#eh more ya know innit

[natdafat]

So, we are all familiar with the story of the journey to the West, and how could we not know and recognise its most famous character, sun wukong

Okay, two things one im bloody numpty and secondly, the version of the story I had didn't have pictures. So before lego monkey kid came out and made it so whenever I think of jttw my brain thinks this

I had no idea what wukong properly looked like and well.. it wasn't till last year, did I think

'Huh, maybe wukong didn't look like a normal monkey'

That's right for nearly a decade whenever I pictured wukong in my head, weather if their fighting or goofing around. I pictured them looking like this. Just a regular rock monkey.

It made sense to me, okay

[kruegerspillow]

serendipity; simon ghost riley

creators note: haha... I think i went overboard and made another 'chapter' for this. Im considering making this a series lmao but no promises guys,, just enjoy this for now

warnings: even more swearing, not proofread, might be ooc! Simon

pt 1 here!

Physical training was your favorite part of the routine after seeing Simon punishing a soldier by telling him to throw water out of the river with a bucket until not a single drop of water was left. The base was rather… quiet after what had just happened— they did not dare to push their lieutenant’s limits. On the contrary, you had managed to somehow make him leave his shell, even though he doesn’t show it much during work. Months had passed, and you knew much more information about him compared to the first day of being a part of Task Force 141.

Though, this month will be quite different.

The Task Force was momentarily dismissed by Captain Price as people will be having to celebrate together with their family. Celebrate what, exactly? Christmas. It’s that time of the year.

You made your way through the busy town of Manchester city, squeezing yourself through the suffocating crowd just to get a cup of coffee from your favorite cafe of all time. Your body abruptly slammed against a broader one, feeling them tense before halting.

“Fuck, ah, sorry—”

Your gaze was met with Simon’s. You stopped, looking up at him with an amused look. You’ve never really seen him outside, nor have you seen him out of his military uniform. His eyes softened before he cleared his throat.

“Haven’t seen ya ‘round ‘ere,” he replied bluntly.

He noticed the almost distressed look in your expression, and the gears in his head turned. He watched you, seemingly ready to fight if anyone was bothering you. His hands went into his pocket, taking every detail of your manner.

“Oh… yeah, sorry. I don’t go to this part of the city much, it’s too busy f’me.” You confessed, your voice barely audible due to the noise around you.

“Yeah, it’s… a busy town, innit?”

“Too busy for my liking. I don’t know ‘bout you, Ghost, but—”

“Simon.” He cut you off.

You froze, taken aback by his sudden interruption. You looked up at him, tilting your head to the side with a confused look before he spoke.

“Call me Simon. We’re outside of work, don’t worry ‘bout Ghost now.”

“A- ah… right, sorry. Simon. Erm… this part of the city is too loud for me, but… I’m goin’ through this horde for the sake of coffee.”

Simon hummed in response, taking in your reply before making a mental note to himself. His gaze fell to the snowy ground before he looked back up at you. His hair was a bit messy, and the hood loosely covered his head from the falling snow.

“You’re a coffee person, I reckon?”

“Yes, yes… And you?”

“Hm, ‘m more of an… earl grey person.”

You nodded at his words, expecting that answer from him. Your hands stayed inside the pocket of your jacket as people bumped into you, always murmuring a hurried apology before running off. Simon gave some of them a dirty look. Your hand twitched, watching the snow get caught in his dirty blonde hair before your hand instinctively reached up and brushed the snow away. You caught a glimpse of surprise in his expression, though he kept his composure. Fuck, how much more unprofessional can you be?

“Sorry, sorry, there was just some snow in your hair.” You apologized quickly, retreating your hand.

He shook his head in disapproval of your apology, “No, don’t apologize. Where’s the coffee shop you want to go to, eh? I’ll take ya there, make sure that you'll arrive jus’ fine.”

Your eyes widened at his offer, quickly shaking your head in an almost nervous manner as a sheepish expression washed over your features. You smiled nervously, feeling flattered at his offer.

“No need, no need. It’s okay—”

“Don't.” He paused for a moment, “I’ll take ya there, c’mon, it won’t be safe if you walk through this dodgy area by yourself.”

His hand instinctively wrapped around your wrist, guiding you out of the crowd. His figure went through the crowd easily, making sure no one accidentally bumps into you.

“Where we headed to?” He spoke up, glancing at your gobsmacked expression.

“Uh… that cafe right there.” You motioned towards the cafe.

He hummed in response as the both of you successfully squeezed out of the crowd. His hand let go of you, almost hesitatingly, before he walked alongside you. The sounds of people chattering died down slowly as you walked away from the crowd.

“Ya go there often?” Simon asked softly, his hands making their way back to his pockets.

“Yeah… it's a pretty cozy place. I usually go there when I’m bloody knackered. I come back home feelin’ like a whole different person.”

You earned a chuckle from Simon, hearing him laugh in a genuine way made you feel butterflies in your stomach. A small smile tugged into the corner of your lips as your eyes softened, glancing at him here and there. The both of you strolled towards the cafe, before arriving with a satisfied sigh. You took a few steps up the small stairs outside the cafe, turning your body to face him fully.

“Simon… thank you for accompanying me ‘ere.” You thanked him.

“Don’t mention it, yeah? Jus’… stay safe. Make sure you’ve got everythin’ on you.”

“Wait.”

You stopped him from walking away, making sure he doesn’t leave just yet. You stepped down the stairs, taking out your phone before gesturing for him to take out his own. He glanced at you before complying. You softly took his phone from his hand, typing in your number; saving it as your name.

“Here’s my number. Please, text me if you need anythin’, alright Simon?”

You hand his phone back, looking up at him with a small smile. He returned the smile, nodding quietly before shoving his phone back into the pockets of his jeans.

“Right. I’ll keep tha’ in mind. See you ‘round.” He replied softly, pausing for a moment before making his way into the crowd once again. See you around.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Diabolical 4

Warnings: non/dubcon, violence, extreme profanity, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Billy Butcher

Summary: your neighbours has some strange friends.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

A loud bang wakes you up. You lurch, heart thumping, and look around the dim room. It’s barely morning, somewhere between late and early. You yawn and lay back, staring at the ceiling as you try to convince yourself it was nothing. 

It is nothing. There’s only silence. Still, you can’t relax. If you don’t make sure, you’ll just lay there awake. So you get up and sigh. 

You rub your eyes as you shuffle through the shadows and enter the main room of the apartment. You flip on the light as you pass the switch and look around. Nothing in there but from what you heard, the noise was muffled, yet loud enough to give you a start. 

A long droning slithers beneath your door and sends goosebumps across your skin. Your eyes widen and you hug yourself as you face the door. You approach it as you hear the same noise. You realise as you get closer, it’s a groan. But what or who is it? 

You look out the peep hole but see nothing. Yet you can still hear it. You back up and pace restlessly. You shouldn’t open the door. Don’t do it. But it won’t stop. You won’t sleep if you have to listen to that all night. 

You go into the kitchen and grab a knife. You doubt you need it and even if you do, you don’t think you could use it. Still, it’s good to be safe. 

You go back to the door and slide back the chain. Slowly you twist the latch, not wanting to alert anyone if they are out there. You inch the door inward and slowly reveal a booted foot on the carpet, and another, and a pair of legs. A whole body. 

The groan rolls out again between a cough, “Hughieeeee.” 

The man who calls himself Butcher raises his fist and hits the door across from yours. You cringe and grip the knife tighter. He’s not your problem but why can’t you shut the door. You watch him as he drops his arm and snorts, turning his head to spit onto the carpet. Ew. 

You see the red tinged in the glob and step into the doorway. You lean over to see more of him. The bridge of his nose is split and there’s a gash above his eye, right along his forehead, and a giant splotchy bruise spreading across his cheek. 

Not you problem, you tell yourself again. But you know he’s not going to stop and Hughie isn’t going to answer. You lower the blade to your side and tiptoe forward. 

“He’s not home. He left with his girlfriend,” you say. “So you should leave.” 

He flinches and his blue eyes flick up, “eh, it’s her royal majesty, innit?” 

You scrunch your lips as you consider him. He looks in rough shape but you’re not sure you should care. You sway on your feet. 

“Are you okay?” You ask. 

