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all-things-fic · 3 years

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Rekindled

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

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

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

Tonight had started out like any other Saturday evening.

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

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

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

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

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

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

And you were right.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Come an’ get it over with, H.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bastard.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How yer getting ‘ome?”

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

“Was just gonna Uber it back.”

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

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

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

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

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

“So wha’s another nigh’?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You silently nodded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

Shoes had been left at the door.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You seemed relaxed to him, albeit amused.

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

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

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

“And makes you lose your fingerprints in the process.

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

“Ketchup’s fine. Ta.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“‘S it okay?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“This song always makes me…you know.”

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

“Who didn’t catch yours?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He was correct.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Neither can you,” you shot back.

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

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

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

Harry zoned in on the use of the word yet.

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

“Range Rover Sport.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And why would I want to do that?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Had being the operative word-“

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

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

“Tell him no.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Tell him to piss off.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Where’d you think?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He gulped as he swallowed.

“Please.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“‘S a bit creepy in’t it?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t like ‘im.”

“Of course you don’t,” you hummed.

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

“That I agree.”

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

“I can handle myself.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah and look where that got us.”

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

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

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

“You would say that.”’

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

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

“Say tha’ like it’s a bad thing.”

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

“Now why would you want to do that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Gentle squeeze. Reassuring reminder.

Take your time.

“Come show me this stuff.”

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Who didn’t love an innuendo?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“All Saints was more my thing.”

“That’s because you’re fake indie.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A nod was all you could muster.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You know ‘m fucking not.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What yer thinking?”

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

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

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

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

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

He spoke your name in a pretend warning.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No?”

A small shake of his head.

“The girl.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“‘S this okay?”

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

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

“‘S it nice.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay wi’this?”

Another nod.

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

“Tell me if it’s changed.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hear tha’?”

So lazy he couldn’t even ask you properly.

“Nice an’ wet.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“On top.”

“Me?”

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

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

“Do I need one?”

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

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

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

“Planning on staying over?”

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

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

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

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

“Gonna let me have you all night.”

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

“Eh? Sleep in the mornin’?”

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

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

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

“‘S tight.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You make me feel good.”

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

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

“No one gets it like this.”

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

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

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

“Deeper,” you gasped, “Yeah.”

“Yeah?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Gonna- oh.”

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#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

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numptypylon · 3 years

Text

It’s July TOMORROW, so I won’t release another full teaser, going to try something else instead. I’ll start posting Eurail 2021: Our Track Record tomorrow, where you can follow new couple Callum and Rayla on their first couple’s vacation around Europe. I thought I would do like a mini-teaser for each chapter, one line of no-context dialogue per chapter/destination:

1 - Balloch, Scotland

“Ready for an adventure, by which I mean watching me sleep for the next 2 hours and 42 minutes?”

2 - Paris, France

“Teasing is the lingua franca for love languages. Deal with it.”

3 - Catalonia, Spain

“You do not get to be this sappy about two days, we talked about that, we won’t be that couple!”

4 - Costa del Sol, Spain

“Yeah. Easy-peasy. Pee-sy. Because I’m talking about pee.”

5 - Madrid, Spain

“Like… a hundred years from now, when our great-to-the-power-of-n-grandchildren will be up there, among the stars, meeting someone cute at the spaceship housing-share and taking years to pull their finger out because of our collective dna dooming them to new levels of idiocy. And then the sun expands and kills them, before they can make a move.”

6 - Santiago de Compostela, Spain

“Dad, did you really just drop your phone from laughing so hard at your own child who rang you because he needed some help and some sympathy?!”

7 - Porto, Portugal

“You guys have sleeping bags, I’ll just use those, and you guys can keep your bed, ‘cos I’m a bro like that.”

8 - Grimselpass, Switzerland

“Flowery meadows and romantic gestures and frolicking and shit.”

9 - San Gimignano, Italy - I

“Don’t look back in hanger!”

10 - San Gimignano, Italy - II

“It’s confirming wrong things about you that you used to think and… when you used to think something, it’s kinda a very short mind-walk back to that. And he’s not allowed to hurt you.”

11 - The Adriatic Sea

“Do you know how much tzasiki you can get for 250 euro, Callum?”

12 - Attica, Greece

“For a second there I thought you were proposing to me-”

13 - Brno, Czech Republic

“You know how much a human skull is worth?”

14 - Trier, German

“You can’t ask me that while you’re naked, that’s just not fair-”

15 - Bergheim, France

“So you’re damn right I’m saying you should go flirt with the French girl. You don’t even really need to flirt, just… do whatever you did before that made her flirt with you earlier. It very likely had something to do with being nice and courteous to a customer service worker. And pretty. So very pretty. But you’re good, there. And you should ask for more gewürztraminer, because she thought it was cute the way you took three tries to say it.”

16 - London, England

“At least if we had gone to see ‘Oliver!’, we would have blended in with the cast.”

#rayllum #rayla #callum #tdp #the dragon prince #numpty fic tag #WIP Wednesday #cottage cuddles au #eurail 2021: our track record

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adamantiumdragonfly · 3 years

Text

No Ordinary Time: Part Two “wherever you are tonight”

"...A time when the United States is what we fight for..."

The occupants of the Grisham Hall boarding house were no strangers to the war effort. Brothers, cousins, old flames, and current sweethearts have been wrenched from their grasp, the only contact to their stolen loved ones is military-grade pencils and scraps of paper.

Estelle prides herself on her mind for numbers but a usurper from her past rears his russet head and threatens to steal her thoughts every chance he gets. Bessie has been searching for a home in every patron in that cafe but she's left seeing his face everywhere she looks. Constance hears her lover's voice on the wind, finding quiet in the graveyard shift of the machine shop. Margaret refuses to admit defeat but the distance between her letters and her love grows wider each day. Jeannette has read many stories about tragic heroes. Her childhood friend has told tales of his plans for wealth and ending the war on his own. She just hopes she has a chance to do her part first.

wherever you are tonight

Taglist: @rinadoesstuff @vintagelavenderskies @julianneday1701 @wexhappyxfew @trashgoddess600 @pilindieltheelf @sunnyshifty @rogue-sunday @thoughpoppiesblow @pxpeyewynn @50svibes

Norfolk, VA. 4th of April, 1944.

While some found the adjustment to loved ones being taken from their grasp rocky, Elizabeth Ferguson had the advantage that only a select few possessed. She had already lived through it, making the sting nothing but a fond memory. It didn’t stop stinging though, no matter how many times one felt it. A dull ache would be a more appropriate term, the bruised flesh tender, and the black discoloration fading but the strain of muscles didn’t let the memory fade entirely. It was enough to make a first-timer bedridden for a week but to a repeat offender like Elizabeth, it was a mild discomfort. She had said goodbye before and did her best not to, when given the chance.

She held onto forlorn books, ragged quilts, and threadbare shirts to keep the end at bay, trying to prevent the inevitable ache. Elizabeth tried her best to limp about when the goodbyes were unavoidable. That could be said of everything she attempted. Bessie was a trier, an all-around trier and failer. She didn’t have a wall of degrees like Estelle or a self-assured flick to her head like Vera. She was just Bessie Ferguson, who had clattered and crashed her way through twenty-one years of life. Not that she hadn’t attempted school (she wasn’t the best student) and not that she hadn’t attempted to walk with the confidence that her theatrical friend possessed (it ended in a twisted ankle and a scraped-up knee) but by god, she tried.

She liked to think that her determination was her best attribute, right up there with the dimple on her left cheek that had gotten her more than her fair share of tips when she had been employed at Charlie’s. The real Charlie had said she was one of his best workers and his gruff voice in her head still brought a smile to her lips, bringing out the money-winning dimple.

Even when goodbyes were said, Bess found ways to hold onto the people or things. She still frequented her old place of work long after she was employed in the noble service of her country. Every Friday, like clockwork, she was in the second to last booth, the red vinyl striking against the blue of her uniform.

I look like the American flag, Bess thought, examining herself in the reflection on the glass of the window. Red booths, white mugs, and a blue uniform. How was that for patriotic?

She looked different, hair sleek and uniform pressed. Was this really Bessie Ferguson who knew every waitress and cook’s name in Charlie’s Diner? Or was Bessie older now, with the WAVES blue wool on her shoulder, finer and warmer than anything she had owned in her twenty-one years. 1941 seemed like a century ago, not three years.

“Hiya, Bess,” Angie was still there, her bouffant of pin curls still perched precariously on her brow. “You got a letter from your boy, I see,”

Bess came in every Friday, with a new letter or to write her own. The grease-stained walls had brought her luck and good memories. She thought that she could imbue them into the stationary, sending them across the ocean to him.

“Yup,” Bessie said, smiling.

“About damn time,”

She had been sat without a letter for some two weeks now. The patrons and the staff of Charlie’s had been concerned, fretting more than Bessie had herself.

“He was a dear thing, that Powers boy,” Angie said, tucking her pad back into the apron Bess was all too familiar with. There was no need to take her order, Bess ordered the same thing every time. “Two sugars, right?”

No matter how tenderly she tried, the bruise was liable to be bumped or brushed. She tried not to wince at the words.

“I saved you a seat,” He would say, even though she was working. He knew full well she shouldn’t sit during her shift but he would say it anyway and she could never say no, either. His smile had seared itself into her mind, a soft glow that warmed her better than any cup of coffee ever did. He would pour her a cup anyway, from the pot she had brought to refill his own mug. “Two sugars, right?”

That had been before rationing. That had been before the war had been set to boil when it was brewing like the dark roast that soaked every inch of this diner. It had been percolating, slowly dripping and staining their country. He had been a machinist at the shipyard’s graveyard shift and she had been a waitress at his favorite diner, that served coffee with “the prettiest smile I ever saw”. It had been a romance sweeter than any baked good in the case and more poetic than Jeannette’s Shakespeare.

