#in case you wandered how annoying the artist could be

[rosa-maltz]

Hey, this blog is just for my art, but if you are interested in seeing what I reblog, or just yap about things, my side acc is @side-of-rosa

#in case you wandered how annoying the artist could be

[theee-collector]

Teen Wolf Librarian AUs

A collection of Sterek fics where one of them is a librarian (most play in a library themselves)

This is Lovecantrophy by orphan_account

12.1K | Sterek | Teen

In which Valentine's Day is closely approaching, and Derek is a disgruntled grad student who works at a library. He's hit a roadblock on his thesis, he's harboring a (not so secret) crush on Stiles, and he keeps receiving werewolf-themed gifts from a secret admirer. Basically, Derek is totally oblivious and angsty, Stiles does a lot of planning off-screen, and Erica and Scott are awesome friends who are awesome.

Unknowing First Date by gayderek

1.2k | Sterek | General

Derek doesn't share, but for some reason he lets the mystery boy sitting across from him borrow his headphones. Turns out that the Mystery Boy isn't mysterious at all. He's kind of annoying, but he's kind of cute too.

You're the piece that I just found out how to fit to by pseudofoucault333

23.2k | Sterek | Explicit

Stiles is known as the tattooed reference Librarian, the somewhat reluctant crush of most teenagers in Beacon Hills and the son of the Sheriff. Derek is the new Deputy in town who has a history of heartbreak. Will Stiles' persistence pay off to help him get Derek to trust him and will Derek finally admit to himself that not everyone looks at him and sees a pretty face?

Inside this place is warm by wolfcloaks

40k | Sterek | Explicit

Coming down; One love, two mouths  Stiles Stilinski: -Senior at Berkley -Double majoring in Human Biology and Biomedical Engineering -Student Librarian -Closet Artist -Basket case extrodanaire -Hopelessly crushing on Derek Hale (read as: pining) Derek Hale: -Grad Student at Berkley -Philosophy Major -Dog enthusiast -Does not cry during The Notebook, fuck you,Laura -Is definitely not pining over the librarian with the cute moles -Would very much like to tell the librarian's curly haired boyfriend to fuck off Or Where Derek and Stiles are complete dweebs in love and jump to horribly inaccurate conclusions Or When your meet-cute turns into a bit of an (light) angst fest but it's all ok in the end

Hale's Library & Coffee Shop by scarlettletterr

3.8k | Sterek | Mature

College Student Stiles is looking for a place to work - so he can pay his bills - when his friend from class, Erica, mentions that her boss is looking for someone to help at Hale's Library and Coffee Shop. Stiles gets the job, along with a giant crush on his boss, Derek, that seems obvious to anyone but him.

Don’t Judge a Book by its Cover by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)

6.1k | Sterek | General

“Hi,” Stiles said jovially with a bright smile. “How can I help you?” For a few seconds, hot, sexy guy said nothing. He just stared at Stiles like he’d never seen another human being before. Eventually, after a sufficiently long and awkward silence, hot, sexy guy had said, “I’m looking for a book.” “Sure thing!” Stiles had then waited. Because—he worked in the public library, so someone coming in asking for a book was normal, but only asking for a book with no other details was a little too vague. “Um, I’m gonna need you to be a little bit more specific,” he’d informed him. “Right.” Hot, sexy guy had looked flustered, some of his murderous aura dissipating.

Checking You Out by wherearethebreaks

7k | Sterek | General

Usually, the people who actually did come into the library used the computers. Usually, Derek could just sit at the small table behind the circulation desk and spread out his papers and get his homework done. But not that day. Oh no. No, some random guy just barged in, doors slamming loudly behind him, tripped over a display for some new books they'd gotten, and didn't sign in, (which, who doesn't know that you have to sign in during school hours?) all before running, running, into the non-fiction shelves. Who runs in the library? Who doesn't sign in? The librarian who usually had to deal with the rowdy and unruly teens that often wandered inside to talk loudly with their friends, was in the bathroom. Meaning, Derek was the one who was going to have to deal with this kid. Something he'd never really done before; therefore, didn't know how to deal with. "Uh, excuse me?" A.K.A: Derek is a library student aid and loves the peace and quiet, a quiet that is interrupted by a fellow student that Derek has to kindly deal with. To bad the guy's a total cutie that shows up the next day, and the one after that to ask him out.

You taste so bitter and so sweet by EmmisaryStilinski22

5.2k | Sterek | Not rated

Dear 402, Your two dogs woke me up every night this week at 4 am! Please silence your hounds from hell! Regards, 403

Dog Days of Summer by CarnalCoffeeBean

1.9k | Sterek | General

Beacon Hills, as it turns out, is actually boring as hell. Or, the one in which summer is boring, Derek accidentally becomes a library volunteer, Lydia and Erica get shit done, Stiles researches werewolves, and multiple people trip, stumble, and fall flat on their faces on their way towards something resembling love.

Special Collections by hannah_baker

16.4k | Sterek | Explicit

Stiles Stilinski is a senior in college working on his thesis. Derek Hale is the grumpy (though inhumanely attractive) special collections librarian. All they needed was a common interest to spark a friendship that becomes more than either of the bargained for.

Can I get Your (call) Number, baby by lielabell

4.9k | Sterek | Teen

Thing is, for the most part, Stiles's loves his job. He loves the quiet hush of the library, the way it smells like must and old books. He likes walking through the stacks, collecting books to be shelved. Likes sitting at the reference desk, hell, he even likes the fact that they still have a card catalog, even though no one ever uses it. Everything about the job is amazing. Except... Except for the music majors.

Stacking up by bravelittlesoldier

8.2k | Sterek | Teen

Stiles is working in the basement of the Library of Congress and is feeling his social skills quickly deteriorate. Then along comes a new librarian working at Circulation who is most definitely a male model. Maybe its time to start re-socializing.

Librarians Always Know What To Say by codarra

1.1k | Sterek | General

Derek comes into the library where Stiles works. A lot. Only he doesn't know Stiles' name. And he's fairly certain Stiles doesn't know Derek exists.

Baby, I'm yours by yodasyoyo

4k | Sterek | Teen

Honestly, Derek Hale didn’t think he could be surprised anymore at the things you see working behind the circulation desk of the university library. He thought he’d seen it all. There’s a guy that comes in on Thursdays that carries a kitten in his bag and thinks Derek doesn’t know. There’s another guy that comes in every other day or so to catch a nap in a secluded corner. And then there’s the couple that Derek’s had to kick out three times now for having sex in the stacks. There’s this one guy that has, by far, expanded Derek’s list of strange happenings in the library. He only knows the guy’s name because he has to come to Derek to check out his books and it shows up on the computer but it’s not actually anything Derek can pronounce so it doesn’t really help. Anyway, Unpronounceable-first-name Stilinski is always up to something.

#librarynerd by yodasyoyo

7.7k | Sterek | Teen

“I’ll likely get far more done in the group if I’m not distracted watching you with your pen--” “My--My pen?” “Pens. Drinking straws. Don’t act like you don’t know,” Derek says darkly. “You know.” ____________ In which Stiles follows Scott into his Spanish study group, takes one look at the hot nerd who runs it and then decides to stay... even though he doesn't actually speak Spanish.

Old you in the garbage(new you in display case) by dearericbittle (dutchmoxie)

13.5k | Sterek | Teen

Stiles is lonely and desperate and suffering from a crush on the grumpiest librarian. So what’s a boy to do but cook up a ridiculous plan to get himself dated and/or finally get laid before the holidays? He just wants his She’s All That moment, okay? He never expected that the plan would actually help him get the guy.

#sterek #teen wolf #rec list #tbr

[helloslytherinstuff]

FORMER BEST FRIEND

Being the best friend of the Nevermore’s tortured artist was not easy. Especially when you were in love with him. That was sadly her case.

She was desperately in love with her best friend. She was desperately in love with someone who would never love her back. Definitely not after Wednesday Addams’s arrival to the academy. Ever since the girl stepped through Nevermore’s threshold, Xavier was obsessed with her. In turn, Y/N was pushed aside, viewing her best friend’s life from the side-lines, as he completely neglected her.

It had been mere days since the stand-off against Crackstone, since Wednesday accused him of being the Hyde. Yet, he still followed her like a love-sick puppy. It was also the first time in weeks they hung out in his shed, the girl sitting in an armchair, reading a book while the boy painted. Y/N could not see the painting he was working on, but she was almost sure it was another one of the black-haired girl.

Y/N wanted to hate her, she really did, but she could not help but admire Wednesday Addams. What she could not understand was how Xavier missed just how gay she was for Enid.

The girl sighed, closing her book as she cast a look at Xavier. The boy seemed to be completely emersed in his painting, eyes shining as a piece of hair fell over his eyes, slipping out of what she recognised to be a pink hair tie that previously belonged to her. His hands moved expertly guiding the brush on the canvas. Ahe could vividly imagine them sliding over her body.

The girl shook her head, trying to clear her mind of the unholy thoughts.

“What are you painting, Xavier?” curiosity won over her.

Yet only response she got was a grunt as his brows knitted together, causing the girl to roll her eyes.

“Okay don’t speak to me. Nothing new after all,” she muttered bitterly.

That seemed to catch the boy’s attention as his head snapped up, his eyes meeting the girl’s.

“What do you mean by that?”

“As if you did not know,” the girl scoffed.

“Well, I don’t know Y/N. I am not a mind reader if you haven’t noticed,” he said in a dangerously low tone, lashing out at her.

“I am no mind reader either, yet I look at people’s reactions when we talk. And most importantly I listen. Though both require a conversation to happen first.”

“Look, I cannot spend every waking moment with you.”

“You can spend every waking moment with Wednesday Addams,” she finally let out what was really bothering her.

She saw Xavier roll his eyes, an annoyed expression on his face.

“Can you stop being that clingy? I honestly can’t deal with you anymore. God, you are so fucking annoying,” he continued in the low tone, not raising his voice even the slightest.

His every word acted like a hit in her stomach, as she felt a pang in her chest. Until she could not feel anymore. Her mind and heart went blank at the same time. She felt as if she was floating, observing the situation from above.

“Good to know, Thorpe. You don’t have to speak to me again,” she said her voice sounding foreign even to her own ears. Y/N stood up, taking her book in her hand before stalking to the door, stopping at the threshold. There she turned around giving Xavier one last look, not being able to read his expression.

“You know, I tried. I did, but the thing is you didn’t. Consider this friendship over,” she said before slamming the door behind her.

…

She had been wandering the forest until she came across the clearing. She felt completely numb, unable to cry, unable to do anything else but scream. And so, she did.

She let out a scream, feeling the air rushing past her, leaving havoc in its wake. That did not stop her. She let out another scream. And another. And another.

She screamed until her throat burned and her lungs could not take it anymore. Exhausted she stopped for a minute, not knowing what to do next.

And so she let her legs decide. She stared walking and carried on, until she found herself wandering the streets of Jericho, completely alone.

Y/N swore she was not looking for trouble. Yet it seemed that trouble was looking for her. She was quite close to the café when they approached her.

There were three of them. All normies, all her age. And she did not like the way they were looking at her in the slightest. She clutched the book in her hand tighter, ready to strike like a viper.

“Well, well, well look what the devil brought here,” the biggest of them taunted her.

She gave him a glare, as the leaves rustled, disturbed by an invisible breeze.

“A freak,” the second continued.

“At least they sent us a pretty one,” the last laughed mockingly, taking a step closer, placing his hand on her waist.

The girl, throat still burning from all the screaming, pulled her hand back, and whacked him over head with the thick monstrosity she called a book.

…

She had returned back to Nevermore, with one black eye, bloody nose and bruised knuckles, thanking god everyone was already in bed.

Or so she thought.

Instead of sneaking back into her room, with just Bianca, her roommate seeing her, she was met by the sight of her former best friend. Y/N was tempted to turn on her heel and walk away but was not fast enough. Bianca had already seen her, and a panicked expression took over her face.

“Oh my god what happened to you?” Bianca asked rushing to Y/N’s side, as Xavier turned around, his eyes widening, a guilty expression crossing his face before being replaced by pure fury.

“Who did this to you?” he demanded an answer.

‘You did,’ she wanted to scream but could not find her voice. Instead, she pulled her hand back, and landed a hard blow to his face, most probably giving him a matching black eye, before turning around and walking into her room.

Bianca gave Xavier one last dirty look before following her friend to their room. She barely closed the door behind her before she heard a bang, followed by a loud yelp.

Y/N was standing next to the now broken mirror, blood trickling down her right hand.

“Uh oh, he screwed up really bad. What happened?” Bianca asked, fetching water and cloth to clean up the other girl’s hand.

“He…” she started her voice sounding hoarse, tears prickling in her eyes. Drawing in a deep breath, she started again, “He, called me clingy and annoying after I kind of called him out on ghosting me.”

“That bastard. I am going to kill him and anyone else who did this,” Bianca gestured to Y/N’s face and hands.

“Please, don’t,” she whispered as she fought the tears threatening to spill. And they did. The numbness finally gave away, letting the dam break. Bianca would spend that night, and two more, holding her friend, comforting her, cursing Xavier Thorpe’s existence.

…

She awoke on Monday morning to Bianca shaking her. By now, the whole of Nevermore knew about the fight between Y/N and the resident tortured artist. Just the day before Enid and Wednesday came to visit her, the black-haired girl, congratulating her on dealing with the normies. She also offered to kill Xavier if Y/N wanted, Enid acting horrified, but deep down, knowing she would help Wednesday hide his body.

That event alone brought a smile back to the girl’s lips.

“Wear something cute to show him what he’s missing,” Bianca nudged her friend, ducking as the aforementioned girl chucked a pillow in her roommate’s direction.

“I am going, but let the record show, that the only thing that concerns Thorpe, that I truly desire to know is whether he has a black eye.”

“Of course, it is,” Bianca remarked in a matter-of-fact tone before they both burst out laughing.

…

Walking into the botany class she cursed under her breath, seeing the only vacant seat being her usual one. Right next to her former best friend, who to her delight, was indeed sporting a black eye.

Whether she wanted to or not, she took the seat, noticing the boy giving her a small smile. Usually, she would gladly return it. That day, she wanted to give him a look so cold that it would be a wonder if he did not freeze at the spot, instead opting to turn her back to him. Yet, Xavier and his black eye did not seem to take the hint, as minutes later a butterfly landed on her hand.

Something Xavier always did to cheer her up. She let out a scoff before smashing the butterfly, promptly turning it into dust, wondering whether that was his form of apology. If so, he really needed to step up his game.

Y/N tried to focus on the lesson, but it was hard as his eyes burned a hole into her back. An invisible breeze ruffled her notes as she slammed her hand on the desk to keep them from flying away, unknowingly bringing up her injured hand. She let out a tiny yelp as pain shot through the broken skin.

Looking around she tried to make sure no one heard. And no one did. Well, no one except for a certain long-haired boy.

…

For the first time in days, she was left alone without any supervision, and she had to admit she hated it. Without anyone to distract her, she kept thinking back to what Xavier told to her, wondering if he was right.

Lying in her bed, she felt hot tears roll down her face, not trying to stop them. she was wallowing in self-pity when she heard a rustling. She sat up, focusing her gaze on the door. Not wishing to be seen in that state she crossed the room in a few strides, before locking the door. After all, Bianca had her own set of keys.

“Well, I’m glad I did not choose to come through there,’’ a voice came from behind her, causing her to jump up and whirl around.

“How did you… Right,” she thought back to the fact that the boy used to date her roommate and so must have been accustomed to sneaking in.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“I wanted to talk to you.”

“Oh, now you want to talk?” she said sarcastically, giving him a glare.

“Oh, come on Love don’t…” he started, but was quickly interrupted by a key flying in his direction.

“Don’t call me that ever again.”

Xavier picked up the key, putting it in his pocket and she realised her mistake immediately even without him voicing it.

“Now you don’t have a way out,” he grinned.

“I think I might strangle you,” she said doing a choking motion with her hands.

“Yeah, I certainly deserve that. But I do think the marks would match my black eye quite well,” he joked, coaxing a strangled laugh from the girl.

“I’m glad I can still make you laugh, Love,” he smiled at the girl, who looked like she wanted to strangle herself for a change.

“Very funny Xav… Thorpe,” she quickly corrected herself, turning her back to him, hoping he did not see her façade break.

Instead, an electric shock went through her as Xavier took her hand in his, turning her around.

“Come on Y/N, look at me, please. I am sorry. I am so, so sorry. Please forgive me,” the boy pleaded putting one hand on the girl’s waist and the other under her chin.

The girl shifted her eyes down, avoiding looking at his face, feeling guilty for the black eye he was sporting. The truth was, she could never stay mad him before. But tis time? This time he struck a nerve.

She had always felt like she was not good enough for him. Not even in a platonic way, always feeling as if she was annoying him, which he confirmed just a few days ago.

Y/N did not realise that that she started crying again, before Xavier’s hand left her chin, and focused on wiping her tears away.

“Please don’t cry, Love. I’m sorry. I did not want to hurt you,” he repeated over and over.

“It… it’s not that. I, well I… there is…,” her head was spinning from the proximity between the two of them, his hand of her waist emitting heat, taking her ability to think clearly away.

“Oh fuck whatever! The thing is that I love you, Xavier! I always have. Ever since we met. And I don’t mean in a platonic or a brotherly way. Trust me, I have tried to explain my feelings that way. And guess what it did not work! The truth is that I am in love with you. Utterly and completely in…” she was interrupted by Xavier crashing his lips to hers, catching her completely off guard as her eyes widened. Her brain did not completely register what’s happening until after he pulled away.

“Did you just kiss me?” she asked him with disbelief in her eyes.

“No,” he claimed.

“Oh, okay I could have sworn… No, wait you did kiss me!” she said, jabbing a finger into Xavier’s chest as he gave her a shit eating grin.

“And I will gladly do it again,” he said leaning in, “unless you don’t…”

This time it was Y/N’s turn to cut him off. She could feel the boy smile into the kiss as he wrapped his arms tighter around his former best friend.

#xavier thrope imagine #xavier x reader #xavier thrope fanfic #xavier thorpe #xavier thorpe x reader #angst #fluff

[gay-disabled-characters-showdown]

LGBTQ+ Disabled Characters Showdown Round 1, Wave 3, Poll 7

A character being totally canon LGBTQ+ and disabled was not required to be in this competition. Please check qualifications and propaganda before asking why a character is included.

Check out the other polls in this wave and prior here.

Billie Lurk-Dishonored

Qualifications:

Canon gay, canon disabled (missing arm and eye)

Propaganda:

Kills nobles, got a hot goth witch gf for a bit then killed God

Zhou Zishu-Faraway Wanderers / Tian Ya Ke

Qualifications:

He is mlm, though there's no consensus in fandom whether he's bi or gay. (He had slept with women prior to meeting his male love interest, but the way he speaks of that kinda doesn't make it sound like he enjoyed it? So there's room for interpretation. Maybe hes bi who just happened to settle with a man, maybe hes a late bloomer gay.) Either way, the novel's main romance is his relationship with another man, and they are in a committed relationship by the end! Now, for the disability part. He has a physical disability that's a result of, how do I put it, non-realistic circumstances (stabbing poisoned nails into his acupoints non-realistic), but I think it qualifies for how it affects him.

To start with, he is a martial artist, but the nails thing limits him to about half of his normal ability. Which is still pretty significant given he used to be one of the top talents of his generation, but there are many instances throughout the book where he finds himself frustrated, inconvenienced, or endangered by being unable to do what he *used to* be able to do, which I think tracks with acquired disability experience. Next, the nails also give him chronic pain issues with daily (or rather, nightly) flare ups, and additional ones when he strains himself. That usually last for several hours. (Fandom also theorizes that this leaves him chronically sleep deprived, but it's more conjecture than textual.)

Then, his biggest issue is that the nails are slowly killing him, and he has like 2-3 years to live... but uh given it's a happy ending novel his friend gives him an experimental surgery and it works out. But! Gotta note that I don't think it counts as a case of 'magically cured disability' trope. It is plainly stated that he will still have some issues post-surgery - just, y'know, no longer life-ending ones. The tl;dr here is that while his situation is not something possible in the real world, it still affects him in a way an acquired physical disability may: limits things he can do compared to his pre-injury state, results in chronic pain issues, and requires difficult medical intervention to stymie the negative effects.

Propaganda:

Zhou Zishu, how do I explain him... He is a spymaster and an assassin. He put the current Emperor on the throne. He committed atrocities. He lost the person he saw as his little brother as a result. He still thinks he did what was right, in the grand scheme of things. He decides to start his retirement at age 28 by stabbing a bunch of poisoned nails into his chest, disguising himself as a beggar, and vanishing into jianghu to daydrink and sightsee. He is living his best life, all 3 remaining years of it. He is in pain every night. He meets a man who, unexpectedly, understands him with a glance... and then begins to annoy him ceaselessly, insisting he has fallen for Zishu at first sight.