“As if you care, love,” he scoffs and shakes his head, his eyes drifting dizzily. He grabs his forehead and winces. 

“It’s decency,” you shrug. “Should I call an ambulance?” 

“Fuck off,” he growls and slaps his hands down at his sides. He drags them back as he tries to push himself up only to wobble and fall back down. You know what the bang was now. 

“Right, well, I don’t think it’s safe for you to be laying here--” 

“Safe? Love, do I look safe to ya?” He cackles. “You just give me a hand up and try not to gut me on the way up.” 

He reaches for you and shy away from his large hand. You look at the knife in yours then stare at his bloodied fingers. You slowly take his hand. You use all your weight to leverage him into a sitting position. He groans again and cradles his ribs with his free arm. He cough thickly. 

“Right then, on my feet.” 

He bends his legs and grunts as he nearly yanks you off balance. You lean back and do your best to anchor him. He stands but only for a split second before he staggers and his shoulder collides with the wall. 

“Goddamn, I swear. Them supes...” his voice trails off and his gaze finds you again. You let him go. “Eh, then, what ya out here gawkin’ at me for then? I’m interruptin’ yer beauty sleep then, ain’t I, queen shit?” 

You blink. He looks rather pathetic like that. He can barely keep himself up against the wall, there’s no way he’s getting to the stairs, let alone out of here. You sigh. 

“You know, you don’t need to be rude.” 

“Ain’t rude, love, just don’t say what ya want me to,” he snickers and gives his crooked grin. 

“Well, you could try that and I could clean you up? But I understand if you’d rather wallow out here until your friend gets back, when that is.” You back up and turn to your door. “Either way, good night.” 

He’s quite as you push inside but you can’t shut the door as he stumbles forward and slaps his hand against it. 

“If I say please and thanks you, mind my manners,” he grits, “is it a deal?” 

You already regret your kindness. You only offered because it’s the right thing to do. You thought he would just laugh and slump back down to the carpet. You face him. You can tell he doesn’t have much of a choice. 

“Boots on the mat,” you gird him as you push the door back. 

[ltash]

Hide and Seek

In the mortal world, when I thought you were my enemy, I still missed you." "My sweet nemesis, how glad I am that you returned."

"Aye! Before you hide, tell me," he asked, curiosity in his voice. "The sniper you bought has a long range. Why'd ya need that? I mean, y'could have got a short range one."

"You'll know soon enough," I replied with a wink. "I'm gonna hide now."

With that, I turned and ran towards the back, adrenaline pumping as I searched for the perfect hiding spot.

I made my way towards the back, realizing that hiding inside the mansion wouldn't be a good idea. "Underground parking," I decided, throwing my slippers into the bushes and quietly making my way to the entrance.

I reached the end of the stairs, and the parking area was brightly lit with hundreds of LED lights on the ceiling. A line of exotic cars stretched out before me, mostly sports cars, offering no suitable hiding spots beneath them.

At the last spot, I saw my G-Wagon. "Yes!" I exclaimed softly, running over and lying under the car.

I giggled to myself, confident that Ghost would assume I was hiding somewhere inside the mansion. He would have no idea that I was here, tucked away under a car.

I waited and waited. Fifteen minutes had passed, and my anticipation was starting to give way to nervous excitement.

Suddenly, I heard footsteps approaching downstairs.

"Luvvie!" Ghost called out.

"Love!" he called again, playfully.

"I know you're here. C'mon out," he said.

I saw his boots as he methodically checked the interiors of the cars through their windows, one by one. I couldn't stop giggling, so I put my hand over my mouth to stifle the sound. The thrill of being so close yet hidden added to the excitement of the game.

"C'mon out, love," he chuckled. "You're in here, innit?" he called, his voice echoing slightly in the underground parking.

He then approached the G-Wagon and took a look inside.

"Not here too. C'mon, where are you, luvvie?" he asked again, sounding amused and slightly puzzled.

I held my breath, trying to remain completely silent, my heart racing as he stood so close. The thrill of almost being found made the moment even more exhilarating.

"Don't play these little games with me, eh?" he said, his voice tinged with playful warning. "Choices have consequences."

"Okay! I'm going out. You come out when you feel like," he added, and I saw him heading back to the stairs.

I sighed in relief and relaxed, laying there for a moment, thinking I'd won this round. But knowing Ghost, I stayed vigilant, expecting the unexpected.

I waited another five minutes, and just as I decided to emerge, the lights went out with a low hum.

My breath caught in my throat, and my heart began to race. I was alone in the parking lot, now enveloped in an impenetrable darkness. The silence was profound, and the shadows seemed to close in around me, amplifying the suspense and excitement of the game.

The darkness and deafening silence freaked me out. I knew it was him—he had switched off the lights. With no other choice, I slowly slipped out from beneath the car.

I had no idea where I was because everything was pitch black. Disoriented, I tried to find my bearings, feeling the walls as I moved cautiously through the inky void.

My hands touched the bonnet of the car, and I recognized it, giving me a hint of my location. Slowly, I used it as a guide, inching my way towards what I hoped was the exit. The familiarity of the car provided a small comfort amidst the overwhelming darkness.

A sudden rush of fear caught me, and I stood still where I was. My breath quickened, and I strained to hear any sound in the oppressive silence. The darkness felt even more suffocating, and I couldn't shake the feeling that Ghost was somewhere close, watching me.

I closed my eyes, straining to hear any noise coming my way. All I could hear was breathing.

His breathing.

From a distance, it grew louder and closer with each passing second. My heart pounded in my chest as the anticipation and fear mingled, creating a thrilling tension in the pitch-black parking lot.

There were no footsteps, only the sound of his breaths growing closer. He got nearer until he stood directly behind me, his body pressing against mine like a solid brick wall. Heat radiated from him, warming my back.

My heart pounded in my chest. He leaned in, his masked lips grazing my neck.

"Gotcha, luvvie!" he whispered in my ear.

Slowly, I turned around to face him. In the pitch-black darkness, only the skull of his mask was visible, shining eerily.

"Now, I'll take what's mine," his thick British voice echoed.

"And what exactly is that?" I whispered, my voice trembling with anticipation.

"You," he replied, the single word resonating with possessive intensity.

"So, is it your room or mine?" he asked, his voice dripping with playful menace.

I tried to run, but he swiftly wrapped his hands around my arms, pulling me towards him. My back hit his solid chest, and with effortless strength, he lifted me onto his shoulder.

I couldn't help but giggle. "Si-Simon!" I laughed, the thrill of the moment making me giddy.

"Laugh as much as you can, love," he said while carrying me upstairs. His grip was firm yet gentle, and the rhythm of his steps was steady. My giggles echoed through the house, mingling with the excitement and anticipation of what was to come.

He opened the door to his room and closed it with a push of his foot. Gently, he set me down on the bed and stood before me, his imposing figure silhouetted against the dim light. The atmosphere was charged with an electrifying intensity, and I could feel the anticipation building between us.

I stood up and walked towards the dresser, where I saw his lighter and a cigarette box. I turned on the lighter and began to light the scented candles arranged around the room. Their warm, soothing scent soon enveloped the space, creating an intimate and tranquil atmosphere.

He came to me and gently held my hand, guiding me to the mirror. Standing behind me, his towering and broad frame made me look even smaller in comparison. His eyes were fixed on my reflection in the mirror.

"Look at you. Pretty little thing," he murmured, leaning in and resting his chin on my shoulder. His breath was warm against my skin.

"What did I do to deserve you?" he asked, his arms wrapping securely around my tiny waist, pulling me closer. The intimacy of the moment was overwhelming, filling me with a deep sense of connection and affection.

My knees felt weak with him so close. I could feel his growing arousal pressing at my lower back through the think silk fabric of my slip dress. The heat between us was palpable, and the anticipation made my heart race even faster.

"I laid my eyes on you, and I need you, Ghost," I whispered, turning my face towards him. Our faces were merely inches apart, his masked visage veiled in shadow. The intensity of our proximity sent a shiver down my spine, and I could feel the raw desire building between us.

"Even after coming to know what I do? Who I am?" he whispered in my ear, his voice heavy with the weight of his confession. "I am a killer. I kill people. I have blood on my hands."

He looked at my face in the mirror and showed me his gloved hands which I gently held in mine interwining his fingers with mine.