She had been a different person then, just a little girl in her third house in three years. Bessie hadn’t known Mrs. Grisham’s motherly touch or the soft smile of her beau. Bessie had only known how to try and try she did.

the ‘30s hadn’t treated Bessie’s family well but she knew they weren’t special in that aspect. The world had been gripped by the choking thorns of financial strain and the vines had pulled the last strains of life out of her parents. When her father had died, Bessie had thought things would be okay. The farm she had grown up on and the family she had been surrounded with was invincible, or so she had thought. She would grow up under the bows of that oak tree that towered in the yard, swatting the swarms of yellow flies and raking up the leaves in the fall. It was her home.

But Bessie watched her family home disappear from view in the backseat of a second cousin’s car, eight years old and she had never seen her new home before. Her oldest brother, Arthur, was sent some twenty miles to the west, only twelve, to provide labor to yet another distant relative’s floundering farm. Eight years old and Bessie would never see home again.

Elizabeth Ferguson hadn’t been raised to admit defeat. As the Depression stretched on and her bags were packed and unpacked, Bessie kept trying. She made her peace with every attempt, trying hard to be useful, helpful, and liked. Her name provided a blank slate, quickly covered in her current caretaker’s preferred nickname. Elizabeth. Beth. Bess. Bessie. Lizzie. Liz. Eliza. She answered to them all and she didn’t mind, truly she didn’t. She would try her best to be what that family wanted, what that home demanded but she’d end up with the suitcase in her hand and a new route to a new home.

Elizabeth had parted ways with the last relative, the last attempt at home, at the age of eighteen. April had dawned cold that year, 1941. She had found employment with the sticky floors and chrome edgings of Charlie’s, turning up on the Grisham’s doorstep. It had been Carrie, Vera, and Estelle back then. Before the war.

Before the war. She worked hard, shoes wearing thin and bones aching when her head hit the pillows. Elizabeth had worked hard and tried to cling to what she had left, the friends she had gained, and the home she had made. Maybe if she clung to them, the one god thing wouldn’t slide away from her, finding a home in some other harbor.

She hadn’t been looking for him or anyone and yet, they had found each other. Drawn towards each other, blending and blurring in watercolor of perfection. Maybe the best pieces of art were the ones that weren’t intended.

“Has anyone seen to you two?” She had asked, whirling around on the slick tiled floor. They were a grease-stained pair, smelling of oil and sleepless nights like every machinist who crossed the line from Portsmouth for a cup of coffee after work.

“No, ma’am,” The tallest, a thin, rake of a boy who didn’t seem much older than Bessie said. His voice was soft, not loud and course like the usual Shipyard folk. “We are fine to sit for a spell-”

“Nonsense,” Elizabeth shifted the bus bucket of dirty dishes to her hip, bracing it with her arm so she could retrieve the pad and pen from her pocket. “What can I get you two?”

“Ma’am, do you need a hand?” The soft-spoken one made to reach for the bucket but Bessie raised a hand to stop him.

“It’s not heavy. I’m stronger than I look.” She smiled. “Now what can I get you two?”

Faces came and went in that little diner on the corner of College and Duke, there were the regulars and there were the strangers. Elizabeth had treated them all the same, a bright smile and a warm plate. It was the least she could do and she knew what it was to need a smile from a stranger or two. These two machinists weren’t the only blue collars who sat in the vinyl booths but she fought to keep her eyes on the paper and not straying towards the one who offered her help. The orders were taken and the niceties exchanged, Bess turned on her heel, biting her lip to keep from grinning.

As she marched towards the kitchen, his companion jabbed and teased, the blush creeping up the soft-spoken boy’s face, settling into his hairline. She

These two machinists quickly became regulars, coming back every Friday. Small talk was made and a rough sketch of their characters was established. Elizabeth had never been one to chase but it seemed the work was being done for her. Mr. Wynn and Mr. Powers returned week after week. As the months dragged by and April came and went, Mr. Powers would linger.

“Where are you from, Mr. Powers?”

“Clincho, ma’am,”

“I’ve got family out that way,” Elizabeth had said. “How long you been in the area?”

“I’ve been in Portsmouth for about a year now, I reckon,”

“I’ve an aunt in Portsmouth. Over on Bains Creek,”

“Where don’t you have family, ma’am?’

“The moon,”

He had smiled, bright and warm. Elizabeth felt like she had taken a warm cup of coffee and held it tight to her chest, fingers warming on the ceramic. The dimple on her left cheek appeared in response.

“It’s Elizabeth,” She said. “Elizabeth Ferguson.”

“Darrell Powers,”

Elizabeth had never thought that sharing a smile could be something so special. She had smiled at hundreds of patrons, offering a grin here and there until the muscles in her face hurt, all for a few extra quarters thrown on the table. Elizabeth had never expected a tip from Mr. Powers, or Shifty, as he said the boys called him. Mr. Powers, he remained to her, even on their tentative agreement to a show at the cinema on some Friday night. Mr. Powers, he would be, until he walked her home from her shift, offering her his jacket in the rainstorm that sent them racing towards the nearest porch. There, standing on a stranger’s porch, in the April rainshower, Elizabeth wrapped his jacket tighter around her disheveled uniform, breathing in the smell of cigarette smoke and oil. There, the rain beating down around them and his hair slick against his blushing face, he asked her if he could call her Elizabeth.

“Liz, Bess, I don’t care,” She said.

“Which do you like better, ma’am?”

“My brother used to call me Lizzie,” She admitted.

His eyes studied her like she was some fine painting he had spent hours perfecting and the name on his lips was the signature at the bottom, declaring the work as his. The colors could run and the ink would fade but Elizabeth Ferguson would cling to that coat in its smokey comfort. She had worn it as the rain had lightened up enough to begin their route to the Grisham front door. She wore it on the front porch and burrowed her hot face into the leather as Vera pounced on her, pounding her with questions and squeals.

Elizabeth Ferguson knew what it was to lose thing but Lizzie was willing to try and hold onto this boy as tight as she could. Lizzie was going to try her damn near hardest. This boy with his soft words and bright smile would be taken from her kicking and screaming. She allowed herself to be lulled into a sense of security, taking the two sugars in her coffee and his offered hand too. Lizzie was all bright paints and newly sharpened pencils and Shifty Powers was all steady hands and fresh paper, the perfect medium for this new home Lizzie dared dream of. She was ready to start something new, something untouched by the inevitable goodbyes.

Then the bubbling brew of Europe had overflowed into the spitting flames. Steam rose and Pear Harbor shattered like a ceramic mug on hard tiled floors. Vera left, caught up in the theatrics of secrets and intelligence and Carrie joined up, bringing her soft words and soothing hands to the wounded. Estelle left her school and allowed her talented mind to be lent to the Navy, putting together pieces of puzzles and breaking codes like they were the Sunday crossword. Lizzie wasn’t brave or smart or soft like her friends. Elizabeth Ferguson was a stumbling, bumbling trier and she grasped for the remaining pieces of that home she had searched for. She had spent years searching for family in the faces of strangers, reaching for that oak tree and rope swing in houses that would never be her home and she wasn’t about to lose it. Not to war, not to an Army, and most definitely not now.

“Don’t worry about me,” he had said, gripping her hands in his own calloused ones. He had volunteered, given himself up willingly. Lizzie could have screamed. The Airborne had terrified her, the planes and the silk chutes were terrifying. Their kiss on the Grisham Hall’s front porch had tasted like possibility and tears. He left for Georgia that morning, leaving her in Norfolk with only a pen and an empty hand.

She had told him she wouldn’t if he promised not to worry about her. She had tried not to be worried but maybe he had every reason to be worried about her.

“Bess?” Angie said again, snapping her fingers. “You good, sugar?”

“Yes, sorry,” Elizabeth said, smiling sheepishly. This diner could pull her back when she didn’t have a thought for the present.

Angie shook her head. “Baby, I think they are working you too hard over there,”

“There” was the mailroom on base. “They” were the WAVES, summoning Bess to their cause. She had joined up in April of ‘43. He had been gone for a week and Bess couldn’t stare at the booth where he had once sat for hours. She didn’t mind the work, and she told Angie so. Being surrounded by all those letters and being the reason soldiers and families heard from their loved ones was the only thing that kept Elizabeth sane. She could try and offer some peace to the fellow fretting wives and friends who longed for a letter, a word, or even a telegram that told them that he was safe.

Angie wandered back to the counter, Elizabeth’s order safely scribbled in the confines of her mind, leaving her with her thoughts and her pen. Staring at the traffic that passed outside the window, her fingers gripped the pen, sketching out the twist of his head and the twinkle of his eyes as she remembered it. As his face burned into her mind.

She didn’t draw him as often as she wanted to. Elizabeth’s sketchpads were filled with the same sketches over and over, page after page, burned into her memory. She didn’t have to look at a reference anymore, the oak trees and the slopes of the house never changed. The smiling faces and the bright eyes as she remembered them didn’t shift. Every so often, a new face would grace the pages but that wasn’t a usual occurrence and was a great honor when a stranger or new face caught her attention. Flipping through the sketchpad, Elizabeth saw his face etched into the pages. She only put pen to paper and chronicled his features on the days she missed him the most. He haunted her more than she drew, hours spent with her finger on the desk tracing out his smile.

“They said you’d be here,” Jeannette Edwards stumbled through the door, arms full of books as she slid into the seat across from Bess. In the few weeks that Jeannette had lived in Grisham Hall, she had slowly acclimated herself to the Norfolk streets.

“Jeannie,” Bess smiled, closing her sketchpad. “Estelle still working?”

Jeannette nodded. “She said to meet you here and that we’d take the bus home.”

Bess folded her letter, sliding her belongings to the side so that Angie could place her order on the sticky tabletop. The mug of coffee, two sugars carefully rationed and dissolved, and the apple pie. Offering Jeannette the fork, she encouraged her to take a bite. Bess was passionate about oil pastels and pastries, making it her mission in life to share those passions with her friends. When a pie or a drawing was offered, Bess’s trust soon followed.

“Why do you rank pie, if you don’t mind me asking?” Jeannette asked, using the side of the fork to cut a piece off of the wedge of glistening golden pie.