Cue Zhou Zishu's horrified realization that he's not only into men, but into this clown in particular. Zishu falls in love the way a cat falls into a bath - hes trying to get out but keeps slipping back, and hes hissing all the while. (We love to bully him for his clownsexual ways.) (Also, if this makes anybody want to check out the novel, remember: Zhou Zishu is an unreliable narrator and Will lie to you. Pay attention to his actions and reactions, not just what he *says* he thinks!) Now, I could spend hours gushing about how WenZhou (the couple's ship name, and yes they are canon and the main romantic storyline) gave me unrealistic standards for romance, but I'm gonna hold myself back from writing a 6k essay and focus on the theme of the tournament. I consider Zhou Zishu a disabled protagonist because: while his situation itself is non-realistic (aforementioned 'stabbing a bunch of poisoned nails into his chest'), the way it affects him is actually pretty similar, and in some ways really the same, to how an acquired physical disability may affect a person. First, it limits what he can do, physical activity-wise, to about half of his pre-injury state. (Which is still rather a lot, given he used to be a top dog martial artist, but it's still noticeable to him.) Second, it gives him chronic pain issues, with nightly flare-ups. (And additional ones when he strains himself.) (Also, at a certain point in the book his love interest starts holding him through his flare ups. Which doesn't lessen the pain but does help Zishu cope with it better. It's very important to me that it doesn't magically help but it does Mentally help and thats enough. The "stay with him morning and night, holding his hand" of it all (; v ;) yes thats a quote from the book.) And third, it requires a difficult surgery to stymie its negative effects (him dying in three years ones). (Yeah btw its not the case of magic surgery perfectly 'fixing' (bleugh) the character; he still need physical-therapy-analogue after it, and his uh medical professional also states he will likely still have some issues post-op.)

#polls #poll #disabled characters #lgbtq characters #disability #lgbtq #billie lurk #dishonored #zhou zishu #faraway wanderers #tian ya ke

[sekhisadventures]

Brightflame, Dim Memories

Valdrakken

Grimo scowled, sucking down a cigar as he walked through the city with two other members of Savage United. “So now she’s back AND she’s got a godsdamn dragon on her side?! Fuckin' fel that damn worgen keeps gettin' worse…” he snarled, flicking away the butt of the cigar as he finished and exhaling a cloud of foul smelling smoke that made the nose of one of his companions wrinkle up.

Sekhi was with him, the shamaness’ eyes watering at the awful stench of the cigar, but she didn’t want to say anything. Grimo’s song sounded exceptionally angry and scared right now, and she was afraid of setting the goblin off.

Their other companion had no issues with this, but then Grimo only came up to her knees. “Yeah, Mola’raum said that she almost got them from above when they found a village of gnolls that had been wiped out, likely by her. Jaie was with them and she and Mola are pretty sure that the wounds were inflicted by an axe… so we both know who that means.” replied Nitika, the goblin nodding as they thought of Az'arad and his penchant for such weapons. Dissonantia rarely did the dirty work herself, she was a demon summoner first and foremost which meant the actual killing was likely her minions and she harvested the souls as they finished them off.

“Great, well if nothin’ else that means we got a chance to finish what I’m workin’ on. If you guys see a demon, get somethin’ off ‘em. A tooth, a claw, a horn, ANYTHING. Sooner we got that, sooner I can finish it, miniaturize it, and make it portable. Then we got ‘em.” he nodded as the trio wandered past a stage set up in the city center.

“MY FELLOW DRAGONS!” came an excited sounding voice from the stage. A female goblin was standing on it wearing a shiny gold double-breasted suit over her small frame, along with a big pair of sunglasses decorated in rhinestones. She had a string of pearls around her neck and her fingers had enough gem-studded rings to qualify as fist weapons. “Today is your lucky day! My name is the Very Reverend Jezzi Fizcrank and I’m here to tell you the good news about Gold! That’s right, not gods, GOLD! Gold is the source of all happiness in Azeroth, don’t let anyone tell ya otherwise and, for a small small donation to my mission, I can show you all the secret path to everlasting happiness with GOLD! Step right up here and don’t be shy!” she called out as behind her a small choir of goblins sang a rather upbeat song about giving up your worldly possessions to earn more worldly possessions.

“Ugh… freakin’ Fizzcrank is here too… just what I fuckin’ wanted to see…” growled Grimo as they passed, very pointedly looking away from the stage as a few curious Dracthyr walked closer, one of them mentioning that he did like the idea of a nice hoard.

Sekhi looked at him curiously, “Um, ya know her?” asked the Vulpera, her ears flicking. The song was very catchy, but she could tell that like the woman’s suit while it held the appearance of gold it was very much not what it seemed.

“Yeah, little shit is one of the biggest con artists in all of Bilgewater Harbor. She ‘n her freakin’ cult lure in suckers year round ‘n bilk ‘em outta everything they got with th’ promise that donatin’ to her is gonna make ‘em rich.”

Nitika rolled her eyes at his words. She was a ‘priestess’ of sorts herself and Jezzi’s rather energetic sermon did annoy her a bit, but she wasn’t gullible enough to fall for it. “You’re just jealous she has more money than you Grimo.” she smirked down at him.

Grimo snarled and threw up his hands, “SHE’S SELLIN’ SNAKE OIL WITH NO SNAKES OR OIL! HOW TH' FUCK DOES SHE PULL THAT OFF?!” he barked, then fished out a fresh cigar and bit the tip off it, spitting it into the distance as he lit it while letting out a string of curses under his breath.

Sekhi giggled, a small chittering sound in her case, then she slowed as the other two kept going through the city. The vulpera’s ears perked, picking up faint traces of a person’s song reaching her. “Hm?” she yipped softly, looking over her shoulder, then padding off through the city as she followed the sounds.

Her feet carried her through the craftsman’s quarter, around past the bridge to the nursery set up for dragon whelps, and up some stairs until she found it’s source seated on a bench in the Obisidan Enclave. “Oh! Its ya again!” she said cheerfully as the bench’s occupant looked up at her.

Laura Brightflame was seated there, the dracthyr currently in her humanoid guise with her staff resting across her lap. “Oh hello, Sekhi right?” she asked. She had been lost in thought and hadn’t even noticed the vulpera at first.

“Yup!” she yipped cheerfully, “Ya okay? Your song sounded really sad… I could hear it all th' way up from infront of th' big tower…” she asked, cocking her head at the evoker.

“I… do not know…” she sighed, shaking her head, “The others are coping well enough, mostly… but… I cannot remember anything of what happened to us. What we were before we were sealed away. Just fragments and flashes. Nothing more.” she frowned. “I feel… I feel like I forgot something important, very very important… but I cannot recall what.”

Sekhi nodded, sitting on the bench next to her as her feet dangled off the edge. “Hmm… yeah I heard some of th' Dracthyr talkin’ bout that back in Orgrimmar. Guess ya guys were sleepin’ for a really really really long time huh?” she asked.

“… twenty thousand years, yes.” replied Laura. Her mind still reeled at all that had happened during their imprisonment. The fall of the Burning Legion, the defeat of the Old Gods, the arrival of the Orcish Horde… even the Sundering itself! They were imprisoned ten thousand years before the War of the Ancients ever happened!

Sekhi nodded, “That’s a yippin’ long nap, yup…” she replied, “You really can’t remember anything at all?” she asked.

Laura sighed, taking a deep breath, and closed her eyes. “There was… a battle, against a terrible foe. We were an army, under the command of Neltharion. Then… something terrible happened. Something broke, and we broke with it…” she rubbed at her temples, trying to pull on the small fragments of memory she had. “I… remember terror… the sound of thunder… my wingmates scattering in fear… flashes of… lightning… then… Neltharion did something… and…” she sighed, her shoulders sagging. “Nothing. The rest is just… it is like trying to remember a dream.”

 Sekhi’s ears drooped, the vulpera hearing the dracthyr’s song in her mind. A morose lament of loss and despair. “Um… yeah, wow…” she thought on that, then the flames in a nearby brazier caught in the wind and she heard a faint voice in her ears, a guitar mixed with a flute, and her ears caught the voice of the elements.

“I… might be able to help, but I’ll need to get some stuffs. Can ya, um, can ya meet me…” she looked around, “Um… over there, th' cliffside near that waterfall there, in about a day or so?” she asked.

Laura turned to face her, “Help? How?” she asked, looking confused.

“Well, Imma shaman… not like those Primalist jerks, but a proper shaman! I know some stuffs 'bout magic ‘n spirits ‘n stuffs!” she nodded with a little foxy grin, her tail swishing. “I gotta get some help settin’ up… but I think I can do somethin’!”

The next evening…

Laura flew over the cliffside in her dracthyr form, her wings spread out behind her. The vulpera seemed so certain she could help, but could she really? She was desperate though, she needed help from someone, and Sekhi was willing.

When she landed there were three others there besides Sekhi. A human man stood nearby, wearing elegant robes in a pandaren design and taking notes in a book he had with him using a sharpened charcoal stick. Also there was an orcish woman, but one of the red-skinned variety. She thinks that she heard them called ‘mag’har’ or something, though she didn’t know what the word meant.

Lastly, that tauren woman she’d seen on the boat to the Isles.

In the middle of them all was a large iron brazier with the vulpera fussing over the contents. “Okay… soooo… I swapped out th' dreamfoil from last time with some bubble poppy… ‘n th' branches are from local trees instead'a Mount Hyjal. Th' sand is some I scooped up from th' beach up north. But yeah, should do it… at least I think that’s what th' elements said would work…” she chittered as the mage’s charcoal scratched it’s way along the parchment.

“Interesting interesting…” he muttered. “I swear I’ve learned more about shamanistic rituals from you than most anyone else I’ve known.” he chuckled to her, looking up as Laura landed and resumed her visage form. “Ah, this must be the one you mentioned.” he said, tucking the charcoal and book away in his pouch and walking over. “Nelen Fullmoon of Gilneas, a pleasure.” he nodded to her. “I’m here to observe Sekhi’s ritual on behalf of the Kirin Tor. We’re always eager to see new forms of magic in use.”

Laura nodded to him, “You may call me Laura Brightflame.” she replied, looking somewhat nervous at the assembled group.

“Yeah I know you. You saved my ass when those Primalists came after the camp.” grinned the orc. “I owe ya. Name’s Galdia Grimaxe, you need someone to watch your back just yell.”

Laura nodded, letting out a nervous chuckle. She remembered Galdia from the boat ride over too… and how much damage she’d caused when the alcohol ran out.

“Alright!” yipped Sekhi, “I think we’re ready… so… Laura. Ya need to sit next to th' thingy…” she gestured to the brazier, “'n I’ll light it ‘n start playing my flute. Ya breathe a bit of th' smoke from it, then just try to think back… 'n if it works you should… well… remember somethin’… I hope.” she nodded. It was a variant of what she’d tried in the Shadowlands, but she also remembered how that one had gone awry as well.

Laura nodded, seating herself next to the brazier as the others scooted away. Nitika stood nearby, ready just in case. She had elected to come with Galdia for one very specific reason: if the ritual went badly wrong they would have an angry or panicked Dracthyr on their hands and in terms of sheer physical prowess they were the strongest of their allies. They would try not to hurt her, but their strength may be needed to restrain her.

“Okay!” yipped Sekhi, sitting down opposite Laura on the far side of the brazier. “Just… take a breath, listen, 'n let your thoughts do their thing.” she nodded, clicking her claws together as a spark flew from them to the mix in the bowl, which caught and soon began to smolder.

Sekhi put her flute to her muzzle, then began to play a soft gentle tune as she closed her eyes. After a moment she opened one, then glanced meaningfully between Laura and the bowl.

The dracthyr hesitated, then nodded and leaned in, taking a breath and coughing just a bit from the smoke.

For a long moment, nothing happened at all… then slowly Laura began to feel strangely detatched, as if the world around her was fading away.

“What… is happening…” she muttered, “I feel…” she began, her voice trailing off as her eyes drifted shut.

She thought she heard someone calling her name, her true name, over and over…

Then her eyes flew open, but she was in her true form once more, and all around her was chaos.

“LAURELGOSA! THE RELIC IS DESTROYED! WE HAVE TO GO, NOW!” cried another dracthyr, shaking her frantically. They had crimson scales and were wearing hooded robes.

There were dracthyr everywhere, some wounded, others dead, most of them in states of panic, and above them the sky exploded with lightning.

“DEATH TO THE SLAVES OF THE TITANS! DEATH TO THE DEFILERS OF AZEROTH!” roared a furious voice above them as Laurelgosa’s head snapped upwards.

Above them was a massive protodrake with violet scales, it’s body crackling with electricity as it unleashed a blast of elemental fury at the ground before it. A bolt of lightning so huge it was more akin to a laser cannon than a simple storm strike.

“Raszageth…” she whispered, her eyes wide. That’s right, they were fighting the Incarnates when it all went wrong.

“Laurelgosa! Focus!” shouted the other dracthyr. “Raszageth destroyed the Oathbinder! We must gather the others and escape while we can!”

“Oathbinder? I… I don't…” she stammered out, her eyes wide.

“Damn it all! You're still in shock from the control breaking! I will explain all later, but now we must…” the dracthyr snarled, then suddenly looked up as the sound of thunder rolled, “She's coming back! Laurelgosa! LOOK OUT!” they shouted, spreading their wings and flapping as hard as they could, shoving her away from them.

Laurelgosa let out a loud cry, flying backwards as the dracthyr flew away the other direction… and then came the lightning. She felt her chest catch as she saw a beam of energy slam down into the ground inches from where the crimson dracthyr was, hearing a scream of agony.

She ran forward as the beam dissipated, Raszageth flying into the air and cackling above her at the chaos spreading below, and saw the crimson scaled dracthyr laying in a pool of blood. Raszageth’s breath had shattered the ground around them, sending rock flying everywhere, and it had shredded their wings and scales. The extreme heat of her breath had scorched what wasn’t bleeding, one of their eyes was gone entirely.

“Laurelgosa…” they gasped, reaching out a clawed hand. “Leave me… run from here… don’t… let them…” they whispered hoarsely.

Laurelgosa’s eyes widened, but the crimson dracthyr suddenly coughed. a horrible wet sound, and Laurelgosa saw a jagged shard of rock protruding from their chest. Their arm fell to the ground, the light going out in their remaining eye.

“Jakrostrasz!” she gasped, thrusting her hand out infront of her, then yelping and pulling it back, stuffing her thumb in her mouth as she burned it on the brazier as the others cried out in alarm. Sekhi dropped her flute in her lap in shock as Nitika winced in sympathy to the burn, Galdia snorting a bit and standing ready to grab the dracthyr if needed.

“AUGH!” gasped Laura, shaking her hand and looking around. She was back in the present now, or had she ever truly left? She couldn’t tell.

“I… I remember…” she whispered, “We fought..." she hesitated, the Horde and Alliance were keeping the truth behind the leaders of the Primalists secret to avoid causing panic among their populace, "... a deadly enemy twenty thousand years ago. I was in shock, something had broken and… it had freed me from… something? I…” she shuddered, remembering the dracthyr’s face, “I… saw my clutchmate die right infront of me. He was wounded, but I could not think clearly… and… I could not save them.” she whispered, staring at the burn mark already swelling on their thumb.

Nelen had his notebook out, the charcoal stick moving like a blur. “Astounding… so the dracthyr were sealed following a battle with a major foe, but what was that about being ‘freed?’” he asked, looking up at her.

She shook her head, “I cannot recall… my clutchmate, Jakrostrasz, seemed to know what had happened. I just remember…” she screwed up her eyes, “A feeling of… order, perfection, we were all united somehow… then the battle came and…” she hesitated, trying to hold onto the memories, “He said something about a relic being broken. I can recall no more.” she shook her head, looking to the brazier… perhaps another breath.

Sekhi yipped, then shook her head, “NO! I mean, no… it ain't safe to do it again so soon! Th' elements are telling that’s really dangerous, like ya could get lost in your memories bad!” she insisted, slapping out a rhythm against her thigh with her hands. When she did a sudden miniature rainstorm appeared above the brasier, just long enough to extinguish the burning within. “We can try again maybe in a few weeks, but ya gotta wait.”

She nodded, “I see… then, I will wait.” she replied, rubbing at the blister on her thumb with her fingertip. Inside however she wanted to dive back in right away. Jakostrasz had been trying to tell her something before he died, but what? What was he talking about when he said ‘freed?’ Freed from what?

Would she ever know the answer now?

Next Story

Previous Story

#adventures in azeroth #warcraft fanfiction #warcraft roleplay #dragonflight #world of warcraft

[deputy-morgan-malone]

Morgan’s Tattoos + Meanings

I kind of wanted at least some of these to be a Big Reveal moment in her story, but honestly I don’t know now how much of her story I’m going to end up writing and how many Big Reveals it’s going to have.  So if you don’t want spoilers look away now, but I’d kind of like to get them just out into her canon.

These are the tattoos I’ve decided she definitely has in her canon (there are others I think about, and some in other AUs, but these are definites):

Rearing unicorn (basically a Unicorn Rampant, but more realistic), outside right bicep - This is the big one.  It was her first tattoo, and the one that probably means the most to her.  She got it in college, after a night of being slightly tipsy (something she doesn’t normally do).  She had been annoyed for a while that people love dragons sooo much and dragon tattoos are seen as all cool but unicorns are ‘girly’, even though if they’re basically a horse she knows enough about horses to know one could kill you without even really having to think about it, magic aside.  So, a little drunk and wound up about it, probably after having had an argument with someone on the subject, she wandered into a tattoo artist’s shop.  She woke up the next morning with an email in her inbox - the artist hadn’t felt okay about actually starting the tattoo or taking her money while she was drunk, but they had talked about it at length and he’d mocked up a design for her, sent along with some other examples of his work, and if she still wanted it when she was sober he was happy to do it for her.  And she looked over the design, and thought - ‘fuck it’.  And that’s how she got her first tattoo.  If she’s wearing sleeveless clothing, it is very noticeable, probably one of the first things people notice about her (although most might think it’s just a horse if they don’t notice the horn), and it becomes one of her signature features to anyone who knows her.

Screw, outside right elbow - A reference to ‘The Turn of the Screw’, a book she read in college, which might be about either a haunting or a woman slowly going mad under intense pressure.  A reminder to try not to let panic affect how you think, and how you perceive the world and what’s happening to you - because it can make you think and feel that things are happening when they aren’t.

Ladybird, back of left shoulder - Ladybird :) She likes ladybirds and she likes red.

Three-leaf clover, left hip - It’s important to see the glory in the ordinary.

‘There is no bargain/What is is what must be’, right side of her ribcage - A quote from Watership Down, one of her favourite childhood films.  It’s a quote from ‘God’ within the film, about how it won’t/can’t intervene in things, but for her it’s a testament and reminder of her atheism.  There’s no bargain.  It’s not about control, or whether you ‘deserve’ it, or what you can and can’t do to change things outside of your control.  Sometimes there are things you can affect, but sometimes there aren’t.  Sometimes things just happen, and you have to deal with them - all you can decide is how you react to them.

‘Not you.  Not tonight’, upper left thigh - A quote from Tommyknockers by Stephen King, from a side story about a man abusing his young sons and the long-term impact it had on them.  She got this specifically before she accepted her position as a Sheriff’s Deputy - to remind her why she wanted to do it, and what kind of police officer she wanted to be, and what the job meant to her personally - just in case she ever forgot.  She can’t save everyone.  Sometimes you can’t save anyone.  But you can choose not to stand by and do nothing.  You can say, ‘in this situation - not you.  not tonight’.  Basically an ideal she wants to uphold, even if she can’t do it or just ends up not doing so - even if it’s not actually possible to do so.

#tattoos #personality #morality #unicorns #mythology #deputy sheriff #books #literature #hobbies #animals #religion #ladybirds #red #watership down #child abuse tw

[alyjojo]

Advice to Work on Yourself 🏦 in October 2022: Gemini

The Tower rev - Knight of Swords - Judgment

Regarding: The Star

This is regarding work, most likely. What I saw for you was a stage, with fancy lights and even a fog machine going. Anticipating your arrival, but you don’t show. Having the main card being The Star, is probably more about recognition and your time in the spotlight, which is being missed because of you simply not being around. Or you feel that way. You could be out of work due to illness or injury which is the most likely story here. You could also just feel skipped over, not having gotten something you were expecting or feel you deserve. If there was an opportunity or a deadline, you could’ve have missed it and missed out.

In the story of someone else probably being promoted or gifted with something, your advice would be to avoid a disaster by not rushing in with some vicious truths about what you think about the situation, being judgmental, jealous & greedy. If you do you’ll be met with Justice. There’s a message for someone that something you’ve missed out on turns out to be a good thing and Spirit has been working in your corner all along (they always are, where they can). Another angle is you may have invested many years into something and are finally reaping the benefits you’ve probably deserved for some time, and because of this now you can heal from years of bitterness towards the place you work.

