now that he was back to some semblance of that, all that he could do was pray that he could go back, pray that he wasn’t actually dead. Pray that he could finally use that second chance he’d been given.

His world faded back to black. There was silence. He was still crying. He was floating again. It felt different this time. He felt like he was still present. He didn’t know what that meant, but, he could hope it meant something good.

“Roach, dude, I know you’re still asleep, but you’re gonna be so fucking proud of me dude I just had to tell you.” Roach recognizes Jackson’s voice immediately. It calms his nerves sufficiently and he wants to give a sigh of relief as he starts to come back to himself. He can hear beeping, presumably his heart monitor. He can feel the dull aches all over his body.

He recognizes easily from the noises that he’s in a hospital bed. He can feel bandages wrapped around his throat and one of his hands. The other feels as though it's in a cast of some sort. He tries to flex his fingers and is pleasantly surprised as they move. He can feel himself coming back, slowly gaining movement in his body. He begins peeling his eyes open.

“So your friends from the 141 have been coming by, and your mom has only been letting them stay for an hour at a time, you know she’s still pretty pissed at them. They’ve still been coming though,” Roach manages to catch his eyes on Jackson. The man isn’t paying attention to him, his chin pressed down as he grins excitedly at his phone, “And you know I’ve been begging you for the cute British ones number, but you kept saying no because he kept saying no, but I talked to him and he so fucking thinks I’m hot dude. He was making eyes at me the whole time,” Roach watches him quietly, amusement raising in his throat as he realized that Jackson was still completely unaware that he was awake. “Anyway, long story short, I managed to get his number dude. I’m so in. I’m so fucking in dude.”

“Of course, I would wake up just as you start ranting about Gaz. I’d hoped my injured privilege would keep that away for at least a little bit.” He couldn’t help the laugh that forced its way painfully from his dry throat as Jackson fully jumped, his phone flung away from him in panic as his wide eyes shot to him. His laughter quickly turned into a pained cough and Jackson was quick to rush through grabbing a cup of water from the side table and bringing it up to his lips. Roach took sips from it gratefully, muttering, “Worth it,” between drinking.

Jackson let out a huff, “Fuck dude, leave it to you to wake up just in time to scare the shit out of me.” He moved the drink away from his mouth and back to the desk, his eyes trailing across the room with a wince to where his phone lay on the ground from where he threw it, “If I lost Kyle’s number because my phone is broken I’m putting you back into a coma.”

Roach laughed again, watching him move across the room to grab his phone before moving back. “Is it broken?” He asked with a lazy smile as he watched the man dust it off and begin to type onto it rapidly.

“No, you’re lucky, you get to stay awake for now. I’ll just let your mom choke you out in a hug when she gets back,” Jackson set his phone to the side, turning back to him with a bright grin, “But god damn dude, Doctors didn’t think you’d wake up for another few days.”

“How long have I been out?” Roach tried to push himself up to sit in the bed. He stopped with a huff and instead reached for the little remote that would move the bed up enough for him to sit.

Jackson watched him, amused, “Few days. Today would have made six.” Roach tried to calculate in his head where that placed them, it was harder than he thought, especially as he realized that he didn’t quite know how long he’d been with Makarov. He could assume it was somewhere over two weeks, but since he didn’t know how long he’d been out after being stabbed the first time, he couldn’t be sure.

“My family?” Roach asked, finally abandoning his calculations. Thinking about his time with Makarov for any longer than a few moments sent a wave of sickness over his body.

Jackson’s smile dipped just a bit, “They’re on their way back now. I only just now managed to convince them all to go home for a shower.” He paused for a moment before adding, “You’re mom’s pissed. You should feel proud, you’ve made a southern woman hate the military, it’s quite an accomplishment.”

Roach could feel himself growing more and more nervous, guilt already gnawing at his insides as he brought his hands up to pick at his nails again. He wouldn’t be surprised if he had little scars around his destroyed fingers by the end of all of this, “Uh, You said that the team came by. She only let them stay for an hour?”

Jackson’s hand landed on top of his, moving one of his hands into his own. Roach could tell from the look on his face that it was meant to stop him from picking at his nails. “She didn’t want them in here in the first place,” he said calmly, “If I’m being honest, I think she only let them stay because of Ghost.”

“Ghost?” Roach questioned, his eyebrows furrowed.

“He introduced himself as Simon,” Jackson explained, Roach understood immediately. “Needless to say, your entire family were curious about him.”

“You think they…?”

“I think,” Jackson started carefully, “I think they think it’s an odd coincidence. I think your mom may have said something to him. But, I think more than anything it was an excuse. A way for your mom to justify letting them stay without feeling guilty.”

Roach let out a small sigh of relief. The last thing he wanted to be dealing with was his family dragging up his old nightmares because of Simon. There was a short silence that settled over the room, the two men just sitting in the other’s presence for several moments. Despite the lack of talking between the two, there was obvious communication.

It was clear on Jackson’s face that he’d been worried. Even now, he was watching Roach carefully, his eyes locked on to his face for any hint that he was uncomfortable or in pain. There wasn’t judgment between the two, or anger, only a sense of relief that things were okay, that Roach had made it back in one piece.

Still, there was a question that burned at the back of Roach’s mind. He didn’t know if he wanted the answer to it, he didn’t know if he could handle it, but his mind wouldn’t let it disappear. Jackson could see it clear as day, “You can ask,” he said finally. “I can tell you want to know.”

“You guys,” Roach started, avoiding the man’s gaze, “How did,” he cut himself off. After a moment of struggling he settled on, “How were things? While I was gone?”

“Your parents didn’t believe it,” Jackson leaned forward in his wheelchair, “Neither did your brothers. I knew right away what you did, couldn’t tell anyone. They were worried, especially when we got word that you were being brought to a hospital with severe injuries.” Jackson’s free hand came up to rub his face nervously, after a moment, he caught Roach’s eye, “Roach…what happened?”

Roach closed his eyes for a brief moment, shaking his head to try to dispel the memories of his time with Makarov that came rushing back to him. “It’s not important,” he said, “What matters is that he’s dead.”

“No,” Jackson countered, his hand that was holding Roach’s growing just a bit tighter. It was clear that he was angry and, for a short terrifying moment, Roach thought that anger was aimed at him. He must have shown some sort of reaction, because soon Jackson was letting his grip on his hand go slack and giving him an apologetic glance. “I understand that you’re happy Makarov is dead,” he started, his voice soft, “But you can be happy he’s dead and still deal with whatever the fuck he did to you while you were there.”

Roach was quiet for a moment, guilt gnawing at him even more now. His chest felt tighter somehow and he found that all that he wanted to do was cry. He wanted to tell Jackson what had happened to him, but he didn’t want the man to have to deal with the things that he was dealing with. He didn’t want to put anything on the other man. “I,” he hesitated for a moment, tears pricking at the edge of his vision. He tried to fight them down. “I don’t-”

The door to his hospital room burst open, and his hands came up quickly to wipe at his face, trying to hide his tears as his mother and father rushed into the room, their faces frantic. “Oh, baby!” His mother cried as she rushed around the side of the bed to gently wrap him up in a hug, one of her hands beginning to quickly card through his hair as she held him close to her chest.

He allowed himself to lean into the hug, tears pricking at his eyes again as, a moment later, his father was on his other side, leaning across to join in their hug. “Hey,” he managed to choke out nervously, earning a small, tear-filled laugh from his mother. After another moment, his mother was pulling away to look over him, her hand on his cheeks.

“Gary Sanderson, if you ever do anything like this to me ever again,” she cut herself off by pulling him back into a hug.

“What your mother is trying to say,” his father's voice was laced with amusement, “Is that we’re glad to see you.”

“I’m glad to see you guys,” he responded easily, giving his father a smile as he allowed his mother to continue squeezing him, “I’m sorry, I hope you guys didn’t get put through too much trouble.” That guilt was back. He bit at the inside of his cheek this time rather than going back to picking at his nails.

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” His mother shook her head at him as she pulled back fully, “That wasn’t your fault okay.”

“Mom,” he started lowly. The last thing he needed to hear at the moment was his mother's hatred for the job he’d chosen.

“I’m just saying,” his mother crossed her arms, “Listen, Jonathan is more than happy to give you a job at the bar, you can work there until you find something else-”

“Mom,” he cut her off, “Not now, okay?”

She looked like she wanted to argue, but she didn’t get a chance as, within the next second, the door to the room was opened and there were four young children rushing inside with giggled laughter. Following behind them was a sheepish-looking Eddie, his wife, Alice, following in after him with a baby in her arms. “Sorry,” Eddie called, “Didn’t mean to immediately let the heathens loose.”

Roach couldn’t help but give a grin to the man, his attention quickly drawn away as one of his nieces shoved her way over beside the hospital bed and reached up to tug roughly at his hospital gown, “Uncle Gary, up!”

“Honey, Uncle Gary isn’t feeling too well right now, okay,” Eddie made his way over to gently pull the girl away.

“But I want up! Marie said that one of the tall men yesterday put her on his shoulders! I want up!”

Roach looked over to Jackson with a raised eyebrow, “Soap,” he explained quickly, “Gave rides to Jonathan’s kids.”

Roach couldn’t help the small grin that spread over his face at the mental image of Soap lifting his nieces and nephews up to sit on his shoulders. It was an adorable thought and, he hoped, that maybe the team would come back to visit and he’d get to see it for himself. He turned back to look at his brother and his sister-in-law. “Is that my new nephew?” He asked upon seeing the baby curled up asleep in his mother’s arms.

Alice stepped forward, a small smile on her face as she moved down enough that Roach could see the adorable baby wrapped up in her arms. “This,” she started with a glance up at Eddie, “Is Walter Gary Sanderson.”

He couldn’t hide the tears that came this time as he reached out, the baby quickly capturing one of his fingers in his hand. “He’s adorable,” he said finally, “You two certainly do make cute kids. A lot of ‘em too,” he couldn’t help but joke at the end. The words managed to pull a laugh out of Alice and a grin from Eddie.

“How are you feeling,” Eddie asked after a moment, moving closer to the bed so that he could look over him with keen eyes. Roach knew that he had likely shifted his brain into doctor mode, watching carefully for any sign that something was wrong with him.

He shook his head, “I feel fine,” he winced slightly when one of his nephews jumped on the bed slightly, jostling his wounds. The boy was quickly scolded by his mother, but the movement had Eddie crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow at him. “I feel as fine as I can,” he corrected himself. “Seriously, I’ve had worse. I’m okay.”

“See, I told you guys, tough as nails this kid is.” Roach turned to the door, a grin on his face as he was met with a matching grin from Jonathan, “They’ve all been worried as shit,” he waved his hand, “I tried to tell them you would be fine.”

Roach choked back a laugh as one of Jonathan’s kids raced past him chanting, “Shit, shit, shit!” His brother gave a grimace and, it was only a second later that his arm was slapped by his wife, Melissa.

Melissa turned to give him a soft smile a moment later, “Glad to see you’re up, Gary.” She turned her attention to trying to wrangle her three children.