"You do it for your country, not for your own satisfaction. I only know you as my protector, who doesn't care about his life but mine," I added, my words filled with understanding and acceptance. Despite the darkness of his past, I saw the light within him, the unwavering dedication to his duty and the love he held for me.

"You do what is right. You get your hands dirty so that the world stays clean. You are the bravest soul I know," I said, turning around to look into his eyes.

In that moment, I saw not just the man behind the mask, but the hero who sacrificed everything for the greater good.

My admiration for him only grew stronger, knowing the depth of his convictions and the sacrifices he made for others.

"Everything that comes near me gets destroyed. I'm afraid I will end up destroying you too," he said, his voice tinged with sorrow and fear.

I reached out and gently cupped his face in my hands, looking deeply into his eyes. "You've already shown me more love and protection than I ever thought possible. And I'm willing to stand by your side, no matter what challenges come our way. Together, we can face anything," I reassured him.

I gazed into his eyes, my heart overflowing with love and longing. "I want you to make me yours, mark me, hide me from the world," I confessed, laying bare my deepest desires.

In that moment, I yearned for nothing more than to be wholly his, to be enveloped in his love and protection, shielded from the harshness of the outside world.

He touched his forehead to mine, and his words resonated in the quiet space between us. "All the women who came into my life were just a one-night stand. I never thought any woman would fall in love with me, but you," he paused, his voice filled with emotion, "you are still untouched."

"I want to devour you, but once I start, I cannot stop. But I will never hurt you," he confessed, his vulnerability laying bare the depths of his desire and the weight of his past. In that moment, I understood the gravity of his words and the sincerity of his intentions.

Tears welled up in my eyes, my breath becoming shaky as emotions overwhelmed me. My lips quivered with the intensity of my longing. "I just want you. I need you right now," I confessed, my voice barely above a whisper.

My heart pounding with anticipation and desire, knowing that in that moment, I was ready to surrender myself completely to him.

"If loving you means my destruction then let it be."

"I love you Simon." I said.

Full story on Wattpad.

Part 1 on Tumblr.

[angelsarewatching]

"riley?" the man scoffs. thomas doesn't look up to him, that wanker with the brummie accent he's been stuck with ever since the heli took off. "you ain't related to that skull-wearing freak, are ya?"

he raises his head. "who?"

"oh, ya know." the man brushes him off. "one of those lot. S-A-S. nasty work."

"really. huh." tommy can't help the odd smile on his face as he reclines. "show me a picture."

"eh? i don't have 'un."

"shame. would've loved to see him."

one of the other lot--tommy's seen him from the briefing, dark auburn hair, grisly looking, gives a low chuckle beside him. "you talkin' bout ghost, laddie?" one of the more senior officers, compared to this corporal brummie idiot. geordie.

"what a stupid name."

"ghost, huh.." tommy muses. "that's an odd callsign."

"i got a photo of 'em, actually," the geordie bloke says. "from a folder back a' the briefin'. snagged it." he takes out a photograph from one of his pockets. of course, tommy's curious. he looks over to it.

"crikes! he looks worse like tha', innit?" the other man says.

he can't help but let a snort come out of him, as he looks at the photograph. a man clad in all black, with a horribly stitched balaclava. fucking idiot.

but what catches his eye is the skull. almost red from the surrounding conclave of light.

tommy's eyes narrow into a venomous glare.

"what a daddy's boy."

[potter-solomons]

Spicy Alfie pt. 3

"Slow down, treacle, slow down. Rubbin' your cunt on that pillow and I've barely kissed ya. As much as I'd love laying down every night with my pillow smellin' of ya, I'd much fuckin' prefer, right, you continue that on my face. You know how much I love seeing those red marks all over your pretty little lips n thighs, how my cock's not the only part of me that can reach real deep inside ya. Now, get on my fuckin' face."

"Right, I can't understand a word, pet. One more time, yeah...Nah, still nothin'. Fucked the words right outta that mouth didn't I? Scrambled that brain so hard my dove can't even form rational thoughts. Think I broke the headboard too. Look at my girl, so drunk on Alfie's cock she can barely keep her eyes open. No sleepin' on me yet, love. Still have one hole I ain't used yet and seein' you all undone over me 's makin' me hard again."

"Don't act surprised darlin', you knew what you were in for the moment you woke up thinkin' you could use that body against me, yeah. I'm gonna tell you what I'm going to do to you then I'm going to make you walk back home all wet and even more frustrated than 'fore you came in here with plans. You see, I'm going to hold you down, mount you right, until you can't even fuckin' speak no more. Only moan and those little fuckin' squeaks you make. I'm gonna call you so many filthy fuckin' things even your ass will blush. Then I'm gonna cum in you o'er and o'er, you'll be full of my babies. Then when you wake up, I'm gonna do it again. Now walk your plottin' ass home."

"S'fuckin' beautiful thing right here, innit? Your perfect body laid out before me while you're lying there on your back takin' this big cock down your perfect fuckin' throat. Love seein' it bulge in n out, fuckin' art right below me. Can feel that spit drippin' down my balls pet. I'd lean forward and lick that little clitty dove, but s'too pretty can't pull me eyes away. Ready for me to paint that perfect fuckin' throat love."

Modern Alfie: "You think this battery operated flimsy fuckin' toy can make you cum like I do? Make you scream before you even think of moanin'? Moans don't exist for you since me. Only desperate fuckin' screams and begs. Couple hours late got you pullin' out this thing? It ain't even life like, it glitters. You'll take this big cock, this real cock that's been hard waitin' to come home to you all day. Nah, no fuckin' way you're walkin' out of this room til you're so drunk on cummin' you can only cry. Til that perfect fuckin' ass has me hand prints on it and if you're even able to speak, that word is Alfie!"

@hecatemoon87 @darklydeliciousdesires @khanbika @buttercup32sstuff @omgeternal @saintshelby @ninja-potato-shelby-solomons @tomhardysforeheadlines @tomhardyspinkyfinger @aranoburns @alikaheroes @jarvisrocks @kento-p @kittycatcait219 @mollybegger-blog @inkededucatednnerdy @quarterpastmidnight @rikki-b-lake @veddieiscanon @wandawiccan60 @zablife @sciapod @mariadecapitated @padfootdaredmetoo @noz4a2 @hj7-eh

Chance I missed some.

[mintjamsblog]

Hey, I miss your writing! I don't know if you're taking asks but hate-sex? Argument-sex? Make-up sex?

Okay, sorry for the delay, have a horny ficlet

Tommy/Alfie Hate-sex

It's not that Tommy means to be selfish, Alfie's pretty sure of that, it's just that selfishness comes to him naturally. It's no doubt a byproduct of the life he's led, a combination of ruthless self-sufficiency and entrenched self-preservation that manifests in occasionally infuriating ways. He spends so much time wandering around in his own labyrinth of a head that 'e don't always seem to realise where 'e is or how 'e got there. How 'is food got onto that plate in front of 'im for that matter. Which is kind of a case in point.

Alfie scrapes the remnants of an individual salmon encroute into the kitchen bin, dislodging the perfectly-cooked pastry that's now curling upwards, like the ribs of a rotting cadaver, protecting what's left of the messily pecked-out pinkness inside. He can't help being stung that Tommy couldn't even be bothered to finish it. It's as if the cocky little bastard thinks perfectly-prepared dinners-for-one just appear in the oven of their own accord. As if the cupboards are self-replenishing — automatically restocking his favourite whisky and tea (and semi-skimmed milk, 'cause skimmed tastes like dishwater and full-fat's too creamy) every time supplies run low.

But communication is key in any relationship, innit? So rather than run his mouth off half-cocked, Alfie decides to conduct an experiment. See how long it takes Tommy to communicate his appreciation for the things Alfie does.

The answer, it turns out, is a fucking long time — longer than Alfie's patience will last at any rate. When he walks in for the fifth night in a row to find the meal he prepared half-eaten, dirty dishes next to the sink, and Tommy so enthralled by his laptop he barely nods, "hello," well ... Alfie has had enough. He schools himself though. Clenches his fists and forces his voice to taken on a deceptively breezy tone.

"You eaten, treacle?" he enquires.