No matter the story, Judgement is the dark key, The Star is the light key. Possessive, greedy, and narrow minded grudge holding sort of thinking does not suit you where you’re headed, and going from the Knight to the King shows either you need to grow up, or you have and now know better than to rush in all swords drawn ready to cut heads off…still tempting though. We never really grow out of our shadow, we just learn how to manage it, once it’s recognized. Healing is at the core of your reading, where your focus should be, how to rise above the problems you’re dealing with, or healing from a past where these mentalities & grudges were learned and a regular habit of yours. In the case of your job making cuts, you’re still hanging on, possibly because you weren’t around in the first place and got missed. There’s a “near miss” angle to this reading that needs pointing out. That would be Spirit. Like a case of you walk outside and your car won’t start, which is annoying, but it turns out you avoided a huge accident…sort of thing. Things are working in your favor even if they don’t feel like it, or you can’t see it right now, and if you do see it, Spirit just wants this recognized & appreciated. Your animal card says it’s a good time for a new adventure, once you shake off all of these ick vibes & mindsets 🎊

Animal Oracle: Emu 🐦

“This is a good time to go on a new adventure.”

Your sense of adventure is calling you. Can you hear it? Listen to your heart of hearts - the still small voice that whispers to you of holy and exotic places and if the pleasure of discovering the unfamiliar and novel, feeling confident and trusting in your instincts and intuition to guide you on your journey. Let this be a wandering pilgrimage, one where you can be appreciative of whatever circumstances you encounter and make the best of them. Have some idea of where and what you’ll be doing, but don’t be attached to the plan. Instead, be willing to adjust your itinerary as you are so guided.

Dismiss the voice that says “Yeah sounds good, but I can’t do that because…” This kind of thinking not only limits you by always keeping you in the illusion of comfort and safety, but also leads you to avoiding the real life drama that comes from stretching your comfort zone. You do not need to do so in a way that puts you in any real danger, as there are many options where risk is minimal, yet the thrill and excitement of exploration is still there. So heed the calling, and first believe that it’s possible for you to act on it. And don’t wait too long. Life is too short.

Artist Oracle: JACKSON POLLOCK

- Meaning doesn’t come with titles.

- If fame finds you, keep working in spite of it.

- Chaos is handmade.

Advice:

- Learn About Emotional Intelligence

- Be Aware of Your Body Language

Charms:

Key 🔑 on The Star is the key to everything you’re dealing with or have dealt with. This is the card that follows a Tower, the light at the end of a dark tunnel, only your tunnel doesn’t seem to be so dark because you avoided the problem in the first place, whether consciously or no. You don’t seem to realize that though. The Star can talk about spiritual illumination, an “aha!” moment, hope and realizing your dreams. Your focus should be on these things.

Black Key 🔐 on Judgment is what you need to kick to the curb. Narrow mindedness, clingy tightly to old ways, old behaviors, old and worn out personality habits that are possessive, grudge-holding, and no longer necessary. Maybe they never were necessary. Or the time for that has passed. Judgement can be literal judgement, if you’re a judgy sort of person, it’s not helping you out in any way.

Flower 🌸 and Gift 🎁 on King of Swords shows growth, gifts coming to you with growth, investing a lot of yourself into something and reaping the rewards for that effort (or someone else is). This King acts with his head over his heart, he makes fair judgements based on the facts in front of him, much like Justice which is also here. His decisions are both fair and final, he aims for balance, and emotions don’t appeal to his intelligence, he looks for truth above all and acts accordingly. You’re being rewarded for that way of being, or this is the path to getting what you want.

#gemini tarot reading #advice to work on yourself #advice #october 2022 #Gemini #tarot

[nameless-shrimp]

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐅𝐔𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐅𝐄𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 — RORONOA ZORO

↳ PAIRING: Roronoa Zoro x GN! Reader

↳ TYPE: one-shot

↳ WORD COUNT: 5k (i'm so sorry)

↳ WARNINGS: no major spoilers, post-timeskip ish, reader is an artist, shy and insecure reader, Zoro is probably OOC, heavy grammar errors, i did my best okay

↳ SYNOPSIS: Being the lonely and quiet artist on the ship, Zoro has taken quite an interest in you. Though, he's unsure how to properly speak out his feelings.

↳ AUTHOR’S NOTES: damn i go missing for a month and come back to a one piece fic, sorry this is so bad, i haven't written in a while and well tbh, this was based off a dream LOL. please forgive me if this is written incorrectly with the timeskip stuff, i have a long way to go and just wanted to write zoro content because it's ZORO <333

Forever.

As if one man could dream for a lifetime, though he was sure of his obvious fantasy. A little ring around someone’s finger—where his dream of the future could slowly come to a reality, despite the harsh differences between his occupation compared to the possibility of another. Although, one captivated his interests. A lone traveler, wandering aimlessly into his life, only to capture the heart of a—who was once—pirate hunter that now held a dangerous bounty.

His captain didn’t hesitate to have you on board the ship for a short amount of time. Although the passing of a few months had led to the growth between you and him. Eye stares slowly gazing into his mere curiosity of innocent turmoil; the man aiming to be the world’s greatest swordsman had fallen in a funny little trickle called love?

Sanji nearly spat at his boots for it; as if the mosshead was capable of such a thing.

Though he caught onto it fairly quickly. The cook knew a man in love when he saw one. Much to Sanji’s demise, he didn’t argue against it. However, the secret was kept between them—two annoying men who bicker consistently enough to drive the navigator crazy. It humored you, causing you to fancy the swordsman more.

He’d be lying if he wasn’t so deep in the tunnels of curiosity of what love was meant to be.

Eventually, the relationship sparked into something more. A night resting on the crow’s nest, where you sat there away from the others, occupied with your own drawings and the view of the horizon creeping into its night. End of dawn; Zoro knew you enjoyed your time alone from the others. (And with Luffy’s consistent chaotic state, how could you not?)

“I don’t want you to always feel like you’re alone.”

Those words from his mouth echoed throughout your head that one night, where Zoro spent his time to bring you dinner and you both shared about your personal dreams. An artist just wandering across the seas in hopes to find a new home, lost in nothing but sketchbooks and scattered paintbrushes. Although Luffy had made it clear that you’d grow to be a stronger, well-mannered, and cultivated pirate if you remained to be at home with the crew.

Zoro occasionally laid his head down on the floor, where you allowed his head to rest on your lap while you focused on your own portraits. He did his usual bantering, but did he want to do it? Truly, he definitely did.

As if the stubborn swordsman wanted to fully admit the truth.

Love was doubtful to his eyes as if he could earn someone in his life forever. To love and cherish a dangerous man like him, though his heart had its own sense of purity—in some cases, he thought.

“Hey.”

His voice perked up, right before his eyes slowly closed. Your pencil was set down, where your fingers ran through his hair. Scar eminent on his eye, and your delicate fingers trailed along with the memory where he only smirked. Satisfaction; not wanting to admit to it, he decided to keep his stubbornness tingling along a little bit longer.

“Yeah?” You responded.

He cleared his throat. “Have you ever been in love?”

And it was a straightforward question for him to ask, where you both sat in the crow’s nest underneath the pale moonlight. Silver light sparkling. You hummed; finger tapping the chin, and a sigh was audible.

“No. I’d like to experience it with someone special… though.”

Zoro chuckled, all before closing his eyes cautiously.

“As do I.”

Everything he needed, yearned—heart wanting for a specific desire; all of it could have been accomplished with your presence by his side.

Though you had no experience in combat, and you were mainly the one who had to tag along with the others to ensure your safety, Zoro had grown to a new beginning in his life. At least with you—a bond. Everlasting friendship. Only in hopes of growing it into something more, and even Sanji scoffed about it even from the stare he gawked at you every so often when you were alone on the ship.

“I was going to finish a painting back at the ship.”

“I like your company,” he noted, hands gripping the swords. “Plus… I also tend to get lost, as the others say. You’ll surely have better direction than me.”

You chuckled. “Sometimes.”

“I trust you on directions better than anyone else on the ship.”

“Ha?” Your eyebrow twitched in confusion. “Funny of you to say, I’d expect you to trust anyone else more to help guide you back to the ship.”

Zoro sighed, head tilting down. He eyed your fiddling fingers—a habit you tended to do due to your shyness, mostly around his presence. It could have been due to his intimidating nature that resembled nothing but a frightening swordsman with grimacing smirks. Was that a possible checkmark for being attractive? He’d ask the cook for an extra bit of love advice, but. No thanks.

“Well, if we find an art shop here, I’ll buy you anything you need,” Zoro stated, eyes furrowing ahead of him on the dirt path. Gifts. That was a good clue to ensure his feelings for you—truly, absolutely, had to be.

Zoro was not a man of romance, clearly.

“You don’t have to do that,” you said. “It’s nice to walk around and get off the ship every so often.”

“You’re always occupied in another room or hiding in Chopper’s office,” Zoro noted. “Sometimes I feel like you’re trying to avoid me.”

“Wh—no,” you retorted, palms sweating. “I’m just not used to your crew’s company yet. I guess.”

“After a few months?”

“I’m a little weird.”

“It’s fine,” Zoro responded. “You prefer your alone time. I can respect that.”

“I’m not a very big fighter,” your head shook. “I like to avoid situations that’ll get me out of any trouble.”

Zoro snorted, fighting back a chuckle. “Luffy is the one that tends to create any trouble, I’m sure you know that by now, Y/N.”

Your eyes rolled. “For sure.”

“But you’re not avoiding me?” He asked, eyebrows raised.

Your head shook once more. “No. I like…”

“Hmm?” His feet stopped on the dirt path.

“I mean—” you coughed into your fist, turning away. Zoro eyed your behavior with curiosity, almost finding amusement in the delight. ‘How cute’, he thought, right before his eyes widened at the thought and he turned away. “I like your company the best. Luffy has his moments, Sanji’s very flirty for me, and the others are fine. It’s just…”

Zoro’s head tilted. “Go on.”

“I don’t know. You’re comfortable for me to be around. Maybe it’s because you nap and hang out with me in the crow’s nest when I want to be alone to do my sketches.”

“I did say I like your company.”

“I know, and I’m saying I like yours right back.”

He laughed, raising his hand to pat your head, right before your lips pursed into a flustered line. When your body turned, causing your hands to fall upon your arms to provide some type of heat due to the chilly air—and, realistically, a fidget in order to cope with the flustered state you were in—Zoro took note.

His hands grasped onto his green kimono, right before he swooshed it around your figure. A gasp echoed, where his body remained still. Heart beating into infinity; countless beats that were continuing in a rapid face. Sudden maroon tickled his cheeks, though his stoic expression attempted to keep his blushing state at bay.

“Hey,” you spoke, grasping onto the sleeves of his kimono. “Aren’t you going to be cold too?”

“I’ve trained in extreme weather conditions when there were blizzards out,” Zoro responded, keeping his hands on your shoulders. “A little wind is not enough to bother me.”

“I feel bad.”

“Why?”

“Well, ‘cause it’s yours.”

“And I offered it to you. Don’t be silly.”

You wanted to smack him—out of childish antics, of course. Not to purposefully tick him off.

“Okay, but if you shiver, don’t get mad at me,” you pouted.

He laughed. ‘Why… so damn cute?’ Zoro thought again, only to mentally slap himself from the protruding thoughts creeping in about your personality. Though he couldn’t help it.

And after a passing ten minutes, you both ended up in a simple city, where wagons creaked from their wheels and passengers were minding their own business, trapped in their own worlds. Zoro’s presence was known to you, keeping your body close to his—through his fingers twitched, only wanting to grab ahold of your hand. An easy excuse for this was that so you couldn’t get lost or—maybe, even he wouldn’t get lost himself.

Not a bad excuse, really.

“Where do you want to go?” You asked, hiding deeper into his kimono. “I’m not sure what you wanted to do.”

“Just wander around. The cook went on his own to grab ingredients and food, while Luffy and Usopp went on their own path,” Zoro explained. “Franky and Chopper offered to stay back at the ship. And I’m only assuming the others are on their own somewhere around here.”

“Any particular reason why you wanted me to come?”

He turned to you, earrings dangling from the wind. “Told you, I like your company. Also didn’t wanna get lost. I trust you better than anyone else, remember?”

“I know, but—”

“Let’s take a look around,” he interrupted hastily, quickly rubbing the back of his head awkwardly.

Zoro stood for a moment, causing you to look at him. Face completely puzzled, much to his head. ‘What would that damn cook do?’ He thought to himself, all before gazing down at his hand before twirling his fingers around. You gawked at him, wondering if others were staring at how he paid more attention to his open hand rather than the scenery around him.

“Uh, Zoro?” You blinked. “What the hell are you—”

“I have a favor,” he retorted.

You gulped. “Um, okay. What is it?”

‘This is harder than I thought,’ his mind brushed a subtle thought, only to fight back a forced chuckle.

“Sorry,” Zoro sighed, right before slapping his face with his palm—lost in disbelief.

‘What the hell am I doing?’

“What the hell are you doing?”

Christ—did you just read his mind?

He coughed into his fist, all before he shook his head. Zoro bit his bottom lip, right before throwing his hand down to grab ahold of yours. Your widened eyes caused his heart to race. Mind lost in a daze, completely overwhelmed by the want for more. A little more affection to ease the tension of his heartstrings strumming along to his rapid beats. A moment so little, yet Zoro did not want to forget it.

Your fingers intertwined with his while you tried to fight back the chuckle escaping your lips while Zoro looked away, unamused with his own weird behavior.

“If you wanted to hold my hand…” you murmured, looking down. “You could’ve just said so.”

“Oh, yeah?” Zoro quipped, gritting his teeth while covering the blossom of roses tinting his cheeks with his palm. “My bad. Didn’t wanna make it more uncomfortable for you.”

“Huh?” You blinked. “No… I kind of like this.”

“Well,” he exhaled. “Don’t let go.”

You smiled; eyes flourishing to full bloom.

“I won’t.”

Zoro stood near the shelves with full attention to your curious expressions. Eyes wandering from different brushes on the shelves as canvases were laid out amongst the walls. Ranging from acrylic to watercolor, all portray different fantasies and universes from single brush strokes. Your mind remained lost in thought; hand in hand with his, where he eyed down the knuckles and brushed his thumb across yours.

A mental note that he was around—just to ensure that he was nearby.

Zoro’s eyes darted near the front door, where whispers were audible of a group of Marines stepping foot on the island in search of the pirates. And he groaned mentally, fighting back a glare to the light illuminating from the outside.

‘Let’s hope our idiot captain didn’t get us tangled in any mess this time,’ he wondered.

“Is something wrong?”

Your soft voice caused his eyes to widen, only to where he fought back a grunt and only to force a tug of his lips, portraying half of a smile, and then he gave a head pat. “We might have to get going soon if we don’t want any trouble,” he stated; you nodded. “Is there anything you want here?”

“Honestly, I think I’m okay,” you said. “It’s nice to look at other people’s artwork, though.”

“I don’t have the skills or talent like you and some other people do,” Zoro spoke, gazing up at a watercolor painting on the wall of empty farmland. Peaceful. Much like the kind of future Zoro hoped for his—maybe. “Well, when it comes to all this artsy stuff.”

“That’s okay,” you smiled shyly. “At least you’re skilled and attentive to any danger around. I don’t have any of that.”

“You’ll find your own ways of protecting yourself,” Zoro responded. “But I’ll be there to protect you.”

‘Huh?’

“What?”

Zoro gulped, placing a palm on his head before his lips began trembling. “I mean—” he choked on his words. ‘No, no, I meant it,’ he spoke to himself mentally. “I want to protect you. I’m here for you.”

You blinked before smiling, rubbing his knuckles when your hands were interlocked with one another. “Everyone is so protective of each other in the crew…” you explained, eyes looking down. “I’m hoping that I can provide something to make the others comfortable around me.”

He looked at you, with full attention. He sighed, only before showing off a rare smile, causing your eyes to enlighten his expression even more. Zoro slowly placed his forehead on yours, not minding that you two were in a large aesthetic art shop—covered by different supplies amongst the walls and the pieces that were up for show.

“You seem to make everyone happy just the way you are,” he said sternly. “But I meant it when I say that I want to protect you.”

Your lips trembled, watching his deep stare into your own eyes with his forehead resting amongst yours. Warm. That was how he felt; safe, comely—a place to call home.

“If I can protect you too,” you laughed brightly. “I want to do the same.”

‘Stop… acting cute.’

Zoro smirked, pulling away before the stomping from the outside grew into loud thunder. His eyes darted from its rare soft composure to a more grimace glance. Not to be rudely interrupted by the irritating Marines, but it was best to find a way out of the shop as soon as possible—and hope that he’d be able to make sure you’d head back safely to the ship.

When the crowd of bantering Marines had died down from the outside, Zoro grabbed ahold of your hand and then dragged you out of the shop harshly. He murmured faint apologies, not wanting to cause you to fall into a frantic panic, but it was best to find the way out of the city fast—with the beating of his heart falling into a rapid marathon, he was truly uncomfortable with these consistent emotions.

Need, want, the desire to protect you—or just you. Every ounce of you, every fiber of your heart, and the brightening cherry blossoms blooming in your eyes for every rare occurrence that you are laughing around others. An unusual feeling of pink swirled inside him; as if pink and raspberry mixed together within his heart.

He liked it—and much to his surprise, he wanted more of it.

Happiness. With one person.

“We have to go,” Zoro said bluntly.

You nodded without arguing. “Ah, sure, okay. I think I heard that the Marin—”

“Let’s not talk about it in public, right now.”

“Got it.”

“Don’t let go of my hand, ‘kay?”

“Sure,” your bottom lip trembled. “Sorry.”

He looked back, still walking towards a familiar dirt path that you both walked across on. And God, let it be the correct route.

“Why’re you apologizing?” He asked, raising a brow.

“I feel like it’s my fault.”

“What—no,” he retorted. “You know the Marines have always been on our ass for a long time now. Don’t apologize; roll with what’s happening. We’re going to get back on the ship safely—that’s if the others made it back before anything shitty happens.”

He ran, with your hand tangled with his. No other questions, arguments, or bickering had been made. Zoro sensed the tingle of insecurity brewing within your stomach. He never understood much about that tension of anxiety—and uncertainty of one’s self. Though he did try to relate to it on a different basis when it only came to his own swordsmanship.

“Are we going the right way?”

You asked, and he nearly jolted on his steps. “I think so,” Zoro exhaled quickly, only to hear rustling near the trees after you both escaped the city. “You’re my guide. Lead us back home to the ship.”

“Do you hear that?”

“Loud and clear.”

And within seconds, he took out two swords, ready to twirl one into his mouth right before a sneaky Marine tried to get ahold of him. Silly gestures from these folks were something he had grown used to, only hopes of you not getting injured in any way.

“Watch it, Y/N!” He shouted, using the back of his sword to hardly push the soldier away back into the bushes. Zoro turned to you—eyes enlarged with your hands shaking. A pang of anxiety hit; it usually did, whenever your presence was in the sight of danger. ‘Why? Oh, yeah.’ He definitely knew, though did not fully wish to physically admit it.

“I—”

“Are you okay?” He asked. “That was nothing but you seem shaken up. Still not used to everything yet?”

“I mean, it still catches me off guard,” you spoke cautiously.

“Our ship has flown high off the sea and you’re still scared of one little Marine, huh?” He chuckled humorously, only to have you keep your head down. “Don’t worry about it. Glad to see that you’re safe.”

“I’m—”

“Don’t apologize,” Zoro interrupted sternly, voice blunt in its tone. “Stop apologizing for things that are out of your control.”

“I’m so—” you placed a palm over your mouth, letting out an awkward chuckle. “Ah, I was about to just—”

“I know,” he smirked, only to sigh afterward. “C’mon, we can’t wait any longer.”

“Ah. Right.”

Slowly, his smirk grew into a rare soft grin.

“You’re supposed to lead me back home. So take my hand, and try not to let go.”

“Figured I would find you here.”

You ignored the familiar voice, only to have you sit close to the Sunny’s head, where you rested your body on the railing. Zoro mentioned that you didn’t show up for dinner, nor did you try to snatch a plate after hours where you’d be the most comfortable.

The moon shone silver; constellations scarred with its stars. Navy blue looked appealing, with each star to guide one home. Zoro watched you look up, only to glance down at the sketchbook on your lap and then eye the stories up above. However, his eyes could only faint down to your quiet posture, where not one moment of eye contact was shared.

He sat down next to you, arms crossed; the kimono he lent you was still prominent around your body. Zoro wanted to comment on it, though he remained quiet and chose that actions were a more definite sense of speaking how he felt within the moment.

Scars would bleed, though at least, his heart believed in the identity of what home could be. To be with the Straw Hats—and to dream of a future with a person that he could cherish every moment with. One to protect, one that’d make his heart blossom roses and tulips in ways that he’d never imagined his own garden would grow—one to announce his sense of happiness and desire in a sentimental signal.

“You don’t have to talk,” he said before trailing his hand with yours.

He turned his head, knowing the growth of warmth creeping up the pillar of his neck. Though the stars above enlightened the fair bits of his skin tone, and you snuck a glance his way every so often.

“Do you want to hold my hand?” He asked; you didn’t nod, instead, you decided to respond back with the entanglement of your fingers with his—all in one.

“Remember,” Zoro said, gripping your hand tight. “I don’t want you to always feel alone.”

Shyly, you turned away, biting your bottom lip. Zoro watched your behavior, wondering if he had been pressing matters too far with the hand-holding. Though, part of his mind cheered him on—how it all felt right. Exactly as he pleased and wanted. And he exhaled tiredly, only to have him straighten his back against the wall of the ship.