“Every home is the same but the apple pie is different everywhere you go.” Bess explained.“Mrs. G’s is third best, this is the second-best apple pie.”

“Who is the first place?”

“Mine,” Bess smiled.

“You are multi-talented then,” Jeannette said around the mouthful of second-best pie, dipping her head towards the sketchbook she had abandoned.

“I just doodled,” Bess shook her head but she offered the book to Jeannette all the same. Watching her thumb through the pages, Bess’s heart was wedged firmly in her throat, not daring to hope for any kind words or critique.

“These are beautiful,” Jeannette said, her fingers tracing the lines that intricate leaves that had first taken hours and now took a matter of minutes. “Where is it?”

“That’s my family’s farm.”

“You must visit often to sketch it so much,” Jeannette said.

Bess smiled, taking the sketchpad back and tucking it into her bag. Reaching for the cup of coffee, she stared into its dark depths. Maybe Jeannette knew the words to describe how she felt. Jeannette was better at words than Elizabeth.

“It’s hard to forget,” She admitted.

A knock on the window beside their booth made both women jump, the fork clattering on the shared pie plate. Estelle’s face pressed against the window as she beckoned them out, her lipstick faded after the long day hunched over the papers and codes. Estelle Tran was rarely seen with a hair out of place, much less with her signature red lipstick anything but striking against her pale skin. Bess insisted she looked like a real version of Snow White, something that Estelle had always shake her head at. Disney’s princess hadn’t been college-educated, she reminded them.

Bess dropped the money on the table and gathered up her purse and hat, waving goodbye with her fistful of gloves to the cooks and the regulars who still knew her name.

“See you next Friday, Bess,” Angie called as the door swung shut behind them.

“How was work, Stell?” Elizabeth asked, looping her arm through her friend’s as she tugged the gloves over her graphite-smudged hands.

“Heinous,”

The disheveled appearance of the usually put-together Estelle was indication enough. Bessie nodded.

“Let’s go home,” she said.

It was, in moments such as this, when rest is most needed that the world decides to test you.

The bus pulled up to its spot, just as it always did. It was a route that Bess was familiar with, a routine that she welcomed. Fridays were spent at the diner until Estelle got off of work. They would then walk home or, if particularly exhausted, take the bus. Bessie hopped inside without hesitation, ready to sit in a seat and watch the world pass by while she finished the letter she had drafted in her mind. The bus driver, a new face, said nothing as she entered. But, on the days when rest is most needed, inconvenience is the Devil’s worst weapon.

“We don’t let your people on,” The bus driver said, the passengers peering over the edge of the nest, not daring to disagree.

“I beg your pardon?” Bess looked back, seeing that he was not referring to her in her American blue uniform but Estelle. Dear Estelle with her features nothing like the usual faces of Norfolk, Virginia.

Jeannette’s mouth hung wide and Estelle froze, foot perched on the step. Her face fell and Bessie could almost hear it shatter on the pavement. The Grisham girls had been informed that Estelle’s family hailed from the Indochina islands in the Pacific and had been in America since Teddy Roosevelt’s days. She was most ardently NOT the enemy. Mrs. Grisham would sniff indignantly at such a mention and Vera, before she had left, had been known to glower at anyone who dared say such a “fucking disgusting thing”.

Bessie stepped forward, ready to give the man the facts but a hand encircled her arm, pulling her out of the bus and back on the pavement before the doors swung open. Swearing so loudly and vehemently that Mrs. Grisham would have been sent to an early grave, Bessie aimed a kick at the tire of the bus before it sped off, sans three passengers.

“It’s fine,” Estelle said.

“You aren’t Japanese!” Elizabeth growled, her shoes stomping on the pavement. Bess was a trier and she was a fighter. She was ready to try fighting for Estelle, even if that meant throwing a fist at this burly bus driver.

“It’s fine, Bess,” Estelle said.

“That was a despicable thing to do,” Jeannette fumed.

“Let’s just go home,” Estelle muttered, squashing her hat more firmly over her brow and leading the way down the street.

What good was it, Bessie grumbled to herself as she followed Estelle, to serve your country when you were still considered the enemy?

Estelle worked harder than any man and she had been working hard for many years. She had been a teacher and now fiddled with codes that boggled even the male mind. And yet, she was only seen as the enemy. Estelle Tran, by seniority or by necessity, had taken the unofficial role of den mother among the women of Grisham Hall. On the third floor, nothing went on without Estelle knowing. She guarded the girls like they were her own, a grim mother hen who warded off broken hearts and bruised feelings with wise words and her own experience. Bessie loved Estelle like she was a sister and she would have gladly punched that bus driver if she wasn’t wearing the uniform of the US WAVES. Women’s work in the war was precarious enough as it was.

Elizabeth didn’t say a word, as she slipped her hand into Estelle’s, gripping it tightly as they marched through the streets of Norfolk, their heads held as high as they could manage. She knew she couldn’t fight to change every mind or man in this country but Bessie Ferguson was a trier, through and through. Home may not have looked like that oak tree or the face she had sketched so often but she’d hold onto it as long as she could.

#world war two women #grisham hall for ladies #estelle tran #Bessie Ferguson #bessie x shifty #jeannette edwards #no ordinary time #bessie backstory #flora skye writes #tildy writes #band of brothers fanfiction #hestias of the homefront

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letterboxd · 3 years

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Found Family.

Riders of Justice writer-director Anders Thomas Jensen opens up to Aaron Yap about grimly funny fairy-tales, woke teenagers and creating an accidental Christmas movie with hunky muse, Mads Mikkelsen.

“Genres, that’s just a sales tool really. That’s to give people, show people, ‘are we having sushi or are we having Italian?’ Sometimes I like it when you don’t know what you’re getting.” —Anders Thomas Jensen

It’s stupidly easy to sell writer-director Anders Thomas Jensen’s new film Riders of Justice on its thirsty pulp appeal alone. Who can resist the promise of Danish acting force Mads Mikkelsen finally getting a decent John Wick-ish vehicle of his own, stoically meting out anguished, bloody vengeance to a cadre of underworld thugs? Certainly not, among many Letterboxd members, Harlequinade, who was moved to write this ode:

“MikkelGod sporting a bushy beard MikkelGod wearing a military uniform MikkelGod wearing a suit MikkelGod having this whole silverfox daddy thing going on MikkelGod killing a man with his big beautiful bare hands MIKKELGOD 🤗🙏🏻😍”

But to dismiss Riders of Justice as another entry in the seemingly endless slew of action-revenge pics would also be to undersell its other layers. Much more than Wick, your average Liam Neeson thriller-of-the-month, or even the recent avenging-dad flick, Nobody, Riders positions itself in a more emotionally and psychologically rewarding space, one perhaps closer to its tonally fluid South Korean counterparts. “What lingers,” Douglas Davidson writes, “are the questions Anders presents and the strange hopefulness that flickers upon the credits roll, burning like the embers of a dying fire in the darkness of night.”

It’s of a piece with all of Jensen’s directorial work thus far. A prolific screenwriter who’s penned everything from soulful early Susanne Bier heartbreakers to the recently misfiring The Dark Tower adaptation, Jensen, as a director, has found a sharply honed groove in the form of grimly funny, genre-defying modern fairy-tales populated by oddball characters forced to contend with the chaos of the inscrutable cosmos around them.

Causality plays an even more pronounced role in Riders. The film’s unlikely heroes—hard-bitten special forces soldier Markus Hensen (Mikkelsen) and a trio of bumbling data wizards (Lars Brygmann and Jensen regulars Nikolaj Lie Kaas and Nicolas Bro)—are drawn together to take down a vicious biker gang, but also preoccupied with processing the hows and whys of grief and trauma, and of course, the value of revenge.

Amid the terse blasts of gunfire, the film foregrounds scenes of connection and healing between its characters, an assortment of progressive teens and bumbling middle-aged men whose unusual found-family dynamic recalls Jensen’s previous dark, offbeat comedies like Adam’s Apples and Men and Chicken. As More_Baddass writes, the film gifts us some “Christmastime therapy of an unorthodox family”.

Over Zoom, we spoke about whether it’s possible to make Mikkelsen less handsome, why Denmark won’t be getting a sci-fi blockbuster anytime soon, and the time that Jensen and a friend tried to break the Guinness World Record for movie-watching.

‘Riders of Justice’ cast members Lars Brygmann, Andrea Heick Gadeberg, Mads Mikkelsen, Nikolaj Lie Kaas and Nicolas Bro.

Riders of Justice is one of your more action-packed films. Did you watch any other action flicks, or were there any specific movies that inspired you while you were designing and creating the action in this film? Anders Thomas Jensen: It’s funny, because it’s always subconscious. I never look for inspiration directly because for me, that would be weird to do because then you’re just copying. Definitely in the back of my mind, there’s a lot of action movies and a lot of revenge movies that I’ve seen in the past that will work their way in there. The process for me is very, how do you say, unconscious? What’s it called?

Intuitive? Intuitive, that’s the word. Thank you. First of all, a revenge movie is not easy, but it always has a strong lead and it has a strong will, which is obviously really good if you want to do a script that moves forward. Hamlet is a revenge story, right? I love Once Upon a Time in the West. I love that. The Searchers. The Sting, I guess, is also a revenge movie. Also, there’s so much identification in people who are wronged.

Wish fulfilment. Yeah that too. It’s one of the obviously basic human feelings. Revenge, love. There are these emotions that you’ll do dramas based on long after we were here.

I understand that you took a break from directing for a while and you were spending time raising your family. I’ve noticed, with Men & Chicken and Riders of Justice there’s a lot of attention paid to parenthood, and the role of the parent. Was that intentionally woven into these narratives and something you were thinking of? Yeah. I don’t do it on purpose, but I can definitely see that every movie I ever made I’m very much a part of it. So the whole father story is part of my life in this movie. I have a teenage daughter who I sometimes feel like … I don’t at all have the emotional tools that she and her friends have. This new woke generation that I’m aware of; every single feeling and the environment and everything. I was brought up in a different way. So that’s quite personal in the story, the whole ‘father who has to learn how to communicate through feelings when he’s not very good at it’.

