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literaryavenger · 3 months

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Back To You - Steve Rogers

Summary: You've always been there for Steve, and now you're watching him go back to the girl he always wanted.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Warnings: Angst. Maybe language. Fluff. My poor attempts at being funny.

Word Count: 2.5K

A/N: This was supposed to be a Reader x Steve story, but I was too tempted to make reader end up with Bucky. So I decided to make two separate endings, the original with Steve and an alternate one where she ends with Bucky, if only for @ordelixx who gave me the idea. I'd also like to thank @mrsbuckybarnes1917 for the idea and for helping me write about other characters.

Masterlist

You know what’s about to happen. You know he’s gonna leave, you know he’s not gonna come back, you know you’ll never see him again.

You know he’s gonna try to have the life he always wanted with the girl he always wanted. The girl he loves.

And that girl is not you.

You watch him as he says goodbye to Bucky, you know he knows as well as you do that his best friend isn’t coming back.

Then Steve turns to you and you try your best to smile.

“I wish I had met you earlier.” he whispers as he kisses you on the forehead and you know in that instant this is really goodbye.

You smile and nod, not being able to get a word out, willing yourself not to cry.

He walks onto the platform and soon he’s gone.

You’ve been by Steve’s side ever since he came back from the ice. You were the agent assigned to watch over him, you were there when he woke up and had to run after him when he freaked out.

You were there during the battle of New York, during the fall of Shield in DC, during the whole Ultron incident and in Lagos.

You were on his side for the Accords, and you were by his side in London as he said goodbye to the love of his life.

You were there with him and Sam in Romania to try and help Bucky, you were arrested with them and then helped fight the Winter Soldier, yet again.

You were on his side to fight against Tony and the rest of the Avengers, you got arrested again and were broken out of the Raft by him.

You spent two years on the run with him, and fought next to him in Wakanda.

You watched his dumb ass try to fight Thanos barehanded and you were quickly knocked down when you tried to help him.

You snapped like half the universe and apparently lost 5 years of your life. You came back, thanks to him, and fought against Thanos one last time.

And now you're watching him leave.

You were there to help him get accustomed to the 21st century, you were there for him on sleepless nights.

You were there for him as he cried for his lost friends, his lost love and his lost life. He always came to you when he needed to talk, to be held, help sleeping and even advise.

And you were always there for him, falling in love little by little against your better judgement.

You’re brought back to the present as you hear Sam freaking out on Bruce because Steve missed his mark and didn’t come back.

You look at Bucky and you both know what this means. He gives you a sympathetic smile and you try to give a smile back but fail.

You look away from him and take a deep breath. You turn around and start walking away.

You’re done here, and about to break down. Something you never allowed yourself to do in front of anybody, with the exception of Steve.

And now he’s gone.

You get in your car and quickly drive away, not looking back. You drive straight to Steve’s apartment.

You’ve been staying there since you came back while the compound gets fixed since your old apartment has been someone else’s home for the past 5 years.

Five years. That’s how long you’ve been gone. That’s how much of life you’ve missed.

And now you’re left to pick up the pieces of your life by yourself, along with your broken heart.

If you were completely honest with yourself you always knew it wouldn’t have worked with Steve. You’ve never thought you were remotely good enough for him, and that was before even comparing yourself to Peggy.

There was no doubt in your mind that she was Steve’s soulmate, and you’ve talked about her enough times to know he thought the same.

- Original Ending -

You’re taken out of your thoughts by a knock on your door. You frown and cautiously walk to it, picking up your gun from its hiding place under the coffee table.

It’s probably nothing but better safe than sorry, right?

You take a peek from the peephole and frown even more when you see that whoever’s on the other side of the door covered it.

You ready your gun and take a deep breath, your hand on the doorknob. You open and lose no time pointing right in front of you, but you almost drop your gun along with your jaw when you see who’s standing there.

You almost feel like you’re dreaming so you pinch yourself, which makes him laugh and when that sound hits your ears you know you’re not hallucinating either.

Steve Rogers, the same face you’ve always known, standing right in front of you.

For a moment neither of you say anything, then he decides that maybe you’re too in shock to talk so he breaks the silence.

“I’ve never knocked on my own door before. That was a wild ride.” He laughs again and at the sound you can’t help but let the tears you’ve been trying so hard to keep in fall.

The moment he sees the first tear Steve’s face falls and then he’s wrapping his arms around you, your face buried in his chest.

You slowly bring your own arms to wrap around his waist, almost worried that if you make any sudden moves he’s gonna disappear.

Once your arms are around him too, you realize it’s all real and he’s actually there and you let yourself go, crying your eyes out and clinging to him.

Suddenly, he picks you up and you hang onto him for dear life as he carries you back inside the apartment, closing the front door and then goes to sit on the couch with a still crying you on his lap.

He does nothing more than run his hand through your hair, rubbing your back with the other and letting you get it all out.

After a few minutes you start to calm down and finally get your voice back. “I thought you were gone forever.”

Of all the reactions he could’ve had, he surprises you with the only one you don't expect by chuckling. “You never were very patient, were you, sweetheart?”

You look up at him and frown, sniffling and softly say “What do you mean? You were gone… Bruce said you missed your mark.”

He nods and wipes away the rest of your tears while he talks. “I did. I put the wrong time by mistake. You know me and technology.”

“But… You and Peggy…” your frown is still in place, just not being able to believe that he came back.

Did you read the signs wrong? Was he always planning on coming back? Almost like he can read your mind, he starts giving you some answers, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Once I was done returning the stones, I knew I had a chance to go back to the 40s and I was gonna take it. I thought I wanted to take it. But I couldn’t.”

“Why not?” You ask in a whisper.

“Because of you, doll.” He says without missing a beat with a sweet smile. “All I could think about was you. Your smile, your laugh, your strength. The way you tried so hard to be happy for me even though you thought I was leaving forever. The mere thought of not seeing you, not talking to you, not having you by my side, it killed me.”

You’re almost crying again, but you make yourself talk, needing clarification, your voice still quiet. “What are you saying, Steve?”

“I’m saying, there is no me and Peggy. It’s me and you. It’s been me and you from day one.” He takes your face in his hands and leans in more, your faces only inches apart. “And I’m an idiot for taking this long to figure it out. I’m sorry, sweetheart. Can you forgive me?”

You swallow down the tears threatening to fall again and waste no time before nodding, maybe a little too eagerly but you don’t really care, and he doesn’t seem to mind either judging by his smile.

“I forgive you, Steve.” The words are barely out of your mouth before Steve is leaning in the rest of the way and kissing you.

You kiss back without thinking twice about it and after a few seconds you pull back, big goofy smiles on both your faces.

You spent the rest of the afternoon like this, cuddling and talking and just enjoying each other’s company.

You didn’t do much, it wasn’t much different from the endless number of days you spent together, but you couldn’t help but feel like this was the best day of your life.

And even if you didn’t know it, Steve was thinking the exact same thing.

After all, what is better than spending the day cuddling with the girl he always needed? The girl he loves.

And that girl is you.

- Alternative Ending -

You’re taken out of your thoughts by a knock on your door. You frown and cautiously walk to it, picking up your gun from its hiding place under the coffee table.

It’s probably nothing but better safe than sorry, right?

You take a peek from the peephole and immediately roll your eyes, lowering your gun while opening the door.

“I guess you weren’t expecting company.” Bucky says, more amused than anything when he sees the gun in your hand.

You make no attempt to try and hide your annoyance as you roll your eyes again. “What are you doing here, Barnes?”

It’s not that you don’t like Bucky, you just don’t know him all that well if not only thanks to the stories Steve shared of him in the 40s.

“I thought I’d make sure you were okay. You ran out of there pretty fast.”

“Yeah, well, he’s gone. It’s a done deal, don’t see why I had to stick around.” You say crossing your arms defensively.

Bucky doesn’t seem to mind your response as he simply leans on the doorway and keeps talking. “He was disappointed not to see you.”

You frown, beyond confused by a single and simple sentence. Bucky smiles and elaborates. “He lived a life. And he’s old now, but still alive.”

“Oh.” is all you can say. Steve old? You can’t even imagine it.

“He gave the shield to Sam.” Bucky continues, just making conversation.

“Really? I would’ve thought he’d give it to you if he had to choose.” Bucky frowns a little and tilts his head, seeming genuinely confused.

“Why would he give it to me?”

You shrug. “I don’t know, you were his best friend, you’re a supersoldier. I guess I just assumed.”

“None of that matters, Sam is a good man. He deserves it.” He argues, then quickly adds. “Don’t tell him I said that.”

You grin and nod, then say. “For what it’s worth you’re a good man too, Bucky. Steve thought the world of you, trust me. He never stopped thinking highly of you.”

That was nothing more than a simple reassurance for you, but for Bucky it was so much more than that.

He knew you were talking about his time as the Winter Soldier. You were telling him that, even knowing about all that, Steve never let that influence his opinion of his former best friend. He still knew who Bucky was, deep down.

Bucky never heard words like that coming from anyone that’s not Steve, and you said it so casually, like you really believe it and to you it’s no big deal to just say it.

But for him, it was everything.

You didn’t know it then, but that was the moment Bucky started falling for you.

“Why are you checking up on me, Bucky? Really?” You say after a moment, breaking the silence that fell between you.

“Steve made me promise to take care of you before he left.” He said simply.

Bucky didn’t know it then, but that was the moment your heart broke completely.

You managed to keep yourself from breaking right then and there, but Bucky could see that something was wrong.

He didn’t push it though, making conversation a little more before saying goodbye with the promise that he’d be back the next day.

And that’s what he did.

In fact, he came back everyday, no matter what, to check on you.

It started out as quick visits where he wouldn’t even enter the door, then you started inviting him in for coffee because you felt bad he came to Steve’s apartment everyday, always refusing to let you meet him somewhere else.

After a while you started inviting him for meals, to watch a movie or just to hang out.

You almost didn’t know how, but at one point you started to really look forward to Bucky’s visits everyday, getting excited every time he knocked on the door.

It was the best part of your day, really.

You knew Bucky felt the same, it was like you both knew what was slowly happening between you and you had a silent understanding not to discuss it.

You also never discussed your feelings for Steve, but you felt like Bucky somehow knew nonetheless.

But the more time you spent with Bucky the more those feelings seemed to fade.

You still loved Steve, still missed him, you could feel yourself letting go of him with every time you spent time with Bucky, every time he made you laugh, every time your hands would accidentally touch.

You could feel yourself falling in love with Bucky and, this time, it felt right. This time you didn’t even try to stop it.

And it seemed like Bucky felt the same way.

Time after time he became more bold with his flirting, with physical touch, until eventually he was shamelessly hitting on you and cuddling you every time he could.

And, when you made no attempt whatsoever to stop him, it was the only signal he needed to keep going.

One day, after about a year of his daily visits, he couldn’t hold back anymore and kissed you, overjoyed when you kissed him back. He asked you out right after and you didn’t hesitate to say yes.

It was the best first date of your life, but to be fair you’d been hanging out and basically dating for almost a year, so it felt simple. Effortless and uncomplicated.

It was everything both of you needed. Your feelings for Steve were almost gone now, which is why you couldn’t even begin to explain what happened yesterday.

You were out with Bucky, hand in hand as you walked around the park, just enjoying the sunshine, when you could swear you saw Steve, not old Steve but your Steve, just standing there, looking at you and Bucky.

It was for a second, you merely glanced in his direction and by the time you turned back he was gone.

Bucky didn’t notice anything, if not only the way you tensed and stopped in your tracks.

You thought about telling him what you thought you saw, but even you knew how crazy you would’ve sounded. So you said nothing and shrugged it off.

Because it was nothing.

Right?

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simp-ly-writes · 2 months

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Lasting Pictures: When We Are Together (pt.8)

Pairing: Poly!Task Force 141 x Reader

Summary: John and 141 discover more about your whereabouts alongside the secrets you have been hiding from them. The lies, the cold shoulders and sleepless nights come swinging back in your face with vengeance yet never have such sweet words been shared in spite of it all. Your future awaits on the horizon, now it is up to you to decide who you are sharing in it.

Warnings: 6180 words, slowburn, swearing, mentions of blood, injury and torture.

A/N: I can't believe its already been 85 pages of this story, thank you all for the support! I hope you enjoy the sweet ending of this chapter!

Masterlist | Taglist | edited.

Lasting Pictures Series Masterlist

Back in London at Base

“WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU MEAN- KATE” Price shouts in the office space. An assistant shakes from behind the door with the force these words are projected with, doing their best to not eavesdrop from the hallway was a hard task as the rest of the task force… calmly waited in the hall while glaring daggers their way- not being allowed entry.

Back inside the room, Laswell shakes her head as it drops into her hands, her elbows resting against the table as her usual bun falls out- her hair acting as a shield. “I don’t give a shit about what any General has to say- that is my squad member, my responsibility so do tell me why the FUCK they are in a differnet country operating outside of our military?” Price shouts out once more before taking a step back from leaning over the station chiefs desk, now walking in circles just in front of it and tossing a hand through his hair.

Taking a deep breath, Laswell tries her best to formulate an answer without giving away too many details yet the Captain notices this change in her personality. “No- you do not get to hide answers away from me Kate. I have gone off the books, committed atrocities in the name of good- I deserve to know why at least. Or what about this- Kate,” The Captain stills, looking up at the ceiling for another ounce of patience as both of theirs were wearing thin. The boys in the hallway could be heard from through the door, piling question after question on the poor assistant.

Price turns his head towards Kate, casting his chin down- his eyes pointed, “Why was I NOT acknowledged when Dice was Injured on that last mission, why was I not noted on that interrogation- Christ, Laswell-”

“No John. You do not get to make these demands of me in MY office, on my base- I am not a secretary, I am not a doctor, and I am not going to tell you the answers when you integrate me, Captain. You could have had those last two answers if you got your jealousy issues over with and asked the damn lieutenant,” Laswell retorts while closing her laptop, she was taking herself off the clock early for today. Grabbing her coat, John blocks the door with his arms crossed as Laswell reflects the same- eyebrows furrowed.

“Maybe me and the boys would not be having such jealousy issues if the guys were not here on base to begin with- they had no reason to be originally- and they definitely have no reason to be off with MY squad member,” John restates his points with a more leveled tone, his mouth twitches up into a smirk as he watches Laswell internally battle herself- knowing that the guys just outside would make worse demands than he.

Laswell sighs out, throwing her coat on a nearby chain before motioning John back over to her desk where she turns her laptop around and shows the thread of emails shared between herself, Shepard and Graves. The shadow company CEO demanded for Dice to be stationed with their team, a token that their contract would be upholded. As the missions dragged on, Graves became more restless- John shakes his head at this new information, refusing to read anymore.

“This is why I didn’t show you John. I know you are not a fan of these side-deals but-”

“BUT what Kate, but what. With their background, it is absolutely disgusting that you would make them do this-”

“Well they did agree to it?” Laswell states but comes out more like a question.

“Did they know? Well maybe with someone of their past, they couldn’t imagine saying no- working themselves to the bone. Fuck, we barley saw them and when we did,” John takes a moment closing his eyes as his voice comes out softer, “I looked past my jealously Kate, I saw that they were healing those memories with em’ but I will not look past them being used. I know where they're coming from, when the higher-ups keep shouting in your ear, demanding more of you until you become a husk. I couldn’t look at them Kate, I-I couldn’t look and see that version of myself reflected again. The rest of us we-” Price stops mid sentence as the door is thrusted open and shut, the assistant now fleeing the scene.

“We were feeling a load of shit- Laswell. You try and watch someone you care for gradually slip away, burying themselves in work because they ‘apparently’ didn't do enough- and when you do try and see them again, they look past you and to someone else- looking happier than ever,” Johnny states while leaning against a wall, looking out the window and onto the training grounds all those months ago. “Sure it is jealousy, yes we did give the cold shoulder but there is no worse feeling than being replaced and everyone was feeling that in one way or another,” Soap finishes as Ghost only nods in reply.

Gaz speaks up next, “If we are sharing then, I know Graves is trying to recruit them, Kate. We all knew it- saw it, and it became all the more disheartening when those shadows appeared in our own personal space and then next week- BAM! They are off without a word- I fucking wonder we were having sloppy work recently, there is only so much we can get done while functioning in the dark.” By the end Kyle is out of breath, taking a bottled water from the minifridge and sitting in one of the armchairs across from Lasswell's desk.

Ghost shakes his head before commenting, “So they worked their ass off, fearing they would be replaced in some way or better yet when another devil comes whispering in your ear, complimenting your good work, showing you friends and pleasures of the craft yet we were stuck doing time-consuming work for no use? What fucking plan is that- no actually, a useless plan that is.”

‘Well then boys, it is a good thing I am sending you off to join them tomorrow if you are done? I apologise, that's the best I can give you now with what I have been working with. I can’t do much if I got fired from Shepard- John. And the best strings I could play was ensuring that they would at least be working with people they knew in the area- I’m sorry for what this has caused. I,"Kate takes a moment, a shaky breath exiting herself, “-I see what they were starting to mean to you all and I am sorry that I was the one who had to take that away from you. But it is up to Dice in the end if they end up signing that contract- we all can only hope they do not.”

“Like fuck they won’t,” Johnny states, a smile gracing its way across his face as he pulls Gaz up and hugs the man, throwing in a hand for Ghost to join them who only rolls his eyes in reply. John shakes his head, the energy in the room having a noticeable difference as he checks his watch. The next day was not far off in the early morning hours they were in now, deployment was soon and soon was when they would make it their personal mission to have you stay with their team. The past meeting the present, and the present overtaking the past as it should- in theory.

↳ One Week Until Mission “Spill”

When the boys touch down on the tarmac, they initially do not see you leaned up against the back of Alex’s truck as you and Farah share drinks out of a water bottle. “Gorgeous!” Johnny calls out once spotting you as he shoves himself in front of a very confused Alez who pats him on the shoulder. “Hey man, it's been a long time since we last saw each other- how have things been?”

“Been better but we have work to do,” Soap replies while wrapping an arm around your shoulder as he practically drags you to sit beside him in the back of the truck. Farah waves you goodbye as she goes to talk to Price who sends you a solid nod in recognition of your presence. You look at the side of Soaps mohawk with confusion, Why are you back to being so touchy all the sudden?