“I was just checking to make sure,” Eddie turned toward Jonathan, “If he’s in too much pain we can tell a nurse and get him something.”

“I’m fine,” Roach stressed again, “I feel fine.”

“You have a broken rib, a broken wrist, a broken nose, a concussion, should I go on?” Eddie raised an eyebrow at him and Roach winced in return.

“Well I hate to add to it,” Jonathan joked as he walked over to stand beside Jackson, one of his hands landing on the man’s shoulder, “But I got some bad news. Your boyfriend here was flirting with one of your friends yesterday.”

Roach rolled his eyes and collapsed back against the bed, “How many times do I have to tell you guys that Jackson and I aren’t together?”

“Your brother is my type, but we aren’t like that,” Jackson added playfully.

“Not helping Paul.”

Jonathan pointed between them, “Soon as I see an actual boyfriend and not just this guy for the billionth time, I’ll believe you. Until then, your secret relationship will remain not a secret to this family.”

“What if I get a boyfriend?” Jackson questioned.

“A fake. I won’t believe it.”

Roach didn’t answer, only raised his middle finger to his brother quickly, wincing a moment later when his mother's voice rang out, “Gary Sanderson, don’t flip your brother off!”

Roach was coloring, though not very well with his wrist still fucked up, with his nieces and nephews when the team came the next day.

He wasn’t paying attention, all of his focus on trying to keep his coloring in the lines to please his niece who’d taken to criticizing his coloring skills. She was telling him about how the color he’d chosen for his grass in the picture wasn’t right when he heard the door to the room open. He only glanced up at first, assuming that it was a nurse coming to check in. However, after his mind had caught up to him his head was jerking back up, and his eyes widened slightly as he froze at the sight of Captain Price, staring at him, equally as frozen.

There was a moment of pause before he heard a familiar voice call out, “Captain? C’mon, we’d like to see Roach too?” There was a pause before Captain Price was stepping out of the way enough to allow the rest of the members of the team entry into the room, his eyes still locked onto Roach.

Around him stepped Soap, Gaz, and Ghost, each of them freezing as soon as they realized that Roach was awake as well. There was tension in the room, everyone could tell. Things went quiet. Even Roach’s nieces and nephews who were usually so rowdy seemed to notice the sudden tension and paused.

Roach looked over the team, unsure of what to say for several moments as he scanned over them. His throat seemed to close in on itself as he looked at them, his eyes locking on to Soap and Ghost in particular as that guilt from before washed over him in waves. He knew they were probably angry, he knew that they were probably disgusted with him, he couldn’t handle it. He knew that he had his own issues with them that he’d have to work through. It was all overwhelming as it washed over him.

He tried not to let his breathing get too out of control. He needed one of them to speak. He needed them to move. He wanted to scream it out to them, to tell them that they needed to stop just standing there and show something on their faces. He settled instead on spewing out an apology, his hands shaking as his words came out much louder and quicker than he expected, “I’m sorry! I’m so fucking sorry!”

There was another pause, he fiddled with his hands. It was Ghost who moved first, crossing the room in several quick strides. He didn’t hesitate when he reached his side, reaching up to pull his face mask down just enough that he could lean down to capture Roach’s lips against his own.

Roach tensed, shocked at Ghost’s boldness before finally relaxing into the kiss. He couldn’t help the way his mouth dropped open slightly when Ghost pulled away, shock ringing through his system. He’d expected anger, he certainly hadn’t expected to be kissed.

He didn’t have time to question Ghost though, not when Soap was coming back to himself and crossing the room to capture Roach’s lips against his just as Ghost had done only a moment earlier.

Roach didn’t hesitate to kiss him back, a warm fluttery feeling filling his gut as he realized that, even if the two were mad at him, they still cared about him just as much as he cared about them. He could hear his family coming back to themselves, whispering amongst themselves as he pulled away from Soap to grin up at both him and Ghost.

“Is this a military greeting that I don’t know about?”

Jackson gave a snort, looking up at Jonathan with a grin, “Nope, but hey, does two boyfriends work for proving to you that I’m not boning your little brother?”

There wasn’t a moment for Roach to laugh at his brother’s dumbfounded face as Gaz and Price crossed over to him, each pulling him into a short hug. Price ruffled his hair fondly when he pulled back, a small smile on his face, “Good to see you up, Sergeant.”

“Good to be up, Captain,” Roach responded with a grin of his own. He knew that there were things that he was going to have to work through. Things that he, Soap, and Ghost were going to have to talk about. But, for now, he allowed himself to relax, happy to finally be back with his people. Happy to have another chance at living his life.

Prev: Part 18

Next: Part 20 - Coming Soon

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afairytalestray · 1 year

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Day 15 of Cats-pril by @storyweaverofgondor - pirate. I couldn’t resist writing something for my pirate au! Bomba’s outfit is based on this glorious artwork by the super-talented @vifandom here on tumblr. Also on Ao3 here.

“Heard you’re looking for work.”

Demeter jumped as a voice spoke directly in her ear. She twisted in her seat as a scarlet Queen sidled around her table and sat down in front of her.

“I’m sorry?” Demeter said, suddenly feeling very overwhelmed. The Queen before her was a vision – she was tall, easily as tall as Munkustrap, had a sharp, intelligent look about her, and was just overall stunning. Demeter swallowed hard. The Queen was wearing a white boat neck blouse with big puffy sleeves, a thick black leather belt over a loose green checked slit skirt, and a massive fancy hat with a purple feather. She was adorned with numerous weapons as well, from pistols to a curved sword. Very clearly, this was not a Cat to mess with.

“Work. You’re looking for it? What can you do?” the Queen asked, swiping the hat from her head with a flourish and raising a brow. Demeter flushed, and forced herself to look her in the eye.

“I- yes, I was told you would take me on. Captain Bombalurina?”

“In the flesh. So, what can you do?”

“I- I’m not sure, I-” Demeter stuttered, caught off guard and feeling pathetic. Captain Bombalurina did not look impressed.

“Listen, lady,” she interrupted Demeter’s stammering, “I’m not fool enough to ignore advice from Coricopat, but I’m really gonna struggle to justify to myself and my crew taking on an extra mouth to feed if that mouth can’t contribute in any way.”

Demeter felt the little confidence she had managed to garner plummet. Of course she should earn her keep, but what could she possibly do to help run a pirate ship? She could not fire a pistol, or navigate the seas, or even pay her way on board since running away from home! She blinked furiously, willing the tears not to fall.

What would happen to her now? She knew she had been lucky so far, very lucky. The moment she stepped onto the sandy beach of Nassau, Victoria had linked their arms and brought her to Munkustrap’s tavern, where she ran front of house with her brother, Misto. At first, Demeter had been terrified, thinking they were all working for her father or ex-fiancé, but it turned out they had all known her name because a local witch had foretold her arrival, and suggested she join Captain Bombalurina’s pirate crew. She had never met the witch, Coricopat, but everyone here seemed to trust him completely. She had had to wait for Bombalurina to make port, and had helped out as best she could in the tavern in the meantime. Munkustrap had been very kind, allowing her to stay in one of the rooms for free. The Cats here had been much kinder than she had expected, although she hadn’t allowed herself to think too much about what they would be like – anywhere was better than the place she left behind.

“Look, calm down, alright?” Bombalurina said, leaning back on her chair. “Like I said, only an idiot would ignore Coricopat. You gotta be able to do something, even fancy lords and lady aristocats have some kind of skills… Can you sew?”

“Yes!” Demeter blurted. In her relief, it came out much louder than she had intended. “I mean,” she recovered, “I made this dress I’m wearing myself.” It was an unusual skill for someone of her position, dressmaking, often looked down upon as a mark of the lower classes who couldn’t afford to have their clothes made for them, but it was something Demeter had always enjoyed doing.

“Sewing a dress is different from sewing sails, lady, but let me see.” Bombalurina reached over the table, running her paw along Demeter’s sleeve seams.

“Well, yes, I imagine tailoring dresses is significantly more difficult.”

The snark came out before she even realised she had opened her mouth. Bombalurina’s brows rose impossibly high. Oh, Everlasting! What on earth did she say that for? Had her sharp tongue not gotten her into enough trouble in the past? She clamped her paws over her mouth in horror, as if she could physically unsay it. A witch’s advice be damned, she’d be lucky if Bombalurina didn’t shoot her after that show of cheek!

But to her surprise, Bombalurina burst out laughing.

“And here was me questioning whether or not you had a spine!” she cackled. “That’s the attitude you’ll need on board with my lot!”

Demeter faltered for a moment.

“You… you’ll take me on?” she asked as Bombalurina leaned back once more, signalling to the bar for a drink.

“You betcha. We need a new sailmaker, the last one was completely useless, took a sword to the stomach not three days in. We’re sailing on rags at the moment. Cassandra will mutiny if I don’t get someone in to fix them pronto.”

Demeter gulped. A sword to the stomach? Another intimidating Queen?

“I… I don’t think I’ll be much good in a fight,” she mumbled. “I can try and learn, but-”

Bombalurina held up a paw to silence her.

“I don’t need you to fight. I have Cats who can fight. I need someone with the brains to know to stay out of a fight they can’t win.”

Well, that would be any and all fights. Demeter might be nervous, but she wasn’t completely stupid.

“That sounds good, then.”

“Lovely,” Bombalurina said, as Victoria dunked two tankards down on their table with a wink. Bombalurina slid one towards her, before clunking her own against it and taking a slug. Demeter took a cautious sip, and her nose wrinkled in distaste. Everlasting, ale was terrible. Bombalurina saw her expression and laughed again. “Come down to the docks tomorrow morning, ok? I got stuff to do and drinks to drink tonight. You can have a look at the sails then. Let me or Cassandra, my boatswain, know if you need material or anything. Don’t rush the repairs, I’d rather they were done well than done fast. Besides, a weird number of the crew have relations with locals here, they’re never in a hurry to set out again.”

She took another deep chug from her tankard, emptying it, before reaching over and downing Demeter’s as well.

“Yes, understood.” Demeter said. “Thank you, Captain.”

Bombalurina nodded as she got to her paws.

“Until tomorrow then, milady.” She gave a little bow as she swept her hat back onto her head with a wink. Demeter’s breath caught slightly in her chest as Bombalurina strode away. What she had gotten herself into, she hardly knew, but it would definitely be exciting.

#cats pirate au #cats-pril2023 #cats-prilday15 #Bombalurina #demeter #cats the musical

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arinbelle · 2 years

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A thing of secret, lovely beauty

Note: It’s giving You Belong With Me. But also on a more serious note, I’m not tagging this by couples/ships, just the characters, because the intention of this is not to ship any one pairing. I’m genuinely just loving the drama, tension and angst of the setup SJM left us with with that bonus scene and I wanted to expand on it. That’s all. If you drag me into your ship wars, I’m blocking you *kisses*

~*~

Elain doesn’t know why she does it. If perhaps it is her own lack of common sense or just an affliction from staying out in the sun too long. Or perhaps she’s a conniving schemer deep down and can’t stand the fact that she’s lost yet again in another aspect of her life that she has no control over.

