#Also i was considering heavy giving up art. then i decided to try and prove to myself that i have actually improved

[thescrolls-haveforetold]

twilight queen

#PPL WERE POSTING THEIR AZURAS #Also i was considering heavy giving up art. then i decided to try and prove to myself that i have actually improved #so i redrew that design of azura i did ages ago #the elder scrolls #tes #morrowind #elder scrolls #azura #daedra #nudity #artistic nudity #waS THAT AZURA DESIGN AGES AGO?????? #I CANT REMEMBER #anyway i wanna do meridia next #like last time #maybe ill do nocturnal too idk

[all-things-fic]

Rekindled

A/N: Firstly, I want to say a massive thank you to everyone who nominated me as November Author of the Month. I wasn’t expecting that at all and it was a lovely surprise!  Secondly, here is Rekindled. Hope you all enjoy it!

This was originally meant to be for @majorharry​‘s 20k challenge, but I failed on that front. It’s a long one so grab yourself a brew / beverage of choice and get comfy!

I’m about to disappear again as I usually do and start working on my Christmas fic, as well as those Quarantine Harry updates.

Tonight had started out like any other Saturday evening. 

You had been out with friends. Cosy little pub off a cobbled backstreet, in a secluded corner. Very British. Very cramped. All old wood and leather bound seats. The slight smell of stale beer in the air and plenty of chatter that sometimes had you shouting to ensure the friend sitting two people away from you was able to hear. 

This was a pub that you frequented for quite a while now. A pub that made it so some in your friendship group could grab a proper ale, while others opted for more of a fruity alcoholic beverage. A real all rounder. Did a nice roast on Sunday - eat in or takeout, choice was yours - for a reasonable price by London’s standards. 

The minute he had walked in, you had noticed him. You could recognise his hunched shoulders anywhere. Forever silently willing him to stand up straight and embrace the way his height made him tower over some of his friends. Rather than have him try and make himself smaller. Part of you believed it was to buy him time so he wouldn’t get noticed whenever he knew he was going to be in particular place for longer than an hour.

He had been joined by a male friend. Someone you also knew quite well. Someone who you had seen quite recently actually. An art showing over at Cob Gallery being the reason for your meeting which hadn’t happened too long ago. You remembered the invite being shoved through your letterbox, a far cry from when he used to shunt you a quick text and write your name at the bottom of the guest list using Sam’s kohl eyeliner on the evening of the event itself.

You’d taken the piss out of him that afternoon, a quick phone call telling him that he was “no longer the Tomo Campbell I know”. 

That had been two weeks ago. So, you knew it would be rude of either you, or him, to not acknowledge the other. And you knew he would be the one to cave in. 

And you were right.

Tomo’s friendly brown eyes had glanced at you one too many times, over Harry’s shoulder for him to not give you - or anyone else who may have made the meeting slightly awkward - away. 

The continuous trailing of his gaze had in fact caused Harry to chuckle awkwardly, joking at how he wouldn’t let Sam know of his wandering eye as they shared a night on the town. The joke fell short though, as did his chuckle, when at the last glance over Harry twisted his body around to see what all the fuss was about as he leaned against the bar and let his eyes fall onto yours.

You broke his gaze, reaching forward for your balloon glass full of gin and pressed your face as far into it as possible. A feeling filled you that made you hope the hot flush you felt underneath your skin hadn’t started to give away your unnecessary panic. 

See things with you and Harry hadn’t ended badly. In fact, it was more like a fizzle. A bit like the sweet that pops against your tongue. Sometimes you enjoyed it and other times it was unfulfilling, some would say annoying. The latter explained the ending.

No big fights. No fat, hot tears rolling down cheeks. No loss of voices from slanging matches and screaming until the early hours. It just... Ended. 

That fizzle was what made it amicable. You both breaking it off to go and do your own thing. Neither openly keeping up to date with the other, but still absolutely aware of what was going on. In your case that was a lot easier, in his not so much. However, Harry somehow managed to master the art of leading questions without seeming too much of a beg with mutual friends.  

As he looked on at you taking the longest sip from your drink, he had smiled awkwardly before he allowed his eyes to roam the scene of your group of friends and tried to analyse what met his gaze. A group of eight, men heavily outweighing the women with their five to your genders three. 

He would definitely class himself a liar if he was asked about where his mind had gone, and he said that it hadn’t gone to queries around relationship statuses and potential partnerships with any of the men around the table.

He eyed them, all five of them. Definitely wasn’t the guy three people away, neither was it the guy sat diagonally opposite you. They were blonde, definitely not your type. Well, blondes hadn’t been your type the last time he had been between your legs.

His eyes had been zoned in on the guy that had his back facing him, he wasn’t sitting directly opposite you. Instead he was seated in the opposite seat, but one. Better positioning for someone who wanted to obtain a cheeky glance and still be inconspicuous to the group around him.

“I’m gonna have to go and say hello,” Tomo pulled Harry out of his trance, his eyes lifting up from the beer mat that he had been tapping agitatedly against the bar top once he’d turned away from the scene. 

“‘S fine wi’me, mate,” Harry softly smiled, reaching for his drink and taking a large sip. 

“Come an’ get it over with, H.” 

Harry had quietly eyed Tomo after his open ended suggestion of joining him. His eyes slightly sceptical at the proposal but somehow his legs took over his decision making as he trudged behind his artist friend and got introduced to those faces he didn’t know and acknowledged the ones that he did.

Pulling up a pew at the table had been a lot easier for Harry than he had expected. Dragging the wooden stool to sit himself in between you and the guy to his right, who he now knew to be Conor and the person he really wanted to know the name of was Joe. Joe was a wanker- well, banker. Same difference, right? 

Conversation wasn’t always smooth sailing. The larger group helped however. Also helped him get his moments with you and you with him. Moments that neither of you had known you needed before being sat with his knee brushing yours, due to how cramped your table had suddenly become. 

And it was sweltering now. The bare knee of your ripped jeans, knocking against Harry’s bare knee from his ripped jeans as he edged himself closer to the table wanting to catch what the topic of conversation was down at the easily the “laddier” end of the table. 

Harry had fit right in. Of course his demeanour changed with certain people. Those he had already been in the presence of those years previous were immediately hit with morbid delivery and sarcastic humour, while others were met with his sometimes hard to crack shell. 

And like always as the night had gone on the crowd had tapered off. Some had decided to go onto a club, an offering your declined not wanting to spend the night with people rubbing up against you and feeling like one of the oldest people in the room.

Some of your friends had gone back to their other commitments, like Tomo who made it quite clear he didn’t want to miss his “curfew” that Sam had given him considering he was the one on swimming lesson duty in the morning. 

That ended up leaving you and Harry. Surprisingly a pairing that you hadn’t expected to happen that evening and even more surprising, one that you weren’t particularly dreading.

You knew it had something to do with the gin, and definitely had something to do with the tequila. 

Part of you was thankful for the less than responsible drinking habits you had taken that evening. It allowed you to remain calm as your ex-boyfriend sat across from you looking like time was on his side and aging was being kind to him.

It was definitely being kinder to him than it was to you, anyway. 

Bastard. 

Conversation had been a mixture of light and heavy. Harry showing you a series of different pictures he had taken on his travels as he jetset around the world with his album and his modelling contract (that he adamantly assured you wasn’t a modelling contract), and basically just his very healthy bank balance.

The heavy had been you bitching about the contract project you had been working on and asking him if he would be willing to potentially commit a serious crime with you against one of your colleagues. He’d quipped he probably wasn’t suitable but he was sure he knew a guy. 

At one point, his eyes had dropped down to your pedicured toes in your black strappy heels. When he managed to drag his eyes away for your feet,  and rested his chin on the inside heel of his palm, you knew he wanted to say something. 

“‘M pretty sure we have matching pedis,” he groused, voice so low that if you hadn’t been watching his mouth you wouldn’t have caught a word of what he had just said.

Eyes flicking up to his green gaze, you saw the light shimmering through them. Clearly he was amused by your expression of shock and potential bemusement from his statement.

“Sod off,” you chided, pushing gently at his arm. “You’re joking.”

“‘M not darl-“ he cut himself off with a clear of his throat. “‘M not, an’ if yer lucky later I might take m’socks off to prove it an’all.”

“Not sure if I like the insinuation of there being a later.” You paused for a small amount of time, before adding, “Nor the confidence in how you said it.” 

“God loves a trier and so did you, once.” 

He eyed you from the corner of his vision, mouth wrapped around the lip of his glass as he knocked back what was left of the alcoholic contents inside. 

You were sure he hadn’t meant to let that one slip but there was no way he was going to let his expression give him away and silently confirm with you that thought. 

How had the two of you picked up as if you hadn’t missed a beat? 

“You never did mind me keeping them on though, did yer?”

That was enough to break his gaze. To cause a silence you didn’t know how to fill. To suddenly make you feel incredibly parched as if you hadn’t been necking gin after gin, all evening. 

“How yer getting ‘ome?”

His question cut through it all. His voice of concern, matching his watchful gaze as he looked up at you from the empty glass he had begun twirling on the mahogany wood. 

“Was just gonna Uber it back.”

“‘M a fifteen minute walk from ‘ere, d’ya know tha’?”

“I do know that,” you acknowledged, eyes looking over at him and seeing the way his hair had begun to curl close to his temples from the way he perspired in the heat of the pub. 

“‘Course you do. Done that walk a fair few times ain’t we?”

You hummed. The feeling of your lips lifting into a soft smile at the memories of the two of you walking hand in hand through the dark London streets. Harry with his head down, trying to look inconspicuous. Also, so he could watch his feet and try his best not to trip up over them. 

The times he’d done that thing you loved. Where he would forgo holding your hand and instead walk slightly behind you with his arm wrapped around your shoulder and across the top of your chest. His lips heavy against your hair as he hid his face and chuckled breathily against the shell of your ear when he hadn’t been watching his feet and indeed, tripped. It was always inevitable. 

“So wha’s another nigh’?”

And really what was another night? Other than potentially a messy morning. 

Not before long you were wrapping the chain handle of your bag across your body and tottering out of the booth you had occupied all night. 

Silently you had battled with yourself as to whether you should use the bathroom, but didn’t think you needed it considering how you hadn’t had the rush of pressure usually felt when you were really desperate to relieve yourself.

Shame the feeling didn’t last as you felt a huge gust of cold wind, thanks to London autumn air, washing over you. 

With your arms folded around your body as you walked, you tried your best to shield yourself as the lights of passing cars hurt your tired eyes. Harry had been talking to you about all sorts of rubbish, filling in the gaps of dead air that weren’t taken up by the noise around your both.

“My shoes are going to be fucking ruined,” you grumbled, hearing the sound of muddy stones clacking and crunching underneath your heels. 

Harry chuckled at your obvious disdain, keeping himself close to you in the dimly lit area. The stride to his walk was confident, a little more power behind it than unsteady. He had consumed drinks, but not enough that he didn’t realise how close both he and you were to his home.

As you walked, your eyes surveyed the area. A group of people were getting closer, a few hoods lifted making it hard for you to figure out their make up. 

Before you could give yourself time to think, you unravelled your folded arms and reached down for Harry’s hand. 

“Think we could cross here,” you spoke, a chatter to your voice both from the cold and this unusual anxious feeling. Your eyes darted over the road, left and right before you turned as the group approached you. 

A boisterous boom of laughter left one of the groups mouth, causing you to sharply look back down the street. The grip of Harry’s hand against yours changed, his fingers taking your traditional hand hold to one of interlocking digits. 

He felt moved by the way you appeared to still hold the desire to be protective over him. 

“‘M alrigh’,” he pulled you to him, using his hand and causing you to turn your front and press into his side. “Jus’ let ‘em pass us.”

You silently nodded.

“‘S just a couple’a lads walking ‘ome after a night out,” he mumbled. “‘S all it is. You’re alright.” 

This feeling felt foreign as you felt a tightness in your chest while you stood still with him in the middle of the street. You hadn’t expected to feel any sort of hesitation but you, like everyone else, had heard about the incident which had taken place with him. Virtually on the doorstep of his own home too.

Harry offering you comfort and reassurance just as quick as you were to do so for him, had you finding a weird source of strength and confidence. He welcomed the pressing of your forehead to his cheek, knowing if he tilted his head slightly his lips could brush so tenderly against your forehead, your temple. He would most likely get a smell of your shampoo, wondering if you still used the same as before. 

The grip of his hand loosened against yours, his clammy palm, which felt soothingly warm, ran up against the long sleeve of your top. It curled around your neck, holding you securely to him, before he wrapped his arm around you.

Then he dropped his lips, them pressing to your temple and then lower to your cheekbone. He lingered, his breathing slightly quivered as the noise from the group got louder. 

You lifted your head slightly, Harry rearing up just in time to ensure you didn’t headbutt him. His chin was soft as he looked down at you; it took the edge off. His eyes were manic as they moved, there was no mistaking it but everything else about him came off so calm. 

He blew out his shaky sigh, causing you to dart your eyes over his and gently push up onto your tiptoes in your heels to softly kiss his lips. You knew he wasn’t expecting it, you didn’t even know what you were doing before you did it. Yet, you relaxed the minute he drew you even closer using the arm he had curled around your upper back to hold you close.

A wolf whistle caused you to smile against his lips, as he did the same. His gentle breathy laugh bouncing against your lips as he chanced it and pressed pecks against your lips in quick succession. 

“Evening lads,” Harry nodded his head once he came up for air, making sure he got a good look of two of them and making sure they knew that he had. They cheered in praise at the two of you and your public display, threw out a couple of slightly lewd and alcohol fused comments at the scene. One even going as far as to take the red and white striped scarf from around his neck and whip it furiously above his head. “Someone’s ‘appy. The Arsenal must’ve ‘ad a win.”

You nodded as you eyed them, completely embarrassed by the way you had misread a group of loud football fans for violent thugs. You weren’t necessarily far wrong, but still. 

Chattering teeth caused Harry to pull you close to him. “Let's get you in before you catch your death.” 

***

Shoes had been left at the door. 

The aching balls of your feet grateful for the cool wooden flooring and curling into the luxurious fabric of the rugs currently beneath them. 

You’d watched as Harry toed off his obscenely dirty Vans, and walked ahead of you towards the back of the house. The place where his envious lounge and open plan kitchen could be found.

Harry’s home had this way of being welcoming, no matter how long it had been since you had last graced its presence. You assumed he’d made it this way for a reason, especially when that reason was his way of life. Leaving for long periods of time to then return again, to pick right up where he had left off. 

And in many ways, that was how you felt about the current situation. 

Handbag now discarded at your feet, you sat with your side resting against the back of Harry’s teal velvet couch. Surrounded by expensive scatter cushion after expensive scatter cushion, a collection he had amassed during your time apart. 

He was playing the playlist. Not just any playlist, the playlist. The one he would always turn on, volume low, so it was more of a hum than anything else after you’d gotten back from a night on the tiles and fancied a night cap. 

You didn’t need to zone in on the sounds. It so happened that you had heard the playlist so many times before that you didn’t need to have it blasting through the speakers to know the track list. It was burned into your brain and would be for a very long time.

The worst thing of all was that he knew. He just knew. 

His lips had taken on this quirk. Slightly upturned more so on one side of his face than another as he stood at the kitchen island, feeling your eyes watch him as he put together his perfected cheese on toast supper.

It was an offer you couldn’t refuse. A large glass of Cabernet Sauvignon held loosely in your hand as you whispered along to the song playing in the background, mouth watering at the thought of the carby goodness Harry was preparing for you both under the grill of his oven.

The smell that filled your senses was delightful and exactly what you needed to soak up the alcohol you had previously consumed, never mind the alcohol you were about to. 

“Do you want any brown sauce on yours, or ketchup?” You heard him talk louder as the tray he’d been cooking on clattered against his oven hob. 

You stayed silent as you watched him, tea towel over his shoulder as he plated up your toast while his mouth barely sang along to the playlist. Gently lifting the bread off the grill before letting it drop quickly from his grip to the plate because of how hot it was. 

He looked up at you from under his brow, hair fallen into a middle part around his face. His eyes enjoyed the way your legs had curled up beneath you as you rested your right cheek onto your hand and fondly watched him.

You seemed relaxed to him, albeit amused. 

“Don’t even think about laughing at me when ‘m cooking for you.”

You smiled - cheese on toast was hardly cooking - pulling your glass of wine to your lips and taking a sip. “Don’t know why you don’t just get a knife and fork, you numpty.”

“Saves on the washing up doing it this way,” he winced as he dropped another slice to the second plate. 

“And makes you lose your fingerprints in the process.

Harry shook his head as he pressed his thumb to his lips and licked the sore burn, before he gently blew against it. “Never did answer my question,” he reminded, wiping his hands on the towel thrown over his shoulder.

“Ketchup’s fine. Ta.”

Watching him reach across for the bottle of Heinz, you saw him squirt the sauce onto your plate and then saw him do the same to his own. 

Seemingly happy with his work, he whipped the towel off his shoulder and to the side, before scooping up the two plates and striding over to you with ease. 

“Voila,” he spoke, offering you the answer to your predicted hangover prayers, in cheese on toast form.

Reaching forward, you gently took the plate off his hands with both of yours and let your eyes drop down to the melted goodness. Keeping your eyes down you took in the decoration that Harry had added. He’d taken to drawing a smiley face onto the top of the cheese using the ketchup.

“You’re such a silly sod sometimes,” you spoke, lifting your eyes as you watched him drop down onto the couch next to you and get himself comfortable.

Legs up on the coffee table in front of him, almost horizontal with his plate gently resting atop his rounded stomach. Head tipped back and vision lazy, his lips tilted up into a crooked smile as he looked over at you. 

“‘S it okay?”

“Looks it,” you replied, lifting up the toast and taking the biggest bite you could muster. Your nose came into contact with some sauce from your hunger-driven vigour. “Proof is in the tasting though, I s’pose,” you continued, mouth full and covered by your hand to avoid him seeing the chewed up contents. 

You hummed as you closed your eyes, enjoying the taste of the simplistic home cooked food and melted goodness. So simple in taste, but so effective. 

From where Harry lounged, he softly watched you. All relaxed, closed eyes, with a drop of tomato ketchup decorating the end of your nose. 

Before you had the chance, and he couldn’t fight himself, Harry reached up to gently swipe at the sauce and remove it from your skin.

You opened your eyes, blinking over at him as he pressed his thumb between his lips and licked away the sauce he had retrieved. His eyes were mischievous as they glanced at you before he took a bite out of his own food and savoured the taste.  

The groan that left his throat as he chewed was a sound familiar to you in other capacities, causing you to squeeze your legs together and forcefully take another bite of your own toast.

“Tell you what? If there’s one thing I do, ‘s make a bloody good cheese on toast.”

You smirked, amused by his boasting. “Nothing like a slice of conceited-ness as a platter cleanser, for afters.”

“Summat much more appealing for afters, don’t worry about tha’, darling. Got you sorted.” 

***

Bellies full and content, you slipped further down onto Harry’s couch. The two of you finding yourself closer together ask you basked in the warmth of Harry’s home.

“You weren’t lying when you said your nails matched mine,” your voice was sleepy as you spoke, right foot hitting Harry’s left slightly as you brought up your earlier conversation at the pub.

He chuckled into your hair, watching you lift your foot and gently place it atop of his. He made a space for it, moving his right leg so that there was an even bigger gap between his feet to slot yours between.  

“I think mine's a bit lighter to be honest,” you continued, eyes scrutinising his painted nails as much as they could from down the length of your body and his. 

“That’s some bullshit,” Harry groused, rubbing his feet gently against yours to warm them, his voice causing his chest to vibrate against your head as it rested there  “I even had it on m’ hands but I’ve been picking at it. Look.”

Harry obnoxiously held his hand in front of your vision, wiggling his fingers causing you to reach for his fingers and hold his hand still. Sure enough, he was true to his word, presenting you with chipped nail polish that was nothing more than the odd tiny dot against his clean nails. 

You smirked when he pushed them slightly closer to your face than intended, “Alright, think you’ve proven your point.”

Hand knocked back he brought it forward again, “‘M not so sure, try again.”

The only response you could muster up was a giggle fit for a schoolgirl, Harry’s response to pull you even closer as he softly smiled. 

A silence overtook you both, as you closed your eyes and let yourself become more intune with the music playing around you. 

Your face was pressed into the side of his neck able to inhale his worn in aftershave and the soft startings of stubble down the side of his throat. 

The silence was heavy and you knew exactly why. Listening to the base of the song across his speakers mixing with your staggered breathing and rising pulse. 

You knew you shouldn’t but you couldn’t help yourself. It wasn’t like it needed attention drawn to it. Yet, the words were tumbling off your lips regardless. 

“This song always makes me…you know.”

The words were mumbled but of course he caught them because he did know. But it was whether he wanted to go there. 

The thought of talking about sex and the sex you had together in a coherent state wasn’t ideal. He wouldn’t have anything to blame his honesty on, if he wasn’t more inebriated than he currently found himself.

“Think we need some more wine for tha’,” he mumbled, lips pressed to your forehead as you hummed in agreement and felt him begin to shift to raise himself from the couch to retrieve a bottle.

***

More wine wasn’t a good idea and you knew it. From the way your tongue was much looser and your lips a lot more numb now. 

The two of you had begun to dance on a weird ledge after he’d refilled your glass. The kind where you were openly flirting and backbiting against the other to try and see who could inflict the moment that had the two of you wincing. 

“Who caught your eye while I was out of the picture?”

“Who didn’t catch yours?”

Harry was sitting on the couch, side pressed into the back of the couch. Leaning with his elbow and allowing his face to rest  in the palm of his hand as he looked at you.

“Alright,” he stressed with a raise to his eyebrows and a quirk to his lips. 

You were a bit flustered due to the way your back bite to him revealed how you were actually caught up in his business of seeing other people when you tried to act like you didn’t care.

Clearing his throat Harry adopted a soft tone to break you out of your fluster.

“There was one girl. Took her to dinner two times.”

You held his eyes with yours, watching the way he slowly smirked, “But you already know that don’t ya?”

Before you could stop yourself, you threw the throw cushion sitting to the right of you, at him.

“Watch the wine,” he said around a laugh, as he raised his wine glass into the air and pushed the cushion to the floor before it had a chance of creating him a cleaning catastrophe in the early hours. 

“Hate you,” you mumbled, turning to your right to look at him from where you had reached forward to put your wine glass down to the table. Before you sat back you ran your index finger against the rim of your wine glass and tapped your nail gently against the base. 

“‘s tha’ why you’re sat eating cheese on toast and drinking wine on my sofa at almost 2am,” he spoke against the rim of his glass, knocking back what was remaining inside.

“I’ve been coerced to be here,” you replied, watching him reach forward, raising his eyebrows at your false suggestion. When he sat back against the couch he was biting back his smile, his eyes shining and crinkles deeply set in the corners.

“Know where the door is,” he goaded, raising his eyebrows again, arm raising to point in the direction of his hallway. He waited for your response and in that time leaned forward towards the coffee table once more, grabbing the wine bottle and topping you up before moving onto refilling his own.

Your eyes dropped down to the rich red liquid as it sloshed against the clear glass. While his words were telling you to leave, his actions were doing the complete opposite. 

Filling the silence he asked, “So, how many dinners am I competing with?”

“Three” you mumbled as you lifted your drink and took a sip for courage. 

Harry’s head titled as he surveyed you, “Bloody hell you didn’t hang around!”

“I have no more cushions left,” you spoke to his cheeky comment with a light hearted threat of throwing something at him for his brazen clap back. “Only my wine.”

He smiled at your warning to throw it all over him before he drawled, “And we wouldn’t wanna waste tha’”

You hummed in agreement, freely taking yet another sip. Finally, something you agreed on. 

Harry kept his eyes on you, waiting. The two of you almost seeing who would cave in first to try and dig for more information on the relations of the other while you were apart. What he really wanted to know was how many men he was competing against. Was it one man three times, or three separate men? 

With all the questions buzzing around his head, he knew it would be him who would give in. 

He was correct. 

“Gonna let me ‘ave a look then? Pull ‘em up on your phone. ‘S only fair. Mine was taken out of my hands.”

His ambiguous comment alluded to the paparazzi pictures of him that had been splashed all over the tabloid online outlets, as well as every other social media platform known to man. 

You didn’t hesitate, the alcohol in your bloodstream almost encouraged you as you reached for your bag at your feet and took out your phone. Said liquid confidence even helped in your handing over of the phone. “Pass codes the same,” you said, as Harry stared at you before he dropped his eyes down to the screen and tried the first code that came to his mind, your birthday.

The screen shook at him, causing a sheepish smile to pull up onto his lips as he thought about his second guess. He punched in the code of your mother’s birthday and unlocked the phone within a short five seconds.

You did notice the stall to his movements, clearly realising how part of this was wrong. It wasn’t his, or your, business to know everything in such detail.

Sensing his hesitancy also, you told him where to find a photograph if he was so desperate for a nose; on your private Instagram page. He took that as a small victory cause he knew you still had pictures of him on your profile that hadn’t been taken down.

You gave him names, knowing that it was an invasion of privacy for the men in question but equally not caring. His thumb was fast as it typed and spelt out the name into the search bar. Harry also not caring at how desperate he was to see his competition. 

“Hold this for me,” he said, passing over his wine glass so that he could cup your phone in both his hands, his undivided attention firmly on his foe. You looked on as you saw him zoom in on the picture of guy number two, who had the chance of a third date.

He was silent as he looked and swiped and read comments. He didn’t know if this was the type of man he was expecting. Had he even been expecting anyone at all?

Running his eyes over the pictures he was greeted with what he could only describe to be your average City man. All overcoats and expensive suits. 

Looks wise, he understood. Perfect five o’clock shadow. Seemed tall enough in photos. Obviously liked a gym session or two. However there was one thing about him that just looked so out of place- 

Breaking the silence, he said, “Can’t even do a tie properly can he?”

“Neither can you,” you shot back.

“Don’t have to when you have someone willing to help.” 

He looked at you from under his brow to see if you were going to correct him. When he realised you weren’t, he continued, “Never been tempted to fix his,” he asked, swiping across to look at another picture. 

“He hasn’t worn a tie on a date yet,” you responded.

Harry zoned in on the use of the word yet.

“What’s he drive?” He asked randomly, continuing the swipe through the pictures with his right thumb. 

“Range Rover Sport.”

“Probably on finance,” he spoke his comeback quickly, expressing his true feelings. It wasn’t going to be on finance but no one could blame him on wanting to throw a cheap shot in some way. “Doesn’t really seem the type to be blessed with the big dick energy. Overcompensating somehow.”

You found yourself biting down against your lips, trying to stifle a laugh. His pettiness has reared itself in less than ten minutes and you could see the way it wove through his features, with a quirk to his eyebrows and a scrunch of his nose. He was dismissive and you supposed he had every reason to be, you were after all sat on his couch. 

“Why do you really think I’m giving you another try,” you smirked, nails tapping at your glass again.

He held your gaze, “You planning on testing me out, seeing if it still works?”

“Might do,” you took another sip of your drink. “Depends if I have the energy.”

“Why do you think I gave you summat to eat?”

You breathed out a laugh as your mouth fell, right hand reaching up to slap him across the top of his arm. He seemed pleased with himself as he locked your phone and loosely held it out to you.

“‘S enough of looking at tha’,'' he hummed, licking gently at his lips. “How did you meet him?” 

Again a breathy laugh left your lips as you stared at him, incredulously. Harry’s eyes easily held yours as he waited on your answer.

“You aren’t in the least bit interested,” you licked your lips, the taste coating them slightly bitter from the lingering wine residue. “Don’t know why you’re trying to make it seem as if you are.” 

“Humour me, darling,” he mused, lips softly lifting. “Or humour him, whichever you prefer.” 

And you know you shouldn’t be doing this, laughing at the expense of someone else in such a way. You saw the larger swallow from Harry too and you knew he was feeling the same. 

However, here you were, giving eyes to a man that you didn’t think would get to see you in such a way again. 

“And why would I want to do that?”

“Cause at least one of us would make it worth your while.” 

You felt your breathing quicken as you held Harry’s eyes. He did nothing to deter you from holding his gaze. 

“You have to stop being so nice,” he added. “If he isn't doing anything for you, that’s okay.”

Reaching forward you rid your hands of your phone, letting it slide against his coffee table. “And do you not think you slightly have an unfair advantage?”

“I think,” he paused, his eyes looking at you. “I think we had something good.”

“Had being the operative word-“

“And I think we could have something good again. In fact I know we could.”

You stalled at his words. The confidence behind them. It was admirable how he was shooting his shot. Especially given you knew how inside he was most likely quaking with nerves.

“Tell him no.”

His words made you chest feel tight, his hand reaching across the distance between the two of you on the sofa. His palm facing up, you slowly lifted your hands to sit in his.

No sooner had your skin come in contact, Harry clasped his hand around yours and softly stroked his thumb to the back of it. He dipped down, lips meeting your knuckles before he tugged at you so softly you almost felt you had imagined it.

He wanted you closer, the arms length distance now too much as he started to show himself to you. His pettiness and his affection, they strangely won you over. Stoked something within you that had you edging further towards him.

Hand unlatching from yours, he lifted his left arm and wrapped it loosely around the back of your neck. With little persuasion you dropped your forehead against his jaw again. 

Harry’s swallow was audible as his fingertips softly stroked at your shoulder. His breath softly fanned against the skin of your temple, his lips turning to press the faintest kiss to your hairline.

“Tell him to piss off.”

You chuckled, breathily, head knocking itself back to look up at him. Eyes light with a sense of joyous infatuation at the moment you found yourself in.

Harry shifted, his right hand quickly discarding both your wine glasses before it placed itself against your hot cheek. The coolness of his slender fingers soothing and welcomed. 

“Tell him no,” he breathed, as his lips hovered close to yours, as he tilted your face upwards to meet his. 

With your eyes closed you felt a sense of guilt, for some unknown reason. It wasn’t like you were committed to anyone outside of the situation that you found yourself in, but you felt slightly wrong for what you were doing. Harry sensed it, able to read the downturn of your lips for what it was. He nudged his nose gently against yours, allowing his eyes to take their time in admiring your expressions and waited on the unnecessary internal conflict to ease. 