As if knowing your very thoughts he gives you a wink before squeezing your shoulder and strapping you into your seat with a grin. Horangi slides in on your otherside as Alex turns the engine on, Köing rushes to shotgun, mumbling about more legroom as you kick his seat and blame it on Horangi who curses out loudly before lightly punching you on the thigh. You wince, gripping your pant leg as you invite Soap in on the backseat chaos.

“Oh my god! Is that blood!” he yells out with exaggerated gasps as Horangi tries to choke back laughter and Alex politely asks for everyone to, “shut the fuck up.” While readjusting the rear view mirror, double checking that you were not in fact hurt.

Once back at the house, the squads are gearing themselves up as you double check your notebooks on all the information you have collected thus fall, helping Farah and Price to outline the ever-growing team you all had established here.

“And drinks are on me afterwards!” Matthew announces as the crowd cheers, a few members of Farah's group had appeared half-way through the debrief that you had never met before. You giggled to yourself as quite a few eyed up Horangi and Köing, pulling on their sleeves to get their attention, you pointed like gossip girls to the people who were looking for company.

Köing turns a bright red, “Maus-I don’t know…” “Oh come on! Doesn't have to add to anything- you don’t even have to fuck, get your head out of the gutter Horangi- I know that look better than anyone,” you tease out but your eyes hold utmost seriousness. You kept thinking about your talks with them earlier in the week and the aftermath of these next few missions, everything was hanging in the air with this departure's success and yet you couldn’t help but want for everyone here in this room to have something for when they arrived back- in whatever state they would be in.

Seeing your eyes fog over with the depth of your thoughts, Simon brushes his shoulder against your own, nodding along to Farash speech as you snap out of your trance, glancing up to him with a thankful smile as you point to various entrance points you discovered while scooping out the place through public architectural blueprints.

With one last slam to the table and a battle cry being placed, Price requests to speak with you outside as you follow suit, Gaz in tow. He keeps his back to you while walking, ensuring that you all are a good ways away from the house before he starts to speak. “Before we go out on this mission, Dice. There are a few things I need to come clean about, and a few answers I would like from you in return.”

You process his words, eyes darting anywhere but his own as your palms sweat, You were not reading to make your decision whether to stay with the military or go after Spill- Please don’t ask about this, please don’t. You nod once as Gaz crosses his arms beside Price, “As your Captain I am disappointed you did not come to me for support when you needed it and I don’t just mean work, love. In that disappointment of mine, I directed it towards you rather than at myself, I misplaced my actions while addressing your old squad as did the rest of the boys. I cannot speak for their shite but what I will say is that, I’m sorry Dice. I was an arse,” Price says while casting his eyes down to his boots, he grips his vest, swinging on his feet and you cannot help but cast a smile at his actions.

“It’s alright, Price. I-I get it, I was in a downright terrible position and I should have gone to the team but when the guys came around-I… I just got lost in the memories, you know? Those good feelings came back but with the more nights we spent talking to one another… the more it wore off and the more guilty I felt knowing that I left you all without a word…” you sigh out in relief that the dreaded question did not get asked yet Gaz takes that sigh as the start of tears as he races up, encasing you in a warm hug. You smile into his skin as he chuckles at the feeling. John decides to make this a group hug as you groan at the weight of gear being toppled on you before an anxious Alex is screaming from the backdoor like a worried mother, “We are on the road in six people, get your shit together- we have deadlines to meet tonight.”

Hopping out of the trucks once more, you find Price standing on a stump as he counts heads and ultimately addresses the crowd. Soon lines are being formed throughout the treeline and comms are declared silent, you could see your first objective as part of the abandoned factory.

Distant echoes of metal grinding in on itself as trees swayed and groaned in the wind provided an eerie atmosphere to the rising tensions in your shoulders. Standing against the wall, with your NODs on, you nodded towards Gaz as he clipped the lock and you entered the room, to what would be a series of offices. Casting yourself against the further wall to your side and making your way to the centre to meet up with Soap he signals for you to unlock the next door. The first and second room were found empty.

Yet as you move deepering into the facility, through the various offices that have used coffee mugs and papers scattered across their tops, the sound of running feet can be heard echoing down the hall on the outside platform, connecting the offices to the greater factory and mining pit beneath. Turning your head to see Ghost already holding up his hand, you all pause and hear as the steps get closer.

Raising your gun to your face as Gaz does the same. You hold steady as the door handle jiggles, Johnny takes cover behind a tipped over desk, resting his gun against its side as he tries to squint through the blinds from a distance, unable to identify the possible target. A few shouts in another language can be heard as they fumble for their keys and drop a flashlight, it rolls across the metal platform as they swear out into the night air and another voice soon joins their worries.

Ghost stares at the door, gun raised in wait as he eyes you all to hold position. The door soon flies open, you all still hidden in the darkness of the room- observing their actions as they shut the door behind themselves and lean against it- panting out.

Ghost steps towards the window light, motioning them to lay flat against the ground with his gun as he orders with a strict tone, “Hands and Knees on the fucking ground. On the fucking ground now.”

Gaz dashes over to secure them both, moving them against the back wall where Soap and you wait. Equipping the flashlight on your gun you focus in on their faces and kneel to view their badges as Ghost stands behind you, reading to move in if they pull any fast actions on you. They were cousins to the working family who ran this frontal tree-logging factory where in actuality this is where they produced their newest explosive weaponry.

Both scientists refuse to meet your gaze before you grab one of their chins, ensuring their eyes meet your own. They portray confidence, yet their shaking knees tell otherwise, “I need you to tell me who else works here.”

The scientist to the man you currently hold shakes their head violently, thrashing their hands in the restraints as Soap places a boot against their body, stopping their movements with a stubble bit of pressure. “Do not try to look at your friend. I will not ask you again, you tell me- or you meet our other friends in the woods- your choice,” you speak in a clear, even tone.

The man simply spits in your face as you drop your hold on their chin and instead force their body upright, their feet slipping against the floors in an effort to hold themselves up. “What a shame, your cousin here will get to go first- let your lack of information help their screams,” you pressure them further as their eyes go wide- believing in your hold to words.

“They-they are 42 of us here, 10 in staff today- I do not know elsewise to their location. Please believe me- do not hurt her” the man shakes underneath your grip, their shirt slightly tearing as you press them into the wall- it creaks from the weight.

“That's a start, where are they, where are the 10?”

“I-I will show you,” the scientist counter-offers as the lady nods her head in agreement, “yes, we will show.”

“No showing necessary, you will tell me now- I will be taking your badges.”

“Yes, of course! Of course, t-they are meeting with accountant in west wing,” the man stumbles to answer.

“Who is this accountant? Where are they from, who do they speak to?”

“I-I do not know, you will have to ask. They only come to see we do the work and leave afterwards. They are not from here, foreign looks. That all I know, please.”

“Good, thank you,” you offer the man a tight-lipped smile before dropping him to the floor. He groans out as you search his jacket for the mentioned ID and destroy the SIN card in his phone as Johnny examines the woman's handbag and empties it across a desk.

Finding the other ID and her notebook, he stashes them in his vest before enabling comms for another team to keep watch of the two scientists in custody- they would be needed in court afterwards.

After a few moments and adjusting your gear, you hold up your gun abruptly to the sounds of rushing boots. The knocks sounded at the door follow the prediscoled pattern as you sigh out in relief and open the door for the squad to enter, Simon presents the information gathered as they radio back to base while staring down at the two scientists who refuse to make eye-contact once more.

The squad leader gives Simon a nod, signaling your exit as you all make your way towards the west wing. Greeting other squads that you find along the way as Gaz stays behind to help dress one of their wounds.

The metal stairs that you deascened for moan in the wind and shift with the building as you enter down into the west wing. A set of double doors greets your faces as you each take a side, readying to enter the space with a sudden burst. All the lights are on inside the large meeting hall as various guns are pointed up at your face, shouting for your compliance.

Setting your weapon down in your hands as Johnny and Simon do the same, it was squad 3-5 that stood in the room, already holding a tight control over those yet to be interrogated in one of the private meeting rooms or holding the exits.

Laughing out as horror exits your system, you hear the all-familiar sounds of John's investigations as you enter the room as Johnny and Simon wait outside. Price does not face you, his knuckles bloodied yet the accountant's face looks a whole lot worse, or well at least what you assume to be the accountant in their… disturbed appearance.

Letting out a low whistle, the Captain chuckles in response before leaning over. He presses his hands snuggly into their shoulders, forcing them to almost break the back of the wooden chair as he whispers into their ear, eyes flicking upwards to meet your own as he speaks, “Nice of you to join us Dice, maybe you have something to help move this investigation along. Any bargaining chips potentially?”

The accountant stays silent, only glaring into your eyes as you blink twice back at them, “I know that you murdered thousands with the numbers you love to play with back at that office of yours, just outside the city right? Women, children, awaiting fathers, it's all the same to you- isn’t it? Your wife-” you chuckle to yourself, shaking your head as you saunter around the room, “we had a splendid time after the Charity Gala together. Her moans never sounded so sweet while being stripped of that silky red dress,” you humm afterwards as if thoughtfully remembering the scene.

John keeps his eyes locked onto yours as the account begins to shift in their restraints more. He moves a gloved hand, forcing them to look back up at you as you walk closer to stand in front of their sat form, smiling down.

“She told me of how you couldn't make her fulfilled in bed. How good my hands felt in her hair, trailing down her neck of diamonds and right to her stomach…” you tisk the accountant, brushing your hand against John's shoulder before continuing, “then she told me how you had to sell your own manliness to women who only were bought for your attention, sick bastard you are truly. So much so that she found herself in the sheets of not only me, your enemy who made her feel more than you did in 20 years- but the oligarch you work for as well. How wonderful is that- no?”

“You tell lies-”

“Why would I waste my words on a man like you if not only to tell the truth? You are pathetic really…” you trail off while Price smiles, he knows that you both are almost there to crack this man's facade.

“You are pathetic, your little mind games serve as dull knives.”

“Then what will be said of you whatever would your boss think when he finds out you have been tilting the numbers yet again, but are stealing your fortune to pay off that mistress of yours- hm?” you retort with a large plaster across your face as John whistles out, giving their cheek a good pat before coming to stand by your side.

“Decision is yours, I have a member of death's door waiting, like seeing the reaper himself if you want a pre-show to your fate or you could choose to put your dick back into your pants like a good ol’boy and wag your tail for your boss- we would love a chat,” Captain Price teases out, his voice filled with grovel from all the yelling he had done today.

A low nod of the head is all you need for evidence of his acceptance before John is signaling through the window for someone to handle the accountant. And by the time you both exit the room, the accountant in cuffs walking out with another squad member before you and all of his people who laugh at his appearance. You notice as Ghost refuses to make eye-contact with you, instead shifting his feet when you ask if he’s doing alright. When turning around to face Soap, he gives you a strained grin, his gun lower than usually positioned by his core as he tilts his head, signaling towards Price, signally for assurance.

A cough can be heard as you all turn to face Gaz who stands with his arms outstretched as you walk over to give him a hug, your gun dangling across your chest as you both shimmy around one anothers gear with a laugh. With your face plastered into his side, he gives a wink towards Simon and Johnny- a look of understanding for their current state as messages are shared throughout the facility- it was time for exfil after a mission well served.

A shake of your shoulder as your eyes snapping awake, you did not mean to have a nap. Blinking your eyes clear, you notice as a corporal shakes you awake then points to the Captain. Price’s eyes scan your own in a restless search- but for what? Tilting your head towards the Captain to signify your confusion towards his actions he patches himself into your radio system while holding your gaze.

“Do you know if your shadow friends will be joining us for the next objective?”

“Unclear sir, I have yet to hear from their intelligence crews” the title you state becomes knives to John’s ears, cutting their way down to his lungs as he takes a breath in trying to calm himself, already worked up from the earlier mission as you blink none-the-wiser to your word choice’s impact.

“John or Price, your choice Dice…” John replies with a more flat tone than usual that has your head topping to the side. “Sorry Price, still wearing off the adrenaline from the mission, brains a bit scrambled as of current,” you state with a sloppy smile as he casts a tired one of his own, closing his eyes with a humm, extending his boot to touch your own as you lock your ankles around it.

Soon Ghosts voice comes through your headset as you look around to find where he was seated, five seats down, the masked figure stared down the aisle to look at you and his Captain while moving his mic down to his mouth, “Had to hold Johnny back from that Horangi guy a few days ago, same can be said about Gaz and Köing. Mop-masked was holding Kyle in a death stare in the meeting room.”

Johnny pipes up to conversation beside Simon as he notices what is being discussed from the reactions everyone is displaying from throughout the aisle, pulling down his radio system. Simon grips his thigh, as if warning him of doing something that has your eyes narrowing in mixed confusion, concern and irritation- what were they keeping from you?

“Al’right, that Horangi fucker. What is his deal, gorgeous? Really had to share some harsh words with him after what he said about you. Can’t fucking believe that you would say he’s your best with the alligations he presented,” Soap rants while rolling his shoulders, as if preparing himself for a fight.

“Is that why you were being so touchy in the car ride? You only had to ask, quite like your hands,” you ask with a teasing tone, blood still pumping through your body as you watch as Johnny's cheeks flush, the adrenaline from the mission has him on edge as your little stab has him falling back in embarrassment before he rounds his own fireback.

“Love hearing my name on your lips, may have to come over there so you never forget it,” he teases right back with a large wink as Simon whispers for you all to “tone it down,” as he looks at the various eyes looking between our squad- trying to understand the conversation happening between you all.

“If I remember, there were some other names you wished me to call you as well but first, do tell me about these allegations,” you press forward. Gaz now joins, offering his side from an unknown place in the plane. “Simon patched me into what's happening. Köing rubbed me the wrong way with his looks, as if he knew something I didn’t.”

Johnny presses the topic further, adding, “Said that I would never know what you really needed from a ‘team’. I don’t regret my actions, Y/N, I will tell you that now. But when they say those kinds of things, and you leave for those weeks when they arrive- leads me to conclusions I don’t wish to face. We acted nice in front of you, Dice. But I need you to tell me before we land, are you a part of our squad or not?”

“Always,” you answer before your brain can keep up, “I talked in parts of this with Simon one day but… you guys are it for me I think. I cannot say for sure after this mission but… I got what I needed off my plate these past few weeks with the past and now I can promise that you have only my attention,” you state with a raised chest in pride.

“I better have all of your attention,” Johnny comments back, “Alright you,” Simon voices over, taking off Soaps headset and placing it out of reach as you howl with laughter down the line, waking Price up from his temporary drift off, flashing you a smile as you wince out an apology.

Shaking your head down in your laugh to calm down, you pick your microphone back down to continue speaking, “Look, I apologise to you all for my shitty behaviour, their equally shitty behaviour- really all around shitness that has happened. You all have become my truest friends since meeting Gabby in elementary and friends is a term I do not use sparingly- I must hold my thanks. I will do better to come to you all when I am struggling,” you promise watching as Soap manages to sneak back his headset while Simon sends you a warm stare that has you flashing him a smile, enjoying how beet red he gets underneath his gear.

“Just, Friends- hm?” Soap questions with a small frown flashing across his features.

You smile and nod back vigorously, not knowing how to place your thanks into words in a better way than actions. Failing to notice the tone in which the word was replied back in as he leans back against the divider and out of sight with a contemplative humm.

Simon chuckles at your answer, the deep sound causing your heart to race and our lungs to flutter. How you wished to hear the sound again as you watched his chest rise and fall with the actions while underneath that tight black vest. As Gaz and Price remain silent to the conversation.

A few moments go by as you all allow the words to sink in. “Do you have a thing for masks, Dice?” Johnny questions in a serious tone while leaning into Simon's side, doing as he does best- lightening the mood.

You choke on your own spit at the accusation being presented as you stutter for an answer, brain firing on multiple fronts from the whiplash of a conversation.

“I-I’m sorry, could you repeat the question? I think the lack of air is getting to my head.”

Johnny merely smiles before restating the question as calmly as before, as if asking for your favorite colour or season. “Do you have a thing for people in masks? Notice you know many people that wear em’”

“I uh…” your voice trails off as you contemplate your answer, eyes slowly drifting towards Ghost who stares down your form intently waiting to hear your answer. Yet as the seconds tick by, the lack of answer eventually forms one in itself as you hear Gaz chuckle down the radio before turning himself silent and the Captain coughs a few times, turning red underneath his own mustache as he refuses to meet your stare.

“Do you?” you question back, partially curious and the other seeking a slight revenge from playing your in this blushed-filled and nervous state.

“Oh, definitely” he replies quickly before you all burst into laughter and the landing sign is singled moments after, it was home time.

Once back on base, a few days of paperwork are filled out as the days and hours clock down to your next departure. You do your best not to think about it as you ask Gabby for clothing recommendations in your room, she asks you to spin with a wave of her finger as you do so with a groan of frustration. You had been stuck in this endless cycle for nearly two hours now and you had told Gaz you would be meeting him in the lobby in three hours.

You had gone through your whole closet before you outwords protest, unable to keep to just your facial reactions as Gabby hides behind a pair of shoes she found at the back of your closet between the dozen pairs of work-boots. “It’s not even a date, Gabs. We are just making up for lost time with some coffee, nothin’ more nothing less-”

“And I know where my dad went-okay?! If this is not a date, I do not know what else is sweetheart. Treat yourself~” she sings out before throwing another pair of pants for you to try on. She claps her hands together, fixing the buttons on your shirt as she frizzles your hair. “Have fun, you look like a million dollar baby!” Kicking your butt on the way out she quickly turns around to place the mess she created of your room as you lock the apartment door behind yourself and Gaz pulls you into a hug once meeting downstairs.

He opens the door for you, helping you out of the car as well and orders you both two teas with an assortment of small snacks for lunch. Conversation flows between small hand touches and the linking of shoes from below the table. You rest a hand against his thigh, watching as he chokes down his glass of water as you cast the man a wink.

The check slamming against the table has you both stumbling out as dinner time nears, “How about I treat us to dinner?” you say while looking up nearby restaurants on your phone. “Sounds good, love,” Kyle states while wrapping an arm around your waist with a cheeky smile as an elderly couple look towards you both with disgust.