“Zoro…”

Your voice soothed him, much like the waves of the sea. He raised a brow, trying to prevent his legs from shaking in nervousness. How could a swordsman like him be so voiceless with his own feelings—especially for you?

He was not like the cook, that was for sure.

(Thank God.)

“Yeah?” He responded.

You looked down, watching the empty page in your sketchbook. Hand lost in its shakes; moon glowed from afar. “Would you feel uncomfortable if I asked you for a favor?”

“Depends on the favor.”

“Would you?”

Zoro fought back a yawn. “It depends like I said. Although, if it’s you… don’t think you could make me feel uncomfortable, really…”

You blinked, slowly gripping onto the pencil with your free hand.

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Okay, um.”

He blinked. “Yeah?”

“Is it okay if I could draw you?”

Zoro stared at you for a moment, with a brief pause, and the chilly wind to dangle his earrings. He huffed childishly, crossing his arms after letting your hand go, and then he rolled his head back against the wall of the ship.

“Would my usual pose be me when I take my naps?” He joked, showing off a hint of a smirk. “Go ahead.”

You eyed him for a brief moment, and your eyes locked onto his. A moment quiet and pleasant enough to capture a picture for a memento. Though an illuminating smile was enough to cause his heart to flutter, and he closed his eyes; smirk softening to a thin line. And you sketched him out, from shoulders and up.

For what was twenty minutes that seemed like forever, Zoro noted the sweet moment of peace. He offered night duty—again—only to capture your attention once more. And he replayed the short bickering of the cook in his head, on how to properly charm a woman and that Zoro never understood the difference between handling kitchen knives compared to his swords.

Anything to keep his head occupied, though he occasionally opened an eye to peek at you fully immersed with the dragging of a pencil upon rough paper. He was no artist, not unless it came with his sword styles, though Zoro was fully aware that he could manage to respect other people’s peak of creativity—he envied it, almost. With the pale moon above him to speak loudly of his feelings, at least, for the little moments he shared with you—he embraced his interest in others with your presence around.

Never did another person make him feel the way you did. Adventures with the Straw Hats were exhilarating. He was a man hungry for blood; thirsty for a battle if it meant for him to improve bit by bit in order to achieve his goal to be the world’s greatest swordsman.

However, you were different.

When did the adventures of just napping in the same room as you ever bring him a heavenly sound of peace? Or the moments where you both did not share many conversations yet he preferred to be around your space more than any of his other crewmates? Consistently, he asked himself—though the feelings were obvious from the start.

‘I think I’m in love with you.’

But how could he say those words?

“I think I’m done.”

He opened his eyes, and you turned your sketchbook over to show off his portrait. The lines were hatched, but he knew it was him. Truly, you were delicate with your own work—passionate with every stroke possible.

Zoro smiled softly, looking at the shading areas below his neck and on his face, most likely resembling the moon shining from up above.

“It’s beautiful,” he said. “Just like you.”

You choked. “Ha—”

“I didn’t mean it in a bad way!” Zoro retorted, gritting his teeth from his sudden comment. “Shit, sorry to make it weird.”

“No, you’re fine, I just…”

His eyebrows elevated. “What is it?”

“I want to smack you for this.”

“What?”

“Like,” you groaned, shutting your sketchbook to a close. “The way you make me feel. I know how I feel about you, and it’s annoying me every time I get near you.”

He blinked, raising his head straight. “Y/N, list—”

“I’m sorry,” you exhaled, placing a palm on your face. “I probably ruined everything because of what I said but I don’t really care anymore. I think I love you.”

Zoro sat up properly, furrowing his eyebrows.

“I really screwed everything up, I didn’t mean—”

“Y/N, listen to—”

“I’m sorry, Zoro, can you forget what I—”

“Dammit, Y/N, listen to me!” He nearly shouted, only to get your attention properly before he threw his hands on your face, causing you to gasp. Zoro’s arms shook; eyes enlarged. His body was rushing in adrenaline, yet he showed no fear—for once, with his confusing feelings. “I didn’t mean to yell, but I need you to listen.”

Your shoulders lowered, giving him access to place his forehead down close to your neck.

“Can we please forget what I said?” You pleaded.

Zoro sighed, before slowly throwing his arms around you and then pulling you close to his embrace. Not once did he ever show this kind of affection to any other member—this was different. New. An open light at the end of a tunnel; and he smirked proudly, even with his lip quivering.

“No,” he responded harshly, before clearing his throat. “Because I love you too.”

“What?” You said, face shaking in surprise.

“I don’t know what the hell you do to me, but I got confused with my own damn feelings. Every time I’m around you, I can’t control myself right,” he confessed, gritting his teeth. His grip on your body tightened, causing you to gasp. “I feel like I have to protect everyone here, but with you. It’s different. Something about you makes me feel like I need to make sure you’re safe with me. That you can trust me.”

Zoro pulled away from the hug, only to keep his palms inching further up to your face. He sent off a soft smirk, blush prominent on his cheeks before exhaling.

“I’m pretty sure those feelings make it obvious on my end th—that I love you too.”

“Wh—Zoro,” you gulped. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Don’t blame you. I never really say this stuff to… anyone.”

“But…” you grinned, fighting back tears in your eyes. You shakily put your hands on his arms, where he parted his lips at your quivering state. “I’m so glad you feel the same way.”

He nodded, right before he placed his lips on yours. In a surprising turn of events, you found yourself kissing him back, feeling the prominent smirk on his lips. Zoro noted the change of color within his heart throughout the kiss—from a dull contrast to a brightening, shade of pink, all colored on his cheeks and the swirly feeling within his chest. Not once did he regret the moment of tranquility.

When he broke the kiss, he grinned proudly, right before you threw yourself onto his chest. He fell back on the floor, only to chuckle deeply at your happy reaction. His hand met with your shoulders, and the grip from his other hand tightened around you protectively.

“I love you, Y/N.”

“I… love you too,” you whispered back.

Time unknown; moon glistening above. His blush was eminent. Zoro chuckled pridefully, continuing to soothe your shaking shoulders with his hand.

“Did anyone know about… your feelings?” You asked.

He shrugged, smirking at the sky. “A certain cook, I guess.”

“Did you ask him for, like, I don’t know,” you laughed. “Love advice?”

Zoro rolled his head further back, only to see a cloud of smoke near the upper deck and a familiar man with blond hair. Due to the dark light, he wasn’t able to notice much, except for a smirk following suit from the familiar chef after he had lit his cigarette. Zoro told himself to lay off the fighting with Sanji, even for a bit—at least for a while.

Then, he eyed the clouds above him—all hiding stories beneath them with waves of constellations. A future that was meant to be calm, soothing, filled with endless harmony—to spend it with a special someone, in hopes that it would be you, where your souls intertwined at the blink of the ocean’s horizon.

Zoro couldn’t help but snicker at your words.

“Something like that.”

#zoro #zoro x reader #roronoa zoro #zoro x you #one piece x reader #one piece x you #roronoa zoro x you #roronoa zoro x reader #one piece imagines #zoro imagines

[stopeatingwhales]

the 1995 brits x damon albarn & liam gallagher

hhhiiii I'm here with a very cute little fic about the brits!! the idea of writing something with Damon and liam fighting over someone was requested quite a long time ago (sorry it’s taken so long omg) but I loved the idea!! I do hope you all enjoy it as I enjoyed writing it a lot hahah xx

Pairing: 90s damon albarn & 90s liam gallagher x reader

Warnings: nothing, just a little bit of bickering n dat

Word count: 3.057

Requested by anon x

༉‧₊˚✧

Being a part of the madness that adapted the name ‘Britpop’ was truly an experience. Paparazzi at every corner you turn, equipped with the brightest, flashiest cameras, also having the most annoying click noises to the point that after one image you’ve earned yourself a migraine that would last the entirety of the day; parties that would last entire nights, bearing millions of different kinds of drugs - some that hadn’t even been given a name yet, but you’d still give a try anyways, since you’re so high and drunk that you simply lose the intellectual capability to construct decisions, you say fuck it, and get so high to the point that you’ve blacked out in a booth in a bar, with the owner asking you to get out since you’ve been inside for one too many hours after closing time; as well as constant press coverage. With your name plastered over literally every newspaper and music magazine known to man, as well as having your entire life consistently dictated for the entire nation to read about every Sunday morning and indulge themselves into as a form of entertainment, it was what being famous delivered, right on your doorstep at 7 in the morning. Any earlier and you’d feel rude not to give them a cup of tea as a form of dignity and respect towards their sublime dedication to the job. Although it was fun being associated with it all, my band in particular gaining a different form of calidity due to it being a female fronted band, by the time that the entire nation was hooked on this ‘Blur vs. Oasis’ rivalry, it was as if every other britpop band had been washed away from existence, due to eight boys arguing as to whom had the better music. And the better looks, according to Liam Gallagher.

Tonight was the night of the Brit awards, perhaps the most prestigious awards ceremony for music. To be awarded a Brit was probably the largest achievement possible in British music in the form of an award, and it was definitely either going tonight to either Blur or Oasis. The chances that another band, say Pulp, were to get the award, would not only be extremely amusing to see the reactions of the two biggest names in the Britpop game, but would also cause the largest uproar in the nation. It’s either Blur or Oasis. “Their drama is so silly,” laughed Emily, the guitarist in our band whilst flicking through the latest edition of the Sun, the cover of the newspaper being, of course, Liam Gallagher. “They’re literally bickering about who looks the best. How do people find this interesting?”

“Because of how silly it is, people never leave their secondary-school-like selves. Just a bit of fun I guess.” I replied, fixing up my hair in the mirror in front of me. We were currently getting ready to go to the award show, and needing to look your best was an expectation. Though I wasn’t dressed in anything that would result in jaw’s dropping, it was important that I at least appeared somewhat admirable - the entire nation always had their eyes on us, but tonight they were going to see us all, live. Perhaps the reason why bands like Oasis and Blur are so obsessed over nowadays, since all they’ll do is turn up in some flimsy Adidas t-shirt and call that fashion. I suppose scruffy was the new elegant.

“Who do you think they’ll give the award to?” she questioned, still aimlessly flicking through the recycled pages of the magazine. “I think Oasis. Their music is so much better than Blurs.”

“Really? I’d say Blur. They won on top of the pops, so the likelihood of them winning the Brit award is highly likely,” I answered, shuffling away from the strong reflection of myself towards Emily, my eyes quickly scanning the page that she had her eye on currently. “Gosh Liam’s so full of himself.”

“He’s got his eye on you, you know,” She said, shoving the paragraph she had just read in my face of Liam boasting about his little crush he had supposedly gained from watching our latest performance on top of the pops. “Thinks you’re ‘well fit’.”

Scoffing in response, I mumbled back to Emily. “If he thinks that he’s sleeping with me, he’s very deluded.”

By the time we had arrived at the venue, you weren’t able to walk into the entrance without at least 50 cameras blinding your eyes and the shouts of so many begging for you to quickly turn your head and grin - the price for the photo would reach the many thousands. Once walking in, it was less crowded, only having select people by the ground floor, dedicated for musicians and bands, with the occasional interviewer walking past to every circled table, adorned with white cloth and champagne glasses, asking questions about how they’re feeling, who they think may win, and what they thought of the music throughout the past year. What was nice was that people didn’t have that much interaction with one another, just with their groups. It created a sense of formality in the space, which made me feel a bit at ease from the idea of some random row happening in the middle of the floor, most likely between Liam and Damon. The past year in music was truly something. Britpop was at its peak the entirety of the year, with songs like Parklife and Supersonic pouring out of every radio station in Britain that by the end of the year, you had ditched casual radio music and began blasting the classical station. It was a nightmare. Since the fall of grunge subsequent to Cobain’s death the previous year, the talk of any other genre in Britain apart from Britpop didn’t occur. It was as if we were living on this mystical island, miles away from any other music and culture, whilst adorning and obsessing over our own. What was nice about Britpop was that it was a pure celebration of English culture, whether it be a simple Sunday roast, or going to school, they all carried the same ambience of nostalgia and pride - also disregarding whichever band wrote what song.

“Free champagne… Yes please,” said Madeline, the secondary guitarist of the band, whilst heading to the first seat she could sit on, then quickly indulging herself with the first taste of the rich drink. “Oh my gosh it’s heavenly!”

Laughing at her reaction, the rest of the band took a seat around the table and took their first sips of the champagne, which we would all come to find to be indeed heavenly. Small talk was shared here and there with the rest of the group, but overall I stayed silent. In all honesty I found attending award shows was quite boring because if you didn’t end up getting an award, you would essentially be sitting there for two hours doing nothing. Even if you did win an award, it’s simply a minute of glory with the speakers blasting your music, and another minute of all eyes piercing into your soul as you make sentences about your gratitude towards those who had helped you along the way to earn such an achievement. I doubt anybody genuinely liked attending shows like these.

“The champagne is good, yet we don’t get enough for our table,” I complained, grasping my now empty champagne glass and waving it around in the air. “I’m gonna head to the bar to get a refill, anybody want anything?”

After receiving a handful of nos from the rest of the band, I took myself out of my seat and wandered over to the bar, which was empty, perhaps due to the venue not yet being completely filled with all the artists that were set to attend the night. “Just a refill of the champagne, please.” I asked politely, handing the bartender the used glass I had kept in my hand. Whilst waiting, I noticed that Damon was on the other side of the bar, who also didn’t notice me there, until he caught eyes with me.

A grin broke out on his face as I walked over to him. “You alright?” He asked me, quickly thanking the bartender for his drink and turning back to look at me. The height difference between us was evident, but it wasn’t the case of something so dramatic that he was the height of the empire state building and me, just a measly common tower in the city. He looked quite content, his hair scruffy yet neat, along with his outfit being just as I had assumed: a white shirt with jeans, a used pair of Adidas for shoes.

I smiled back at him and nodded. “Suppose you have high hopes for the award tonight.” I said, simultaneously receiving my refill of the beverage I had ordered, followed by my thanks. We stood adjacent, although there was enough distance between us to establish our relationship - mutual acquaintances whom had met every now and again, since they’ve both been dragged into this wormhole of madness. He was quite the opposite in comparison to his rivals, though he himself could be quite bothersome occasionally, he still had a grasp to what those may call sensibility.

“Oh well we’re better than them, aren’t we love?'' He chirped, his head now cocked to the side in a teasing manner. “I’ve heard that you’re rooting for us this year.” He added, a little smirk pasted on his face.

“Do you read every paper you see?” I questioned, my face turning away from him in slight embarrassment. Between us, there was no shared intention for a relationship to stem, though there was definitely a flirtatious tension that followed between us wherever we had met. Whether it be a random photoshoot for a magazine double-spread, or backstage at top of the pops, we always managed to share a chat with one another, and nothing else followed on from then. It was quite sad, because once you’ve established a connection between something you either both disagree or agree with in terms of societal views, something in the press, or life in general, you’re instantaneously cut off and asked to hop onto stage to record a meaningless three-minute performance with fake, plastic instruments which practically mean nothing.

“Well it was nice seeing someone else's face on the papers for once.” He replied, downing his drink, then ushering at the bartender for another. A thing that we both realised was that, between our conversations, we indirectly indicated that we were both there for each other, because we both had a complete understanding towards what may be happening to the other person. It was stressful being in the limelight constantly, and for someone who was the frontman of a band so large, with his face plastered on every magazine cover imaginable, things were bound to be stressful.

Sighing, I turned to face him again. Despite the fact that before I had the ability to respond, our conversation was cut short from a voice shouting my name from behind. “Well if it isn’t bloody Y/N.” the voice said, and from then I instantly knew it was Liam’s. Turning my face away from Damon’s, I locked eyes with Liam. As always, he was dressed in the usual: a parka, with casual jeans. Oh, and don’t forget the Adidas shoes. Even though he and Damon practically hated each other’s guts, they always seemed to have similar fashion senses, but I could never picture Damon in a parka. And I don’t think I even want to.

“How’ve you been love?” He asked, swinging his arm around my shoulder in a warm, but nonchalant manner. Me and Liam had a similar relationship to that of mine and Damons, simply just minusing the sentimentality of it. We were friends, and had come across each other at random parties, which opened the gateway for us to drink and get high together many a time. While he was quite the idiot, he was also a very fun guy to be around, but I knew Damon would never understand that. “And why’re you letting this twat chat to you?”

A laugh escaped Damon’s throat. “I think you’re the only twat here, Liam,” he began, a sigh leaving my mouth as I was trapped in a situation that I could only pray didn’t gain much traction from the rest of the attendees. “Me and Y/N are friends, don’t suppose we’re getting jealous are we?”

Liam’s grip on my shoulder tightened as I stared at his reaction to Damon. I felt quite small in this situation, due to me needing to tilt my head a good amount to properly look at Liam, and knowing if I left it would just erupt chaos and make it worse. “No need for me to be jealous when I know that she wouldn’t want to spend a minute with you in bed you bastard.”

“And you’re so sure about that are you?” Damon replied, amusement laced in his words. “Because you’ve totally spent a minute with her haven’t you?”

“Well I’ve got my arm around her haven’t I? And she’s not stopping me,” Liam argued back, a smirk entwined on his lips. Reaching for my hand, Liam grasped it lightly, then then brought it to his lips, kissing it, before holding it gently. Method of intimidation, perhaps, and though it was sweet, there was a time and place. And this was definitely neither the time, or place. “Who’s the jealous one now, eh?”

“The last I recall, she had hoped that we were winning this year, not you,” He boasted, moving the contents of his drink around whilst grasping it firmly. Whilst it would be something that would offend Liam, he was simply the type of person to not take criticism regardless of whomever it was coming from. I respected him for that. “So much so for a healthy relationship.” Damon mocked, staring into my eyes as a small laugh escaped my lips.

Granted that I had found the argument shared between the pair of them to be extremely silly, it was good entertainment as the time passed before the award show would begin. Watching them both, attempting to throw insults at one another, each one trying to cut a little deeper than the one previous, made me almost laugh at the both of them right there. “You know, it’s so silly that you both think you know me so well to think which one I’d pick from the both of you,” I said, detaching myself from Liam’s embrace and snatching my half-empty glass of champagne. “At this point, it’s neither of you.”

Walking back to my band’s designated table, I quietly took my seat as the show began. “Saw you chatting to Damon,” Emily whispered, raising her eyebrows. “Also saw you grinning like a madwoman.”