“Want me to tell him?” He asked, leaving breathy and wet kisses down your cheek, and along your jawline as you tilted your head back. “‘S not a problem.”

Your mind was swimming as you found yourself sinking back into the couch beneath you. Harry’s voice melting you as he continued talking, “Really get him to take the hint that you’re not interested.”

He kept his face buried against the underside of your chin as it pointed up at the ceiling, hands tracing down your arms and cupping at your hands to press them into his hair as he sucked at your skin.

“I know what you’re doing,” you hummed, scratching at the back of his head, enjoying the feel of his soft locks beneath your touch. 

Harry deeply groaned as you pulled at the strands, “What’s that?”

“Trying to have your way with me when I’m under the influence,” you joked, quirk to your lips. “Always was that little bit more placid that way.” 

You felt the way his lips moved from underneath your chin, finding the corner of your mouth, before he pulled up to look at you. He eyed you, all heavy lidded and messy lips. “You’re not tha’ pissed are ya?”

“No.”

“Then I’m definitely more than jus’ trying.” He reached for your face, lifting your chin and angling it how he wanted. “‘M taking, ‘m begging,” he spoke confidently, unashamed. 

His lips were dominant as they engulfed yours, a groan leaving your throat as your kiss was messy from the offset. His lips puckered and pulled, drawing you closer to him as he breathed through his nose and gave you his tongue.

Your chest was heaving as he skimmed his lips against your face, mouth finding the sensitive skin of your neck once more as you bit down on your bottom lip and tried not to laugh. 

“Charming of you to want your way with me on your couch.”

Harry chuckled against your neck, face lifting shortly to look at you. His pupils were blown out already, as his skin took on more of a rosy flush from the beginnings of his exertion. That or you’d embarrassed him.

“Sorry, I should’ve asked,” he mused. ”Where’d you want it?”

Legs curled gently around the backs of his thigh, still covered by the denim of his jeans, you pressed against them with the heel of your foot. 

“Where’d you think?”

He knew exactly where. You were a simple creature. You liked simple things. Sex was always fun to have all over the house, but depending on the level of intimacy you craved, depended on where you were willing to open your legs.

Tonight was a weird one for you to decide upon. The fumble on the couch, while it was exciting and showed you Harry’s desperation to have you once more, it would be over before you knew it. Also it would most likely leave you with a horrible crick in your neck as your keepsake. 

You didn’t want that. You wanted your keepsake to be the ache in your thighs from how he had taken you in different positions because while a bed was boring for some, it allowed you the option to roll around for as long as your bodies permitted. Bending in all different shapes and ways that sometimes neither of you would’ve been able to imagine. 

He broke you from your thoughts once more, hand gently finding your bum and tapping against it. “Up yer get,” he spoke, starting to push himself up knowing you wanted to go upstairs. 

With your legs curled around his, Harry couldn’t go too far. He chuckled with amusement as he dropped his eyes down to his legs and yours, before looking back up. He didn’t need to even ask as he looked at you, leaning forward he inhaled through his nose as he kissed sweetly at your lips and lifted you.

A smile pulled onto your face, causing difficulty to continue kissing. “Stop tha’,” he mouthed against the corner of your lips, as he hoisted your legs. “‘M trying to take charge here.”

“Why do that when you’re still so good at taking direction?” The lilt to your voice was one of glee, you had easily gotten your own way. 

Tousling your hair and flicking it away, behind your shoulders, you rolled your lips into your mouth as you felt the slight bruising from his expressions of desire. He was watching you as you looked at him, doe-eyes sparkling with intrigue and adoration. 

“Give us a kiss,” his deep voice ignited a warm fire within, as he still tried to assert himself while he walked the two of you away from his open plan lounge and closer to his kitchen.

You continued to eye him, enjoying the way he wasn’t going to back down. You just needed to stand your ground just as much. 

As your bum hit the work surface, your hands traced over Harry’s cheeks, cupping his face before moving to grip at the counter. Head tilted slightly, he looked down the bridge of his nose at you through hooded, dark eyes. 

He stepped in between your wide open legs and enjoyed the closeness that they brought when you brought them together to keep him to you. Heavy breathing filled the silent air as you both traced each other's features with touch and sight. Taste could wait, but it would get here soon enough. 

He gulped as he swallowed. 

“Please.”

At first it was gritty. His voice tight and throat dry. His lips forming the word confidently. 

Again he swallowed. “Please, gimme a kiss. You kiss me, like before.” 

The victorious hum that left his lips was one that you would let slide, as his hands ran down the length of your arms and reached up to wrap around your own. He placed them back onto his face, mouth breaking away as he left open mouthed kisses to your left palm, nose nudging at the end of your long sleeve top where he inhaled your worn away perfume. 

He could feel your pulse as he curled his fingers around your wrist. It was strong and rhythmic, inviting to his primal desire which caused him to gently nip at your flesh with his front teeth.

Turning his eyes back to yours, you silently asked him for another kiss with your soft and slow blinking gaze, knowing he wanted to get just as reacquainted as you did. 

He obliged, pressing closer to the counter and letting his lips meet yours quickly. His quick change in motion caused you to reach behind you to steady yourself, your hand coming into contact with an item you couldn’t identify until you gasped and pulled away thanks to the smashing sound. 

“Shit, I’m sorry,” you whispered quickly, trying to catch your breath. Harry’s eyes turned to take a look at one of the daintier wine glasses he had pulled down from the rack earlier but chose not to use. The item now lay broken against the flooring of his kitchen. 

“Really should tidy up before we go up,” he groaned, mouth pressed into the side of your cheek as you surveyed the mess made on his coffee table over the other side of the room. He reluctantly pulled away from you, walking the short distance to the broken glass.

“Watch yourself,” you said, meaning his bare feet around the glass.

Crouching down, Harry started to collate the bigger shards of glass together, stacking them up against the tiles of his kitchen floor. As you peered down, still sitting on his kitchen island, he looked up at you.

“Couldn’t do me a favour? Go an’ grab the dustpan and brush.”

You blinked. Was he alluding that he kept everything in the same place? Given how he’d asked so vaguely, knowing you would understand. 

Softly, he smiled up at you and chuckled around his words, “Same place as last time, yes.”

Taking a while to kick into action, you slowly slid off the work surface and let your feet softly pad over to the other side of the kitchen. The third cupboard from the right, on the lower half of the kitchen was where Harry kept items that Anne had brought him. You know, the things that Mum’s knew would be important but somehow never crossed their children’s minds. Regardless of whether their children were grown adults.

Sure enough, there sat the same blue dustpan and brush. The item was as vibrant as the last time you had seen it, in similar fashion. Leaning down you grabbed at it, shutting the cupboard gently using your foot and walked back to Harry.

You handed it off and heard his whispered thanks, as you rested the side of your hip against his cupboards. 

“Don’t think I’ve had this out since the last time you so elegantly broke one of my favourite glasses.”

You knew he was messing with you but that didn’t stop the blush of embarrassment, hitting your skin, and filling you with warmth. “I’ll replace it.”

“‘M jokin’, ‘s fine. Only a bit o’ glass-“

His sentence was cut short as the two of you jumped, the sound of a phone filling Harry’s space.

“‘S not mine,” he jutted his lips out, as he pushed himself up from his crouched position and carefully walked towards the bin with his broken glass.

You turned towards the noise that was your phone and how it blared from Harry’s coffee table, where you had placed it earlier. Walking the short distance, you reached for it and was met with a familiar male name.

Biting your bottom lip, you swiped across the phone and pressed it to your ear. His soothing voice greeted you, slightly worried in tone as he breathed a sigh of relief.

Letting your feet take you to the kitchen island again, you responded telling him you were fine and how sorry you were that you hadn’t let him know you had gotten home okay.

From over the other side of the room, you watched as Harry quirked a brow at you while he picked up the empty bottle of wine and wine stained glasses from the coffee table in his lounge. 

You weren’t home. You were far from home.

“Who is it?” He mouthed as he got closer, glasses clinking as he placed them onto the work surface of the kitchen island, after discarding the bottle of wine as loudly as possible into the bin. 

You pulled the phone away from your ear showing him the name that he had earlier been typing into your Instagram search bar. Under the dim light you could see the slight squint to his eyes and the way his nostrils flared. 

He darted his eyes from the phone screen and back to yours, watching as you put the phone back to your ear. 

“Yeah I had a great night, ‘m just tired.”

Harry dropped his head, a smirk forming on his lips. You were far from tired and this was nothing more than a moodkill. With his hands pressed to the worktop, he looked up at you as you stood diagonally opposite him. 

Eyes glancing down to your left hand that was spread against the work surface, Harry reached for it. The tips of his fingers running gently between the divots of your knuckles, before his hand slipped underneath your fingers and tugged you towards him.

You slowly obliged him, as your eyes moved to his face. “Come to bed,” he mouthed, watching as your top teeth worried at your bottom lip. His right hand moved to slip around to your lower back as you arched, pulling your chest away from his trying to keep his mouth away from the phone.

“Come to bed wi’me,” his voice was a whisper now, not quite loud enough for the person on the other end of the line to hear but a next step up from how he was previously just mouthing his words to you. 

As he tried to distract you, he dipped in and out of your conversation which was the most monotonous thing he had ever found himself eavesdropping into.

With your chest open to him, he nosed his way along your skin, head nudging at your hand that held the phone. His lips pulled into a smile as you faked a yawn, clearly trying to politely give the man on the other end a hint that you were done.

Still he heard the drone of this guy, who was now even repeating things he had previously said to try and keep you on the line with him. You weren’t interested though, too preoccupied by the way that Harry was once again pressing kissing to the skin that he could get too. 

Before you knew what was happening Harry had clearly had enough. 

“We’re tired, pal. Take the hint,” he spoke into the phone that still rested against your ear, his lips finding the bottom end of the receiver. “‘S time for bed.” 

You had to pull the handset away from your ear, not wanting to hear his reaction from the sound of Harry's voice. You blindly ended the call, keeping your eyes on your ex-boyfriend, whose green-eyed monster had made itself known.

He helped guide your phone down to his marble countertop and watched as the phone was brought to life with a call. The same name appearing on your screen as he tried to call you back.

Harry didn’t take long to decline the call, quickly turning the phone to silent and placing it face up once he’d finished. Again, it lit to life, this time buzzing against his work surface rather than omitting a jarring noise into the silence the two of you shared.

“‘S a bit creepy in’t it?” 

His question lingered as his eyes moved between the phone and you, watching another call ring out. “If he rings again, ‘m gonna answer.”

As expected the phone lit up for the fourth time. However, before Harry could reach for the item you pushed it, causing it to slide against the work surface and away, just enough that it was out of his reach. 

Harry clenched his jaw, his muscle pulsing as he looked at you. “‘S he always like tha’?”

“He’s just realised the girl he was dating is in the company of some other bloke.” 

“Dating or taken on dates? There’s a difference,” he raised his eyebrows. “‘S a huge difference an’all.”

You stared at him, watching him lower his body to lean against the counter with his elbows and wipe down his face in frustration. Unwarranted at that. 

“I don’t like ‘im.”

“Of course you don’t,” you hummed. 

Sharply he turned his neck to look at you, “‘s tha’ supposed to mean?”

“That I agree.”

“No,” he frowned. “It was how you said it.”

“I can handle myself.”

“I’m not-“ he cut himself off, sigh heavy. “I’m not saying you can’t.” 

He pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes, thinking of how to navigate his way out of this. 

“‘M saying that you don’t always have to,” he dropped his voice, slowly standing and letting his itching hands reach for you. 

With his hand resting against your ribs, you stayed still. He didn’t guide you anywhere, he waited. Waited on your next move. When he felt your stoic figure relax underneath his touch, his tight chest expanded. Maybe he could talk himself out of this one.

“When we tried this before,” he softly spoke, pulling his hand away from you to motion between you both, “We shared the load, started to become a team.”

“Yeah and look where that got us.”

He felt his lips twitch from your negative deadpan. “‘S got you back ‘ere again tonight so ‘m doing summat right.”

Shaking your head at him, he rolled his lips into his mouth trying to fight his pleased smile. He dropped his eyes to the counter below him as he mumbled his sorry. 

“If you were to ask me, I think we did alrigh’.”

“You would say that.”’

You watched as he jutted out his lips, before running his hand down his mouth and facial hair. He leaned on his palm, his eyes taking you in and wishing you would speak.

“My Mum talks about you all the fucking time,” 

“Say tha’ like it’s a bad thing.”

“It is when you’re trying to get over someone,” you glanced at him from the corner of your vision.

“Now why would you want to do that?”

“You didn’t seem to have a problem with it,” you were scornful. He shook his head, clearly amused. 

“I’ve still got half of your belongings upstairs, if you wan’ ‘em. You have no idea.” 

You squinted your eyes at him. Trying to read him. “Appearances aren’t always what they seem. Don’t know how many more times I’ll have to tell you about papers and social media, ‘s all a load of bollocks.”

Standing once more, Harry rolled his shoulders and brushed his hair off his face. Once his hands were at the back of his head, he linked his fingers and turned to look at you. Head resting back on his hands, the two of you held each other’s eyes. Him from the corner of his vision, you dead on. No words passed between the two of you. 

“‘M going to bed,” he sighed, dropping his arms and tapping gently against the kitchen counter twice before pushing away. 

His body screamed dejected as he walked away, his shoulders sagged and head down as he walked through his home, towards the second floor and his bedroom. 

Swallowing thickly, you rolled your lips into your mouth again before you spoke his name. The way you called for him caused Harry to stop his movement, back continuing to face you as he silently waited for your next move after you voiced your plea.

You let your feet take you to him, abandoning your phone on the kitchen island and trying your hardest to ignore the white hot anxiety that overtook your being. 

Close enough to touch now, you looked on at your shaking fingers as they gently reached out for him. Your feet took you as close as they could, arm wrapping gently around his abdomen and feeling it quiver with a nervous exhale. 

Lips against the linen of his shirt collar as you pushed onto your tiptoes, hoping that the wine stain upon them wouldn’t attach itself to the cream garment. His head dropped forward, exposing the curvature of his neck to you as his hand gently slid over yours and he rested his fingers between the splayed gaps of your own. 

Gentle squeeze. Reassuring reminder. 

Take your time. 

“Come show me this stuff.”

***

There was always something exhilarating about someone leading you upstairs. The different ways in which it could play out. Playful with a swing to your hands, sensual with a gentle tug to keep your close.

The feel of Harry’s hand in yours was always wanted. Every stroke of his thumb against your knuckles or the back of your hand, a reminder of the affection you had been missing.

His eyes looking over his shoulder at you as he came to the bottom step of the second set of stairs. A silent reminder that you could back out at any time. 

The floorboards still creaked in the same place as always and part of you hated that you didn’t need him to lead you down the hallway because you knew exactly where his room was. 

However, taking yourself to bed never possessed the same majestic undertone as when someone else did.

You were now sitting with your legs tucked underneath you at the end of his bed, rummaging through the box of things that he had neatly packed together for you so they were ready for you to have back if you ever came to collect them.

Every so often you would pull something out to him, showing it and either sharing a story or laughing. As you looked up at him now, showing a tequila shot glass and shaking it suggestively at him, he looked every inch ready to sleep.

Harry was stretched out straight on his bed, his linen shirt still covering his upper body but the buttons were all undone, revealing his chest and stomach to you. Tattoos on display to your eyes that you hadn’t seen for what felt like forever.

The top button of his jeans had been undone as he got comfortable and his ankles were crossed, with his right leg over his left. His eyes were heavily lidded and blinking slower and slower each time you presented him with a new item. 

Double chin forming from the way his head was propped up, he spoke deeply in acknowledgement of the glass with the less than elegant design on the side. 

“Remember getting through a whole bottle of tequila with that,” he drawled, hands clasping on top of his stomach. “Don’t know why we didn’t just pass the bottle between the two of us.”

“That’s because someone insisted that if we were gonna do it, we had to do it proper.”

“Haven’t got a clue what you’re talking about.”

“That’s convenient,” you deadpanned knowing that there was probably some truth behind his words given how inebriated you had both been at the time.

Thoughts aside you continued looking into the box to see a worn slogan shirt peering up at you. Pushing aside the half empty bottle of perfume that was once your favourite, you silently admired the tee that you knew didn’t belong to you.

A soft smile pulled itself onto your lips. Sometimes nice boy Harry was unbearable. He’d taken to folding the shirt that you adored as if it were on a shelf in a posh(er) department store than usual. Think more John Lewis than Debenhams.

Slowly you pulled the item from the box and enjoyed the feel of the soft cotton against your fingers. You loved that the shirt’s collar was slightly saggy, a sign of how loved it had been.

Your voice left your throat as more of a dreamy sigh than you imagined. “I loved this shirt,” you spoke as you held it up in front of your face, eyes tracing over the blue slogan of ‘Enjoy health. Eat your honey.” and the cheeky looking bee that was drawn within the circle.

Who didn’t love an innuendo?

Without a second thought, you let the item fall into your lap, hands quickly turning to pull at your black v-neck top and reveal your matching black lace bra underneath.

Harry slapped his hand against his eyes, quickly covering them. The sound caused you to look up at him. “Don’t be so daft, Harry,” you spoke, fighting your smile by rolling your lips into your mouth as you saw him splinter his fingers and look at you through the gap he had created. 

“Could give a guy a little warning,” he groaned, continuing to peek over at you. 

Shaking your head, you enjoyed the way the cool fabric fell down the skin of your stomach as you covered yourself once more. You knew if you were to turn your head slightly and press your nose to the collar, a mixture of your perfume and his cologne would remain.

You fought the urge however, as you pulled your hair out from underneath the collar and quickly pushed your hand up the back of the shirt to undo your bra. 

It was almost second nature for you to remove your underwear to get comfy within your comfier clothes and the sagging of your bra cups away from boobs was always a delightful feeling at the end of any night. Drunk or otherwise. 

You pulled at the straps of your bra from underneath the sleeves of your shirt, before diving your hand under the hemline and dropping the item less than gracefully into the box that held your other items.

“Think you’re forgetting who that actually belongs to,” he drawled, head resting against the pillows beneath him now and watching you rummage once more.

“I think you gave up the privilege of wearing this item the minute you dropped it inside this box all neatly folded like you worked a shift at Topshop rather than Manderville’s every Saturday.”

He cackled, head tilted back as he enjoyed your self-righteous indignation and absolute pisstake. 

“All Saints was more my thing.”

“That’s because you’re fake indie.”

He was amused as he shook his head over at you with a silent smile. “And being fake indie is exactly why you decided to live on the edge of Camden and not in the thick of Camden itself.”

“Don’t act like you didn’t once tell me that you’d want to raise a family in Hampstead.”

You felt your face heat up at the way he’d completely called your bluff. “That was when I was young and naive.”

“As opposed to us now? Being old and decrepit.”

Again you were silent as you started to put the items around you back into the worn cardboard box. 

“Why’re still fuckin’ around wi’that box?” 

Your eyes snapped up at him as he kept your eyes. “The only thing you should be fuckin’ around with, is me.”

Raising your eyebrows, you said, “Now who sounds young and naive. Anyway, what happened to you just taking.”

Harry was silent as he took in your words, his body slowly rising from his lounged position and he sat up to approach you. You dropped your gaze down his chest and to his stomach, enjoying the slight rolls of his abdomen as he adopted his new seated position.

His eyes were focused as your gaze found his once more. A soft determination. This sheen to his skin in the lamp lighting of his bedroom, causing him to naturally glow. 

Once he was secure in his upright position, closer to you, Harry snatched at the box with one hand and picked it up to sit it down on the floor at his side of the bed.

He then swooped suddenly, hand scooping around your waist and drawing you to him with squealed laughter. His lips fell against your cheek as he shushed you, aiding you as you moved position to get comfortable. 

“Remember the first time I had you in this bed?” He asked, chest to chest with you. Your mouth was agape with your quickened breathing, as his lips puckered slightly at the corner of your mouth and he gently leant his nose to yours.

You both watched each other through heavy eyelids, breathing mixed in rising anticipation. A soft nudge of his nose as he asked, “Do yer?”

A nod was all you could muster. 

“Was good sex,” he husked, hoodied eyes holding yours. “Was always good sex.”

You hummed in agreement. Feeling the way your nerve endings came alight as you pushed your fingers through the hair at his temple. 

Heat flowed through your body, circling in your stomach as his words echoed. 

“Still gonna be good sex, ‘f you’ll let me. Better even.”

The faintest smile pulled at your lips, causing your eyes to glisten. 

“Eh,” he nudged. “You gonna let me, or tell me otherwise?”

“Personally, think you’re just talking a good game.”

“You know ‘m fucking not.”

Harry pulled you to him, his mouth claiming yours easily. So hungry and intense. Lips that were desperate to show you what you had been missing. Lips that were desperate to wipe away the touch of another, asking you what the fuck you were even thinking in trying it with some other bloke? 

Gone was the brushing of lips, faint and fleeting. Harry’s liquid confidence started to come into play as his lips formed into a smile when he gave you his tongue and hummed as he did. 

Harry cupped your face as he slanted his mouth over yours, soft moans leaving your throat as you kept him close. 

Lips were coaxing, as he groaned between quiet wet smacking sounds that otherwise would have had you cringing. 

Now he had you however, how could he part? Your smell was intoxicating to him, as was the touch of your fingers in his hair and nails gently scratching at his scalp. His mewls were catlike when he pressed his wet lips to your skin.

Breathing now more like a pant, it puffed against your elongated neck as he pulled away and made a beeline for your clavicle and then chest, movements slower. Chestnut hair tickled the underside of your chin and caused the faintest of smiles to ghost across your lips from the way it felt.

His nose nudged the collar of his shirt that sat against your body enticingly. The smell of your perfume everywhere to him. 

Now lower down you found his forehead was pressed to your clavicle as you felt his teeth playfully tug the cotton between them. A puff of air left your nose as you bit down onto your bottom lip to try and suppressed your giggle.

“Smells like us,” he hummed, mouth breathing hot and heavy against the shirt that sat directly above your nipples. “‘S tha’ good.”

Your only response was the tipping back of your head, fingers carding heavily through the hair at the nape of his neck. 

Had he always been this skilful? Vocal, sure. But it never quite hit you like it was doing tonight. His deep hums and moans, his hands spreading so confidently across your back to hold you to him.

And when you cradled the back of his head and pressed that was when you found yourself moaning his name deep from the back of your throat as his mouth gently sucked at your hardened nipples through his beloved shirt.

His name left your lips again, this time  in the softest gasp as a small frown hit your eyebrows and your hips started to faintly roll atop his. He moaned gratefully into your chest, his tongue wetting the fabric of his shirt so it clung to your raised nipple.

As he nosed along the cotton, he found your second nipple, his hand quick to raise to the first and squeeze at your breast that had not been forgotten. His touch wanted - you and it - to know that.

This is what you’d been missing so long. A sense of feeling you had buried somewhere else. Blocking out the way he managed to make you feel more alive than anyone else had. 

With cheeks hollowed as he suckled, you whispered, “That’s nice.”

His hum of agreement vibrated through your chest as he kept his face pressed against you. 

Everything about him became deliberate and slow, his hands now moving underneath your shirt and fingertips gently grazing at soft, warm skin prickling goosebumps in their wake.

Sliding lower his left hand palmed against the back pocket of your jeans, fingers catching against the thick and sewed seams. Hand pressed heavy to aid the soft rock to your hips, tapping lightly to the top of your bum.

“‘M gonna take these off,” he hummed, looking up at you from where his face was still pressed into your chest.

“Are you?”

It felt as if the room spun before you could even comprehend what was happening, a squealed laugh leaving your lips next as your arms tightened around Harry’s shoulders. He lightly lifted and rolled you, your back landing against his mattress gently as your laughter tapered off.

His lips were sponging kisses to your jawline and cheeks, as you felt the backs of his fingers slide gingerly against the exposed skin of your stomach. Slowly you felt the fabric pull away and fall slack against your stomach when he managed to twist the button with one hand, as your arms fell against the mattress and into the pillows that were slightly pressed higher against the headboard.

“Took you long enough,” you goaded, a smirk lacing your lips as you felt Harry pull away and watched him kneel sitting back with his feet against his bum. 

His face was a picture, clearly amused, as he swiftly pulled his own shirt away and threw it behind him. Hands slowly trailed back up to the waistband of your jeans as he lightly hovered over you.

His head found your stomach, the soft skin on show from where the tee had ridden up. Soft puckered kiss, he lifted his head and pressed his chin into your stomach. 

“Last chance,” he voiced, soft. While he wasn’t willing to forget about it all, regardless of the ache he had between his own legs, you had to be in this with him as much as he was. 

Blinking down at him, you moved your hand up to gently push through his hair and without words raised your hips off the bed enough for him to get the message.

The smile that pulled at his lips, was so triumphant you had to knock your head back to stop yourself from chastising him for being full of himself. 

Your hands however couldn’t help themselves as they joined Harry while he pulled your trousers down your legs and watched goosebumps rise upon your skin from their exposure to the cold. 

Now he was at the end of the bed, you dropped your head to the side to look at him. The way he looked as he carelessly threw your item of clothing over to the chair that sat in the corner of his room. 

His eyes slowly came back to you, as he followed his own motion and saw the faintest of smiles dance across your features. 

“What yer thinking?” 

You were thinking a lot of things. Mainly more so how mystical he looked in the soft glow of the London evening that was creeping in through the haphazard way he had drawn his curtains. Your smile only deepend at how it was more so from the street lamp lights than any full moon, but he didn’t have to know that.

Of course he would want to though, because your smile was more so on show now thanks to the thought in your mind.

Harry shook his head as he fought his own smile, dropping his face slightly to watch his hands as he fiddled with his own jeans.

“Whatever’s got you smiling, ‘s doing nothing for my ego as ‘m undressing m’self in front of yer.”

You knew he wouldn’t be able to help himself, which is why you lightly laughed. 

He spoke your name in a pretend warning.

“‘S doin’ everythin’ for you,” you spoke sultry, “Don’t even try it. Got a girl half naked and waiting for you.”

At those words he looked up at you, through his curtains of thick waves that had fallen into his line of vision. 

You breathed deeply, eyes unable to move from his captivating stare even though you knew he was practically naked from the waist down. You knew from the way his upper body moved as he pushed down his jeans; you knew from the sound of the clothes bunching around his ankles. 

Now you found yourself wondering again. Wondering if he still kept his condoms where he had done last time. Sometimes in the bedside table drawer, other times hidden in the top of his wardrobe. 

Were you going to see him twist and turn, get him showing you how white his bum cheeks were in comparison to his infuriatingly evenly tanned thighs and legs? Or was he going to hold your eyes, dip his knee into the bottom of his bed and crawl up you once more so he could grab one from the bedside table.

“Not just any girl,” he finally replied, his knee dipping into the bottom of the bed. You supposed that answered your question. 

“No?”

A small shake of his head. 

“The girl.”

Harry chuckled, giving himself away as he watched the way you relaxed deeper into the mattress as he found your legs easy to accommodate him. 

“I’ve never been the anything,” you emphasised.

With his lips against your cheek, you felt his puffed breath as he responded, “Yea, you fuckin’ have.”

You kept him to you with a hand against the back of his head, fingers woven through his hand unable to not enjoy the feel of his silky locks beneath your touch. Reacquainting yourself with everything that you thought you had lost.

His lips unlatched from yours with a soft, wet sound as your eyes rolled back into your head when he started to trail kisses down your cheek, down your neck once more.

There was no mistaking how greedy they were, his chin knocking yours and his teeth scraping against your skin as he held your jaw with a steady hand in hope of keeping you still beneath him. 

Legs moved from where they were open, softly brushing at his sides so your calves wrapped and touched the back of his thighs. The feel of his hairs against your smooth legs becoming a weirdly exhilarating reminder of your closeness once more. 

Head buried in your chest, you felt him locate the wet patch against the cotton from his previous play and quickly enclose his mouth once more. Warm hands pushed beneath your body and the mattress, sliding underneath and raising your chest further to his face. 

Your mouth fell open as you felt the pressure of his lips and tongue, enclosed around your nipple again, grow stronger. With a hand in his hair once more, you wondered if he was going to take you out of this shirt, or fuck you in it. 

As the pressure lessened, with your head pressed into the bed beneath you, you heard the rustling of his nose and face against the shirt. He rubbed his face against you, inhaling and moving his hands closer to your lower back. 

Hands in contact with your underwear, you felt him smooth over the fabric of your bum. He pulled at your thigh, before pushing at your knees with a gentle but assured touch. 

“If I remember correctly,” he started, voice muffled as his face was still pressed to your breast. “This leg needs to go here, like this. Mm?” 

Clammy hand splayed against your thigh, you felt him direct your other leg, “And this one needs to be a bit lower, otherwise you get cramp.” 

There was a pause, and you could feel the way his lips were twitching atop the cotton of the tee. Matching yours at the flippant comment that was only funny because it was true.

Humming again, he added, “Keep ‘em like this. Keep me here like this.” 

Doing what he asked, you bit back a moan when he moved to fit his palm over you through your underwear. The warmth from it radiating through you, making your throb and giving you the urge to fold your legs in on it.

Tentative strokes were what you received, at first. Up and down, coaxing you and drawing you into him. Then his fingers became more confident, certain in their touch, moving with a sense of familiarity you had been missing. 

“‘S this okay?”

His voice was soft, hard to hear over your breathing and the blood starting to rush around your ears. You found yourself nodding, however. Giving him the permission he desired, making his next movement the easiest. 

His fingers hooked, slipped underneath the thin piece of fabric and the quiet groan that left his lips only had you moving your legs that bit higher. 

“‘S it nice.”

Harry was enticing. From his oozing velvety voice to his careful, barely there touch. You were lost to him. Finding it hard to breath as your body begged for you to be actually - really - touched. 

With a heavy swallow, you felt your eyes fall shut with your slow, deep breath and let your head turn to the side, finding the edge of a propped up pillow to shield your torture expression. 