Mads Mikkelsen and Andrea Heick Gadeberg in a scene from ‘Riders of Justice’.

Would you consider Riders of Justice a Christmas movie? Well, it’s so funny because I didn’t see it at all before one of my editors said. No, I wouldn’t because I didn’t pay attention to it at all. The only reason it ends on Christmas is because that’s the perfect coming together of a family. I needed it in the end, but it could have been Easter, but it wasn’t. Perhaps it is a Christmas movie now because it does have Christmas in it.

What was the first film that made you want to be a filmmaker? There are several, but I think the first time I had was Lawrence of Arabia. I saw that when I was very little, when I perhaps shouldn’t have seen it. But when I was around ten, I got a bootleg copy of Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade. VCRs were a brand new thing and we got a VCR. I saw that film every day for half a year and I still know every line in it. It’s not getting out of my head. I love that film and I think from there on, I knew that I wanted to do films.

As a screenwriter, do you have any other screenwriters that you respect and admire? I have many. Billy Wilder is one of my favorites. Also, Ingmar Bergman, the Coen Brothers, Robert Towne, but many others also. There are a lot of good screenwriters.

I can see elements of those writers coming through your work, especially the first three. You’re really good at blending elements from different genres and putting strange characters together. Are there any other genres you want to explore that you haven’t yet? Well, it’s funny because every time I open up a new streaming service, I look for sci-fi movies first. I’m part of the Academy and when I get the screeners, I’m always checking for sci-fi. I have a love for sci-fi, but unfortunately I’m born in a country where doing a sci-fi film would just be insane. It’s never been done. If you have a really big budget, you have five to six million here. So it’s just something that won’t happen. But of course, you could get ambitious and write a sci-fi movie and hope you could do it somewhere else. I hope one day [to] do a good sci-fi movie, or at least something within that genre because it is a favorite.

But I also have to say, basically, I love all genres. Perhaps not rom-com that much, but I really like Westerns. I like war movies, revenge movies, dramas. I love to mix genres. Every time I do a movie, I get this from the distributors: “What are we going to call it?” Because it is this mix of genres. Genres, that’s just a sales tool really. That’s to give people, show people, “are we having sushi or are we having Italian?” So people don’t get confused. But I think sometimes I like it when you don’t know what you’re getting. That’s also what I love about the Coen Brothers and other directors that play with genres, is that I never know where it’s going.

‘Riders of Justice’ writer-director Anders Thomas Jensen.

Let’s talk a little about Danish cinema. You have your Lars von Trier, you have your Vinterberg and Susanne Bier. Is there an older Danish film that you would recommend that people should see? I actually thought about it and it’s going to sound arrogant, but I couldn’t find one. Not when I compare to what else is out there of American, French, Italian, British, German, Russian and Asian. No, there isn’t. Of course there’s Carl Dreyer. He’s an icon in early, early cinema. That’s the obvious thing to say, but no. For me, Danish cinema starts in the ’90s. Also, I haven’t watched many Danish movies before that, because there aren’t that many. Some people will hate me for saying this, but that’s how I feel.

Are there any recent Danish films or filmmakers that you can recommend? This year I saw a film called Shorta, which was great. It was made by two directors with no budget, about two cops venturing into this Muslim part of Copenhagen where there’s a riot. That was really a promising debut. Also, I really like the idea they had. They made a lot of great stuff visually and for almost no money.

What are your movie-watching habits? You said when you turn on a streaming service, you look out for sci-fi movies. Do you have any other weird behaviors? It’s crazy, but if I really like a movie, I see it many times. I also see it many times where I do not look at it. I hear it. I will just lie with my back to it and just hear the movie. Actually, if the movie is really good, it also works without the picture.

I think that’s [as] weird as it gets, otherwise I’m pretty much normal. I used to binge-watch. Actually, I tried to get into a Guinness Book of Record with a friend when I was fifteen, where, for five days continuously, we watched movies. I can’t remember if it was 107 movies. We watched movies and we had a video store sponsor us. We were lying in an all-night video store, and just saw films until we collapsed. That’s the craziest thing I’ve done, but we never got into the book because there are people that are better at not sleeping, so somebody else beat the record by far.

Do you have a list, or a record of what you watched? No, but there was a journalist that asked us what number afterwards. He asked me, “What film was the film number? 47, 46?” I remember him being very impressed that I could differentiate them.

It would have made a great Letterboxd list. Preserve it for eternity. The funny thing is years after I would actually see a film, and I would get an hour into it and I would go, “Oh, I’ve seen this one.” It was because when I saw the last 30 films, I was unconscious.

I need to ask about Mads Mikkelsen because he’s massive with our community. You’ve worked with him for quite a long time now, so you’ve got a pretty solid working relationship. Having just watched a number of your films in a short period of time, it was impressive that you found that range in him that maybe other filmmakers haven’t tapped into. Is there a type of role that you want to see him in that he hasn’t had a chance to play yet? Yes. There are many roles, but I don’t know. I could put a job description or a feeling on it, but it’s much more complicated with Mads, I think. We have this common thing that we love exploring people who lie to themselves, whether it’s comedy or drama. People who are not being honest with themselves and people who have this screwed up self-image, which in all the films we’ve done together, his character has. There are many other characters I would love to explore with Mads.

His looks are quite specific in each film. He just looks like a different person each time, which is great. You just want to see how he is going to look in the next one. His wife is like that too. She’s always excited and she was so happy this time because he wasn’t ugly. Normally he doesn’t look very well, like in The Green Butchers. Because he’s so handsome, so I try to do him not so handsome.

Riders is the hunkiest he’s been in your films, I guess. Definitely. The competition isn’t tough, though. You’re up against a guy who masturbates and a guy with a bad receding hairline. But it is by far his most hunky.

Related content

Softspacedad’s annotated rundown of 46 Mads Mikkelsen films, and ‘Mads Mikkelsen movies ranked based on how good of a father he is’

‘Mads Mikkelsen is filled with rage and has only one eye’, a list by King

Onebear’s lists of all Danish movies released within each cinematic year since 2009

Anders’ list of films by Danish directors or in the Danish language

Leyner’s list of Danish films nominated for the Academy Award for Best International Film

Mikkel’s list of Danish Christmas films

Follow Aaron on Letterboxd

‘Riders of Justice’ is screening now in select US theaters and available on demand. Images courtesy of Magnet Releasing.

#anders thomas jensen #mads mikkelsen #mads #danish cinema #danish director #danish film #riders of justice #revenge movie #revenge film #action films #action film #denmark #the green butchers #men & chicken #letterboxd

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elenatria · 4 years

Video

youtube

Camera On: Stellan Skarsgård

(omg so that’s the interview where he stood up so that people in the back would see him, demanding higher chairs)

Apparently his Globes speech wasn’t the only time he made a Milos Forman joke. I mean he likes mimicking his directors sooooo much, at 17:09 he makes a Lars Von Trier impression (yes, we finally see how their dialogue played out, “You’ll bE in a pOrn film bUt you wIll not get tO fUck”, “It’s fine, Lars, I’ll do it anyway”).

When Mazin and Jared gush about his sense of humour and how he makes you want to like you, THIS is what they meant:

“I always wanted to be a diplomat because I thought it would be a great idea to save the world.”

“To me it’s much more fun to be creative with people than on my own. That’s why I didn’t become a writer or a painter, I became an actor because then I get help being creative.”

“Lars Von Trier opened the door and he looked at me and said ‘I don’t like physical contact’. So I hugged him. And he tried to get out of my hug and I just held him. Now I can hug him but it took some time.”

(the way he lovingly imposes his physicality on closed-up people is so Boris tho??)

“What I learned from him was that a director shouldn’t say much. Which annoys a lot of directors. Whenever a director comes in and tries to micromanage me… I get angry - which I learned from him. I say ‘Hey hey hey hey HEY, I’ve done a hundred films, I know this better than you, you’re not a better actor than me.”

“All directors are control freaks. All directors probably had sad childhoods.”

“Natalie Portman came up to Milos Forman and asked him something about her character in Goya’s Ghost”, a film we did together. And he said ‘I don’t know! You’re the actor! I cast you, fuck off, where are we eating tonight?’”

“Hans Peter Molland is very good with actors and doesn’t say any stupid things to you either, which is nice. I thought I’d never come back alive [from the filming] because there were polar bears and cracks in the glaciers and everything was dangerous. And he’s such an outdoor man and I’m such a city man. I came in a white linen suit to Spitzberg and he just… looked at me. He’s the kind of guy that goes on skis for two days on the mountain, shoots a reindeer, carries it home on his back and eats it RAW.”

“I’m Swedish, nudity is not a problem. My son Alexander was interviewed in the Conan Show and he was asked ‘Did your father always walk naked at home when you were a kid?’ and Alexander said ‘Yeah! He even cooked naked.’ And then Conan said ‘Well… isn’t that dangerous?’ and Alexander said ‘No, it was so small’. That’s how he grew up. Not good advertising for me though - well you’ve seen it, most of you.”

“When I’m not cooking and changing diapers, I’m filming.”

(I think I just died.)

Interviewer: You have about… nine hundred children I believe, how do you balance parenthood and working? I can’t imagine having one kid, let alone… eight kids, I believe?

Stellan: Yeah I have eight, it’s a little less than nine hundred though. It took me about eight minutes to make them so it’s not that hard.

(This man. Simply. Refuses. To brag.)

At 21:53, hear him call himself “latte pappa”, “latte daddy” and DIE because I swear I’m taking you with me, comrades.

“My actor sons know that acting is great fun. You have to take it seriously without taking yourself seriously.”

“If you have a lot of children, when they grow up the only way to be sure that they come and see you is to cook well.”

</3 (so true though)

Interviewer: What’s your best dish?

Stellan (stares): I don’t have one. Jesus.

“I like singing more than people like to listen to me singing.”

“I’ve never been interested in dreaming about the future because I’ve been too busy with the present.”

“When there’s a gap in child production I watch a lot of films.”