Gaz watches as your smile falls slightly and you back away. He still walks near you, arms brushing against one another in hopes that you would feel more comfortable again, casting him a thankful smile as you both walk down another block to the small Turkish restaurant.

You both sit beside one another, sharing food off each others plats as you ignore the endless stream of messages that Gabby sends you, excusing yourself to the washroom- you open your text messages and cough out in shock, “I’m sorry for spamming, you two are probably fucking right now- next time I want in, have fun! Tell me how he is~” Blushing bright red, your fingers rush across the keyboard, scolding your best friend before splashing water across your face.

Once returning back to the table, Kyle holds his arm up, allowing you to become wrapped underneath its calming pressure, “you doing okay?” he asked you in a hushed tone, lips right against your ear as your blush extends to your ears now. “Just peachy.”

When you leave the restaurant and pick the car back up, you invite Kyle back to your place, “It is closer to here and it would be best to not wake the rest of the lads up,” you comment. “If you want me more to yourself- you can just tell me sweetheart,” he teases while running circles into your knee as he makes a turn into your block.

Leaning over to press a kiss against his cheek, your voice becomes more hushed as you unlock your apartment door and rush up to Spoons. Who looks as happy and healthy as ever, note to self, the elderly neighbour gets a gift. Kyle leans down, giving your pet a quick past before yawning and stretching out of their boots.

He trails down the hallway behind you, hands on your waist as you open your bedroom door, throwing yourself on the bed with an overtired giggle. He follows suit as you roll over, giving him enough space, noticing this he pulls you underneath the covers and against him. “Thank you, Kyle Garrick,” you whisper out, hoping him to be asleep already.

“What for?” he asks out in an equally delicate tone, feeling as your heart races against his chest. “For staying with me, for understanding…” you start to cry, unable to find the right words as he kisses the top of your head, brushing some hair from your forehead. “Hey, hey, hey, sweetheart. I am always here, alright? Never question that.”

He feels as you nod once more and chuckles when Spoons snuggles themselves in the empty space at the foot of the bed, emitting a few purrs as you all drift off into the world beyond.

Lasting Pictures Series Masterlist

↳ Taglist: @thriving-n-jiving @cringeycookies @ashy-kit @lilliumrorum @kaoyamamegami

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musicforastylesrestaurant · 10 months

Text

London Experiences.

masterlist || ask me anything <3

blurb masterlist is here.

authors note - don’t ask me why this idea randomly came into my head because even i don’t have a reason 🤷‍♀️

word count - 2.7k

in which, whilst walking around the streets of london with your fiancé harry and two year old daughter mila whose currently getting her molars growing in, things appear to be going swell until a fan asks for a photo and your little one has to be disturbed.

Having a day off between shows always meant that during that day you got to relax and have a chill day.

But that wasn’t possible when you had a two-year-old who couldn’t stay at home and cuddle on the sofa, no, she always had to do something, whether that was colouring, playing with her toys or acting cheeky towards you and her father.

A couple of nights ago, your two year old Mila had been showing signs of teething, which meant that her molars would soon be growing in, that meant sleepless nights would soon be flowing through your London townhouse.

And the first sleepless night took place last night although it wasn’t until early evening that she started feeling the growing pains.

It really picked up last night when Harry was on stage, and you were sitting in his dressing room, trying to soothe the painful cries of your little one.

You sit nervously in your fiancé dressing room at Wembley, the sound of his electrifying performance of Kiwi echoing faintly through the walls. The room is filled with the faint scent of excitement and the remnants of his cologne.

Mila, sits in your lap, tears streaming down her rosy cheeks. Her teething pains have taken hold, and no matter what you do, her cries seem to intensify.

You try to comfort her, rocking her gently and singing soft lullabies.

“Shhh, sweetheart, it's okay. Mama's here," you whisper, your voice filled with love and concern. But Mila's tiny face scrunches up even more, her cries reaching new heights. It breaks your heart to see her in such distress.

Mila's cries grow louder, and through her tears, she manages to utter a few words.

“Gums... hurt," she sniffles, her voice filled with pain.

Desperate to ease her discomfort, you remember the frozen teething toy you placed in the mini fridge earlier. You gently place Mila on the sofa, assuring her you'll be back in a moment. Rushing to the fridge, you retrieve the cold toy, hoping it will bring her some relief.

Returning to the sofa, you find Mila still crying, her big teary eyes searching for you. You quickly hand her the teething toy, the coldness soothing her tender gums. She clutches it tightly, her cries lessening slightly. You sigh with a mix of relief and exhaustion, sitting back down on the sofa, cradling your daughter in your arms.

Time seems to blur as Mila's cries persist. The adrenaline that propelled Harry through his performance gradually dissipates as he enters the dressing room, his face still flushed with the euphoria of the stage.

He freezes in his tracks when he sees the two of you, his brows furrowing in concern.

He strides over, his steps purposeful yet gentle.

"What's the matter, love?" he asks, his voice filled with worry. His presence alone brings a sense of calm, and Mila's watery eyes lock onto him. She stretches her tiny arms out towards him, her silent plea for comfort.

You smile weakly at Harry, grateful for his arrival. "She's been teething all night. Her gums are really bothering her," you explain, your voice filled with exhaustion and a touch of frustration.

Harry's gaze softens as he sits down next to you on the sofa. "Hey, little one," he coos, his voice like honey. Mila's tears slowly subside as she reaches for him, her tiny fingers grasping his sequin jacket. Harry adjusts his position, making room for her on his lap.

He takes the frozen teething toy from Mila's hands and examines it.

"Do your gums hurt, sweetheart?" he asks, his voice filled with concern.

Mila nods, her eyes still shimmering with tears. "Hurts," she mumbles, her voice small and vulnerable.

Harry's heart melts at her words, and he cradles her gently. "I know it hurts, darling. But Daddy's here now, and I'm going to make it better, okay?" he whispers, his voice filled with reassurance.

As Mila begins to suckle on the toy, her cries become intermittent, her pain slowly fading away. Harry continues to rock her back and forth, his soothing touch and loving presence bringing her the solace she craves.

"You're such a good dad, Harry," you say softly, your eyes welling up with tears of gratitude. "She always calms down when you're around."

A total daddy girl.

Whenever Mila was sick, she always seeked the comfort of her father, she always needed to be near him, as according to her two year old brain she gave the best cuddles and always requested to be with him and sometimes you could join in on the cuddle as well.

Harry's eyes meet yours, a-tender smile tugging at his lips.

“She knows I'll always be here for her, just like I'll always be here for you," he whispers, his voice filled with unwavering devotion.

You lean into Harry's side, feeling the weight of his love and support. The room falls into a comfortable silence as Mila snuggles against her father, finding solace in his presence.

After a while, Harry breaks the silence, his voice soft and filled with affection. "You're such a strong girl, m’l’angel. Daddy is so proud of you," he murmurs, gently stroking her hair.

Mila looks up at Harry, her eyes still watery but now filled with a glimmer of contentment. "Love dada," she says in her sweet, innocent voice.

Harry's heart swells with love as he replies, "I love you too, my little angel. Always and forever."

The teething hadn’t stopped there either.

All through the night you and Harry were up tending for her needs at your London townhouse, so much so that it got to around two in the morning and her pitiful sobs hadn’t eased so Harry scooped her up from her crib and brought her into your room and into the bed where the three of you snuggled up and tried to get as much sleep as you possibly could.

Gosh darn her teeth for letting her molars make an appearance.

It was a good thing that Harry didn’t have a show that evening because that means you didn’t have to do much during the day.

That was until Mila woke up from her slumber this morning and requested that she wanted to walk around London like you usually did when Harry had to be at Wembley early.

So here the three of you were, As you stroll hand in hand with your fiancé, down the enchanting streets of London, a sense of joy fills the air. The city pulses with energy, its rich history blending harmoniously with the vibrant present.

To cover up the bags that covered both your eyes and the ones of your lover, you both wore a pair of sunglasses, and the whole family wore a different coloured pleasing hoodie that Mila had chosen for you.

Whilst Harry wore a vibrant green, you had been told to wear a custom light blue hoodie, and then Mila chose for herself to wear a red one.

Harry cradles your two-year-old daughter in his arms, her tiny frame nestled against his chest as she peacefully slumbers. It was her idea to come on the walk, not that you and Harry were complaining because you liked going on family walks around the city you were in, and although London had been your home for the last few years you still got excited walking round its streets.

Her sleep had been far too affected last night for her to be able to stay awake during the day, so after your lunch in a small cage, she request Harry carry her and that was when her eyes closed and her soft breaths create a gentle rhythm, a sweet lullaby amidst the bustling sounds of the city.

You push the empty stroller along the cobblestone streets, its wheels gliding effortlessly over the pavement. The sun casts a warm glow, casting golden rays upon your path, illuminating the love that surrounds your little family.

"So, love, what do you think we should do for the rest of the day?" he asks, his voice laced with anticipation. "We've got this rare opportunity to explore, and I want to make the most of it."

You ponder for a moment, knowing that Harry's presence draws attention wherever he goes. “Well, how about we go for a wander? Maybe Mila will sleep a bit longer, and we can enjoy the city without interruptions."

Harry grins, his dimples deepening. "That sounds perfect. A leisurely stroll with you and our little snoozing beauty. Let's see where the day takes us.”

As you walk hand in hand, the warm sun envelops you both in a gentle embrace. You remark on the pleasant weather, how it seems to smile upon your special day together.

"Quite lucky with the weather today, aren't we?" you remark, casting a glance at Harry's attire—a casual hoodie that shields his iconic features.

You could tell that he was getting a bit sweaty due to the shine his nose currently inhabited.

He chuckles, running a hand through his unruly curls. "Ah, yes, the trusty hoodie. A necessary accessory for me when I want to go incognito."

You playfully nudge his side, a teasing smile on your lips. "Hiding from the paparazzi, are we? I guess it's the price of fame, huh?"

Harry grins, his green eyes twinkling. "Well, a little anonymity never hurt anyone. Plus, it lets me enjoy moments like this without attracting too much attention."

As you amble through the streets, you engage in light-hearted banter, pointing out interesting shops and admiring the architectural wonders of the city. Harry shares stories of past adventures and playful anecdotes from his career, his animated gestures drawing laughter from both of you.

From time to time, you steal glances at one another, your love for Harry growing with every step. The world around you seems to fade away, leaving just the two of you, hand in hand, exploring the hidden corners of London.

As you wander, the hours pass in a blissful haze. The bustling city feels like your own private haven, and your daughter continues to sleep soundly, undisturbed by the vibrant energy around her.

Harry leans in closer, his voice filled with contentment. "You know, love, days like these make me appreciate the beauty of simplicity. Just us, our daughter, and the world at our feet."

You nod, a soft smile gracing your lips. "Absolutely, Harry. It's these precious moments that remind us of what truly matters—love, family, and the joy of being together."

As you continue your leisurely walk through the bustling streets of London, a fan suddenly recognizes Harry and excitedly approaches the three of you.

You notice Harry's hesitance, knowing his desire to protect your daughter's privacy. Mila slumbers peacefully in his arms, unaware of the moment unfolding around her.

The fan's face lights up, a mix of joy and anticipation. "Harry, I'm such a huge fan! Could I please take a photo with you?"

There was always one.

Harry's gaze flickers to Mila, concern etched across his features. He glances at you, silently conveying his reservations. You understand his worry but also empathize with the fan's excitement.

Gently, you attempt to take Mila from Harry's arms, hoping to offer him the freedom to take the photo. However, as she wakes up and realizes she's no longer cradled against her father, she begins to cry, reaching out for him.

"Shh, sweetie," you whisper, your voice filled with reassurance. "Daddy just needs to take a quick photo, and then he'll be right back with us."

Mila's eyes well up with tears as she stretches her tiny arms back towards Harry. It breaks your heart to see her upset, but you know that sometimes, moments like these require compromise.

Harry's expression reflects his internal struggle. He wants to comfort Mila, to ensure her happiness, but he also understands the significance of connecting with his fans.

Kneeling down beside Mila, Harry gently brushes his fingers against her cheek. "It's okay, angel. Daddy will be right here. Just one quick photo, and then we'll be back together, I promise."

You take a deep breath, understanding the weight of the situation. "Mila, sweetheart, Daddy loves you so much. He wants to make everyone happy, just like he makes us happy. Can you be brave for a little while longer?"

Mila's cries begin to subside, and she looks at you with tear-filled eyes. Her small fingers reach out to touch Harry's face, as if seeking his reassurance. You exchange a glance with Harry, silently conveying the depth of your shared love and understanding.

With a hesitant nod, Harry turns back to the fan, who has been patiently waiting. A warm smile graces his lips as he poses for the photo, the fan beaming with delight. The moment is captured, a memory forever etched in their hearts.

As the fan thanks Harry and bids farewell, he returns to your side, scooping Mila back into his arms. She clings to him, her cries gradually fading away.

"You did so well, angel," Harry whispers, pressing a tender kiss to Mila's forehead. "I'm so proud of you."

You wrap your arm around Harry, offering support and comfort. The trio resumes their walk, Mila finding solace in the warmth of her father's embrace.

When the fan departes, you notice that Harry's usual radiant smile is somewhat subdued. His thoughts are consumed by Mila, his primary concern being her well-being. The encounter with the fan requesting a photo weighs heavily on his mind.

As fate would have it, the fan, oblivious to Harry's internal struggle, approaches once again, this time sheepishly asking if they can retake the photo. Excitement shines in their eyes, unaware of the impact their previous request had on Mila.

Harry's brows furrow slightly, his patience wearing thin. He takes a deep breath, his voice tinged with a hint of agitation. "I'm sorry, but I don't think we can take another photo. My daughter is still quite upset, and I don't really want to upset her again."

The fan's enthusiasm falters, a mix of disappointment and understanding crossing their face. They quickly apologised, realising the unintended consequences of their request.

You place a reassuring hand on Harry's arm, silently communicating your support. It's clear to you that his priority lies in protecting Mila's well-being, even if it means disappointing a fan.

Harry turns to the fan, his voice filled with sincerity. "I appreciate your understanding. It's just important for me to prioritise my daughter's comfort. Thank you for being considerate."

The fan, humbled by Harry's response, nods appreciatively. "Of course, I completely understand. Family always comes first. Thank you for taking the time to talk to me."

With a warm smile, Harry bids the fan farewell, his focus now fully directed towards Mila. As the fan walks away, you feel a mixture of relief and pride in Harry's unwavering commitment to his daughter's happiness.

As you continue your journey through the streets, the weight of the encounter gradually lifts, replaced by a renewed sense of peace. Harry's smile slowly returns, genuine and heartfelt, as he immerses himself in the joy of simply being together with you and Mila.

You intertwine your fingers with Harry's, offering him reassurance and gratitude for his unwavering dedication to your family. Together, you create an unbreakable bond, built on love, trust, and the unwavering protection of the precious moments you share.

As the day winds down and the sun begins to set, casting a warm glow across the city, you find yourselves seeking solace in a nearby park. Harry sits on a bench, Mila cradled in his arms, while you settle beside him.

Mila's teary eyes gradually dry, and she gazes up at her father, a sense of adoration and security radiating from her. Harry's attention is fully devoted to her, and a soft smile graces his lips as he brushes his thumb against her cheek.

In this tranquil moment, amidst the soft rustle of leaves and the distant hum of the city, you realise that the true measure of a father's love lies not in the number of photos taken or the adoration of fans, but in the quiet, intimate moments where he selflessly puts his child's happiness above all else. And in that realisation , your love for Harry deepens, knowing that he will always protect and cherish your family with unwavering devotion.

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polakina · 11 months

Text

the finest whiskey

pairing: steven grant x reader

rating: explicit

outline: thinking about what happened in the hallway, Steven decides to do something about your little...fixation

warnings: dirty thoughts, hand kink, steven likes to tease, orgasm denial, edging, spanking, hair pulling, fingering,

requests are open! hope you enjoy, petals <3

masterlist

It looped through his mind. Like a car on a racetrack. Over and over again it played out like a movie. Your eyes, drifting down to his hands and focusing entirely on them as he spoke. He knew that you weren’t really focused on his words, but he didn’t care. He cared more about the way your eyes followed the movements of his fingers, completely entranced as he purposefully twirled his keys between his digits deftly. He probably shouldn’t have done it…knowing that it would get to you, knowing that it would do something to you. But he still did, revelling in the way you were so entranced, obsessed. It turned him on more than he wanted to admit. Knowing that it turned you on too...it set something alight in him.

Pacing his apartment, he chewed the nail on his thumb as he mulled it over. For days he’d been mulling it over. The idea. The thought that consumed him. Should he? It could ruin the friendship you two shared. Or…it could fast track it to something he had wanted for months.

The two of you hadn’t seen each other since that day, you being on night shifts at work meaning he’d never see you on the staircase as he normally would. It had been killing him, not being able to see you, see how you always acted around him. He wondered if you had thought about him at all, like he’d been thinking about you. He was ashamed to say that most of his thoughts weren’t exactly family friendly, sleepless nights of picturing you. You and your particular fascination, of what he could do with you, to you, about that fascination.

It was all he could think about was where he could touch you, tease you, make you writhe and whine, beg for him. He’d want to make you beg, see how pathetic and needy he could get you before he finally gave you what he wanted. His sweet and quiet demeanour always switched up whenever he thought of you. It was as though something took over him. Something darker.

His thoughts and pacing were interrupted when he heard the keys to your apartment turn in the lock, clicking to alert that you were arriving home. It was the weekend, and you had gone out with some friends for an engagement party. He remembered you mentioning the gathering a few weeks ago, you hadn’t seemed exceptionally eager about it, but had gone reluctantly under the account of the hostess threatening to bring the entire party to your apartment if you didn’t show. Your walls were pretty thin, and since your apartments were attached, it was easy to hear the other shuffling around their apartments. Thinking for a further few moments, Steven decided fuck it, grabbing his keys and moving to the front door of his apartment.