“Oh shut up you,” I replied, looking back at the bar to notice that both parties had left, assuming back to their places. “There’s nothing going on between me and Damon- Liam too in fact.”

~~~

As the ceremony went on, the boredom got to us. Even the amount of drinks I had didn’t entertain me, but what could we do, we were stuck in the middle of an award show celebrating music, even though I had largely doubted that the majority of those attending were enjoying themselves. I had no clue who the awards were going to be handed out to, and whether that somebody may be us in a category, but we all knew Blur were going to win something. Yes, Oasis had gained a lot of fame and had become one of the most famous bands in the music scene at the minute, but by the way things had gone for Blur after the release of Parklife, things only seemed to go further up from there. And that was only proven to be truthful, after Blur had left with four different awards.

After Blur had received their fourth award for best British group, we all knew that there was nothing left for Oasis. “They’ll get it all next year, they only debuted this year you know.” I said to the table, who were staring at the four smiley boys on stage as they trotted up to receive their award. I admired Damon as he said his speech, then also turning to look over at Liam, who looked quite evidently pissed off. He was practically drooling in anger from the sight brought to him at that particular moment, and I couldn’t blame him - their band hadn't gone home with one award that night, but neither had ours. “They’ve taken four awards home, isn’t that like, the most anybody has ever taken?”

“Indeed it is,” Madeline replied, taking a sip from her drink. “Must be a good year for them then, eh?”

As I watched the band leave the stage in absolute glee, I stared at Damon as he walked back to his designated seat for the short remainder of the evening. Despite the fact that my band had been sat in our seats the entire evening in complete boredom, just like Oasis and so many other acts that had been nominated for pointless awards, it would be a lie to say that I wasn’t proud of how far Blur as a whole had come and evolved through their music, and especially Damon. From beginning as young, bowl-cut boys only charting so far on top of the pops, to creating songs and melodies that could unite our entire nation, it was impressive.

Damon was the face of Britain at this very moment, and a very good looking one. Once I watched him sit down, he scanned the room for a while until he was able to find where I was sitting, which was parallel to his seat, merely a couple metres away. He connected eyes with me as soon as he found me, also accompanied with a small smirk painted on his expression as he raised his eyebrows and sent me a wink. I simply smiled back at him in response before turning away abruptly, disrupting the little moment we seemingly shared, and though I felt my heart flutter a little, he’s definitely not winning me that easily.

#britpop #fanfic #bandimagines #Liam Gallagher x reader #damon albarn x reader #damon albarn #blur #Liam Gallagher #oasis #blur band #oasis band #my writing #fluff #angst

[live-the-fangirl-life]

Love is in the Lines

Nesta Archeron x Cassian - Tattoo Convention Oneshot

Nesta loses Cassian at a tattoo convention.

Written for Nessian month. @illyrianet

Prompt 1: Tattoo Artist

Prompt 2: We came to the…together, and now you’re lost.

Masterlist | Read on Ao3

Warnings: Language

2319 words

*******

“Cassian, I swear to the mother, when I find you…” Nesta grumbled to herself for the fourth, no it was the fifth, time in the last twenty minutes.

She pushed through the herds of people crowding the aisle, trying her best to scour every booth for her missing boyfriend.

One moment, he had been standing behind her waiting as she scrutinized a certain design, the next, she turned back around, and he had disappeared.

Deciding she wasn’t going to find him in this row, she turned the corner and began walking down the next aisle starting her search over again.

If she was lucky, she would spot his massive frame sticking out above the clusters of people, but so far luck wasn’t on her side because she’d been walking around the convention hall for almost half an hour now searching for him. Nesta passed each booth looking at the artists and the customers, but they were all strangers.

Getting to the end, she took one last scan over the heavily tattooed convention-goers—most having several visible piercings in their ears, noses, and sporadic other places on the face that she thought would be excruciating to pierce—and wondered what the hell she was doing.

Sighing heavily, Nesta turned and started walking down the next aisle.

Two years ago, if someone had told Nesta she would be wandering around a tattoo convention, she would’ve laughed in their face at the absurdity of it.

A year ago, she’d have rolled her eyes and said that even her ink-covered boyfriend who made her realized she didn’t hate all tattoos, wouldn’t have been able to convince her to spend a day surrounded by the buzzing machines and colorfully covered patrons.

Last week, she considered it.

Being with Cassian had made her learn a lot about herself; one of those things being the fact that she found all of his ink incredibly attractive.

There was something about the way the ink stood out on his tanned skin that made it look like it was supposed to be there. She couldn’t even imagine her boyfriend without his tattoos. The one time she tried, she made a mental image of his arms without the swirling geometric designs and his back without the large bat-like wings, not to mention all the other little designs he had strewn across his body suddenly gone—and she was surprised to find herself dismayed at the lack on ink.

One night, when Nesta was idly tracing some of the lines across his chest, she confessed to Cassian that she wanted to get a small tattoo of her own.

At first, he had been shocked. As much as she loved his designs, he knew she still looked at most people’s tattoos with distaste. In her words, “most of the tattoos I see look like someone stumbled into a shop at four in the morning, drunk out of their mind, and picked out the first thing they saw. And the artist just went with it.”

But Nesta listened whenever he talked about his own designs; about how they all meant something to him. How every design held a memory. Every time he looked at them—whether he was intentionally studying them or when he caught a glimpse of one out of the corner of his eye—he would think about why he got it. Each tattoo made him remember a story, or a person, or some sort of inspiration.

They were reminders, self-expressions, and memories.

Even the one he got when he and his brothers were wasted and thought getting matching tattoos—done by each other, of course—was an amazing idea. He always pointed out that particular tattoo whenever Nesta explained her disdain for the “impulsive permanent decisions” saying that even though the design isn’t great, every time he looks at it he laughs and thinks of the great time he has when he’s with his brothers.

So when Nesta told him she wanted to get a tattoo, Cassian was more than surprised. But as soon as his shock wore off, he got the broadest smile on his face and immediately started asking her questions. What did she want? How long had she wanted one? Color or Black and White? Where on her body? Question after question, and Nesta was glad that Cassian had been thrilled.

Smirking, she remembered what he had told her when she asked him if he thought she would look good with a tattoo.

“Good?” She’d never seen him look more ravenous, already picturing what she would look like with ink covering her body. He cupped her face and looked into her eyes. “Nes, sweetheart, you are already so gorgeous, but, fuck,” he groaned, “you would look so fucking stunning that I don’t know how I’d ever be able to keep my hands off you.”

Then he made sure to show her just how much he liked the idea of tattoos covering her body, using his tongue to trace potential designs across every inch of her skin.

The next day, Cassian showed Nesta the poster for the tattoo convention happening soon which brought dozens of artists together to showcase their work and allow for people to get tattoos done, and admire the different aesthetics and designs.

When Nesta agreed to go with him, she made it very clear she was just looking for inspiration. It was practical, she reasoned, to go to see all kinds of designs in one place so she could get a sense of what exactly she wanted.

She figured he would be attached to her side, wanting to show her everything and point out his favorites.

The last thing she expected was to lose Cassian in the crowd.

Nesta finished eyeing another row of booths, still no sign of her missing, infuriating, boyfriend.

“C’mon Nesta, he said” she muttered as she walked. “It’ll be fun, he said. You’ll get inspired and I’ll be right there with you, he said.”

Nesta just about turned the corner when a booming laugh caught her attention. Zeroing in on the sound she caught sight of Cassian—well, his hair really. The long, dark, wavy strands were pulled up into a bun on top of his head, making his strong jawline covered in artfully groomed stubble stand out.

Nesta sometimes found it hard to stay mad at Cassian because no matter what she was upset about, he always found a way to make her smile. Even unintentionally. Like right now, part of her wanted to strangle him for vanishing on her and making her scour the convention hall for him, but hearing the sound of his laugh softened her and she allowed herself to smile at him before quickly schooling her features and making her way over to where he was sitting.

Sitting.

He was sitting in a reclining chair while the booth’s tattoo artist leaned over him to draw a new piece of artwork on his skin.

Nesta was going to kill him. Seething, she marched towards him.

He brought her here, he disappeared, and then he went off to get a new tattoo—without her.

Cassian’s eyes lit up as he spotted her. “Nes! Check it out, look who’s here.”

For the first time, Nesta looked at who exactly was inking her boyfriend.

“Az?” She blinked, momentarily losing her frustration. “I didn’t know you would be here.”

Azriel dipped his needle into the ink again and let out a low chuckle. Once he deemed enough ink was added, he gave Nesta a rueful smile. “I assumed this one,” he nodded at Cass who was still grinning at her “would show up today, but I thought I could get a couple of hours of actual clients before he took over my booth. I didn’t expect to see you here, though” Azriel concentrated on tracing another line but raised an eyebrow in her general direction.

“Yeah, well, this one,” she imitated Azriel’s tone and nodded at Cassian, “wanted to show me what one of these conventions was like, but apparently he decided it was better to run off and get another tattoo.”

Setting her bag down, Nesta sunk into the chair beside Cassian and crossed her arms.

“I’ve been wandering around for more than thirty minutes looking for you, asshole”

Az snorted, but didn’t comment, just kept drawing something that Nesta couldn’t quite see.

“Aw babe, don’t be mad,” Cassian leaned over as best he could and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek before she could turn away. Not that she didn’t want a kiss from him, but she was still upset at his antics. “You were so absorbed looking at that lady’s designs I didn’t want to interrupt you.”

Nesta’s anger melted a little at that. They had been walking around for a while when Nesta spotted a particular design she liked. She dragged Cassian over to a booth hosted by a woman whose arms were covered in colorful images and had her hair pulled back in a bright bandanna. She had a handful of binders on the table filled with designs and photos of healed artwork.

It was the minimalistic stack of books that had caught Nesta’s eye from across the aisle. She followed the single line as it swirled around creating the image. She must have been more lost in thought than she realized if Cassian deemed it best not to interrupt her.

“And,” He gave her a wide grin, “I hoped I could find Az and convince him to tattoo me for free.”

Rolling her eyes at Cass’ satisfied look and Az’s long-suffering one, she watched as people passed by the booth. Some looked through the design books, others paused to watch for a moment as Az worked. Turning back to face Cassian, she saw he was already looking at her.

“Fine. I’m still annoyed, though.” She leaned in closer, “What are you getting?”

Now Cassian’s face turned a little nervous. He still looked excited and happy and keen in the way he always looked when he watched her, but now he started to look a little worried, too.

“Before you freak out or get angry, let me explain.”

Nesta’s mind immediately went to worst-case scenarios. What could he be getting that he thought she would be angry? What would Azriel agree to ink that she should be upset about? Was it—

“Great way to start.” Azriel muttered from Cassian’s other side.

“Shut up.” He rolled his eyes and turned back to Nesta just as she stood up and walked around to peer over Azriel’s shoulder.

Az was putting the finishing touches on but she could see exactly what the image was.

It was delicate ‘N’ on the inner edge of his wrist.

Nesta didn’t say anything—couldn’t say anything—she just stared at the design now permanently etched into her boyfriend’s skin.

Cassian cleared his throat and Azriel backed away to put his needles down and give them a moment of privacy. As much privacy as they could have in the small booth.

“It’s an N,” Obviously. “For you.” Obviously.

Nesta couldn’t drag her gaze away from the letter. All her anger and frustration faded away. She forgot how irritated she was with him, how upset she had been when she turned around and he was gone. She forgot the instant jolt of panic she felt when she thought she had lost him.

Nesta took in each line and curve of the tattoo and felt such an overwhelming feeling of love for this crazy, impulsive, wonderful man.

“You…” She finally looked up to see him watching her face carefully.

“What do you think?” He waited for her to say something, but after a moment of silence, he started rambling. “Is it too much? Do you like it? You don’t like it. It’s too much. If you don’t like it I can change it. I mean, I can see if Az can change it. I could get it covered up—”

“No!”

Nesta grabbed his worried face in her hands and kissed him fiercely. She tried to pour everything she was feeling into that kiss, and make him know that she did like it, she loved it. She loved him.

“No, don’t cover it up.” She pressed her forehead to his before pulling back and intertwining their fingers, using her grip to lift his arm to get a better view.

“So, you do like it?” A slow smile appeared on his face.

Nodding softly, she told him, “I do.” Nesta swallowed, another rush of emotion hitting her. “You really wanted to get something for me inked onto you? These things last forever you know.” She tried to make a joke, but she was still feeling overwhelmed.

She almost couldn’t believe that he wanted a piece of her, something to remind him of her constantly and forever. It was insane; totally impulsive and unbelievable, but the sweetest most loving gesture anyone had ever done for her.

Cassian used his fingers to tilt her chin up so he could look her in the eye. “Of course I wanted to. Every time I’ll see it, I’ll think of you.”

She kissed him again.

Breaking apart, Nesta slowly moved her finger around the letter, careful not to brush it and hurt him.

“Why here?”

He forced her to meet his stare as he said, “I wanted it over my pulse point because my heart beats for you.”

He kissed her this time and put everything he had into it. She brought one hand around behind his head, the other rested on his chest, and kissed him back with just as much passion.

“That’s so corny” she murmured against his lips

They broke apart, each breathing a bit heavily.

Cassian gave her a cheeky grin and winked.

“You love it. And didn’t you know, sweetheart,” he gave her one more peck on the lips, “we’re gonna last forever, too.”

*****

I know I’ve posted a lot of oneshots recently, but don’t worry, I’m absolutely still working on my longer fics. I’m just taking advantage of the inspiration as it hits me

Taglist:

@acourtofsnakes @allthebooksunderthemoon @astra-ad-mare @becarefuloflove @bisexual-genderfluid-loki @booklover41802 @charlizeed @cookiemonsterwholovesbooks @danibutterr @doubt-less @emily-gsh @enormousbooklover @foughtconquered @fromthelibraryofemilyj @hakunamatatazz @i-have-but-one-brain-cell @in-love-with-caramel-macchiato @jorjy-jo @lemonade-coolattas @mariamuses @mayhemories @midsizewitch @miserablesmusings @morganofthewildfire @nehemikkele @rowaelinismyotp @rowansfirebringer @sayosdreams @sheharahu @sleeping-and-books @stardelia @story-scribbler @superspiritfestival @surielandiareendgame @swankii-art-teacher @tomtenadia @westofmoon @whimsicallyreading

#nessianmonth #nesta #cassian #nesta archeron #nessian #nesta x cassian #cassian x nesta #nesta and cassian #cassian and nesta #nessian fanfiction #nessian fic #nessian fluff #fanfic #fanfiction #fluff #tattoo #tattoo convention #azriel #lost #Love is in the Lines #LiitL #nessian month

[all-things-fic]

Rekindled

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

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

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

Tonight had started out like any other Saturday evening. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

And you were right.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Come an’ get it over with, H.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bastard. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How yer getting ‘ome?”

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

“Was just gonna Uber it back.”

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

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

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

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

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

“So wha’s another nigh’?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You silently nodded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

Shoes had been left at the door. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You seemed relaxed to him, albeit amused. 

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

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

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

“And makes you lose your fingerprints in the process.

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

“Ketchup’s fine. Ta.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“‘S it okay?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“This song always makes me…you know.”

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

“Who didn’t catch yours?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He was correct. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Neither can you,” you shot back.

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

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

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

Harry zoned in on the use of the word yet.

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

“Range Rover Sport.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And why would I want to do that?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Had being the operative word-“

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

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

“Tell him no.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Tell him to piss off.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Where’d you think?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He gulped as he swallowed. 

“Please.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“‘S a bit creepy in’t it?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t like ‘im.”

“Of course you don’t,” you hummed. 

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

“That I agree.”

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

“I can handle myself.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah and look where that got us.”

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

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

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

“You would say that.”’

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

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

“Say tha’ like it’s a bad thing.”

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

“Now why would you want to do that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Gentle squeeze. Reassuring reminder. 

Take your time. 

“Come show me this stuff.”

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Who didn’t love an innuendo?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“All Saints was more my thing.”

“That’s because you’re fake indie.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A nod was all you could muster. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You know ‘m fucking not.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What yer thinking?” 

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

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

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

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

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

He spoke your name in a pretend warning.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No?”

A small shake of his head. 

“The girl.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“‘S this okay?”

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

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

“‘S it nice.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay wi’this?” 

Another nod.

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

“Tell me if it’s changed.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hear tha’?”

So lazy he couldn’t even ask you properly. 

“Nice an’ wet.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“On top.”

“Me?”

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

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

“Do I need one?”

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

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

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

“Planning on staying over?” 

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

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

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

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

“Gonna let me have you all night.” 

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

“Eh? Sleep in the mornin’?”

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

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

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

“‘S tight.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You make me feel good.”

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

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

“No one gets it like this.”

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

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

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

“Deeper,” you gasped, “Yeah.”

“Yeah?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Gonna- oh.”

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[hangovercurse]

Blind Date (continued)

You invite Colson in after your blind date

Request: “I loved this so much! If you get the chance and are up to it, I’d love a second part!” ”I would like to read a second part of it”

Colson X Reader

Warnings: cursing

A/N: Have I edited this? No. Did I even look back over this after I wrote it? Also no

Word Count: 1974

Your hand touched the handle before you turned around, finding Colson in the same situation at his car door, still looking at you. “Do you maybe wanna… come in?” You asked, biting your lip. His face lit up, a smirk highlighting his features.

“I would love that.”

The man’s lanky figure strutted over to your front door as you opened it, pausing as he entered to take in the smell of your house that screamed you. He let his eyes wander around the place as he stepped further in, taking off his coat and shoes at the front entryway.

You moved into the kitchen, pulling out a bottle of red wine while he made his way into the space. You found a note on the counter from your best friend and roommate.

Staying at Eric’s tonight in case you and your date need the place to yourself <3

You rolled your eyes at the note, chuckling as you tossed it in the trash. You rustled through your drawers to grab a corkscrew, fiddling with the bottle as Colson shuffled into the room, standing behind you to encase you in his arms.

He took the corkscrew from your hands and opened the bottle with ease. “I was getting there,” you whined jokingly.

He chuckled, “I could see that.” You turned around and allowed your lower back to rest against the counter, squeezed between the surface and Colson. His arms rested on the countertop on either side of you, his figure leaning to be level with you.

You couldn’t help but admire his features, his bright blue eyes and the stubble on his jaw sparking your artistic mind. “I wish I could sketch you right now,” you murmured your thoughts aloud.

He smirked, leaning closer into you, your lips almost meeting, “why don’t you?”

You smiled, pressing a soft kiss to his lips before softly speaking, “you would get bored being my model.”

He pulled away from you, fingers running across your waist until they found your hands, intertwining your fingers. “I would be honored to be your model.”

You perked an eyebrow, “seriously?”

He shrugged, “I’ve done it before for cameras, and you are much more interesting than photographers.” He pulled you away from the counter, “go get your stuff and I’ll pour wine.”

Rolling your eyes, you walked towards your art room, which was really just your bedroom, “don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

When you returned, he was wandering your small living area, a glass of wine in his hands and one on the small coffee table. His eyes danced along the picture frames you and your roommate had placed around the house when you first moved in, which you honestly hadn’t looked at since.

You stepped into the room with your sketchbook and pencils, making your presence known. His gaze drifted to you with a smile, watching you settle onto the couch, “so, is this your roommate?” He motioned towards one of the pictures.