“Don’t hide from me,” his voice lazily made itself known, as he looked up from under his brow at you and caused your eyes to drop as you looked down your body. He descended lower and lower, hands pushing up at his tee against your stomach, to reveal your bare skin to him. 

Spongy kisses, encased by stubble, pressed into your skin. His fingers never once let up in their tease, touch opening you up for him. The soft twitch of your legs when his fingers landed on your clit, sliding over it. 

“Relax for me,” he hummed. “You good… s’it feel good?”

Confident nod, you swallowed again. Tongue pushing between your lips to lick away the dryness. 

“Okay wi’this?” 

Another nod.

The press of his fingers onto your clit caused you to breathe deeply. A hiss of ‘yes’ as you exhaled. 

“Tell me if it’s changed.”

And you knew what he meant. His desire to know if you still liked things the same as before important to him. 

You couldn’t help the low and long moan that left your throat. Neither could you stop the lift of your hips from the bed as you twisted your body as he stroked at your clit. 

Heavenly ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs’ were pulled from you. Encased by ‘yeses’ of various pitches. Harry’s nose was buried into the skin of your ribs, having managed to push the tee you still wore to underneath your boobs and in the process expose more of your skin to him.

His mouth sucked against your skin on the inside of your left boob, just at the underside, and from the groan he omitted you knew you were going to be left with an almighty love bite. 

“Oh,” you sighed, as you felt his tongue lave at the mark, again nudging upwards and taking the shirt with him. Tongue over your exposed nipple, alert from the cold and due to your aroused state. 

Your lower half was warm, fire stoked while he stroked at your clit. A sharply exhaled ‘fuck’ from you had him smiling around your nipple. The last time you had found yourself getting this wet - soaked and slick, the kind that meant your walls were smooth and would pull him right in - had been with him. 

A laugh left you from underneath your breath, one not noticed by Harry who was too lost in the feel of you beneath him. The thought of anyone being able to get you this way from an act so virginal was unknown. Of course, he was the exception. Of course. 

“Hear tha’?”

So lazy he couldn’t even ask you properly. 

“Nice an’ wet.”

The slip of his fingers moving lower had you humming delightfully, legs falling open a bit more as his fingers danced at your entrance. The contrast of the heel of his palm to your clit was welcomed, warm but dry in comparison to heavily wet fingers. 

You could feel yourself pulsing as his palm gently rubbed you again, nervous energy had you teetering. Fingers at your center. You wanted them, you wanted him in anyway he would give you himself. 

Quiet, apart from staggered breathing, he smiled to himself when he felt your walls give way to him and his two fingers with ease. Your moan was voracious, a clear need apparent as the edges of it died against your dry throat. 

He knew it was his name. He had heard it like that before. Plenty of times. Said in the same tone too. Sprinkled with incoherent desire. 

“‘S that want you wanted?” He found himself asking. “Should’a just said.”

And you would’ve if you could. But instead your head was tossed back and your toes were curling into the sheets. 

These were the moments he has missed. When he really thought about your time apart. The moments where the two of you were so lost in each other that the nonsense that slipped from each of your lips was met with no judgement but rather embraced. 

Reacquainting after time apart. Rekindling your desires and unspoken love for one another. 

Eyes on your face, he couldn’t  quite see you how he would’ve liked but he did nothing to change it. His own want went out of the window in favour of you getting and keeping yours. 

The smell of you was everywhere as he dropped his eyes and pushed his face against your boobs once more. A man quite willing to suffocate in his need to want more. 

He could feel your falling apart under his experienced touch, relentless and unfleeting now. His fingers curled and with each ‘come hither’ your breathy moans only drove him on. 

“Fuckin’ ‘ell,” he spoke through gritted teeth, the tension in his arm burning at his wrist. Mutters of desperate mantras - ‘come on, come on’ - mouthed to your skin.

And you could - like this - you could. But did you want to?

While you were feverishly hot, everywhere, for him - body unable to stop rolling with each pull of his fingers - your head knocked back and softly shook from side to side. 

“No,” you moaned lightly, “Not yet… Harry.” 

“No?”

His questioning had you dropping your eyes, head still lolled to the side with pouted expression. 

Mind still slightly hazy, you stared at him. He was still in his underwear, very obviously hard. Head nudging slightly, you breathed, “Come here.”

Empty. That’s how you felt when he slowly moved his fingers and left you clenching around nothing but the cold air of his bedroom. 

His right hand was against your skin, middle and third finger slightly hovering away as they were coated in you and he selfishly didn’t want to lose that to your flesh but rather his tongue. 

Legs welcomed him, smoothing around the backs of his thighs once before lifting and using your  feet to try to push his underwear down. 

Harry let out a noise you hadn’t heard in a while, a mix between a grunt and chuckle. The kind that created an aggravated fire within you.

“‘S not gonna work,” he mumbled, eyes closing as he felt the warmth of you against his clothes bulge. Your one thigh lifting to encourage him to roll onto his back.

And he did, taking him with you. A mess of awkward limbs tangling. With shaky knees you climbed over him, eyes down and taking in his underwear.

A pair of black briefs fit him just right, hugged him and holding his straining cock. 

Your eyes slowly rose up his body, his chest lifting and falling with heavy breathing as his chin softened while he looked down at you with his fingers just about leaving his mouth from where he’d cleaned your arousal off of them. 

You felt his eyes peering at you as you lowered down, nose first teasing against the waistband of his underwear before you found your lips pressed kisses to the tops of his thighs. Enjoying a little bit too much the feel of his leg hair against your nose and lips. 

Hand lifted, it blindly sought out the waistline of his pants and allowed fingers to slip inside to pull down the material. 

Just about past his thighs, you locked eyes with Harry. His soft blinking gaze and content smile had you grinning impishly, knowing in the faintly lit room he would most likely be able to make out the blush upon your skin. 

You’d saw but more arousingly heard his cock move as the briefs which encased it gave way and it fell back, heavy, against Harry’s lower abdomen. And that was where it lay, next to the hair in Harry’s stomach and down to his pubic region. 

Small crawl to get you better situated, you flipped some of your hair over to your opposite shoulder and felt him touch the back of your head with a barely there graze as you licked up the underside of his cock.

“Shit, darling,” he breathed, voice blissful above you but filled with a rawness only brought on by sexual vulnerability. 

Looking up his body, you could see the grin that had made its way to his lips. His teeth quick to bite it away, with little to no avail. 

You licked again, mouth moving lower to delicately suck one of his balls into your mouth. 

The groan that left him was husky, right from the back of his throat. The kind that gave you shivers from how unguarded it was. His legs widened against the bed, your eyes diverted to his thighs from his movement. How thick they looked as they flattened beneath you on his bed. 

Wrapping your hand around him, you ran your thumb over the head of his cock. Up and down. Slowly taking in every movement and what it did to him. Just like you remembered.

“‘S this right?” You asked, hand and mouth working him and his balls over. Looking up once more you watched him hum, with the smallest of nods. His lips were rolled into his mouth, dimples prominent as they dipped into his cheeks.

His nostrils flared as he breathed and his hair had started to fall across his forehead from how he’d been dipping his head back into the pillows beneath him.

“Squeeze me ‘ere,” he reminded you, voice holding a slight tremble, his hand encasing yours and encouraging a tighter hold as he leisurely dragged both his and your hand up and down his cock. “Slowly- tha’s it.”

You pulsed between your thighs as you watched him moving your hand with his, each downward pull showing his glistening head more and more. Heavy swallow, you knew he was holding back and you would be lying if you said the visual wasn’t encouraging you to take him in your mouth properly.

Almost like second nature you did exactly that. Licking at your lips as you lifted up and wrapped your lips around his exposed tip. When his hand faltered from the pleased sound you voiced now you were on him, you were able to slip from under his grip and felt him continue to wank as you suckled so teasingly. 

With each bob of your head, you felt his hand pull away more, as your mouth and jaw stretched around his hard cock. 

“Yea’,” he groused, deeply when his hand fell to give way to your mouth and move to shift your curtaining hair. Harry rolled his hips up gently, eager to get the last bit of him down your throat. Old him would’ve voiced it too, but he felt this moment didn’t call for that.

He softly fucked your face, if there were such a thing. The nudges of his cock warming through your core as the throbbing sensation that had been lingering between your legs only grew.

Harry fought against himself to make you gag, teetering on it with each raise of his hips as his glassy eyes barely focused on you. Too engrossed in the filth he wished to voice. 

“God, look at you,” he dropped his head back. Ironic really. Unable to continue looking as he said it. It was tame in comparison to how he wanted to speak.

So, he laughed. Breathy at first, before becoming a little bit louder. You lips twitching into a smile as you lifted off of him and gently tugged before letting it fall and bounce proudly erect. Kissing up his stomach and placing your knees either side of his hips. 

He had almost forgotten you weren’t completely naked until you sat on top of him covered up. Eyes too taken by your face to care, as you blinked down at him with a doe-eyed expression that made him want to lap you up in any way he could have you.

His right hand pulled you down to him, lips greedy against yours as his left hand found the top of your bum cheek, trying to blindly find his cock and guide him into you regardless of knowing it wouldn’t work.

“Like this?” He asked as his lips hovered at the corner of yours, wanting to know if you wanted it this way. “How’d you wan’ it?”

“On top.”

“Me?”

Your voices were breathy as you spoke around the faintest of kisses. Both eager to start from the feel of you both so close to each other. 

The faintest of nods was given to him and it was all it took for him to roll the both of you, further continuing to ruckle up the bedsheet beneath you.

“Do I need one?”

And you knew you should be responsible and not shake your head no at his ambiguous mention of protection. All rushed and breathy, chest heavy as he exhaled in a nervous rush, but you just wanted him. Bare and in you. 

Underwear was quickly removed before you’re resumed your position. 

He watched you softly as you shook your head no, Harry pushing the shirt up under your boobs, your arms wrapping around his neck as he continued to kiss at your jaw and cheeks. 

“Planning on staying over?” 

Feeling him shift up and jar his head back, just enough to get a good look at you, you stared at him not knowing how to respond. It was practically morning now, so hadn’t you already? 

His hands moved your legs as you thought, his one holding you where he needed you to be. 

“Don’t think ‘bout it for too long, darling,” he joked nudging his nose gently against you as he watched the way your lips went against you, smiling at his words. 

“Let me know how long we can go for,” he added, gently taking his cock that was sprung and bobbing between you into his hand. He looked down and tapped it to your wetness, sliding it down with a press of his fingers to the topside of his shiny cock to line himself up.

“Gonna let me have you all night.” 

Your breathing picked up, chest trembling slightly at how much more of a statement those words sounded than a question. An amorous glance looked back at him, slow blinking and head lolled gently to the side. 

“Eh? Sleep in the mornin’?”

A deep and shaky breath had your mouth falling, your eyes slowly shutting as you felt him push in. You were right when you thought about how easily you would take him earlier. Body crying out for a good fuck. 

“Fuck me,” he groaned deeply, head dropping forward and hair hanging down. You reached for him, wanting to see his face.

Harry obliged you, his face turning to find your wrist and pressing a chaste kiss to your skin. “Missed havin’ you like this,” he breathed. Quick bite down to his bottom lips, nostrils flared.

“‘S tight.”

He knew the remark was boyish. Unable to stop himself as he eased out and rolled his hips back into yours. Each push and pull giving you a little more of him. Deep frown etched between his eyebrows as his breath caught in his throat, mouth slightly fallen and lips starting to dry. 

“Haven’t-“ your voice croaked, head dipping into the pillow beneath you.

Haven’t slept with anyone in a while. Haven’t slept with anyone since you last slept with him. Haven’t had the desire to. 

He hummed in agreement as the two of you felt the words fall away from you both. Harry’s concentration firmly on each roll of his hips as he gave you more of him. The rhythm he set being one that you could only describe as intimate. Familiar. 

He was warm on top of you as he alternated between grinding dips of his hips, thrusts that were tantalisingly slow, making your hips roll up to meet him and causing him to smile at how you wanted it. 

He had to voice it. “You want it, don’t you?”

He only knew so easily because he did too. He had done the minute he fucked the whole thing up and let you slip away with his dwindling text messages in response and shorter phone calls every time you had a chance.

Your hand glided to the back of his head, the other down to his bum as you encouraged him to give you his entire weight. He was close but you want him closer. Close was never close enough. 

Was that enough to answer his question of wanting it, wanting him? 

Squeezing at his bum, you fought the urge you had to give him a slap, too caught up into the heavy groan that moulded into your face as he pressed his nose to your skin.

“You make me good,” he lowly gruffed against your cheek, his hand trailing down to take yours from his bum.

Fingers laced and pressed against the mattress upon which you lay, you tilted your head back and pressed it harder into the pillow beneath you. You keened and mewled beneath him, breathy noises of indecipherable words as the head of his cock bumps your spot inside. 

“You make me feel good.”

You were taken by his gasp, how desperate he sounded as he hiked your leg higher, wanting you to spread yourself open for him. His hips don’t give you much choice other than to play along as he moved with an assiduity you had never found with any other man. 

He allowed you to feel every inch of him going in, pulling out and going back in. Teasing himself and you with a slow and measured pace that had you passionately panting underneath him. 

“No one gets it like this.”

Looking at him with heavy-lidded vision, you wove your fingers through his hair and tugged. His face contorted blissfully, breath catching in his throat before it heaved out of his mouth as his chest forced him to exhale. 

You were nodding, agreeing with him. No one had you like this. Him like this. It like this. Sweltering and sticky. 

Teeth gritted, he grunted as he thrusts grew heavier now with more conviction behind their motion. 

“Deeper,” you gasped, “Yeah.”

“Yeah?”

His pelvis was heavy against yours now, making it difficult for you to lift and roll your hips to meet his thrusts. And he knew you loved it like this, he still knew that. 

Legs practically pushed to your chest, held there by your own fruition as they rocked and rubbed up against his fleshy sides cradling him to you, feet bobbing in the air with toes curled.

The sensual roll he was giving you caused the grip of your fingers to go slack against his head. You could feel him smiling against your skin, as your breath hitched in your throat and your hand squeezed at his. 

“Touch my arse,” he moaned, sliding his hand out of yours and breathing in quick succession until your hand met his bum cheek once more. 

This time you didn’t falter, gently tapping and feeling the tension to his thrusts as he clenched. Quick squeeze and nails digging in creating crescent moons against his white bits. “Yeah darlin’, know I like it like tha’.” 

Head turned to the side, you messily brought your mouths together. He chuckled as you broke away, probably from the words he’d just spoken. Laughter dying down into a hum as your feet wrapped around his lower back.

His lips were dry as they met yours, too caught up in how his mouth hung open, to make them wet and inviting, as his need to breathe was evident. 

“No ones like you,” you admitted. “No one comes close.”

He revelled in the whine of your last word, how it had your back arching and allowed him to wind his hand around you to lift your bum slightly to encourage your hips to continue meeting his.

He knew you were tired, the breathy whines that were spoken up towards the ceiling were not lost on him. And he knew he had to keep going, to give it to you how you deserved. To make up for the lost time, to say sorry for ‘being a bit of a dick’. A lot of a dick. 

When you knocked your head back, your eyes were unable to concentrate and he was mesmerised by the visual of complete, unadulterated lust that was present on your features. Hair sticking to your temples from your exertion and face void of any concern. 

“Make me come,” you whispered your plea, feeling him bury his face into your neck and drop himself down flush to you. With one hand woven through the hair on the back of his head, your other stayed at him bum feeling the grind of his groin against yours as he lay on you. 

He was sensual now, if not a little tired himself, as his breathing left his mouth in hot pants against the side of your neck. You could feel yourself beginning to flush from the heaviness of his body as you both rocked from the force of his motions and the fullness of him above you.

With rustling sheets and sounds of grunts, your cooed ‘oh’ left you, as you felt the motion of Harry’s hips pickup pace. Your fingers clawed into his hair, lifting the strands and softly pulling as your body ached in the most delectable way.

Harry groaned around a smile, muffled by your skin as he could feel his stomach start to tighten; his orgasm impending. He tried to hold off as much as he could, eager to watch you come undone first in the best way he could as he was rendered speechless and breathless alongside it.

Instead you were both a mess of tangled limbs, with rocking motions so vigorous that you felt yourself moving up the bed. A symphony of noises - slapping skin, feeble grunts and creaking bed.

Harry wheezed, knowing he sounded pathetic by too caught up to care. Through hooded eyes you caught sight of his mouth falling agape before he ground his teeth together as his thrusts heavily rolled into you, nudging your entire body.

Your mouth fell as his name unashamedly fell from your lips. Demandingly, but in a juxtaposed whisper, you told him to give it to you. 

“I am,” he whispered. “Oh, I am, darling- Mmhm.“

You whimpered, feeling each breath get harder to produce as your abdomen began to tighten and your chest heave. “I’m coming,” you hastily whispered. Voice nothing more than a pant. 

Looking up at Harry, you watched his bottom lip become captive to his teeth, as his nostrils flared while he breathed. His thrusts were at their heaviest now, wetter and sloppier but getting the job done.

“Gonna- oh.”

This was the loudest you’d been in a while. Moans long and dying off into wordless bliss as your muscles tensed and your orgasm rolled through you. Leaving you as nothing more than cloudy thoughts, and a warm, floaty body.

You felt the bounce of his laugh against his skin from his breath, as he continued to move above you and moulded you into nothing but a high-pitched mess as he wouldn’t stop.

Body falling slightly slack, relaxed and pliant to the bed, you felt Harry move his face into your neck and nudge his hips once more. His ruts were less rhythmic, rough grunts and indecipherable slurring only matching his pending euphoria. 

With his final, heavily thrust, his hips slammed to a stop against yours. Your breathing stuttered as you held him to you, hands moving over his shuddering shoulders and ears listening to his muffled groans which vibrated through you.

“Yea’,” he drawled. Low from the back of his throat. “Yes.”

***

Sunday mornings were made to be slow. To bask in the stillness. To hear nothing but the blood that was rushing through your ears.

It was far too bright to be considered early morning. Not with the winter months looming. 

You stretched your limbs, listening for the crack of your back as your hands reached for the t-shirt that was still awkwardly bunched up to your armpits. 

Rolling your body slightly you reached for the hem and pulled it down, letting your head fall to the side to see an empty bed which allowed a sense of regret to creep into your morning thoughts. Blinking slowly, you almost missed the sound of the bedroom door gently bouncing against the wall.

A hushed, “bollocks” spat out for the other side of the wood causing your lips to twitch upwards in a smile. 

A pause came to Harry’s movements as he caught your eye in nothing more than a pair of fresh underwear and mismatched mugs in each hand. 

“Stayed the night,” he hummed, eyes softly shining. A soft smile pulled onto your lips as he left a cup of tea closer to your side of the bed and you watched him start to blow gently at the lip of his own mug. With his mouth about to take a sip, he asked, “Fancy staying another?” 

#harry styles #harry styles smut #rekindled fic #harry styles fluff #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles one shot #harry styles fic #harry fic #Harry x reader #harry styles x reader #harry styles x you

[cyndavilachase]

I’m Looking Forward Now 💖Thank you and good bye

So, it’s been a little over a week since Steven Universe Future ended… 

I’ve been hesitant to write this, honestly, but I’m tired of holding myself back from properly expressing myself in fear of appearing overly invested in the media I consume, even in private. Writing helps me organize my thoughts and feelings, and I feel like these thoughts in particular may resonate with many, so I want to share them. I want to talk about what Steven Universe has done for me personally, both as an artist, and as a person.

I’ve been around since the day the first episode of the original series aired. I actually remember when Steven Universe was just a logo on Wikipedia’s “List of Upcoming Cartoon Network Shows” list, back when I was a freshman in high school. It piqued my interest, but when commercials finally dropped for it, I thought it was going to be bad because of the way marketing handled introducing Steven as a likeable character. There was still something about it that made me want to give it a chance though, so I went online and watched the pilot before the first episode's release. I was hooked immediately. I knew I was going to love it, and I did. I fell so absolutely in love with Steven as a character, and the world that he and the gems lived in. I became obsessed. I was always so excited for new episodes to come out. Little did I know what else it would do for me as I went through my adolescence alongside it.

As the show progressed, it was evident that what I wanted out of a western animated childrens’ cartoon was finally coming into fruition: this show was becoming serialized. There was continuity, there was plot, there was character development-- it was getting deep. It was pushing the groundwork that Adventure Time laid out even further (thank you, Adventure Time).  

I will give credit where credit is due: earlier western childrens’ cartoons I grew up with like Hey Arnold, and Rugrats, among others, also touched on heavy topics, but Steven Universe was able to take similar ideas (and even more complex ones, concerning mental health and relationships) and expand on them outside of contained episodes and/or short arcs. These themes, which were a part of the show’s overarching story, spanned across its entirety. Continuity was rampant. 

What did this mean? It meant kids cartoons didn’t have to be silly and fun all the time and characters weren’t just actors playing a part in 11-minute skits. Steven and the gems would remember things that happened to them, and it affected them and how they would function and play a part in their story. This was a huge deal to me as a teenager. I always wanted the cartoons I grew up with featuring kid characters to feel more. In my own work, I often felt discouraged when combining a fun, cutesy western art style with themes as dark or layered as anime would cover. I always thought it had to be one or the other because an audience wouldn’t take a combination of the two seriously enough, based on discussions I had with classmates, friends, and online analysis I read at the time. Steven Universe proved to me otherwise. This show was opening the door for future cartoons exploring in-depth, adult concepts. I felt so seen as a kid, and was inspired to stick with what I love doing.

I was actually very worried about the show’s survival. It was in fact immensely underrated and the fandom was miniscule. Then in 2014, JailBreak dropped, and it’s popularity exploded. Part of it was because of the complex plot and the themes it was covering like I mentioned, but also because of its representation. 

I remember when fandom theorized that Garnet was a fusion due to grand, tragic reasons. Turns out, she’s simply a metaphor for a very loving w|w relationship. This was huge. I cannot stress how important it is that we continue to normalize healthy canon queer relationships in childens’ media, and Steven Universe finally was the first to do that proper. Introducing these themes offers the chance for a kid to sit there and ask themselves, “Why is this demonized by so many people?” I asked myself exactly that. Ruby and Sapphire were my cartoon LGBT rep. They were the first LGBT couple I ever ecstatically drew fanart of. I was dealing with a lot of internalized homophobia at the time, and they showed me that I was allowed to love women and feel normal about it. The process of overcoming this was a long one, but they played a part in my very first steps into becoming comfortable with my sexuality. I could go on and on about it’s representation in general-- how it breaks the mold when it comes to showcasing a diverse set of characters in design, in casting, and in breaking gender roles. It’s focus on love and empathy. Steven himself is a big boy, but he's the protagonist, and the show never once makes fun of his weight, or any other bigger characters for that matter. It wasn’t hard to see why the fandom had grown so large.

Fandom was always a joy for me. It was a hobby I picked up when I was in middle school, like many of us here did. I would always cater my experience to fun, and fun only. I only started getting more deeply involved in SU’s fandom when I had just turned into an adult. During the summer of 2016, between my first and second year of college, I drew for the show almost every day non-stop when the Summer of Steven event was going on and posted them online. This was a form of practice for me in order to become not just more comfortable with experimenting with my art, but also to meet new artists, make new friends, and learn to interact with strangers without fear. I dealt with a ton of anxiety when I was in high school. When I was a senior applying to art school for animation, I decided I was going to overcome that anxiety. I made plans to take baby steps to improve myself over the course of my 4 years of college. Joining the fandom, while unforeseen, was definitely a part of that process. I started feeling more confident in sharing my ideas, even if they were fan-made. I fell in love with storyboarding after that summer, when I took my first storyboarding class, and genuinely felt like I was actually getting somewhere with all of this. I remember finally coming to a point in my classes where I could pitch and not feel hopelessly insecure about it. I was opening up more to my friends and peers. 

But this process, unfortunately, came to a screeching halt. 

My life completely, utterly crumbled under me in the Fall of 2017 due to a series of blows in my personal life that happened in the span of just a couple weeks. My mental health and sense of identity were completely destroyed. All of that confidence I had worked for-- completely ruined. I was alone. I nearly died. My stay at college was extended to 4 and half years, instead of the 4 I had intended. I lost my love for animation-- making it, and watching it. I could no longer watch Steven Universe with the same love I had for it beforehand. It’s a terrible thing, trying to give your attention to something you don’t love anymore, and wanting so desperately to love again. I dropped so many things I loved in my life, including the fandom.

Healing was a long and complicated road. I continued to watch the show all the way up until Change Your Mind aired in the beginning of 2019, and while I still felt empty, that was definitely a turning point for me with it’s encapsulation of self-love. I was hoping James Baxter would get to work on Steven Universe since he guest-animated on Adventure Time, and it was incredible seeing that wish actually come true. The movie came out and while I enjoyed it and thought highly of it, I was still having issues letting myself genuinely love things again, old and new. It was especially difficult because cartoons were my solace as a kid, when things got rough at home. I remember feeling sad because the show ended, and not getting the chance to love it again like I used to while it was still going.

By the time Steven Universe Future was announced, I was finally coming around. I was genuinely starting to feel excitement for art and animation again. I wasn’t expecting there to be a whole new epilogue series, but happily ever after, there we were! Prickly Pear aired, and the implications it left in terms of where the story was going did it. I was finally ready to let myself take the dive back into fandom in January of this year. My art blew up, something I wasn’t expecting considering my 2-year hiatus. Following this, I was invited into a discord server containing some of the biggest writers, artists, editors, and analysts in the fandom. I had no idea there were so many talented people in the fandom, some already with degrees, some getting their degrees-- creating stuff for it on the side just for fun. The amount of passion and productivity level here is insane, and so is the amount of discussion that has come out of it.

I didn’t realize it at first, but it was actually helping me gain back the courage to share ideas. I lost my confidence in pitching while I was taking the time to heal, and graduating meant there would no longer be a classroom setting I could practice in. This group helped immensely. 

I have made so many friends through this wonderful series, and I have so many fond memories talking to like-minded creatives, getting feedback and a myriad of sources for inspiration, as well as all of the memes and jokes and weekly theorizations that came about as we all waited on the edges of our seats for episodes to air. I needed this so badly, I needed to get back in touch with my roots, when I would go absolutely hog-wild over a cartoon I loved with people who loved it as much I did. Future has been a blessing for me in this way. I graduated feeling like I was back at square-one, but now I feel like I’m on my way again.

It’s 2020 and while I’m doing great right now, I am honestly still recovering from the total exhaustion that followed after graduating a few months ago, and finally leaving the campus where my life fell apart behind. Needless to say, watching Future was like looking into a mirror. Watching one of my favorite characters of all time-- one that grew up with me-- go through so many of the same things I went through not too long ago was absolutely insane to watch unfold. It’s such an important thing too, to show a character go through the process of breaking down over trauma and all the nasty things that come with it, and to have them go on the road to healing. Steven got that therapy. He wasn’t blamed. The gems were called out. The finale was everything I could have ever hoped for. The catharsis I experienced watching it was out of this world.

As I continue my own healing journey, I will always look up to the storyboard artists, revisionists, and designers that I have been following over these past 7 years, as well as the new ones introduced in Future. It's been such a joy watching these artists release their promo art for episodes, talk about their experiences working on the show, and post the work they've done for it alongside episodes airing.

Thank you Rebecca Sugar, the Crewniverse, and the fans, for making this such a truly wonderful and unique experience. Thank you for reminding me that I am, and always will be, an artist, a cartoonist, and a fan. Thank you, my followers, for the overwhelmingly positive response to my artwork. I have had so much fun interacting and discussing the show with you all again over these past few months. Steven Universe and it’s fandom will always have a special place in my heart, and it will always be a classic that I will return to for comfort and inspiration for decades to come. I am sad that the cartoon renaissance is over, but so many doors have been opened thanks to this show. I am so, so excited to see what this show will inspire in the future, and I hope one day I get the opportunity to be a part of that. 

Goodbye Steven, thank you for everything. I wish you healing, and I wish Rebecca and the team a well-deserved rest. ♥️

-Cynthia D.

#steven universe #steven universe future #steven universe future finale #steven quartz universe #the future #i am my monster #good bye steven universe #thank you steven universe #crystal gems #garnet #amethyst #pearl #bismuth #lapis #peridot #greg universe #connie maheswaran #lion #su #suf #su future #art #artists on tumblr #illustration #tears #lineless

[prof-peach]

Hey Prof, I need your advice.

My sister recently decided she didn't wanted her bulbasaur anymore (she got him on a whim about a month ago) and gave him to me, he is quite violent and tends to attack when I try to get close to him.

Now, that wouldn't be a huge problem, but my Purrloin has gotten hurt trying to befriend him, she's quite outgoing and never really liked fighting (we enjoy contests so she knows a few more flashy attacks), so she couldn't even defend herself properly.

I don't want to give up on him and my local rescue center is filled with Bunearies (you know, after Easter kids don't want their Bunny anymore) so they can't take him in right now, any advice in how I can go about this situation?

Sounds to me like you have a tricky little dude on your hands. So you're not battle orientated which will make this harder, Bulbasaur in the wild are actually quite combat minded to defend their families and territory, and a lot of their herds consist of strict hierarchy based on power and skill, often led by older, fully evolved members of their group. 

Before you take any actions to befriend them, its worth noting that any pokemon who comes into your care showing aggression is usually doing so for one or two reasons that are pretty universal for any species. Fear being the main issue with pokemon who have been ditched, if a pokemon is unwell, if it feels exposed, if it is unsure of you or your home, your partners, it may lash out because it is afraid. Even what looks like pure anger can stem from a fear. Of course some individuals are just full of rage, its not unheard of, but for the most part it comes from somewhere else. 

For a moment, take the time to put yourself in this pokemons shoes. It was chosen, with hopes and ambitions of its own, by your sister, a stranger to them, and for whatever reason they were cast aside. This reason may be unclear to the pokemon, it may be unfair, unkind, or even without malice just out of pure indifference. No matter the reason, this pokemon has been left behind by a trainer it at one point probably wanted to try to get along with. I don’t know what your sister may or may not have done, or provided for the bulbasaur, but it will help you understand how its feeling, if you were to ask her about their relationship prior to you receiving the pokemon. If it has always been aggressive and angry, i’d seriously consider talking to it about release, not rehome. 