Kicking your shoes off into the corner next to your front door, you let out a long sigh. Note to self, never agree to go to an engagement party again. You thought it would be small. No-you were promised it would be small. “A little gathering, nothing too fancy,” your best friend had told you. Liar. It was as though half of fucking London had shown up to this private event. So you tried to shake off the stress of the party, running your hand through your hair and taking off your jacket before hanging it on the hooks besides your front door.

Still in your outfit from the day, you sank into the plush couch cushions in your living room, stretching your legs out onto the table before you. You had half expected to see Steven at some point on your way upstairs, knowing he was a bit of a night owl on weekends. You’d heard him shuffling around most Saturday nights, talking to someone, most likely himself or his fish.

You were a little sad that you didn’t see him. Yes, you had been ignoring him and avoiding him…but since that one day, it was as though things had shifted. You didn’t feel the need to want to avoid him, but as fate had it, you hadn’t seen him since that day, much to your dismay. It didn’t mean that you hadn’t thought of him. Privately. Probably in a way that you shouldn’t think of a neighbour.

Your mindless scrolling was interrupted by a knock at your door. At this hour? You stood from your place on the couch and made your way to the door, peeking through the little circled peep hole. Steven. Stood there, waiting for you to answer. Why the hell was he here? You didn’t really care, happy to see him nonetheless. Unlocking your front door, you came face to face with your neighbour. This time, you only kept your eyes on his face.

“Hi, Steven,” you greeted him with a small smile which he graciously returned. “You alright?”

“Yeah, hi! Yeah, I’m good. Just heard you open your door, so I thought I’d check how your party went.” He was sweet. His smile a clear tell that he was happy to see your face once again.

“Yeah, it went okay. Not really my thing though,” you admitted, watching cautiously as his hand ran through his hair, separating the curls as he pushed them out of his face. His fingers trailed down, scratching his cheek and then his neck. Stop looking stop looking stop looking. You already failed at keeping the promise you’d made to yourself.

He saw. He noticed. He made a note of it. t made him smirk how quickly you caught yourself and looked back at his face. “Yeah, big parties aren’t my thing either. How’ve you been lately?” He asked, leaning against your doorframe, arms crossed over one another. That stance…made it hard for you to concentrate.

“I’ve been alright, I guess…” you continued making small talk, eventually finding your eyes drift down to the rings on his fingers. The ones he kept playing with, twisting them on his finger. When did he start wearing rings? Had he always worn rings? You didn’t fucking know.

His voice sort of blurred in your mind, words muddling into one as you kept flitting between his rings and his face. Until you felt a finger under your chin, tilting your head up to look at him.

“My eyes are up here, sweetheart,” his voice was husky, eyes looking darker as he gazed down at your mildly shocked face. “Unless there’s something else that catches your attention a little more?” You were speechless, to say the least. Attempting to formulate a coherent response in your head wasn’t going your way. “Oh come on, darling. I know you get all flustered when you see me.” Shit. His brow cocked, waiting for a response from you. “Well? Are you going to tell me what it is?” He knew. He had to. He just wanted you to say it.

His grip on your chin tightened, moving to hold your jaw in his palm, thumb digging into your cheek. “I-it’s just your…your hands,” your voice was meek, quiet. You were hesitant to say it. “I like them.”

“Hmm? Oh yeah? And what do you like about them?” His smirk told you everything you needed to know. He loved this. Hearing you talk about this. About him. He wanted more of it.

“How big they are,” you whispered, your eyes never leaving his, looking for any indication in his face of what he was feeling. “How…pretty they look.” Your words escaped you after he smiled down at you, tipping your head higher and leaning in closer to you, his nose almost brushing yours.

“Oh, sweetheart, if I’d have known sooner, I could have done something about it. About your little fixation.” His lips were on the verge of touching yours, a sliver of air remaining between you. But it still felt like too much space.

“What would you have done?” You whispered, almost afraid of the answer, but equally just as intrigued.

“I would have indulged your little fantasy, my darling. I would enjoy it just as much as you,” he admitted, growing harder in his pants just with the way your eyes lit up.

“…you would?”

“Oh, yes. Using my hands on you, the way I know you want me to, would turn me on just to hear your noises when I do. Is that what you want? For me to make you feel good with my hands?” Was this really about to happen? Fuck, you hoped so. “Yes, yes please, Steven. Make me feel good,” you begged, legs almost buckling at the lustful glint in his chocolate eyes.

That’s how you ended up on your bed, clothes tossed aside, bed sheets scrunched and strewn across the bed messily as your bodies laid on top of it. Limbs entangled with one another as Steven crawled on top of you, wedging his thigh between your legs. No piece of clothing remained on either of your bodies, stripped from your skin and collected in a messy pile on the ground.

“Sweetheart, I’ve wanted this for so long. Wanted you. Now I finally have you, I plan on showing you just how much I’ve wanted you what I’ve wanted to do to you.” His lips ghosted past yours and went for your neck instead, latching onto your skin just where your pulse point was. It was as though he already knew your body perfectly, his hands roaming across your bare skin, one gripping your hip and his other palm next to your head, pushing into the mattress to hold his weight above you.

Your head was hazy with need, with want. You craved Steven, all of him. And this new side to him, more desperate, his way with words, it all went straight to your core. You never knew that he could talk in such a dirty way that made you practically dripping for him. Tumbling pleas and begs fell from your tongue, praying for his touch on your skin, his lips on yours, his hands on you. You felt his fingers trail up your skin, past your stomach, ghosting through the valley of your breasts until they reached your face. “Open up, sweetheart,” he ordered as he tapped two of his fingers on your bottom lip. You obliged, more than willingly, opening your mouth and moaning as he slid his fingers in. “Now be good, darling, and suck.”

You did. He internally groaned over the sight of your lips wrapped around his fingers, rolling your tongue along the length of his digits. It was a heavenly sight for him, sending all the blood flowing down to his dick. Fuck, if just using your mouth on his fingers turned him on this bad, he couldn’t imagine how it’d feel to have your mouth around his cock.

But today wasn’t about him. It was about you. He was more than prepared to make it all about you. so once he felt as though his fingers were coated enough, he removed them slowly from the warm cavern of your mouth, despite your vocal dismay.

“Don’t worry, I’m not done with you just yet. We haven’t even gotten to the good part and you’re already whining for me, how pathetic.” His wet fingers drifted down your body until they reached the apex of your thighs, teasing your folds. “Now let’s see just how whiny I can get you, shall we?” Steven didn’t let you respond before you felt one of his thick fingers run down your slit and push inside you slowly. Your mouth fell agape at the feeling, just one of his fingers felt like almost two of your own as they worked inside of you, searching for that one spot to make you writhe. Your wetness practically sucked his finger in, creating no resistance as he added a second finger, moving them inside of you at an agonisingly slow pace. Little whines and groans escaped your throat to fill the empty room, music to Steven’s ears as he fucked you with his fingers. “Oh come on, sweetheart. I know you can be louder than that.” But he knew what you needed. More. That’s what you needed. But he wasn’t ready to give it to you. not unless you asked. So he waited, baiting his time and continued his slowed pace, no matter how much he wanted to speed up and fuck you rougher with just his fingers inside you, his thumb teasing your clit. Resting back on his haunches, he glanced down as his fingers moved in and out of you slowly, but he could see you try to push yourself onto your elbows. He did nothing to stop you.

“Please, Steven. Need more. Please, faster,” you begged, the words coming out in a breathy gasp as his fingers curled at the perfect angle. Steven’s pace didn’t increase, it stayed at his sluggish desired speed.

“Sorry, I couldn’t hear you, princess. What did you say?” There was an evil smile in his voice. He was loving this, pulling these pretty moans and pleas from you, he drank them in like the finest whiskey he’d ever tasted.

“Please, I’ll be so good for you, just please move faster.” Your words choked on the last few words as his fingers brushed against a part of your body that made you see stars. Steven smirked as he knew he’d found that spot he’d been looking for, it was written all over your face and in your voice, “oh, faster, huh? Right there?” his fingers brushed it again this time, harder. “You’re going to be good for me, sweetheart?” You nodded eagerly, meeting his eye as he gazed down at you in all your beautiful glory, your chest heaving with a dim shine to it, your face flushed and eyes desperate for him.

“Yes,” your voice almost a whisper. His unoccupied hand moved further up your body until it reached your neck. His fingers wrapped around your throat, not applying too much pressure yet, just squeezing briefly to get your attention even though it was all already focused on him.

“You’re going to behave?” He waited for your confirming nod before he smiled. “Good girl.” That was when his fingers moved faster inside you, hitting that heavenly spot harder and harder with every thrust. Your mouth fell open and your elbows slipped from underneath you and your head hit the pillows. But his hand never left your throat. It stayed wrapped around your neck, his palm feeling how your Adam’s apple bobbed up and down beneath his touch. “That’s it sweetheart, you’re doing so good for me. Feel good?”

Your words had practically escaped you, but you somehow managed to find them buried beneath the blissful fog clouding your mind. “Yes, fuck yes, Steven. Feels so good, please don’t stop.”

Steven just chuckled, his voice dipping low, nestling in the pits of your stomach. “Oh, princess, I’m not going to stop. I won’t stop till you’re begging beneath me, begging for release until tears are falling from your pretty cheeks. I bet you’d like that, wouldn’t you sweetheart?” He really did have a way with using his words to make you so malleable to his every touch, desire his every advance. You said yes. That was all you could say. Over and over again as his words and his fingers brought you closer to feeling the most pleasure you’d ever felt. Your hand fixation had always been in the back of your mind, aching for its time in the spotlight. But now it was all on show, and Steven was using it to his utmost advantage, drawing moan after moan from your lips in the darkness with only the moonlight watching over you as a light in the descending twilight. “Atta girl,” he groaned as you clenched around his fingers, practically feeling how close you were getting. But Steven stayed true to his word. The second he heard that breathy gasp, saw your eyes roll and your back arch beneath his hold, his fingers slowed, not stopping completely, but enough to wash away that pleasurable feeling he knew you wanted to consume you.

“What did I tell you, sweetheart? You’re not getting it that easily. Not when I know how long you’ve wanted this. No, you have to earn it.” His British accent grew coarser as his words grew filthier, dirtying your mind with their meaning. He held up his end of the deal, his fingers working hard and fast inside your aching pussy, desperate for some sort of release, yearning for your denied orgasm to finally course through your body. But it never came.

Your eyes grew watery, your voice breaking into a poorly stung together selection of words to beg for him to let you cum. It felt as though hours as passed, as though you were going to begin hearing birds tweeting outside your window as the sun creeped above the buildings outside your window. But somehow the sky was still painted a deep black and there were no birds outside. But you were still on the brink of bliss that you felt would never come.

“Oh, princess, growing desperate are we? You want to cum that badly?” Steven forced himself to hold out longer, ignoring how his cock throbbed at the sight of you, at the sounds you were making. “Ask for it then, if you want it that much.” It was almost amusing to him how quickly and needily you begged for him to let you cum, to make you orgasm just on his fingers alone from the sheer amount of rapture he was bringing you. “Okay, sweetheart, you can cum. Let yourself go on my fingers and make those pretty noises you’ve been making all night. If you’re good and can do that, then perhaps you’ll get more than just my fingers tonight.”

As though a switch had flipped inside of you, one that only Steven’s words could activate, you felt a bubble burst deep within you. You practically came on command, crying out Steven’s name and gripping his forearm that was by your chest as you did. You gave no fucks as to whether your neighbours would hear you, That would be tomorrow’s problem. Right now you were just caught up in the moment, caught up in the violent waves of ecstasy ripping through your veins and dragging out the most obscene noises from you.

Steven could feel you release onto his fingers, so violently that it dripped out of you and down his hand. It was the hottest thing he had ever seen and it took everything inside him not to cum with you. His fingers fucked you through your orgasm, only stopping when you had to physically push him away, your knuckles still white from when you’d been gripping the disarrayed bed sheets so tightly. “That’s a good girl, you did so well for me,” he mumbled to you, removing his fingers and bringing them up to his mouth, indulging himself in the taste of pleasure that had tumbled from your body, caused by him alone.

You laid there, cheeks stained with tears and heaving heavy breaths to regain some air into your lungs. You welcomed the feel of Steven leaning down to press his lips to yours, moaning as you tasted yourself on his tongue. The kiss was soft, but there was a certain passion to it. A certain hunger. You had a feeling he wasn’t quite finished with you yet.

“You okay, sweetheart?” Steven asked, his voice more sincere this time. He smiled sweetly as you breathed a yes against his lips. “Yes,” you replied, cupping the back of his neck to pull him down for another kiss. “More than okay.”

Steven graciously returned your kiss with just as much vigour. “Good. But I’m not done with you yet. Not when I promised you more.” In seconds he had you flipped over, manhandled so your ass was in the air and your cheek was pressed against the pillow. You were still trying to regain your breath, but neither of you particularly cared anymore. His hand that once was wrapped around your neck was now tangled in your hair, pulling it into a makeshift ponytail. He pulled on it, less gently than you anticipated, but the sting sent shivers down your spine. His other hand caressed your ass, slapping your left ass cheek to create a pale pink mark on the skin as he leaned down to brush his lips against your ear. “But now it’s my turn to indulge in a little fantasy of my own. Listening to you scream my name for all our neighbours to hear while my cock is deep in your sweet pussy. And you’re going to take all of it like the good girl you are.” You were right. He certainly wasn’t done with you yet.

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the-fiction-witch · 5 months

Text

Someone Who Loves You

Media The Artful Dodger

Character Jack Dawkins

Couple Jack X Reader

Rating Sweet Af + Flirty

Warning Dark discussions

I past the trees in the setting sun, trying desperately to salvage everything that had happened today. But I froze up as I heard a footstep, that wasn't mine. I stopped and listened closely. I could hear them coming up behind me, I could feel their presence, so I rested my hand on the handle of my knife.

I turned sharply and saw them, a figure in black darkness behind them as the sun set behind me, A hood covered them utterly.

"You're following me?"

"I am." The voice, muffled by the hood and cloak left me unsure if I knew the voice.

"Why?"

"I must speak with you, as privately as possible."

"Come to the hospital?" I suggested

"No. Walls have ears. I trust only the trees." For a moment that phrase reminded me, but of what that was too far gone to recall.

"What do you want?"

"To speak with you."

"Who are you."

"What does it matter?"

"I won't speak with you until you tell me who you are."

"Walls have-"

"Who are you?"

Silence between us for a moment, they took the hood of their cloak pulling it down to reveal a face beautiful with long hair, and a scar across her cheek. She settled the hood at her shoulders and smiled.

"Someone who loves you,"

I racked my mind but, I didn't remember her, but she knew me "Who are you, give me your name."

Those words from my lips utterly broke her heart, you could see it shatter in her face, her hands began to quiver, and a tear in her eye.

"Y-you don't remember me?"

"Should I?"

Those two little words utterly shattered her and she looked as if she was about to faint, or that her knees would give out.

"I had prayed, you would always remember me." She said, "Time has been kind to you, much more so than it has to me."

"I've met a lot of people in my life. Excuse me, if I don't remember one woman." I said,

"Would think you'd remember, such a turbulent time." She smiled,

"Perhaps you remember the way that horrid old strew used linger its smell down the alley, Perhaps you remember the sleepless nights under that broken roof, Perhaps you remember the old secret alleys and bridges, not a soul else knew, Perhaps you remember that more then you'd remember me."

"I'm sorry, but I need to get back," I told her turning to leave but I took more than two steps before she whistled, a little tune. That dove into the memories I had tried so desperately to forget.

That tune, I'd hear echoed on the streets of London through the thickest of fogs, in the nights and over the bridges I used to roam.

I turned back to see her again but still, I couldn't recall her face.

"... I see you remember that dodger."

My heart skipped hearing that word. That name. She knew me. And she could destroy me. And everything I've made for myself.

"Tell me. Who you are."

"Perhaps you remember, running down Martin Street pocket watch in hand as the cops chased you, you'd always find me at the corner. Drop your spoils in my basket so you were clean they they caught you down Pentavile. Perhaps you remember, carrying me up the top of London bridge to see the fireworks on New Year, Perhaps you remember sharing blankets watching the rain fall," She explained and with every word it became clearer and clearer, that my time on London's streets and everyone I knew widdled away and I knew she could only be one girl in the world. "Perhaps you remember how you kissed me, under the old cotton bridge hiding from the cops," She giggled

I was breathless, tears welling up as I looked at her.

"-Y/n?"

"Hi, Dodger."

I closed the space between us wrapping one arm around her and the other held her cheek as I kissed her, with all the passion and energy of the years since I'd seen her, giving her every kiss I had saved for her all this time. Till she pulled back both of us teary and smiling.

"I thought I'd lost you forever," I whispered

"For a while, I believed I had." She smiled "You have no idea, how long it took me to find you,"

"What are you doing here?"

"Looking for you,"

"You- you came all this way, to find me?"

"I've never stopped looking for you Jack." she smiled stroking my cheek, "You've changed."

"as have you," I chuckled moving back to see her better "I barely even recognised you, without a muddy braid, that patchy dress, everything that used to be you."

"You can talk, Dr Dawkins?"

"It's been a while. Things have changed, to say the least."

"I don't know, not everything. You've still got the same blonde mop" She smiled playing with my hair

"Well, I don't have you to cut it for me. only person I've ever met who could do it right."

"I've missed you, Jack,"

"I've missed you more. What happened to you?" I asked stroking her scar it was long healed but still it worried me

"Things, Didn't go well once you were gone."

"How so?"

"Left, after what he left you to rot. I couldn't stand to think he'd abandoned you in that awful prison. So I left, turns out... he protected us far more than we knew, and the moment I left a lot of people wanted what they felt they were owed, and with you gone... Let's say they took what I owed, and what you did too."

She explained tears slipping down

"What did they do to you?" I asked wiping her tears

"They took what we had taken Jack, all the years of our work together, they made me repay it all with far more than it was worth."

"How to evert did you make that kind of money?"

"They didn't take money, Jack," she whispered holding my hand and showing her scared skin, I took her closer and examined her, the scars of chains around her hands, broken bones hastily repaired, these were the scars of a slave who often thought back.

"They took... what You and I had stolen, Off Of. You." I asked and she nodded

"I spent years in chains. At their master's order, and his desires, by the time I broke out, you were gone. Not a soul knew where. Ever since I've been trying to find you."