"Yeah," Tommy answers with a quick glance up. The living room's in near total-darkness, not a single lamp switched on, which means Tommy's lit only by the bluish glare of whatever's on 'is screen. It's not a flattering light. Makes 'im look tired — haggard actually — all sharp angles and purple shadows. Then again, it is one o'clock in the morning. (It'd have to be some quality porn to have Alfie absorbed at this hour, but the sad reality is that it's far more likely spreadsheets.)

"What did you 'ave?" Alfie asks.

"Eh?"

"To eat."

Tommy sighs. "Er ... that thing you left in the oven." He glances up again, irritably this time.

"Hmmm," Alfie says. "Bouillabaisse."

"What?"

"Bouillabaisse. French fish stew."

"Yeah, it was fish." Tommy's typing something now, bashing the keys impatiently — workaholic little prick.

Alfie looks round the room. There's a bottle of whisky on the coffee table and a glass (no sign of a coaster). A sea of stale bread crumbs flecks the sofa — the accompaniment to tonight's lovingly prepared meal. The man himself sits cross-legged, bare feet tucked up into the backs of his knees, socks discarded amongst the pale shreds of sourdough like twisted creatures in a gloomy velvet sea. He doesn't acknowledge Alfie's scrutiny; doesn't even seem to notice.

Alfie would like to start an argument right here, right now, to ask Tommy what his last slave died of and who the fuck he thinks he is. Instead he finds himself gritting his teeth and swiping at crumbs with brusque, rigid movements. He pairs Tommy's socks and collects up the discarded innards of this morning's Financial Times, seething quietly all the while. He's worked damn hard tonight, serving one hundred and forty covers in two sittings, (one hundred and forty three if you count Prince Tommy's dinner. That thought irks him more than it should). He needs a shower more than a row, but he can't help himself from needling.

"Nice was it?" he asks, crumpling the newspaper into the fire-bucket.

"What?"

"Your dinner."

Tommy huffs and finally looks up, dropping his hands from the keyboard to rest either side of his legs. "Is there a problem, Alfie?" he says.

"Problem?" Alfie says, his eyebrows raised in mock surprise. "No, nah. No problem. Just wondered if it was nice? Ya know, the bouillabaisse?"

"Yes. It was nice," Tommy says, digging thick fingers into his eye sockets as if the bloodshot orbs were the source of his irritation. "I have to send this to Pol in the next fifteen minutes or she'll fucking skin me tomorrow. Alright?"

"S'not Pol makes all your dinners," Alfie mutters under his breath.

"What?"

"I said Pernot. Makes all the difference."

"Right."

"To bouillabasisse."

"Fuck's sake..."

"I'm going up for a shower."

"Fine. I'll be up when this is done."

Alfie stands under the hot water and lets his anger simmer, stirs it just enough to intensify the flavours. He pours over the paltry slights, the daily irritations and provocations that come from sharing a home. And alright, each annoyance on its own might not sour the dish, but combined they begin to thicken. Alfie's careful not to let his anger boil, he don't want to turn it bitter, but by the time he walks into the bedroom he can taste it on his tongue.

Tommy is already in bed, one hand tucked behind his head as he reads a document of some kind, several creamy pages stapled together. He tuts and turns the page, without looking over to Alfie. And p'raps that's what does it, finally tears Alfie's patience; he strides to the bed and rips the papers clean out of Tommy's hand, hurling them across the floor.

"What the fuck?" Tommy says. He looks shocked, and slightly bewildered. There's anger there, but dulled by a visible weariness.

Alfie ain't in the mood for concessions; he climbs onto the bed, boxing Tommy in on all fours.

"That's fucking rude," Tommy says, his mouth a mean little line.

"Rude?" Alfie says. "Me?" He laughs so unexpectedly it comes out as more of a bark. "You're fuckin' unbelievable, mate."

Tommy's face hardens in that way that suggests he's about to say something deeply unwise. Alfie leans down to kiss him, hard, before he has the chance. There's a startled sound and a clashing of teeth as Tommy tries to shut him out, but one strategically-placed hand around his throat and he opens for Alfie's tongue with an audible exhale.

Alfie licks into him, probes the inside of his mouth, overwhelmed with a desire to retake what Tommy's withheld: his attention. His full, undivided attention ... by god, he's gonna give it now. Tommy's defences start to weaken — his tongue softens, his mouth falls wide — when he lets out a whorish little moan, Alfie pulls away. He's hard with lovingly-nurtured anger and ready to put it to use. "Over," he says, nudging Tommy's hip with a knee.

Tommy rolls reluctantly, looking rather bewildered. Alfie reaches into the bedside drawer and slicks himself one-handed, cursing as the lube falls noisily onto the floor. Don't matter, he's done enough.

"Got something to say to me, Tommy?" he asks, fumbling in his haste.

Tommy doesn't answer, though he can be in no doubt as to where this is leading. It's a source of unending wonder how he can look so fucking truculent when he's splayed face-down on the bed.

"No?" Alfie prompts. "You sure about that?"

Tommy stays defiantly mute, so Alfie wraps an arm beneath him and slams in with a single thrust. The sound of breath being knocked out of Tommy shocks the air in the room, and sends fire licking through Alfie. He hauls Tommy closer still, squeezing his slender waist as if emptying a soda-bottle of air. His hips and forearm are opposing forces, jaws clamping down on a pelvis — he lets Tommy feel the bite of his strength, of his want, until a cry of anguish fills the air.

Then he waits, breathing slowly through the seconds of charged stillness as Tommy fights to yield. Ten seconds turn into fifteen, twenty, followed by a convulsion — one rigid spasm that travels the length of Tommy's body and ends with a shuddering groan. The precious sound of acceptance. Only then does Alfie ease back, sliding out an inch or two purely for the pleasure of pressing back in and making him cry out again.

"Thank me," he says, voice low as he presses a kiss into Tommy's neck.

Tommy groans and tips his head but doesn't form the words.

"Thank me," Alfie repeats with a thrust. "I want to hear you say it."

Tommy buries his face in the sheets and doesn't make a sound.

"Alright, if that's how you want to play it." Alfie heaves himself upwards, and presses his weight into Tommy's shoulder-blades. "You will thank me," he promises, "if I 'ave to fuck you into next week."

Maybe that's what Tommy needs, Alfie ain't giving any more chances. He builds up the pace with increasingly vigorous thrusts, which Tommy just lies there and takes it. And takes it. And takes it. The sheets come untucked, the pillows bank up against the headboard and Alfie fills with dark delight when Tommy starts to falter, to let little growls and mewls escape. He sounds like a wounded animal. Perhaps he's expecting sympathy ... poor deluded boy. Alfie slows his hips and shifts position, wrapping his arms beneath Tommy's armpits and locking hands in front of his chest. The position puts his mouth against Tommy's ear.

"If you ain't gonna say it, darlin', you'd better shut the fuck up." He pulls out achingly slowly, feeling the grip around his cock before slamming back in with a groan. The angle clearly changes something because this time Tommy sounds desperate — a series of high-pitched sounds ripples out of him, ending with a whine.

"Say it," Alfie growls, repeating the exact same movement to even more delightful effect. He pulls out for a third time, about to fuck in again when  

Tommy whispers something that sounds awfully like compliance.

"What's that?" Alfie says, pausing to pull him out of the pillows by his hair.

"Thank you," Tommy says, his voice barely a whisper as he quietly obeys.

"Again," Alfie says as he drives back in, pulling hard on the black locks so that Tommy's neck is bared.

"Thank you," Tommy repeats. This time the response is a gasp, two gasps, but still Alfie isn't sated.

"Again," he says, with another thrust.

"Thank you," Tommy replies; the struggle in his voice drives Alfie on like a racehorse under the whip.

"Again," he says, "again ... again."

"Thank you," Tommy murmurs, "thank, ahh, thank y—"

Alfie lets go of the hair and fucks Tommy hard, cutting off each gasped response before it's fully formed. Soon it's like an echo that follows every thrust.  "Thank��, than—, tha— urgh!"  Tommy's fingers splay out like flags of surrender but Alfie ain't feeling merciful.

"Again," he growls. "Thank me again, thank me until you can't say it."

Tommy does, he says it over and over, until he's so battered by Alfie's desire that every pitiful, "thank you," is a breath forced into the mattress. Is a plea. Is a please ... "please Alfie, fuck, god, please ..."