#stellan skarsgard #interview #2015 #latte pappa #latte daddy #Stellan calling hiimself daddy *__*#nudity #krakow #alexander skarsgard #lars von trier #cooking #reading #singing #child production #quotes #wisdom #humour

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repeterwiggin · 4 years

Text

i decided to make notes as I watched POF (SVSR) for the second time and damn. it’s just as much of a rollercoaster even when you know what’s coming (warning this is long there’s a lot going on)

- wild to me how we jump straight in!

- lee & mary lee are adorable & also thomas at the wedding is a Mood literally me at all my friends weddings

- the flashback breaks my heart,

- Patton is still a really good trier... he’s so good and he tries so hard and I love him

- the way thomas rips off his suit jacket...

- the song that isn’t sung!

- Patton says “we four helped you” but there were five sides in svs hmm I feel like that’s probably significant in some way

- the ace attorney ref makes me very happy! there was a secret path of me hoping for for a professor layton reference but this is ehhhh kinda close?

- the fact that the first thing they say is “why didn’t we talk to lee and mary lee” like. yeah!!

- WE SHOULD START LOOKING I TO WAYS TO PREDICT THE FUTURE! he’s a little confused but he’s got the spirit

- patton and roman bffs!!

- feral cats,,, what a tangent i stan roman

- I like that we get some more context to the invite as well, like being asked face to face does add another element to the dilemma

- Dame Judy Dench = Queen Groovy Bench I see you using those Good Place swears, Roman

- “maybe they ... feel guilty” is like. I get where you’re coming from Patton but talking to them should’ve been step one imo like. I have been to lots of friends weddings and talking to them is important

- “I’m not sure there was a good ending to get” ... “for he’s a jolly good fellow!”

- them calling Patton out for how critical he’s been!!! very important!!! and I appreciate that Patton is trying “I’m just trying to help you be a good as you can be!” he still has more to learn but still im love him

- the bagel callback lol

- GameStore instead of GameStop lol Patton

- FROGGER

- “he eats fly for breakfast”

- We’re ten minutes in and there’s already so much going on

- Also I just want to appreciate that thomas is such a good actor I can tell which side is speaking just from their voice like the cadence is different and they way they say words ahhh it’s something I’ve thought about before but it’s really hitting me with these voice over segments

- Leslie Odom Jr lol if only we’d known

- The Pokemon battle format is so good and I love that it’s being used for a “do you give money to a homeless actor”

- The hotdog puns....

- Logan’s Lowdown!!!

- Roman mouthing “behoove” to Patton is very cute but I feel bad for Logan :(

- Pixel Logan is adorable

- The fact that roman immediately goes “ignorant” breaks my heart listen to logan!!! please!!!!

- Patton trying to soften his thoughts is kind of painful to watch

- “As long as that’s not the main reason you’re doing it!” Patton no,,,,,,,,

- Roman needs to be listened to more he looks so defeated when Patton doesn’t agree with him and only continues after serious prompting I feel like he’s been ignored too many times lately I’m very excited for a roman arc :((

- “Leslie Odom Jr’s....literal cake that he baked!!!”

- Logan’s fun fact popping up in the mario scene!! that’s my boy!!!

- Also the fact that roman is immediately painting deceit as the bad guy after they spent all of svs getting along......like, I feel like after the other sides decided that deceit wasn’t at all genuine or looking out for thomas’ best interests roman did a full 180* on him which makes sense for romans character but is also kinda depressing bc in is lying okay? and svs he was like “oh he’s not that bad!!” And now he’s like “scute bellied tyrant!!” damn

- Patton let’s him talk and then immediately is like “uuuuh no” yikes

- Roman targets all his insults at deceit and very carefully avoids being even playfully rude to anyone else hmm I really do think he’s trying to “make up” for siding with deceit last time and in the end it doesn’t even matter :((( bc he still feels like he’s disappointing people

- Roman seems like he’s genuinely trying to understand and Patton is really struggling to articulate his thoughts and that creates such a good conflict between the two bc it’s not like theyre really against each other it’s just solid interpersonal difference. or intrapersonal I guess

- The trolley problem!!!! A classic I love it

- The way it’s animated too is so good... the “Thomas is full of dread” the way the music cuts when the train appears how it cuts right before the train hits “is it over” ahhhhhh

- Also Leslie Odom Jr again lol

- “Maybe don’t depict scenarios where my friends die” and then later Patton is specifically like “it’s lee and mary lee!!!” lol wild

- “You know we don’t like to use the T word!!!” GREAT little aside

- “So it’s the how that matters” “yeah... and the why!!!” patton baby you’re trying so hard and I love you but it’s okay. you don’t need to have all the answers. you can just not know! I promise it’s alright!

- Thomas face after Patton brings up the “figment of your imagination” things KILLS ME

- I actually disagree with Thomas on the “putting more good into the world” as not being a compelling answer BUT I think that Patton is overlooking how feeling good/having positive emotions attached with those actions IS directly putting more good into the world. like, if doing good makes you feel good, that’s a good thing!! idk

- Logan disagreeing with Patton was good and we all know logan is my favourite but I think he could’ve handled that a little better

- PATTON HITTING SKIP ALL..... sweetie no :((

- everyone has already said this but that cane is the snake boy

- Roman even pulls back the insults on a philosopher who is not there

- Also Roman being like “your desires are getting in the way” again bc he feels like he’s not being listened to or appreciated bc there’s something about him that’s “wrong” and trying to shoulder the blame bc he feels bad that his desires (success, fame, love, appreciation) are inherently selfish :(((

- “that is the stupidest thing you’ve ever said” right sentiment, terrible delivery

- the way roman says “you’re just blowing smoke” is a Lot and very much like his fishing for validation but I don’t blame him for it, after what he’s just admitted it’s truly understandable that he needs that validation

- Thomas’ point about feelings motivating him is REALLY good bc we are all motivated by our emotions

- “Doing nothing is even worse!” i mean you’re not wrong but not in the way you think,,

- Logan/Deceit (I do think it’s deceit at this point) using the oxygen mask metaphor is really great to me!!! I love that metaphor & I was going to be a flight attendant so it’s something I thought about a lot. I’ll talk about it more when Deceit brings it up again lol

- “Uuuh I do need help” mood thomas mood

- “Temporarily put himself first” oof

- “It’s easy to say what we would hypothetically do...” hard agree

- Watching logan/deceit huff and roll his eyes solidifies for me that it is deceit like something about it feels unlike Logan lol I can’t explain why

- Roman nodding along with the explanation of why leisure is important makes me very happy

- “Oh is it not? Please correct me if I’m wrong” and the way the sprite pressing further and further and being more expressive with his hands and eyebrows like damn. that’s deceit!!

- Patton’s breakdown is Iconic I love the glitching and the way it zooms out to show the layout of the living room and the way he explodes ahhhhhhh so good

- why does the frog have abs that’s my one question

- lilypadton ahdhajfka I love it

- DECEIT EX MACINA THE REVEAL IS SO GOOD as soon as he started punning (cut through this bull...frog) I was like 👀 AND THEN THE LINES AND THE CAPE AND THE LORD OF THE LIES IM HAPOY TO OBLIGE

- “CODE YELLOW”

- the deceit sprite is so cute :))))

- Deceit pulling Thomas behind him we have to stan

- “Richer than Jeff Bozos” I LOVE that roman I love you

- Deceit calling him out and the way the words themselves turn into attacks is such a fun detail

- Frog Patton still punning even in serious moments is so on brand

- Deceit dodging while thomas gets hit is a solid metaphor

- “The plane is going down, you need to give thomas some room to breathe” oof like it needed to be said but oof

- The health bars changing to “Thomas’ mental health” OOF LADS WE’RE REALLY IN IT NOW

- the way thomas looks when he steps back into frame cracks me up

- “We can still beat him! We’ve beaten him before!” oh roman, but it’s not a fight against deceit :((

- the snakes on the plane ref lmao “I’m sick of this morality fighting snake on this metaphorical plane” whoever wrote that line... I want to give them a high five truly iconic

- Deceit is so much more playful and showing more diverse personality in this ep and I’m living for it

- final fantasy!! the og version turn by turn which is what I like to play lol also the villain they’re fighting kinda looks like Virgil and idk how to feel about that

- Deceit looking away as soon as logan pops up lmaoooooo

- “Not that any of you care...” logan baby no!!!!! I care!!!!

- Effective Altruism explanation and Logan making a point to go “it employs the heart and the mind” like ... reminding Patton that they need to work together and they’re on the same side I’m soft

- Deceit and Logan agreeing warms my heart they’re both so good and ahhhh

- “Emphasis on the ‘sometimes’ though, right?” “Yeah sure whatever — I mean yes! Of course!”

- I also love how deceit addresses thomas directly they don’t do that a lot but it makes sense cause deceit is really trying to persevere thomas’ self

- Him calling roman noble and roman not believing it :((( deceit trying to be honest and ahhhhh I’m so sad

- “Selflessness isn’t always the answer” which was exactly what svs was supposed to be about

- “What do you almost all things?” “Oh you’re right we wouldn’t want to plant too many trees, imagine how much CO2 might absorbed”

- lmao why am I so impressed by Roman’s deceit impression when they’re literally the same person

- roman flipping out and attacking deceit is a Big Yikes but it’s totally in character bc roman has always been black and white even more so than Patton and it’s been building to an arc for a loooong time so I’m very excited

- Deceit taking off his glove.... saying his name......... I can’t process this

- JANUS!!!!!!!!!! It’s so good it’s perfect I love it I love him

- roman immediately laughing yikesssss

- “Oh roman thank god you don’t have a moustache otherwise between you and remus I wouldn’t know who the evil twin is” YIKESSS but also valid deceit is at a breaking point

- “I thought I was your hero” “you are!”