We humans have a preconceived notion that pokemon are pets and things to keep with us. This may be true for some sure, but not every pokemon wishes to be a captive to a human, they may want more for themselves, and wish for a free life with their own kind. We cannot put our wants and desires above that of the pokemons, so you two need to have a talk, at a respectful distance for safeties sake, to see what the Bulbasaur feels they may want. These are herd pokemon, born and bred to be with their own kind, if not a larger group, if its lonely, if it wants to go home, to start a family, or simply to not be held in a ball as some creature to be owned, then you as its current carer must give it what you can. You can always find another pokemon who wants to be your partner, but you cannot give back lost years to a pokemon who has lived a life its unhappy with. Treat them with respect, and be open and honest. At the end of the day we have a chance to help pokemon, and forcing what we want onto them is a hinderance, and will lead to them feeling unsatisfied and bitter in the long run. 

Some pokemon lash out due to the process of being handed off to someone else, trust is earnt, not always just simply given to whoever holds the pokeball. Remember this as you move forward, and try to keep your other pokemon away from them, Bulbasaur are territorial species, and have to accept pokemon into their families before simply allowing them to come and go freely into their personal space. Despite their grouchy natures at times they usually do have a morally positive compass, and defend with ferocity when they love something. Perhaps in you showing genuine concern for their welfare and future, offering them not what you want, but instead what they want, they may give you a chance to get closer, but take baby steps, and try to be their friend above all else. I bet they're feeling pretty lonely right now. 

Its worth sharing interests with the pokemon, talk about contests, see if they're interested, some pokemon have a predisposition for this, others have no interest and prefer more battle based lives, or even peaceful non-competitive existences. no amount of pressure will change a pokemon’s nature, and some just aren't cut out for the fine art of showmanship that contests require. You can however use powerful attacks in showy ways, so theres always hope that they could enjoy it, if you can work with them to their strengths. 

If possible, work to getting them outdoors, cooping grass types up can lead to stroppy, testing personalities, many thrive in the outdoors, he may need some serious outside time to compensate for the lack of exercise and natural stimulation they may have not been getting prior to your ownership. There are plenty of areas in public that are much like tennis courts, areas of space you can book for a set amount of time too exercise difficult pokemon, these locations are often secure facilities, both outdoors and indoors, to suit a range of species. find one that has outdoor facilities and book a few hours per week to go there, increasing the time whenever possible. This exercise and time with you may help to find common ground, and topics that you and the bulbasaur can bond over. This can be anything from battles, to sun bathing, playing sports, games, swimming, running or digging, and everything in between. Bulbasaur naturally are great foragers and tend to like to snaffle about in long grass and shrubland, hiding treats like berry slices in a secure environment is good enrichment and can tire the pokemon out. a tired pokemon is usually a little less aggressive, having lower energy levels and less want to expend attacks. this process also associated you with something fun, and your scent will be on the treats too, so they'll know you were the one to provide this activity for them.   

I’d also take plenty of time to observe the bulbasaur, as your sister got them on a whim, they probably had no prior knowledge of the species, or how to correctly care for them. In a month, a health complaint could have begun to show, so observe their colouration, feet, walking gait, sleeping patterns, feeding habits, and general behaviour. Excess scratching, heavy breathing, or unusual shaking or moving can suggest a health condition is starting to take form. Most can be helped if caught early, but some illnesses give the pokemon discomfort, and can lead to snappy tempers and irritability. It could be that this individual is in pain, or finding life difficult due to its health, which can cause a lot of hostility as i’m sure anyone would agree. It can suck to be sick!

This species can be won over if you can prove you have a skill of worth to them. This is the case with a lot of pokemon, having respect for something they cannot do, and learning that they need things from you can lead to them at least tolerating us humans. Its a foot in the door. A trick i like t use with particularly difficult bulbasaur is to give them their fav food, whatever it is, then put it in a clear container the pokemon cannot open. They have no thumbs, and their vines though dexterous, aren't able to open every kind of container. The pokemon will want whats inside, and be unable to access it. they will eventually give up out of frustration. this is where you come in. enter the space, don’t let your pokemon approach as this can be threatening, and open the container. leave it on the floor open, making sure they've watched you get the thing open. They can then approach and enjoy their fav food, all thanks to you and those wondrous thumbs you have. repeating this process yields good results, and starts a mutual relationship of tolerance and acceptance between you and a bulbasaur. Most will accept they want the food more than they want you gone, and you provide something they can’t get to. whatever you do, don’t let them see that you were the one to lock the food up in the container. Get a friend to do it, or do it in the room, and leave it in place on the floor, before allowing the bulbasaur to enter and investigate the item. If they see you're the one doing it, the trick is foiled, and your back to square one. Eventually this does tend to lead to the pokemon becoming less stressed with you around them, and eventually it leads to trust, and even friendship. This trick is good to use to get them use to you, once they're ok with you being around them because of your use to them, they may start to take food from you directly, engage in play, or even just sit and tolerate company for short periods of time. Do not expect this to be quick, but it does usually do the trick. 

Regardless, i do have concern that the pokemon may want to be with its own, should you discuss this and find they're not interested in being housebound and a pet, feel free to send them our way, we had exactly this situation in mind when setting up the islands facilities, and have extensive locations designed with grass pokemosn needs at the forefront. Theres a small herd of about 12 bulbasaur evolutions that live north of our labs, no people see them, they are happy as a unit, and are left alone to go about their lives, with the only interactions between humans being us giving them their yearly health check, or should we spot them with an issue, we may intervene. They live away from others and pretty much free, in a poacher safe environment. Its not ideal, we like to keep pokemon in areas they come from, with people who love them, and you show great concern for the pokemon so it would be a shame to have to let them go, BUT sometimes thats just life, and theres nothing to be done about it other than accepting that the pokemons wants come first. They may just be mistrusting so try everything else first, and see how you go. hopefully you’ll yield some results from this all. Good luck out there trainer. 

#long post #bulbasaur #prof.peach #peach talks

[voiceless-terror]

Ink (TMA Fanfic)

For TMA Gerry Week 2021 Day One

Pairings: Jonathan Sims/Gerry Keay/Martin Blackwood

Rating: T

Summary: Art’s how Gerry shows his love- a few snippets where he does exactly that. No powers-au, Gerry and Martin own a bookstore. Takes place in this universe but can be read alone!

He’s getting used to having people who want him around.

Gerry’s had friends, sure. Once he left the institute and began working odd jobs, he realized how much he genuinely enjoyed having company. He still isn’t the most social of creatures, but he does enjoy a night out with old coworkers who enjoy his stories and laugh at his jokes. But now, with Jon and Martin, they want him around all the time. Even after they started dating, even after he moved in, he was always waiting for the other shoe to drop. It never does, though. And Gerry, in spite of himself, begins to relax. Begins to feel at home. 

He’s laying on the couch, scribbling in his notebook when Martin surprises him with a peck to the top of his head. “Whatcha drawing this time?” He was very excited when he heard Gerry liked to draw, immediately asking to see his notebook or anything he’d done. He’d only recently shown him some of his work; he knows Martin would never make him feel embarrassed, but, well. It’s another part of himself no one’s ever been interested in. Until now.

“Jon,” Gerry responds, leaning into the touch. It’s an amateurish attempt in his opinion, just a rough sketch. But he’s got the proportions down and he never forgets a face. Couldn’t forget, in Jon’s case. 

“That’s…” Martin trails off, peering closer at the page. “That’s really good. You’ve even got him smiling!” It’s not that Jon never smiles; he smirks and laughs and snarks. But he’s managed to capture that rare, bright grin that makes Gerry’s heart skip a beat.

“Mhm.” Gerry nods slightly, pen tapping against his sketchpad. He turns around, seeing the naked fondness in Martin’s eyes and has a particularly wicked thought. “Y’know, this is how he looks when he’s watching you.”

Martin sputters, turns a lovely shade of red. “W-What? Really?”

“No,” Gerry smirks. “It’s the way he looks at the Admiral.” A groan and a light smack to the shoulder prove his joke is unappreciated. “Sorry, sorry! I’m sure he also looks at you that way-”

“You’re an ass.” Martin rolls his eyes but oh-so-gently picks up his hand, pausing to inspect the ink-stained fingers. “A very talented ass.” His mind blanks as Martin kisses them one by one.

Thoroughly distracted, he never gets around to finishing that sketch.

_______

Painting, as it turns out, is a lot harder than it looks. Still quite fun, though.

They’ve just found the perfect space- a little out of their price range, but Gerry’s got savings and Jon was willing to part with a bit himself. Martin fretted over his ‘meager contribution,’ as his savings were depleted in the final months of his mother’s care. Ridiculous that he would ever think his contribution meager, considering he’s the one who scouted for locations and did all of the paperwork and stayed up late, agonizing over their finances. Some days, Martin’s the only one keeping them sane. Gerry and Jon are due to remind him of that.

Which is why they’re handling the decorating. Jon claims to have no artistic talent, but he does have a knack for making places seem like home. There are boxes filled with knick knacks and rugs and pictures, all waiting to be hung somewhere once Jon’s finally settled on a layout. Gerry’s left with painting the walls, labeling the different sections in whatever way he sees fit. He’s currently at work on the horror section, painting a stylized eye above the tarp-covered bookshelf when he hears the sound of the bell; Martin must be back from the store. They’d run out of appropriately-sized nails and after a minor freak out, he’d been on his way.

“Find what you were looking for?” he calls, listening as Martin’s footsteps grow closer, the crinkle of bags in his hand. “Here to save the day?”

“I wouldn’t call it saving,” Martin snorted, setting them down on the ground with a thump. “But it’ll certainly help. That looks nice.”

Gerry pauses, considering his work. He really needs a darker green for this. “Thanks. It’s a work in progress.”

“I’m sure it’ll turn out great,” he murmurs distractedly, and Gerry turns to look back at him. The lines of his face are more pronounced than usual, as are the shadows under his eyes. A sure sign that the stress is getting to him. Gerry understands, and he’s not much for being particularly sappy but he does what he can to help.

“Hey,” he calls down to him from his ladder. “C’mere. Need your opinion on something.”

Martin sighs, but heeds the call. “What is it? You know I’m rubbish with this art stuff-”

“It’ll only take a second. Come closer.”

“What am I supposed to be looking at-”

“Closer.”

As Martin huffs and leans towards him, Gerry darts his paintbrush out, drawing the quickest of hearts on Martin’s cheek before he can pull away. 

“Gerry!” Martin startles and his hand reaches up to wipe at his cheek.

“Don’t smear it, it’s a heart.” He pauses, going for his gravest voice. “Because I love you so much. I’ll be devastated if you ruin it.”

“I don’t appreciate that.” Martin sighs but drops his hand, his face softening already. Exasperation has never been paired with fondness, not when it’s aimed at Gerry. Another thing he’s starting to get used to.

“Shame. It looks good.”

Martin goes home with a heart on his other cheek as well. He looks ridiculous. Gerry loves it.

_________

When Jon’s particularly stressed, Gerry leaves him post-it notes.

Often he leaves before Gerry even wakes, so he’s got to do them the night before. A little cat here, a little caricature of Bouchard there. He leaves a variety, depending on his mood. Jon always gives him a kiss when he gets home, a soft ‘thank you for the note,’ and that’s all he needs, really, to keep doing it. He likes making Jon smile.

Martin’s gone grocery shopping and Jon’s pulling a late night again, so Gerry’s alone in the flat looking for something to do. There’s nothing on Netflix worth watching (or at least, worth watching by himself) and he’s not in the mood for his latest novel, so he decides he’s going to be productive, make a list of all the things he has to do this week. Jon’s always going on about lists, though he leaves them everywhere and never seems to accomplish everything on them. Maybe it’s the act of making them that’s relaxing. It’s worth a try.

He makes his way over to the second bedroom they (mostly Jon) use as an office. He’s sure Jon’s got a little notepad here that he can use, and he wants it to look as official as possible. He opens the left hand drawer but only finds Martin’s receipts, and on the right he finds a plain-looking notebook, a little worn with use. Maybe that’s what he uses-

Gerry opens it. Pauses. Blinks. Feels something heavy and thick form in his throat.

It’s his notes- his stupid little sketches, his ‘have a good day at work’s, his smiley-faces and little hearts. Each carefully placed on page after page with an accompanying date, neat and tidy, like a little scrapbook. Mum used to throw out his ‘doodles,’ as she called them, told him his time was better spent on actual art, but Jon’s kept all of them. Like they mattered. Like they were important. He sets it back down on the desk and just stands there, heart beating hard in his chest.

Gerry’s tearing up like some sort of moron so he’s distracted and doesn’t hear Jon come home, doesn’t hear his usual grumblings and sighs. Doesn’t hear him until Jon’s right behind him, startling him with a hand on his arm. “Sorry, I was just- Gerry, are you alright?”

Alright. Alright. It’s a word that doesn’t encompass everything he’s feeling. Wanted, embarrassed, a little overwhelmed. And so, so happy. 

He turns around and grabs Jon in a fierce hug, overcome with affection and eager to hide his stupid tears as he squeezes Jon to his chest. “You’re adorable, you know that?” he says, peppering kisses to the top of his head despite Jon’s weak protestations. “Real fuckin’ cute.”

Jon melts into his embrace, even as he complains. “I’ve got no idea what you’re on about, Gerry,” he says into his chest, the words muffled. “You’re being absurd.” Jon’s just about the only person he knows that uses ‘absurd’ on a daily basis. It’s insufferable. Gerry loves it.

“Just let me hug you, you little ogre.”

_________

Sometimes, Gerry’s the one who’s got to be up early. Doctors appointments are a bitch, and after a brief scare last year, it’s important that he keep up with them. Martin helps him schedule, marking the appointments on the calendar with a bold black marker that can’t be missed.

This morning’s particularly brutal, with an eight o’clock appointment an hour’s commute away. Jon went to sleep at a reasonable hour last night and he needs the rest; Gerry knows if he wakes Martin, he wakes them both. Jon’s never been good at sleeping alone. 

He’s stumbling blearily around the kitchen, about to put the kettle on when he notices it. On the table is a post-it note; he doesn’t remember leaving one for Jon last night, but he’d been rather tired, so who knows? Gerry putters around, fixing his tea and nibbling at toast when he finally spares it a glance. 

It’s not for Jon. It’s for him.

Good luck at your appointment! It reads in Martin’s familiar, neat script. Accompanying it is a small doodle that has to be Jon’s; it’s not particularly good, but it clearly shows a little Gerry, makeup and all, with a plaster on his cheek and a heart over his head. It looks like Jon spent time on it. Spent time on some stupid little post it note to make Gerry smile. 

He puts it in his pocket. Takes it out a few times in the waiting room, stares at it. Everything looks fine, the doctor says at the end of the appointment. He’s so lucky.

He’s so lucky.

ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29635833

#tma #the magnus archives #tmagerryweek2021 #gerry keay #gerard keay #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #jongerrymartin #my writing

[onebatch2batch]

Karen as an art student reacting exactly how I would to seeing Frank Castle in a coffeehouse AU

--

As an art student, Karen prides herself on what she produces. She’s won scholarships, she’s sold paintings, she has an Etsy shop—she has done everything she can to establish herself as an artist. But she also hasn’t drawn anything worthwhile in months and she’s going fucking crazy. Around her, the coffee shop is an ASMR in live action; cups clink against dishes, muted conversation eclipsed by grinding beans, paper rustles. Karen sits alone and stares into her coffee mug, trying to think of the last thing she created and actually applauded herself for. 

It’s too far back for her to be pleased about. She sighs and takes a sip of her coffee. As she does, she takes a slow glance around. There’s a couple across the room who have their heads bent close together. The girl looks guilty, the boy unhappy. An older gentleman sits at the bar with the newspaper, shoulders hunched. There’s some college kid with a laptop a few seats away from her, headphones in. And in the corner—Karen pauses. In the corner is a man. 

He’s in a navy sweater—that’s what she notices first. The color goes beautifully with his tan skin, and she’s a little jealous considering she’s been pale as a ghost since August. His jeans look worn and comfortable, and his boots thick and heavy. There’s a large cup in front of him that he seems to have forgotten about. His elbows are braced on the table, thick fingers holding his paperback book aloft. The cover looks familiar, and after a moment she realizes it’s Catch-22. Karen absorbs all of these small details before allowing herself to look at his face. 

Karen likes to think she has a good, albeit unorthodox taste in men. She’s always liked a man with striking features. This one is no different—his sharp chin meets an even sharper jawline and there’s a five o clock shadow on his face that makes him look a little rugged. His nose is a bit on the larger side, and crooked like he’s broken it once or twice before. A high forehead gives way to a thick head of short, dark curls. And finally—his eyes. From this distance she can tell they’re dark but nothing more. His brow is lax as he reads, tongue darting out to wet his lips. Karen zeros in on his mouth, on his defined cupid’s bow, as her hands reach automatically towards her sketchbook. 

She needs to draw him. It would be a crime not to. 

Coffee forgotten, Karen takes her fill of examining him. Her hand begins quick, soft movements as she creates his general outline. And then, glancing between her page and the way his shoulders move as he absentmindedly stretches, she begins to sketch with more surety. The man keeps his eyes on his book, eyes flitting back as forth across the words. As she draws, Karen wonders what his name is. He looks like a John, maybe. Or a Pete. Something simple and plain to juxtapose his features. Something that he can hide behind when he wants to go unnoticed. 

He seems like the kind of guy who would prefer to be unnoticed. 

Karen finishes one sketch and makes a face. Absolutely not—she’s gotten the nose all wrong. His forehead is too low. His shoulders too slumped. 

She starts over. 

On and on it goes. She draws four sloppy versions before she realizes he’s put his book down. By the time she registers that he’s watching her, it’s too late. Her pencil falters in her grasp. Their eyes meet. 

Oh no. Mortified, Karen looks away, into her coffee mug. Maybe he just happened to glance at her when she glanced at him. Maybe it doesn’t have to be awkward. Or maybe she’s made him feel awkward and he’ll leave. The thought causes a pang to echo in her chest and she looks up to ensure that’s not the case. 

Hot man with striking features is coming towards her, mug and book in hand. 

Ohh no. 

“Hey,” the man says once she’s standing before her. His voice is raspy, almost hoarse, and undeniably sexy. It makes her spine tingle. He cocks his head slightly, glances down at the sketchbook. “What’re you doing?”

It’s too late, he’s seen the sketches. Karen can’t tell if she’s more embarrassed at their slipshod quality, or that she’s been caught. She habitually rubs the corner of the page between her fingers—a nervous gesture. 

“I’m just sketching, I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.” There, that’s a good way to put it. Casual. Apologize. Don’t stare too hard at the way his brows raise, mouth pursing to the side. 

He blinks. “Sketching me?”

She must be flushed pink now. Karen clears her throat and straightens her posture. “Yes, I won’t anymore if you don’t want me to.”

“No, no, I don’t mind,” he says quickly. “I just—what for?”

She blinks up at him, at his genuinely confused expression, and it all clicks. “Well,” she says carefully, “because you’re attractive and gave me some inspiration.”

Now it’s his turn to blink down at her, and then he laughs once. Then again softer, dropping into the chair in front of her, rubbing his jaw. “Sorry, ma’am, I mean—you think this face is attractive?”

It’s self-deprecating, but gracious. He’s comfortable with the thought that people don’t find him attractive--and that won’t do at all. Karen raises her brows, her embarrassment forgotten. “Want me to show you?”

The man takes a long pull from his mug, eyes never leaving hers, and then he nods. Karen grins, flips to a new page, and begins to draw. 

—

She gets lost in the marks of her pencil as it scratches over the thick page of her sketchbook. Her soft graphite circles give way to darker, stronger lines that slowly form into the man sitting before her. When she glances up to reference him, he’s watching her curiously. She’s pleased to note that his ears are a little pink, but he doesn’t move much. Occasionally he lifts his mug to his lips, causing her pencil to falter as she watches, and then once his face is revealed again she continues. 

This goes on long enough for her to develop a cramp, but Karen powers through until she’s finished. This could be the last time she ever sees the man before her, and she wants to get it right. She needs to prove to him that he’s wrong about himself. 

“It’s the nose, isn’t it?” He jokes when she finally stops, staring down at her page. The likeness is as close as she will ever get to him with this medium, and she wants to keep it to herself just one more moment before giving it away. 

“I like your nose,” she tells him after a beat too long, and then shoots him a look that tells him she means it. And then she turns the sketchbook to show him. 

The man rips his stare from her face and looks at the drawing in silence. After a moment he reaches out to take it from her, holding it delicately between his hands. She searches his expression for a clue of what he’s thinking, but his brow is smooth and mouth unsmiling. Finally, he hands back the drawing and folds his arms loosely on the table. 

“That’s fuckin’ incredible,” her tells her, and the air whooshes out of her lungs in relief. 

“Thank you. I’m Karen Page, by the way.”

He accepts her handshake. His palm is dry and warm. Calloused. “Frank, Frank Castle. Nice to meet you, ma’am. But I still think you’re crazy.”

He says it with such a rueful grin that she has to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. “Well, think I’m crazy all you want. That doesn’t stop me from knowing that the couple in the corner are fighting because the girl was staring at you, and it doesn’t stop me from wanting to draw you again.” 

Frank glances at the corner, where the boy is shooting him daggers. He huffs, then turns an amused look on Karen. “Well, can’t say I know what to say to that other than thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Would you like to keep it?”

Frank taps his finger on his coffee mug consideringly. His eyes trace the online of her drawing. “Only if I can buy it.”

“No way, Frank.” She likes the way his name fits in her mouth. It suits him far better than Pete. She wants to say it again, but she settles for: “I was just practicing, is all. It’s yours.”

He takes the drawing and slides it carefully between the pages of his book. Then he looks at her again and smiles. “Then how ‘bout I buy you dinner tomorrow night?”

It catches her so off guard that she’s already nodding before he’s finished talking. Once it sinks in that he’s asked her out, he’s already plucked her pencil from her hand and written his number on a napkin. He pushes it towards her and grins again. 

“No pressure. You call me, if you decide you wanna.”

Karen takes it and carefully writes his number next to her previous sketches of him. She glances up at his pleased look, and instantly knows she’d gladly spend a lifetime trying to catch that expression on paper. 

But she’s happy to start tomorrow, with dinner.

#kastle #kastle fam #mine #my writing #kastle ff #kastle fanfic

[sekceesimps]

A Rose Made of Chains Ch 2

a/n holy crap! thank you guys so much for all the nice comments and positive feedback about this story. This is the best Christmas gift ever. Hope you enjoy! Chapter 3 out tomorrow (Tuesday) night. 

Sincerely, Coffee

teaser.     Ch 1    Ch 3

teaser for part 2,    Ch 4,     Ch 5

Kurapika (aged up) x reader x Chrollo

warnings: This chapter does get very violent and angsty. If physical branding and torture triggers, you please don’t read  

Don’t scream. Don’t scream. You silently chanted to yourself after waking up from a horrible nightmare. For once you wake up before your torturer has a chance to dump water on you. There were no windows or other sorts of indication about the time. You analyzed your surroundings. For whatever reason, you felt motivated to fight this time. Your “room”, if it could even be called that, was made up of a small charred blanket on the ground to act as a bed, a rickety looking bucket, and a sturdy chair being held up by thick gray shackles. Just looking at the iron chair sent shivers up your spine, it was where most of the torturing had been taking place after all. You had tried using your nen ability when you had first gotten here, but it had proved futile, as it seemed that there was something that forced zetsu upon you. It wasn’t like your nen could do anything  to escape to begin with. You had no issue with being a manipulator. You were an incredibly talented and special user according to Kurapika himself. Your nen ability was being able to manipulate and influence the movement of light. It made you incredible with stealth and diversions to help your friends, but terrible at actually being able to fight back. Your ability was too weak combatively, it was kind of why you were even here in the first place. Mumbling, you continue looking for a way out as your mind goes back to the day you were taken. 

»»————-　　————-«« 

That day had started so beautifully. You had woken up to sweet humming from Kurapika as he lazily flipped through the pages of a book. After passing out on the ground next to his hotel bed the night before, he had graciously pulled you up next to him. His long arms hold you close to his warm body, making your face flush, an action only reserved for lovers, but he did so nonetheless with you. 

“Good morning, Y/N'' he greeted and put his book down. You’ll never forget the joyful glint in his eye, one that was becoming less and less common to see, as his face nuzzled into your neck. It was times like this when you wished that you could just tell him that you were his soulmate. Unfortunately, you couldn’t do that to him now. He was busy planning on what to do with the spiders. You had helped him with this plan, but he often made it clear that he didn’t want your mind to be burdened with the violence of his future actions. “Can you go to the store? We don’t have much food left and I’m tired of eating junk with Gon.” he mumbled against your neck. 

“5 more minutes,” you whined and cuddled closer against him. His warmth was intoxicating and the heavy smell of lemongrass that came off of him made you want to stay next to him forever. You don’t want this moment to end. You never get to see Kurapika smile and you’ve never seen him so vulnerable as he is in the mornings. You’d never admit it out loud, but you love to fall asleep on the ground next to his bed, knowing full well that he’s much too polite to leave you down there alone. 

“Get up, lazy” he answered and untangled his arms from your body. You know the two of you aren’t dating, but it sure did feel like it on mornings like this. “I can’t come with you today  because Leorio wants me to help him with something. Make sure to get breadsticks! Oh, and don’t forget to get something sweet for Killua” he snaps you out of your thoughts.  

“Alright alright. I’ve got it, do you need anything else,” you remarked as you dragged yourself out of the comfort of his bed. It creaked softly at the shift in weight. He shook his head and wished you goodbye. 

You never made it to the store that morning. After you had left the hideout, you stupidly decided that you wanted to take the scenic route to get groceries. Unfortunately, the scenic route at 8 in the morning is also a dangerous one. With no one out on the streets yet, safety in numbers dwindles down to ominous empty and open areas. Soft footsteps and the feeling of eyes burning into your back were felt as you made your way quickly through a quiet alleyway. You had thought nothing of the dangerous feeling until you were shoved onto the ground. You were a hunter, a natural born fighter too. However, you weren’t wise enough to anticipate an attack and bring a real weapon. It honestly didn’t come as much of a surprise when you had been quickly overtaken by three shadowy figures. You were quick to spring to the defense and had managed to give up a small fight until the tallest figure muffled your screams with a large cloth. Being pinned to the ground and knocked out was not what you had expected on your peaceful trip to the store. I’ve got this, you thought to yourself as your vision blurred and you slipped into the black abyss. 

»»————-　　————-«« 

Finally! You shriek in your head. You had found a small curved nail in the corner surrounded by dust. If you could just use it to break the padlock on the door you’d be out of your dingy room. Your inner clock was warning you that it was almost time for the water wakeup. An even better but more risky idea suddenly popped into your head. It’s going to be risky you think, but I’ll have to fight my way out of here if I have any chance of leaving. You clutch the nail in your sweaty hands and lay back down on your “bed”. The door handle lowers slowly, slowly. Creak, the hinges squeak, you close your eyes, pretending to be asleep. Footsteps come closer. You jolt up before the man can react. Surprise and luck on your side. With one sharp movement you stab the nail into the short man’s upper thigh and run as fast you can. You would have made it out too if a new woman hadn’t grabbed your collar and knocked you to the ground.

“Feitan, did you let this little mouse out? She looks a little lost.” you looked up at her serious face. Her lovely pink hair smoothed up into a ponytail. With wide and begging eyes you  pleading with her silently to let you go. She looked past you and glanced at your torturer instead, who was grumbling on the ground with his bleeding leg.                                

“I’ve got it from here.” he replied as he got up. “Time for something new anyways. The little mouse isn’t screaming as much as she used to.” he made his way over to you and grabbed the collar of your shirt roughly from her. You make yourself as limp as possible, trying to stall your impending doom. He was a small man, so it surprised you by how much strength he had as he dragged you back into your room and secured the heavy ropes onto your arms, securing you back  into your chair. 

This time he pulled a dark brown belt  and fastened it around your head and stuffed it into your mouth. You let out a muffled yelp in protest to this intrusion. This man had done so many unspeakable things to you. You had been burned heavily, close to drowned, had fingernails ripped out, but each time you had prided yourself on staying as strong as you had. You were unbearably tired of fighting. It had been so long since you saw the sun. You would give anything to have rays of light touch your skin again. 

“I have to admire your strength. Many don’t last as long as you have. Will you join the phantom troupe? Will you join us?” your torturer asked curiously. You shake your head in a vehement no. “That’s a shame. I hope the boss doesn’t mind that I do this.” he replies nonchalantly as he takes out his many knives. This time though he has something different. This time, he has an iron. 

You barely flinch at this point when he begins expertly cutting up your skin. There was a certain art that was in the way he opened up your delicate flesh and created such pain and terrible marks. For what seemed like hours he did this, ripping apart barely healed wounds, creating new ones, all the while he smiled and kept asking those four annoying words. You briefly considered entertaining him and saying yes. No! You refuse to do that. 

He removes the belt that acted as a makeshift gag, asking those four words again, “Will you join us”. You boldly spit your blood onto his face and smile wickedly. This seems to egg him on as he takes a lighter and begins warming up the iron. You hadn’t seen it before. It was beautifully shaped and at the very end you saw what looked like a… no. It couldn’t be. The more you looked at it, the more your stomach hurt and rage began building in your chest. At the end of the iron was an expertly crafted 12 legged spider. You hadn’t realized it but the rage had turned your eyes into the most passionate crimson. A shade that you refused to show anyone who wasn’t trusted. Your torturer smiles, “The boss always liked those eyes”,  as he quickly shoves the leg of your pants up to leave your thigh bare and open. The iron was sure to be hot now. The reality of the situation was setting in as the man tugged your gag off and said happily, “be as loud as you want”, before he shoved the iron onto the area beneath your soulmark. Pure pain, white hot pain blinded you. Your only form of agency now in this hell was to be quiet. You knew that sleep was taking you again as your vision darkened and your head nodded off as you passed out. 