"I'm so sorry y/n. If I'd have known I-"

"It's okay. You're here now."

"I'm here, and I can't believe it's you." I smiled "My first kiss, My first love, My y/n. How on earth did you find me?"

"You left a trail, of breadcrumbs I guess." She giggled "What are you doing in this place?"

"Uhh hiding I guess. I've built a life here perfectly law-abiding... Mostly."

"I'm proud of you, So very proud of you Jack."

"Thank you y/n." I smiled widely, "Do you have somewhere to go tonight?"

"No, travel light, has mostly been sleeping where I can"

"Come on, you're staying with me"

"I am?"

"Yes you are I've missed you too much to bear to be away from you"

"Lead the way then Doger." she smiled offering her hand I took it and gave her hand a kiss leading her towards town

"I uhh I should say, some things have changed." I blushed

"I imagine they have" she giggled cuddling my arm "Last time we shared a bed we were only fourteen... I imagine much has changed about my darling doger." She giggled tickling under my chin like she always used to god damn it! I nearly threw her against the tree when she did that... using that cute little name she used to have for me.

"I don't think I've changed that dramatically have I?"

"You taller" she giggled "Your cheeks used to be right in line for me to kiss them, I'm too little now."

"Humm I'll have to bend down for my flower girl then" I told her giving her lips a sweet kiss having to lean a little given she is a fair bit shorter than me now, "But Things have changed. And... as much as I love that name. You can't call me that anymore."

"What why not?"

"Because only three people in this whole country know that name and we are two of them."

"So why does it matter if no one knows?"

"I want to keep it that way."

"Alright, No more Dodger"

"That's my girl," I told her kissing her head as we got back into town I kept her on my arm as I would any other woman and she gave me such a wicked smile giggling at me

"Why can't I hold your hand?"

"Cause this isn't London y/n. People actually care about that stuff here and believe me they will talk."

"I see. So we have to be... Proper?" She pouted

"Perfectly propper my little flower girl"

"Do I have to?"

"Yes."

"Fine" she sighed

"Okay? Propper lady behaviour. and No dodger. I'm Jack Here, just Jack Dawkins. Doctor Dawkins alright?"

"Oooh Doctor Dawkins, you going to take me on a pleasant Sunday stroll" She giggled doing her best upper-class London accent

"Don't Be cheeky." I warn her "It might have been fourteen years But I'm still not against giving you a spanking if I have to" I whispered

"Humm I recall us walking through Clampam Green, snuggled all cosy, one hand in mine the other up my dress, not a care in the world"

"Believe me if I could I would," I told her "Come on this way," I told her taking her into the side entrance of the hospital "Nice and quiet okay?"

she nodded so I happily kissed her and led her up to my room

"This is all yours?"

"All mine, food and water if you need any, get yourself comfy." I told her slipping my jacket and shoes off

"Where will I sleep?"

"We used to share a blanket then, bout time we shared a bed," I told her sitting on my bed and tapping beside me

"I am very tired" She smirked

"I bet you are."

she giggled and slipped off her cloak hanging it by the door and the moment she was revealed to me-

I uhhh may have had a heart attack-

"What?" She giggled

"... You wonder why I didn't recognise you! Holy- Proportions." I tried very very hard to get my brain to,.... work but it kinda didn't want to. "What uhhh... I uhh I have been gone a while-"

She was confused looking at herself "Yeah, this is what happened Jack, I was malnourished and fourteen last you saw me don't you think things would have.... matured." She explained putting her hands where her hips used to be where I remember them and moving them sideways expanding till they met her hips... now.

"Matured! Look at you your- your-" I stuttered standing and holding her waist looking at her chest in her dress

"Jack" she giggled picking my head up to her face "It was fourteen years ago."

"Yeah! I didn't think you'd have changed... this much."

"Yeah they came in a little while after you left" she giggled moving her arms a little to squeeze them and I watched like a desperate hungry dog,

"Please stop doing that!" I told her holding her arms to make her stop

"Why?" she giggled

"I haven't seen you since we were fourteen, oddly enough I missed you enough! I do not need you bouncing your - Yeah. I'm struggling enough with not throwing you on my bed you really think that's a good idea."

"Hummm" she giggled "Still my darling Dodger" she giggled tickling under my chin and stroking her hand down until she met my pants

"Ummm- enough! enough!" I told her grabbing her hand "Anymore, I really will have to throw you on my bed."

"Alright Sorry Jack." she giggled sitting on my bed and tapping beside her so I happily climbed in sitting with her cuddling her and kissing her making up for all we had missed, "Anything Important I missed?"

"Not really, anything I missed?"

"You... did miss something."

"Ohh tell me then" I cooed between kisses kinda half listening

"I worry it will upset you," she whispered

"Nothing you could tell me could upset me. I'm just so happy you're here, I finally get to see you again, to hold you again, to... kiss you again."

"I left Fagin, for a reason. Not just because of what he did to you."

"Why else?"

"... Because I was pregnant."

"y-you were pregnant? when did you find out?" I began to whisper too

"A week, after your arrest," she said tears welling up

"What... Who got you pregnant, how did this happen?"

"Jack, you a doctor know. I should hope you know... How. it happened." giggled "Well when a flower girl and a little thief love each other very much and... find themselves a dark alley to hide in for the night" she whispered with a smile

"I- I got you pregnant-"

She nods "Once I knew I left for what he had done to you, I wanted to come see you to tell you but the guards wouldn't let me."

"I- I got you pregnant- What was it?"

"A little boy."

I knew I was crying unsure if it was sadness or joy but a mix of the two "A little boy?"

"A sweet little boy, he looked just like you"

"Where is he? Where is he now? Can- Can I meet him?"

"He's dead..."

"What-"

"Cot death. he was only a few weeks old. I'm sorry Jack."

"Sorry, what could you be sorry for? I had a son. You gave me a son I can't thank you enough for that, and I'm so sorry I wasn't there If I'd known... I'd have broken out that prison and found you. I'm so sorry about what happened."

"It was a long time ago, it still hurts but- at least I have you back"

"You have me, and I have you. I promise I'll keep you safe." I told her pulling her into my chest "What was his name?"

"Jack Jr. After you of course"

"That's sweet." I smiled giving her a soft kiss "I'm so sorry I didn't come find you when I escaped. Everything just kinda... happened so fast."

"You're here now. And that's all I care about."

"Y/n... There is something I need to tell you."

"Oh?"

"I uhh I don't quite know how to tell you..."

"Oh no" She said fear across her face "Please don't let it be true Jack-"

"What?"

"Please, don't say there is another girl. Or worse some... woman who holds your heart now" She said "I knew it was possible I had just hoped that- it wouldn't be so, let me guess this new life you've built came with a wife, and family of your own."

"No, no it's nothing like that."

"Then what?"

And just at that moment, the door opened- Oh god no please be the nurse.

"Jack wha-" He began

Shit.

"You!" She yelled jumping from the bed and grabbing one of my knives from the table pointing it at him, she always was quick. "What the dickens are you doing here?"

"Y/n. Our favoured flower girl how-"

"Answer the question Fagin!"

He wouldn't speak

"Answer her," I told him

"I found myself shipped here, destined for the chain gang. Old Dodger took me in"

"Why on God's green earth would you do that!" She yelled now pointing the knife at me

"He'd be dead if I didn't-"

"Good riddance! Jack. Do you not remember what he did to you, He left you for dead in a prison cell."

"I know he did. But I also remember all he did for me, for us. you know we'd been dead on the streets years ago without him"

"I know, that doesn't excuse what he's done."

"Y/n... you know I always thought of you as my daughter-" he began

"No, you didn't! You hated me!"

"Because you didn't do as you were told-"

"Because If I had I'd have been locked up with Jack!"

"Both of you enough!" I told them "I know this isn't the best-case scenario, but we're all here now. And we're all staying here." I told them "Now just stop bloody being at each other's neck and makeup,"

"No!" she yelled

"Y/n."

"... Fine" she pouted handing me the knife

"Fagin?" but silence "Fagin!"

"Fine" He sighed "Have it your way."

"Good, now whether we all like it or not we're here and we're together. And each of us has enough to make sure the others behave so I'm responsible for both of you. You are both going to behave."

"Alright jack" she nods

"Fagin?"

"Fine" he groaned

"Good, Now I have surgery first thing in the morning so all of us, Bed."

Fagin slunked himself over to his blanket in the corner and I made the bed up

"Where shall I sleep?" She asked nervously

"Outside," Fagin suggested

"Oi!" I warned "You will share with me sweetheart" I smiled giving her a kiss

"Oh Gordon bennt fourteen years and I'm still forced to watch you to share bloody Saliva" He complained

"That's enough," I told him

"What shall I wear to bed?" she asked

"umm what should you wear indeed."

"A nuns habit might just cover you enough to keep his hands off" Fagin joked

"I'm not telling you again Fagin." I warn him "You can borrow one of my shirts for tonight, tomorrow we'll go see what we can do about some clothes and a nightie for you"

"I'm not wasting my beer money on her-"

"You won't I will." I snapped "Come on let's get to bed."

I gave her one of my little shirts and got sorted myself climbing into bed and soon enough she came over to my shirt hugging her close as she climbed in with me so I tucked the covers around us and cuddled her tight remembering all those nights frozen half to death so much was still the same, we still share the covers, still cuddle the same, still have fagin in the corner complaining,

"Goodnight Fagin" I sighed

"Night. both."

"Night fagin" she yawns "Goodnight Jack..."

"Good night y/n" I smiled giving her a sweet kiss and blowing out the candle before she turned on her side I spooned her and gave her a few more kisses it felt so good having her body in my arms again even if it wasn't all as I remembered she felt my kisses and moved back letting us have not even an inch between us which only made me tighten my grip and kiss her neck a little more she gently giggled in that cute little way she use to do

"I am trying to sleep you two!" He complained

"Out," I told him between giving her neck and shoulder little kisses

"I need my bed too-"

"Out!" I told him

"And go where?" he complained just as she began to grind against me

"Ummm I don't care just get out" I moaned nibbling her neck

"you know this -"

"Out fagin!" I ordered

"Alright, alright" he sighed complaining all the way as he left the room

"He'd have slapped you round the back of the head back then you told him that"

"Well, he's my servant now. he has to do as I say. I can have him flogged if he doesn't."

"Can you?"

"I can. and if... your my little lady, you can to?"

"Don't tempt me." she giggled "so, shall I show my darling dodger how much I've missed him" she giggled moving onto her back

"Humm only if I get to show my flower girl how much I've missed her too."

"Absouely" she giggled pulling me into an intense kiss so I happily climbed ontop of her pulling away to kiss down her neck "I hope I'm still... desirable to you Jack."

"Still? Sweetheart you've only got better. Aged like a fine wine"

"I'm sure you have too" she giggled

"Well, fourteen years is a long time. I'm not the boy I was then. and I have had many years worth of experience more then I did then. So lay back and let the doctor take care of you"

#thomas brodie sangster #thomasbrodiesangster #tbs imagine #thomas sangster imagine #thomas brodie sangster imagine #tbs smut #tbs imagines #tbs #thomas sangster #thomas brodie sangster smut #jackdawkins #jack dawkins #the artful dodger

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helloliriels · 1 year

Text

SLEEPLESS IN LONDON

Since this is happening ... have my creation as proof that it will, on some level, work. (I pinky promise). (Trust me).

SLEEPLESS IN LONDON by helloliriels - "I think my Daddy needs a new wife."

@johnlocky @fluffbyday-smutbynight @chinike @rhasima @colourfulwatson @safedistancefrombeingsmart @holmesianlove @kabubsmagga @storytellingdreamer @peanitbear @copperplatebeech @mxster-jocales @missdeliadili @masterofhounds @gremlininthemachine @cupidford @daltongraham @totallysilvergirl @peageetibbs @kettykika78 @shelleysprometheus @7-percent @calaisreno @inevitably-johnlocked @bluebellofbakerstreet @discordantwords @simplyclockwork @whatnext2020 @khorazir @raina-at @arwamachine @topsyturvy-turtely @justanobsessedpan @gaylilsherlock @dinner--starving @meetinginsamarra @john-smiths-jawline @inatshej @janetm74 @sgam76 @t-dalo @kittenmadnessandtea @purplevatican @gregorovitchworld @1-800-get-sherlocked @wizama @jobooksncoffee @crazyatyou @tinchensblog @ohnoesnotagain

#12 days of johnlock #sleepless in london #johnlock #johnlock fan fic #helloliriels #don't ask which one is meg ryan #(neither)#(the answer is neither)#this will be it's own beast #and NO ... i didn't use 50 layers in photoshop to make this ...#why do you ask??#(okay i did)#(55 actually)#god i need sleep #liriels ps #_large #lockout films

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pseudophan · 6 months

Note

how did we figure out phil’s room in the second london flat was a set beyond the fact that his shit was in dans room? and also how did we figure out the two flat situation i literally do not remember

oh boy, well, this story is vastly different depending on the phannie circles you were in at the time

me personally i saw their floor plans like, a week after they moved in. i always knew they had two flats, way before it even became a theory, but i was on here for two years like idk man! who's to say! because oh my god we were NOT supposed to know that shit. now, in my defence, it REALLY wasn't my fault. i didn't go looking for it nor did i ask to see it, however i did and to this day the whole thing was just very funny. weird! creepy! but funny. i'm not gonna say who found them in the first place, but in short the real estate listings stayed up for awhile after they moved in and bc of the location (near the first london flat, an address everyone had at that point) someone quite easily found them. said person emailed phil and phil got them taken down, but because phannies can't keep their mouths shut the contents of that listing did get spread around a fair bit

as for everyone who Wasn't being a creep like some of us, there were just clues that added up over time. firstly just like, the designs of the two flats are vastly different. you can tell which rooms belong to which flat just based on the look of them, and the difference in style combined with the fact that they had two kitchens made it so it just didn't make much sense for all of this to be one apartment. there was a whole thing about hardwood floors vs carpet, namely when phil tweeted about this centipede that got into "his room" and then dan happened to "walk past" at 2am. meanwhile the pics he posted of said centipede were on wooden floors (or laminate or whatever idk) and the amazingphil bedroom set very much had carpet. like, the centipede was in the moon room, i do believe the conclusion was

my personal favourite thing though was one of phil's sleepless night videos, because those of us who knew for a fact there were two flats were CRYYYINGGGG laughing at that shit bc the blatant lying was just so funny. this dude rly laid on top of his sheets fully clothed complaining at full volume about how he couldn't sleep. but then he went to get a charger from the living room (in the other flat, where dan was sleeping) and all of a sudden he's being all quiet. absolutely incredible content. 10/10 no notes.

anyway, kids... don't look at your favourite youtube gay people's floor plans. even if it's funny.

#answered

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mrchiipchrome · 5 months

Note

prompt 68 with KCC 😉

If you want to request, there's a prompt list linked in my masterlist:)

prompt 68. -It’s nice to have you back, where you belong.

----------------

“Ky I miss you so much” Despite having spent basically the entire summer, well winter technically, in Australia together competing in the World Cup, you missed each other tremendously the second you were apart.

“I miss you even more Y/n/n. I miss your cuddles the most though.” The sweet girl sighs out, her cheeks puffing out adorably with her chin resting on one of her forearms. She’s clutching her pillow tightly, laying on her stomach.

Letting out a loud gasp in faux shock, you chastise her playfully for the comment.

“Kyra Cooney Cross, I cannot believe you. And to think I believed you liked me for more than just my body.” Her giggles fill your bedroom in London over the phone, her bright smile on the screen contrasting the dark nature of your room.

“Well you thought wrong, I’m clearly just using you for your body.” She rolls her eyes at you, picking at her nails uninterestedly, but you can see the small smile forming behind her hands.

“Yeah, yeah whatever you say pretty girl” Her hands come up to cover her face, blush apparent between her fingers.

“You think I’m pretty?” She questions as if the answer wasn’t already obvious, her beauty just one of the many aspects you loved about her.

“You’re the most gorgeous girl in the world lovely, you always have been and you always will be.” You tell her softly, gauging her reaction.

She once again just covers her face with her hands, her smile reaching her ears. Sighing, you look at the time on your phone, being an hour behind her, it was late over there in Sweden.

“Ky, it's time to go to bed.” You say seriously, her yawn nearly cutting the last of your sentence off. She was clearly exhausted from the long days, like you were. Living without each other was a death sentence, slowly killing you both.

“Just stay on the call until I’ve fallen asleep would you? It’s so hard to sleep without you here.”

“Sure my love, but if Arsenal come knocking for ya then you have to accept, I don’t know how much longer I can live without you by my side.”

The smirk on her face only widens at your words, oh you clearly had no idea.

—----

You were unfocused, that was pretty clear for everyone to see. You were missing even the simplest of passes and you could probably store both of your boots in the bags under your eyes, dark blue and incredibly prominent.

Two sleepless nights in a row created by pure worry was why you were so unfocused. Kyra hadn’t spoken to you in days, not even as much as a text that told you she was alive, she had simply disappeared off the face of the earth.

Rubbing your eyes in an attempt to wake up that much more, the worry set deep in your mind didn’t falter the slightest bit. Not even when the comforting hand of your captain comes down to rest on your upper back, moving up and down soothingly.

“Are you okay?” She asks.

“Mhm, just a little tired.” You tell her softly, chin resting on your forearm lightly.

“Yeah, well I think Jonas has someone you might want to meet, with him.” Your head perks up, snapping towards the shorter woman, eyes wide open.

“What do you mean?” Kim just smiles at you, nodding her head to the right where a majority of the team is crowded around someone.

In between black clad bodies, you can just see the familiar outline of the person you love the most, hands waving around animatedly.

In an instant you’re on your feet, slipping and sliding across the grass in your hurry to get up from your sitting position, hands flat on the ground. When you get up on your feet properly you set off in what can only be described as a jaguar-like run, reaching the mob of people in no-time.

The girl in the middle squeals when she gets picked up all of a sudden, familiar arms wrapping around her waist from behind. The squeals turn into laughter that echoes around the training grounds, her hands clutching around yours.