***

Afterwards, Alfie curls onto his side and basks in the faintly horrifying afterglow of his own cruelty. It takes a good few moments until he feels his own pinkness subside. Tommy shuffles closer, ducks into the concave space formed by the curve of Alfie's body. His arms slide around Alfie's belly and he holds on tight, in the way he only ever does after a particular type of sex. Alfie bends to kiss the top of his head, a single peck that's suffused, somehow, with more tenderness than an hour of tongued kisses.

"Thank you," Tommy whispers into the hair on Alfie's chest. Alfie strokes the back of his neck and feels overwhelmingly and incongruously protective.

"For the dinners or the sex?"

"Both. You always know what I need."

"Good job one of us knows what's good for you."

"You are."

"Hmm."

Alfie wishes he were more certain of that.

[a-meghead]

I loved ur David x me head cannons ur such a good writer like 🥺🥺🥺💖💖💖 if you have the time would you do a protective David oneshot? Love u💖

YES DSFKJLDSF i haven’t written an actual fic in SO long! this was such a nice change of pace, thanks for requesting!!

protective! David King x Reader

below the cut because it’s a little long! (wc: 1k)

    An agonizing scream, followed by the horrid looming darkness protruding from the sky was your signal that only half of the beginning group remained. David, God only knows what antics he’s up to now, had been out of sight for a considerable amount of time, and you hoped (if any deity was listening to your thoughts) that he was doing something, anything productive, as you carefully disassembled your fifth pile of unidentifiable bones.

Anxious to escape, you finished up, the familiar clicking and cracking of the (most likely) human remains as they collapsed to the dim ground. By this point, David had to be finishing the last generator, or picking a fight with the woman hunting you down like prey.

Knowing him, it was probably the latter.

You stood, taking note of your surroundings. Your eyes instinctively locked on the tall metal beam with lights spiking out from the highest point.

‘So close..’ You thought to yourself-

CRACK!

Your thoughts were quickly replaced with your survivor instinct. Quickly, you looked to where the noise came from, seeing the cause. A hatchet had engraved itself to the moss covered cinder blocks.

“Shit.”

Looking opposite of the hatchet, the predator stood, preparing herself for another precise pitch.

Your reflexes did you well as you ducked, the blade barely missing your forehead. Grunting in frustration, your attacker pulled another hatchet from her belt, taking steady aim whilst approaching. You took a breath, and ran.

Twisting through the stone walls, you silently prayed that David was making progress.

For once, your prayers were answered! The familiar whirring of the exit gates echoed throughout the area, and a rush of hope was instilled in you again.

You spotted David, calling your name and waving his arms at the escape. You nodded as a strange smile came across your face; the scrapper nodded in return, pulling the lever to open the gate.

'He needs some time,' You thought, looking for a diversion. The killer was close now, still fixated on you, rather than David. A plank of wood made its way into your vision, and you realized that this would likely be your best option. Expecting the killer to follow suit, you dashed towards the pallet. She raised her arm, and SLAM, it crashed right on top of her.

David howled with laughter "Nice one mate! That'll-"

His childish taunts were cut short by the Huntresses frenzy of frustration. She was angry.

Very, very angry.

She grunted, snapping to attention much quicker than usual, and pulled her last hatchet from her belt.

Before you could react, the blade embedded itself deep into your shoulder.

You stumbled back, crying out in pain as the Huntress stomped on the pallet. You had to run, you knew you had to run, the escape was right there! But you felt paralyzed. Your heart was beating rapidly, and your fingers twitched, but you couldn't move.

The pallet finally gave in under The Huntresses force, splintering into pieces. Just as the killer rose to lunge again, David yanked you backwards.

"Ya gotta move, kid! Swear down, you gonna let 'er get away with 'at so easily?"

The pain was finally getting to you. You shook your head, still disoriented, and stumbled into him. The sight of the glowing ground was your reminder of how close the two of you were to escaping.

One final rush of hope!

David roughly grabbed you with him, and you both ran for the escape. The Huntress, recovering from her swing, heaved in anger as you both ran off, barely escaping her grasp.

You felt your head begin to clear as you escaped, running further and further into the darkness. David's footsteps echoed closely, as the realm behind the two of you collapsed. You found yourselves back near the campfire, being greeted silently by some survivors. At some point, the hatchet embedded in your shoulder had disappeared. Most assumed that the unexplainable disappearances of items and weapons were claimed by the same being that claimed your friends on the sacrificial hooks. From the whispers and visions that each survivor had experienced, they each came to the conclusion that the being should be referred to as 'The Entity'. Unfortunately, following trials, The Entity had decided that most wounds should stay in tact. "Right then, lets get ya patched up now, eh?" David smiled, motioning for you to take a seat on the ground. "Ah, I can do it," you retaliated, reaching for a stray med-kit that lie next to you. You noticeably winced from the pain, making David uneasy. "Oi." He snapped, snatching the kit from your reach. "You got that crazy blokes hatchet bloody buried inta ya. Can't be arsed to help Dwight with an injury, right, let me help ya instead." "..What..?" "Just let me help ya!" He pressed, kneeling down in front of you. "But-" "No buts." David interrupted, opening the kit. He grabbed a sponge and abdominal dressings, barely reading the directions. "David-" "Just let me do this for ya. Please." There was a sense of urgency in his voice, in the way he looked at you. You hesitated, but said nothing, finally giving in. David smiled victoriously. "Erm... What do I gotta do?" You chuckled, but flinched when the pain came searing back. A determined look came across David’s face. "Let's fix ya up." he reached for your shoulder with the sponge, carefully placing it over the wound. You moved to hold it next as David grabbed the dressings. Confused, you gave him a look. "You got a problem?" He asked, opening the pads. "Those are.. for.." "Hm?" "Abdominal dressings," you read,".. for your stomach." He froze, and laughed, "Who gives a shit, mate! This isn't an infirmary, innit?" David carefully replaced the sponge on your shoulder with the bandage, chuckling to himself. You smiled, laughing with him. For a while, the pain was numbed. David took a breath, "You should be more careful. If I hadn’t been there...” he trailed off, and sighed,  “I worry about ya, ya know. Even in this shit hole, I want you to be safe. As safe as possible.”  You nodded, unsure of what to say in return. Instead of words, you offered him a grateful smile. He grinned in return. --- adksjf i hope this is okay!! 

[gorillazsoundbytez]

2D (Kevin Bishop) interviews Georgia, and it’s wholesome.

Song Machine Radio, Episode 1. October 19, 2020.

Transcript under the cut:

2D: And now, can talk to the artist ‘erself, cause it’s time to turn on: The Chat Machine (feigning an echo) machine-achine-achine-achine-achine

(chat machine noises)

2D: Right, is it on? (song machine chatter) I think it’s on. (more chatter) Looks like it’s on. (cow mooing sound effect, and what I think is supposed to sound like milk squirting into a pail) Right, okay. Yeah. So, today, we’re chattin’ to an incredible producer, singer, songwriter, and drummer, she’s like a musical octopus, but she actually lives...on...the land.

Pre-recorded announcer: Apple Music Once. Song machine radio, with Gorillaz.

2D: Georgia, you alright? Welcome to the show!

Georgia: How’s it going, 2D? 

2D: It’s alright, thanks! Ah-how did you find your, um...visit to Kong Studios, then? Did you enjoy working with us lot?

Georgia: Oh, I loved it, you know I did. It’s always been a dream of mine to work with you lot, you’ve been, um, one of my biggest inspirations since I was a little girl, so to be in the studio with you all was just such a pleasure, and it was such a thrill when I heard “Aries,” I thought it was one of the best tracks that I think Gorillaz have ever done, so, it was just such a joy to be able to play...with you all. Yes! So thank you, 2D.

2D: Aww, well, thank you, we’re really big fans of yours, here, as well, so we were just really chuffed that you wanted to come an’ hang out with us, and play some tunes with us. It was nice to--nice to spend a bit o’ time with ya. Okay, le-let’s just see what the first question from the Chat Machine is (chat machine noises). Nice one. Chat Machine asks: “Why does the world need music?”

Georgia: Wow, that’s a--that’s a big, deep question, isn’t it, 2D? 

2D: I-it was a big one, innit?