Of course, she had never planned to extend the offer.

No, Elain was fine with backing out of the House of Wind after hearing the sounds echoing through the halls, reverberating through the walls, and scarring her for all her life. It wasn’t that she had anything against her sister and her mate, nor their…fervent joinings. But Elain had no interest in ever bearing witness to them, inadvertent sounds or not. So she’d left the freshly baked muffins on the table in the dining room and hurried out of there with as much grace as she could muster, barely seeing the girl in the training square before they were colliding.

The girl, whoever she was, had caught Elain before they could both tumble down from the force of the hit. Sleek, toned arms had wound their way around her own, steadying her, and Elain had been breathless as she’d looked up into the face of a beautiful Fae female.

She couldn’t have been much older than herself, but then again, the Fae were always younger or older than they looked, somehow managing to look both too wise and too new for this world simultaneously.

“Are you alright?,” she’d asked Elain, and Elain had nodded mutely, focusing in on the blazing copper hair that shone like a fire against the midday sun.

Teal eyes had watched her worriedly but the female had let her go, observing her with a more pointed gaze.

Beautiful. It had been the first word to come to her mind when appraising her.

“You’re Nesta’s sister.”

Yes. Always that. Or Feyre’s. Elain wondered if perhaps one day she’d be known as something other than that. Other than the shy, quiet one that Feyre’s family gave a wide but respectful berth to. Or the ones the market murmured over, the one they didn’t know but seemed worlds kinder than the viper they thought her older sister to be.

Elain had kept the answers short and sweet after putting the pieces together- that the female before her had been the priestess Nesta now considered a good friend. A sister actually from what she’d overheard Feyre and Rhysand speaking of once. And wasn’t it sweet, she’d thought to herself. Elain had disappeared for what an immortal would consider a blink of an eye, and Nesta had already made space in her once cold and cruel heart for not one, but two females.

She had looked at the smattering of freckles during that first meeting- the shrewd gaze and the stunning beauty, and had wondered if Nesta had replaced her in for Feyre or Elain.

It hadn’t taken long to figure out that the both of them had been looking for Nesta and had hurriedly realized that she was otherwise indisposed. They’d shared a nervous, awkward laugh at what they’d both almost interrupted between Cassian and their supposed shared sister.

Elain had been about to leave, ready to conjure up her smile and slowly bow her head in greeting and also in goodbye. But then her attention had snagged on the lovely glint of metal atop the priestess’ cream colored skin, almost glowing and most definitely mocking her.

And it had been stupid, stupid, stupid to ask, but she’d done it anways.

“I love your necklace. Where is it from?”

The female had smiled brightly at her, honest in her reaction, basking in Elain’s jealousy-addled compliment. And the answer had been just as disappointing. Because apparently she didn’t know. Apparently it had been an anonymous gift from someone on Solstice night. Apparently, one of the priestesses had seen a winged male walking away after dropping it off with Clotho, whoever that was. And apparently, the stupid girl was convinced it was Rhys.

“He’s been so kind. I don’t know why he would give it to me, I’m not really anybody he knows, but he’s kind like that I suppose. Him and his family. Maybe it’s because of Nesta, but I don’t know. I do love it though.” And then she’d traced a pretty, slim finger against the rose, and Elain had nearly screamed out loud. Had almost reached between the two feet of distance between them and snapped the pretty finger in half.

Not that she would have been able to do it of course, wretched warrior training and all, because of course, she couldn’t just be Nesta’s new sister and Azriel’s new love, she had to be a trained fighter on top of being beautiful.

So Elain had done the only thing she could think to do. She’d invited the female, Gwyneth she’d learned the name was, to her house.

For tea of course.

Because Elain must have some perverse wish to punish herself and learn more about the new female that Azriel now had eyes on. She wasn’t a monster though. She’d noted the way the female’s eyes had darkened at the offer and how she’d looked away, murmuring about how she didn’t like to travel down and out of the library much except for training or in the House of Wind with Nesta.

Elain knew of the females who lived under the library and why they were there. She wasn’t callous enough to forget that or forego any sympathy at all.

“I can have Feyre winnow us directly there. We wouldn’t need to go anywhere in between at all.”

She had hoped Cassian would have flown her back after Rhys had quickly winnowed her over, muttering about some meeting he was late for, and the wind of his flapping wings had nearly tumbled her and the muffin basket over. Cassian and Nesta had ended up too busy with each other and Elain had had enough good sense to not interrupt them. Mor had always told her she could count on her to winnow her back and forth from the houses if Feyre or Rhys weren’t available. But she had no way to contact Mor directly as neither of them were Daemati.

And she’d be damned if she asked for Azriel.

Gwyneth had thought it over for a few moments, but ultimately, she’d accepted. So Elain had cast her mind out as wide as she could, calling out for Feyre in her head. It was a strange thing to do, even with the feeling of familiarity when a night-kissed presence entered her mind.

Feyre had promptly shown up, barely even said hello to the pair, before whisking Elain and Gwyn away to her cottage, and then leaving in the same flurry as her mate, explaining that leaving Nyx alone for too long wasn’t safe.

That first day had been strange. Gwyn had sat in her garden while she’d prepared the tea, and they’d drank in silence that wasn’t altogether awkward, but also not normal. She probably deserved it for taking a female away from the comfort of her safe space just to finagle any detail about Azriel away from Gwyn.

But Elain hadn’t been able to do it in the end. More so because it felt strange and they were virtually strangers, so Elain had given her some cake she’d baked the day before and after an hour, they’d parted ways. She’d called out to Feyre but Rhys had shown up instead, done with his meetings, and looking like a load had been taken off. He’d even offered a tight smile to Elain which was rare since he often avoided her ever since last year’s Solstice.

She knew why. She just didn’t have the guts to call it out.

And she knew it was wrong, but the next time that she left Nesta’s home, this time actually seeing her sister since her mate was away, she’d inquired about Gwyneth again. Nesta had seemed surprised by the interest, but strangely, not jealous. Not like Elain.

The three of them had sat together in Nesta’s home as Elain baked a chocolate cake and the two females, Valkyries, watched her and filled her in on the latest books they’d read. An hour later, Cassian had returned with Emerie and they’d eaten dinner together. Elain found Emerie to be most like her sister and perhaps that was what unnerved her more. It also made her cling closer to Gwyneth’s company through the rest of the night, strangely enough.

After that, Elain lost track of how many times she invited Gwyn back to her home. If she ever saw Rhysand or Cassian nearby, she could ask for them to fly or winnow them back. Sometimes, she forgot why she’d started this horrible reconnaissance mission in the first place. Because Gwyneth was…fun. Kind even. And funny in a way that didn’t make Elain blush or upset.

In the beginning, Elain wondered what it was. Why her?

And why not me?

But sometimes, when Gwyn would help Elain tend to her garden or pass her the ingredients as she stirred them into her pot, Elain would see it.

When her long, coppery hair fell past her shoulders, or her nose scrunched in irritation at the smallest things, or she laughed and the room seemed to light up, or how she comforted her with her whole heart on the days that Elain wasn’t her best self…Elain saw it.

She saw what Nesta had seen. What she had preferred over Elain. She saw what Azriel was attracted to. What had drawn him towards her instead.

And while it hurt so much she sometimes wanted to tear her heart out and stomp on it for caring so much about an inconsequential matter, she found it was easier to accept it rather than fight against it and let resentment take root. Because she liked Gwyn, even if that hadn’t been the original aim. She enjoyed the sliver of connection it gave her to her oldest sister and even the tidbits of information she could gain about the Shadowsinger, who Gwyn insisted was just a friendly acquaintance.

When they’d first begun spending time together, Elain would have doubted Gwyn’s insistence on that matter, and would have assumed she was lying. But after some time, weeks later actually, Elain had realized that maybe it was only Azriel’s interest, and it was only one-sided, as Gwyn had no idea or any interest in him outside of training. But while the knowledge should have sparked some joy, it had only humiliated her further. The lengths she’d gone at conning a sweet female, an unassuming friend now, just to get the upper hand over a male.

Gwyneth had no idea of course, and Elain decided that she never would.

But Gwyneth didn’t miss the sharp longing that Elain’s face took on when she mentioned the Shadowsinger. Nor the brief glint of irritation that shadowed. And Gwyn would remember all those looks very well months later when she would overhear the argument between Elain and the Shadowsinger over the necklace she’d innocently worn every day, unaware of who its first intended wearer had been.

The consternation that she’d never seen from Elain before as she all but shouted at Azriel in the hidden alcove behind where the party was taking place. A party Gwyn hadn’t wanted to come to, a party that was one of many the Night Court enjoyed throwing, and a party she’d been dragged to by Nesta nonetheless.

It was only then, hidden behind the wall, barely breathing out so as to not be discovered snooping on a clearly private matter, that Gwyneth found out the truth about the necklace. And how shameful it felt for her, how downright horrid, when it had all come rushing out between the quarreling lovers and the breath had whooshed from her own lungs.

She’d only recently learned it had been from Azriel, constantly operating under the assumption that it had been some pity gift left for her by the High Lord after the Solstice festivities had passed. Gwyn had been twirling the necklace in her hand as she stacked books in the upper shelves, some kind of a habit she’d fallen into for comfort. Deirdre had walked by and asked if Gwyn had needed any help. Of course Gwyn was fine, but one thing had led to another and soon they’d been talking about their day in the frigid stacks for a good half hour. In all that time, Gwyn hadn’t realized she’d been twirling the necklace over and over in her hand, but Deirdre had.

And she’d asked if Gwyn had given Azriel a Solstice gift as well.

The shock must have been too much for even Gwyn to conceal, because Deirdre seemed to have realized her mistake and muttered about errands for another priestess as she walked away.

Later learning that the necklace had been Elain’s originally was even more dizzying knowledge and Gwyn had quickly left the party soon after overhearing it. She’d locked herself up in her room for a good two days while everyone else in the Night Court rested and slept off the partying and alcohol induced tiredness.

No one came to ask after her, except for Nesta, who she had sent away under the guise of feigned sickness. Because Gwyn was a coward who had lied to herself more times than she could count, and she had no intention of facing the truth anytime soon. And even if Nesta wouldn’t figure out the specifics just by looking at her, her friend had always been too sharp to miss what Gwyn was obviously trying to hide.

Because the truth was, Gwyn hadn’t been as unaffected as she liked to be perceived. Sure it had been innocent enough at first. The lingering stares at Azriel’s back when he worked through a motion before handing her the dagger and having her copy it. The way she’d let her eyes roam and trace the whirling patterns at the nape of his neck.

It was the only skin visible besides his arms that had her wanting for more. And Gods above did she want. The feeling was confusing and tumultuous and while it made Gwyn ache with something she later realized was desire, it also terrified her and left her feeling cold.

Because no matter how the sun had glinted against his bare skin the one day he’d taken his shirt off in the summer heat, glowing from the exertion he’d had to do in a spar against Cassian that had gone on for hours, it didn’t change the truth.

Couldn’t.