»»————-　　————-«« 

Panicked breaths tore through the silent room. Your ragged gasps for air breaking the peace of the pitch dark stillness. As your eyes slowly adjust you try to calm yourself, you focus on your soulmark and the level-headed blonde that has the matching one. It started to feel like reassurance but now it’s become a mark of pain and conflict. 

“How are you feeling?” a calming baritone voice spoke through the darkness. As he steps forward you take in his menacing appearance. He was tall and had the funniest looking coat you’d ever seen. It was fur and looked expensive. His whole appearance and tone just screamed wealth and power. He was a man who was clearly sure of himself. He’d come to visit your torture sessions several times before already. Each time he would stand close to the shadows, just out of sight, but still close enough for you to catch a glimpse of his outline. He never said anything, choosing to watch you instead. His smoky gray eyes are always on you and drinking in your appearance. 

“I’d feel better if you just let me leave” you whimper softly. The ropes that a spider had secured on you when you had gotten here were digging roughly into your skin. You felt like your aura was constrained and it was hard to breathe. 

“You know I can’t do that darling,” he all but purred, the pet name setting your face on fire with blush. “all you have to do is say yes.” he continued, coming closer and closer to your face. You do your best to move away from him. “Perhaps I should introduce myself. My name is Chrollo Lucilfer. It truly is a shame that we had to meet like this.” he had his finger raised now and languidly stroked the less bloody side of your cheek. 

You whimper softly at his movement. His intense ashen eyes felt like they were piercing your soul. “All you have to do is say yes and all of the pain can go away,” he grinned down sweetly at your pitifully shaking form. 

Your tangible fear seemed to edge him on as he got closer and closer to the side of your face. “I don’t want to,” you stated in a last attempt of defiance. 

His warm breath was fanning across your bloodied cheek. “Oh, but you will.” He remarked casually before leaning down further to your flushed body. 

His lips were soft and they had meshed well against your own dry ones. This was the first sign of  comfort you had been given in your time here. You refused to kiss back at first, but he was right, you would give in. As he politely nipped your lip, asking for permission to take it further, you couldn’t help but take it as a sign. A sign to cling onto any warmth you could get. You had no idea if you would see this man named Chrollo again. A part of you screamed that you were betraying your soulmate, but the hungrier and more desperate part of you cried to let him comfort you. 

You pulled your head back. “I’m sorry. I don’t know anything about you.” you mumbled and bit your lip. Missing the warmth that the raven looking man had provided you with. 

He smiled sadly and sighed, “That is unfortunate. I’ll be back tomorrow and the day after that. We have some time to get to know each other before you join me.” He backed away from you and let a hand linger in your H/C hair. Pressing his lips lightly against your hand, he let you go and left the room. The heavy door slammed shut and the lights flickered off as he left. 

Wind, you thought to yourself. He smelled like the fresh and intense wind that came after a hurricane. He tasted like a small dash of sugar and fresh fruits mixed in the best tarts. You determined that you liked these new feelings. They weren’t foreign but they were still unfamiliar to you. You want to experience more, but that would hurt your soulmate wouldn’t it? You yearn for him with all your soul, but your body can’t help yet yearn for the raven haired man who offers you protection. The ghost of comforting warmth lingers on your lips as you start to feel uncertain about your future here in the spider’s den. 

a/n hope you enjoyed the tieback to the teaser and first appearance of Chrollo. The reader and Chrollo are going to have a very complex and intricate relationship that will be explained much more later. Next chapter will be in Kurapika’s POV and will be the last chapter until we hit another milestone. thanks everyone! 

Also very sorry about the formatting. I don’t understand spacing at all, I hope it doesn’t bother anyone too much. 

askbox is open if you want to talk or leave requests. 

#chrollo #chrollo x reader #x reader #angst #spice #kurapika #kurapika x reader #chrollo lucilfer #gon #killua #leorio #hunter x hunter #hxh #hxh x reader #feitan #machi #torture #soulmate

[honeytea8]

La Dolce Vita • Risotto Nero/fem!Reader

A/N: I had the pleasure of doing an art trade with my sweet @string-bean-requiem and here it is!!! 💗💗 (it’s written with them in mind, but y’all can enjoy it too)

Word Count: 1.9K

Summary: A fun night on the town offers the rare chance of falling for a handsome stranger...though to be fair, is he really even a stranger?

Warnings: Some kissing💀 and implied spice, nothing explicit.

Italian nightlife had never been something you had the chance to enjoy. The reason being that Passione had taken up so much of your time and each day was spent completely on work-related things. While some of your teammates, namely Formaggio and Melone made it a point to enjoy their weekends off the best they could, you did not. In fact, you seldom had the opportunity to join Napoli’s party-going masses, let alone step foot into a nightclub or bar.

So, naturally, when a wind of change had come to sweep you onto a different course, you were very much inclined to let it. Despite the inkling of trepidation growing in the pit of your stomach, you were also filled with excitement for the night that awaited you. You knew better than to squander this rare moment.

Tonight, you were out of town, miles across the Tyrrhenian sea, on the largest island south of the Italian peninsula—a place called Sicily known for its long history and traditions.

After a successfully completed mission, you choose to reward yourself, on the final night of your trip, by stepping out and enjoying whatever intrigues such a place had to offer. Who knew when you’d ever get the chance again?

A club called Bona Furtuna came highly recommended to you by a certain Sicilian native. It was a simple but newly renovated warehouse on the coast near Palermo. According to the locals, it was the place to be on a night like this.

Although a bit stuffy and filled with smoke swirling in the air like dry ice, bodies continued to fill up the dance floor, moving in tandem with the music. Girls in leotards and heels provided bottle service and cigars—all of which were somewhat of a shock to you. Initially, your carefully honed instincts kept you from enjoying yourself to the fullest, but by your third mojito, you felt yourself loosening up. Following a shot of tequila after that, you could feel the baseline thrumming against your teeth as the bright strobe lights bounced off your skin and hair.

Your hips whirled to the beat, a sheen of sweat on your neck and back. The dress you wore clung to you like second skin. It became easier for you to feed off the atmosphere; your body moved on impulse, responding to the silent cues that played off the swarm of people around you. It was spellbinding. However, the alcohol in your system did little to negate some of your more ingrained senses. The feeling of eyes trained on your back was something like an alarm in your conscience, but you were not in danger, far from it actually.

You kept dancing, swinging along with the beat, bating your silent observer. If he wanted to spectate, he could do just that. But it would be even more fun if he just cut loose and joined you on the dance floor.

In due time, the music shifted to something with a slower tempo; it was then that you felt a warm hand on your waist.

Body to body, you moved against him with practiced ease, rolling against his hips in a way that was titillating, slow, and steady as a river. He guided your movements in time with his own, like he knew your body better than you did. In a way, it didn’t surprise you. You could tell he was getting into it. Feeling impish, you skirted away from him with a spin, tossing a wink over your shoulder and strutting your way to the bar for a little reprieve.

“Water, please.” You called out to the bartender. “Light on the ice.”

Not a moment later, a glass of water was placed in front of you, but before you could reach for it, you caught sight of a mop of violet hair in your peripheral.

Your dance partner had joined you at the bar and with him came the familiar scent of Boucheron cologne and the perfect blend of citrus and spice. Finally able to see him in better light, you considered some of his most notable features. His beautiful aquiline nose; his red irises ringed in black sclera, which was unusual by nature. But held an equally intense and honest quality that made you smile a little. He was lovely to look at, dressed sharply in a crisp button up shirt with a few of them unfastened that gave a nice little peek at his chest.

He leaned against the bar, managing to tower over you still, though you remained undaunted. “Can I buy you a drink?” He asked.

“I’m okay with this.” was your simple but quick-witted reply, all the while, you eyed him sharply over the rim of your glass.

He looked amused, maybe even a little surprised by your quick denial, but not at all discouraged. That was a good sign, maybe he’d prove to be interesting company tonight. You couldn’t deny that he was attractive; the kind of sexy one didn’t have to try for. You decided introductions were in order so you offered him your name and hand, smiling when he took it and kissed it.

“My name is Risotto.” He said with a dimpled half-smile.

“A pleasure to meet you, Risotto.” And although he left you to do most of the talking, your conversation continued without a hitch. Eventually, when you asked what he was doing back in his hometown, Risotto revealed he was just here for business.

“What kind of business?”

He smirked. “Not the kind of thing I can share so easily with you.”

After that admission, you finally allowed him to buy you another drink before you both made your way back to the dance floor. You weren’t as coherent as you were prior. Inhibitions fell to the wayside and you swayed on your feet a bit, but thankfully Risotto held you firm, like an anchor in the sea of alcohol in your system.

You moved like an uncoiled rope, eyes alight with mischief, and a smile on your orange painted lips.

“Come now, Risotto.” You called over the music. “I’m sure you can dance better than that!”

“You’re really gonna keep up this act, cara?” He asked.

You looped an arm around his neck, and guided his hand onto your waist like before. In a golden moment of genuine amusement, Risotto laughed, showing off a row of perfect teeth.

“Yes, I am, even if you keep breaking character!” You carded your fingers through the hair at his nape, smiling as you leaned forward to peck his lips. “Now remember, we have never met!”

Risotto nodded, still smirking. You should’ve known he had something up his sleeve. He took one of your hands and twirled you around, then dipped you low enough that your cleavage was on display for half a second at most before he lifted you and pulled you close to his chest. It was minutes later that you noticed he was doing the tarantella, or a modernized version of this dance. It seemed the warm atmosphere brought out of the Sicilian boy that lived deep within the ever-stoic Risotto.

You and he danced all night until your feet were tender and he was left to carry your heels in one hand while holding you close with the other. His brawny arm was slung over your shoulder, and yours was looped around his waist for support.

“I love you,” you murmured into his armpit; it’s where you had managed to shove your head as he half-carried you back to your shared motel. When he didn’t immediately respond you chanced a peek at him. “Did you hear what I said?” You pouted a little, but all Risotto did was blink at you.

It was around two in the morning and the streets were empty save for the occasional civilian. Risotto pressed your back against the brick wall of a neighboring building. He guided one of your long legs around his waist just as you snaked both arms around his neck. The rough pad of his thumb brushed against your lips, the only warning you received before his mouth was on yours and kissing you deeply. The world and everything with it fell away in that single moment. One of your hands slipped down to fist his shirt. It was odd to feel him wearing one, especially with you being so accustomed to feeling his bare skin.

When he finally released you, Risotto murmured a quiet, “I love you too, always,” against the seam of your mouth before finally scooping you up and carrying you all the way home—where he could truly show you his love privately.

By morning, you were greeted with the heavy weight of an arm slung around your waist and warm breaths ghosting your neck. The sky was still blue, almost black but sounds of birds chirping was enough to confirm that it was indeed early. Groaning, you shifted in bed, feeling the muggy heat in the room and only the stifled breeze filtering in through an open window. Sicily was incredibly hot in the mornings; it was enough to make you sweat even as you slept.

Next to you Risotto’s eyes slowly fluttered open, and he was given a full view of your naked back. He pressed a feather light kiss to your bare shoulder before sitting up from the bed. It never took him long to fully wake up. When it came to vigor and strength, he was seemingly unmatched.

“We should head back in about an hour.” Risotto said, voice slightly hoarse, as he picked up his phone from where it was still charging near his suitcase. “We have a text from Prosciutto and several missed calls from Ghiaccio.” He raked a hand through his dyed hair as he spoke. You couldn’t help but notice that the purple color suited him nicely.

“Hm, that’s fine by me.” You yawned, dragging the sheets over your body, and tucking the excess under your arms.

Whatever meager strength you had was only enough to keep you barely coherent. You were tired from all the drinking and dancing, though you had fun, the morning after was one thing you could do without.

“Did you enjoy yourself last night?” You watched as your boyfriend scrolled through his phone, likely giving the squad a status update.

Risotto looked up from the device, lips parted and eyes wide like a scandalized old man.

“I meant the clubbing,” you corrected. “Did you enjoy our little game?”

He finally shrugged and gave a noncommittal hum; Capo Risotto was back in full effect, it seemed. You gazed at his bare chest, silently admiring the way his muscles flexed underneath his skin. You nearly missed his belated response.

“You were...a bit difficult in the beginning.”

“Oh? I didn’t notice.” You laughed.

Risotto watched as you milled about the hotel room, tossing random articles of clothes into your suitcase. You’d found a clean pair of panties and slipped them on quickly, while discarding the bedsheets in favor of an old t-shirt. When you came over to where he was standing, you held his leather coat in hand.

“I believe this belongs to you.”

He snorted lightly, before leaning in and capturing your lips in a soft kiss as thanks. Together you both dressed, forgoing breakfast so you wouldn't miss your ferry trip back to Naples.

As you gripped Risotto’s hand upon reentering the base, you leaned into him and bumped him tenderly with your hip. You toed off your shoes, suddenly greeted by the telltale sound of several arguing voices. And it was coming straight from the main room. You looked to Risotto with a heavy sigh.

“Will we ever get another night off?”

Risotto glanced down at you, understanding your pain. “We’ll try, tesoro.”

#risotto nero #risotto nero x reader #jjba x reader #jojo x reader #jojo #jojo’s bizarre adventure #la squadra esecuzioni #la squadra #shay.writes

[nitannichionne]

If He Was YOUR Fan Chapter 6: The Set Up (Henry Cavill x Reader Fan Fic)

“Tell me something.” Henry says softly as you put a small platter of appetizers next to him. He licks his lips and the simple gesture makes you press your thighs together for reasons you don’t want to think about.

You turn toward Henry as you sit in a seat next to him to watch TV. “Hmmm?”

“Why are you so…far away?” he asks. “We’ve sat on the floor, rode a motorcycle,” he sighs. “I don’t bite…well, not exactly. Why so shy tonight?”

You smile shyly. After touring the Poet’s Corner at Westminster Abbey and riding high with him over London lip locked with your leg wrapped around him, you are feeling a little exposed, a little vulnerable. He is seeing more from you than anyone has in some time. You let your feelings really show, and though it feels good every time with him, there is such a thing as spinning out of control and falling, things happening too fast and getting hurt. You don’t want that, no matter how much your body needs it, no matter how drawn you are to him. Your heart has been broken too many times.

He calls your name softly, and though there is a tender demand in his voice, there is also a plea in in his eyes, looking bluer than usual because of what he chose to wear. Once again, you respond to him, the plea and demand to come closer.

You straddle him and you feel him between your legs. You suppress a small cry of need and settle there but exhale heavily. You know you’re playing a dangerous game, but like a kitten who knows no better, curiosity gets the best of you. You take an appetizer and feed it to him, hoping to distract him by his hunger, but his eyes convey one of a different sort even as he devours it and chews slowly, not losing eye contact with you. He swallows and licks his lips, feeding you one, and then pours wine into a glass. He sips and offers you a drink after you swallow your food. As soon as you swallow the wine, he frames your face with his hands and brings you down for a kiss, lapping the insides of your mouth with deep and slow thrusts that make you moan softly. You suck his tongue as he turns his head to keep drinking from you, and you nibble his lips, lightly biting the lower one.

His eyes open slightly and he rakes your back. The sensation is delicious and you arch to him. The cross over top proves no barrier to him and he nuzzles your chest, planting wet kisses in the valley between your breasts before pushing your top open. Again, the next layer of fabric is nothing; he kisses your neck and pulls down the straps and the top just enough to bare your breasts, and rakes your back again.

“Henry!” you moan, your body helplessly grinding on his as his hands run over your backside and his fingers expertly find your slit through your skort and panties. His fingers need only push aside the fabric and he would have you. He strokes as his mouth captures one of your breasts in his mouth, swirling his tongue around the tip before gently taking into his mouth for a wet kiss that he repeats over and over.

You move in time with his hand shamelessly, aching with need as your head falls back so you can breathe. You pant and hear your own high pitched moans as he finally slips a finger into your panties and rubs your slit, still not entering you. You gasp, wishing he would come inside. This is too far, but you don’t know how to stop now.

“Shhh it’s alright, breathe, darling,” he whispers into you the hollow of your neck as he starts a rhythm.

You whimper, both your movements becoming more urgent as he grasps your hips and you grind together. You hold his shoulders as you shudder, your body pulsing with need as you fall forward and try to catch your breath. He is hard between your legs. You are both in need, yet somewhat fulfilled. You rake his hair, your head bowed next to his as you try to compose yourself.

“I want you to know I know,” he pants softly in your ear, his voice a growl. “I could have had you tonight. I could have taken you to my bed and that would be that. But the more I know you, the more I want your complete surrender, not a seduction.”

“Henry—”

He pulls you back slightly, and looks into your eyes as he whispers your name. “I believe good things come to those who wait, darling. That’s why I am a patient man, and I think you are a good thing.”

You hear your name called, jolting you from your memory.

“I don’t know what to do!” Stella says worriedly wringing her hands. “I got a job in catering, but I don’t have a place to stay yet! Everyone is in twos, and I don’t know what to do!”

“Maybe we can have her stay with us,” I suggest. “Maybe we can fit a third in with us.”

Hannah nods readily. “We’re at our rental now. Let’s see what we can do.”

The rental is set up like a dorm on one floor with two beds in each room and the other floor had single bedrooms that were so small one could barely turn around in it. You talk to the senior assistant, Michaela, and she basically says it’s up to us, but we may regret it.

You step outside to get air and look at the house and frown. Does that look like an attic or a…?

You race inside to Michaela. “Is the space over the garage taken?”

“Space? What space?”

You walk her outside and point. “That one.”

Michaela makes a call to the renter and finds out it is not furnished, but the bathroom and kitchen are equipped to work and the carpeting is down.

“If I furnish and decorate, may I have it?”

Michaela thinks you are crazy because that is way more than what you have agreed to pay, but gets an okay from everyone. Stella gives you her payment, and she takes your space. On a mission you set off to find what you need in a nearby town.

A guy named Archer and his brother Stuart from scenery decide to help you and Stella get the things you need, even set up the bed and couch for you. You only have two days before everyone had to be on set for work. Hannah opts out to help, but its understandable.

“You can tell me,” Stella whispers as she helps you hang the curtain to separate your bedroom area from your living room-kitchen. “You do know Henry Cavill, don’t you?”

You laugh, and say, “I went to a panel about his latest movie. I wish I knew the guy better!” That was no lie. You feel yourself giving in to him and you don’t know what to do. There was so much to consider since your last date one thing being if you know him well enough to really trust him.

“Well, if you did, this is going to be one interesting movie shoot.”

You frown. “Why do you say that?”

“Henry’s ex, Gracie Gray, is playing a role in this production,” Stella lets out a low whistle. “They were pretty hot and heavy at one time, so I guess it doesn’t matter.”

Your heart drops. Henry himself said he prefers women in the business; in fact, he seemed to have a habit of picking women based on that and proximity. The idea of being his flavor of the film tastes like bile to you and makes your stomach twist. You busy yourself with unpacking your things.

Stella turns you around. “Okay, what’s going on?”

“Nothing.” You say, but you feel a lump in your throat.

You finally finish the small living space aka hook up the wifi and TV. Happy with  the setup you log into Netflix. “Yes!”

“How much money you got left?” Stella asks as you both recline on the couch.

“Not much,” you sigh. “I’m gonna need this money to stay afloat.”

“It—” Stella looks around. “You did a great job—”

“We did a great job—”

“You measured the space, imagine possibilities and set it up in your mind,” Stella shook her head. “I can’t do that.”

“Yes you do it with food,” you argue softly. “Hannah does it with art.” Among other things, you amend silently. “I did it when I worked as an executive assistant in human resources for a company.” You chuckle at the memory. “Moving offices is a nasty business.”

“But I’d say this is the best space now,” Stella smiles. “And you have a private entrance! Maybe you can invite Archer up here sometime.”

Your eyes widen and you slap Stella playfully. “Archer? Come on, Stella—”

“He likes you,” Stella gives you a sideways shake. “It was so obvious.” She is quiet for a moment. “Unless you’re still thinking about the guy on the motorcycle-the look-alike?”

“He is a bit hard to forget,” you sigh, feeling bad for lying to Stella and promising yourself someday you’d come clean. “And time tells everything right?”

Stella crosses her legs on the table and closes her eyes to relax. “True enough. Let’s chill for a minute and then finish unpacking the kitchen, okay?”

You stare straight ahead. “Sounds like a plan.”

Things just got really simple or really complicated.

______________

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[jtrbluv]

shutterbug | jjk

pairing: jungkook x reader

genre: fluff, angst

word count: 4.1k

warnings: swearing, unbearable but relatable tiger parents

request: Jungkook,, one shot,, 38 + 40 please 😊😊 @asiivnc 

“you leave whenever you feel like it.” & “don’t apologize if you don’t mean it.”

A/N: sheesh, i have not posted in a hot minute! i’ve been trying to work on this single request throughout quarantine and it really only came down to these last few days where i literally had a spike of inspo and drive and well,, ideas LOL. i considered an alternate angstier ending but i am a self-indulgent mofo who doesn’t like to make myself cry even though i’m sure i cried while writing this at least once (maybe twice). there is so much jk content on my blog i wanna set aside more time to write for other members from now on until i’m satisfied! regardless, thank you @asiivnc for requesting this and sorry for the wait luv, hopefully this can make up for it !!

Jungkook was known to be heavily passionate and fully invested in whatever his life had revolved around at that moment. As a film/photography major, as well as a man that just had a strange knack for being naturally adept at whatever was thrown at him, he incessantly poured his utmost efforts into his works. You weren’t any different, as you held just as much significance in his life as the way his serotonin levels would skyrocket as soon as his fingertips touched his precious camera.

Not to be self-absorbed, but you always thought of yourself as his muse. Or befittingly for his sake, the subject of the photo that you would give the title ‘his lover’.

You were so indisputably sure that you loved the boy and even moreso that he felt the same. While being so accustomed to his own nurturing ways and devotion to you and the reciprocated energy on your part, the bone-crushing weight of college hindered all and didn’t give a single fuck about anyone or anything.

Carrying the begrudging burden of having to succeed because he didn’t take the traditional lawyer/doctor career route, was always at the forefront of his mind. Likewise, for fuck’s sake, he nearly got disowned by his own parents and it took him what seemed to be a lifetime’s worth of energy to convince him to just give him a chance. Jungkook was not planning on taking that chance for granted.

Jungkook, being the person he is, was excelling, and his name was beginning to become known in the community of photographers and videographers, and he was finally starting to feel at ease. His parents were even acknowledging his successes to the extent that they were helping him financially with school, which was a huge burden off of his shoulders. And then you suddenly crash-landed into his life and just made his life even more fulfilling and by all means, worth living in.  

He knew it was a bad idea. Distancing himself from you was the last thing he wanted to do. All his parents were concerned about was the fact that you were the only thing hindering him from making it “big”, when turns out, you became the sole inspiration and muse for most of his recent works. So they gave him an ultimatum to either be cut off financially or break up with you. He didn’t understand, because his parents liked you so much and they loved the influence you had on his work. He didn’t understand. He hated it—the fact that he was basically hanging by puppet strings and didn’t have a say in what he did considering the age he was in now.

He also hated the fact that he knew they had good intentions, and were only doing this because they wanted him to be successful. Their idea of true success for his career could only be seen as the financial benefits of being a director or producer rather than being able to just pursue and learn more about the art form that he loves. There was no use of trying to persuade them, so likewise, he did not. But why get her involved into this mess too?

Jungkook tended to stray away from confrontation and hated immediate and unexpected change as much as he acted like it didn’t phase him. He figured the sooner he can gain benefit from his passion, the less dreadful this dilemma would be. Less mess. Less stress. More time to be with you. That was the intended plan.

His next course of action was to score a film internship and potential job at the rather famous, Fox Studios. By doing so, would have to win the statewide film contest— a much larger scale than he had ever involved himself in. The mere thought of him having to showcase his own self-produced work to critically acclaimed film critics made the bile in his system threaten to upchuck onto the lemon-pledge scented floors of his dorm room. Then he remembered and was reminded— by the help of you of course, that he was Jeon Jungkook, and everyone knows that Jeon Jungkook does not like to lose.

-

He presumed that keeping up his grades would give him more credibility to getting the internship as well, so he put more focus onto his schoolwork. The remainder of his time was dedicated to exploring his potential ideas and storyboarding out his options and what would be most effective and most consequently— worthy of winning first place.

During this very strenuous time for the poor man, you would most likely see him trudging down the halls, hair in a complete disarray or simply hidden by the fabric of his hood, his eyelids threatening to close shut almost as if it’s taking all his willpower to keep them open, chugging down another red bull with one hand while he grips the strap of his backpack with practically no energy.

I mean you thought it was kinda cute at first, but his apparent deteriorating state mostly caused you to be more concerned than anything else.

In hopes to not hinder his creative flow but still keep his health at par, you would stop by every so often to give him food and give him reassurance—he never needed it so much until now.

Jungkook never told you about the irrational ultimatum his parents had given him. He came to the conclusion that it’d be unnecessary as long as he was able to carry out his plans. Nonetheless, the pressure of the whole situation was getting to him. The love of his life, passion for working with a camera, his parents’ disapproval, and just the own personal dream to be able to tell everyone that “Fuck you, I told you I could do it, and I did,” enveloped his whole mind these days.

Time had proved to not work in Jungkook’s favor. Two weeks passed in a mere blink of an eye leaving him with only two more weeks to finish his film in time for the film contest. This time around, he decided to choose a topic that resonated more with his own personal life. The film revolves around the struggle to be able to conform to the standards and expectations that society implements onto young people, whether it’d be from mainstream media or direct connections, like family. Typically, he stuck a title onto his projects after fully completing it, but for some reason, this time, it had worked in reverse. The title itself suddenly popped into his mind one day and from there he was able to garner ideas from it. And so the title was ‘Moulded’.

A very risky step on Jungkook’s part was what you initially thought when he first told you the idea. He knew that too, which is why he did it. You knew him long enough to be aware of the influence his parents had on his life and their outdated beliefs. You also knew the potential the boy’s zeal could take him, and because of that, all traces of worry left you shortly afterward.

-

Two days. The film contest was in two days. Jungkook was just about finished at this point, constantly playing back frames and adding final touches, rewatching the same parts over and over again until he became satisfied. He leaned back in his chair and let out a heavy sigh, eyes finally averting from the screen of his desktop to the clock on his bedside table.

“Only 9:15?” he muses, realizing these past four weeks had completely fucked over his sense of time, “At least I’m down, color correcting can be such a bit—”

A small jolt reverberates through his desk, interrupting his verbally spoken train of thought. His eyes beeline back to his phone, the contact picture of his mom flashing on his screen. Why would she be calling me at this time?

His brows knit together as he picks up his phone and swipes his thumb across the screen in uncertainty.

“Um, hi mom?” he greets, with the obvious tone of confusion in his voice.

He can practically hear her scoff over the line, “Jungkook-ah, how’s the film coming along?”

“It’s almost done-”

“Are you still with that girl?” she forcibly asks out of nowhere, leaving him dumbfounded to the point his mouth was hanging open in return.

A few seconds pass by as he processes what’s going on. He tightens his grip on the phone at the mention of you as he confesses through gritted teeth, “Yes mom.”

“We had a deal didn’t we?”

He retorted without waver in his voice, “Mom, I’m not a kid anymore.”

“Then give it back. The tuition money,” she affirms without hesitation, “Jungkook, me and your father have done our part. It’s about time you do yours.”

“I’ve done practically everything you’ve asked. I’m doing just fine,” he monotonously states, trying so hard not to implode on his own mother at this point, “Y/N has nothing to do with this.”

There was a short pause, leaving Jungkook in the same state of dejection per usual when he had to talk to his parents, “We just want you to be successful,” her voice softens, using the same line that somehow magically guilt-trips Jungkook every time the words travel to his ears.

He shakes his head in disbelief over hearing the stupid line that seemed to control every aspect of his life, “You say that every time.”

“And we mean it every time,” she interjects, a sigh audibly present over the line, “this discussion is over.”

She ends the call as Jungkook lets out a raspy and guttural groan, slamming his phone onto his desk in frustration with such strength it’d be surprising if the cheap glass screen protector he’s had on it didn’t suffer any damage.

“Kook,” a voice utters softly from the other side of his door, “is everything okay?”

He flinches at the sound of your voice, considering you were just the subject of the conversation he just had with his mom that left him fuming with rage more than anything.

“Can you please leave Y/N, this isn’t a good time,” he objected, adjusting himself in his seat so he’d face away from the door. Even though you couldn’t see him you could still hear the small indication of irritation in his response.

It was more than apparent something was wrong with him, with only two days left until the film contest, you knew he couldn’t manage to keep his guard down, regardless of the stress and turmoil he’d been putting himself through for the past 4 weeks, “Just because you leave whenever you feel like it…” you enunciate, raising your voice loud enough for him to hear your intentions, “doesn’t mean I will.” Both of you knew the last 4 weeks had taken a toll on the relationship, it was only then that he realized how much he’d been putting it off.

The door began to emit tiny clicking noises as he slowly turned the doorknob. He slowly widens the area as he meekly steps to the side, letting you come in as you make your way toward his bed and plop down onto his sheets.

The tension had never been this thick between the two of you, to the extent where it felt absolutely suffocating and unbearable. You had never seen him in such a state of dejection as he simply sat there, hands fiddling with the hem of his shirt as he nibbled on his lower lip, eyes diverting away from yours at all costs. The knit between his brows that would usually derive from confusion or frustration, seemed entirely different this time around. It was as if his mind was full of nothing but everything all at the same time.

You heave out a deep sigh as you finally break the ice, “Jungkook,” you begin, looking up to see him looking back at you to your surprise, “you know I didn’t mean it like that. I’m sorry for making it seem that way.”

“Don’t apologize if you don’t mean it,” he mutters only to see the flash of hurt in your eyes that makes him divert his gaze back to the floor, “I know I’ve been acting so selfish lately. I’d understand if you felt that way.”