Georgia: (laughs) That’s a deep one! Um, I-I think that music provides an escapism for people, like more so than any other art form, really, I definitely feel like when I first watched o-or heard a Gorillaz show, it was like takin’ me to this other world, and that provided a real sense of inspiration to me, and just to like...get into the imagination of other people’s minds is a great...is a great, escapist thing, and I think without that, the world would be a-a very repressed and dark place.

2D: Yeah, I-I totally agree with you, can’t even imagine what it’d be like if we didn’t have any music or anything, just be like, most saddest thing ever, wouldn’t it?

Georgia: We wouldn’t have a job, 2D, what would we be doin’? I don’t know. 

2D: Well, I’m retrainin’ as a plumber anyway, dunno ‘bout you,

(Georgia laughs)

2D: Well, let’s, um, have a look at the next question, then! (Song machine noises) Um, right, so...if you were like...God, for a day, and you could change one thing,

Georgia (overtalk): Wow,

2D: What would you change, an-another easy question, (laughs a bit nervously)

Georgia: Yeah! Another easy question from the Chat Machine, 

2D: Yeah, thanks, Chat Machine,

(the cow noise is back)

2D: Heh heh,

Georgia: D’you know, I’ve always-I’ve always thought would be amazing if we could swim underw-like, hold our breath? Underwater? Like if we all had gills?

2D: Yea.

Georgia: Also I watched that recent, um, documentary, I dunno if you saw it, 2D, it was on, um, it was about an octopus, an’ a man, bonding, 

2D (overtalk): Yeah!

Georgia: In this um, part of the ocean in South Africa and I thought “wow! Y’know, like, no one-not every day do people get to experience that, it’s very few people, but what if everyone could experience that? I reckon the world would be a bit different.

2D: Th-they’re very clever animals, aren’t they?

Georgia: They’re very clever, very clever indeed.

2D: Alright, last question, Chat Machine! (Chat Machine noises) What is your least favorite kind of tree?

Georgia: Oh, wow, my least favorite kind of tree? I don’t think I can answer that, 2D, cause like, trees are the best thing ever! Even like the trees where you, you know, like when you’re driving through the country or something like, like countryside or like whatever, and you see a dead tree, and it even looks dark, and black, and like...like a silhouette

2D (overtalk): A silhouette. A silhouette tree.

Georgia: Yeah! I even like that sort of tree, so, I dunno

2D (overtalk): A thunderstruck tree!

Georgia: Yeah, thunderstruck tree! That’s, um...that’d make a wicked band name, Thunderstruck Tree,

2D (overtalk): Thunderstruck Tree? You can ‘ave that one.

Georgia (overtalk): Yeah. I’ll have that one, 2D, yeah.

2D (overtalk): We’d-we’d do another collaboration on that one, if you want, Thunderstruck Tree, 

Georgia: Thunderstruck Tree!

2D: ‘As--sounds good to me!

Georgia (overtalk): Do you ever hug trees, 2D?

2D: (inhales) Ummm, yeah, I’ve been known to, to hug trees, and um, I’ve thought one tree, um, in-into the garden, um, contained, uhh, an entire universe, once, um,

Georgia (overtalk): Wow. 

2D: But I was--I was wrong. The neighbor pointed out, it was just a--just a tree.

Pre-recorded announcer: This is Song machine radio with Gorillaz, on Apple Music One.

2D: Okay, um, well listen. It’s been absolutely brilliant, havin’ you on the Chat Machine,

Georgia: Aww, thanks, 2D, it’s been so good as well and I--hopefully next year we’ll be able to play a few shows together, eh?

2D: Fingers crossed!

[smuggsy]

heyo! If you feel like a prompt, I'll offer up one for the flyboys? How about, “Am I going to die?" pls <3

Thank you! I always feel like writing for these two! Two prompts in a day, wow, this is unheard of. I would feel accomplished except I should've been working on an essay for my medieval history class so I only feel guilty lmao.

Anyway. Here, have some pining idiots. Bit of angst sprinkled in but really this is just Collins biting off more than he can chew. You know I love putting him in these situations #sorrynotsorry.

Collins has always been the heavier drinker. He's more easy-going, always accepting pints from the younger lads and beating them at cards and joining in on their bets when dark clouds loom close to the ground and they're allowed to leave for the day.

It's usually Farrier keeping him in check, walking him back to base late at night and watching carefully from behind, giving him space but close enough to grab in case he trips over his feet after a good amount of beer has numbed his reflexes.

Collins naively assumes Farrier isn't a booze lover. Isn't that into alcohol in general; he never has more than two pints, not even when Collins refuses to indulge in it does Farrier let himself get too comfortable at the bar or at a table.

Never when Collins is with him, anyway. This is a thought that has just recently taken form, as in, about ten minutes ago when Collins caught up with the group at the local pub after returning from his daily rounds.

Today he walks into the crowded place brimming with pilots as a thunderstorm announces itself outside, and when he takes a seat next to his wingmate on the far-off corner from the door he finds Farrier doesn't look up to meet his gaze.

"Evening," Collins greets, but he's not sure he's heard him over the music and incessant chatting of their peers.

Even if he does, Farrier pays him no mind.

To say that Collins is instantly bugged by it is an understatement. Farrier stares down at something in his lap, he's hunched down and sports a permanent frown and the overall sight of him just looks wrong.

"Ey, alright?"

He realises, but only once Farrier snaps his head up, that his eyes are a bit too glassy, his breath smelling a bit too strong when he sighs in Collins' direction.

"What? Oh, hey."

Collins only sees the paper in a flash, before Farrier tucks it back into the inner pocket of his jacket. The quick motion clearly meant to keep it away from prying eyes is the only reason Collins doesn't ask. Yet.

"Having fun?" he says instead with a smile, trying to brush away the sudden heaviness of a conversation that hasn't even started, and he leans back on his own seat and surveys the table in front. He counts at least five empty pints close enough to Farrier's side.

"Fun," Farrier scoffs with a shake of his head.

Collins finds the irony dripping from the word so strong and uncharacteristic that he leans over and takes a chug or two of his own beer.

"Let them have fun," his mate continues, gesturing vaguely towards the youngest recruits fooling about on the dancefloor, "they don't know what's fucking coming."

At that, Collins can't help but stare.

He gently places his pint back on the table and doesn't tear his eyes away from Farrier, now stumbling out of his chair looking much drunker than he did just a second ago.

"M'gonna head back," he says, trying to walk past Collins who only manages to move his chair back once Farrier's already on the other side.

"It'll be pouring outside!"

Just then, a thunder rumbles low and menacing under the sweet voice of The Andrews Sisters coming off the gramophone. Farrier stops dead in his tracks for a moment and just when Collins thinks he's going to turn around and sit back down, he shrugs and walks away.

"Ah, s'only a bit of rain, innit..."

He only stops by the bar to pay for his round of drinks, pushing through one or two excited couples dancing away the night and apologizing to one of the gals for almost stepping on her foot.

Collins watches the whole exchange from his spot, a bit taken aback by Farrier so easily brushing him off.

He gives himself a few moments to feel hurt and then he stands up and pays for his own unfinished pint, only catching up to him as he rounds the corner and the first droplets of rain start announcing a hell of a storm.

"Yer gonna be wet straight through if ya walk back now!"

"Yeah," Farrier says over his shoulder, lighting a cigarette and sending a sour smile Collins' way, "I am."

His gaze seems only a bit clearer as he stares Collins down, giving him a once over and taking in the sight with an approving nod. It makes something in Collins' stomach turn.

In a good way.

"You go back though, get yourself a nice bird to dance with. Put in all that effort to walk me back like I'm your granny?"

With the dragging of his words and the cigarette he keeps firmly placed in between his lips, Collins almost doesn't understand him.

He lets out an emotionless laugh and starts walking again when Farrier does.

"What effort? I always look like this."

Farrier blows away the smoke and nods again.

"You do."

"Something happen?"

There it is. He asks.

Farrier almost halts, just almost. He looks like he's about to answer but then the cigarette is back in his mouth and he openly ignores his question for a whole minute. Collins gets the cue but he still doesn't turn back. He figures he can play chaperone tonight, like Farrier's done with him so many times before.

Except, he's always ranting on after his round of pints and his wingmate's not much of a talker. No way to fill in the awkward silence. Collins can't help himself.