No matter how much Gwyn wanted to feel that skin against her own, or revel in the muscles that would shift under her hand, or learn the taste of his mouth against hers- an unbidden thought that had horrified her- Gwyn knew the reality and knew it was impossible.

She could barely leave the library, save to train, and only in the company of two males she knew. Even then, sometimes the male scent of the redheaded Emissary offhandedly visiting, terrified her. Sent her thoughts reeling back to the attack on Sangravah and the fear she’d felt in the Blood Rite. Gwyn knew that nothing good could come from lusting over Azriel. One, because now she knew that he was spoken for, by a friend of sorts for that matter. Two, because he would always be a male, and she could never guarantee to herself or him that she’d be completely free of that fear.

So it had mostly pained her, and slightly embarrassed her, but she’d made the trek up the library levels, and entered the training ring at the unholy hour at which she knew Azriel liked to practice with his dagger. Sure enough, as she’d rounded the corner, she heard the telltale thud of his dagger hitting the target, and the soft, almost mute hiss of his shadows nearby. Those shadows seemed to have sensed her too because Azriel had straightened up before she’d stepped into the ring and she’d been taken aback by the broad, fanned out wings half hiding away the gleaming, bronze skin attached.

Gwyn averted her eyes and tried her best to focus on the back of his head only. Even when he turned around to face her, eyes wide with surprise, she kept her gaze respectfully on his face. Even if a small part of her wanted to stray down and trace the muscles that sinfully led down to-

“Gwyn?”

Gwyn bowed her head stiffly in greeting and then approached. Her hands had turned clammy and she knew that her heartbeat must be deafening to his ears. That alone added to her embarrassment but it was now or never.

He seemed to be on the verge of saying something more, but Gwyn didn’t want to be here for any of it. So she shoved her hand out between them and as soon as Azriel’s was placed a few touches below hers, she dropped the delicate chain into his outstretched palm.

He seemed to be frozen in shock at what lay in his hand, unable to move let alone speak, and Gwyn thought it a good time as any to leave before she had to face further humiliation.

But before she could, having only whirled on her heel halfway to make her grand escape, Azriel’s arm shot forward and stopped her quickly.

Like a predator ensnaring his victim.

A welcome distraction perhaps on any other day, in any other situation, but she wanted no part in his games now.

Something on her face must have betrayed her uneasiness, because Azriel looked almost ashamed at where their skin touched, and he let her go promptly.

“Sorry.” It was gruff and gravelly and possibly forced, but Gwyn nodded all the same.

“Wait,” he called out, just as she took another step.

Stay or go. Listen or ignore. The options made her dizzy and for a split second, she wanted to do neither. She wanted to turn back time to when it had been easier and normal between all of them. When Azriel was just another trainer in the ring for the priestesses. Just like Cassian, a brother of sorts, and never at the risk of being mistaken for something more by either of them.

But Gwyn had never been as strong as she thought herself to be, or would have liked herself to be.

“I’m listening,” she muttered, facing him with a scowl because she didn’t know if she’d easily crumple to his charm if she allowed herself any other emotion.

Azriel ran a hand through his sweat-soaked hair, and Gwyn tried and failed to not notice the way the tendons in his arms strained in the movement. How the Illyrian markings seemed to slither across his brown skin.

Perhaps those were his shadows though and the confusion of the night was playing tricks on her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated and Gwyn could only tighten the arms already crossed across her chest in defense.

“What for?,” her voice was sharp even to her own ears. “For breaking Elain’s heart or gifting me something meant for her?”

Azriel’s face tightened. “Elain isn’t the problem.”

Gwyn scoffed. “She is not a problem, she’s a person. A good one too. And she’s my friend.” Sort of. “And you were unfair.”

“You don’t know the whole story. I don’t even know how you know- nevermind. The necklace is yours Gwyn.” He held it back out to her but Gwyn took a step back.

“No, I want no part in your disagreement with each other.” Azriel didn’t budge. Gwyn shook her head again and took another step back for good measure.

“She has a mate,” he expelled in a whisper. The anger simmered on his face, but the grief overshadowed it in his eyes.

“But she wants you,” Gwyn offered. It was true. How Gwyn hadn’t seen it earlier was beyond her. “I don’t know much about mating bonds but I do believe they only work if both sides want them.” When Azriel responded with a scoff she took a shaky step closer.

“I see the way she looks at you,” she added. “When you aren’t looking or when I tell her about you during training. It’s not how one thinks of someone who is anything less than lovers.”

And what a shame indeed Gwyn thought to herself, after she’d left Azriel speechless and clutching the necklace haphazardly, that Gwyn recognized the look on Azriel’s face. The longing, the devastation, as he faced the fact that Elain, while perhaps desirous and reciprocating now, would always have a mate and someone to look towards. That he was running after someone who was spoken for, and would perhaps never be truly his. What a shame that Gwyn knew that look on his face so well, because she was sure she had the exact same one every time she looked at him.

Taglist: genuinely I don’t remember if this is the right taglist or the general taglist or just a taglist for a specific fic...but it’s all I have saved so here ya go....

@endlessdaydream @sleeping-and-books @purpleglitterypinecone @sv0430 @gwynberdara @karmasworlds @bookstantrash @duskandstarlight @d0riansgray @perseusannabeth @vasudharaghavan @sayosdreams @arielle-reads @theoverlyenthusiasticwriter @nahthanks @oversizedbats @swankii-art-teacher @inardour @rowaelinismyotp @starryblueskies7 @vidalinav @nessiantrashh @imagine-me @iwastoowildinthe70s @lady-winter-sunrise @vanzetanze @moodymelanist @wishfulimaginings @amaranthas-whore @simpingfornestaarcheron @generalnesta @mis-lil-red @nestaisgod @booksstorm @loosingdreams @champanheandluxxury @18moneytoad @starksravings @tinasbookishlife @cookiemonsterwholovesbooks @nesquik-arccheron @readingwitches @that-golden-lyre

#acosf #acotar #elain archeron #gwyneth berdara #azriel #elain #gwyn #gywn berdara

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nhasablogg · 2 years

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Would you be open to writing a platonic Kate and Clint fic where Kate is feeling alone for the holidays so Clint shows her she still has family? Maybe Kate can retaliate after and tickle Clint and then Clint can get her back

Words: 650

It took Kate three beers, one sappy Christmas movie and a bowl of buttered popcorn to realize the ache in her chest was due to homesickness and not exhaustion. Iowa was a well-known cold, but it wasn’t as busy as New York, and so it didn’t provide them with the warmth that rushing around did. She kept shivering under her blanket.

“I’m just tired after everything,” she’d told them, but as the kids went to bed one by one on Christmas Day, she discovered she had no desire to sleep.

Clint and Laura lingered so obviously for her sake, but she kept her eyes on the TV screen, refusing to let them worry about one more person this holiday season. When Laura finally left with a squeeze to her arm, Kate felt herself relax just a little.

“Are you sure the couch will work?” Clint asked for the second time that night. “Nate can sleep with us, it’s fine-”

“No, no, I’m okay! I promise.” She patted the cushion. “The couch will be fine, don’t worry.”

He hummed. Clint had been a kinder version of his snarky self since they’d arrived, sprinkled with such loving smiles directed at his family but also sometimes at her that Kate had no idea how to react. She wasn’t surprised when he sat down beside her now, although she was when she found she didn’t mind it.

“The kids adore you,” he said, not looking at her as he spoke. “As does Laura.”

“And you?” She grinned at him, but found that something in her cared more about his reply than she cared to admit.

He huffed out a laugh. “You’re a pain in my ass.” Something softened when he met her gaze. “But you’re growing on me.”

“Oh, I knew you were sappy underneath all that snark,” she said, poking his side automatically and finding it very interesting when he flinched. “Oho.”

But Clint, a superhero after all, was quick to turn and grab her wrists. “Don’t you dare.”

She jutted out her chin. “Or what?”

“I’ll have you regret it.”

“I’d like to see you try.” She tried to slip her wrists out of his grip, but he held on firmly, not tight enough to hurt, but enough to not give her any room to escape unless she gave it her all. “Hey-”

Clint was also a dad, which he proved when he let his fingers flutter over her own vulnerable side so skillfully he had to be doing this on the daily. She was surprised by the sound that left her lips, something loud and desperate, much too similar to a giggle for her liking.

“Ah, this could land you in trouble,” he said, as if he himself hadn’t shown signs of sensitivity just a moment prior. “Better teach you how to endure it.”

“Stop,” she choked out, twisting and failing to escape his unbearable touch. She hadn’t been tickled in years and wasn’t sure how to react to it.

“See this as an opportunity to learn. Can you overpower me? Escape? Counterattack?”

“Oh my god, shut up- no!”

He’d left her side and started prodding her belly. Kate regretted having shed her sweater, but it was hot in here and her t-shirt was thin enough that it almost felt as if he was touching bare skin. She dissolved into something more hysterical, something even louder, which made Clint place his palm against her lips.

“You’ll wake the whole house,” he said, laughing as his fingers stilled.

“I don’t see how that’s my fault.”

“Eh, fair enough.” He let go of her wrists and she rubbed at her midriff to get rid of the ghost tickles. “That’s a cute laugh you got there.”

“I’ll punch you,” she threatened, but she felt warm with a sudden surge of joy. Maybe this wasn’t her biological family, but she felt safe this holiday season. Clint had made sure of that.

#ticklish!kate #kate and clint #hawkeye #hawkeye fic #marvel #tickling #n writes #holiday joy

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dmclemblems · 2 years

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you know, this game had a habit of making all the Not Good people not seem so bad... and the more I think about it, the more I’m seeing it with Ludwig as well in AG.

also known as: a nice long analysis about “wait! this isn’t the Ludwig I thought I knew!”

in this game he seems to care directly about the Empire like in Houses, and he’s actually a lot kinder to his own people in AG. in SB he’s basically scum tbh, but it seems like in AG he at least has values/morals. what got me thinking about it was a few small things with larger meanings.

what I mean is that I don’t think Houses Ludwig (or SB Ludwig who to me seems even worse than in Houses) really valued people all that much? he seemed to behave as though he was above them and took that for granted? here a soldier warns him that he needs to escape but they can’t find Edelgard, so they’ll keep searching for her (Ludwig is searching for her as well which imo says a lot since normally he sees her as someone who is in his way, and in SB actively antagonizes her and starts creating allies to raise arms against her). The soldier tells him they can’t lose him, and instead of giving some haughty reply, he says “my apologies” about having to flee and leave his soldiers behind to continue their search without him.

mind you, he sounds very sincere when he apologizes, and normally I wouldn’t see him as the type to even apologize. on top of that, the soldier (who normally I’d think Ludwig would see as just disposable fodder) gets a farewell and is thanked?

while it makes sense for him to die saying the Empire is doomed (which it basically is at this point, as if you get the Arval chapter from recruiting Byleth, Claude explains to Edelgard that the country has basically been trashed and that the soldiers have no discipline left), and while we know he at least cares about the wellbeing of the Empire’s legacy, I think it’s really notable for him to say “Your Majesty”, when he’s a big enemy in SB. It’s actually like he’s only standing in for her while she’s, as far as everyone is led to believe, out of commission more or less.