“I hate seeing you like this you know,” you confess quietly, “I know there’s something up.”

His eyes meet yours once again, mouth slightly parted as if he was about to say something, but the silences ensues and he closes the gap once again, resorting back to nibbling the skin off of his bottom lip until it starts to bleed. Your eyes soften as you observe the boy once more. The span of your relationship had naturally led to the two of you being able to open up to one another so easily. You were both able to tell when the other was feeling a certain way and why. It just came with time and getting to know the other person more throughout the relationship. And alongside that was the ability to know when the other was purposely keeping something under wraps—this was one of those times.

“Jungkook”, you whisper just loud enough to catch his attention, which works as he gazes back up at you with all doe-eyed glory, the knit between his brows gone surprisingly out of sight for the first time since you came over. You glance at his bed—emphasizing the void of space next to you on his bed by patting the fabric and peering at the cryptic man, hoping he would get the sign to sit next to you.

Fortunately, he does. He places his hands on the armrests as he timidly pushes himself up from his chair. The chair produces an obnoxiously loud squeaking noise almost emulating the sound of your dog’s dog shaped squeaky toy (counterintuitive I know, but it was a gift from Jungkook himself, the prick). The sound causes you to involuntarily snort as you look away in hopes to hide the smile creeping onto your lips. Too bad you missed the smug grin on his face at your lackluster attempt.

He carefully approaches you as he warily lowers himself onto his bed, making sure he doesn’t make the same mistake twice. He shifts his body to turn towards you, propping his hands at his side. His eyes avoid yours once more, sparing glances at every inch of his own room as if he wasn’t already familiar with the enclosed space.

You pause and calculate your next move, eyes studying the boy’s body language. You outstretch your arm, gently grasping his wrist as you slide your fingers through his calloused palms and twine your fingers with his own, allowing your hands to rest on your knee. His eyes glaze over your connected hands, trailing back to finally meeting your own once again—they had this all too unfamiliar gloss to them, not the usual star-like specks you had been accustomed to looking at. As a few seconds had passed, you spotted the pool of tears starting to brim in the corner of his eyes. Taken aback, you retract your focus to his whole face and how his bottom lip started to tremble, hopeless. Hopelessness was what he was denoting, an emotion you had rarely if never seen coming from the man sitting in front of you.

Before you could formulate any words of comfort, he speaks up, voice brittle and wobbly, “Am I just a failure Y/N?”

“Wha— what? No, how could you ask that? Of course I don’t think you are,” you assert, unknowingly tightening the grip on his hand.

“It’s just,” he drawls out, pausing to think of a coherent way to voice his concerns, “maybe it just would’ve been easier if I complied with my parents in the first place y’know. I’ve been spending all my time and energy fighting it, maybe I’ve just been putting my energy into the wrong-”

“I don’t believe that,” you calmly interject, “I believe that whenever you put your energy into something, you have a reason behind it. You thought about it for a while, it obviously wasn’t something that just sprouted overnight,” you countered, staring off as your eyes land on his workspace, the flashing screen of his computer that reveal his last minute editing as well as the camera you seldom see the man without, “Working with a camera, creating art,” you say while clasping your free hand over the one that you were already holding, rubbing miscellaneous shapes into the back of his hand, “that is what you love to do.”

“I love a lot of things Y/N,” he simply states.

“Hm?” you let out under your breath as you notice the single tear that falls onto his cheek, contradictory to the straightforward tone of his voice you had just heard seconds before. Your body stiffened at the sight of the fallen drop.

“Did you hear me on the phone before you came?” he questions, swiping away the tears that threatened to fall with his free hand.

You take a moment to recollect the moments that preceded until knocking on his door, “No, I just heard a loud bang. It sounded like you broke something.”

“Oh, that was my phone,” he shyly admits while scratching the back of his ear, “there is something I need to tell you.”

You perk up at his sudden willingness to tell you what was wrong. Your body language conveys the signal for him to continue, and he does.

“I got a call from my mom before you came,” he starts, “she was checking up on me, knowing the deadline is coming soon and what not.”

You nod slowly in understanding, “I see, what did she say?”

“You have the right to know,” he mutters under his breath while diverting his gaze back to your interlocked hands. He intentionally grazes your other hand before taking it into his own before flashing you a small grin of reassurance, “The farther I’m advancing, my parents just constantly feel the need to strip me of everything else. You probably knew that already. You also know that I tend to just rebel and find a loophole out of things most of the time. I don’t know, lately, it just seems like they solely care about success and money these days more than my own happiness and wellbeing, and it’s been like that for so long. Anyways, I’ve been prolonging and putting it aside for awhile now, but they threatened to cut me off financially if I didn’t break up with you Y/N.”

A single tear slides down your cheek. You’re at a loss for words and coherent thought. The only thing you muster to say is whatever decidedly popped up into your head first, “W-why haven’t you then?”

The brimming tears began to fall more frequently for you as well as from the eyes of the man in front of you. He releases both of his hands and slides his calloused palms up to your forearms pulling you closer in proximity, “I said it before, I love a lot of things Y/N,” he gingerly reiterates as he swipes away the tears from your eyes with the pad of his thumb before trailing his fingers to your fallen strands of hair, tucking them behind your ear.

“I love my parents, I love working with a camera, but I undoubtedly also am in love with you,” he tenderly professes while sliding down his hand to the crook of your neck, “I know my parents never meant harm, but they have to realize I don’t either. I owe it to myself and I realize that I am capable of obtaining and having everything I want in life,” he wholeheartedly declares despite the tears that continue to run down his face, “ And it wouldn’t be everything I want if you weren’t here with me.”

He renders you speechless, tears streaming freely as he continues to wipe them away. He was much more composed now, wiping away his own remaining tears with the back of his wrist. You, on the other hand, were practically sobbing into his palm, tears spilling all over his forearm.

“There’s a reason why I chose that particular subject for the film, “ he describes, hands sliding down to intertwine with yours once again, “It serves as a testament to my parents, to my peers, to you, but also to myself,” he beams, releasing the hold on your hands as he stands up from his bed, extending a hand out to you.

You unhurriedly grab his hand, as he tugs you to stand up from his bed, leading you to sit in his own seat. He swivels the chair for it to face his computer, stepping aside so you could sit down.

“I wasn’t planning on giving any sneak peeks, but it just seems right to show you this now,” he explains, clicking through the frames until he arrives at his destination and clicks play.

It starts off with the emulation of a glitching tv screen, the audio sounds as if someone was inserting a tape into a DVR. The ‘no signal’ screen fades into the familiar setting of the beach in his hometown. Hues of blue fading into muted shades of oranges and yellows flash across the screen, accompanied by the soft crashing of the waves washing ashore on the fine sand. The camera quickly shifts his focus to what seems to appear as Jungkook being fully enveloped and underneath the sand, his head being the only thing that isn’t submerged. Flashing his signature grin, his arm emerges from the sand as he gives a thumbs-up to the camera, making the person behind it erupt into a fit of giggles. That person was you.

The scene transitions into the city streets of the suburb that was close to the college. You were walking down the sidewalk, enamored by the bustle of the people who lived there as well as the twinkling lights that were draped from building to building. Clips ranging from his family, his friends, him working, and more are compiled and presented as he talks over it. His voice begins to say, “As individuals living in a society where opportunities seem to just be knocking left and right, we all have dreams and desires. Whether they are attainable or not, that’s what makes them all the more worthwhile and exhilarating to find out for ourselves. Society, whether we like it or not, is filled with certain conjectures that they believe can assure us of these dreams and desires, what they’ve made us believe as the path to success. They mould us from the beginning. As kids, we are told to behave well, listen to our elders, go to school, get good grades, and get into a good college. As adults, we deem success as having a stable job that pays the bills, buying a house and settling down, finding the love of your life, having kids, and working tirelessly until we become worn out and old. We have these presumptions about what’s better and what’s not, what is easier and what isn’t. Regardless of how much we get told that we can achieve anything we want to in life, we grow older and life unexpectedly throws more curveballs at you to make you think that it’s not actually the case. Well, as cliche as it may sound, I’m here to tell you that it’s just not true. Do what you want. Do what you love. Be with the ones you love. Cherish these moments. Film them as keepsakes to look back on. So… what’s your story? What are your dreams and desires? What sparks pure joy within you and keeps you on your feet? Break those moulds that have been holding you down. Reach for the moon and the stars. And maybe someday with the right amount of determination, and a little bit of luck, you can get there.”

The video ends right then and there, and you had no doubt in your mind that this was his best work to date albeit only seeing a snippet of it. A smile graces your lips as you turn your head to look at the creator of it all. He looks back at you with the familiar star-like specks in his eyes, making you feel rest assured that within all the chaos, you would both get through it all.

-

-

MASTERLIST

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Your Lipstick Stain is a Work of Art [Nicky Valentino x MC]

Nicky Valentino x Fem!Reader

Literally no one requested this, but I just had to do it. I am in love with this man. Also If you like this you should go follow my friend @hurtbycanonthoughts​! She takes requests and posts writing for Obey Me, Mystic Messenger, Cinderella Phenomenon, Two Against the World, Love Island the Game, and more! I love her lots, so go show her some love too :D Here’s her masterlist

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Summary: You get a little more familiar with makeup in the 20s, and Nicky finds himself really liking the look of you in red lipstick. Bonus: Lipstick marks on his cheek are his no.1 soft spot.  Word Count: 2.2k  Warnings: a tiny bit suggestive but not really like at all. 

You’ve been in 1920’s New York for almost two months now and were still trying to acclimate to the fashion of the era. Certain styles you’ve had a harder time working yourself up to wear (like tights every day, why every day?), and others you just haven’t gotten around to trying out. But all in all, you were pretty pleased with your new 20th century wardrobe. The skirts and dresses you wore were extremely durable and actually surprisingly flattering. The iconic boxy cut that you heard so much about in your high school history classes proved to be beautiful on all body types, something you appreciated greatly.

One afternoon, while Nicky was dealing with some business that he didn’t want you there for, you were free to meander around the city – Even do a little shopping, thanks to the way your coin purse was spoiled by your boyfriend. 

As you passed by a fancy boutique during your afternoon adventure, you were immediately drawn in. Stopping to stare, you gazed at the fresh paint that adorned the windows, advertising the makeup they sold inside. While also taking notice of the boutique’s patrons flowing in and out. All the women that entered looked as though they ate gold for breakfast and had hundred-dollar bills for lunch. They oozed an aura of wealth and you began doubting your place in their store. You could afford anything you wanted in there and more, sure, but the sheer confidence that radiated from them was a little intimidating. You feared they’d smell your inferiority from a mile away. 

It took a quick mental pep talk – and a lap or two around the block – to convince yourself to enter the store. Gipping onto your purse just a little tighter, you braved the crowd of posh women gliding through the entrance and slipped in as well.

“Hello!” A young girl at a counter with makeup fixtures littering it greeted, “How may I help you today?”

“I’m just looking around, actually.” You stated, glancing back around the interior, “I’ve never been in this store before.”

“Well, might I just suggest you take a look at our makeup collection. It’s what we’re most well-known for anyways.” The shop girl’s smile was dazzling, though probably painful considering how wide it was and how long she was holding it.

You took a step next to the counter and watched as the girl pointed out some products. Everything seemed pretty standard, except for the block of charcoal that doubled as mascara, and nothing was really catching your eye until-

“What do you think of this for me?” You picked up a golden tube of red lipstick with roses engraved into the casing.

“The Ruby Red?” She glanced at the color and back to you, scanning her eyes over your face. “I’d go for something a little deeper, personally. The bright colors are nice and all, but all the women in movies are wearing darker colors. I think you’d pull that off, you look like you’re straight outta’ve a film.”

You chuckled at her statement. She wasn’t wrong, technically. “I’ll take the color you suggest, then.”

She grinned at you before pulling out a tube nearly identical to the first from behind the counter, “This shade is called ‘Forever Red’ by Besame cosmetics, D’you wanna try it on before you go?”

“I’ll take a preview,” You agreed and puckered your lips for the girl to apply it. She slid the lipstick carefully over your lips, the creamy texture felt similar to a chapstick you used to wear, and it made you oddly nostalgic.

“Wow, it looks even better than I thought it would!” She clapped her hands together once she finished, “You look better than Bebe Daniels did in this shade!”

“You think so?” You asked, astonished. Turning to look in the little mirror sitting to the left of you, okay yea. You looked good. “Y’know what, I think I’ll take it.”

Giddily, you grabbed your tiny giftbag with your lipstick and went back to your hotel room for the night. Nicky had promised he would be there to take you out for dinner, and you wanted to surprise him with a bit of red added to your look.

<><><> 

You had just finished slipping on your silk – or was it satin, you couldn’t be sure – dress over your tights and undergarments; hair and makeup already done. You took a moment to fumble with the zipper on your gown but weren’t able to zip it up completely. After struggling for a good few minutes after your initial attempt, you blew out a frustrated puff of air and looked at your reflection in the vanity you were sat in front of.

All-in-all, you looked good. You took extra care of your hair tonight. It was gelled to perfection, not a single frizz out of place. And your makeup – it took you nearly double the time it used to, but the time commitment was worth it. The dark red lip that you just bought contrasted with the silver and black on your eyelids and stood out against your gown. Said gown was a silky (or satin-y) pearl color that had a wrapped bodice. Fairly simple. Extremely elegant. It was something Nicky bought you and you adored it.

Taking your time fixing invisible imperfections, you hadn’t noticed Nicky enter your room or the way he had to bite back a chuckle as you bared your teeth at your reflection to insure you didn’t have lipstick marks littering your pearly whites.

You only acknowledged his presence when he cleared his throat and you nearly jumped out of your skin at the intrusion. You whipped around, preparing for the worst since you were not exactly in the right state to fend off an attacker.

“Motherfuc- Nicky!” You slapped a hand over your heart when you realized who it was, “You tryna give me a heart attack?”

“’Course not, doll,” He grinned back at you, “Just tryna keep you on your toes s’all.”

“Since you’re here early, and decided to scare the crap out of me, I’m gonna put you to work.” You smirked at the way Nicky’s eyes widened with your words.

“Anything for you, baby.” He winked, trying to display a confident and cocky attitude. But you noticed the shaky breath he let out before he spoke up.

You stood up, the skirt of your gown brushing against your ankles as you sauntered towards your boyfriend and took pride in the way his jaw went slack at the sight of you. Each step you took was agonizingly slow, but you were basking in the way he raked his eyes over your form. With each second, you could practically see the blood rushing to Nicky’s cheeks. He was bright red by the time you were directly in front of him. When the toe of your heel brushed against his dress shoe, you draped your arms around his neck. The breath caught in his throat at your closeness, and he choked on his next words:

“Is-Is that a new… um… is that a new lipstick, Y/n?” His adam’s apple bobbed as you pressed your body into his. You were looking up at him through your lashes – your lips just a hair’s length apart.

“Mhmm,” You hummed, running a hand down his chest, “It’s called ‘Forever Red’, kinda foxy ain’t it?”

Nicky couldn’t form any words; he was looking at you like a deer caught in headlights. His breathing was heavy, and you could tell he was having a hard time controlling himself. He only took his eyes off your lips to close them and breath a heavy sigh when you moved to whisper in his ear.

“Be a doll and zip me up,” You whispered and placed a kiss right below his cheek bone. You pulled away from Nicky and saw him deflate slightly from the corner of your eye.

“Wh-what?” His eyes were glazed over, “What did you say?”

“Zip me up, will ‘ya?” You let a small stream of laughter erupt from your red lips, “C’mon Nicky we don’t have all night.”

Still caught in a daze, he fumbled with your zipper a few times before he was able to pull it up fully.

“Atta boy,” You grinned, topping your look off with a feather boa and pair of pearly, elbow-length gloves. “So where are we going?”

Nicky finally snapped back to reality from wherever his mind had wandered from before and a cheeky grin had returned to his face, “You are such a minx, you know that?”  

“I learned from the best,” You smiled, wrapping your arm around his outstretched elbow. “Ready to go?”

“Actually, Y/n. We do have to make a quick stop on our way to our date.” Nicky admitted bashfully as you glided through the extravagant hotel hallway, his free hand rubbing the back of his neck. “’Nother head of the Family, Schitz, wanted to meet up to discuss his quarrel with some of Floyd’s guys. Asked to do it today. Is it okay if we…?”

“You know I’m all in, Nicky.” You squeezed his arm in reassurance. “I won’t get mad about you having to work. So long as you let me in, you know that.”

Nicky pressed a quick kiss to your temple as you rounded the corner to the exit, “What did I do to deserve a gal like you?”

“Something pretty damn good.”

<><><> 

“Keep the car runnin’ Ralph, we shouldn’t be too long.” Nicky gave a firm nod to his right-hand man and grasped your hand in his. He had tried to ask you to stay in the car during his meeting, considering it shouldn’t be more than ten minutes long, but you were having none of it.

“Nicky come on! This can be part of the date!” You pleaded, wanting nothing more than to be at his side whenever you could be. And he, being the simp he was, couldn’t say no to you. He didn’t even want to say no, and that’s how he knew he was absolutely whipped.

Begrudgingly he agreed, though, he refused to let go of your hand. Knowing you were by him at all times alleviated some of his fear with you being part of his family. If you were in, then he was going to make sure everyone knew you weren’t someone to be messed with.

 “Ah, Nicky Valentino!” An older gentleman called from the inside of an empty bar. “Please take a seat.”

Nicky’s expression when he was with you was soft and warm, but when he was dealing with business those same eyes were walled away. Replaced with a stony expression that revealed nothing about what was going on in his brain. It was a look you were getting accustomed to wearing, yourself.

“If we could make this quick, Schitz,” Nicky’s voice was smooth and confident, “I have a previous engagement that I’m anxious to get to.”

“Of course, of course but – ah – what’s that?” Schitz gestured to his cheek, “Got some red shit on your cheek, paint or something?” Your eyes widened briefly when you realized what Schitz was talking about. He was gesturing to the place you had teased/kissed Nicky before you left.

Nicky asked you for the compact mirror from your purse – how he knew it was there was beyond you since you didn’t even know it was there –  and checked his reflection. Once he saw the prominent silhouette of your lips on his cheek in your lipstick, Nicky let out a barking laugh. Your cheeks burned, though; ashamed at having possibly ruined his tough guy image.

“I’m sorry Nicky,” You whispered, taking off your glove and raising your hand to wipe away the mark on his cheek. Before your thumb could make contact with the stain, his hand clasped around your wrist and gently pulled your hand down to his chest.

“Don’t be,” He brushed his lips against your knuckles, “It’s a token of affection, I wouldn’t dare wipe away one of your kisses.”

Your heart thrummed loudly against your ribcage at his words. You could feel every amber of your being slowly fall more in love with him, and there was nothing you could do (not that you wanted to do anything) to stop it.

Eventually, a deep red kiss was the staple of your relationship. The lipstick was the finishing touch to every one of your outfits, and the shade that stained Nicky’s cheek whenever he left the house without you. He was taking a part of you with him on the days you couldn’t come, and everyone knew who you were when you accompanied him wearing the very same shade of red lipstick the next time you left. 

#nicky valentino #nicky valentino x mc #two against the world #Nicky Valentino fluff #Nicky valentino fanfiction #nicky valentino x reader #fictif

[theoriginalladya]

Lá Breithe Shona Duit

On AO3 over here

Characters:  Commander Caleb Shepard, Kaidan Alenko (mshenko)

Summary:   War is hell, there's no way around it, and Commander Caleb Shepard is well aware of the toll it can take on him and his crew. Shore leave is supposed to be a chance to catch a second wind, find a bit of reprieve ... unless you are the First Human Spectre and your boyfriend the Second Human Spectre ...

Note:  I wrote this for N7 day but several friends were looking for something fluffy to enjoy so I decided to post it a few days early instead.  Enjoy some birthday shenanigans for Commander Caleb Shepard.

“Commander, do you have a moment?”

Though they are docked at the Citadel, the Normandy’s CIC is as busy as ever.  There is always a duty watch, of course, but ever since the attempt by Shepard’s clone and Brooks to steal the ship, it’s doubled in strength when they are in port. Today, Caleb is halfway around the galaxy map opposite Traynor’s station when she hails him.  His reaction is immediate, and he turns on his heel to walk back over even though he isn’t technically on duty himself.  “What do you need, Traynor?”

“Sir, Major Alenko asked me to give you a message.”

A soft sigh filters through his lips as he fights the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose in frustration.  Of late, and despite their best efforts, finding any free time to spend together is a challenge, even if only for an hour or two.  The demands of the war are ever present and ongoing.  This last stretch, however, has been worse than most, and he and the rest of the crew are in desperate need of a break.

The promise of shore leave was just that, a promise. Their current plan centers on meeting the apartment and spending an afternoon watching a movie, complete with popcorn.  However, it now appears as if duty calls instead.  He mutters a soft curse beneath his breath in Irish then asks, “What’s the message?”

The corner of one of her lips is tucked between her teeth as she shifts nervously on her feet.  Mentally, he grumbles to himself.  If she’s nervous, that means his temper is showing and not just a little.  Considering how things have been going of late, this isn’t really a surprise, but that doesn’t change the fact he needs to do something about it now.  Of course, that is the whole point of shore leave … and it’s pointless to take it out on Traynor when it isn’t in any way her fault.  

Caleb forces himself to take a slow, deep breath, releasing his frustrations with it as he exhales.  After three tries, Traynor appears to relax.

“I was asked to inform you he was unexpectedly called to the Spectre office and will meet you there,” she informs him.

The Spectre office?  Perhaps the situation isn’t as bad as he thinks?  “Thanks, Traynor.”  He pats her on the shoulder and starts off again, pausing only to call back over his shoulder, “Make sure you get off this ship for a while … and that’s an order!”

She grins back at him and salutes smartly.  “Yes, sir!”

His journey to the Spectre office doesn’t take long.  There is a skycab stand a short distance from the docking bay and in under ten minutes he’s hustling up the steps past Bailey’s office.  He’s half-tempted to stop in and speak with the man, but thinks better of it.  The Normandy is only docked for three days this time and he has other plans.  He can catch up with Bailey later.  The door beyond Bailey’s opens into the Spectre office and Caleb enters the moment he’s cleared past security.  Inside, he nods at the pair of turian agents standing near the firing range and murmurs a greeting to the salarian at the nearby terminal.  It takes three more steps in to realize no one else is around.  Pinching the bridge of his nose, he counts to ten. Twice.

“Greetings, commander,” the salarian returns.  “If you are looking for Major Alenko, he left here about fifteen minutes ago.”

Fifteen minutes ago?  He wasn’t even off the Normandy then.  “Did he say where he was headed?”

The salarian’s head bobs up and down once.  “Kithoi Ward,” he explains.  “Said his presence was requested by the director of the sensory gallery there.”

“The sensory gallery?”  Caleb frowns.  He isn’t familiar with any place like that, though he does recognize the name of the ward itself.  

Eyes lighting up with enthusiasm, the salarian adds, “Have you not been there?  It is most definitely worth a visit!  Experiencing smell as if you are an elcor?  Acute hearing like a drell?  If you have ever wondered what it is like for a turian in the rain …?”

Across the room, the two turians stop speaking and clear their throats.  Loudly.

The salarian follows suit, if a bit sheepishly by comparison.  “Ah, ahem. Yes.  Well, it is definitely worth a visit at least once,” he concludes before turning away.

Caleb watches him go; for a brief moment, he cannot help but wonder if he hasn’t entered some sort of alternate reality.  Why the hell is Kaidan at a sensory gallery, of all places?

He takes a moment to use the terminal to locate the name of the gallery then exits the office.  Finding a skycab proves to be too much of a challenge on the embassy level, so he hops onto the lift and heads down to the docking bay again where he finds one with relative ease.  Kithoi Ward takes a while to get to, but the driver assures him they are familiar with the destination, and some forty-five minutes after leaving the Spectre office, he finally arrives.  

Caleb isn’t certain what to expect from the place; galleries and art displays aren’t really his sort of thing, but the building itself appears relatively normal from the outside.  He knows nothing about architecture, but it’s pleasing enough to look at and he jogs up the steps, entering the main lobby where he is met almost immediately by an elegant, light violet colored asari clad in flowing blue and red silk robes.

“Commander Shepard?”  

Caleb nods, accepting the hand she extends in a subtly graceful movement.  

“A pleasure, commander.  I am Dr. Ailne T’easan, the director of this gallery.”

Releasing her hand, he looks around the lobby where they stand.  For the moment, aside from the two of them the place is empty.  “I was asked to meet Spectre Kaidan Alenko here.  Have you seen him, director?”

She smiles apologetically.  “He was here, yes, commander.  Spectre Alenko assisted us with our issue, but was called away on another assignment just a few minutes ago.”  Turning, she leads him deeper inside the main hall of the building.  

Caleb follows – what else can he do at this point?  The hall is large with an open floor plan with décor that is muted and minimalistic so as not to detract from the various displays. At the far end of the room, he notices several seats that look to be similar to the entertainment center on the Normandy and frowns.  Tilting his chin in that direction, he asks, “What’s this?”

Dr. T’easan smiles and leads him over.  “Are you familiar with our purpose, commander?”

“You provide sensory experiences of the various races in the galaxy.”  He nods at the display.  “Which one is that?”  He has a guess, based off what the salarian Spectre mentioned, but it’s only a guess.

“This is our drell display,” she replies.  She takes a moment to open one of the seats and gestures toward it.  “We all know the drell have eidetic memory, but were you aware that their acute sense of hearing allows them to hear certain sounds that others cannot?  At ranges that are impossible for other races? That is why we have this display.  Would you like to try it?”

He lifts a hand, quickly but politely declining.  “Some other time, perhaps, doctor.  Right now I need to find Spectre Alenko.”  

It’s then that he notices a nearby arching doorway that leads out of the main hall.  It is also currently blocked off.  With a frown, he asks, “What happened here?”

“Ah.  Yes. We had a … security issue, shall we say?”  Her lips thin a little as they press together.  “Some of the information obtained is of a rather sensitive nature, so you will excuse me if I do not go into detail.  Suffice it to say, Spectre Alenko was able to determine the nature of the … issue for us.  It appears to be an internal matter that we will follow up on ourselves.”

That, at least, is a relief but does little to get him on his way to finding out where Kaidan went.  “Did Spectre Alenko mention where he was heading, by any chance?”

Dr. T’easan leads him back to the main lobby and, to his surprise replies, “He did, as a matter of fact.  He was headed to the Dilinaga  Concert Hall in Tayseri Ward.  As I understand it, there have been reports of strange happenings there.”

“Strange happenings?” he echoes.  “What does that mean?”

She shrugs.  “I’m sorry, commander, I have no idea.”

Caleb runs a hand through his hair, using the moment to conceal his frustration.  “Thank you, doctor.  I will see if I can’t catch up with him there.”  

He turns toward the exit, but before he makes it through the door, she calls out, “Commander, wait!”  She hurries over, something thin and flat in her hand that she gives to him. “Spectre Alenko accidentally dropped this as he was leaving.  Can you get it back to him for me, please?”

What she hands him is a sealed envelope slightly larger than his hand which he tucks away into his jacket pocket.  “I will make sure he gets it.  Thank you.”

The skycab is gone at this point, but he finds another one down the street and makes arrangements for the driver to wait for him at the next stop.  Tayseri Ward takes a while to reach in heavy Citadel traffic, but eventually the driver deposits him in front of the concert hall.  Caleb has a vague recollection of Bailey informing him that it took severe damage when Sovereign was destroyed.  On the other hand, over his most recent visits the local news outlets suggest it is about to re-open.  As he steps out of the cab, it is impossible to miss the sleek lines of the marbled stone architecture that gives it a dramatic look.  Out front of the main doors, a stature of who he presumes is Matriarch Dilinaga herself stands invitingly.  He pauses for just a moment to take in the image – the matriarch’s name is familiar enough to him – then starts climbing the stairs.

At the large, heavy doors, he is met by an elegant asari whose lithe grace of movement reminds him a bit of Samara, and certainly seems appropriate to someone associated with a concert hall.  “You are commander Shepard?” she asks.

He nods.  No handshake this time, but even with the door mostly closed between them, everything about her exudes politeness and respect.  “I am.  I was told I could meet Spectre Alenko here?”

She shakes her head.  “I apologize, commander.  He just left. He did, however, ask me to give this to you.”  

Doing his best to hide his disappointment, Caleb accepts a second envelope, approximately the same size as the one from Dr. T’easan. He frowns at it, but for the moment just slips it into his pocket with the other.  “Thank you.  Did he say where he was going when he left?”

“No, I am sorry.”

Caleb nods his thanks and starts down the stairs.  He is half tempted to message Kaidan in an attempt to figure out where the hell he is now, but before he can pull up his omni-tool, a call comes in.  

“Commander?” a very familiar voice asks.

“Dr. Chakwas?”

“Commander, I hope you might be able to assist me,” the doctor said.  “I am supposed to meet a colleague of mine at the Alliance R&D department I used to work at in Shalta Ward, but something has come up and I cannot leave the Normandy as scheduled.  My colleague has some information that may prove vital to the war effort, and it is vital that I get it.”

Caleb sighs, already sensing where this conversation is headed.  “Let me guess, you’d like for me to go and pick it up?”

“Would you, please?  I would consider it a personal favor.”

Though frustration eats away deep inside, he manages a soft chuckle.  If there is anyone on the Normandy he will assist, no questions asked, it’s the doctor.  She’s saved his sorry ass far too many times over the years.  “Of course I will, doctor.  Consider it done.”

A beep at his wrist indicates she has sent the address and the name of the contact.  “I appreciate your help, commander.  Just bring it to the medbay whenever you return to the ship.”

The call ends and Caleb ducks back into the skycab, sharing their next destination and making arrangements for the driver to wait yet again. Shalta Ward isn’t too far away, and when they pull up Caleb can see someone standing just outside the doors. “Wait here for me,” he instructs the driver then ducks out.

“Commander Shepard?”