“Why didn’t you call me, lovely? I was worried sick about you.” You tell her softly, hands moving from her waist to her face, moving her head around softly as if you were trying to convince yourself she was real. “I was so worried about you, don’t ever do that again please.” She gets pulled into your body once again, your arms wrapping around her tightly.

“I’m sorry, I just wanted to surprise you. I won’t do it again, I promise.” She mumbles into the material of your shirt, her hands clutching onto the elastics of your shorts, fingers pressing into the skin of your stomach.

Pulling away from her body, you place your hands on her jaw, cupping her face softly. You can’t help but just look at her, admire her in such a way you hadn’t been able to in weeks.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Her nose scrunches up in that adorable way that had you falling in love with her all over again.

“Like what?” She looks up at you through furrowed brows, a light blush dusting her tanned cheeks.

“Like you’re in love with me.” Kyra whispers into the vacant air, your teammates having left you long ago.

“That’s because I am in love with you silly. Kyra?” She hums in response, waiting for you to continue. “It’s nice to have you back, where you belong.” The shorter girl buries her head into your chest, the earlier blush having darkened significantly.

“It’s nice to be back by your side too Y/n/n.”

#woso #woso x reader #arsenal wfc #kyra cooney cross #kyra cooney cross x reader #auswnt x reader

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five-miles-over · 5 months

Text

Tom Hiddleston Characters Masterlist

updated January 26, 2024

Multiple Character Headcanons/Listicles

• Tom Hiddleston Characters as Desserts

• How Tom Hiddleston Characters Would Spend the Winter Holidays

• Tom Hiddleston Characters: How They Act When They Have a Crush (on You)

• Tom Hiddleston Characters on Their Wedding Day (to You)

• Tom Hiddleston Characters: How They Would Propose (to You)

• Tom Hiddleston Characters Celebrating the New Year (With You)

Bill Hazeldine from Suburban Shootout

• She’s a Lady and I am Just a Boy: On the first day of taking ‘Fundamentals of Shakespeare’ at university, Bill Hazeldine finds himself developing a serious crush on you, his drama professor.

• Champagne for My Real Friends, Real Pain for My Sham Friends: A first-year medical student at the University of Surrey, you move into a uni house and meet your new flatmates Bill Hazeldine and Rory Slippery (College AU, crossover with Rory Slippery from Fortysomething)

Caius Marcius Coriolanus from Coriolanus

I’ve Decided, I Will Not Let Your Shadow Separate From Me: After being elected the consul, Coriolanus receives many things - sleepless nights, pointless riots from the lower-class citizens, and you, his new personal slave. While the sleep deprivation and the noise from the plebeians annoy him to no end, he finds himself obsessed with you. (Yandere)

The One That I Desire: A general must always be in control, according to General Caius Marcius Coriolanus . But there often comes a time when even the most powerful general falls to temptation. And for Coriolanus, that temptation is you.

Henry V/Prince Hal from The Hollow Crown

• Fairytale: While riding upon your horse in the woods, you come across a stranger with a silver tongue and golden curls. And he calls himself “Hal”. (Basically a meet-cute with fluff.)

• You Will Be Mine : The prince of England quickly becomes obsessed with you, a servant brought to his chambers to serve him breakfast. And there is nothing that will stop him from claiming you as his. (Yandere)

• First Time In London: Three days into your new life in London, you find yourself in a café after one of the dreariest mornings ever. Standing behind you in line is none other than Henry Plantagenet, a handsome gentleman with a zest for life and a romantic outlook that feels too good to be real. (Modern AU)

Jonathan Pine from The Night Manager

•So Much More: While holidaying in Switzerland at the Hotel Meister, you find yourself constantly being stood up by each and everyone you meet. And each time, the night manager Jonathan Pine is there to comfort you after delivering the bad news. But it’s really just part of the job…right?

• The Forbidden Room: Part One, Part Two : During a late night alone in the lobby of the Hotel Meister, you - a student at the University of Zurich - meet the charming night manager Mr.Jonathan Pine. And what starts out as simply two strangers getting to know each other turns into something more when Pine shows you a secret part of the hotel.

• My Dearest Diamond : After nearly two years of working for MI-6, Jonathan tried to get in touch with you, the girl who stole his heart when he worked at Hotel Meister. For three weeks, the two of you rekindled your love via handwritten letters, until you booked a five-day trip to London to see him.

As he prepares to make this holiday special for you, Jonathan reflects on his relationship with you…and carries out one last errand before you land.

Robert Laing from High-Rise

• Being Married to Robert Laing would Include...

Loki of Asgard from the Marvel Cinematic Universe

• Heaven Help the Fool Who Falls in Love: You, a lady-in-waiting of Asgard’s Queen Frigga, and Prince Loki have been inseparable for years. What started with a mere look becomes something more precious. (Fluff)

• A Better King: While shopping with Thor in Mumbai (to kill time while Tony Stark is busy with a meeting), Loki learns about the “king” of Bollywood…and decides that he himself could be a better king.

• Take All of Me: Loki takes great delight in “ruining” his innocent, shy girlfriend for the first time (corruption kink, smut)

• Dandelions: Having heard stories about the Norse god of mischief, you find yourself falling in love with Loki despite having never met him. Out of devotion, you prepare offerings that you think he would like, and find ways to express the way you feel. Little do you know that your feelings are not unrequited.

• Beauty is Where You Find It: A journalist for a New York magazine in September of 2012, you come across the opportunity to do an interview from an icon in the fashion industry. Your subject? A rising supermodel from Wimbledon with icy blue eyes and jet-black curls named Loki Laufeyson.

• They’ll Call Your Crimes a Work of Art: A journalist for a small magazine in New York, you’ve been assigned to write a piece about the recent attacks led by Loki. So, you have a look at Loki himself to get your own perspective.

• Little Darling: Living with the God of Mischief in London comes with finding many surprises, and one of those surprises happens to be a four-year-old named Tom Hiddleston.

THE PHANTOM OF ASGARD (THOR: THE DARK WORLD LOKI X READER)

Rumors say that a phantom haunts the darkest hall in the royal palace of Asgard, but is he truly as dangerous as the people of Asgard claim he is?

Part One

Part Two

FOR ALL TIME, IT WAS ALWAYS YOU (TVA LOKI X WIFE!READER)

Imagine waking up in an alternate reality where you and Loki are a newlywed couple living in the suburbs...and everything seems a little too good to be true. (inspired by Wandavision)

Part One

Part Two: Mrs. Laufeyson

Part Three: Happy to Keep His Dinner Warm

Part Four: Kitty Makes Three

THE AGE OF LOKI (LOKI X READER X PROFESSOR HIDDLESTON)

For his second year teaching at Oxford’s English department, Professor Hiddleston hires you to be his first-ever teaching assistant. One night while working late, he shows you the newest addition to his poetry class’s syllabus: the Lokasenna, a poem centered on the Norse god of mischief…and accidentally summons the trickster god himself.

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

IF YOU LET ME, I CAN MAKE ANOTHER WORLD FOR US (LOKI x POWERFUL!READER)

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Jaguar Villain Hiddleston from the Good to Be Bad Campaign

• All I Worship and Adore: For a long time, Tom has admired you, an innocent woman, from afar...until one day, he makes his affections known to you. And this time, he won’t take no for an answer (Yandere)

• Your Remedy - He may be one of the most powerful and feared man in London, a terrifying villain to the outside world, but when you’re sick with a cold, your paramour Thomas spends the entire evening by your side taking care of you.

• SFW Alphabet - Jaguar Villain!Tom Hiddleston

YOU'RE NEVER LEAVING (JAGUAR!HIDDLESTON X READER)

You, a budding journalist, have the opportunity of a lifetime to interview the feared and revered Mr. Hiddleston, the CEO of Imperial Pharmaceuticals, Britain’s leading drug manufacturing company. What happens when a few mistakes lead you into the jaws of the wolf, working for the man himself?

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Miscellaneous Hiddleston AUs

• AU: Tom Hiddleston as the Prince of Scotland

• Lessons from the Viscount (Viscount!Hiddleston x Reader, Reader x William Buxton, Reader x John Plumptre): As a debutante in the Regency era, you attend your first etiquette class, along with the other boys and girls of London’s upper crust. Heading the class is the charismatic Viscount Hiddleston, rumored to be a former Shakespearean actor who returned to London to look after his familal estate. And it isn’t long before he takes a liking to you.

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toomuchracket · 6 months

Text

hot chocolate (dad birthday party!matty x reader fluff)

short and sweet for the 19th day of promptober. no actual hot chocolate features but they do order it before the end of the fic lol. literally just two writer dorks and a five year old in their favourite city. enjoy! <3

"amy!" you hiss at your five year old, as she drops your hand and starts to tear down the busy street ahead of you, pale pink trench coat flowing behind her. "amy healy, get back he- oh my god. i sound like meryl streep."

matty snorts at your words, darting forward to grab your daughter's gloved hand before she goes too far. "but meryl streep in what film?"

you stare at him, unimpressed. "what film slash book did we name our daughter after?"

"gone girl."

your turn to snort, although it's probably less to do with matty's answer than it is to do with amy sighing dramatically and saying "no, dad, don't be silly. i'm named after little women!"

"how do you know that?" matty teases. "you weren't there when we picked your name. you were still in mum's tummy!"

"obviously," amy rolls her eyes. "but you told me it's been mum's favourite book since she was little, and you thought it would be special if i was called amy like one of the girls in it."

the memory makes you smile. titling and naming have never come as easily to you and your work as they have to matty and his, and you spent many a sleepless night stressing about what to call your baby girl; at least once a week, matty would wake up in the middle of the night to an empty bed and you sitting at the bedroom window, poring over baby-name book after baby-name book, website after website, lit only by the moon. he would sit with you for a while, narrowing down options, before coaxing you back under the covers and reading to you and the bump to soothe you into sleep - sections of old novels with peaceful settings and serene plotlines, nothing that would take your attention away from cosiness. it worked on both of you, mostly, but when he started little women, the baby started to kick.

naming her was easy after that.

you sigh at the memory. both amy and matty turn to look at you, and the latter speaks. "you alright, darling?"

"mhmm," you nod, and take amy's other hand. "was just thinking about how you used to kick when dad and i would read little women to you, ames. you did that a lot here, actually, when we went to paris for a weekend."

amy looks between her parents suspiciously, as if she doesn't believe it. "really? i didn't know you came here when i was in mum's tummy."

"it was the last place we visited before we stayed at home and waited for you, sweetheart," matty squeezes her hand, then looks up at you softly. "couldn't have been anywhere else, really."

matty beams at you, and a wave of sheer déja vu soaks you to the bone - his face is more lined now, his hair shorter and more streaked with silver, but seeing that smile and those eyes against that exclusively-parisian backdrop of narrow rues and beautiful buildings and romance permeating the air just as much as oxygen itself… you're transported back to that first time here with him, getting to know him and realising you didn't want to live life without him in it. this city - and country, thinking back to your engagement - are just as much a part of your relationship as home in london is, and it's always special returning here together; even more so this time, getting to introduce it to your daughter.

said daughter is now tugging at your trouser leg to get your attention. "mum... mummy, you're in dreamland looking at dad again."

the exasperation in her voice snaps you out of your little matty trance (the first of many today, you're sure). "hmm? sorry, baby, what were you saying?"

"i'm asking if you and dad went to disneyland when you came here with me before i was born."

matty laughs so loudly that an elderly man nearby turns to look at him in disgust, muttering "imbécile" as he does. you go to fire back a quick "connard", but amy reacts appropriately enough for the whole family by sticking her tongue out at the man and blowing a raspberry; this makes matty laugh even louder, and you can't help but giggle at her satisfied grin either.

once the laughter dies down, matty wipes his eyes and speaks. "no, sweetheart, mummy and i did not go to disneyland while you were in her tummy. it would've been fun, i'm sure, but no."

"yeah," amy nods thoughtfully, a little crease forming between her brows as she thinks. "maybe you should have. cos then maybe i wouldn't have been so scared on haunted mansion yesterday."

you bite your tongue, looking pointedly at matty to make sure he does the same - as much as you want to laugh at her five year old logic, you don't want to run the risk of upsetting amy by making her feel silly. she really was terrified, clinging to you and matty in the little car as you weaved in and out of ghosts, and it got even worse when she got back to the hotel and got into bed; between 3 (when she ran through to your room, eyes weepy and lip quivering, terrified the hitchhiking ghosts had followed you) and 6am (when matty carried her, asleep, back to her own room and tucked her in with her teddy) this morning, you and matty spent your time doing all but saging the suite to make sure it was phantom-free.

"you were brave even saying you wanted to go on it, baby," you say, stroking amy's hair. "and you went to sleep so quickly after your bad dream - that was good."

"so did mum, ames," matty grins cheekily. "she was already sleeping when i went back through after i tucked you in! didn't even stay awake to kiss me goodnight. meanie."

amy giggles, while you roll your eyes and smile suggestively at matty. "i apologised for that when you woke up, didn't i?"

(read: you tugged your husband into the shower with you so you could suck his dick, a) to apologise for falling asleep and b) just because he was exceptionally dilfy the previous day and night.)

"that you did, darling, that you did," matty leans over amy's head to kiss you quickly. "m'still tired, though. need a cappuccino, i think."

"well, good thing we're almost at our destination," you smile, pointing at a building at the end of the street. amy starts to try and speed ahead again, but you keep a firm grasp on her little hand. "none of that, please, amy, you need to stay with mum and dad at busy roads."

"sorry, mummy," your daughter looks up at you, with a set of pleading puppy dog eyes exactly like her father's. "m'just excited to go."

your resolve cracks - you're incapable of resisting those eyes on matty as is, so you don't stand a chance against them on your far more adorable baby girl's face - and you coo. "that's alright, sweetheart. i'm excited, too. what about you, babe?"

matty shrugs. "i'm here for whatever, as long as my girls like it. and i can get a coffee."

"simp," you smirk, leaning up to kiss your husband's cheek and giggling as he pinches your hip indignantly. a pretty awning catches your eye, and you crouch to be level with amy. "look, baby, we're here!"

amy's little face lights up, but she stays calm, waiting patiently with you and matty as you enter the building and find a seat. smiling, you snap a sneaky picture of her as she tries to peruse the menu - sat at the white marble table in her little headband and the dusty rose cardigan she got as a christmas present from aunt patti (cashmere, the diva!), she looks so right, like a cool little princess of some kind. the fun anne hathaway-played type, though, not like the stuffy family you share a hometown with.

you lean over to whisper in matty's ear. "not to be dramatic, but it's never been clearer to me than in this moment that we're raising the most chic kid in the world."

"well, yeah, she's got us as parents," matty giggles in your ear, before being tugged to the other side by his other girl. "what's that, sweetheart? you need help with the menu? i thought you already knew what you were going to have!"

amy grins bashfully. "yeah… hot chocolate!"

"and a croissant? we can share one if you like."

she nods again, looking around the café in wonder. matty smiles lovingly at her, a look he keeps when he turns to you. "would you do the honours, my love?"

"of course," you kiss his hand, before scouting a passing waitress (whose eyes go wide when she realises who you and matty are, bless her) and ordering in french; she laughs when you crack a joke, promising to be right back with your drinks and pastries.

when you turn back to matty, he's still smiling lovingly. "it never fails to impress me when you do that."

"i know. you titled a whole album around it," you smirk, taking his hand. "and it never fails to make me blush, your reaction to it."

"good. i like making you blush. you look extra pretty when you're a little bit flustered," matty kisses your hand. "and i think you look extra pretty today in general. what do you think, ames?"

amy turns from people-watching to nod very seriously. you and matty both laugh, before you speak. "are you having a good day, baby? how would you describe it, in one word?"

she thinks for a second, brows raising just like matty's do when he ponders. "perfect."

matty nods, tugging you both into him. "yeah, it is."

#mads muses #mads does writing #into the birthday partyverse #birthday baby #promptober75 #matty healy fanfic #matty healy fanfiction #matty healy fic #matty healy fluff #matty healy x reader #matty x reader

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astroboots · 2 years

Text

RED FLAGS ║ PART 7

CO-WRITTEN WITH @THIRSTWORLDPROBLEMSS

Pairing: Steven Grant x female reader x Marc Spector (x hints of Jake Lockley)

Summary: Your subconscious is trying to tell you something important about the choices you have to make. Or alternatively: is it still a threesome if the two men are alters?

Content: Stefon voice: This chapter has everything: angst, vaginal sex, anal sex, threesomes, DP sex.

Word Count: 8,165

Series Masterlist | Astroboot’s Masterlist | Thirstworldproblemss’ Masterlist

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You stare up at the shadows on the ceiling above your bed, willing yourself to fall asleep.

But it’s simply not happening.

Every time you close your eyes to the darkness, your brain takes it as an invitation to play a slideshow of this evening’s highlights.

Marc showing up at your door, Marc holding you on the DLR, Marc's face inches from your own in front of the fish tank, Marc tucking you into the taxi. The images play behind your eyelids over and over and over again like a broken merry-go-round until you’re dizzy with it and dart up from your bed to pace the distance of your flat for a good twenty minutes, calming your jittery nerves enough that you can lay still long enough, close your eyes– only for the reel to start again.

Get up–walk around–lie down–replay–and so it goes. Again and again and again.

You don’t get much sleep that night.

Friday morning comes early.

You must’ve fallen asleep at some point because you wake to your alarm blaring, but your sore back and the heavy dull ache behind your eyes tell you it was not nearly enough rest.

One look at the clock informs you that you have 15 minutes to get yourself together and out the door or you’ll be late for work. It’s a mad scramble, and you earn yourself a bruised shin courtesy of the bloody ottoman, but you make it out the door and to the tube just in time, dashing down the stairs and squeezing yourself through the already-closing doors as the morning commuters around you grumble.

Pressed up between a grumpy construction worker and an even grumpier 20-something office worker, you’re holding onto your belongings for dear life as the train sways, trying to make sure you’ve got everything you’re meant to, when you realise the jacket in your hand is not one of your own.

It’s Marc’s.

There’s no need for another layer in the overpacked warmth of the train, and it’d be too hard to manoeuvre yourself into it in the minimally-available free space anyhow. You drape it over your arm instead, the way you might if you were just… holding it for a friend. There it stays for the entirety of your commute until you exit the station into the damp chill of late Autumn London fog so heavy it’s nearly drizzling.