"You got mail," he tries again, a statement, just a simple comment that doesn't mean any harm and it definitely doesn't mean to make Farrier turn around like that - like he's properly annoyed at him for asking. For caring.

"Just go back," Farrier bites out, harshly, "you just got 'ere. Go on, don't lemme spoil your night."

"You're not."

"Collins..."

"I'll go if you really want me to."

That makes Farrier look at him again, truly look at him like the words have taken a bit of the alcohol off his blood and sobered him up. He stares for a long moment and then starts walking again without a word. Failing to answer again but answering nonetheless.

The lamp-posts they walk past light up the heavier drops of rain as if warning them of what's to come. Collins' hair is still wet from the shower so he doesn't feel much of a difference.

"You're a good kid, Jackie," Farrier says after a while, hands in the pockets of his trousers and looking up to the moonless sky. When he does, he seems to lose a bit of balance that he quickly regains before Collins can actually grab his arm to steady him.

He reckons it's better he didn't get to, judging by Farrier's general snappiness tonight. Can't be completely sure his help would be welcomed. 

"What did you just call me?" he teases with a grin.

He sees a smile tug at Farrier's lips.

"A good kid."

Jackie.

"I'm twenty-fuckin'-five, thank you very much!"

At last, Farrier lets out a laugh. Collins feels like a heavy weight's been lifted off his shoulders.

"You're a fuckin' tease, s'what you are."

It's just as well that mother nature stops him as he intends to give an answer, because the words get stuck in his throat at the implication of that sentence.

The sky goes white for a split second, lightning flaring up above their heads before the cracking of thunder seems to switch on the merciless pouring rain once and for all. They're already far enough that they'd still end up drenched from head to toe even if they walked back to the pub.

"Shit, come on!"

Farrier starts running forward, where there's a couple of leafy pines by the road before the clearing starts the path back to the airbase: a very long and tree-deserted runway and training field.

In short, they're fucked.

Farrier beats him to the cover of the canopy and Collins thinks that perhaps he wasn't that drunk after all.

"Quicker in the air than on the ground, eh lad?"

"Want to race me, old man?"

"Nah, wouldn't want that spotless suit wrecked with mud."

Collins turns to answer and finds Farrier grinning at him playfully, looking him up and down again for the second time in twenty minutes - the spark in his eyes doesn't go unnoticed because he's never caught him staring so openly before. It makes his pulse quicken and turns his filter off.

"You really like me in my suit, dontcha?"

Farrier's next words sound fuelled by beer, as does that almost imperceptible lick of his lips.

"Why, of course I do."

He looks away to the curtain of falling rain in front of them, pooling down on the grass, and he shakes his head and talks so low that Collins almost doesn't hear him again.

"Don't do that."

"Do what?"

"I'm drunk."

"Yeah, I know. Ye keep lookin' at me like ye want to eat me or somethin'."

Farrier snaps his head back to look at him, mouth half-open like a fish out of the water - like he can't quite believe what he's just heard, and Collins panics, thinks he's misread the situation completely (thinks that even if he didn't, he really shouldn't have called Farrier on it because, as his wingmate so bluntly put it, he is drunk). Thinks that's a very reckless and stupid thing to say and that he hasn't even downed half a pint of beer so he can't even use that as an excuse.

Collins stares back, for a moment he considers stepping away, jumping over that poodle increasing in size and running away in whichever opposite direction Farrier means to walk.

Try and pretend he didn't fuck this up royally.

"Well, would you want me to?" Farrier blurts out all of a sudden, openly staring at Collins' lips and neck and cheeks and hair now.

"What?"

"I said, would you want me to."

Another lightning. Farrier's face is so close that Collins can count the scattered freckles on his nose and cheeks where stray drops of rain slide down on his skin. He has very long eyelashes.

"Eat you or something."

The thunder following the light drowns out that pitiful noise that escapes Collins' throat. He feels drowsy like he's the one who spent hours sitting down at that table in the wet sweet air of the pub gulping down pint after pint.

Farrier is very, very drunk even if he doesn't look like it anymore.

He must be.

Collins wonders: if he answers truthfully, will Farrier remember it tomorrow?

"Yeah," his wingmate snickers, and after what feels like ages he takes the slightest step back and smiles that sour smile from before, fishing another cigarette out of his pack and putting it between his lips, "thought so. Pretty boy like you."

Pretty boy like– what the fuck's that supposed to mean?

"Answer me this, Collins. Am I going to die?"

And just like that, the conversation steers away from longing looks and unspoken words. Farrier's back to smoking that ciggy that's already wet and his hands return to his pockets and Collins feels he's just lost an opportunity that isn't going to arise again any time soon.

"What?" he repeats, like a broken record, refusing to let his own eyes derail from Farrier's face, refusing to look away to the falling of rain, the runway, the clearing, the town far away like Farrier himself is doing. Refusing to let the moment go.

"What are my chances? What are our chances?"

Collins shakes his head in frustration.

"Surviving this shit. Let me tell you: they're very thin. So it's better this way. I mean, it's me but– well it's just not worth it, is it? Forget it."

"Forget. Forget what? Tom, the fuck are you on about? Is this about that letter?"

"Fuck that letter."

He tosses the cigarette to the ground.

There's no remorse in the words, no hatred despite Farrier turning back to him and suddenly standing up straight, shoulders broad, gaze unwavering and challenging. Collins is still a bit taller but that doesn't mean he feels taller.

"I– sorry I– didn't mean to–"

"My fiancée," Farrier cuts him off, cocking his head and studying Collins' reaction for a moment before continuing, "got killed. A bombing over Portsmouth."

He drags the paper out and almost shoves it in Collins' face, who just stands there at a loss for words, again. Stammering like a broken record, again.

"I–," didn't know you were engaged, "–sorry, I'm sorry that happened."

He wants to kick himself for his lack of eloquence but it's the least of his concerns because he was just flirting with Farrier a moment ago, and Farrier was leading him on for some fucking reason – a fiancée?

That tends to mean one's attracted to women.

A dead fiancée.

"Sorry, Tom."

"Don't be."

Another lightning, another thunder, more heavy rain and Collins is already starting to feel the cold reach through his layers of clothes.

"I'm not. Fuck, I'm relieved!"

Farrier runs a hand over his face.

"I'm– fuck."

"It's okay," Collins offers uselessly.

"She's dead and I'm relieved I don' have to marry her. How fucked up is that?"

Collins thinks he hears a cry, and when Farrier tries to look away again he knows he heard a cry, and he doesn't let him turn around and steps forward to hold him in a tight embrace instead. Farrier wraps his arms around him tightly like he'd been waiting for Collins to hug him.

"I'm fucking horrible," he says, words muffled in the fabric of Collins' suit and sniffing through a runny nose. Jack keeps a hand rubbing at Farrier's back in what he hopes is an empathetic touch.

"No you're not, you're not."

They stay like that, holding onto one another against the trunk of a tree that's doing a really poor job of sheltering them from the rain at this point, but is better than nothing. Farrier doesn't really cry, stubborn as he is even in this state of inebriation, and after a while Collins feels his stubbly chin brushing against the side of his neck and smells the scent of alcohol again.

"I like it when you use my name," Farrier mumbles, words still muffled and burrowing his nose in Collins' shirt like it belongs there.

Collins' only thought at that moment, frozen and unable to say anything back, is that Drunk Farrier is a real piece of work. He thinks he understands, now, why he doesn't drink.

[whentommymetalfie]

Breathe Again -Chapter twenty-one 

-Track of time- 

prologue//one//two//three//four//five//six//seven//eight//nine//ten//eleven/twelve/thirteen/fourteen/fifteen//sixteen//seventeen//eighteen//nineteen//twenty

Chapter Summary: Tommy continues to struggle with the news from Birmingham. And finally admits something to Alfie 

Wordcount: 3,9 K 

Warnings: suicidal ideation, disordered eating, discussions of mental illness, suicide and self harm, 

”Go on, the weather’s lovely. No snow yet, but it could happen any day now,” Esther says cheerily as she helps Tommy sit up on the bed. It’s one of those days when he needs it. Alfie has left the room, and he can hear him pacing in the hallway. Heavy, impatient steps.

“Come on, get your scrawny arse out of bed, Tommy, or I’m coming in there to fucking drag you out by the hair. Don’t think I won’t.”