- I’m going to be thinking about deceit’s—JANUS’S—nod for a long time....was he agreeing with Thomas or was he saying that Thomas was lying ahhhhhhh

- “Everything’s going to be okay. We love you.” “...right” AH MY HEART

- I want to give roman a hug

- Patton asking Janus for advice like right away and Janus not being great at first but coming around quickly with the ever true “it depends” like I love the two of them together the DYNAMIC POTENTIAL

- Janus does seem fond of Patton which is cute I can’t wait for everyone to be friends again lol

- ACTUAL LESLIE ODOM JR I CANNOT

- how did they make that happen,,,, how wild

- the clapping

- “This sanders sides not odom sides,, I’m not threatened at all” that is, somehow, a mood

- “don’t kill, don’t steal, easy conclusions to come to” “even those can get iffy” “I don’t want to think about that... but maybe that proves my point!” you what we call that? growth

- “Giving too simple answers to complicated questions can do more harm than good” “mmhmm”

- “So I’m sorry! Again!” Poor boy is trying to hard and I love him :((( so much <3333

- “Oh yeah that’s cool, talk about me like I’m not here” I love you Janus!!!”

- “I’ll take care of him” and then immediately joking around and trying to make thomas laugh is very cute thomas needed something lighthearted after all of that ahhh

- “You’re not stuck with an EVIL snake boy...you’re just stuck with a snake boy!!” I LOVE YOU JANUS what an adorable nerd I would die for him

- and how excited he gets about being called right he deserves it

- “I love how much you like these constant dilemmas so please keep overthinking things” you know what I needed to hear that man

- “You can’t get doing good down to a science” WORD

- the message of treating yourself well & finding the right balance between that and doing good for others being a personal thing is very good and much needed

- Lee and Mary Lee are onscreen for like 3 minutes and I love them so much

- “So this is what you do for a living? Comedy?” “Yeah I’m a hack”

- Patton and Janus chilling on the same screen... I adore them

- “Seems like things worked out after all... I was wrong about everything!” “You and I both know that’s not true” and Patton’s soft little smile I love them!!!!

- “Odom sides would cool!” like actual Leslie Odom Jr said that.... I’m shook

- okay that’s the end it’s just as much a rollercoaster the second time around no I am not okay, thank you for your time

#sanders sides #sanders sides spoilers #putting others first #selfishness vs selflessness redux #sanders sides reactions

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skamamoroma · 4 years

Note

My heart breaks at the thought of Nico and Marti being put through wha Eliott and Lucas have been...

Lord. Don’t.

I mean, ALL Evaks have to be tested because it’s life and it’s a bitch. They are two deeply flawed human beings, deeply affected by their lives and pasts and the people in them. That stuff doesn’t go away. It means that you will mess up and struggle but the thing about them, or the thing that is supposed to be there, is this inate thing between them that is undeniably unshakeable. It means with every parallel, they struggle but they will endure. Their flaws and struggles are a challenge and make the other have to adapt and understand and learn and vice versa but they remain a pair of triers. ALWAYS. I like that Nico embodies that as even during s2, it’s that constant “oh god I can’t let him go, I need to keep trying” despite his “impossible personality”. The red string, the plans for the vaccine, the instruction to find a giraffe, the cure in a bottle, the poem he tried to use to explain... all of it as a way for Nico to effectively say “I’m trying, please don’t let me go, please have faith and please don’t think I don’t care because I know I’m messing up, I just don’t know how to do this any other way”. Hence the spontaneous road trip to Bracciano at the mere thought of all of his efforts failing. It’s an absolute for Nico. He can’t allow that to happen. I feel the same with Isak and Even and it’s a trait they all share which is why it sucks when I see how Eliott and Lucas are progressing at times

There is SO MUCH interesting stuff to delve into with these characters. It’s why I hoped s3 of the og would provide some interesting background developments for Isak and Even and in some ways it did but we’ve all been through the nightmare that was the fallout from that so I won’t reiterate hahaha but the whole “I’m jealous” thing could have made sense if handled better but sadly it didn’t. I hope Ludo Besse makes it make more sense. ALL it needed was for one of the guys to make a wrongly timed poor comment and Isak’s behaviour would have been really understandable to me as to who he is as a character and I can say the same about Marti. Marti HAS a temper. He’s not too dissimilar to Isak like that. He’d absolutely go for the jugular if needed and if he felt someone he loved was being wronged. So I am curious as to how they’ll handle all of that. Also, we are wayyyyy behind with Marti and Nico! They have their whole s4 arc (whatever the detail may be!) to go through. Nico IS still secretive and is likely still keeping some stuff to himself. He’s entitled to it until he feels ready. It might sting Marti for a moment as he might feel lied to but that’s the beauty of them as a pair... Marti WILL understand because he has lied time and time again for his own reasons and come to learn lessons himself. After this, I think their understanding of the other will be much more solidified because it pieces together many of the gaps that exist. They learn significant lessons as a couple as Isak and Even did - we just didn’t see it! They have a very close bond and I think their connection has such a foundation in friendship and ease that they have the added advantage of being a little more chill and a little more sensitive to each other as they’re less fiery but they also feel HARD and any fracture (I personally think) would be fundamentally heartbreaking for them if it were to be serious. I don’t think s4 will come that close but I think they’d both be terrified of anything happening to test them THAT much because to lose each other would be just horrendously painful. That unspoken understanding between them, the sheer enamoured way Nico sees Marti, Marti’s really simple soul latching onto Nico’s heart and just settling there... that kind of stuff would hurt if threatened I reckon.

But I get the same feeling about them as I did with Even and Isak. There’s no option but to have what they have. Their test is to come and I’m sure that Ludo will remember them as characters and what they’ve gone through and I hope we get a little more depth than some of the stuff in s3 as, while perfectly in character, we didn’t see enough that we should have seen without taking focus from Ele. I guess Skam It always has the closest POV of most of the remakes after the og and they don’t allow a moment to divert so it can feel like you’re missing out on too much when the stuff is very important... hence me hoping they give Nico the respect he deserves in s4 to at least have what Even wasn’t given. It doesn’t need to be a lot! As for beyond that, ah man, there will always be ups and downs but Marti told Nico how he saw their future - calm and with serenity, one day at a time and I get that feeling from them entirely.

That warmth and comfort and quiet settled peace and connection people talk of when they bring up Skam It or these two is something they’re all about and their relationship will go through tests but I don’t for a second worry they won’t try as hard as they can.

#skam italia #wow i dont even know what this is #nicotino #thoughts etc

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rosesisupposes · 5 years

Note

Hey I saw you were offering fluff and I'm a hoe for Prinxiety, only if you feel motivated too though! Love your writing xxx

So, this may not be what you meant, but… I watched The Unicorn Store the other day and I loved it, and one of the characters’ names was literally Virgil. So in a slight mix-and-matched fashion, here’s that :D

The Store

Pairings: Prinxiety, Moceit (Paternal Royality, Paternal Roceit); brief moment of analogical if you squint.

Warnings: Self-doubt, reference to possible hallucinations; reference to abuse and miscarriage; also, minimal editing

Word Count: much longer than intended 4,434 words

Read on ao3

Roman, dearest Roman, grew up with a deep love for unicorns, and rainbows, and all things glitter. His imagination let him have wild and beautiful adventures with his pet unicorn. His name was Steve.

He drew him, over and over, hoping that if he just nailed it perfectly, his parents would understand, and finally see himBut while Pat and Dee indulged his stories and encouraged his art, it was clear they’d never really understand.

They did send him to art school though

He wanted to love it, wanted to meet all those people who thought like him, who saw the world like him

Unfortunately what he found was a mentor who’s best-known work was a photography series called Stick in a Box

In the final evaluation, they were asked to make a self-portrait

Roman’s classmates had beautifully composed but tiny charcoal drawings of themselves, lined up in neat 8.5x11 boxes

Roman’s drawing was technically perfect, too. But it was a charcoal of a unicorn on a hill, surrounded with stripes of purple, yellow, pink, green, red that stretched off the box, off the canvas, and onto the wall itself. As a final touch, he said a wish to himself and blew on glitter

Unfortunately, his mentor was… unimpressed. And Roman became an art school dropout, back in his dads’ house, shifted to the basement because his room had become a home gym

His dads were still supportive, though. They knew he’d bounce back. But it didn’t always help when they’d talk about “now that you’ve tried that” and “finding a new path”

Also, they kept bringing over their neighbor, Emile, who was Roman’s age. Emile has just started working with them at their retreat service for troubled and at-risk teens. And it’s not that Roman didn’t like Emile, it just felt like… they were prouder of him than their son the failure.

Okay, maybe Roman did dislike Emile.

So in a fit of… jealousy? Desperation? Roman announces he’s joining a temp agency. He’s going to have an office job. So, Dad, Papa, please make sure to purchase plenty of pens and graph paper as he will need them now. He even borrows Pat’s old office clothes. A bit outdated perhaps, but he’s professional now.

He starts at the ad agency/communications firm and damn does he look the part, he’s sure. Even if his work is boring. Even if the people are very caught up in very small concerns.

In the middle of the very, very beige cubicles, and the very, very dull conversations, Roman finds a letter. It has his name on it, spelled in glitter and rhinestones. And it invites him to The Store.

But he’s… he’s being professional now. He’s a businessman. He doesn’t care about frivolity like glitter. Right?

When the second letter arrives, still with his name, still with the same address, still with no signature… well, it might not be smart but he can’t help it

He goes to the address to find a lone, flickering neon sign that says The Store. He walks in to an elevator that has no buttons, but descends on its own. He walks through a pink-lit hallway to a curtain of rainbows, and finally emerges into a grand old room that’s been…. transformed.

On one side: a gate closes off a clear space. On the other: several grand tables are arranged with fruit and hay bales. The back wall has a long bar and freezers of ice cream. And in the middle, a man stands with a slight smile and adjusts his bright purple tie and the shiny satin matching suit jacket.

“Welcome, Roman!”

“How do you know my name?”

“I’ve been expecting you, of course. Though you are late, by several days. It’s rather impolite not to respond to an invitation immediately, you know.”

“What is this place?”

“It’s the Store. And I am the Salesman.” Roman notices what definitely looks like long strings of tinsel in the man’s dark hair.

“What kind of store?”