You glance at the jacket. The sensible thing to do here would be to just put the bloody thing on, but for some reason you can’t quite bring yourself to do it. Instead, you shiver your way through the two block walk to your office, arriving cold and clammy and feeling all together out of sorts.

On top of that, your sleepless night and slapdash makeup application are apparently not doing you any favours, because once you arrive at work, no less than three of your coworkers ask if you’re ill. With as polite of a smile you can muster, you push off their concern and get to work. Busying yourself with small, mindless tasks, you manage to get through most of the morning without thinking overly much about anything.

That lasts right up until 11:47am when your phone pings out, rattling against the surface of your desk.

Steven Hiya love! 🥰 What did the sushi 🍣 say to the bee 🐝?

Steven’s silly random texts usually bring a smile to your face, and this one still does, but today it’s accompanied by a sickening swoop of your stomach and a heavy feeling that weighs you down, slowing your fingers so that it takes you twice as long as usual to type a response.

You I don’t know… What did it say?

Steve Waaaasa-bee!!!!! 🤪🤪🤪

You Oh my god!

Steven Speaking of which, how do you feel about sushi for dinner tonight? Shall I get us some from that Eat Tokyo place on my way to your office? 🍣🍱😊

You glance at Marc’s jacket where it’s sitting, innocently folded atop your purse by the side of your desk, and tear your eyes away. Guilt over your actions yesterday comes crashing down on you all over again like a ton of bricks. You can’t imagine sitting with Steven in his flat eating dinner under the watchful eyes of Gus 2.0, The Imposter while lying to his face about what you did last night. The very idea makes your already unhappy stomach turn.

You Sorry. I have Friday social drinks with the team tonight and I’m getting the side eye for having missed too many. Raincheck? xx

Drinks with your team is predictably awful.

It’s a longstanding social obligation at the end of each week that you’ve never enjoyed. Too much boozing and Graham from two cubicles down tends to get handsy and start hovering too close once he’s on his sixth pint. You’ve happily foregone it most weeks since you started dating Steven.

Tonight though, it’s the lesser of two evils and the perfect excuse.

Since it’s Friday, the pub closest to your office is an overpacked mess. The floors are sticky from spilt beer, and the rancid smell of what must either be old cider or piss has permanently seeped into the cracks of the wooden beams. You’ve entirely lost count of the number of elbows jammed into your back, and your voice has gone hoarse from shouting to be heard over the unnecessarily loud music and cluttered conversation taking place all around you.

The evening drags on. Sleep-deprived and exhausted, you find yourself zoning out, eyes drawn to the large fish tank in the corner of the pub. It’s a standard collection, a few guppies, a fat Gourami fish that shimmers red and a handful of goldfish swimming about.

One is almost orange in its goldenness, nothing like Gus’ more stark golden hue. Another one has the same colouring as Gus but is too skinny to pass, the third one… hmmm. That one is a bit more promising. It isn’t one finned, but it’s the right size and colour, and one fin is even a bit smaller than the other, so maybe–

Oh god, what are you doing?

Are you seriously scoping for another replacement fish right now? You need to stop.

Shaking your head to snap yourself out of it, you turn your attention back to the conversation at your table.

“My son’s gotten into a phase where he won’t stop watching Finding Nemo on rerun,” Poppy from accounting is saying next to you. “He loves that movie. Wants me to make him a Nemo costume for Halloween this year. Must’ve told me twenty times to ‘make sure it’s only got one fin.’”

A shiver works its way down your spine. The words feel accusatory somehow, even though you know that she couldn’t possibly have known what you were up to yesterday. You’re also pretty sure Nemo technically had two fins, one was just smaller than the other, but you’re not about to correct her when it’s all you can do to push down the image of Gus that’s trying to swim up to the surface of your mind.

From across the table one of the other accountants chimes in, saying how their kids love the movie as well, and then it’s a pile on of enthusiasm, everyone blathering on about their kids watching Nemo on rerun.

Nodding vaguely, you pretend to be following along in the conversation, but you keep having flashes throughout of the Imposter Fish and his two whole fins swimming around in Gus’ tank like he owns the place. Your skin prickles like you’re about to break out in hives.

You stand abruptly, nearly knocking your chair over in the process, earning yourself concerned and questioning stares from around the table.

Shit.

“I’ll… um… I’ll just grab another round for the table, shall I?” you blurt out, trying to salvage your dignity or at least the situation, then escape to the bar.

Ordinarily it would take an eternity to get the bartender’s attention on a busy night like this—a good twenty minutes to be spotted in the crowd, if you’re lucky. But tonight, on the one night when the wait would have been a welcome reprieve, the bartender spots you almost instantly and prepares your order with similarly unwelcome speed. That’s how you find yourself stacking pint after pint in your arms, cradling them as best as you can as you reluctantly start back towards your table not five minutes after you left.

You’re struggling to balance the drinks and evade the throng of people as you make your way through the crowded room when you spot him, and it feels like your heart stops.

There’s a man by the fish tank, his back leaning against a wooden beam. You only see him out of the corner of your eye at first, but the stiff, almost militant posture and rich black curls, slicked back but starting to unfurl from the heat and humidity of the pub, are unmistakable.

Why is he here!?

Time slows to a crawl, and you forget to breathe as the longest second you’ve ever experienced in your life stretches out and out and out until the lack of oxygen in your brain has you convinced that it’s Marc you’re staring up at. You walk forward, even as the firmness of the floor beneath you gives. All you can see is his wide back covered by the brown canvas jacket, identical to the one Marc had lent you last night. But that can’t be right, because you still have it. It’s on your chair, isn’t it?

Time has never unfolded so slowly as you watch the man turn his shoulder, presenting a full view of his face only for you to see that his eyes aren’t gorgeously brown. Nose, nothing at all remarkable or unique. His jaw is round instead of the ridiculously cut sharpness you’re so used to seeing.

There’s not a single feature in the man’s face that is as sharp or striking as Marc and Steven and with that realisation time slams forward then resumes its normal pace. Your stomach drops, landing on the sticky flooring near your feet.

You don’t want to be here.

Turning back to your table, you drop off the ordered drinks, as you murmur an apology about needing the loo.

Mumbling ‘excuse me’s and ‘sorry’s as you dash through the throng of crowds, you push your way to the ladies room at the far end of the pub where you find your salvation through the door marked with a silhouette of a woman.

There’s a row of stalls, but you don’t bother checking each for cleanliness the way you usually do. Just make a beeline for the furthest one, thankful that it turns out to be unoccupied. You flip the lock and sit down on the rim of the toilet, eyes flitting over the bits of used gum that’ve been rolled up and tacked onto the cracked tiles. There’s soggy bog roll pooling around your shoes courtesy of a previous visitor, but you scarcely care, too relieved to have some space for yourself to just breathe for the first time this evening, without interruptions or anything to remind you of Gus or Marc or Steven.

That reprieve barely lasts for two seconds.

As if on cue, the main door to the ladies slams open. A group of women pours in, all shouting zealously, and there’s no sound isolation to protect you from hearing every bit of the conversation from where you sit.

“Pet, listen to me. If he loved you, he wouldn’t be lying to you now would he?” comes a shrill, concerned voice.

“It’s not like that. You don’t understand, he was just worried about how I’d take–” Before she even finishes her sentence, another voice cuts in, even shriller than the first.

“No! I don’t care what his excuse is. No partner worth a damn would lie to someone they’re in a relationship with. You need to dump that liar!”

The words plunge into your chest with a painful twist that tears through your insides, making your cheeks and eyes both burn. The universe certainly seems set on hammering some point home tonight, but this is really just a bit unfairly on the nose now, isn’t it?

Hunching over in the cramped space of the stall, you dig your elbows into your knees and hide your face in your hands. You don’t want to be listening to this. Can’t handle it right now. Just can’t.

Quickly, before they have time to say more, you stand and smooth a hand over your clothes and hair, as though making yourself a smidge more presentable might somehow smooth out some of your inner turmoil.

Taking a deep steadying breath, you exit the stall. You hesitate for a moment before approaching the sink and hurriedly washing your hands, not quite willing to sacrifice personal hygiene or the appearance, at least, of normalcy. By now, the group of women have converged on their unlucky friend, cornering her against the far wall as they continue to rant on about lying liars who lie and exactly what liars deserve. (The worst, apparently, as far as these ladies are concerned.)

Oh god. You have to get out of here.

You do, hastily fleeing the loo and fighting your way back to the table. You must look as rough as you feel, because you don’t even have a chance to open your mouth before Poppy shoots you a concerned look.

“Are you alright? You look as if you've seen a ghost.”

“Um… No, actually.” Grabbing the lifeline that’s been offered, you make a dramatic showing of feeling ill, “I’ve been feeling a bit under the weather all day, and it’s really caught up with me now. I’m going to head off early tonight.”

You nod your way through the condolences and well wishes, picking up your handbag and gingerly retrieving Marc’s jacket from the back of the chair as you make your polite goodbyes by rote, and then exit the pub as quickly as possible given the crowd.

Outside, the rain is bucketing down. It’s standard weather for London this time of year, but tonight it feels like one more bit of pointed commentary by the universe, and you huddle miserably under the pub awning.

You just want to go home.

Steven’s place is only two stops away by tube—if you leave now, you can be there in less than eight minutes. But even as you think it, you realise you can’t go to his. As much as you want Steven, want to burrow into the comfort of his embrace and never come out again, that wouldn’t be fair to him.

Instead you unlock your phone and pull up the Uber app.

It’s Friday, in the centre of Soho, and the only Uber that accepted your request is 30 minutes away (having to make a drop that is nowhere nearby, despite what the app is telling you) not to mention the surge in pricing. You confirm anyway, unable to bear the thought of braving the crowded trains for the long commute back to your flat.

Then you wait.

The awning isn’t nearly wide enough to protect you from the rain, and frigid water rebounds off the concrete, splashing onto your feet and legs and soaking through your shoes until your toes are swimming in the cold dampness of your socks.

Marc’s jacket is folded neatly over your arm, still dry. You think about how warm it was in the cab last night, how it smelled of him, but even with the chill seeping through your jumper, you still can’t bring yourself to put it on. For a brief second, you consider going back into the pub where it’s warm and dry, but being cold and wet seems like the preferred option at the moment. It feels like what you deserve.

This is a right proper bloody fucking mess, and it’s all your fault.

You and Marc almost kissed. Might have done if he hadn’t pulled back. You might have betrayed Steven—the man you love. And for what?

You’re attracted to Marc. You can admit that much to yourself.

You try to tell yourself it’s just because you’re attracted to the body he shares with Steven, but you know it’s more than that.

You’ve grown to care about Marc independently of his connection to Steven. You look forward to the quiet mornings you spend with him. Enjoy watching his micro-expressions while you prattle on about your days during breakfast. The small quirk on one side of his lip, when you tell him something he finds amusing. The way he grunts like a displeased pug when he spots another mess that Steven has left in the kitchen.

Impossible though it had seemed to begin, he’s become your friend. There’s no denying that after your ridiculous caper with the fish last night—you’d only go that far for a good friend, a trusted one.

Someone you really care about.

Someone you almost kissed.

You huff out a choked laugh and bury your face in your hands, disgusted with yourself all over again.

But it’s not really even about the almost-kiss, is it? Though that’s certainly bad enough.

It’s about the fact that you’re lying to your boyfriend—mostly by omission, but sometimes also… not. That you’ve been lying to him for so long that it’s somehow become a “normal” part of your everyday life. So routine you’d almost forgotten you were doing it.

It’s about the fact that Marc—your friend Marc—came to you for help, and you were so eager to help him that you didn’t stop to consider the consequences. That now you’ve gone from lying to Steven—your boyfriend Steven—to actively helping to deceive him.

Somewhere along the way, you stopped seeing Marc as the antagonist in the story of your lives together. And now you've allowed yourself to become his co-conspirator against Steven, which is exactly the opposite of what you wanted.

You’re deceiving Steven for Marc. Going along with him because he says it’s better for Steven that way. But is it? Is it really better? You don’t think so, but… you don’t know.

You believe that Marc wants what’s best for Steven.

You believe Steven deserves to know the truth about himself.

Two truths, but incompatible ones. And you’re the one stuck in the middle. It’s an impossible choice. No matter what you do now, you’re going to be betraying someone. Choosing one of them over the other.

And you don’t know how to live with that.

Bile rises in your throat, and you have to close your eyes and swallow hard. You dig your fingers into the material of Marc’s jacket, twisting it in your hands as you curl into yourself.

You’re so caught up in your misery that you barely register the slosh of tires against the rain, looking up just in time to see your Uber pull up to the curb. Hunching your shoulders, you hug the jacket and your bag to your chest, shielding them from the flood of frigid water that drenches you as soon as you leave the protection of the awning, and quickly make your way across the sidewalk.

Climbing hurriedly inside the vehicle, you close the door behind you and set everything on the seat beside you, guiltily smoothing out the wrinkles in Marc’s jacket caused by your rough handling.

“Bloody hell, sweetheart, you’re soaked. That’s London weather for you innit?” the driver remarks, and you look up to see him watching you in the rearview mirror.

He’s not wrong. You feel like a drowned rat, as you catch sight of your reflection in the darkness of the passenger window.

“Same as always, isn’t it?” you manage, hoping that will be the end of the forced pleasantries, and you’re grateful when he hums in agreement and turns his attention to the road.

The air in the car is warm and stuffy after the wet chill of the outside, the leather seat hot and sticky against your back even through your wet jumper. Your face feels overheated, and you lean your forehead against the coolness of the windowpane, staring blindly out through the rain-fogged glass as the car pulls away from the curb.

The evening traffic outside seems endless. The road is chockablock, and you’re stuck in a sea of red and amber tail lights blinking blurrily behind the rain-streaked darkness of the window. Your head rolls against the glass with the rocking motion of the vehicle as it starts and stops with the flow of cars outside, and the old motor rumbles on, making you drowsy.

Worn out from the lack of sleep last night and a day of emotional turmoil, you don’t even notice when your eyes slip close and you drift quietly off to sleep.

The car comes to a halt in the middle of a roundabout. In the rearview mirror, the driver pulls his cap down, covering his eyes and muttering under his breath that “this is as far as we go.”

Looking out the window, you’re confused. There’s nothing you recognize as being anywhere near your flat, but somehow you’re already turning the door handle and stepping out of the car.

You’re in the middle of the road, traffic on all sides of you. Before you have a chance to turn around and protest to the driver, the car is already pulling away, exhaust fumes your only goodbye.

At least it’s stopped raining.

Across the wide street, the St. Martin’s Theatre is lit up in gold. The marquee banner spelling out ‘M.O.U.S.E.T.R.A.P.’ in bright glowing red neon. You start to walk ahead, but nothing is quite as it is or where it should be. Tottenham Court road, which is always busy and buzzing with life, is entirely abandoned. Empty of people.

Next to you, you spot a pastel-coloured bubble tea shop. They’re a dime in a dozen in London, and it does nothing to help you make sense of where you are. It’s not until you reach around the corner and arrive at the familiar teal-coloured facade of Cafe Babka (one of your regular date spots with Steven) that you start to place yourself.

If you turn right up ahead, you’ll reach the British Museum. It is an hour away by tube from your flat. Still, as you make the turn, your building stands there in its square concrete familiarity. You can even see your small balconette on the fifth floor.

There’s a sensation like skipping a track on a record—you don’t remember entering the building or taking the lift up to the fifth floor, but suddenly you’re walking down the hallway to your flat.

Steven is there outside of your door, and the hallway lights up when he greets you with a bright smile and a small wave of his hand. His eyes are as sweet as always when he moves to kiss you.

Then you’re inside your flat, Steven moving with you towards your bed, mouth never leaving yours. Did you unlock the door? You can’t remember, but does it matter? How can you care about details like that when Steven’s lips are on yours like this, soft but hungry.

Somehow, you don’t stumble or run into any of your furniture as he walks you backwards with his kiss, the ottoman and its usual threat to your shins and balance are suspiciously absent. In fact… nothing is where it should be.

You’re disoriented.

Maybe it’s a testament to how good of a kisser Steven is that you’re losing all spatial awareness, but that can’t be the whole explanation. Something is off, but you can’t stop long enough to consider it, too distracted by the way Steven keeps pressing kiss after sweet lingering kiss to your lips, by the heat building low in your belly for him. Can’t stop to think until you find yourself pressed down against the mattress.

Linen sheets stretch endlessly out underneath you, wider than your own double mattress and lower to the ground. There’s sand underneath your foot where it’s hanging off the edge of the bed, and when you look up, you’re met not with your drab white ceiling, but with a large square of wooden planks overhead surrounded by wide open eaves and wooden beams.

This isn’t your flat, it’s Steven’s.

But still… Something's strange. Not quite right. The room seems to swim, lines and contours of the timber overhead blurring together. You drag your eyes to the walls, trying to clear your vision, but no matter how hard you concentrate on the many many books Steven has adorning his dusty shelves, none of them have titles on their thick spines.

That’s not right either.

In fact, everything in Steven’s flat is reversed, like you’re Alice, gone through the looking glass. Shelves that are meant to be on the left are on the right. The kitchen is by the exit instead of the far end. The fish tank looms large over the living room, expanding to eat up half the space of the flat. Gus doesn’t seem to mind though. He’s swimming in happy circles around his new, two-finned tank mate as if he’d never known anything different. Every so often one of them swims close to the corner, and the flash of a reflected fin tricks your eyes into thinking there’s a third fish.

There’s a part of you that wants to pause, take a moment and attempt to make sense of things. But Steven is there, anchoring you to the bed, not giving you a moment to consider your observations or try to connect the dots as he continues to kiss the breath out of you.

His hands are roaming your hips and thighs now, caressing every inch of your flesh that he can reach. One comes up to cup your breast lovingly, your nipple drawing up tight under his palm. Another hand lingers delicately on your throat, and he continues to stroke your hips all at the same time.

It’s good, so good. So much. Overwhelming to the point where you don't even fully register that there are three hands caressing you when, biologically speaking, Steven should only have just the two.