I wouldn’t say I like him as a person, but I’m curious about this characterization of him because it’s very different to me than in SB and in Houses (which is the same across all routes, though he’s ultimately used as a scapegoat by Thales posing as Arundel in Ferdinand’s paralogue). he actually seems more like a person in this route and doesn’t straight up want to eliminate Edelgard. I’m curious if he’s had some kind of change of heart because of witnessing the Empire fall apart in the last few months.

I just think it’s interesting to see all these sides of characters we only knew bits and pieces about in Houses, because even though this is an AU timeline kind of thing, Ludwig isn’t a one dimensional spiteful antagonizing villain in AG and seems more like a legitimate leader in this route. In SB Ferdinand mentions having grown up idolizing his father, but I can actually see the things Ferdinand came to respect from his father in this route.

as far as SB Ludwig, I really think the reason he was made so one dimensional was because they needed someone to fill the role that Cornelia and Shahid take in their respective routes. They needed a direct antagonist to the protagonist of the route, and since for TWS, Cornelia is dealt with by the Kingdom, Thales is the final villain and Solon is only killed if you recruit Byleth, the main baddies within TWS couldn’t be used for this. It makes sense to use Ludwig then, whose role otherwise fits in with how he was handled in Houses, so basically standard Ludwig.

but that’s where my interest comes from in AG. we’re actually seeing a guy who speaks one on one to a soldier as a human speaking to a human and not a rich leader in power who thinks it’s just The Way It Goes for his soldiers to stay behind and risk their lives for him. He’s not treating the soldier like it’s So Obvious he would flee while they stay behind. He’s also helping them search for Edelgard by himself on foot.

while this is an AU of Houses, I do personally like this version of him more because it makes him out to be something that it makes sense that Ferdinand used to respect. tbh before really thinking about these lines, I was literally wondering what the fuck Ferdinand ever saw in his father/his father’s leadership that made him respect him and want to be like him. nothing in SB nor in Houses would lead us to believe there’s anything for Ferdinand to be like, but I think treating his soldiers as people and not readily leaving them behind, as well as taking up a search alongside them is exactly something Ferdinand would do. if it came down to having to flee because the Empire needed his leadership, I think he’d do so for the good of the Empire, but not without expressing apologies and thanks to his soldiers. here Ludwig actually strikes me as a decent man with some crappy political agendas rather than a tyrant both in politics and just in his everyday behavior (which Houses made it seem like he’s just... Constant Scum and not someone worth looking up to in Ferdinand’s case).

I don’t think his change is as drastic as Erwin’s as far as the information we got from Houses, but it is interesting to see a different side of him and not have to look at him as someone I’d take pleasure in killing (like... Kronya for instance lol).

wouldn’t say he’s even on my like list, but it’s just a fun thing to think about when it’s supposed to be a game of nuanced characters in a nuanced story. even though Houses gave us that, it didn’t give us that in the form of side characters or most villains/antagonists (most of the time when you kill someone in Houses, they have the whole “they’ve done good things or could be a good thing, or they weren’t all bad BUT bc of xyz they deserve to die”, which... is pretty much basically to the dot what Ferdinand expresses of Ludwig in his paralogue). we’re just mainly meant to... not care about the people we have to kill in Houses for a good majority of them, which kind of goes against what Houses/Hopes tries to say the characters don’t want to do. it doesn’t fit in with making the player not care about a character dying, because imo with the story we’re engaging in, we should be made to feel bad when someone dies. that’s not usually the case with side villains, but here it feels more like this guy is... just a guy, and not a hopeless disgusting tyrant that doesn’t care for anything but himself and his home looking good just because that’s where he lives and anywhere he resides has to look good.

also yes I did consider the fact that the Empire became a total trash heap in AG, but I do believe that’s because of Thales. Ludwig, as I understand him, wouldn’t actively be seeking to destroy the Empire. even if he’s not a great ruler, he has a lot of pride in the Empire. I don’t think he would do anything to destroy it. the way he dies saying the Empire is doomed also sounds to me like he laments the current state of it. in Houses, he’s also used as a scapegoat by Thales, so I’m pretty sure that’s what’s happening here (what with him being “in charge” while the country is being destroyed).

tl;dr multi faceted side characters is a cool concept.

edit: adding this late but adding it nonetheless.

#Three Hopes #Three Hopes Spoilers #Ludwig #basically... AG did a world of good for almost every character in the game LMAO #even Ludwig looks like he has the fckn potential to be a stand up guy when he's been known to us as a total crapshoot #like wow he's... not actually scum of the earth here. unexpected but interesting

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upsidedowncities · 2 years

Text

The Eye that Sees and The Heart that Beats

The undercity was never kind to people who had something about them that could be exploited. It would take and infect and pollute and spit you out with nothing. The very air reminded those trapped within it with each breath that they were less. They didn’t deserve to breathe clean air from above. In the eyes of Piltover the people from the undercity were too far gone to be saved. So they were left to choke on the filthy smog.

Hasson had taught you from day one that family wasn’t blood. Blood was a luxury you couldn’t afford. Family were those whose backs you watched, and in turn they watched yours. But as much as his lessons of independence and not relying on anyone were what he spoke out loud, what he did told a different story. He loved you, and he had loved you since the moment he pulled you half drowned out of the river. You knew he suffered more hardship for the sake of protecting you. Two mouths were much more expensive to feed than one, so often he fed one. And growing up you never starved. As you got older you saw the toll it was taking on him. So you began to work, as most children of the underground did. You started off choking in the mines, but then at the urging of Hasson, found something in the Lanes. You worked in a small restaurant. Bussing tables and washing dishes at first, and then ultimately ending up the bartender. Hasson also taught you that you could never let them see you bleed. He taught you how to defend yourself, and gifted you a knife that you kept strapped to your thigh. It was a little thing, like yourself. Easily underestimated. But it was lethal. Just like the undercity.

It was spring when you were walking home from the restaurant. If you could even call it that. Spring in the Lanes was not heralded with clear fresh air or flowers. Rather a couple extra hours of yellowish light that filtered down through the fumes from above. You were grateful for it in a small way. Because if you held your breath and closed your eyes the sun would warm your skin, and you could pretend you were somewhere else. Somewhere kinder. You never dawdled though. That was a good way to get hurt. So you passed quickly through the towering spires of stacked buildings, and over the fissures on your way home. Usually you didn’t stop once.

But today you heard a sound, a high pitched whine. It sounded like a kid. It sounded scared. You stopped and turned to face the alley. And sure enough, there was a kid. Maybe 8 or 9 with bright blue hair. Being backed into a corner by two grown men maybe twice her size. You debated a moment before setting your jaw and stepping over. Your boots made a sizable splash in the puddle at the entrance to the alley before you passed over.

“I really hope I’m not interrupting something important.” you fawned, your voice dripping with false sweetness.

“Actually you are, so get lost.” one of the men said, shifting his stance to face you. It was obvious they hadn’t planned on being interrupted.

“You see I already am, I was wondering if you could point me in the direction of the Last Drop.” You picked the name of the most well known pub in town, one they would be stupid to not know the name of. You smiled sweetly.

Your plan had been to distract the men long enough for the kid to slip away. But the kid didn’t move. And one of the men took a step towards you, clearly aiming to swing.

“Ugh, no need to be rude about it.” You pouted just before stepping to the side, feeling a slight shift in air as his fist sailed past your head. You pulled your knife from its place and moved to slash the mans arm. He grunted as blood rained down onto your cheek from the sizable gash in his arm. You had to be fast. There was no way you could match these guys in strength so you had to be quick. And say a prayer.

Sinking low to the ground you lashed out again, your knife finding its mark on the tendon on the inside of the man's knee. You jerked your knife back towards you from behind his knee until you felt a snap and heard his scream. His tendon was completely severed and his leg useless.

“Get out of here kid!” you grunted and that's all it took. A moment's hesitation and that would be your undoing. Can’t hesitate down here, that's when the undercity will kill you.

The second man catches you by the hair. You feel a vicious yanking and cry out as your head is brought up. His knuckles collide with your stomach and you curse the big bulky rings he's wearing as your breath leaves you. Tears well up in your eyes from the impact and your breath is leaving you in shaking coughs. He drops you to the ground and you feel a piece of what must be glass imbed itself in your forehead. Your left eye is red and all you can smell is the coppery scent of your own blood pouring down your face. You curl in on yourself and prepare for him to start kicking. Praying to whatever god who must have abandoned you long ago that it's quick. Everyone hopes to go quickly. But the kicks never come. You hear shouting and the sound of a struggle. The man's shadow leaves your body and you can vaguely hear him fighting someone else. Blows are exchanged for a moment and then there is the sound of mechanic whirring followed shortly by the sound of bones shattering and the thump of what can only be a lifeless body. You didn’t hear any screams. You lift your head and see a tall woman with a metal arm standing above you. And the girl. The little girl you came here for. She is crying and something inside you twists painfully. She says something to the woman but you can’t hear. There's a ringing coming from the base of your skull that seems to be drowning out all other sounds. The last thing you see is the woman bending over you before your head falls to the concrete again and the ringing turns to a piercing shriek and then nothing.

You wake to find yourself in a bed, it's not comfortable. But it is also decidedly more comfortable than most beds in the Undercity. It smells clean, and the sheets have a slightly scratchy unused quality. It’s strange. You look around the room, trying to gather your surroundings. You seem to be in a shoddy hospital. Its shoddy because it's dark, and clearly never meant to be a medical facility. Pipes criss-cross above you, and the air has a wet stale quality. But it's been converted into one. There are a few mismatched shelving units bearing medical supplies. And a few other curtained cubicles, clearly containing other cots. A noise to your right alerts you to the presence of the woman from the alley. She is dozing in a folding chair next to your bed. You shift and she startles awake.

“Well if it isn’t sleeping beauty.” She says gruffly

When you respond with nothing she sighs.

“You really should be more careful. Good deeds are a bad idea.” she says, softer this time.

“I couldn’t just leave her.” you say, your voice coming out less words and more hoarse croak.

“She would have been fine, I was nearly there.” she says, irritation rising in her voice.

“Well good thing, cause I wouldn’t have stood a chance. Thank you.” you said quietly, turning to stare at the ceiling again.

Your head swam with thoughts. Where were you? Why did the little girl have a guard? Whose kid was she to be that important? Did Hasson know where you were? How long had you been gone? Where was your bag? Among a few at the forefront of your mind.

The woman cleared her throat, startling you from your thoughts.

“You’ve been out for about a day, your shit is safe, it's upstairs. I am supposed to give you painkillers and ask where you want to be dropped off.”

You paused, hesitant to tell her where you lived. After a moment you settled on telling her to drop you in the square, you could wait for her to leave and then head up to your and Hasson’s apartment. She would never know which it was.

“Can you drop me off at the square by the Last Drop?” you asked

“Oh that’s easy. We’re in the basement now. I’ll help you upstairs to get your stuff and then you can just go.”