You glanced up, smiling at the goofy picture you two had taken at graduation, “yep, that’s us.” You turned your head back to your book, flipping to the next blank page as he continued asking about your pictures.

“Who’s in this one?” He asked, pointing to a photo of your roommate and her boyfriend, Eric.

You chuckled at the image of them pulling funny faces in the front seat of a car while you sat in the background looking bored, “that’s Eric, her boyfriend. We went on this huge road trip and they swore I wouldn’t have to third wheel, but I obviously did.”

Colson let out a small laugh, taking a sip of his wine, “and who is that?”

You had honestly forgotten about the picture he was pointing to, but seeing it made your stomach fill with unease. “Oh, I forgot that was still up,” you sighed at Colson’s curious expression, “that’s me and my ex, TJ. We broke up months ago, I thought I’d gotten everything of his out of here.”

Colson could see the discomfort in your expression, sitting down on the armchair next to your couch, throwing his legs over the side and posing dramatically. “Bad ex, huh?” You nodded, not wanting to make him uncomfortable with the conversation, though you wanted nothing more than to open up to him. “I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.”

You rolled your eyes, turning so you could face him, “of all the poses, that’s what you pick?”

He smiled innocently, “yep.” A chuckle fell from your lips as you looked down at your sketchbook, pressing your pencil to the paper. “Fine, I’ll go first,” he began, “can’t really get to know each other if we don’t get at least a little bit of trauma out of the way.”

You looked up at him and giggled, “you got me there.”

He sighed, taking a sip of his wine, “Baze told me not to talk about it, but the look on your face when I asked you about him tells me you might be able to relate.” You raised an eyebrow but kept drawing, giving him a silent signal to continue. “I was dating this girl for a while, you’ve probably heard of her, Megan Fox.”

Your eyes went wide at the name, looking up at him in shock, “yeah, because that’s not an intimidating act to follow at all!”

Colson waved you off, “you’re doing great so far, don’t even worry about it.” You gave him a stern look, but he only continued with his story, “anyways, we were together for a while and she told me all the time she thought we were soulmates, and I believed her, you know?” You bit your lip, starting to feel slightly intimidated as he spoke about the woman. “But then she cheated on me after, like, 9 months. And I realized after we broke up how wrong we were for each other and how much she manipulated me.”

You frowned as he spoke, his tone getting sadder with each word. “That’s so shitty. I don’t understand why people cheat in long term relationships, especially after you’ve given them so much hope and trust. Like someone convinces you that they love you and then they go around and pull that shit. It’s evil.”

He nodded, a slight smile on his face, “I’m over it now though, in case you were worried. Came to the realization about a month or two later that I was better without her.”

You held the pencil in your hands still, trying to find the words you needed to say. “I, uh, I was dating that guy, TJ. We had been friends for a while and he asked me out and I said yes. Everything was great, you know? And then like almost a year end he starts acting all weird and possessive. Like just because we had been together for so long means he doesn’t have to treat me like his girlfriend anymore. He would make me feel like shit in front of our friends and just all around was being a shitty boyfriend.” Colson stared at you intensely with a frown on his face, eyebrows furrowed.

“A guy should never do that shit to his girl. You don’t deserve that shit, no one does.”

You nodded sadly, “yeah, well, then I found out like 4 months into all of this that he had cheated on me and gotten the girl pregnant so… I ended things real quick.” You let out a sad huff, turning your attention back to the book and continuing your sketch of the beautiful man in front of you. “I was really upset at first but now I’m just kind of angry. Dude was a dick.”

Colson let out a dry laugh as you took a long sip of wine, “sounds like it. I’m sorry you went through that shit.”

You shrugged, smiling up at him, “if I hadn’t, we wouldn’t be here.”

He chuckled, biting his lip, “guess something good came out of it.”

A blush spread across your cheeks, “oh yeah, the food was amazing.” Your words were full of sarcasm, yet the pout on his face still made you giggle, “I’m joking, loser.”

“You better be miss second-date.” You giggled but didn’t respond, turning back to draw him. It was quiet for a few moments, your pencil tracing along the paper.

He shifted, at which you glared up at him, “I told you you’d get bored.”

With a chuckle he said, “I’m not bored. I get to look at you while you draw, it’s far from boring.” You tried to look annoyed at him but failed miserably at his flattering words. “I was thinking though, since it’s my picture and all, I should get to make some executive decisions.”

You scoffed, “you chose your pose, what else would you like oh great model Colson?”

He rolled his eyes playfully, stretching his arm out to set his glass on the table. “Well, I mentioned that I have some tattoos,” he reached for the hem of his shirt, pulling it up, “you should draw them.”

Once his shirt was fully removed from his body, you couldn’t help but gawk just a little. His entire chest was covered in ink, designs beautifully engraved into his skin. “I was gonna make a joke about this only being our first date but holy shit, these are beautiful.”

He blushed, looking down shyly, ”I was honestly scared you weren’t gonna like them.”

You looked at him with wide eyes, “Seriously? This is so cool. I’m an artist, you really think I’m not gonna like tattoos? Its an art form in itself.”

Colson shrugged, moving back to his pose, expecting you to continue your drawing. Instead, your eyes wandered his torso, taking in every detail of the work. “If you’re lucky,” he commented slyly, “one day I might show you all of them.”

You rolled your eyes with a scoff, moving back into drawing position, “you think you’re so cool.”

A breathy laugh fell from his lips, “I do, actually.”

The two of you continued banter-laced conversation while you drew him, his likeness coming to life on your page. At some point it turned into 3 am, and you were struggling to keep your eyes opened, but you were finished.

“Here.” You turned the book to him, letting him take in your work. He didn’t speak for a few moments, causing worry to build in you. “I mean, it’s no Mona Lisa but-“

“That is fucking amazing.” He cut you off with a wide smile, “you make me look hot.”

You rolled your eyes with a grin, “I’m not going to feed your ego by saying something super lame like “that’s just what you look like,” but I’m glad you like it.” He chuckled at your response, climbing off of the chair to stand in front of you.

“Damn, I was really hoping to get my ego fed tonight.” He grabbed the sketchbook from you and threw it onto the couch next to you before grabbing your hands and pulling you up to stand.

You smiled to yourself, chest shaking with silent laughter, “does the sketch not feed it enough?”

He shook his head, “I need the approval of a really pretty girl to satisfy its hunger.”

Rolling your eyes, you leaned up into him, “you gotta work harder than that, Rockstar.” Your words came out breathy against his lips as he wrapped his arms around your waist.

His mouth connected to yours, the kiss deep and passionate. His soft lips meshed perfectly with yours, his hands pulling you up to stand on your tiptoes. Once you pulled away you stayed close to him, breathing in his intoxicating scent. He whispered, “I never thought a blind date could turn out so well.”

#mgk #mgk imagine #mgk fluff #machine gun kelly #machine gun kelly imagine #machine gun kelly x reader #Colson baker #colson x reader #colson baker imagine #colson baker fluff #colson imagine

[letsgivethisonemoreshot]

BruiserMates

Word Count: 4,644 (it's a long one)

Warnings: Sexual Situations, banter, there's some fluff in there somewhere.

Summary: The British Bruiserweight is more grumpy than usual. But his friends and a co-worker think they just might know a way to fix it. (Also, I tried to make an attempt to keep true with accents for the first time. So I apologize if it's horrible!)

The lukewarm water rushed out of a shower head in the back of the arena. The water pressure in these showers were never that good, but it was early and Lauren had the whole locker room to herself. She had the curtain drawn for privacy, just in case anyone else arrived early. Mostly because she was in the men’s showers. And just as she was rinsing the shampoo out of her hair, she heard several voices from the locker room echo into the bathroom.

"You could've stopped to get breakfast first." A British accent rang out.

"They 'ad food at the hotel." The familiar accent of Pete filled the room.

"Not anything for a vegan. And ya know that." Another voice argued.

"I don't know every damn vegan place in tha country." Pete spat back.

"Uh guys, just so you know you're not alone in here." Lauren informed them.

"Who in the bloody hell is that?"

"Lauren. I'm a backstage interviewer here. I really needed a shower after my workout before I got ready to work and they were cleaning in the women's locker room when I got there. No one was in here so I ran in. I'll be quick." She explained.

"Pete?"

"Yeah, she works here." He vouched, recognizing her voice.

"Ah. Alright then love. As long as you work here. I'm Tyler by the way."

"Trent." The other voice rang out.

"You guys are here from NXT UK for the tag tournament, right?" Lauren asked.

"You got it love." Trent answered as he turned on a shower on the opposite side of where Lauren was. "And you don't 'av to rush. We don't mind if you don't."

"As long as you stay on that side of the curtain." Lauren responded in a joking but friendly way.

"Great." Pete murmured.

"What's wrong with you?" Trent asked him.

"He's still sore about his girlfriend messin' around on him." Tyler answered getting ready to get a shower himself.

"Tell my business to the whole locker room, why don't ya." Pete said annoyed.

"She's the only otha one in here. And she sees ya more than us. I'm sure she's noticed you're grumpy."

"No more than usual." Lauren said as she conditioned her hair.

"Aw piss off all of ya."

"See? He's always this pleasant."

"I thought you said you were gonna be quick." Pete pointed out.

"I was, until Trent was nice enough to tell me I didn't have to. So now I'm taking my time."

Pete let out an aggravated grunt. "I can't shower with 'er in here."

"Relax Pete, I'm almost done. What brings you guys in here so early anyway?"

"Time change. Kind of has us messed up. And Pete just doesn't sleep." Tyler replied. "What about you? And working out nonetheless. I’d think you’d moreso be off writing questions."

"How else am I supposed to fit myself into those tiny dresses they want me to wear?" Lauren partially joked, causing two of the englishmen to chuckle. "I have a few interviews I have to do for some social media shows before the actual show tonight. This was the only time I could fit in a work out. I was going to shower real quick then get to work, but the women’s bathroom was closed, so I that brought me here. I guess it’s just bad timing.”

"Ah, I wouldn't say that love." Trent said.

"Well maybe not on my part. Anybody could walk in here. So many people have probably had fantasies that start like this. But apparently, it’s bad timing for some of you.”

"Would any of those fantasies include any of us by any chance?" Trent asked in a joking tone.

“Trent, ya can’t just ask a woman ya just met something like that.” Tyler chastised.

“Why not? I’m just joking.”

"Hm, some just might." Lauren answered.

"For fucks sake…"

"Jesus Pete calm down, I'm done. I'll be out of your hair in a minute." Lauren said as she turned off the water and wrapped her towel around herself.

"Yeah relax mate. We're just messin' around." Trent said to his friend.

"You need to get laid." Lauren stated.

"Excuse me?" Pete asked, sounding offended.

"We've been telling him that the last two weeks love." Tyler said to her.

She pulled open the curtain and stepped out of the shower stall. "Take it from someone who pushed away a lot of her friends by being a negative mope after going through a rough breakup. If she's gonna fuck around, then so can you. Try smiling, go get laid, and live. See ya later boys. I believe I'll be the one interviewing you later!" Lauren called out before walking away.

Lauren left them alone in the men's locker room and walked back to the women's which was thankfully now able to be occupied. She walked quicker than she planned seeing as how she couldn't get dressed there with the guys there. So she was running around in just a towel. No one had really showed up to get ready yet, but she still had to go over interview questions, get dressed, and was expected by the stylists soon. She was rummaging through her bag when there was a lock at the door. She dropped what was in her hands and curiously walked over to the door. Upon opening it she saw an annoyed Pete Dunne standing there. He was still in his trousers, nice button down shirt, and vest. His hair pulled back. Obviously he still hadn't gotten into the shower yet.

"To what do I owe the pleasure of a visit from you? Miss me already?"

Pete held out a plastic bag with tiny bottles inside. "Ya left your crap in the shower."

"And you're such a gentleman you brought it back to me?" Lauren joked.

"I drew the short straw."

"You sure it doesn't have anything to do with what I said?" She asked as she took the plastic bag from him. “Because my fantasies about you usually start with me still dressed and you ripping my clothes off me, but if this is how it happens I’ll take it.”

“No, it’s because I was the only one who was still dre…wait, what?”

Lauren smiled "Thanks for bringing my stuff back Pete. I forgot it in all the conversation. And if you’re just here to drop it off, I really need to finish getting ready. I need to be in make-up soon. I’ll see you around later.”

She closed the door, leaving Pete standing there dumbfounded at the interaction he just had.

Lauren had gotten dressed and was sitting in the make-up chair. She had decided on a short black off the shoulder dress. Even though the shoulders were bare, the dress had long sleeves, making a bit more acceptable in the workplace. The strappy heels that she had on also made it a bit less casual. She already had her hair done. She chose to leave it down since it was only shoulder length, but add some waves to it. Pete had wandered over to the area as Lauren was laughing while the make-up artist applied the dusty pink lipstick. Lauren was deep in conversation with the artist. She got along with everyone. Well, mostly everyone. She was easy to talk to and calming, which was a plus with her job. The interviews always flowed nicely and never seemed forced. She never really had any real problems with anyone she worked with. Pete leaned against a wall off to the side watching her talk. He had his wrestling gear on now, and had his long hair dangling down over half of his face.

"Alright, all set. How's it look?" The make-up artist asked as she held up a mirror.

"It looks great! Thanks Rachel!"

"Awesome. If you need a touch up just let me know."

"I will. Thanks!"

Lauren checked in the mirror one last time, pursing her lips together, before jumping out of the make-up chair and leaving it for someone else. She walked away from the styling area and right passed where Pete was brooding.

"Lauren."

"Hey Pete." Lauren replied as she walked by.

"Hey, hold up."

"What's up?" She asked as she stopped and turned to him.

"You tell me." Pete stated.

"Is this about what I said earlier? I’m sorry for getting involved in your business. And I never would have said anything had we not already been in the middle of a conversation. But I’ve been there, and I didn’t want you to end up pushing your friends away with your bad attitude like I did.” She explained.

"Not that. After. At the locker room." Pete said in a much lower voice.

Lauren smiled and crossed her arms. "What is this? When is Pete Dunne so timid?"

Pete rolled his eyes. "F'get it."

"No I'm sorry. I couldn't help myself." Lauren said reaching out to grab his arm. "I'll be good. What did you want?"

"You to stop being intimidating for a moment would be good."

"I've heard that once or twice before, but not from anyone like you."

"What you said earlier, did you mean it?" Pete asked changing the subject.

"That you need a good lay to forget about her? Absolutely. Your friends seemed to agree."

"No. That you've 'ad fantasies about me." He said as he took a step closer to her.

"Maybe a few times." She answered, surprising him by the serious tone in her voice. He stood there not quite sure how to follow up while Lauren opened the small bag she had with her and looked through it. "Listen, I really have to go and interview Daniel Bryan. But if you want to take my advice, I would love to be the girl that gets under you to get over her. Room 308 if you're interested."

She slipped her spare hotel key into his hand before turning around and continuing to walk down the hallway. Later on that night Pete sat in the back watching the show on a t.v. He was watching Lauren interview his two best friends while he spun the hotel key around in his fingers while being lost in thought. He pulled it together to go out and put on a good show, like he always did. All of his cockiness and aggression was on display. Lauren had been watching his match extra closely that night.

After the show Lauren was sitting alone in her hotel room. She hadn't made any plans for the night in case Pete decided to show up. After about an hour of waiting, she decided to change her clothes and get comfortable. She had the television on and was laying down in the bed, trying to relax, but she found herself not paying attention to it and trying to figure out what reasons Pete could have for not showing up. After driving herself crazy for some time, around 11:30 she realized she was being silly. His good friends whom he hadn't seen in months were in the country for a bit, so he was going to be spending time with them. Plus with all the joking around that she had done with him that day he probably didn't even think she was serious. Or maybe he just wasn’t interested and didn’t know how to tell her in a nice way. Lauren grabbed her phone and laid down on her bed to play some games until she got tired. Only a few minutes after she relaxed herself for the night, there was a knock at her door.

Lauren put her phone down and got out of bed. She walked over to the door curious of who could be there this time of night, especially without texting her first. She looked through the peephole and saw Pete standing on the other side. She quickly opened the door.

"You do realize I gave you a key so you wouldn't have to knock and wait in the hallway, right?"

"I didn't feel right usin' it." Pete told her.

Lauren opened the door wider and stepped aside inviting him in. He stood near her as she closed the door.

"I see you stayed dressed for me." Pete joked as he looked at her in her pink tank top and black yoga pants.

"I could say the same for you." Lauren retorted noticing Pete was in grey sweatpants and a t-shirt.

"It's not m' job to look pretty." Pete stated.

"Good thing I'm off the clock then."

They hadn't really talked much before now, other than just a hello or exchanging pleasantries. Maybe being involved in the same conversation as a group of people. Mostly that was because Pete kept to himself or only really talked with the people he was close to, where as Lauren would talk with everyone and insert herself into others conversations. But Pete definitely took notice today that not many people were able to throw back at him the way that she did, and he liked it.

"So did you just come here to criticize my clothes or…" Lauren trailed off.

"Actually, I wanted to talk." He answered.

"Oh, uh okay."

Lauren definitely hadn't been expecting that. She lead him into the room a little bit more and she sat down on the edge of the bed. Pete took one of the seats that were in the room and placed it in front of her before sitting down as well.

"So?"

"I've been thinking about what ya said. And you're right. If she's gonna bang a bunch of guys and not care, then I should too. Well, ya know."

"So what's the hold up?" Lauren asked.

"I don't want pity sex with someone just because they feel sorry fa' me. Especially if it's someone I 'av to work with."

"I can understand that. I'm not really one for random hook ups either." Lauren agreed.

"But then why did you…"

"I like you Pete." Lauren told him.

"Why? I'm kind of a bastard." Pete asked confused.

Lauren laughed. "Yeah, most of the time. I've watched you. You're grumpy face and your angry promos. But I've also seen the way you joke around with your friends. I've seen how interact with kids. I know how much you care about animals. There's a sweet guy behind that whole bruiserweight thing."

"What makes you so sure?"

"Your best friends. Those goofballs wouldn't waste their time with a complete asshole." Lauren answered with a smile. She reached out and placed her hand over top of his. "I'll be honest. I've had the hots for you since you started coming around. And then when I actually learned things about you I had a crush on you. And seeing you laugh with your friends, I've wondered what it would have been like if we had that kind of relationship."

Pete couldn't help but flash a genuine smile that he usually kept hidden. "Why didn't ya eva say anything?"

"You had a girlfriend, remember?"

"Right. Right. Forgot about that."

"Well that was the plan." Lauren giggled.

"So girls really dig the whole aggressive arse thing huh?" Pete asked amused.

"Oh yeah. There's something wired wrong in our brains. And the accent doesn't hurt either.”

Pete leaned back slightly in his chair and chuckled.

"Did I just make Pete Dunne laugh?" Pete didn't even try to hide it this time after she pointed it out. "Up until now I think I've only made you scowl."

"Yeah yeah, just don't spread it around."

"Don't wanna ruin your unlovable reputation, huh?"

They both sat in awkward silence for a few moments, neither knowing what to say next. Pete fidgeted in his chair slightly before standing up. Lauren promptly stood up along with him. He reached out and pulled her to him so her body was flushed with his, wrapping his arms around her in a bear hug. The act took her by surprise.

"Thanks." He said into her ear.

Lauren put her arms around her torso returning the hug. But her senses perked up. He was still holding her, his head down and his nose grazing her neck. The thought of his mouth that close to her, with his history of biting, sent an electric wave through her nerves. She tried to push those thoughts out of her head and hugged him tighter.

"Anytime Pete." She said lightly.

Pete broke the hug and stepped aside looking down at her smiling. She gave him a half hearted smile. She was glad that she was able to be there for him, and it seemed like there was a friendship forming between them. But she was a little disappointed that it wasn't going further. And embarrassed that she told him how she felt, and now she had to deal with him at work all the time with him knowing that. She didn't say anything as she followed him as he walked to the door.

"I'll see ya around, alright?" Pete said as he put his hand on the doorknob.

Lauren nodded with a smile. She closed the door behind him and leaned it against it sighing. She felt like an idiot. She was just hoping he wouldn't make a big deal about it at work. She began walking back to her bed. When she was a few steps away, she heard the door click. She turned around and saw the knob turning. It pushed open and Pete walked back inside.

"Hey. Everything okay?" She asked confused.

He slammed the door behind him and walked towards Lauren, throwing the room key onto the bed as he passed it. He made it to where she was and placed his bands on her hips and pushed her up against the wall crashing his lips down onto hers. Lauren put her hands up on his shoulders, bracing herself at his actions. He moved his hands from her hips up to her sides all while continuing kissing her neck. He traced along the top of her tank top before grabbing it with both hands and ripping it down the middle. Lauren gasped into his mouth. Pete didn't give her any time to adjust to what he was doing before his hands traveled back down her body and behind her thighs picking her up and pressing her against the wall. He tore his lips away from hers to slowly lick down her chest until stopping at her partially exposed breast. He lightly licked around her nipple a few times before taking it into his mouth. Lauren ran her fingers through Pete's hair, softly moaning. When he lightly bit down she moaned deeper and arched her back off of the wall. Pushing herself even further into him, she became even more aware that her legs were spread around him and she could feel herself getting wetter every time he nibbled.

Pete pulled her away from the wall and carried her over to the bed. Lauren laid on the bed looking up at him trying to catch her breath. He was looking down at her with his signature cocky smirk. He reached out and lightly grabbed the waistband of her pants before yanking them off and crawling on top of her. Pete nuzzled into her neck kiss and biting causing her to arch her hips up and feel the large bulge in his sweatpants. Lauren slid her hands under his shirt and scraped her fingers down his chest bringing a low growl from him.

"You are wearing entirely too many clothes." Lauren informed him.

Pete chuckled, but it wasn't the light hearted one from earlier, there was a deeper tone to it. There was something sexy in that chuckle. He leaned up onto his knees and peeled his shirt off.

Lauren took the moment to just look at him, kneeling in front of her with his hair hanging down partially in his face. Watching his eyes in the light. He could see her eyes glancing up and down his body.

"Is this what ya wanted?" He asked.

"Fuck yes." Lauren answered out loud, instead of in her head like she planned. "But this was supposed to be for you."

"Does it seem like I'm not enjoyin' it?"

"Well yeah, but what is it you want?" Lauren asked.

"Haven't been asked that in a long time. Honestly?" Lauren nodded. "I want someone to want to be with me. Not just use me ta get off and pass out. Someone who enjoys being with me. To feel loved."

Lauren leaned up so she was sitting up in bed facing him. "Really?"

"Yeah. Sounds stupid. I guess when ya with someone for so long those things kind of become lost."