Greedy and determined, those nimble fingers grip into your hips then drift down between your thighs, sliding along the seam of your cunt. Steven groans low and needy against your lips at the wetness he finds there, and he parts your slick folds, gently pressing two fingers into you.

Moaning into his mouth at the pleasurable intrusion, you arch your back in open invitation, encouraging Steven's curled fingers to find that perfect place inside. Aching heat rolls over you in waves, streaming out along your limbs until you’re nearly numb with it. You bend further back, not sure if you're trying to chase the sensation or escape from it. As you do, a warm, firmly-muscled chest presses against your back, and you hear a rasped groan in your ear.

“Fuck, you’re eager for us.”

The tone is brusque and even, rough and warm like sandpaper made of velvet, and nothing like Steven’s. Electric heat shivers up your entire spine because you recognize the owner of the voice.

With a turn of your head, you meet his eyes. It’s all narrowed darkness as Marc holds your gaze for a long moment. His thumb catches under your jaw, tilting you up to him, and then he closes the distance between you, leaning in to press his lips to yours.

Finally.

The brush of lips is soft and measured. Completely unlike Steven’s hungry and eager kisses. Marc has far too much restraint for that. Instead his kiss is slow and controlled, his hand cradling your jaw, thumb caressing your cheeks like he’s savouring the moment. Savouring you.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, an alert pings. A tiny, niggling doubt that makes you wonder what Marc’s doing here, how this can be happening. But you ignore the thought. Don’t question it, because god, you fucking want it. Want him.

Want to be exactly where you are.

You're caught, sandwiched tight between the two of them with little space to spare. Regardless of which way you move, to the front or the back, you only end up closer to them both.

When you push yourself forward, Steven’s fingers slide deeper inside you, his cock twitching against the softness of your stomach. When you push back, Marc’s hardened length meets you, pressing insistently against your lower back as he lazily thrusts against you.

There's nowhere for you to go, and that's fine. Better than fine. It's bloody perfect, because there's nowhere else you'd rather be than trapped between these two men.

Steven licks and nips his way down your breast and stomach in a long line of open-mouthed kisses. White heat tingles and simmers under your skin where his lips have touched, burning you up from the inside out until you’ve all but melted into the mattress from his attentions.

The sharp bump of his nose nudges at the inside of your thighs, and he looks up at you with pleading eyes, begging you to spread your legs for him. Before you even have the chance to comply, Marc’s calloused hands are already there, sliding down and in along the inside of your thighs, spreading them apart until you’re wide open for Steven. The two men moving in perfect simpatico.

Then Steven’s mouth is on you, hot and eager and perfect.

His tongue dips into your pussy without hesitation, licking a wide strip up around your clit and then back down again, and you cant your hips up and onto his tongue. He doesn’t resist. Steven’s always so generous, so trusting and giving in bed. He lets you—encourages you to try and fuck yourself on his beautiful, persistent mouth. Gorgeous, pleasurable heat flickers along your spine, searing into your limbs until you feel it everywhere.

“He’s good with his mouth, huh?” Marc murmurs into your ear, sounding almost admiring.

Opening your mouth, you try to say yes, but your throat is dry with the blinding heat, and nothing comes out, not even a moan. Electricity sparks, shimmering through you with every soft and long lick of Steven’s tongue on you.

You twist your fingers into the bedding beneath you, and the eaves in the ceiling crack and pull around the edges with the motion. The harder you grip the sheets, the deeper the shadowed lines carve into the wood, until they’re giant crevasses, wide enough that you can see the night sky through the gaps.

The pale moon peers down at you, surrounded by bright stars scattered against the blackness. You don’t think you’ve ever seen the stars shine so clear in the light-polluted London sky in all your life, and you dig your fingers in further into the bedding, unwilling to relinquish the view.

“It’s okay. I got you.” Marc’s voice is cajoling and sweet, the same soft tone he used when he held you in his arms to keep you steady on the overground. A part of you wishes he would always speak to you this way. “Think you can come for us?”

You close your eyes, nodding in reply because you think you’d do anything he wanted as long as he asked you so sweetly. Pleasure is already building steadily under the press of Steven’s talented mouth, your orgasm already looming on the horizon.

“That’s it, baby. You’re doing so good,” Marc murmurs.

Everything is ratcheting higher and tighter inside of you, building and building until it’s almost too much. Too good. The feeling rocketing through you is so overwhelming that you can't think, can't move, can’t speak. Would scream or sob or shriek if you could still fucking breathe.

But somehow you still haven’t fucking come. Your orgasm caught somehow, suspended in limbo. It’s like you waited too long, flew too high, and now you're trapped right on the fucking edge, teetering torturously without ever falling over. Sparks dance at the edge of your vision, and you feel lightheaded like you’re going to pass out.

“Come for us.”

Marc’s voice cuts through the cacophony of competing sensations with that single simple order, and everything else disappears.

Your world narrows. There's only the firm weight of Marc’s body anchoring you to the bed. His low, encouraging voice in your ear, whispering praises. Steven’s mouth working hot and eager against you, and the soft warmth in his eyes as he stares up at you with rapt attention, pupils blown wide.

Static fills your ears, and then you come hard on Steven’s tongue.

The pleasure floods your system, blotting out the rest, until your vision darkens and everything sounds like it’s buried underground.

There’s nothing here. Just emptiness. Darkness a mile wide, like the insides of a music box snapped shut.

Are your eyes still closed?

Slowly, your vision repopulates again. Your surroundings filled in like a child playing with a paint-by-numbers app. The bed. The bookshelves. The fishtank. Steven. Marc.

Marc whose gentle hand cups your cheek, drawing you up to meet his eyes. “How do you want it?” he asks. “You want Steven to fuck you?”

Steven who is still draped between your thighs. His tongue drags over his lush bottom lip, savouring your taste, eyes dark and ravenous as he leans back in to lap gently at you again. He’s nowhere near done with you yet.

You huff out a noise, some strange merger of a moan and a hum, meant to be an affirmative, because of course you want Steven.

But your gaze is fixed on Marc’s face, watching the corner of his lips curve. Not snide, or mocking, never that. It’s the same unfeigned, half-smile you’d seen in front of the fishtank the other night, and your head buzzes with lightheadedness at the sight of it.

“Or you want me?” he asks.

You whine at his question, because you do. Of course you do!

But Steven is right there too, resurfacing from between your legs just barely long enough to press an indulgent kiss to the inside of one of your thighs and ask, "which is it, love? Me?"

He turns his head, nose brushing up against your clit as his mouth parts, licking into you, with a ravenous moan. His words are muffled by your body as he continues to speak, “Or do you want Marc's cock filling you up?"

You don’t answer him. Can’t answer him. It’s an impossible choice.

How can you choose one of them over the other?

Next to you, Marc leans closer, pressing a kiss to your temple, nose dragging along the back of your neck, as he speaks.

“Or maybe our pretty girl doesn’t want to choose, hmm?” His arms are against your sides, bracketed you in as he presses you down with his body. “That’s it isn’t it? You just want everything.”

And god help you, he's right. He's so right. You want them both.

You try to take a deep breath, try to inhale because you want to tell them so, but there’s no air in the room. That should be a problem, you think, but it’s not. Even though you’re not breathing, haven’t breathed for fuck knows how long, you feel fine.

So much better than fine.

You’re weightless, practically floating. Could easily drift away if Marc wasn’t pinning you down. Your orgasm is still pulsing between your legs, warm and insistent, but you can’t feel the pulse in your veins or your heart, even though it should be there beating its way out of your chest.

Marc is still watching you softly. Steven too. You nod at them, have to let them know.

“Greedy girl,” Marc says, voice soft and indulgent in a way that makes the words feel like the highest praise.

Wrapping his fingers around your arm, Marc rolls you onto your side facing him. Strong arms wrap around you, caging you against him, as those dark eyes bore into yours. You can barely imagine that there was ever a time that you used to be intimidated by this man, scared of him even, because all you want now is to be closer to him.

Lucky for you, that’s just what he gives you.

Like he can read your mind, Marc’s hand settles on your hip and slides down, down, down the length of your thigh until his palm reaches the bend of your knee. Warm fingers wrap around the joint and pull, hiking your leg up over his waist, opening you to him. He drops his face down to press a soft kiss to your shoulder, then urges you closer still, slotting one thick thigh into place between yours, watching you all the while.

There was a time when you would have quailed under that direct stare, but when you see that ferocious intensity there now, it sends a skitter of elation down your spine.

Relishing his attention, you preen for him as his hand skims up the back of your raised leg and over your hip. Your eyes follow its path, watching as he takes himself in hand and aligns his cock with your slick wet entrance.

You’re a mess for him, dripping and swollen cunt providing no resistance as the blunt tip of his cock pushes in, slow and measured. Marc is unhurried, barely rocking his hips into you, and it’s maddeningly good. It’s all shivery heat and unbearable pressure as he eases his way inside, not stopping until he’s buried to the hilt.

You can’t remember where you are anymore. Your surroundings blur together, and all you know is the perfect weight of Marc inside you, the warmth of his thighs pressed against yours. It’s just you and him in this place, and you could easily get lost in this, forget everything else, but… Something’s not right.

Something important is missing.

“Wait, wait,” you gasp, turning your head to look behind you, but there’s nothing there. No furniture, no room… nothing. You turn back to Marc, “Where’s Steven? I–I want–”

The question doesn’t have time to settle before everything fades back into existence, the bookshelves, the fishtank, the bed seemingly appear from nowhere. There’s a weight shifting behind you on the mattress, and when you turn to peer over your shoulder again, Steven is there, an adoring smile on his face.

“I’m here, love, right here. Not going anywhere,” he tells you when you clutch at him.

Steven’s chest is pressing up against your back, all solid and firm-cut muscles that you never get to see during the day when he’s half-drowning in his oversized clothes.

He has one hand resting on the curve of your hip, gently pulling you back as he presses in closer behind you. You can feel the fat head of his cock nudging hot and slick along the cleft of your ass.

“Can I? Is that alright, love? Want to be inside you.” His voice is desperate, filled with need, and fuck, who are you to deny the man you love?

You nod, and feel Steven repositioning himself behind you. His hand disappears from your hip, and his cock slides against you with more purpose, spreading precome across your skin as he lines himself up. His mouth skims your shoulder, and the shuddering breath he takes burns pleasantly across your skin before he grips your hip and presses in.

His cock slips into you more easily than you expected, barely easing inside before he retreats, then presses in again, a bit farther this time. His mouth lays hot kisses and tender words across the skin of your shoulder as he works himself inside you slowly, inch by thick inch, stretching you open and filling you to the brim.

If there was any space left inside of you, you’re sure that you would be breathing, but you can’t. Can’t even fit air inside your lungs. And oh fuck, Steven isn’t even all the way inside of you yet. Fuckfuck. You don’t know if you can–

A warm hand comes to your cheek, cupping it with a tenderness that makes your heart ache in your chest.

“It’s alright, you’re alright. You’re doing so good, baby. You can take it for us can’t you?” Marc coos.

You nod with a whine, trying to distract yourself with the softness of Steven’s touch. How he’s palming every inch of your skin he can reach, the slope of your ribs, the curve of your breast. His worshipful mouth on your neck. The softly murmured “I love you”s that he sears into your burning skin with his lips.

And that’s a bit easier.

Between Steven’s profuse adoration and Marc’s encouragement, it’s almost too easy to surrender the last bit of your doubt and give into them both.

“There we go. Good girl,” Marc murmurs. He presses an indulgent kiss to your cheek as a reward, and Steven takes over praising you, “that’s it. I knew you could do it. Knew you could take us both, love.”

Then they begin to move.

It’s a gentle rocking rhythm, barely shifting you back and forth between them, but even that is still so fucking much.

You’re overwrought.

Overfull.

All of you feel overexposed like a tender nerve.

But there’s nothing else for you to do but take it, shaking and shuddering between them as you take everything they have to give you. All you can think about is how full you are of both of them, stretched so thin to your limits to the point that you swear Marc and Steven must be able to feel each other through you with every slow, deep, maddening thrust.

Somewhere in the distance a bell rings. You turn your head and crane your neck, chasing the sound. The motion presses you back against Steven, who is right there, nuzzling into the side of your neck, nose pressed tight against the pulse.

His mouth glides over the side of your throat, hot and slick, and you lose yourself to it. The touch is consuming. The edges of his teeth flirt with your sensitive flesh, and then slowly sink in, biting into your neck. The pleasure is sharp and stinging. It’s almost enough to make you forget.

But the melody of bells ringing from afar grows increasingly louder. You try to ignore it but you are about to rip your hair out at the incessant clang.

“Ignore it,” Marc says. He cradles your face, lips tracing the contours of your jaw. “Focus on us.”

It isn’t hard to follow Marc’s commands. Not when his hips cant up and thrust back into you, a deep and mind-numbing slide. For once, you find yourself only happy to obey his words.

But the sound comes again, and you were wrong before. It's not bells, it's the doorbell buzzing. Someone's at the door.

There’s the sound of metal scraping against wood and then the metallic thump-thump of the lock sliding open. You try to squeeze down on Marc’s shoulder for his attention, but it only seems to spur on Steven who lifts his hips, thrusting himself inside you as deep as he goes.

“Wait,” you gasp, because no matter how good Steven feels inside, you’re still distracted by the stranger trying to get into the flat. “There’s someone at the door.”

“There’s no one at the door,” Marc says, pulling back slightly.

The words have a sharp impatient bite, scolding you in that tone that’s so customary from him. You want to frown, make a snarky retort, but he drives himself deep inside you, and pleasure streaks through your limbs until you nearly scream from it.

There are footsteps approaching.

A shadow stretches out in the corner of your eye.

Soon it looms over you, blocking out the muted light in the room, and the air around you shifts. There’s someone else standing at the end of your bed, observing you. You open your eyes and look up. Raven curls and thick brows that frame those familiar gorgeous brown eyes.

The ringing persists, blaring out. It’s not bells or the door buzzer. It’s a siren, flashing and waving red, warning you of danger.

The man looks like Steven. But you know it’s not him—the warmth and adoration reserved for you in those beautiful brown eyes is entirely absent.

It’s not Marc either. Marc doesn’t look at you like you’re some distant curiosity. You’ve seen annoyance, irritation, even anger reflected back at you in his eyes. But he’s never looked at you like you’re nothing to him.

You realise that now.

Panic grabs hold of you, and you sit up quickly, pulling at fistfuls of the sheets that you desperately cover yourself with. You scoot backwards in the bed, clambering up along the mattress, hands fumbling uselessly behind you, reaching for something to grab onto. You’re expecting the firmness of Marc’s chest, the warm touch of Steven’s hand, but there’s nothing.

When you turn to look, the bed is empty. Marc and Steven are no longer with you.

It’s just you and him now.

The man moves towards you, mouth twisted into a predatory smile. The alarm calls out to you again, but it’s too late to warn you now. You’re already trapped—can’t look away from him.

“Hear that?” His tone is flat, voice is devoid of emotion. It sounds neither like Steven's nor Marc’s voice. “It’s time to wake up.”

He comes to the side of the bed, looming over you as he reaches down.

You flinch back, but he’s too big. Too close.

You can’t escape.

Gripping the covers tight, you hunch into yourself, cowering, trying to brace yourself for whatever he’s going to do to you.

But then he reaches right past you.

Doesn’t touch you at all as he retrieves something from the bookcase at the head of the bed, and lays it gently across your lap.

You look down to see a bundle of brown canvas fabric, all soaked from rain and wrinkly from your rough handling.

It's Marc's jacket.

“Don’t forget this, sweetheart.”

With his words, darkness swamps you and everything disappears. There's no light, no warmth, no space—only a blank void slowly being filled with the soft hum of a motor running and the sounds of traffic honking nearby.

Your eyes are still closed as your consciousness is dragged back to an awareness of the sore stiffness lodged in your neck.

You open your eyes with a startled gasp, and then you have to inhale great lungfuls of air into your heaving chest, possibly the first time you’ve actually taken a breath since– oh. Since you fell asleep. You were dreaming.

Slowly but surely, you become aware of your surroundings. The cracked and dry leather seats, the grey felt of the low ceiling, the complete lack of any naked men in this space with you. You’re in a car—not in Steven’s flat or his bed. You’re still in the Uber.

It was just a dream.

Your skin tingles with the memory of being pressed against warm, firm muscles, and the space between your legs still pulses a phantom ache. The echo of Steven’s mouth on you, Marc’s thick length pressing into you, the overwhelming fullness of having them both inside you at once makes you throb. Your face is burning.

You glance at the front seat where the driver seems oblivious. Absent-mindedly you notice that he isn’t wearing a cap as you pray to the universe that you didn’t make any embarrassing sounds during your semi-public sex dream about being manhandled into a threesome by your boyfriend and his alter.

Dear god, what the fuck is wrong with you!?

The sound of bells fills the air just like before, and for a moment you wonder if you’re still trapped in the dream.

“Hey, sweetheart, your phone is ringing.”

The words jolt you from your thoughts. You’re an idiot. It’s not alarm bells, it’s your bloody ringtone.

Grabbing for your handbag, you plunge your hand inside, fumbling blindly until you finally manage to locate your phone. You quickly fish it out, swiping a thumb across the screen to answer.

“Hello?”

“Hi, love. It’s– uhm, it’s Steven.” His voice comes through the phone, nervous and rambling, and it instantly sends your anxiety skyrocketing. “I’m sorry, I know it’s late, and you’re out with colleagues, and I’m sorry, I didn’t want to disturb, but I didn’t know who else to call–”

“Steven!” you interrupt when he shows no signs of getting to the point. It comes out louder and harsher than you intend, and you then force yourself to soften your voice as you encourage him to gather his thoughts, “It’s okay, Steven. Just– What did you need?”

“Could you… um… Could you come over tonight, please? I need to talk to you.”

~ CONTINUE ~

Dedication: to my one and only, the ewe to my ram, my beloved who stays up with me until 4am (her time) to discuss the significant differences between precum and precome (and how the latter clearly denotes sophistication and class 😂😂😂) to our crazy asses that extended this from a three parter to a five parter then an eight and ten parter and now we're looking at twelve parts and if there is more to come then god help us all. I love you always @thirstworldproblemss. xx

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