“The kind that sells that and only that which you need”

“Which is?”

“Roman, don’t be ridiculous. You know what it is. You’ve known your whole life.”

The Salesman flicks on the huge screen above the door. Footage of graceful horses under rainbows, horses in meadows, horses sleeping… except they all have a beautiful, spiral horn in their foreheads.

“Unicorns?! You have real, actual unicorns?”

“Yes we do. And I contacted you specifically to make you this offer: we have a unicorn, just for you.”

Roman starts to tear up. "Really? You do? For me? I was right, all this time? Oh my goodness, can i see her? Him? Them? Do unicorns have genders?“

“They do, if they want them. Yours isn’t here yet: you need to prove you’ll take good care of them first. A unicorn isn’t just a pet, you know. They’re a commitment. They will love you forever. Can you keep one safe forever?”

“I think I can,” Roman responds, though he’s still jittery and very glittery.

“Excellent! Here’s the first requirement, then,” the Salesman responds. He pulls out a shiny folder. In it is a description of “Sheltering and Feeding Your Unicorn”

“Do you have space to accommodate a unicorn? Can you feed one? To qualify for unicorn ownership, you must first demonstrate that you’re able to provide for them.”

Roman thinks of his basement room with a wince. “Uh, not yet. But I will!”

“And can you demonstrate that you’re stably employed, able to continue providing?”

“I will do that too.”

He heads off in a whirlwind of giddy and righteous energy. He’s getting a unicorn. He’ll do whatever it takes!

First stop is the hardware store. He finds a man in the lumber section.

“Hello good sir! I am in the market for lumber.”

“Whatcha building.”

“A stable.”

“How big’s the horse?”

“Uh, not quite a horse, but um. Bigger than a pony, but you know, they can probably become whatever size I need them to be. Um, just your average small horse, I suppose?”

“Where you buildin’ it?”

“My bedroom”

The man stares, then picks up his radio. “Virgil, please report to the lumber department.”

“Will he be able to help me?”

The man doesn’t answer, just rolls his eyes and walks off

Roman wanders until he finds the worker with the nametag “Virgil”

“So, are you the builder?”

“Uh, what?”

“The man said you could help me.”

“Yeahhh, he definitely just said that to fuck with me. I’m not really a carpenter, I just do stock.”

“Well, you know more about it than me! Maybe you could try?”

Virgil stares down at Roman earnest smile, then finally sighs. “I mean, I’m gonna get paid, right? Might as well.”

He’s then the first to point out that Roman’s… ‘pony’ won’t want to live in his basement.

But in the backyard, there’s the slightly-rotted ruins of Roman’s childhood castle. It’s not structurally sound, but the space is good. And maybe some of the wood is salvageable. Roman starts kicking in the walls for good measure, and Virgil, with a strange fascination bordering on entertainment, joins in at his urging.

The hardest part is keeping his parents from asking about Virgil’s visits. Roman is very tired of being reminded that among his many failings, he doesn’t even have a partner. And the eagerness with which Dad and Papa ask about the ‘young man’’ who keeps visiting kinda makes it obvious they hope that’s why. In Pat and Dee’s defense, they’re not trying to be pushy. They just saw the conspiratorial smiles Roman kept flashing Virgil, and the bemused but amused smiles Virgil returned.

But Roman’s getting a unicorn. Who needs a boyfriend when the unicorn will love him more than any human ever could or has.

Roman returns to The Store. “I’m building a stable, and I have an appointment to go buy hay. What’s next?”

“Ah, good. Now that you’re building a home worthy of a unicorn, you need to ensure the full environment is appropriate. Here, hold this.”

The Salesman hands Roman a spiraled cone. It feels like ivory, but is far too heavy.

“Is this…?”

“Yes, a horn. They’re fragile creatures, but the weight of caring from one is all too real. Will your unicorn be surrounded by support and love? Is there a healthy family environment for them to come home to?”

Roman realizes that he’s not been on… particularly good terms with his dads. And it’s probably not all their fault. So he volunteers to join a weekend retreat: rafting and camping with the kids. And Dad, and Papa. And Emile

If there’s one thing Roman can say for Emile, it’s that he’s a really great trier. He’s not particularly good at paddling. He volunteers to pitch a tent on his own and…. Well. It got up eventually.

Roman’s helping two of the teens assemble their own tent when Pat calls out to get ready for Truth Circle. The girls snort under their breath but call back to say they’re coming.

“What’s truth circle?”

“Ugh, it’s so lame. It’s going around and sharing and they want it to be some deep shit. But I make up something every time and they can’t tell.”

True to her word, the young woman, sitting around the campfire, tells a tearful story of how her mom cut up all her tube tops and she just misses them, so much. A young man says he’s "so tired of assumptions just because i like loud music, and like knives, doesn’t mean i’m gonna attack my English teacher! I like my English teacher."

To each pronouncement, Pat and Dee nod seriously, occasionally offering "Thank you” and “Good share”

Roman just feels worse and worse, knowing that all of these kids are probably laughing at his dads on the inside, so when they ask if he’d like to share anything…

“I’ve been working really hard lately, trying to improve my life,” he starts, and Pat and Dee are beaming, holding hands. “I really want to make it all worth it, you know? Because growing up, people kept wanting to not play with me, and every birthday I wished for the same thing: someone to love me, unconditionally. And I know I’ve been flighty, and selfish, but I’m finally at a turning point where all my hard work feels worth it. And It’s because I’m finally about to get the one thing I’ve always wanted: a unicorn.”

His dads’ faces drop. “Uh, kiddos, we’re gonna have a quick lil mini family circle over here, okay? Emile, you want to lead some campfire songs?”

Pat is the first to speak. "Ro, I was so happy when you told us you wanted to come, but this is just rude. This weekend is for the kids, why can’t you pretend to take it seriously?”

Dee puts a calming hand on Pat’s shoulder. “Roro, your dad’s right. If you wanted to make jabs at us for not getting you a puppy, you could have done that at home.”

Roman tries to explain. “No, I mean it, I’m working on getting one. I’m making a good home for it and everything. I wouldn’t lie about this!”

“Oh, and you didn’t lie about 'Steve’ eating all the cotton candy all those years?”

“That doesn’t count, I was a child!”

“And yet you’re still acting like one”

Roman is practically crying with frustration. “You know they’re the ones lying, right?” he whisper-screams. “All those kids. Just making up whatever bullshit they think you’ll accept. And I sit here, actually telling the truth, and you don’t believe me!”

Dee sighs. “We know they lie, Ro. Of course they do. Her mom beats her,” he gestures with his head to a girl. “His father passed away suddenly. Xe had a miscarriage. They just got out of an emotionally abusive relationship. They all lie, outrageously, and then suddenly one day they’re telling the truth because they trust that now no one will believe them when they’re actually vulnerable. But we know, and we’re there when they do.”

“Is that the problem?” Pat asks softly. “Were we just bad enough parents that you’re doing the same thing to us?”

“No, of course not!” Roman insists. He’s properly crying now. “I’m trying to tell you…” He trails off, seeing their disbelief. “Fine. I’ll just… go. You guys can adopt Emile instead.”

In the background, Emile pops his head up. “Did someone call me?”

All three shout back, “NO!”

Roman stares at his dads for another moment, helplessly, then stomps off.

He fucked up. Now there won’t be a loving family environment. Now he’ll never get his unicorn.

He gets home and glares at the rainbows and Care Bears and streamers in his room, then starts bagging them up. All of them. All of the old drawings, and paints, and especially the glitter. Plus the hay he’d lovingly dyed rainbow, and the huge amount of carrots.

He throws them all in bags and goes to toss them in the backyard, when he can no longer hold it back and starts to cry. All these hopes he’d been building. All his childhood dreams coming true. All for nothing.

He hides in the grey basement all weekend, staring at the dumb assignment about a dumb vacuum for his dumb job. He was urged to make a pitch for the ad campaign, unless he wants to stay a temp forever. And even if he can’t get his unicorn, he’d like to create something again. But a vacuum? a “mystic” vacuum? What even is that.

On Sunday afternoon, he hears power tools from the backyard, and drags himself outside to tell Virgil he can stop working on the dumb stable now. But Virgil hasn’t just finished the stable. He’s decorated.

And it is an explosion of color.

“Oh my goodness gracious,” he breathes, looking at all the rainbows painted up and down the walls. Drawings are pasted all around, with strings of tinsel everywhere. “Are these… my drawings?”

“Uh, yeah, you put all the materials out here, isn’t that why?”

“Did I put all these in those bags?”

“Well, no- your dads saw what I was doing and brought out their favorites of your art to add”

“They… like my art? But it’s all the unicorns, I thought…”

He brushes away a tear. His original drawing of Steve is here, a big red heart with a very spiky stick figure. And so is his high school masterpiece, a photorealistic unicorn rearing in the sunset.

Virgil scuffs a sneaker against the ground. Like the stable, he’s a little technicolor, splats of paint on his pants and shoes and face. “Do you like it?”

“Like it?”

“I… you made an art show of me. Of all I’ve done over the years. And you didn’t give up on this ridiculous project. Thank you, Virgil. I love it.” He stares, and suddenly grins. “Hey, any chance there’s some glitter left over? I have an idea.”

He prepares a gorgeous, glitter-filled presentation for the damn vacuum, and even makes it a demonstration of how well it works in one go. It’s the Mystic Vacuum. It’s dreams coming true. It’s an experience.

But the working world does not care if employees are going through a coming-of-age realization. Cubicles are immune to your thinking-outside-the-box thinking. The 'safe’ presentation of terribly restricted gender norms gets the ad.

He comes home, a little crushed, but Pat’s there waiting for him.

“Papa, I fucked up. Again. I just… really suck at being a grown-up”

“Did you go for it, though? Did you try?”

“..yeah”

“Did you care about doing it?”

“…yeah”

“Then you’re doing great, kiddo. The most grown-up thing you can do is fail at something you care about.”

Roman sniffs, and hugs Patton tightly. “Thanks, Pop Star”

“Now, do you want to hear what Emile did?”