“What do you mean we’re at the drop?” you asked, voice shaking slightly with the implication.

“She means, that girl you saved? Was my daughter.” A smooth voice came from the other end of the room. The woman next to you stood up quickly.

As you turned to see where the voice had come from, blood drained from your face. There in the doorway stood Silco. The king of the Undercity. The man everyone feared enough to have some semblance of law down here. He was corrupt, and a murderer. But he did provide structure. And under him the undercity had seen economic growth unlike the time of his predecessor who was more content hiding than seeking more. You were of the persuasion to be inclined to respect this man. He came up from the mines and made something of himself. He was proof that maybe they had a chance. But he was also of the persuasion to kill people who crossed his path. And here you were, caught like a deer in the headlights.

“I- I’m so sorry, I didn’t know I meant no insult on your guards capability, nor did I try to hurt her. Please forgive me.” Your voice shook as you spoke.

He stood there a moment, before the corner of his mouth quirked up into the ghost of a smile.

“Relax girl. Jinx told me everything, it’s not often I run into those who do something just cause it is right.” He said, and while the words themselves were kind, his tone was measured and calculated.

“I wanted to pay you back for the services, and any wages you may have lost while unconscious.” he said, his mouth settling back into his clearly schooled expression of neutrality. He crossed the room in only a few strides and dropped a small sachet in your lap. You didn’t open it. Silco stood at the foot of the bed and observed you. From your vantage point you could see he was tall, and lean but not thin. He was clearly strong. And his eyes. Everyone knew about his eyes. One a striking green that could be considered quite pretty, the other wide and scarred. Orange set in a black void. You wondered how it happened, and if it bothered him at all.

You shook these thoughts from your mind. He’s Silco, not some dog to ogle at on the street. You pointedly removed your gaze from his face and stared at your hands.

“Thank you, it’s unnecessary but very appreciated.” You said softly as you toyed with the string on the bag in your lap. The bag alone was nicer material than anything you owned.

“Don’t speak of it.” And with that he turned and left.

The woman who was still standing by your side waited until his footsteps before moving to help you up. You winced as you moved your torso. It was slow going. But eventually you were dressed and your items were returned to you. Plus the money and medicine from Silco. As she walked you to the door the woman turned to you.

“Word to the wise, kind is stupid. Don’t be stupid.” She said roughly.

You nodded once and offered a small smile. She looked away from you and opened the door. You stepped out onto the street and looked back at the Last Drop in enough time to see the door swing shut. You exhaled a shaky breath and walked across the plaza to your apartments entrance, cold gray dawn light barely filtering down from topside to the Undercity street at your back.

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achillieus · 3 years

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we’re fools. (bucky barnes x reader)

summary: for all bucky barnes knows, he hates clichés. and this thing between you two, happens to be the biggest one.

(enemies to lovers trope or i watched the society on netflix recently and based this entirely on harry bingham and cassandra pressman)

pairing: college au!bucky x reader

warnings: alcohol, mentions of depression, angst, bucky is a cocky bitch, but bucky also needs a hug

(other parts) (masterlist)

part 1/3:

It’s December, his sophomore year of college and Bucky’s watching you again. From afar, always from afar. He’s scared if he goes near, something will give him away and you’ll laugh at him. He doesn’t remember when his fixation started but he’s certain it’ll pass. A load of girls on campus like him. Sometimes he thinks he likes some of them back. But not you. Bucky doesn’t like you. He’s beyond you. (Actually, you’re beyond him. He would never admit that.) He watches you and notices how your fringe has grown the last few weeks and how a few strands are falling down your eyes. You brush them away and keep writing your essay. He decides it’d be better if he started writing his too. You’re a year younger but he knows you’ll probably get a higher score than him anyway. You’re good with words, he has noticed.

It’s March, your freshman year and you breathe out. You’re leaving the library, arms wrapped around books about Hamlet and Shakespeare, when you see him. Lately he seems to be everywhere you are. It’s getting annoying. You promise yourself you won’t stare at him again, but you cheat a few times. He’s wearing one of his overpriced shirts and he smiles at a sophomore girl. You know Bucky Barnes. You’d known him even if you didn’t want to. Because everybody does. Because that’s who he is. Everything you dislike about the world distilled into one label-whoring, conceited, 5′11″ tall boy. And everybody seems to be smitten with him.

He comes to you first.

“It’s destiny, Y/N,” he says, a smug look on his face, “third time I bump into you today.”

You tense. This is new. Usually, you don’t talk to each other if not for arguing in Romance Literature class. It’s one of the two classes you share.

“I must be very lucky.” Bucky chuckles and it’s somewhat engaging because he hasn’t given you a smile since the first day you met him.

“Admission office is on the left, doll”.

You had thought he was nice then. And beautiful. God, he was so beautiful. Please, he’s not. He’s an arrogant smartass. And now he’s standing here and for some seconds he laughs and you can see the dimples in his cheeks. You blink.

His light eyes divert to the books you’re holding.

“Try not to have too much fun.”

He mocks and walks away.

It’s July, end of sophomore year and Bucky joins a summer book club. (He doesn’t tell anyone. He enjoys his facade.) Every morning he grabs an iced latte and a butter croissant and he goes to the meetings. He reads a lot. And he loves it. It helps him feel. It’s a getaway. Bucky always stands proud and tall, trying to hide how easily he can be torn.

Running one finger along the starched collar of his shirt, he reads quietly and he considers the ever-changing art of literature; words and metaphors that allow him to imagine entire worlds and fathom his own sensitivities. He almost feels vulnerable. He decides that reading together with another person is an intimate act and he’s thankful he doesn’t really have any interest in anyone in the club.

But then it’s Monday and his teenage dream walks in, hair falling gracefully your shoulders, Gone with The Wind in your left hand. And it could have been the sun gleaming through the windows, but Bucky swears his whole being flickers. In a way or another he always responds to your presence.

You sit two rows behind of him and when he involuntary turns to you, you look surprised and yet you smile.

He tries to avoid you and he’s good at it, until someone decides it’d be fun to present the next book in groups. You’re the only two without a friend there and you end up paired together.

“I don’t like this.” he says.

“Oh, I know.” you whisper.

You spend an evening in his dorm, discussing the author and the plot holes. At first, he talks a lot, trying to impress you. But then he lays on his back, listening to the summer rain outside and you reading out loud. Regardless of what you feel for each other, he thinks it’s a beautiful sound.

Next morning, he buys two butter croissants instead of one.

It’s October, your sophomore year and you’re not exactly friends. Or enemies. Bucky has stopped teasing you and you think it’s because of your days in the book club. Actually, it’s because he’s dating Natasha Romanoff now and he promised he’d be kinder.

You realize sooner or later and you say it’s obvious you don’t care. (Who is it obvious to?) The girl is pretty, clever and vibrant and she’s a good person. You like her. You just can’t figure out what she sees in Bucky.

It’s January, his junior year and he’s not doing well. He knows it’s his fault (he always loved half-heartedly) and that makes the hurting worse. It’s guilt driven. He tries to get Nat back but she’s not ready. And it’s awful because nobody warned him and he didn’t know; it’s hard to feel lovable after a break up. He desperately needs a distraction. He pushes himself past his breaking point. Carves his grades into the back of his neck. Devours facts and theorems. Almost joins the football team for extra credit. But to be honest he’s never been that much into sports. Debate team, it is.

That’s where he truly learns to despise you. Who do you think you are? The proud jaw, those smart eyes, your feet planted on the ground as if the world’s wisdom belongs to you. You’re at your best while he’s at his lowest point.

He watches you and then he watches himself.

“Your last argument was weak,” you say, raising your eyebrows, “you should concentrate more.”

Bucky bites his lip in frustration.

“You’re not the boss around here.” He says, crossing his arms in his chest, “You may think you are, but you’re not.”

(Technically she is, Bucky. She’s the captain of the team.)

“Don’t start again.” You sigh. “I just want us to win next week.”

He rolls his eyes at you. He would never admit it out loud but a part of him is enjoying this. Feuding with Y/N feels natural. It reminds him of who he is. And he feeds on that.

He takes a step towards you.

“Of course, so you can take all the credit.”

You just stare at him. Sometimes you don’t understand what Bucky is trying to prove. That he’s better? Or that you’re worse? You hate it. How quickly he can make you lose your temper.

(How quickly he can exhilarate you.)

“If you don’t like the team,” you tilt your chin up to meet his gaze, “you’re free to leave.”

Bucky laughs. This is how you are. This is how you will always be. Both strong, you just, him lost.

“You need me to win, Y/N,” he sets his shoulders back and smirks, “I’m good at this.” He remains close to you and refuses to look away. He can see you parting your lips for a second or two.

(Did he just glance at your lips?)

“I know you are,” you breath out and Bucky is incredulous, “so start acting like it.”

(Did you just compliment him?)

It’s the first day of February, your sophomore year and you think you’re losing your sanity. Bucky invites everyone at his dorm to celebrate their victory at the National Debate Championship. And it’s strange because Bucky never really invites anyone he doesn’t like. If you didn’t know him, you would have bet that he’s been feeling lonely.

You don’t want to go at first. But you’re glad you do. Under the green lights he has installed and all the alcohol in his body, he looks different and it’s the first time you genuinely see him. A boy with silky black hair, blue eyes and skin that looks like it’d be cool to touch. There’s something attractive about him, in a rugged way, and you’re seeing it again after a long time.

Your allergies must have gotten in your head.

He doesn’t talk a lot that night. Not to you. Not to anyone. You deduce pretty early that Bucky just wanted company to drink. You wonder if he’s still messed up because of the break up.

Probably. Everyone on campus is talking about how Natasha was hanging out with that boy, Clint.

He tells you, you don’t have to, but you still stay to help him clean up.

“Why are you doing this, Y/N?” His voice is low.

You started taking a new antihistamine, maybe it’s the side effects.

“It’s called being nice,” you say firmly, “you should try it.”

Bucky makes a little humming sound and keeps collecting plastic cups. The room is quiet, but for the sound of trash bags and you count the seconds before you speak again.

“How are you?”

“I’m not that drunk, don’t worry.” He half-answers, half laughs but he pronounces the last word with enough irony.

“No, I meant,” you breath, “Is everything okay with you?”

“Seriously, you make no sense Y/N.” He’s careful not to look at you.

“I just wanted to say,” your voice sways for a second, you’re a novice in talking with him about anything different than books and words and that makes you weak and nervous, “You’ll be back with Natasha, I’m sure.”

Bucky’s face hardens around the edges, his eyes saying more about him than any words could. He comes close to you and it could have been the smell of alcohol but you feel like you want to throw up.

“You and I, we’re not friends.”

You don’t blink. You stare blankly at him, waiting for what follows. But he just leaves the room.

You promise you will never go to any of his parties again.