“Dr. Renfro?”  Caleb hustles over in less than a dozen steps.  “I understand you have something for Dr. Chakwas?”

The man looks to be nearing middle age – Caleb pegs him about seventy or so – with mostly white hair that is thinning on top.  He wears a uniform similar to that he found Dr. Chakwas wearing when she worked here; white with red trim, the Alliance Research & Development labs uniform known galaxy-wide.  

“Yes, Dr. William Renfro,” he says, extending his hand. “Thank you so much for coming, commander.  As I understand it, these developments could serve you well out in the field during this war.”  

He hands over three datapads.  On the top, there is a small envelope.  Frowning, Caleb notices his name on it.  “Doctor …?”

“Sorry, commander, need to run!”  Renfro turns.  “Thanks again!”

He disappears inside the building before Caleb can protest. Without any other recourse, he walks back to the cab and tugs the envelope free of the datapads, tucking it into his pocket with the other two.  

“Where to, sir?” the driver asks as he gets inside the skycab again.

“Presidium Embassies,” he decides.  Sighing, he tilts his head back on the seat, closes his eyes and tries to reign in the growing irritation.  It isn’t the driver’s fault he’s spent the better part of the afternoon chasing after a dream.

Of course, stating his destination and actually arriving there are two completely different things.  Along the way, the driver receives a traffic update and reroutes them to the Commons due to an accident between here and there.  That at least gives Caleb a physical outlet for his aggravation as he hoofs it the rest of the way.  Thankfully, the elevators aren’t too busy, and he finally catches one to the Embassies after only a ten minute wait.  

He walks past Bailey’s office again, no desire to stop in this time, and is just inputting his access code to the Spectre office when he hears someone call his name.

“Commander Shepard?”

He takes a half second to close his eyes, swallow back frustration and count to twenty.  It won’t do anyone any good to yell at a councilor, now will it?  Only then does he turn around, a smile plastered on his lips.  He hopes it reaches his eyes.  “Councilor Tevos.”

“Commander.  I wonder if I might have a moment of your time?”

“Of course, councilor.”  He clears the partially input ID from the door and follows her down the hall in the direction of her office.  “How can I be of assistance?”

She lifts her hand and it is then that he notices the datapad she carries.  “I have here a list of several locations containing stores that Admiral Hackett might find … useful,” she explains.  “I cannot vouch for their current state, however, as of six months ago they were still intact.”  She hands the pad over to him.  “I hope they will be of some help to your Crucible project.”

Caleb takes a moment to read through the list.  “If even half of these are viable, they will be of great help,” he assures her.  Lifting his head, his smile is more genuine this time.  “This is a great help.  Go raibh maith agat.”**

“Good.”  She hesitates briefly before handing over another item he didn’t see.  Like the other three in his pocket, it is another envelope of approximately the same size.  “I was also asked to give you this,” she explains.  There is a sparkle of mischief in her eyes; as unexpected as the envelope is. “I hope it is as useful.”  Without another word, she turns into her office leaving him standing alone outside the door.

Caleb stares at the envelope in his hands, dumbfounded. It takes him a moment to collect himself enough to tuck it away with the others, but by then, things are starting to make a bit more sense.  Turning back in the direction of the elevators, he summons Kaidan over comms.

It isn’t long before the second human Spectre responds. “There you are.  What’s taking you so long?  We were supposed to meet like three hours ago.”

Caleb sighs, ignoring the question.  “Where are you right now?”

“At the apartment.  Where else would I be?”

Caleb makes it onto the lift this time without issue and heads for the nearest skycab stand.  “Don’t you dare go anywhere.  I’m on my way.”

Kaidan’s laughter is a balm to Caleb’s frustration.  “I don’t know where you think I’ll go, but I’ll be here.”

Somehow, Caleb coaxes the skycab driver into fighting his way through the increasingly heavy traffic as they near the Silversun Strip with the promise of a double fare plus a hefty tip.  To his surprise, they arrive within fifteen minutes.  By now, of course, he has a very good idea that he’s been had, and the minute he walks inside and he catches the delicious aromas emanating from the kitchen, he confirms it.

Caleb pauses at the entrance to the kitchen, leaning his hip against the wall and folding his arms across his chest.  Kaidan stands at the stove, his focus on the pots and pans in front of him.  After a minute or two, he looks over.  It’s impossible to miss the mischievous smile that reaches the whiskey colored eyes.  “Did you really have to send me all over the damned Citadel like that?” Caleb asks.

Kaidan laughs softly; that marvelous, deep rumble that leaves Caleb’s belly aflutter every single time he hears it.  “I needed time to make dinner,” he argues before flashing a wider grin.  “And you needed to work up an appetite.”

Pushing away from the wall, Caleb wanders over to join him. He pauses at the refrigerator to pull out two bottles of beer which he opens, setting one within easy reach for Kaidan while keeping the other for himself. Moving to glance over Kaidan’s shoulder at the various pots and pans on the stovetop, he takes a long pull.  He’s earned it today.  “Around you,” he muses thoughtfully, “that is never an issue.  So, what’s for dinner?”

Still grinning, Kaidan reaches over and turns off the device. “Go sit down and you’ll find out.”  

Before Caleb can turn away, however, he sneaks a quick kiss to Kaidan’s cheek.  “Sounds promising.”

Dinner turns out to be quite good.  Steaks, twice baked potatoes, some green vegetable that Caleb isn’t familiar with but has hints of an onion-y taste.  When they finish, he rises to clear the table, but Kaidan pushes him back into his seat.  “I’ve got this,” he insists.  “You just sit there.”

Caleb isn’t in the mood to argue, but he is curious. “So, are you going to tell me what’s been going on all day?  Why you sent me on some wild goose chase across half the Citadel?”

As Kaidan returns, it’s impossible to miss the smile on his lips, the sultry look in his eyes or the confident swagger in his step. Caleb’s hand stops with his beer halfway to his lips, his mouth having gone completely dry – there is something about that saunter, the angle of sway, or maybe just the hint of suggestion; whatever it is, it’s as effective as molten lava and leaves him just as melted inside.  The hint of laughter in his eyes tells Caleb that Kaidan knows exactly what he’s doing, too.

Kaidan collects the rest of the dishes, pausing to brush a tantalizing kiss across Caleb’s lips in the process.  Unable to resist, Shepard slides a hand through his hair and holds him close, unwilling to be teased without some sort of compensation after the day’s adventures specifically for Kaidan’s amusement. When he finally pulls back, that deep rumbling chuckle returns as he murmurs, “Why don’t you tell me?”

Caleb has to catch his breath and blink a few times before he can think straight.  “Tell you … what?”

“What you found.”

Found?  His hand drifts to the pocket of his jacket where he retrieves the envelopes he collected earlier.  In all honesty, he’s forgotten about them, but now that Kaidan mentions it, his curiosity returns.  While Kaidan focuses on heating water for tea, Caleb notices the knowing smile on his lips.  Lifting the envelopes, he waves them in the air between them.  “You did this?”

The corner of Kaidan’s lips twitch.  “Isn’t that the point of a hunt, sealgaire?”

The use of his old Reds name isn’t a surprise; he’s told that story to Kaidan and other crew members of the Normandy numerous times over the years, but this is the first time Kaidan has ever called him by it.  He takes the envelopes and slides his finger beneath the seal, opening them one at a time in no particular order.  “I thought the point was ….”

His voice trails off as the contents of the first envelope slides out onto the table and comes to rest in front of him.  It isn’t so much what it is that leaves him reeling, but what it represents.

The King of Clubs.

Caleb’s eyes dart over to Kaidan.  From the very first time they met, though it took Caleb a long time to realize it, this has been Kaidan’s card in his readings.  Not once has it ever faltered.  Caleb’s heart quickens in his chest.  Kaidan looks over, smile still in place.  “Well?”

Caleb opens the next one.

The Joker.

His mouth goes completely dry.

The third envelop produces yet another card.  

The Nine of Clubs.

He nearly chokes and his eyes close for a long minute. Beside him, a mug of steaming tea comes to rest within reach, and he takes it, carefully taking a sip.  “Go raibh maith agat, mo ghrá.”**

Kaidan slides into the empty seat and remains silent but watchful.  

Caleb’s hand trembles a little as he lifts the last envelope. Carefully, he opens the flap, and a fourth card falls out on top of the previous three.

The Ace of Hearts.

With precise care, Caleb straightens the cards, setting them out in the order he opened them.  To most people, they are incomplete; part of a much larger whole. With a full deck, they can be used to entertain.  But Kaidan knows him well enough now to understand they have a far greater significance to him, specifically.  Without them, he feels … naked.  Disconnected. Lost.  With them, he has an anchor to his past, to the beliefs that made him who he is.

His original deck, the one given him by Saoirse, was destroyed when the SR1 went down.  Two years later, once he had the SR2 under his command and during their first trip to the Citadel, he’d dragged Garrus and Mordin through the lower Wards hunting down a replacement deck that satisfied him for such use.  Though these four cards are not from this second deck, it doesn’t matter.  

Covering his face with his hands, Caleb takes a few minutes to wrap his head around what lies before him.  They are more than cards, more than a prediction, more than simply his lover and best friend’s attempt to entertain him.  As desperate as this war has become, as near as they might be to its end, there is one thing that Caleb will not look at; apparently, Kaidan will.  These four cards represent a future; for him, for them, he isn’t certain, but the fact that Kaidan, who is well aware of Caleb’s avoidance of the issue, is willing to take that risk leaves Shepard’s head spinning.

Several minutes pass in silence.  He reaches for the tea again, and this time as he drinks, he notices the flavor.  Setting the mug aside again, he lays his hand out, palm up and open.  Inviting.  It takes less than a second for Kaidan to cover it with his, at which point Caleb closes his hand around it.  “Why?” The question is a simple one, but the answer eludes him.  He can think of any number of reasons, but none satisfy him.  He wants, needs, to hear it from Kaidan himself.

Kaidan lifts their joined hands and presses a soft kiss to the back of Caleb’s.  “Happy birthday.”

That isn’t what Caleb expects.  “Birthday?”  He glances across the room at the monitor on the wall that also shows the date and time. Sure enough …   “Well, damn,” he replies, laughing in bemusement.  If only Anderson could see this.  Whoever would have thought that made up birthday would survive a test of persistence by my boyfriend?  “I didn’t realize …”  

“I did, that’s all that matters.”  Kaidan’s hand squeezes.  “So, how do you say it?  In Irish, I mean?”

Still slightly bewildered by it all, he responds, “Lá breithe shona duit.”

After three tries at getting it right, Kaidan shakes his head and gives up.  “That’s a bit more challenging that sláinte.”  Changing the conversation, he nods at the four cards in front of Caleb and sips at his drink.  “Tell me about them.”

Before he does that, Caleb decides he needs an answer. “In order to do that, I need to know how you selected them.”

Shrugging, Kaidan replies, “I remember what you once told me and Ash; real cards are better than an omni-tool program for something like this. So, I purchased a deck, shuffled them for a while, cut it, then I picked the top four.”

“Did you look at them?”

Kaidan shakes his head.  “No.  I sealed them into the envelopes before I could.”

Caleb’s hand begins to shake again, noticeable as he releases his hold on Kaidan’s.  Slowly, he moves the cards around then lifts the King of Clubs and turns it toward Kaidan. “This is your card.  You know that, right?”

Kaidan looks at it then looks back at Caleb.  “I’ve seen it in your spreads, yes.”

“Aye, but not exactly what I mean.”  He sets the card down, taps it with his index finger.  “This card represents an honest, affectionate, generous dark haired man,” he explains.  He knows the descriptions from memory, understands all the subtleties involved with each one.  He’s known for a long time now that the King of Clubs is Kaidan’s card, and he’s a little surprised Kaidan hasn’t made that same connection before now.

“Is that how you see me?”

He reaches over to brush his knuckles gently along Kaidan’s cheek.  “From the moment we met.”

Kaidan laughs softly, covering Caleb’s hand with his own and holding it in place.  “Somehow, I doubt that.  You were unconscious at the time, as I recall.”

When he pulls back, Caleb shakes his head.  “I did a reading that night,” he admits.  “On Akuze, before the thresher maws hit.  This,” he lifts the King again, “was my future card.”

Kaidan reaches over and takes the card from him, staring at it.  “Seriously?”

Caleb doesn’t reply; it’s rhetorical anyway.  Instead, he reaches for the second card.  The Joker.  “I know we both can think of a variation of this card,” he says with a chuckle, “but honestly, it is a card of new developments, of risk.  Fresh starts and new beginnings.”

“Fresh starts and new beginnings?”  Kaidan holds his mug between both hands just in front of his lips. “I think I like the sound of that.”

Caleb smiles over at him.  “As do I.”

“It certainly describes us.”

Caleb twirls the card between his long fingers out of habit, but his eyes are only on Kaidan.  “Indeed, it does.”

Kaidan is the first to break the look, eyes drifting back to his tea.  “What’s the next card?”

Caleb lifts the third one.  “Nine of Clubs.”  His smile curves into a smirk.  His voice drops an octave as he murmurs, “You are going to love this.  This card represents achievement.”

Kaidan frowns in confusion.  “Which you’ve done.”

Caleb huffs softly but continues, “A new lover or admirer.” When Kaidan opens his mouth to say something, Caleb reaches back over and uses his index finger to silence him. “And finally, it’s a warning not to be stubborn.”

Kaidan grins with an I told you so sort of look, but he doesn’t say anything or even laugh, much to Caleb’s relief.  

“And the last one?”

Lifting the card, he taps it against his chin, design outward so Kaidan can see it.  “The Ace of Hearts.  This one is pretty simple to understand.  Love, joy, friendship.  A home. Also, the beginning of a new romance.” He lays the card down next to the others and stares at the four for a minute.  “You really didn’t look at them beforehand?”

Shrugging, Kaidan counters, “Would it have done any good? The only one of those I sort of recognize is the King of Clubs, and I certainly don’t understand your hidden meanings in them.”

There is more than enough truth in that statement, and Caleb doesn’t think he’s lying.  “Where is the rest of the deck?”

Kaidan nods across the room at one of the drawers. “Hid it in there so you wouldn’t see it.”

Releasing their hands, Caleb retrieves the cards, but he doesn’t place the four back with them just yet.  Instead, he sets them aside and faces Kaidan.  “Go raibh maith agat, mo shíorghra.”**

“That’s a new one.”

“All I said was thank you,” Caleb explains, deliberately evading the comment.  Kaidan is right; Mo shíorghra, is new, but that doesn’t make it any less true.

“Another endearment?”

Heat fills Caleb’s cheeks as he nods.  “I will explain later,” he finally hedges.  “It’s complicated … I’m not sure there is an equivalent in English.”  It’s a boldfaced lie, but he’s not quite ready to share it.  Sometimes the head needs to catch up to the heart.  “What I was trying to say was, thank you for this.” He gestures at the cards, the kitchen. “For all of it.  This may be the first time my birthday has actually … meant something.”

“Surely you’ve celebrated it before?”

Sighing, Caleb shakes his head.  “You have to understand, when I was taken in by Ned and Nan, I remembered nothing.  Only my name: Caleb.”  He fishes under his collar and retrieves his dog tags, turning it so Kaidan can see his name and birthdate clearly.  “This,” he continues, jabbing his thumb at the date, “is made up.  April 11?  The day I literally ran into Ned and he took me home.  The year?  A guess based off his and Athair’s thoughts as to how old I am.”  He shrugs.  “It works, but it’s never been anything I worried about celebrating before. It just hasn’t been worth it.”