Roman struggles for a moment. “I’m trying very hard to be grown-up, but I really don’t.”

“No trust me. You do.”

Roman eyes him warily.

"When we were coming back from the campsite, he got tangled up in his own life jacket. And fell into the water because of it.”

“…really?”

“Mmmhmm. And… I may have taken longer than I should have to get him out because I had to not be laughing when I pulled him back into the boat.”

Roman chuckles, then laughs, and Pat’s laughing too.

And suddenly, Roman notices something.

“What are those on the wall? Are those my paintings?”

“Oh those? Yesirree!”

“Did you just put them up?”

“Of course not. They’ve been up since you sent them home in freshman year, sweetie.”

“…you didn’t help Virgil just because you felt bad?”

“Oh honey, no. We’ve always loved your art.” Patton ruffles his hair. “We just want you to be happy.”

Thanks to Pat, Roman shakes off his setback, and when he sees a call from Virgil, he picks up eagerly. They go out for dinner, Roman still in his glitter from the presentation. And it is… wonderful. Virgil is sarcastic and witty, and only ever seems to mock Roman with the same level of skepticism he gives literally everyone else.

Until he finally asks, “So, now that it’s done, when are you getting the pony?That’s the big secret, right, you’re actually buying a pony?"

And Roman smiles and says, "Almost.”

“You see, I’m getting a unicorn.”

And Virgil stares a moment. Then he cracks a smile. “Cute, I get it. Like the pictures.”

“No, for real!” Roman tells him. “I’ve been working on this so that I can get a unicorn. I mean, I don’t know if I’m back in the running, but I think I fixed the family environment too so, hopefully.”

And now Virgil goes still. He’s concerned.

“Um. So, where is this unicorn coming from?”

“The Unicorn Store,” Roman responds matter-of-factly.

“Uh-huh,” Virgil nods slowly. “And that’s definitely a real place.”

“Yeah, I’ve been there several times. It’s lovely, and the Salesman is wild.”

Virgil’s eyes are a little bit bugging out of his head now. "The Salesman?”

“Yeah, he gave me the steps I need to get my unicorn. Place to live, nice environment, prove i can support them, you know. Like pet adoption, but better.”

“You gave him your financial information? Ro, I know you’re really excited but… this sounds like a scam.”

“Why does no one believe me? It’s real, I swear. There’s even a hay-staurant.”

“…you say you’ve been there? Can I come see?”

“I don’t see why not”

But when they get there, nothing seems right. The entryway sign is gone. The elevator still moves, but it doesn’t open to a pink hallway. And in the room… the decorations are gone. The Salesman isn’t there. The screen is missing. And Roman… starts to doubt. Virgil isn’t surprised, but he’s worried. Roman looks so heartbroken… did he really believe in this? A grown man, thinking he’d actually get a unicorn?

“Ro, we should go. If you need help making sure that guy hasn’t used your info to, I don’t know, buy random things, withdrawing money… I can help.”

“No,” Roman insists. “No, he’ll be back. I’ll stay.”

“Roman, c'mon, don’t do this…”

“I know what I saw!” he shouts. “It was real!”

“I don’t doubt he did a great job with the showmanship, Ro. I believe you. But he’s clearly gone now, and… it might be time to assume he’s not coming back.”

Roman doesn’t turn, and Virgil sighs. He keeps hoping Roman will relent, but if there’s one thing he’s already learned about this man, it’s that he’s stubborn. So he leaves alone. And Roman waits until he hears the elevator leave to break down.

Virgil, walking out, feels something in his shoe. He checks - it’s hay. Rainbow hay. But he expected that - it was a scam, right? A well-done scam. He walks on.

Roman goes home and finds himself just sitting in the stable, dejectedly. It’s so lovely, and it made him so happy but… He knew he was a daydreamer. Had he really fallen for such a ridiculous thing?

Dee and Pat find him together, and sit with him in the stable.

“It’s really well built,” Pat comments.

“And your art is lovely,” Dee says, fondly tracing a unicorn horn on the wall.

Roman sniffs. “It’s just a catalog of mania at this point. My slow descent into madness.”

Dee hugs him around the shoulders. “Roberry, you’re not crazy. You have a spark that is just… so unique. No one could hope to match the way you view the world. Hell, even I can’t. Neither can your Papa. But that doesn’t mean you’re wrong. It means we’re just limited.”

“Is this some of that feel-d trip stuff you tell the troubled teens?”

Dee grins. “Nah, they never believe the sappy shit. This is just for you.”

Roman wipes his eyes. “I’m sorry I’m such a disappointment.”

Dee and Pat object in one voice.

Dee continues, “Hun, you are so loved. By us, by the people who meet you… You’re joy, Roman. You remind people of joy.”

“And that boy seems to really like you, too.”

Roman groans. “He definitely thinks I’m crazy.”

“Give him a chance, okay?” Pat asks, patting Roman’s shoulder. “He might surprise you.”

“He built this, didn’t he?” Dee asks, gesturing around. “He’s gotta like you at least a little.”

The next day, Roman goes back to the hardware store, looking for him. He searches every department, and all the back rooms he can sneak into, but nothing. No Virgil. He ends up sitting in the backyard, glaring at the stable, but still… hoping.

He’s interrupted one day by a very tentative knock on the back gate. And Virgil comes out, looking sheepish.

“Hey, sorry, I didn’t mean to disappear…”

“I was looking for you at the hardware store?”

“I got transferred, actually. Turns out having a full construction project to my name means your boy got promoted. I’m… sorry, about the store. I shouldn’t have left you so abruptly.”

“It’s okay. And congrats.”

Virgil sits in the stable next to Roman, and smiles when Roman leans over on his shoulder.

He’s about to suggest they get coffee when Roman’s phone starts ringing.

“Hello?”

“Congratulations, Roman! He’s arrived!”

“Who is this? Who’s arrived?”

“The Salesman, of course. And your unicorn. He is here in the store, waiting for you.”

Virgil stares at the phone. “That’s him?” he mutters. “Here, if he’s a scammer, let me talk to him, okay?”

“I… you’re sure? He’s there?” Roman asks. His heart is in his throat. What if it really all had been true? What if Virgil scares him away? “I came by, and you were gone…”

“We don’t set up the full store for just anyone, Roman. It’s not for him. It’s just for you. But you need to let me know if you’re serious about this unicorn. If you don’t want him, there’s a woman who’s qualified who needs him just as much.”

“I’m coming!” Roman interjects. “Don’t give him away, please! I’ll be there as soon as I can!”

He jumps up and is practically sprinting to the car, Virgil barely able to keep up.

“Roman, can I at least come with?”

“Yes, sure, just don’t tell me not to go,” Roman says, practically vibrating with excitement.

The decorations aren’t fully back, but the sign outside is, at least. They descend through the elevator, and this time… the hall isn’t empty.

“Ah, Roman! You made it! And I see you brought… a companion,” the Salesman says, eyeing Virgil suspiciously. “He will, of course, have to stay out here while you meet him.”

“He’s really here?” Roman asks breathlessly. “My…?”

“Your unicorn, yes. I called you to say so, did I not? He’s right through those doors.”

“And I can meet him?”

“Yes, of course. You don’t have to take him home - as I said, another woman also needs him if you don’t want to anymore”

Virgil outright staring at the Salesman’s outfit. It’s blue today, all satin and rhinestones and tinsel. But still with a nicely-tied tie. The Salesman looks back, and adjusts his glasses. “Salutations.”

Roman approaches the doorway slowly, and eases it open. Rainbows spill out as he walks in, letting the door close behind him.

He is…. beautiful.

He’s there, in real life. A huge, graceful horse with a pearl horn and a shimmery mane. He wickers at Roman’s approach.

“Hi,” Roman breathes. “You’re… oh my god, you’re here. It’s Mr. Unicorn, right? Do you care?”

The creature nods.

Roman feels tears rolling down his cheeks as he reaches out a gentle hand to caress the beautiful thing’s nose.

“I’ve waited for you for so long. I wished for you every birthday. I would close my eyes and think 'send me someone to love me, unconditionally, for me.’" He smiles wetly. "I called you Steve.”

“And I… I worried so badly that you weren’t real, because I needed you to be real. I needed you to really, really love me. But…” Roman looks into a pair of soft brown eyes, huge and understanding. They feel… familiar.

“But I can’t bring you home with me. Because there’s a woman out there who needs you more than I do. And you are going to love her, okay? You’re going to love her and support her, and never judge her dreams. You’re going to make sure she knows you love her. And… and you make sure she never feels alone, okay?”

The unicorn nods, and nuzzles Roman’s chest. He wipes his eyes. “I’m going to hug you now, is that okay?” Another nod.

Roman throws his arms around the equine neck, breathing in the strange mix of lavender and sugar and sunlight that is the unicorn’s scent. A hair from the mane gets stuck to him, and easily breaks off. He tries to give it back, but the unicorn shakes his head. A memento. Just for him.

He turns to go, and sees the Salesman has entered, and brought Virgil with him. Virgil is staring, open-mouthed.

“Mr. The Salesman- I can’t take him. Please give him to the woman you mentioned, okay? She earned it, right?”

“She did. And since you no longer are a client, you can just call me Logan.”

Roman wipes his eyes, but holds tight to the single hair. “As long as he’s happy.”

“Will you be?” Logan asks. His face doesn’t betray any emotion.

Roman walks to Virgil’s side, and takes his hand. “Yeah, I think I will.”

fin

taglist: @residentanchor @royally-anxious @bewarethegrammarpolice @jemthebookworm @arandompasserby @sparkly-rainbow-salt @astral-eclipse @thelowlysatsuma @adorably-angsty @max-is-tired @almostoveranalyzed

#Roses Writes Fanfic #the unicorn store #platonic prinxiety #roman-centric <3 #romangst #moceit #paternal royality #parternal roceit #roman sanders appreciation #roman sanders #ts deceit #deceit sanders #patton sanders #virgil sanders #logan sanders #it's important to me that you know i didn't change virgil's name from the movie

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