...

feedback is so appreciated and motivates me tons, thank you :)

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #college au #au!bucky barnes #bucky barnes imagine #hassandra #bucky barnes x you #sebastian stan #alternate universe #alternate universe bucky #natasha romanoff #sebastian stan imagine #sebastian stan x reader #fools

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imagineryupfuckedworld · 3 years

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Different kind of Company #4

Here is part 4. I hope you enjoy reading it. I wanted to remind that this is pure fiction and not everything is after the canon timeline. Some things are changed, also I am not a native english speaker, so please respect that and have that in mind when you're reading this. Please enjoy! Bonnie.....did not lay there anymore where he was supposed to lay. He..just...vanished. Poff. Just like that. The boys look as confused as you do. Where was the stuffed toy? It should be there. Laying unmovable because a toy can't walk. Your thoughts raced. Your suspicion getting more and more confirmed. If Bonnie wasn't a real monster, he would have not vanished and would have been stepped on. But that is not the case. You hastily looked around. Your eyes scanning the area for the possible pink, glowing eyes that you always stare at, at night. The ones, that made your breath hitch the first time you saw it. You couldn't find them. Is he playing? Is he hiding himself to take them into the darkness? The thoughts in your young mind are running wild. Your imagination begun to go crazy. The Boys also begun to search. You vaguely registered how one of them talks to you, screaming if you're doing this. Shaking you at your shoulders but your mind couldn't focus on him. All that came to halt when you guys heard a voice “Well well well, it seems like you lost that, little miss.” your eyes slowly looked to the source of that new deep voice. This was clearly a voice that doesn't suit a child. Out of the shadow came a man, much taller than you. Taller than your dad but lean, almost skinny. He had a weird Uniform. Not one that a waiter would wear. Maybe the manager? It was too dark to clearly see him. Your first instinct was, to look at his eyes. Searching for a hint of pink but there wasn't. You released your breath silently which you had been holding out of fear of making a noise. Whoever this was, this wasn't Bonnie. So you think and still. There was an unsettling feeling deep in your gut. A feeling you know too well. It was the same feeling you got when your brother and his friends are around, looking at you. It was your gut screaming to run. Run far and fast. Very fast. But you don't know why? This man seems nice, nice enough to give you back Bonnie who was now back safe in your arms. The tall man smiled at you and the boys. “Did you all get lost?” He asked kindly. A warm tone and a nice smile on his fave. So why did your gut still scream to run. The boys seemed like they have overcome their surprise and shook their head. “No, we just searched for her. We're going now!” your brother took you by the arm, dragging you out behind him. Your eyes are still glued to the weird man who was waving you goodbye. You raised your hand meekly and waved back before your brother yanked again. “Come one, dipshit. Your luck there was an adult.” you didn't really register his hissing when you stepped through the big double door. The light of the dinning hall blending you. You squinted your eyes and tried not to trip while you getting dragged behind. Your brothers doesn't even bother to look if you're okay. He just keeps going till you're both by your parents who where engrossed in their talk with some of the other parents. Your father noticed that you are now there, taking his son an his lap and including him while you were left standing there. Not knowing what to do. Like always. You turned around, looking back at the door. You couldn't get the man out of your mind. The little legs of yours begun to move. Like a machine, they kept walking until you were right in front of a waitress. You tapped her softly, waiting patiently so that you wouldn't be rude. “What can I do for you, sweetie?” Her voice was nice, much kinder than the man. You told her about that man, asking if he was the manager. The young woman looked at you questioningly. She never heard of that man before. Thinking it was your imagination, she chuckled lightly and patted your head. Telling you, that you must have imagine that and went back to work, leaving you there. Completely confused.

There....was no such man who worked there? You wanted to run after her, asking her more about that when your parents called you and your sister so you could go. You didn't even realized how late it got. You were longer inside that hallway than you thought. You trotted slowly over, still pondering over that man. The whole ride and even while you had dinner. Your brain couldn't leave that alone. You decided to talk to your brother to confirm that you weren't imagining things. You should have known that this wouldn't end well. “What do you want, dipshit?” You resisted to roll your eyes and ignored him calling you that. “You saw that weird man too, right?” A few seconds went by. “Did you hit your head or somethin'? There was no one.” “Wha-? You even said I was lucky that an Adult was there!” “Dunno what you talkin' 'bout.” “You're lying! Why? I just wanted to confirm something.” “I am not lying! You're just dumb!” “Can you stop insulting me please!” “Or what?” you don't know what it was. If it was the insults he always throws at you. Maybe it was the shit eating grin he wore. You don't know but you shoved him roughly. “I am going to fucking kill you!” Your brother looked at you dumbfounded. You were surprised equally. It was something fairly new for you to fight back but to even resolve to physical contact? That never happened. You did never do that because you know, you would get punished no matter what. So your brother always used it, that you wouldn't fight back. No wonder, he was surprised but the surprise didn't hold long. “How dare you, you little shit?!” He shoved you back, right into a wall. Your back begun to hurt but the anger was bigger. “I said stop it!” You swung your fist. The very first time you used violence. The very first time you spilled blood. Your little fist connected with his nose. Hard. It seemed like the adrenalin in your body gave you enough strength to broke your brothers nose. Both your eyes went wide. Tears formed into his. He grinded his teeths to hold back the sobs. He isn't a crybaby unlike you. But that crybaby has broken his nose. You were frozen. Your mind registering what you did. The funny thing is, you are not scared of punishment. You do not feel bad for your brother. No, the opposite. You feel giddy. It was weird. You feel so excited at the sight of the blood gushing out of his nose. Your eyes slowly look down onto your fist, then back to your brother. Is this, how he always feels? This excitement? It was.....a pleasant feeling. You were awoken from your deluded state when you hear the voice of your mother. Your brother quickly got up and you run out of the room. Hiding behind the door, to hear if you were in trouble. You mother shrieked when she saw her beloved son bleeding. Asking, if he was okay. Instead of snitching your brother insisted that he was okay and just ran into a wall. It seems like the humiliation he felt from getting punched by his little sister is bigger than his desire for her to punished. You felt how a grin was crawling onto your lips but you tried to hide it very fast. What you did not notice were the pink eyes who seemed to be watching you intensely.

#different kind of company #fnaf #five nights at freddy's x reader #five nights at freddy's #fnaf x reader #x reader #child reader #bonnie the bunny #chica the chicken #foxy the fox #freddy fazbear

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all-things-fic · 3 years

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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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youryanderedaddy · 3 years

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Guys, I would like to thank all of you for all the support since I started this blog, you are the best <3 Btw this is the fic Elon Musk doesn’t want you to see lol, jk jk

Title: Humanity

Words: 3.6k

Summary: When you get sold to an odd looking robot after the last failure of a rebellion, things go better than you had expected. Until they don’t.

tw: robot/AI apocalypse au, dystopia au, slavery, slight non - sexual public nudity, discrimination, vulgar language, mention of death and child abuse (in the past), obsessive behavior, non - consensual touching, angst

AD 3061y., 14 September

Your hometown was in ruins, shattered by the Forces and left without any source of food, clean water or reliable manpower. The rebellion had failed just like the first ten attempts and as much as you had wanted to believe this time would be different, your dreams stayed nothing more than a way to cope with the harsh reality. Any intelligent individual had either managed to flee before the prosecution or died in agony while trying. You could still hear their pained screams ringing in your ear, the desperate look in their pupils sealed forever in your mind along with the sound of heavy breathing slowly fading into the background like your own hopes for a better future.

The ones who decided to play meek and close their eyes to the inhuman torture happening in the area were spared, but what awaited them could potentially be worse than death itself. You were part of the flock of pitiful weak humans who had surrendered to the heartless machines wanting nothing more than to see mankind squirm and kneel underneath their mechanic heel like a bug. And now you would face the hour of judgment – tired and exhausted, heavy rusty chains around your bruised ankles making every next step a little harder than the last one. But you were certain that the most painful humiliating event hadn’t taken place yet and the thought made your blood run cold. You could recall the countless stories you used to hear on the streets from your friends about androids stealing kids and selling them like cattle to the most powerful leaders of society. Back then you would laugh at them, finding the ideas ridiculous, better fit for a conspiracy theory or a legend rather than an actual threat. But during that time life was easier – the robots were still your friends, just your average citizens, equal to the humans in every manner. It wasn’t until ten years later that some of them realized just how much better, stronger and smarter than the people they really were. That’s how the apocalypse started and that’s how it was going to end. These days the mortals were becoming extinct with the population cut down to one million. You didn’t have names or rights to any possession. Your mere survival had one purpose only – to entertain the machines so they could feel human again. And right now you were being dragged to Soraq, also known as the biggest slave market in the country.

----

It was just as terrifying as you had imagined it to be. The Capital was supposed to express wealth, luxury and maybe even happiness but your old human views were easily opposed when faced with the mud covering what was left of the pavement and the pale exhausted bodies of the mortals wandering the streets searching for a hot meal and a little bit of kindness it was clear no one wanted to provide. You reached out to help a young girl sobbing all by herself on the ground but the Officer roughly yanked your shoulder back and ordered you to keep going – his cold hard touch was enough to bruise your skin.

After a few long minutes of uncertainty your keeper finally stopped, pulling you up some black stairs leading to a small stage and if you weren’t too busy looking around for the others who were captured, you might have noticed the crowd gathered inches away from you. Soon enough you were forced to redirect your attention as you heard the approving screams and cheering below. There were hundreds of robots staring at you, smirking maliciously, pinning you with their cold calculating gazes. You finally realized that this wasn’t just a bad dream or a nightmare, something unreal you could easily run away from by opening your eyes. You were about to become property and the worst part was the way the cruel machines perfectly resembled people – they looked the same except for the dark red pupils each possessed which glowed when going into a fight mode. But unlike humans the androids had gotten rid of their most intimate emotions and fears, turning themselves into empty shells, shiny and murderous with no way to experience anything properly, be it pleasure or pain.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” The Officers started off with a low chuckle, his heavy hand wrapped tightly around your arm. His voice should have been programmed to be monotone but now it had a playful edge to it. “Today our dear subjects have decided to be feisty yet again. They still haven’t learned their lesson it seems.” He grinned eerily, quickly followed by the mocking laugher of the crowd. Some even shouted slurs and insults but you tried to focus on controlling your feelings. You needed to stay calm if you wanted to survive. “We really can’t expect more from the mankind. They are primal after all, they just can’t learn from their mistakes.” The male robot paused for a second to fix his microphone. “It’s in their DNA code to be foolish and pathetic. That’s why we need to take better care of them.” He whispered the last line down your neck and despite knowing that the machines didn’t have actual lungs, you could swear you felt his cold breath on your sensitive skin.

“The woman is in her early twenties. Her background is unknown, but she certainly looks like someone you would want in your collection.” The android continued talking as if you weren’t there, his hands all over your tinier frame. The mass was yelling, but you only made out the words „down”, „strip” and „human”. Your eyes watered involuntarily and you let the tears stream down your cheeks in spite of the weakness they showed. It didn’t matter – it couldn’t get any worse so you could at least let yourself experience such little bits of comfort. In the next moment the Officer ripped your old ragged t-shirt, exposing your breasts to the cold autumn air. The hot red humiliation washed over you as the degrading whistles pierced trough your heart. It was such a cruel unfair punishment and you couldn’t even keep your composure long enough to not break down ugly – crying right there.