"No Pete, they don't." Lauren said as she placed her hand on his face. "That's what happens when people stop caring."

The words hurt Pete, but deep down he knew she was right.

"Lay down." She told him.

"What?" He asked confused.

"Take your pants off and lay down. Let me take care of you." She said it in such a calming tone, you'd forget they were just dry humping each other.

He complied with what she asked. Lauren removed her underwear and straddled him. He rubbed his hands on her thighs She pulled off what was left of her shirt. Pete unknowingly bit his lower lip upon seeing her naked in front of him.

"Like what ya see?" She asked with a coy smirk

"Damn love."

"You sure you wanna do this?" She asked him.

"Love if you don't get on me right now I'm going to push you down and get back on top of you."

Lauren smiled and moved to slide herself down onto his dick. She gasped as she slid down. She could have guessed the size of it based on what he wore in the ring, but she didn't think it was as thick as it was. Pete hissed as she began riding him.

"Fuck babe. You're so tight." He commented.

"Yeah, it's been a while." She replied as she rolled her hips.

"You're so wet." He stated.

"I told you, I like you. Now are you gonna do commentary the whole time or just enjoy it?"

"Oh I'm enjoying it love." Pete said as his hands slid up her legs. He groaned as he saw her bouncing on him, her breasts bouncing along with her. He ran his hand along her body and brushed his finger onto her clit causing her to yelp. He liked the sound that she made and continued to rub along her clit as she rode him.

"Fuck Pete if you keep that up I'm not gonna last long." She warned him.

"You keep makin' those sounds I won't eithea."

Lauren pushed his hand out of the way and brought her upper body down so she could kiss him before moving to his neck. She began kissing and sucking on his neck like he had been doing to her earlier. Pete reached around with both hands to grab her ass. She was moving at a slow and steady pace, keeping with his grunts of pleasure. She would bite down on his neck every once in a while hoping to catch him off guard. He would squeeze his grip tighter pushing her at a different pace causing her to moan.

"Wait, Lauren stop." Pete said suddenly.

Lauren stopped and sat up. "What's wrong?"

"I wanna be on top." He told her.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah."

Lauren wanted to stay on top and take care of him, but it's what he said he wanted to she switched positions with him. She had to admit having Pete in between her legs staring her down was something she had thought about several times. He began placing kisses down her collar bone as she ran her fingers through his hair again.

"Mmmm Pete, please." Lauren begged bringing a smile to his lips.

"Please what?" Pete asked as he ran his length along her entrance, teasing her.

"I know I'm being selfish at the moment but please, I need you." She moaned as she tried to push herself closer to him.

"Baby, I love hearing you beg." He said as he entered her starting slow at first.

"Pete, faster please."

Pete grunted before speeding up, loving the feeling of her needing him, He began to thrust harder as he sped up. Lauren wrapped his leg up around his waist to give him better access.

"Oh God Pete, I'm so close." Lauren said as she scratched her nails down his back.

"Let go for me love." He rasped into her ear.

Lauren grabbed onto Pete's face to pull him into a passionate kiss as she came. Pete finished shortly after her before collapsing next to her. Their session was relatively quick, but emotional and intense. They laid next to each other trying to catch their breath.

"Well, that was unexpected." Pete stated.

"Yeah, definitely didn't think that was gonna happen when I woke up this morning." Lauren agreed as she laid next to him.

"I'm sorry it wasn't really what ya wanted." Pete apologize.

"What do you mean?"

"Ya said you wanted aggressive, and ripping clothes off, and all that."

Lauren leaned up on her elbow and turned to face him. "That's one of the things I've thought about, but I really just wanted you Pete."

He responded by lightly placing his hand on her head and pulling it down to rest on his chest. Lauren laid there cuddling on Pete, which is something she never would have expected from him, and soon found herself falling asleep.

Around three in the morning Lauren jerked awake. She didn't mean to fall asleep. She didn't even realize she was that worn out. Or maybe just comfortable. The room was now all dark, Pete must have turned the lights out. She couldn't see anything but she felt over to the other side of the bed and it was empty. Of course it was. He came for what she said she'd give him and then left. He wasn't looking for anything beyond that. Lauren knew that when she offered him to come to her too, but she didn't think it would hurt that much when he was gone. She laid back down in her beg and pulled the covers up feeling pretty stupid. Just then she heard the toilet in her bathroom flush and the door open. Pete walked out of the bathroom and back over to the bed.

"Pete?" Lauren asked.

"Hm." He replied.

"I thought you left."

"Why tha hell would I do that?" He asked as he pulled up the covers and got back into bed next to her.

"You were gone. I thought you got what you wanted and left. Especially after I fell asleep on you."

"I believe you're tha one that wanted this love." He reminded her. "You’re the one that offered."

"Well, yeah…"

Pete wrapped his arm around her waist and held her hand, lacing his fingers in with hers. He nuzzled his nose into the back of her neck.

"I'm pretty glad you did though." He admitted. This was the most love he had felt in a long time. He really felt like the person he was with wanted him, needed him. That she was focused on him, and it made him want to be focused on her. He felt an actual connection, which is something that he had been missing.

"I'm not goin anywhere for awhile love." He said as he squeezed her into hug, pulling her body to his. "I loved those sounds I heard earlier. They drove me crazy. I look forward ta havin' ya make more."

Lauren giggled as Pete kissed the back of her neck. Neither knew what the future would hold, but right now they were both enjoying the moment.

#pete dunne #pete dunne one shot #pete dunne fanfic #pete dunne imagine #wwe fanfic #wwe fanfiction #mustache mountain

[mcgrathandwives]

Hcs for Lena x reader at an art gallery, reader does not understand abstract art at all and is bored out of her mind, but for Lena this is her thing. She understands the colors, the shapes, everything and the meaning. For reader, it is like a five year old drew that. "You are not buying that. Seriously?! 1 000 dollars for THAT?? Lena I can draw that for you with my feet and for FREE!"

A/n: I know absolutely nothing about art- I'm not a art person, so please forgive anything in this that might annoy any art folk

Also I changed your prompt every so slightly☺️

---

She knows she works a lot

She knows she basically lives in L-Corp

There's many office jokes going around about her secret wardrobe

She knows about it all and she can't say they're wrong

She doesn't have a secret wardrobe but she does have Jess who is more than happy to help her boss in anyway

Even if that means running to Lena's apartment at 5 in the morning, collecting a whole new outfit for her boss

Jess is more than happy to do it, she knows better than anyone the amount of work Lena puts into everything

But since y/n came on the scene and had became a much bigger part of Lena's life, things had to change

Dinner drop offs became dinner dates

Late night conversations in the office

Lena would cut off investors and board members to answer y/n's calls

Jess soon found herself going to Lena's apartment to pick up her boss rather than to collect things for her boss

Lena would only stay late at the office every few nights

Friday's were for restaurants and wine

Saturday's used to be for experiments and are now exclusively for brunch and lazy days

As much as Lena enjoyed the casual dating aspects of her new relationship she was still a woman of great taste and what some would consider "rich people hobbies"

Some of these hobbies just happened to include getting dressed to the nines and making some appearances at well known establishments

Tonight's case just so happened to be an art collection on show at the art gallery, that Lena had been excited about

Y/n was never into art movements, bless them, they could only really name a few artists that were very well known

Lena found this out on the 5th date much to her amusement

"oh yeah I like the artists Da Vinci, Van Gogh, the other guys that the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles are named after- those guys have a way with the brush, you know? It's very inspiring"

But if Lena was excited then Y/n was excited

It isn't often that Lena let's someone in enough to share one of her bigger interests with so this was a big step for the CEO

That's how Y/n ended up at a black tie event, hold Lena's arm whilst pointing at different canvas and pulling confused faces

"I don't get it- am I supposed to be annoyed by it? I know art is supposed to bring out a reaction but I don't know if I should be annoyed at the price or annoyed at the paint"

To which Lena would roll her eyes and someyimes break her smile for the slight hint of a laugh

"behave darling, there's no need to worry about the price"

After a few laps round Lena wander back to a few painting that she felt drawn to- her partner however was still very much confused

"Lena, a 5 year old did it, there's no other explaination- we can go to the preschool by L-Corp and come home with something better"

Of course Lena ignored her dates comments and considered making an offer, once she read the price another couple bid, she was willing to throw on an extra $10k

She went home with a slightly intoxicated partner and a new abstract piece for her office

Y/n didn't know of course, they were too busy engaging with the floating waiters to really pay attention to Lena bidding on a piece

Y/n was surprised when they walked into the office the following day with fresh coffee and lunch

After passing Kara in the elevator the pair shared some quick hellos before Y/n made their way to the office

On the wall to the left of Lena's desk sat a painting from last night's gallery showing

"please tell me you did not buy that?! I could've made you that with my feet for free!"

#lena luthor hcs #lena luthor x reader #nemo talks supergirl #lena luthor

[wouldntyou-liketoknow]

Gifts for A Bat (Part 1): A Spider-Human Monster and A Necromancer Walk Into a Bar. . .

(Disclaimer: this Resident Evil 8 AU and the character descriptions that come with it do not belong to me. They belong to @that-bat, who has created lore and drawings for this AU on his blog. I highly suggest you give him a follow, because he makes some really good stuff. Also, please keep in mind that, while I am using Nate, Matthew, and Mark’s real names, the characters in this story are personified versions of them. I hope you enjoy this drabble!)

(Trigger Warnings: descriptions of body horror, implied gore, implied violence, implied experimentation, self-multilation, mentions of syringes/needles, arachnophobia, mentions of death/dying, slight mentions of eating. Please let me know if I missed anything.) 

The topmost half of Castle Isurus jutted out from the choppy waves of the estuary down below. A pair of bridges had been painstakingly built to connect the stronghold’s balconies to the rock and hard place–respectively, House Loxosceles and the Ophio Menagerie–on either side.

The fact tickled Matthew as he crossed one of said bridges for the umpteenth time now. Mark may have been smug, but he was surprisingly considerate; if it wasn’t for him, these little trips would take much longer than strictly necessary.

A chorus of tip-tip-tapping could be heard as the long, spindly insectoid legs protruding from Matthew’s back reached down to help him walk. He made his way about the castle’s outer perimeter, then paused. On this side of the castle, Lord Isurus’ pride and joy stood silently on a dais near the second bridge. It was the likeness of a nine-foot-tall woman, carved from a crystalline substance.

As usual, Mark was pacing around the statue, his dark eyes gleaming with worship. The jagged, razor-sharp teeth lining his maw softly clicked against one another as he murmured something to both himself and her.

To some degree, Matthew could understand this behavior. The statue was gorgeous and had been made with an unbelievable amount of detail. Apparently, it was the work of one of Mark’s would-be victims in exchange for not being made into a meal or lab rat. Though Mark admitted to only accepting their offer for amusement, the end product had impressed him so thoroughly that he’d released the artist back into the village under special protection.

Under normal circumstances, Matthew would have joked about the fact that this woman couldn’t and wouldn’t appreciate Mark’s admiration (read: obsession) because she was just a damn statue. But then, the last and only time he’d done something like that had resulted in perhaps the most horrific temper tantrum the world has ever seen.

Matthew liked to think that the ordeal had made him a bit smarter, as it led to one of few cases where he knew to let sleeping dogs lie.

He skittered closer and offered a polite nod to Mark, who took a few long seconds to return the gesture.

“Making another delivery?” Mark asked.

“No, I’m meeting up with a gentleman caller,” Matthew snarked. “Got any spare parts you’re willing to donate?”

Mark shook his head, glancing at the tall, ominous building that stood on the other side of the bridge. “Not at the moment. I don’t think he’d appreciate waterlogged material.”

“He probably wouldn’t,” Matthew agreed before tilting his head. “I thought you were finished with those experiments?” (Not too long ago, Mark had tested Cadou’s compatibility with water. The yielded results were a resounding FUCK IT along with a tangent about how stupid and annoying said parasite was for not working with a host’s body to keep them from drowning.)

“Ah, Miranda wants me to work with different temperatures now. I tried to tell her it wouldn’t make much of a difference, but she wasn’t having it.” The scowl on Mark’s face slowly shifted to a smirk as his eyes wandered back to the statue. “She’s become such an attention-whore, hasn’t she?” He purred up at her. “Not like I can blame her. Anyone can see why she’d be jealous of you. . .”

Matthew suppressed a sigh, taking this as his cue to leave. Mark’s one-sided conversation faded into the fog as Matthew trekked across the bridge. Without pausing, he peered over the edge.

The dark shapes of Mark’s more successful experiments stared back at him as they rippled and writhed in the embrace of murky water. A bird unwisely flew close to the surface, prompting one of many maladjusted creatures to surge up from the water, snatch it out of the air, and dive back down again.

Even as Matthew drew closer, the sight of the Ophio Menagerie didn’t become much clearer. Its outer walls had been almost completely swallowed up by a shroud of strangler vines. Until you went inside, it would have been impossible to know that this place had once been a church. Deep holes were scattered throughout what was left of the front garden, each one complimented by a crumbling headstone.

The very second Matthew set foot on this new property, a chorus of cawing and screeching and growling sounded from almost every direction. 

The cemetery was animate. . .in a way. 

Milling about were a variety of critters that all looked like they’d died a few days ago and somehow hadn’t noticed. Because they had; the only thing keeping them from decomposing like they probably should have been was their master’s bizarre power.

Not only that, but Lord Ophio made them even more worthy of their freak-of-nature status via performing types of grafting that could have been found only in a surgeon’s drug-induced night terrors. A mountain lion with the head of an enormous python. A small herd of elk that each had an unreasonable amount of legs. Two bears that had been fused together in a way clearly inspired by the Push Me Pull You. A few wolves with extra eyes and mouths and porcupine quills.

And that was just scratching the surface. More and more of these DIY zombies were lurking about in places unseen, and no two of their crooked upgrades were the same. Despite how much of a gorefest his gift was, Nathan made a point to never be cruel to his creations. If anything, he was very attentive and responsible towards them. Sure, he used them as extra force when needed, but making repairs to their bodies was always his top priority after the fact. Nate had always been pretty open about preferring animals to people, and the childlike longing for pets to be immortal had never left his mind.

Matthew continued walking, putting on a poker face in response to the cacophony. These monsters may have been territorial, but Matthew was someone off limits to them (unless he directly did something to change that, which was, admittedly, very possible).

 He halted just before the main entrance, where a mutt suddenly came to greet him: Phibes, the very first thing Nathan had ever reanimated. His eyes had the same yellow tinge as all of his master’s other creations, but unlike them, no macabre adjustments had been made to his body. He had clearly died a long time ago–a few bones and organs were exposed here and there–but he was still the most normal-looking animal this place had to offer.

“It’s just me, little guy. Is Nate busy today?” Matthew held out a hand, letting Phibes recognize his scent.

Instead of answering, Phibes clambered around Matthew as though he wasn’t some arachnid monstrosity (then again, Phibes was a dog), sniffing at the box in Matthew’s hands. After a thorough inspection, the hound looked out to the cemetery and let out a calm, positive bark that slowly but surely silenced the other animals.

With that, he trotted back inside, ragged tail wagging, constantly looking over his shoulder at Matthew.

Matthew followed the dog’s lead through the nave. In the aisles on either side of him, benches had been replaced by rusty cages that came in differing shapes and sizes. They contained Nate’s other specimens–the more human ones, at least. The former church staff (holier-than-thou prudes whose heads Nate specifically grafted goat horns onto for morbid irony), those who had previously been buried in the cemetery, as well as anyone whom Nate deemed annoying enough to be worth his efforts.

They all dripped with pus and bore nasty gashes, the exceptions of the technically humane code Nate worked under. The animals were easier to train and influence, so Nate generally let them wander the grounds as they pleased. Humans, on the other hand. . .they took more patience than strictly necessary. Even in death, they were still complex, still stubborn, still idiots who rarely knew what they were doing.

Some of the ghouls whined and cowered in corners while others reached through the bars to swipe at him with rotting hands. Matthew softly hissed and snapped at them, unable to help but feel a little frustrated. This was all very impressive in its own odd way, but that didn’t change how it was also such a waste of good red meat.

Sitting atop the altar, ahead of everything, was a huge glass tank. It was filled to the brim with dingy liquid, which was probably the source of the strong chemical odor wafting off of it. Floating inside was a corpse that somehow managed to look shriveled and bloated at the same time. Nate had never spoken their name, never explained why he chose to preserve them instead of adding them to his army.

The only thing Matthew knew about this person was that Nate hated them with a very personal passion.

Another yip from Phibes caught his attention, this time echoing from a staircase in the corner of the transept. Matthew shook himself, then padded down into the catacombs after his guide. A low, familiar voice mixed with his footfalls, and Matthew strained his ears to listen.

“Immortal soul, our inner being

Does it endure or does it perish with the flesh?

In my hands I’ll hold the answer

And the power of life and death!”

Matthew smirked. Nathan wasn’t completely obsessed with dead things–well, okay, he was, but anyone who knew him could tell that he kept one part of his barely-beating heart reserved for music. One of the village’s shyer acolytes had managed to stay safe by bribing him with samples of songs and instrumentals from. . .wherever their family used to live. Apparently a musical had been made out of Mary Shelley’s most famous work.

It was, unsurprisingly, cold and dark down here. Only a tiny amount of light was able to peek through what was left of the windows, which had all been overtaken by roots. It was also as unkempt as one would expect from a not-so-average creepy basement. Except for an odd lack of spiderwebs, of course.

Matthew normally would’ve been happy to fix that–his little ones were never too far away–but he knew from experience that it wouldn’t be worth it. Looking through his spies’ perspective as Nate crushed them under his boots had been more traumatic than he’d cared to admit.

Speaking of Lord Ophio, there he was now: sitting in a velvet chair that would have looked very out of place if it wasn’t covered in stains that were all a darker shade of red. Nathan held a long, thin needle between his fingers like one would a pencil, regularly dipping it into jars of colored ink lined up on his table. With careful hands and impressive speed, he slid the needle in and out of flesh, etching the likeness of a venus fly trap into the human forearm lying before him.

Matthew opened his mouth to greet him, but Nate held up a single finger to silence him, not looking up from his canvas. He took a few more minutes to finish the tattoo before wiping the needle clean. Then he turned to a cabinet beside his chair, fished a scalpel from one of its drawers, and proceeded to peel back the skin from his arm at the elbow.

Once the area was cleared, he produced a bone saw and severed his forearm completely. Nathan placed the appendage on the table, then reached for the one he’d just inked. He smeared some of his blood across the foreign body part, then held it close to the broken remains of his previous arm. A few seconds passed before Nate’s stump and the new limb began to fuse. It almost looked like they were reaching out to one another. The bones molded together while the skins overlapped like magnetic clay.

A strange scar formed once the process was complete. Nathan wiggled his new fingers and turned his new wrist, eliciting a chorus of pops and cracks. But other than that, the new arm worked exactly as intended. Had you never known Nate or missed out on his latest back alley-esque surgery, you might have thought that that arm had always been part of him.

Matthew titled his head, unsure whether to be exasperated or not. Nathan was fully capable of regeneration, but he still kept a supply of arms and legs and organs and what-have-yous just to have some variety. (Not to mention how it was a lot easier to draw tattoos when the canvas wasn’t prone to squirming or complaining or breathing.)

“You almost made me mess up,” Nate announced, finally looking up at Matthew. “Wasn’t expecting you until after dark.”

“Good thing I already have an olive branch,” Matthew replied, setting the package on Nate’s table.

Nate’s eyes glinted. He glanced at Matthew suspiciously.

Mathew’s many eyes blinked in an almost wave motion. “Don’t you trust me?”

“I’ve found that trusting you should only be an option half the time,” Nathan deadpanned.

“Fair point,” Matthew replied, shrugging, “but seriously, it’s just the usual.”

Nathan nodded as he eased the box open, revealing rows of glass jars stacked atop one another. The liquid inside each of them was gray and looked almost reflective. Nate carefully took one out, turning it over in his hands as he squinted at it. “How fresh is this batch?”

“The draining took a couple days, but it’s still pretty recent,” said Matthew. Nate raised an eyebrow at this, to which Matthew made a lame gesture. “Hey, it takes more energy than you’d think. Plus, you didn’t specify how much you needed.”

The community had its fair share of macabre macguffins, and Matthew’s venom happened to be among them. A single dose could give someone hallucinations that made even the most potent drugs look like Pepto Bismol. Very few humans were able to walk away with a sample of said venom–if someone got within touching distance of Matthew’s chelicerae, it was already too late–but Miranda would occasionally require some for ritual purposes. And from there, it would trickle down to the village.

Matthew and Nathan had long-since worked out a deal: so long as Matthew regularly drained his venom and delivered it to the Menagerie, Nate would refrain from killing every spider in sight.

Nate gestured to the bookcase standing in a corner across the room. “The empty jars from last time are on the middle shelf. Mind replacing them for me?” He twisted the one jar open, wincing at the sharp, strong smell that was released into the air. He took his original arm and held it over the jar, letting his blood drip down into it. After that, he used the blunt end of his scalpel to stir the venom, mixing it and the blood into one.

Matthew rolled his eyes but hummed affirmative. He took the box over to the case, exchanging the old jars for the new ones. The task didn’t take long, and by the time Matthew was finished, he turned to find that there was now a syringe in Nate’s hands.

Nate dipped the needle into the venom and pulled back the plunger until the tool was completely full.

“New pet?” Matthew asked.

“What do you think?” Nate answered.

“Can I see it?”

Nate froze for a few seconds. There was an edge to his voice when he asked, “Why?”

Matthew ignored the fact that his questions had been answered with more questions. “Just curious, I suppose. Do I really need a reason?”

Nate continued to look skeptical. “You always have ulterior ones, so. . .”

Matthew huffed, folding his arms. “Look, I haven’t started nearly as many of the spats you’re probably thinking of–that’s Mark’s job.”

“I feel like he still gets some help from you with that,” Nate interjected.

Matthew shook his head, incredulous. “It’s not like you’d let me get away with anything.”

Nate hummed. “That’s true, I definitely wouldn’t.” He cracked a small smile, likely remembering all the maulings his creatures had been responsible for. After a moment, he finally rose from his seat, syringe still in hand, and made his way up the stairs. Phibes trotted along with him, and Matthew took this as a green light.