Kaidan finishes off his tea and gets to his feet.  When he reaches out a hand, Caleb takes it and follows.  Standing there, in the middle of the kitchen, Kaidan slides his arms around his waist and pulls him close for a quick kiss before leading him out of the kitchen and toward the stairs.  “Let’s see if we can’t change that, hmm …?”  

  ~~~~~~~~~

 ** Lá breithe shona duit = Happy Birthday 

** Go raibh maith agat = thank you

**Mo shíorghra = my eternal love

#Lá breithe shona duit #ladya writes #Caleb Shepard #kaidan alenko #mshenko #fluff #birthday shenanigans #N7 Day #when the muses attack #OTP: Brothers in Arms #Irish #Irish language #my Irish Shepard #mass effect #mass effect fanfiction

[the-satellite]

Hello friends and welcome to ☆Hateful Nostalgia☆. I was exposed to the mob talker mod WAY too young bc I was an unsupervised child on the internet watching mod showcases and SkyDoesMinecraft. Looking back these sucked, the stories were often bland and the designs were milk toast at best and tits out at worst. So for the sake of procrastinating on working on anything substantial I grabbed the main 6 I remembered and gussied em up. Redesigns, rewrites, better names, all that bullshit. If your interested in better photos, design notes, story details and rambling hit the basement, otherwise here's a line up you should click for better quality.

Also I wrote all this once before already but I deleted it like a dumb bitch. On the night Unus Annus was murdered in front of my eyes no less. Was a rough fuckin night.

The Creeper- Kupa. An explosive pyromaniac with a habit of making empty threats and yelling. She protects what she believes to be her territory with a suicidal passion, but if you manage to get her to cool down and soften up she's pretty sick to hand out with. Hard of hearing, has at least one bout of head trauma at all times, and deathly allergic to cats.

Because the creeper is kinda the og I wanted to reference AT2's design more than the others, but I'm p sure the only thing I actually kept was the red hair and brown gloves. Otherwise I was doing whatever. I really wanted to lean into the explody bit of creepers, so I gave her some bite and dressed her in clothes referenced from Irish railroad workers. This may also be why I keep imaging her with a very heavy Irish or Scottish accent, whichever would be most incomprehensible when angry. Every color but her skin was color picked from one of the references, with some minor alterations for makes my eyes happy reasons.

With Kupa I imagine a story line with her would largely be about her as a character and her development than like an actual adventure narrative like everyone else. She starts off ready to blow up both you and herself in a misguided attempt to defend what she sees as her's and opens up and learns not everyone is out to get her. Lots of time taken to understand her childhood and how she ended up how she is. Very simple, probably the default or tutorial run people would go through.

The Zombie- Bee. The ill husk of a missing explorer suffering from a less than conventional appetite. She wallows in her self imposed loneliness, believing herself to be an irredeemable monster doomed to hurt those around her. What she really needs is a buddy and some clue to who she used to be. Rough voiced, chronically fatigued, and prone to spontaneous combustion in sunlight.

 I definitely consider this one the weakest for design sadly. I imagined Zombies as humans who went into strange caves and caverns and didn't come out for years, only to pop up as completely different people. I just tossed AT2's design. The first thing I did was make her a bit of a genderbent Steve and tinted her green bc Zombies in game are just Steve but green. Tore up her clothes, colored picked the darkest colors I could from the clothes on the in game and boom, Bee. I do vaguely regret not making her eyes pure black but I also still wanted her to be human enough to fit with the other overworld mods.

 Ok so Bee actually has a basic story. When you meet her she's aggressive, but as a warning. She fears the possibility she may hurt somebody so heads for threats immediately. Going back and forth between her cave and village for a while you learn more about the situation with the missing folks who come back and Bee as a person. After a bit you pick her up off her depressed ass and start a nocturnal adventure of refinding your past, adapting to who your becoming, overcoming self destuction, and slow burn babey!!! 

The Skeleton- Ulna. One of the few surviving warriors of a now destroyed kingdom and dead culture. She spends most of her time now traveling alone, hiding in trees and shooting anything see sees as a threat- which is everything- in the face with homemade arrows. Very much suffering from loss of her home and a bad case of lost purpose. A woman of few words, very antisocial, and naturally nocturnal.

 I came in with the Skeleton wanting to make her seem mysterious, so my first thought was immediately a cloak and a mask, but I wanted her face to like be visible so I went with the face paint. I didn't actually know that I wanted to do under there so I went with wraps that are reminiscent of the original outfit but still not tits out bc it's so fucking easy! Gave her a quiver, color picked the cloak and face paint from the in game model and the wraps from AT2'S art. I did like. Subconsciously draw her eyes the way I do Asian characters but I didn't have anything specific in mind so like go nuts with what you think she is.

 Ulna's deal is very much her lack of purpose or home and the entire thing is about finding that again. She's found sitting up in a tree during a storm pointing a bow and arrow into your face. She eventually let's you stick around until the storm is over and theres some bonding into deep night until the rain stops. You ask if she wants to come with on your little travelling sword for hire business, she says sure, sleep schedule shenanigans, backstory angst, and road trip bonding happens and she eventually decides that helping people is her new purpose and you're her new home

The Spider- Park. A young adult experiencing the world for the first time through her tribe's rite of passage. She's really just trying to figure out how to live life outside of the cave she's been stuck in her entire life and aggressively trying to be an independent adult despite not knowing anything about being an independent adult. Its projection. Blind in the daylight, naive and excitable, and taken to refusing help at her own risk.

 Ok so. I don't know who looked at the spider and said "purple haired loli with puffy pants" so I once again yeeted the whole thing, only really keeping the kinda cutesy and childish bits. Spiders are a tribe of humans what live in caves unless they've broken off to live on the surface. Kids are kept inside until they hit a certain milestone, where they come up to explore at night. They're usually small and pale, but are pretty kickass when necessary. Again picked the colors off the in game model, played with the lightest gray for the skin, and bc I couldn't figure out anyway to use the stripes so they're on the patches lol.

 Park's meeting is probably the funniest and most meet cute one here, in that she accidentally drops on top of you from a little cliff drop off. Cue loads of apologies and an explanation about the spider deal and being blind in light. She asks for some help getting around and bam babey friendship and emotional attachment! What follows is kinda a buddy of coming of age story with the obligatory goes home and is miserable scene. Generally it's just about being a scared young adult and having someone to fall back on and why that's important. Also crushes and young people being bad at that.

 The Blaze- Amber. A demonic entity who would let the world burn and the sun die if it meant she'd get her soul back. She's known for being ruthless, taking souls through force instead of making deals like other Blazes. Keeps this forceful nature even once she's become friendly, makes you do dump shit. Territorial, eyes glow and dim with her life, and runs remarkably warm.

 Amber here is the first one I actually did! I was just. Really tired that she was in a bikini. I decided early on I wanted overworld mobs to be human and everyone else was decidedly not, so Blazes are demons who gave up their souls under false pretenses to other Blazes. Because of how little clothes AT2's design wore I had essentially free reign and my thought was immediately to lean on golden knight bc of how Blazes are found protecting fortresses. The gold isn't picked from anything bc I was looser with the colors, but everything else is, and the hair is supposed to represent the smoke. Also the sticks in her hair are blaze rods bc I don't like them just floating around her.

Amber is found in the Nether obviously, protecting a fortress and immediately trying beat your ass and either incinerate you or make you give up your soul. During you prove yourself a p damn good fighter and she makes a deal to show you how Blazes exist and pursade you to give your soul up willingly. Bonding happens and she explains where the souls go and what happened to her. Insert line about how she dug in the sand for her soul until her fingers bleed bc I'm an Arcana freak lol. In general I'd just like her to learn to adapt to who she is now and learning to live life well instead of letting her anger burn her up from the inside out.

 The Enderman- Violet. A confused but sweet young bit of void created by and connected to the Ender Dragon. Her relationship with reality is tenuous at best and abusive at worst, making stable existence rather difficult. She doesn't know a name, age, gender, anything about herself aside from that she likes sweaters. Communicates primarily through psychic connections, docile and sweet, and melts like a witch in water.

 Violet was incredibly easy, so this may be way short. Endermen are decidedly human shaped void from the End with varying sentience. They're direct extensions of the Ender Dragon, and nobody knows how they're made or where they come from, not even they do. Adventurers who escaped The End say they seem scared of it though. Violet in particular is pretty damn new and extraordinary nonconforming, and I tried to show that with her sweater and ponytail. Once again, literally all colors picked. Definitely the simplest but one of my favs.

Violet is the sweetest meet up I think. As your traveling between villages you notice a strange enderman watching you and plant a little flower in front of her. She picks it and you hear a happy little trill come from you and a pretty voice say thank you in your head. Now you have a tall dark teleporting travel buddy! After a little bit of back and forth she tells you in some broken English that the Ender Dragon made her but she doesnt know how, and that it's bad and needs to be killed for the sake of Endermen and that's the new goal. Spoiler they're the corrupted souls of those that died fighting it, with it gone Endermen are free to exist as their own being and do whatever, hurray!

#cosmic entity's art #minecraft #mob talker mod #mc creeper #mc zombie #mc skeleton #mc spider #mc blaze #mc enderman #character design

[steve0discusses]

Yugioh Ep 32 S4: Most Disturbing Kid’s Show Award Goes to This Episode

I often talk about how wonderfully effed up Yugioh is. What a freakin delight, how effed up this kid’s show is, somehow still remaining a Y7 kid’s show, despite everything it tries to do to get pulled off the air.

Y’all this was a filler season and it didn’t even have Bakura in it so...why did it go so edge? Don’t get me wrong, I’m thankful for how many levels of “OK THERE, KID’S SHOW” it was.

But what the hell was that, Yugioh?

Anyway we start off completely normal in this foggy ass graveyard--Halloweens in this season so I’m down for this. Halloween is also...cancelled...this year, so at least I can celebrate it somewhat in a Yugioh episode. Then again, can you imagine how many people would be dressed up as sexy Covid?

So I don’t really talk about the card game mechanics on here, and (full disclosure to any new people) I don’t know how to play this game. But, considering that this card doesn’t usually send you to distant graveyard memories IRL, lets get into it.

We’ve clarified before that Card Graveyard is a place--like an actual place--but that it isn’t the same place that the cards vibe in within the Puzzle necklace. It’s a separate place, but ALSO not the same place as the Shadow Realm, either. Card Graveyard is just...some other third place we never talk about.

TBQH I think the people who make this show have kinda forgotten how many random pocket dimensions we’ve made that are basically the equivalent of hell (including California, PS), and are just like “no one will write a blog about it and list them all in one place, we’ll be fine.”

We’ve only seen Tristan bum out here once in like S1 and he spent most of his time running away from the Grim Reaper. But, if you remember correctly, the Grim Reaper is currently hanging out and living his best life haunting some park in Japan, so now instead of the Grim Reaper it has...this?

So is this a memory stored within the card graveyard, or did Dartz literally take Raphael to the card graveyard and tell him this was a real ass graveyard?

We’ll never know! It gets very vague from here on out!

(read more under the cut)

First off, I’d like to welcome our new guest star--the Rain--there’s a lot of rain in this episode, and we animate it by just making all of our characters glow. This comes through fine in animation, but in caps I just want you to know that no one has gone super Saiyan, they’re just...wet.

PS get a gander at Raphael’s baby boy mutton chop mustache. They somehow got longer with time? And also, when soaked his hair is just as spiky. Everyone on this show has unparalleled hair gel. The real heart of the cards.

Anyway, Dartz shows Raphael a bunch of gravestones and is like “Get it???”

and me, the audience, was like “no???”

The headstones, by the by, aren’t...normal, either, they have Orichalcos symbols on them instead of words. So like...it sort of infers that his family was taken by Orichalcos, too. I mentioned before that it sorta feels like Dartz caused the whole shipwreck to munch up a bunch of yummy souls, and maybe he did in the Japanese version--cuz like...

...why else do all these headstones have Orichalcos symbols on this graveyard that you can only access through a card god like Dartz or Yami?

Just throwing that deep lore out there, and the fact that Raphael can’t really see it or understand is either because that didn’t happen or...Dartz totally killed his family, right? And that makes this relationship between the two of them extremely effed up?

This is a great show for kids with separation anxiety.

Which is...somewhat convincing of a motive for Raphael. He gives Raphael a way to move on from his trauma in the past, and it’s not a GREAT way to move on--but it’s falls in line with things Dartz has done with his other card generals by offering false redemption.

Like Mai needed to move on from her insane jealousy, so Orichalcos was her way to prove she was better than Joey Wheeler (which, honestly, no one needed proof of). Alister needed to move on from his dead brother, so Orichalcos was his way to get revenge. Valon also had a backstory but a bunch of it got deleted in the English version apparently so...

And Rex and Weevil needed...cards? I guess? I think they just needed a ride, mostly. And Orichalcos can give you a ride. It’s not like we had Uber in 2003 and clearly they were not fit for Caltrain.

And like Gurimo.............existed...?

Anyways, they’re looking for justice that they can see. Justice for their pain. To make that pain worth something for more than just suffering. A system where this type of thing can’t happen anymore. But the thing about justice is that...eh...it’s probably not done through cards that kill people.

OH OK, KID’S SHOW.

Mmmmm take in that burying up your grave imagery. Again, this show is rated Y7 for 7 year olds, and I think that’s amazing.

Anyway, this is symbolism that is so heavy handed that it really needs no explanation, so he’s just gonna dig dig dig for...days I guess? Relive his trauma over and over again? Dig up that past like you’re a popular artist on twitter and you gotta make all of your followers relive that time you got called out because you offended a hell ton of people?

(Which is so many people on art twitter right now, ps, you don’t even know which one I’m talking about because It’s SO MANY of them. Art twitter during Quarantine is like watching the fall of Rome but it’s freakin Art Twitter. Everyone’s the freakin worst and just poopin all over themselves as they roll all the way down the steps.)

But I want to know. Who’s grave this is? It has a slightly different meaning if it were his family’s or his own. I guess I’ll have to save it for the fanfiction.

And so to add another level of spook, Raphael’s card mom shows up and kinda just stands there with a sad face?

Raphael’s reaction to seeing his card just alive and hanging out was “I’ll get to you in a sec, I gotta do some unforgivable evil, first.“

WHERE DID THEY GO?

These two shots are like nearly back to back. They’re just GONE. No explanation.

And yes I’m gonna talk about the outfit because it makes no freakin sense, even for a Yugioh card. Granted, this was a show made in Japan, for kids, with a budget that had a limit. A lot of people get involved with these productions, many aren’t artists or historians versed in American History, just basic ass business people. That be TV.

But her outfit looks waaay too modern. Like she’s gonna go to a musical festival, drop acid and climb on top of a statue and take a bunch of instagram selfies and regret all of them 4 years later. If these are Atlantean cards, this is not an Atlantis outfit to match with Dartz, who has been dressed vaguely medieval. So whyyyyy would this girl be dressed more like a vague old western costume bought at a discount so she could vogue in front of installation art at Burning Man in 2008?

Anyway, I won’t even get into the bird that is slowly devouring her face as a stand in for a headdress or wtv. Just a lot of stuff happening here and I just wanna say, Yugioh did it so you won’t need to. Just delete that desire. Yugioh already did it so you are now free from wanting to draw...anything like this problematic situation on your own OCs.

And then Yugioh predicts exactly how I’d feel about this outfit.

And she then lights ON FIRE and falls dead into the grave he just buried for her.

And in case you were like “kinda on the nose there, Yugioh, that got DARK” she climbs out of his own grave with a spooky ass face and no more coconuts to share with her bros and he’s like...

Rapheal’s reaction was like...Ya OK I can get used to this, and Yami is just pointing at the scene desperately trying to follow Raphael’s brain waves.

And like, this is YAMI.

Yami just walked through Yugi Hell earlier today. He’s seen some stuff. He’s already undug his own grave this morning in a more poetic card sort of way. But Raphael’s memories of literally digging up his family’s graves with his bare hands because Dartz told him to was...stuff he didn’t want to see today. (especially since it’s super suggested Dartz was the one who...murdered them in the first place, like I know it’s a reach but...it just feels like we were supposed to reach that conclusion)

But whether or not Dartz put the bodies here or gave Raphael a bunch of phoney graves, Raphael is still essentially siding with the guy who ruined the only thing he has left of his family--this paper card mom--and turned it into an undead evil Mom. And it just had...no freakin impact on Raphael at all.

Like what?

He just murdered your card mom. This is fine?

Card shenanigans continue and Raphael eventually realizes what he should have realized like 10 years ago when he was digging up graves and killing card Mom’s. That maybe it’s a bad idea. So Raphael decides to sacrifice his remaining monsters to “free” them from the graveyard and basically commits suicide. There’s no other way to say it, really. He kills himself.

But wait, right when you figure this episode will end like every other Orichalcos fight before it...They decide not to.

Like an angel from heaven, our drunk ass looking music concert reject descends from the clouds, along with all of Raphael's dead family members!

Yeah.

I REALLY didn’t expect them to show up. This was so much content it’s like...an entire season of any other TV show. I say that a lot with Yugioh but these episodes really like to just jam-pack it in there.

And here I thought I’d actually have to take them off the Death Count one day. Here I thought 4 kids would do something to like...prevent this many dead kids, but I was wrong.

Everyone’s HELLA DEAD.

it’s both vindicating to actually say that, despite 4kids, these kids absolutely died, but also disturbing because even Raphael is like “ah, the hallucinations today are really swell, right?”

NO, GHOST CHILD.

DON’T TELL ME THAT.

And I’ve been over before how “heart of the cards” is a catch-all phrase that can mean literally anything in this show, and it���s not the first time that cards have kept someone’s spirit around. No word on his family members if they are thrilled to be trapped in a Pharaoh situation, or whether they only occasionally drop from the heavens, or whether they have actually been the spirit that was within each of these cards the whole time. I don’t know.

And so the card family “cures” one of the most evil people on this show.

He’s fine now. This guy murdered the hell out of Yugi, our main character, but don’t think nor worry about it. This isn’t the show to worry about such things.

This show has Marik.

Bro and I were talking Star Wars the other day, and mostly about the Kylo Ren arc and how a lot of people happened to dislike that particular ending. Mostly about how there is a difference between your character being redeemed and being forgiven. I think this children’s show wants to redeem Raphael, but honestly, much like Kylo Ren--he’s just forgiven. And that’s fine. You don’t need to have your characters redeemed. We can stop at forgiveness.

And also, Yami forgives him immediately because he knows he can’t throw a single damn stone, his house is made out of 2 mm of extremely problematic glass.

Man, RIP Weevil, right?

Weevil who just pretended to rip up a card that could have been Yugi and got tossed off the freakin Caltrain? Raphael got off so freakin lucky and I am boggled he’s still alive. He freakin killed Yugi!

The injustice to Weevil right now, omg. Not like I enjoy Weevil. I super don’t enjoy that character. But DAMN. Yami murdered Weevil for even mentioning Yugi. Just feels like there’s a bit of a hypocritical line here in how the justice is dished out and...that tracks for a Pharaoh so I’ll just let it go.

And also, looking at that sunshine and I’m pretty sure they’ve been up over 48 straight hours. No one’s slept since Yugi died, right? I mean Yami is fine. We know from Bakura that puzzle people don’t need to sleep, or eat, or have blood in their body. But like Seto really needs to get Mokuba to bed.

(Although I am 85% positive that Mokuba is still part Noah Kaiba so it is...also unlikely that kid sleeps anymore, just leaving Mokuba’s future therapist so much to unpack.)

The GALL of this show right now.

Of all the generals--they saved RAPHAEL? Arguably the worst one?

I would take even Alister. I would take even Weevil.

Raphael?

I mean if he ends up as the next Duke Devlin, just driving us around for the final season of this show I guess I’ll accept this but, damn.

Raphael?

Are you sure, Yugioh???????????????????????????????????

Can’t we just let that guy die? He’s basically dead already, Yugioh. This guy does NOT want to be alive anymore. Literally everyone he cares about is super dead and now he doesn’t even have Card mom because she sacrificed herself to save his soul. This GUY.

I can’t believe Mai is dead but we still have Raphael.

The same disappointment when I watch British Bake off, man, they just...sometimes they save people and I’m like...no man...that one can’t bake. Just because they pulled something off last second does not mean they get to the semifinals. Raphael can’t bake.

Anyway, the episode attempts to end on a cliffhanger but like.

Just want to reiterate how common and boring Earthquakes usually are to a Californian. This was the most normal thing in this episode.

Man.

Freakin Raphael.

Anyway, if you just got here and is like “I don’t know who the hell Raphael even is,” Yeah, I know, I didn’t think twice about the dude until like just now, but if it’s because you’ve never seen my recaps before, I’ll direct you to the link to read these in Chrono order:

https://steve0discusses.tumblr.com/tagged/yugioh/chrono

Anyway, stay safe and have a very happy and safe Halloween alone eating your own carmel dipped apple slices.

#yugioh #ygo #recap #photo recap #yami muto #seto kaiba #raphael #weird redemption arc #tristan taylor #tea gardner #mokuba kaiba #joey wheeler #'s still a corpse #someone digs up their own grave at some point #it gets very dark for a character I have literally no interest in #and then like they're cured? freakin #this one was like for the Raphael fans in the house #shout out to you guys I know you must exist or else why is this episode even here?

[ibijau]

Worst engagement AU // on AO3

Lan Xichen puts his new plan into action. Nie Huaisang is unsure how he feels about that.

As soon as he sits down, Nie Huaisang opens his fan and yawns from behind it. A double reminder for Lan Xichen that he doesn't want to be here, even with better tea, and also that some people know how to properly appreciate him, as proven by this perfect fan. 

Lan Xichen doesn't take the bait. He serves tea without even a glance toward the fan even though it annoyed him so much last time. He sits, elegant as ever, and pushes a cup of perfect tea toward Nie Huaisang. 

"Is there any chance we might play Go today?" Lan Xichen inquires in a resigned tone. 

Honestly, Nie Huaisang doesn't know why the other boy still asks. Aside from that one time, they've never played again. His best guess is that it's just a habit at this point, and those Lans are nothing if not fond of their routine. 

"Not in the mood," Nie Huaisang says with another yawn. He doesn't bother with excuses anymore, knowing Lan Xichen just accepts his refusal each time. 

"Then I have another suggestion for a way to pass time," Lan Xichen announces, his usual empty smile a little more nervous than usual. "I'd like Nie gongzi to show me how he paints." 

"I'm not interested in a lesson," Nie Huaisang retorts, fanning himself. 

"I am. I want you to teach me."

That's such an unexpected declaration that Nie Huaisang gapes for a second and stills his hand, certain he must have misheard. When he sees the corner of Lan Xichen's mouth turn up in a more real smile, anger takes over surprise. 

"Lan gongzi is mocking me," he accuses. "I thought that would have been against the rules of Gusu Lan." 

The smile on his fiancé's face drops. 

"Is it so hard to believe that I like the way you paint?" 

Nie Huaisang shrugs. "Lan gongzi paints so perfectly, what does he have to learn from anyone, least of all from me? If you're so desperate for conversation, at least pick something believable."

Lan Xichen frowns. 

"I'm not lying." 

"Of course not. That's against the rules as well, isn't it?" Nie Huaisang taunts with a smirk. 

"I'm not lying," Lan Xichen insists, rising up, "and I can prove it." 

It's the first time he wastes some of their oh-so-precious time together by leaving the room. As he watches Lan Xichen hurry to the back of the house, toward the bedroom, Nie Huaisang idly wonders if it's something he could denounce to Lan Qiren. He eventually decides he doesn't want to deal with that old man. Besides, Lan Xichen does still have some blackmail material of his one, so it's best not to annoy him to much. He returns soon enough anyway, and drops a small stack of papers on the table. 

"I like the way you paint," Lan Xichen says, his face red. "And since I cannot figure out how you do it, I wish for you to teach me." 

Rather than to answer, Nie Huaisang gapes at the paintings presented to him, what appears to be a half dozen copies of the rabbits he gave Lan Wangji. He hesitantly grasps one and inspects it closely, a small frown forming on his brow. 

"You made those?" he stutters, looking up at the other boy who's still standing. "But they look like… You paint so well, why would you try to copy me?" 

"I like the way you paint," Lan Xichen repeats with unexpected intensity, his face turning even redder. 

"But you told me I should stop painting, last year. I haven't forgotten that."

"It was… it was wrong of me," Lan Xichen sighs. "I worded things very badly that time, and I thought that it'd be selfish of me to encourage you to paint. If I hurt you, I'm sorry."

Nie Huaisang blinks dumbly, unsure what to make of that. 

"How could it not have hurt me?" he huffs, holding his fan closer to his face to hide better. "Being told to give up the only thing I love, of course it hurt. But… you made these? Really? They're…" he hesitates, and lowers the fan to peek more easily. "Well, they're not bad, but they're not really good either. You're better than that normally." 

At last Lan Xichen sits down on the other side of the table, grabbing one of the paintings to glare at it. 

"I know they're bad, I just can't figure out how you make your lines flow like that. And I know it's not just that one painting, everything you do is like that. That fan you made, with the birds on a branch? I've tried to copy that as well." 

"You guessed I painted that?" Nie Huaisang gasps. 

"Of course. You have a very distinctive style, I'd recognise it anywhere." 

It's Nie Huaisang’s turn to blush, and again he hides behind his fan. It's quite the shock to realise that all this time, Lan Xichen was maybe sincere about wanting to see his work. Since he lacks formal training, he's just assumed that of course his paintings would be seen as inferior and Lan Xichen was mocking him by faking interest.

Nie Huaisang glances toward the incense stick. Surprisingly, there's still a good chunk of it left. 

"Get us paper and ink," he orders. "And… bring those birds as well, then." 

For a second, Lan Xichen is so still that Nie Huaisang fears he offended him, or that he really was being mocked all along. Quickly though, a large smile breaks on Lan Xichen's face, bright and warm and so happy that it sends Nie Huaisang’s heart racing. 

Lan Xichen looks like a different person when he's smiling for real. 

While Lan Xichen prepares some ink for them, Nie Huaisang checks the other paintings he brought back, the one copied from his fan. These are better, which he points out. 

"I think so too," Lan Xichen admits, "but it makes no sense. For those I had to work from memory. They don't even look that much like your fan." 

Sadly, Nie Huaisang doesn't have that fan with him today. He brought the one from his mystery admirer, which for the first time makes him feel a pang of guilt. It is the prettiest fan he's ever owned, and he carries it most of the time these days because it's too beautiful not to show off, but that can't be pleasant for Lan Xichen. 

Not that he cares what's pleasant to Lan Xichen, he has to remind himself. Having his paintings appreciated doesn't erase all the rest. 

"Paint one now," Nie Huaisang orders.

"Wouldn't it be better if you painted one so I'd see how you do it?"

A few moments ago, Nie Huaisang would have bitten off his own tongue and choked on it rather than to give in to any of Lan Xichen’s requests, just to spite him. As it turns out though, it’s a little harder to hate his fiancé when he doesn’t have that stupid fake smile on, and at the moment Lan Xichen looks sincerely earnest and curious. It's not a bad look on him. Nie Huaisang barely needs to consider his options before he grabs a brush and starts painting the first thing that comes to mind. It is not his most refined work, not by far, but considering he’s working from memory and trying to keep this quick so the incense doesn’t run out, it’s not so bad either.

“A nightingale?” Lan Xichen remarks. “It looks very lively. Its wing, though…”

“It was broken when I bought her,” Nie Huaisang explains. “It still has an odd shape, but she can fly mostly fine.”

Realising just how much information he’s allowed himself to share, and knowing how pets are forbidden in the Cloud Recesses, Nie Huaisang braces himself for some negative remark. None comes.

“Nie gongzi has an eye for detail,” Lan Xichen says instead. “And a hand for them, too. You did this so quickly, and yet I’m sure anyone who has seen your bird would recognise it. It's amazing.”

"Careful, excessive flattery is against your rules," Nie Huaisang grumbles.

"I'm not…" 

"Just try to copy it," Nie Huaisang orders, shoving the brush in his hand. "It's a simple one, you should find it easy." 

Lan Xichen pinches his lips before putting on that empty smile again, for which Nie Huaisang is grateful, since it removes any possible confusion. When he looks like an inhuman jade statue, Lan Xichen is easy to hate. 

Not that Nie Huaisang really has time to think about that. All his focus is on Lan Xichen's elegant hand as it holds the brush and tries to copy his little bird. As expected, Lan Xichen's movements are perfectly controlled, slow but well assured, his strokes light and flowing… But not enough. When he lifts his brush, his copy isn't bad, but it looks stilted and heavy, especially compared to the original. 

Nie Huaisang glances at the incense stick. It's still burning, meaning he won't be saved from having to give an honest critique. 

"Are you perhaps unused to drawing animals?" he cautiously asks. 

"I usually do better than this," Lan Xichen replies dejectedly. "I'm only this bad when I try to copy you."

"Hm. Maybe if you went a little faster? Your movement are a lot slower than mine." 

"I wouldn't control the brush as well," Lan Xichen protests. "I'd probably make mistakes." 

"Probably. But that's half the fun, isn't it? Making mistakes and trying to see if they don't look nicer than the proper thing…" 

Lan Xichen stares at Nie Huaisang as if he's gone mad. In turn, Nie Huaisang can't help tensing. Trial and error is how he's learned to paint, since he's never had the advantage of a teacher. That, and copying every piece of art he could get his hands on. But of course that's not the right way to do it, of course that's stupid, of course it's…

"You're the teacher," Lan Xichen says without a hint of mockery in his voice. "I'll try it like that." 

Nie Huaisang’s face grows hot at being called teacher. Thankfully Lan Xichen doesn't appear to notice, too busy starting another copy of the nightingale. It's worse than the first. It's starting to be fun, actually.

"Try to keep your gestures lighter," Nie Huaisang advises, resting his chin onto his hand as he watches Lan Xichen be bad at something. "You're still trying to control it too much." 

"I'm doing my best!" 

"Your best should be better than that. Lighter, more relaxed. Yes, like th… ah, that line was almost good. You'll get there." 

Lan Xichen pouts as he looks down at his disastrous attempts. 

"I think I just can't do it the way you do, Nie gongzi," he sighs wistfully. "I'll have to content myself with admiring your work." 

Hearing Lan Xichen admit that he thinks he's failing at something is more delicious than a sip of Emperor's Smile. That he would be bad in comparison to Nie Huaisang is better than a whole jar of wine. Ascending to godhood wouldn't be half as satisfying. 

Riding that high, Nie Huaisang decides that just this once, he can afford to be kind to Lan Xichen. 

Jumping to his feet, he walks around the table and comes to sit next to Lan Xichen who startles at the sudden proximity. 

"What… what are you doing, Nie gongzi?" 

"Showing you how I do it," Nie Huaisang explains, covering Lan Xichen’s hand with his own so he can guide him, since apparently just explaining isn’t enough.

The reaction to his touch is immediate and intense.

Lan Xichen flinches violently at the contact and drops his brush so suddenly that it rolls on the table, staining both his failed studies and the bottom of Nie Huaisang’s nightingale. They both freeze, equally surprised by what just happened. Lan Xichen recovers first.

“I’m sorry!” he exclaims, tearing a piece of paper from one of his sketches, vainly trying to blot this mess, as if that’s ever going to work. “I didn’t expect… You took me by surprise and…”

Nie Huaisang grinds his teeth and shrugs. “It’s fine. I should have known better.” He glances at the incense stick, and finds that at long last, it is all gone. It feels like it burned an eternity and a half today. “I’ll be going.”

Without a look for his fiancé, Nie Huaisang gets back up on his feet. As he wipes some imaginary dust from his knees, he briefly wonders if he should grab the painting of his nightingale before he leaves. In the end he decides against it. Lan Xichen ruined it, he can keep it and make more bad copies of it, if that pleases him.

“Nie Huaisang, wait!” Lan Xichen orders, although if it were coming from anyone else, it might have sounded like a plea. “I really didn’t mean to…”

“I’ll see you next week,” Nie Huaisang cuts him, stomping toward the door. “Good day, Lan gongzi.”

Ignoring Lan Xichen’s protests, he strides out of the house and heads for his cabin. He had planned to meet up with Jin Zixuan to tell him what a disaster this new meeting with his fiancé had been, but now it doesn’t feel like such a funny idea anymore.

It was stupid of him to lower his guard and forget for a moment that Lan Xichen is what he is. Just because the other boy said a few nice things about his paintings… Nie Huaisang feels pathetic that this was all it took to almost give his fiancé a second chance. In the end, he’s still nothing more than that idiot kid from last year, so desperate for the approval of someone who will never give it.

It was stupid to ever think things could get better.

Lan Xichen might appreciate his paintings, but he still clearly hates everything else about Nie Huaisang.

#xisang #worst engagement au #jau writes #Lan Xichen tries and messes up: the fic #but at least he's trying? yay him? #also I kinda want to do a jin zixuan pov next but lol fuck if I know what might happen there

[erekiosuncreativeideas]

Being Human - Chapter 03

<= Chapter 02

Summary : The group is trying to find a way to reverse all of this. It does not go as planned. Also available on AO3 : https://archiveofourown.org/works/24826561/chapters/60472282

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New chapter ! I hope you'll like it ! Thank you so much for all your like, reblogs and support, it helps me so much, you have no idea !! Really, thank you !

I commissioned a drawing from @cheesytrishy​ for this chapter ! Go support her art, it's so beautiful !!

The "Oh The Humanity" AU belongs to @doodledrawsthings​ !

I wish you all a happy reading !

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Chapter 3 - “I don’t want to stay like this…”

Snatcher had guessed pretty well that walking was going to be a difficult experience. After all, it was hard to stand up for someone who had been used to floating around for centuries! However, he didn’t think it would be that hard, if he had to be completely honest.

Assisted by his minion and the two brats, the ghost was trying to put one foot after the other, doing his best to keep his balance. The kids were holding him up by the waist, while the spirit had put his hands on their shoulders. As for his minion, they were pushing his back, to keep him from falling backwards. At first, the group had thought it would work pretty well, considering that Snatcher’s human body wasn’t exactly heavy… But it was much more complicated than what they first thought.

Thus, the group was walking through Subcon Forest, in order to reach the shade’s tree house. Yet, while they wanted to remain discreet… The newly founded group wasn’t exactly silent.

-“For peck’s sake, stop leaning on me so much!” snapped the hatted child in a hush, irritated at the weight he was putting on her shoulder as he was trying to keep his balance: “It hurts!”

Snatcher gritted his teeth and rolled his eyes, retorting with annoyance:

-“Well, if you were doing a better job of helping me walking, maybe it wouldn’t hurt so much!”

-“I swear, I’m going to let go of you if you keep that up,” threatened the brat in retaliation, apparently not liking where the conversation was going. She lightly loosened her grip on him to prove her words, showing him she could very well take her arms away if she wanted to. To the shade’s discontent, it was more than enough to shut him up, as he didn’t really want to experience falling down again.

Physical pain was so awful. Well, just like being alive was, generally speaking.

The bow-wearing kid and the subconite glanced at each other briefly, silently worrying about the time bomb that was the other two. They had been bickering since the beginning and, from what they were seeing, it wasn’t going to stop. Furthermore, some parts of the forest being quite rugged didn’t help to pacify the duo. It was a wonder that no other minions had noticed them as they were crossing the forest.

Soon, they managed to get to Snatcher’s home, very much recognizable from how big the tree was compared to all the others. A yellowish light was coming from the lamps scattered all around it and the ghost couldn’t help but let out a sigh of relief at the sight: they were finally here. He didn’t exactly know how long it took them to actually arrive, but it sure had seemed like hours to him. All of his muscles were extremely painful and tired from the effort. It probably wasn’t much for any normal person, but his situation was far from being normal.

-“Come on, Snatcher, only a few feet away!” encouraged the younger brat. She hesitated to pat him on the back as a supportive gesture but held herself back. The guilty look on her face probably showed that she remembered how oversensitive his body was at the moment. The spirit couldn’t help but feel a bit of gratefulness, though he quickly pushed that emotion out of his mind.

It was their fault if he was in this particular situation to begin with!

The group approached the tree and, after a few steps, entered the open living room. The brats and the minion helped him to sit in his purple armchair, for him to rest. As soon as his body was able to relax on the chair, the shade gave out another sigh, this time of content. He could feel himself sink into the comfortable fabric, gravity pulling him down. The rest of the team sighed as well, apparently very glad to not have to hold him up anymore. The hatted child stretched out, soon imitated by her younger friend. The minion just watched them silently for a while and then came closer to the resting spirit:

-“So, Boss. What are we looking for?” they questioned, more than ready to help the shade.

The words brought the latter back to reality. It wasn’t the time to rest, they had a lot of research to do! He straightened up, feeling the joints of his bones crack from the sudden movement. He winced at the sensation: God, he would never get used to that.

Forcing himself to focus on the current situation, the spirit pointed at the closet in front of him, trying to stay impassive despite the gesture hurting his arm.

-“There are books in there. The ones at the bottom are those about magic. Take them out and give them to me,” he instructed, watching them opening the closet after his words. They took out the books he had mentioned, bringing them to him. Most of them were quite large and heavy, thus not very easy to carry around, especially for small people like them. Snatcher’s minion almost tripped while holding one of them, barely managing to find back his balance. In any other case, it would have made him laugh out loud, yet he couldn’t find the energy to smile in the state he was in.

He was too much in pain for that.

Little by little, a pile of books formed at his feet and he quickly grabbed one to read in the meantime. It was a thick book, with a dark and solid cover. The surface was soft and the ghost couldn’t help but let his fingers run on it. His mind became blank as he felt the texture under his skin. It was… So weird to feel things again. It was still very unpleasant, of course! Yet, there was something more this time, something he couldn’t quite place at the moment.

Was it… A feeling of nostalgia? He couldn’t really know.

Soon enough, he felt stares on him and he lifted his head, seeing the others watching him with a worried expression. When his eyes met theirs, they quickly glanced elsewhere, as if they had never been staring at him in the first place. The ghost squinted, but remained silent, not wishing to cause another argument: he was too tired for that.

-“I’m not sure we’ll find anything useful in them…” said the bow-wearing kid, tentatively.

Snatcher frowned, not liking what she was implying:

-“How would you know? You don’t know magic, as far as I can tell,” he reminded her, sharply, clenching his fists as the words left his mouth. This time, the hatted brat answered him, putting her hands on her hips as she did so:

-“Well, maybe we don’t, fine. But it’s not a magic problem. It’s a Time Piece one,” she remarked, raising an eyebrow at his answer.

The shade felt anger coming back to him and he took a deep breath to not lose his calm:

-“I don’t care what the cause is. All I care about is to reverse this, one way or another,” he replied darkly, slowly articulating each syllable to make his point, as clear as possible. He was sick of being in this useless meaty body and the sooner he reversed all of this, the better.

Not wasting any more time, he finally opened the book and flipped a few pages, irritably, skimming them as fast as he could. He didn’t really know how much time they had left before another subconite ran into them…And, frankly, Snatcher didn’t want to explain everything again. His eyes glanced at the words, searching for anything related to Time Pieces. In front of him, the kids and the subconite apparently had decided to help and they had sat on the ground, each taking a book to read. Well, at least, it would make things go faster. Well, he hoped so. He knew the kids could read his contracts, since they had scribbled on his last one, so they weren’t completely useless.

A few minutes passed in deafening silence, only interrupted by the sounds of pages being flipped and by the sound of the wind going through the living room. The air was cold and dry, which wasn’t reassuring Snatcher very much: it already showed that the effects of his powers over his part of the forest were decreasing. He wondered how many hours it would take for Vanessa to notice it and send a blizzard to them… He could only hope for Vanessa to be too busy doing whatever she did in that freezing manor of hers.

Time went on and Snatcher’s pessimistic nature grew more and more as he couldn’t find anything that could potentially help him. He sometimes stopped the others in their reading to ask if they had found anything, to which they only shook their head, more and more concerned with time. The ghost was becoming fidgety and his anxiety was growing faster and faster.

Why couldn’t he find anything? Why?

He gritted his teeth once again and, on the verge of a nervous breakdown, he threw the book he was holding outside, not caring what would happen to it. He had had enough of this. He just wanted to be a ghost again! He put his head into his hands, ignoring the looks he was getting from the rest of the group. It wasn’t like he could just commit suicide to get back to his old spectral form. If he ever did that, he would probably come back as a dweller and that would be even worse than being stuck as a human… At least, he still had a body.

-“I don’t want to stay like this…” he murmured, feeling his nails scratching his head, sending even more unwanted sensations to him. Without thinking, he let out a scream of frustration, which echoed all around him. He then slammed his fists on the armrests, before quickly regretting it, as more pain erupted from the sudden contact. He held back a cry and clenched his jaw.

When he reopened his eyes, the group was still staring at him, more than concerned. The kids were looking at him with sympathy in their eyes, which made Snatcher’s new stomach turn. Ugh, he hated that look. His minion, on the other hand, was doing his best to stay impassive, surely knowing he didn’t like being pitied. The latter came closer and put their small hands on the left armrest, trying to be encouraging:

-“It’s alright, Boss, we’ll find a way to turn you back to normal! I’m sure there are plenty of ways to do so! Right, kids?” they made a discreet gesture to the children, inciting them to agree. The little girls didn’t understand right away and tilted their head in confusion. The subconite’s body language started to show his irritation and they quickly pointed to Snatcher silently, oblivious to the fact that the ghost could see him very well. Soon enough, a look of realization crossed the children’s features and the bow wearing kid tried to make up for their previous lack of understanding:

-“Oh, uh, yeah, totally!” she said with a fake enthusiastic tone. She elbowed her older friend when the latter didn’t say anything to encourage Snatcher: “Right, Hat?” But, instead of trying to do so, the older child shook her head slowly, a dark and sad expression on her face:

-“I prefer being honest… The only way to fix a Time Piece problem is to break another one.”

The group turned to her, watching her intensely. Snatcher’s desperate expression was replaced by a mix of astonishment and anger. Why didn’t she say so earlier?! That would have prevented them from walking all over there! Why didn’t they just smashed the Time Piece again to fix the problem if it was so easy?

The kid apparently guessed what he was thinking and cut him short before he was even able to say anything:

-“But… It wouldn’t work in your case,” she said, anticipating his interrogations as she explained more: “Because if you broke it again, you would just… Get younger. You wouldn’t go back to being dead.”

She paused, ignoring the reprimanding look given by her younger friend and the subconite, and eventually concluded, sadly:

-“I’m… I’m really sorry, Snatcher.”

The ghost felt like all of his hopes had been shattered to nothing. His denial had been destroyed, forcing him to accept the fact that he was stuck in this horrible and awful body. He lowered his head, gritting his teeth: he didn’t want to accept that! This wasn’t fair! He didn’t deserve all of this!

He was about to retort something when the bow-wearing brat spoke again, interrupting the tensed atmosphere around them:

-“We haven’t tried anything yet, though,” she remarked.

-“But you know just like me that-” tried to interject the other little girl, only to be cut short by her younger friend:

-“No, Hat, actually, we don’t know anything!” she exclaimed, lifting her arms as she kept going, trying to be positive: “I’m sure there is a way to reverse this! We just have to try!”

The hatted-brat winced and glanced elsewhere, not wishing to contradict her friend. But it was easy to see that she didn’t believe her from her expression. As for Snatcher, he didn’t really know what to do or what to think. After what he had heard from the older girl, he was just devastated.

How would he even protect Subcon from Vanessa in his position? He didn’t have any powers to do so! Once his ex found out about what happened… No, he didn’t even want to imagine it. He closed his eyes, not wanting to believe this was happening. But this was all very much real, to his greatest despair.

His minion interrupted his thoughts, tapping on the armrest several times to catch his attention:

-“Uh, Boss?”

-“What?” replied Snatcher, his voice full of exasperation, hiding the misery he was feeling, not wanting to show any more of it.

-“You, uh… I think you should take a look outside,” advised the subconite with a clear anxious tone. This fact immediately worried the shade, who opened his eyes again, turning his head to the side. His eyes widened as soon as he did and, suddenly, all of his muscles grew cold.

A large group of subconites had gathered around the tree, watching them with great confusion. A deafening silence settled between them, as no one knew how to react.

This was a huge catastrophe.

One of the minions made a few steps, tilting his head as they spoke:

-“… Boss?”

Things couldn’t get any worse now, could they?

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Hehehe, I wonder how Snatcher is going to deal with this :)

=> Chapter 04

#A Hat In Time #ahit #hat kid #bow kid #snatcher #subconite #being human #BH #fanfiction #not my art #doodledrawsthings #cheesytrishy #oth #oh the humanity au