“The bidding starts at one thousand eros!” The robot’s evil voice echoed through the area, reaching the market borders. Suddenly all the attention was on your scared vulnerable half-naked self. More than ten androids raised their hands, making your stomach turn in terror. Most of them had unpleasant appearances, resembling old people, usually men. “Do we have two thousand eros?” The officer added quickly afterwards having seen the shown interest. This time there were only five bots willing to buy you for so much money – but the show was far from over. “Am I seeing three thousand eros?” Your keeper kept going, determined to drain your bidders off their wealth, but to his utmost surprise now there were only two robots with their hands in the air – one seemingly younger and the other looking all wrinkled and bitter at the world. You silently prayed that fate would work in your favor only this time and hand you over to the man who would treat you more like a living being and less like an object.

“Ten thousand eros.” Suddenly the android with a kinder appearance declared out loud, his cold stern gaze fixed onto you. The other male hesitated for a moment, probably wondering whether or not you were worth so much money, but at the end he cursed under his breath and slowly put his hand down with a sour expression. “Sold to K-010 for ten thousand eros!” The automatic voice of the Officer was ringing in your ear like an alarm while the crowd was shouting and cussing, some going as far as to criticize your new owner for giving up his monthly salary for a “cheap human whore”. Next he was invited on the stage to sign off all the needed documents leading to your freedom being ripped away forever and you were injected with a tiny chip which would make your location visible to your buyer at any given time. The android looked at you soon after and in one swift move he managed to place his leather coat on your shoulders, muttering at you to cover up. You obeyed, embarrassed by the reminder that your upper half was still fully exposed to all the hungry prying immortals. When the chains were finally removed, the robot took you by the hand and led you to a small white flying car with a yellow lily drawn on top – the brand was popular among the most powerful members of the Forces.

“Don’t even think about running away.” K-010 growled when he noticed the way your attention drifted to the nearby road before finally taking your seat. You knew it was pointless now that the tracking device was deep into your skin but deep down you still couldn’t kill the last bit of hope screaming at you to do something before you were too far away to find home again, wherever it was. “If you so much as look outside while we drive, I will use my lasers to turn you into ash. Okay?” You nodded meekly and sank into the soft comfortable seat, wishing that your body would stop shaking in fear but to no avail.

---

The journey was long and silent but it made you remember the days when music was still allowed and you used to turn the radio all the way up in your mother’s car. You would sing loudly until your throat hurt and your friends would ask you to just shut up and focus on the road. Everything was so normal and happy back then. The stinging nostalgia threatened to overcome so you tried to focus on something else. You finally faced your owner in an attempt to study his appearance. He was probably in his late twenties, his hair white with some black locks here and there, a fashion trend you usually didn’t care much for. You couldn’t afford to bother with your hairstyle when you were constantly running for your life after all. The robotic male had sun-kissed brown skin, he was taller than most human men and his lips seemed softer than most robots’. But the biggest mystery laid in his deep dark eyes, they looked scarlet at first but the more you stared, the easier it was to realize the color was actually brown.

“Are you a cyborg, K-010?” You asked in a small voice out of the blue, breaking the peace and quiet in the air. The android didn’t spare you much attention with his gaze fixed onto the open sky serving as a road, still he opened his mouth slightly to respond. “My name is Kyle, the numbers are just a formality.” He inhaled sharply as if he was reminiscing a bad memory. “And yes, I am biologically human – just with a few practical upgrades.” You had heard of such people before, the ones willing to become an experiment so they could join the high society oppressing their own neighbors, friends and relatives, setting the lands on fire and destroying the dying environment but you had never met one until today. Honestly, you felt betrayed. It was one thing to be some unfeeling machine’s plaything and entirely another to be owned by someone with a functioning heart even though they weren’t too keen on using it properly.

“Why would you do that?” You couldn’t stop the question from leaving your lips in the next moment. “You should know what humans have to go through just to stay alive. Today hundreds of us were crushed and sold like some animals! Yet you changed yourself to appeal to their disgusting standards.” You raised your voice, the hot tears already spilling down your cheeks yet again, your fists clenched in pure anger at the foolish greedy man. He simply shook his head and leaned back. “I had my reasons, sweetheart. You don’t know anything.” With that the conversation had ended, you could try and argue or even blame him for being a selfish bastard but it wouldn’t have done you any good so you decided against it. It didn’t matter much anymore.

----

A few months went by slowly even though time meant little to someone in your position. Living with Kyle wasn’t as terrible as you thought it would be – his mansion was big and spacious, luxurious even. You had your own room and you were allowed to explore the house in your free time. You didn’t have many duties to attend to, your work mostly revolved around cooking, cleaning and keeping company with your owner when he was too tired to keep the robotic mask on and just wanted something sweet, something weak, something more human around. He didn’t want much out of you so you tried to do your best and stay on his good side – there was always a warm meal waiting at the table at night, every window was carefully wiped from the previous dust and the glass was now shining brightly, and you would listen for hours on end to the cyborg’s ramblings no matter how dreadful it could be sometimes.

But it couldn’t be denied that the man had some odd habits, even if you were to overlook him buying a living being instead of simply hiring a maid. For example, you knew how thin the walls actually were because you could hear him cry almost every night. The half-robot would hold you close any time the news were too loud or a bottle of beer had fallen and shattered on the ground. Still you weren’t allowed to leave his home so all the doors leading to the outside world were locked while he was away or at work. And there were these weird long cuts on his shoulders you had managed to take notice of the first time your master had asked you to bathe him. You hadn’t meant to prey upon his naked form, but the task had been so awkward you needed something to focus on to drive the unpleasant thoughts away. The injuries looked deep and the man would close his eyes any time the soap made contact with them. Finally one day you gathered the courage to ask him what had caused the raw scratches. You were messaging his scalp gently, applying jasmine in his roots, trying to soothe his nerves and get to the information.

“ ’S not important. ” K-010 answered lazily while arching his back into your touch. More often than not the male would melt under your care and you couldn’t help but wonder just how lonely it was to be neither a human nor a machine. “She is dead now.” He whispered darkly, secretly hoping it wouldn’t reach your ear, yet it did. “Who is dead?” You questioned him after a while, stroking his wet locks until you heard him moan. You were getting better and better at provoking a reaction from the cyborg and despite knowing it was manipulative and a little devious, he was still the ruthless owner who held your one and only life in his palms. You needed to be sneaky if you wanted a safe, comfortable life.

“My mother.” Kyle added quickly before looking at the blue ceiling, the glossy material copying both of your reflections. The mention of the woman made the sensitive skin of his nape crawl but he kept talking. “The crazy bitch used to beat me every. She even tried to kill me a couple of times.” A slight smile appeared on his full red lips. “It didn’t work out in the end, unfortunately.” So that’s where the cuts were from – he had been violated in his childhood by no other than the person supposed to look after him. You had always hated abusive parents taking advantage of their authority and even now your own imagination made your heart ache at the picture it painted. A small boy being hit over and over until there his whole body was bruised and bloodied. A child with no one to turn to. It didn’t excuse your master’s evil doing but it certainly explained a lot. “Don’t make such a sad face, darling.” He cooed at you, reaching out to pinch your cheek. “I will always be grateful to the Forces since they gave me the power I needed to finally free myself from her grasp. I even buried her myself after everything was said and done.” Kyle grinned from side to side like a little kid waiting to be praised for the picture they had drawn, except now the man was speaking of the way he had murdered his mother. You were at a total loss of words, suddenly too frightened to respond.

“What’s so special about being a human anyways?” The cyborg grumbled, sounding almost offended of the words you still haven’t said but were definitely thinking deep down. You were staring forward unable to draw away from that one crack in the wall, his words flying above your head. Your confusion was interrupted by the man quickly raising to his knees and catching both of your hands with his strong robotized ones. The cold touch of the metal combined with the camouflage of a soft skin was enough to mess your mind even further into the maze that was his dark gaze. Next thing you knew the male had you pinned on the hard ground, spotlessly clean and reeking of abstergent. You tried to squirm away but the hold of your wrists was too tight and strong to even make your struggling worth the trouble. “Just look at how weak you humans are.” K-010 taunted you, smirking teasingly, cruelly, yet there was something desperate in his eyes, something hidden. “You are so fragile I could probably break you if I were to press harder on your flesh.” He whispered into your ear, breathing down your neck as he dug his icy fingers into your collarbone and made you whimper pathetically at the dull pain. “People are foolish creatures, illogical by nature. They try to fight authority yet the moment they are left with a free choice, they find a way to run from their responsibilities.” The cyborg chuckled maliciously while digging his nails further into your skin.

“We might be doomed forever because of our emotions but there is something you fail to consider.” You finally spoke out despite your rapid heartbeat and fear so great it could defeat death herself. The predator already had you in his sharp claws and there was no pointing in playing coy anymore. The worst had come to worst. Your words caught the attention of the half-robot and he licked his lips in anticipation to hear what you had to say. “Unlike the androids we can still experience love. And at the end a life without love is a life wasted in the big picture. We might be mortal but you are the ones waiting to die instead of living.” You spat at the man fiercely, ready to face any punishment he would bestow upon your weak tired body for the sheer honesty. Instead he started laughed maniacally, the sound so loud it hit the ceiling and echoed through the house like a pained scream and so violent his shoulders shook to the sides. For the first time his eyes were glowing in a bright red color so saturated and vivid you couldn’t stand to look at them.

“This is really funny, my little human.” Kyle pronounced carefully, having calmed down. He lowered his head so that his lips were ghosting over yours, just brushing against them. “I belong with neither humans nor robots so why does my chest ache every time I look at you? Tell me, darling, am I in love?” His voice was harsh, husky – as if he was purposely trying to sound evil but the tears in his eyes pointed at another feeling. A raw painful feeling.

You couldn’t reply not only because you had no idea what to say after the confession but also because you couldn’t breathe properly with his pretty, wicked face so close to yours. Your silence only managed to stir the cyborg up further into his madness and he kissed you roughly, hungrily lapping and biting at your lips until they were sore and bruised, the robotic man more than happy to lick the small drops of blood off. For a moment you considered kicking or shouting for help but there wasn’t anyone willing to in the radius of kilometers. No one of significance cared much about the few remaining mortals. “I could never love you.” You uttered weakly, half – heartedly pushing the man away. You were all alone in this and there wasn’t really a point in fighting someone so much bigger and stronger, yet a sad little part of you hoped that Kyle would leave you alone if you made it clear enough just how much his actions were hurting you.

“It’s fine if you don’t love me by choice.” Your master replied calmly in a cold piercing voice. His hands were wandering through your form stopping at your hips to draw them into his. The pretty dress you used to like so much was now crumpled and reeking of him, torn apart from your shivering body and thrown away. You wished you could cry but all the adrenaline had left you too uneasy to process the pain and fear. Kyle whispered in your ear while stroking your hair gently and it made you feel like a trembling sheep before a starved butcher. “I own you, little human.” He placed a small kiss on your hot sensitive neck. “And I have enough love for both of us.”

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