Now above ground, Nate took a second to fix the floating cadaver with a disgusted look before marching across the nave and out the front entrance. Matthew followed at a slight distance, chuckling as every undead animal in sight stopped what they were doing to stare at Nate as he walked around the perimeter of the church. It reminded him of his spiders, how they would crawl along the edges of their webs to be closer to him.

Soon they came upon a wooden gate that gave Matthew splinters just by looking at it. Nathan grabbed the latch and pulled it open, then closed it behind himself after he, Phibes, and Matthew entered the sprawling meadow at the back of the church. Gnarled trees were growing here and there, casting long shadows over the grass. This area went on for miles, only kept in check by the fence, which looked very small from where Nathan and Matthew stood.

Nate scanned the field. Matthew caught a shape moving in the distance. He pointed towards it and asked, “Is that the new one?”

Nate nodded, grinning. “That’s the new one.” With that, he resumed walking, dry leaves crunching underfoot. He snapped a lower branch from one of the trees and threw it. Phibes excitedly bounded after it, retrieving it again and again and again.

It was almost disturbing how wholesome the next minute or so was.

But that didn’t quite last.

As the group got farther and farther away from the church, the shape Matthew had seen grew clearer until all of his eyes widened. Nate had apparently fused not one, not two, but three horses into a single, eight-legged, tri-headed crime against nature.

Its body was covered in dark gray fur, as were each of its heads, with a tail and mane(s) of salt-and-pepper hair. The heads seemed pretty much identical, though Matthew was close enough to see the difference (the right head had sunken brown eyes, the center head’s eyes were so bloodshot they almost looked red, and the left head’s eyes were blueish-green. The sclera of each was an unpleasant shade of yellow).

“This must’ve taken some work,” Matthew mused.

Nate was nearly laughing. “Oh, you have no idea.” He snapped his fingers a few times, causing the horse’s heads to knock against one another as they turned to look at him. Phibes got the memo, moving to stand a little ways behind Matthew.

“You’re almost done, buddy,” Nate assured, his normally hollow tone turning soft and even. “There’s one more thing we need to do.” He held the syringe at his side as he approached his monster, taking slow, careful steps.

The abomination pawed at the ground, fidgeting in place. All three of the horses that made up this new creature’s body had gone through the early stages of decay, but they otherwise looked only a little less than fresh. Matthew couldn’t be sure how long ago Nathan had reanimated them (the assembly process alone had to have been a long episode of trial and error). But right now they were in between life and death.

Nathan had explained that, no matter how simple an animal’s brain was, that animal would still be aware of its own mortality. If it could know that it was sick or injured, then it would know when it was dying. So, to bring that animal back would severely confuse it. Death took away bodily senses and functions, after all.

Once something was dead, it couldn’t feel tired or rested, healthy or ill, hot or cold, satisfied or hungry. It couldn’t feel anything.

After much experimenting, however, Nathan had found a remedy for that. It was surprisingly simple: Matthew’s venom and its hallucinatory magic didn’t discriminate. That on its own wouldn’t be incredibly useful, but when it was mixed with Nathan’s blood, it would further connect Nathan to his animals. It basically tricked the animals into thinking they were indeed still alive, which made their training more efficient.

Once he was close enough, Nate used his free hand to reach out and stroke each of the horse-thing’s necks in turn.

“Easy, now. Easy.” Nate gently patted the horse-thing’s shoulder. “This won’t hurt. And even if it did, it’ll be over before. . .you. . .know it.” As he spoke, Nate moved to the horse-thing’s side, one hand rotating between its necks as the other hand quickly pushed the needle into skin just below the withers.

Muscles randomly twitched all over the creature’s body. Raspy snorts and groans escaped each of its three throats. It stamped its hooves, kicking at nothing in particular. Nate backed away a few paces, shoving the now empty syringe into his pocket. His expression was calm, his focus remained firmly locked on his creation.

True to Nate’s word, however, the process was complete in no time.

The creature gradually slowed its movements, quieted down. It lowered its heads, each blinking curiously, then took a timid step towards Nate.

Nate’s smile widened, and he reached out to gently scratch the creature’s ears. “There we go. Doesn’t that feel better?”

Phibes slowly approached, bumping noses with the horse’s left head. Matthew walked to the side, giving Nate and the equine a wide berth.

Nate’s smile disappeared as he glanced at Matthew.

Matthew froze. “What?”

“I’ve commissioned the leatherworker for a custom saddle and tack set. If he suddenly goes missing before my order is ready, I’ll make you and Mark regret it.”

After a brief pause, Matthew inquired, “Why both of us?”

“Because you’ll both point fingers regardless of who’s actually guilty,” Nate said in a matter-of-fact tone. “Just like always.”

“Wouldn’t that be really inconvenient for you?” Matthew tilted his head, trying and failing to feign innocence.

“Maybe, but not enough for me to care.” Nate paused, smile flickering back to life for a second as the creature’s center head rubbed its nose against his chest. “Especially after all the time I’ve spent on Cerbehorse.”

Matthew’s intended retort died in his throat. “. . .You’re calling it Cerbehorse?”

Nate shrugged. “It’s gotta have a name.”

Without warning, Matthew’s vision suddenly flickered. He blinked once, twice as colors began to creep around the edges of his eyes. He allowed those colors to swallow up everything within line of sight, and suddenly he had a clear view of the interior of House Loxosceles. His perspective shifted from room to room, each of his eyes now peering through the eyes of too many spiders to count.  

Matthew watched as light flooded into the cellar, as an unfamiliar figure with white hair and blue eyes trudged down the stone steps from the secret entrance outside. The intruder sputtered and cursed as they walked into one of many webs. Their profanities grew louder and louder all spiders in the area–including the ones Matthew was looking through–attempted to ambush them. The spiders dropped from the ceiling, skittered across the floor, crawled up the stranger’s clothing. They worked themselves into a frenzy, hissing and biting for all they were worth.

Matthew’s vision abruptly went black, then flicked sporadically from one spider to another. Matthew couldn’t help but let out a small scream as he forced his eyes to shift back to focusing on his current surroundings.

“Matt?” Nathan sounded as though he was far away. “Matt? Hey, what’s wrong with you?”

Matthew didn’t reply. His hands became tangled in his hair as his extra limbs shuddered. 

Someone had broken into his home, and now they were making a mess of his cellar and killing his little ones.

The spiders could keep the intruder busy, sure, but many of them would die if their target was left alone long enough.

Matthew felt a weight come down on his shoulder, to which he hissed and jerked away. He found himself glaring at Nate, who now held a worryingly large pair of butcher shears at the ready. Phibes stood at his side, hackles raised, growling.

An uncomfortable silence settled around them all.

“Are you gonna do something stupid, Matt?” Nate finally asked.

Matthew took a moment to compose himself, still shaking. “No.”

“Then why’d you make a scene like that?”

“It’s not my fault,” Matthew argued. He felt his face twist into a scowl. “Apparently, some idiot is trying to earn their stripes.”

“Is that all?” Nate raised an eyebrow and lowered his shears. “Gods, you’re so dramatic.” He then waved Matthew off, returning his focus to Cerbehorse. “Go take care of it, then.”

Matthew was already sprinting off. His eyes constantly shifted back to House Loxosceles. The stranger was making progress, but they wouldn’t get far.

This sort of thing was fairly routine for the Lords. A human would break and enter, and then that human would die. The people of the village were typically smarter than to try something like this, with the exception a few wannabe heroes here and there. And as for the odd amount of strangers who passed through this area. . .well, things generally just didn’t go well for them.  

But this particular person. . .something was off about them.

There was something wrong with them.

As smart as Matthew was, he simply couldn’t tell what that something was, but just looking at them made his skin crawl.

Matthew shoved those thoughts aside as he made his way around the church. Mark’s bridge came into view, and the intruder was still panicking, still being swarmed by spiders. 

Matthew wondered if the hallucinations he’d soon give his uninvited guest would be strong enough to scare them to death. Prey always seemed to taste better when it died that way.

@that-bat 

#my writing #re8 au #matthew patrick #matpat #game theory #mark fischbach #markiplier #nathan sharp #natewantstobattle #tw body horror #tw implied gore #tw implied violence #tw arachnophobia #tw mentions of syringes/needles #tw self multilation

[resident-of-storybrooke]

Nothing Good Happens After 2AM (Ch 4)

Rating: M (finally earning that for this chapter)

Words: 2900

Read: ao3, ff.net CH 1 CH 2 CH 3

Summary: Emma took Killian home for the holidays as a fake date. Things seemed to be going well…until it didn’t. What happens when two fools in love didn’t confess their love over the holidays like they planned and have to go back home to reality? This. This is what happened…(A twist on fake dating during the holidays)

AN: Well....shit lol here we finally are! I wish I had a good reason for the year and a half delay. Honestly, I got one not so great review and it shook me a bit and I was already iffy about writing. But thank you to so many incredible souls being so encouraging and supporting me to get back into writing. Thank you to @kmomof4​ who read all four chapters and edited them (make sure to check them out). I really hope you enjoy this last part as I’m so happy to finally have this out for you all. A very late and final contribution to @csjanuaryjoy

tagging some of the fam squad (please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed): @kymbersmith-90 @let-it-raines @artistic-writer @hollyethecurious @hookedonapirate @carpedzem @nowforruin @kmomof4 @wellhellotragic @thesschesthair @teamhook​ @winterbaby89​ @zaharadessert​ @stahlop​ @ultraluckycatnd @blowmiakisscolin​ @peggyswan​ @jrob64​ @klynn-stormz​​ @tiganasummertree​ @batana54​ @pirateprincessofpizza​​

ALL THE LOVE

Ruby made her way back up to the party, excited to see how the rest of the night would play out after her phone call to Emma. As she made her way back into Killian’s apartment she saw the Nolans as they gestured rather animatedly. Then Ruby rounded the corner and looked in to see who they were yelling at. 

Shit. 

It was Killian. 

And from the looks of it they were letting Killian have it. And he was just standing there taking it.  

What the hell did he get into in the last five minutes to warrant this? Ruby was both concerned, but mostly entertained because the sweet sunshine Charmings never yelled. She strolled into the kitchen with a grin, figuring she would enjoy the show. That was until the furious couple saw her - apparently she was their new target. 

“Ruby Elizabeth Lucas! You have a lot of explaining to do.”

Ruby was confused to say the least. How the hell was she involved in... whatever this was? 

“Um...I don’t know what you’re talking about?”

“Bullshit, Ruby!” She was completely taken back, Mary Margaret never swore. “You just told me that Emma thought Killian was dating Elsa. And last time I checked Killian and Emma have been together for the last three months. So please, explain yourself. Now.”

“I feel like it’s not really my place,” she said, darting her eyes toward Killian, but she could tell no one was buying it. “Listen, Snow White and Prince Charming, your poor sister felt pressured to bring a date home for the holidays. She and Killian decided to go to Ruth’s and tell y’all they were dating so you’d back the hell off. And it worked and everything was fine. Then Elsa showed up and spooked Emma because she thought she lost her chance with him. Because shocker,” she looked fiercely at Killian and had to restrain herself from smacking him upside the head, “they’re both in love with each other and are being absolutely idotic and not telling the other the truth.” She turned back toward the stunned silent Charmings, “And you two are not helping the cause!”

Killian looked up in complete shock, his eyebrows nearly reaching his hair. The Nolans stood gaping at her, obviously not expecting her brutal honesty. 

“Listen,” Ruby took a deep breath. “Cut them some slack. You two were acting like Emma was going to turn into some crazy old spinster if she didn’t find a date soon. Also, you two act as though you are a literal fairytale couple.” She shrugged. “Sometimes it’s hard to live up to your kind of love.”

As David stood in shock, Mary Margaret finally spoke up. “We went too far, didn’t we?” That’s when she turned to Killian. “We’re sorry, Killian. We shouldn’t have ever put you in this situation. We love you, we love Emma, and that wasn’t fair...I hope you can forgive our behavior this evening.”

Just as Killian was about to speak up, the door opened revealing an out of breath Emma Swan.

Emma was confused by the odd looks she was receiving as her welcome. She should be used to their bizarre behavior at this point, but this felt different. 

As she made her way over to the group her nerves set back in. She was here to tell Killian the truth. She was going to finally confess her love for her best friend. On his birthday. What could possibly go wrong?

“Right, well, this has been fun. Perhaps we should give these two some alone time.” Ruby elbowed the couple so Emma and Killian could have a moment.

As Emma walked towards Killian she finally took in her surroundings and realized how packed the apartment was. “I wish there were less people here…”

“Why, Swan? I love large parties, they’re so intimate. At small parties-”

“-there isn’t any privacy. I like it when you quote things to me.” Looking at him, she realized how close they were. She wasn’t even aware of her own movement toward him. Then she looked into his blue eyes. She missed them. 

She missed him. 

They stood there, taking each other in. It’d been weeks since they’d been together, really together. Neither one knew how to start. 

“Emma, you came.”

She wished in that moment she had something poetic to respond with, but that wouldn’t be Emma. “That’s what she said.”

The two instantly burst into laughter, the tension dying with every laugh. 

“I missed you, Swan.” Killian reached his hand out to tuck a loose strand behind her ear, Emma leaned into his touch. 

“I missed you too. I’m so sorry I ran…I wish I had a good excuse, but I don’t. I wanted to tell you so many times how I felt. I was going to tell you. On New Year's Eve. I was finally going to tell you. I had this whole plan. It was a good plan. And then Ruby fucking decided to be Chef Julia Child and give me food posioning. And then...I saw how happy you looked with Elsa and I thought, I thought, I’d lost my chance with you.” Emma finally found the courage to look up when she finished.

Killian’s eyes were full of unshed tears. When Emma opened her mouth to try and say something to break the tension Killian wrapped his arms around her. Emma finally took a breath. A breath she had been holding for weeks. He didn’t hate her. 

“Emma, my love, I promise nothing happened with Elsa. She was Liam’s fiance. She’s an old friend and nothing more. You though...you’re so much more than that. I’ve been a coward. I’ve hidden behind our friendship, behind the lie we told your family, and I will not do that any longer. I’ve had three words on the tip of my tongue since the night we met, I swear, and I will not waste another minute without you hearing them.”

Emma extracted herself from his grasp. “Before you do, I have something for you.” 

Killian lets out a sigh, “Really? Right now?”

Without another word Emma pulled the small red box from her clutch and handed it to Killian. He looked at her with curious eyes. “It’s your birthday, open the damn thing, Jones.”

“So demanding. Now what do we have here? It's a-” 

He stopped.  

Mistletoe. 

It was the most infuriating object that haunted his dreams - well, besides Emma. That trip to her home, the infernal garnish was everywhere. 

There was that kiss.

God, that kiss. He relieved it daily, prayed that it wasn’t the last kiss he’d ever share with Emma. Up until this moment he was convinced that would be the case.

“Well, Swan, this is quite the gift. I don’t know exactly what to say.” He scratched behind his ear, a nervous tick they were both well aware of. 

“I, um, do you wanna see if it works?” Killian’s eyes shot up to Emma.

“Well, love, seems only right I try it out with you since you were the one that gave me such a generous gift. Shall we...”

Emma cut him off with a bruising kiss, it caught him a little off guard, but it only took a moment for him to catch up. Killian didn’t give a damn that there was a party going on around them. He finally had Emma in his arms. Emma’s hands wandered to the nape of his neck, holding on for dear life. Killian’s hands roamed down her sides before anchoring on her hips, holding her tightly against him. He cursed the fact that Emma was wearing a dress, even if she did look bloody gorgeous in the tight red piece. He couldn’t wait to have that blasted thing on his floor.

They finally broke for air, still clinging to one another, foreheads touching. Killian was ready to dive back in when he looked up and remembered they weren’t alone. Mary Margaret was crying, Ruby was cheering, and David looked slightly annoyed but Killian saw the small smile he was trying but failing to hide. 

“Come on, love. I think it’s time we faced the vultures. And I’d like you to meet Elsa, if that’s alright with you?”

“Yeah, I think that’s a pretty good idea, Captain.” Emma reached down and grabbed Killian’s hand before they walked over. 

Maybe the trope board wasn't wrong after all. 

CSCSCSCSCSCSCSCS

As the party went on, Killian and Emma were inseparable; the two constantly touching the other. At one point, while talking to Mary Margaret and David, Emma laid her head on Killian's shoulder, something she'd done a million times, but this time Killian placed a gentle kiss on her forehead. 

The two were in their own happy bubble. They pretended to be engaged with those around them, but they couldn't ignore but feel the sparks ignited with each touch.  

"So, Emma? It's nice to finally meet you. I'm sorry for the miscommunication. I feel as though that was my fault." Emma was confused on how Elsa seemed to be privy to their issue, but then she saw Mary Margaret across the room and assumed her friend had filled her in.

"Please, don't be. I was...scared I lost my chance with Killian."

"Oh, honey. I don't think you could ever lose this one." Killian squeezed Emma closer to prove her point. 

Turns out Elsa was hilarious and had wonderfully embarrassing stories about Killian. Emma had a feeling the two were going to be good friends after tonight. 

The party eventually wound down a little after one, slowly the various couples left. That's when Emma realized she was alone with Killian. 

Finally. 

Suddenly, Emma felt her nerves grow. They'd declared their love and haven't left the others' side since, but she would be lying if she said she wasn't nervous. She absentmindedly threw out some empty cups as she tried to plan her next move.

"Love," Killian called for her from the living room, "can you come here?" Emma slowly made her way into the room as Killian stretched out his arms to embrace her. 

"Emma, I...I know that tonight has been a lot. Our relationship has always been a lot. And I know the future is uncertain, but there's one thing I want you to be certain of - I will always be by your side. For as long as you'll let me, my love."

She didn't even know a tear had slipped until Killian pulled back to wipe it. 

"I haven't always made things easy. I get spooked easily, but I'm tired of running. I want to be with you, Killian. I love you."

"And I you, my beautiful Swan." 

The kiss started off slowly, different than the one earlier, but no less passionate. Emma brought her hands around Killian's neck, playing with the nape of his hair. As Killian kissed down her neck, Emma didn't recognize the noises that escaped her mouth.

As their kisses continued, Emma was surprised when Killian's legs hit the couch and he fell down. She hadn’t been aware that they moved. Emma said she was tired of running, and she was ready to show him. So she straddled his legs and hovered over him for just a moment.

They felt like teenagers again, making out on a couch like this. She could feel him harden beneath her, driving her wild. But, it wasn't enough, she needed more. Emma started unbuttoning his shirt, the bastard already had the top three undone. Without a second thought, she began to rake her fingers through the coarse black hair. 

"I've been dying to do this since we first met. So soft," she murmured. Killian found a spot behind her ear that made her mewl. Emma brought her lips to his ear, "I've always wondered how it'd feel against my breasts." 

With that, Killian pulled back. "My love, are you sure? We can wait. Because once I have you, I'm never going to let you go." Emma nodded slowly. As she looked into his eyes, she could barely see a trace of blue. His pupils were blown. 

Before Emma could stand, Killian wrapped his arms around her to carry her to his bedroom. He only ran into the wall twice as Emma was no doubt leaving marks on his neck. Killian gently placed her in the middle of the bed. 

"I always swore that if we got here, I would worship every inch of you."

"Killian, please, worship later. I need you now."

"Just a taste. Patience, darling." Killian was beyond thankful at that moment Emma had opted for a dress as he quickly removed her thong.  

Before she could speak, he brought his mouth to her sex. "You're already drenched for me. You..fuck...you taste delicious."

Emma couldn't speak, he was overwhelming in every sense of the word. She grabbed a fistful of his hair, not that she needed to guide him; he knew exactly what he was doing. 

Killian replaced his mouth with two fingers. "That's it, Emma. You look so beautiful like this. I want you to come for me, darling. Come and then I'll give you what you really want."

His voice was deeper, accent thicker. Emma had a feeling she could finish from his voice alone, but right now, it was his fingers and mouth that were going to do the trick. 

Emma lost all control of her limbs as he sent her over the edge. He didn't let up though, he continued slowly licking as she came back down. As her breathing returned to normal, Killian kissed up her body. 

"Worship later, Killian,” she moaned again. “Please. I need you. Now."

"So demanding, Swan,” he observed, taking his pants and boxer briefs off. “I think I like this side of you, all in a commanding voice, chills really." 

He climbed back on top of her, but instead of responding, Emma hooked her legs around Killian and flipped him, so he laid on his back. He looked up in awe, he had never been so turned on than in this moment. 

Emma decided she was tired of waiting, but before she could sink down Killian stopped her. "Give me a moment, let me grab something, I -"

"I'm clean, and I'm on the pill. I...I don't want anything between us."

"Gods, Emma. If you're sure? I'm good too, I haven't been with anyone since...since we met." 

Emma dove down to meet his lips as she sank down onto him. Killian swallowed her gasp as she adjusted to his size. Of course, he lived up to every innuendo, and Emma couldn't be happier for that than in this moment. 

For first times, they were both surprised with how easy it was to fall into rhythm with the other. There were only a few slightly awkward moments, but that didn't stop them from enjoying this moment. Emma's hips met Killian's with each thrust, quickly driving the other wild. 

"So fucking glorious, Emma. You're so tight like this. Ride my cock, such a good girl. I want to feel you come around me this time. You're stunning when you come. That's...fuck... that's it Emma, take what you need, darling."

Before Emma could even respond, Killian decided it was her turn to be flipped on her back. "Now, if I remember correctly, you wanted to know how it feels with me on top."

"That's, ugh, that's not exactly what I said. But I'm not complaining."

Emma felt that familiar sensation growing in her stomach as Killian's pace intensified. "Killian, I'm close. Together, I wanna -"

"Aye, love, together."

Killian felt her tighten around him as she moaned out in ecstasy, pulling him right after her. He gave her a searing kiss as he spilled himself inside of her. Killian fell on top of her, too exhausted to worry about crushing her for a moment. 

"Killian? As much as I love how, uh, close we are now, do you think you can move? I can't breathe, and I need to clean up."

"Oi, you're gonna give a man a complex!" Killian slowly rolled off her, in awe of the glow Emma radiated at the moment. Emma couldn't help but giggle as he was being an annoying ass, but mostly he was still...Killian. 

They were still them. Except they just had mind-blowing sex. 

She could get used to this new addition to their relationship. 

"Stay here, love. Let me." Killian was back in a moment and helped clean Emma. When he finished, he placed a gentle kiss on her forehead, just like before. 

"What is it, Swan?"

"Nothing, I'm just happy. It's just so surprising."

"Aye, love, me too. But this doesn't change anything. I've loved you for years now, and we'll go at whatever pace we both see fit, but I'm in this for the long haul."

"As am I, Captain."

The two laid in bed, cuddled close, and shared lazy kisses. When Emma looked at the clock, she saw it was nearly three in the morning. A few weeks ago, Emma had thought nothing good happened after two am; it turns out she was wrong. 

"Swan? Can you tell me what the bloody hell a trope board is?"

#tori finally finishes a story #nothing good happens after 2am #(formerly) another name #so close and still so far #captain swan #emma swan #killian jones #ouat #once upon a time #cs fanfics #ruby lucas #david nolan #mary margaret blanchard #elsa #part four #IT'S FINALLY DONE #THANK YOU K