Esther huffs and rolls her eyes, but chooses not to comment. He sits there on the bed with her arm still around his shoulders, held by the secure weight. She’s not very tall, Esther, but she’s strong and sturdy. Perhaps it’s out of pity, this embrace, but he can’t reject the touch. Starved, craves it.

Tommy rubs a hand over his stomach. He tried to eat breakfast but the mud was in the way-

Esther squeezes his shoulder.

“How are you feeling?”

It’s too difficult answering questions like that, Esther knows and rephrases it. “Are you feeling sick?”

“He was sick, for a long time,” Michael Gray tells us when we meet him at his new office, “We’ve of course decided to keep it private, for the sake of the family. I took over more of the day to day work-“

Michael’s voice has become clear in his mind, an as real and solid presence as any of the others these past few days. It’s his own fault for reading the article so many times. Compulsively scratching a wound and refusing to let it scab over.

Esther asked a question.

He swallows thickly and manages, “No.”

Esther keeps rubbing his arm but he barely feels it.

Rumours have spread of Shelby’s deteriorating mental health, something Michael Gray only briefly touches upon-

“Are you sure? You’re looking quite pale.” She touches his forehead gently. The lines on her furrowed brow are blurred, everything around him seems to be enveloped in fog.

Michael’s voice continues to recite the article without missing a beat, “Unfortunately, the war left him with damages not even time could repair. And it began catching up with him. Which is how one can explain some of his less… rational decisions as of late.” One of these less than rational decision might be the choice to ally himself with Oswald Mosely, which-

He shakes his head, trying to erase the words, wishes they’d blur and fade like so many of the memories. They’re lodged like sharp pieces in his head. The worst parts he’s managed to wrap in enough fog to soften the edges. But bits and pieces still slip through.

“One has to remember they started with nothing, from an unfortunate background, so it’s no small feat, what Thomas has managed to do. Even if it’s been through questionable methods. Which of course is not something I can stand behind nor endorse, but it was before my time. Things are changing, now.”

Esther gently moves his hand away from his scar and places it in his lap instead.

“Are you sure you’re not feeling unwell?”  

He shakes his head. Tries to say something reassuring, something that will make her happy, but the dirt is in the way and all he manages is a croaked ‘tired’.  

Esther holds him closer. “I know, love. But it’ll do you good, getting some air.”

“We’ll go look at that tree you like so much, if you can manage it that far,” Alfie calls from the hallway. Heavy footsteps approach and soon he pops his head in through the doorway. Raises both eyebrows expectantly. His gaze softens when it takes in the sight.  

“Just a short walk, to get some air. You’ll feel better,” he says and comes to stand before the bed, towering above him in his large black coat. “One step at a time, eh?”

Why is it so fucking hard? it’s never going to be better, it’s too hard, all of it-

“Alright, up you go then. And let’s see if we can put some more clothing on you because pyjamas are entirely inappropriate attire in this weather.”  

When he’s pulled upright, he stumbles on unsteady feet. But Alfie doesn’t let him fall.

It does help, going outside. There’s no snow yet but the air is crisp and a layer of frost has encased the branches and the grass, making the world glimmer in the sunlight. It feels strange and nice, noticing it. And after smoking two cigarettes in quick succession, he can finally breathe. The mud has almost cleared away from his chest, his stomach, and instead there’s just frosty air with a smattering of salt. As usual, Alfie talks enough to drown out the sound of Michael reciting the article over and over again.

The sun is shining. And it’s daylight, many, many hours until nightfall when he has to lie there in the darkness and the voices become so much louder.

Alfie has a pleased smile on his face, as if this whole thing is a personal victory. Tommy likes it when he smiles. The realisation puzzles him. He glances at Alfie again, to make sure he isn’t mistaken. Watches as he scratches his beard absentmindedly, the rings glinting in the sunlight. His one good eye glints in the light too. Like this, he radiates peace and safety and Tommy wishes he could huddle into his coat, wants to be so close that his body melts together with Alfie’s.

When they get as far as the chestnut tree he’s so exhausted he has to rest. The past days inability to stomach anything at all hasn’t made him any stronger.

He promises himself to try harder with dinner.

“There you go, nice and easy, did so well, didn’t ya´? Didn’t faint or even swoon the tiniest bit,” Alfie mutters as he leans against the trunk of the tree.  

He steps back to give him a onceover and Tommy’s hand instinctively shoots out grasp his coat sleeve. The moment his fingers close around the fabric he’s flooded with regret, but Alfie doesn’t seem to mind. That pleased smile is back on his face.

“Look at that, quite nice innit?” he says and nods upwards, where the sun is shining down between the branches. he closes his eyes and focuses on the rays warming his face.

When he opens them again, Alfie is watching him.

Alfie has a way of looking at him that makes something flutter in his chest. The scrutiny can become uncomfortably intense sometimes. Especially on those days when he’s all too aware of what he’s been reduced to, when he looks down at his awful hands and the ugliness seems to cling to his skin- But not when Alfie’s eyes are soft, like this. When he looks at him as if he’s-  

“The same way you’d look at an abandoned fawn you found in the woods, with a broken leg,” Grace muses. “And you’re considering whether to shoot it or not, to end its suffering-“

Alfie’s hand comes up to cup his face. His rings feel cool against his cheek, but his skin is warm.

“You alright? Seems like something crossed your mind just then.”

“I’m fine.”  

He wishes he could be more for Alfie. That he could do something to earn the affection he desperately craves. He’s not enough.

“You’ve never been enough for anyone. Never been able to offer anything-“

He closes his eyes, like a child trying to hide. As if he could disappear.  

“Why do you think they never came to see you?”

“Tommy, hey,” Alfie holds his head a little firmer. “Eyes on me. Go on.”

He obeys, clings harder to his coat and tries to focus on the warmth of his hands.

“Whatever they’re saying, I suggest you try and listen to me instead. Yeah?”

Alfie accepts the tiny nod he manages as the only answer. Rubs his thumb up and down his jaw. Frowns. Tommy tries to count the creases on his forehead in search of distractions. They smooth out a little when Alfie makes up his mind and says, “Think that’ll have to be enough for today. Let’s get you home.”

He wraps an arm around his waist (“Just to keep you steady, eh, Tommy?”) and sets off down the path towards the house.  

The sun still shines. Alfie lights another cigarette for him and then he tells him the intricate details of how swallows build their nests. Tommy leans in, ducks his head until it’s almost resting against Alfie’s shoulder. His coat smells like pipe tobacco and salty air. Alfie squeezes his waist.

Right then he wishes he could freeze the moment and stay in it forever.

…

He still takes refuge in the living room at night, when the nightmares wake him up. The past few days it’s happened too often.

Alfie tells him to wake him up instead, but he can’t. Reaching across the mattress and shaking him feels impossible, asking, demanding too much. He’s promised he won’t get angry but people lie, don’t they? We’re only trying to help, Tommy, we won’t hurt you, we’ll take care of you, you just need to rest, Tommy, rest, sleep, and it’ll get better, there’s no bullet there, all healed, see, look for yourself, nothing there, you just need to rest-

“This is why you need to listen to me.” Grace’s soft voice is clear among all the others. “You can trust me.”

It’s childish and naïve, thinking he’d be able to hide from her, from any of them, simply by leaving the bedroom. They follow, always know where he is. Grace is stood in the corner, by the bookshelves. The crow is behind her, on its perch on the shelf, still now, staring at him with glassy eyes,

still and dead.

“It’s not real,” Alfie reminds him. “Or well, it’s real, innit, but it’s not alive. Alright?”

And Grace is not real, he knows, he knows and still it doesn’t help because in the dark it’s hard to know for sure- and does it matter, when he knows she’s telling the truth? Real or not.

The darkness makes everything worse.

The darkness, knowing everyone else in the world is asleep, the sheer loneliness of it all. Even if Alfie is only seconds away. Esther too. He could be the only one left in the entire world and it wouldn’t make a difference.

“Please come wake me up if you need to, Tommy,” Esther keeps saying. A bit like Alfie, but gentler in her insistences. “It’s fine. I’ll sleep better knowing you feel safe.”

He usually nods, yes, he’ll come wake her up, even if he has no intention to. He wishes he could.

“I’m trying to care for him, but nothing seems to help,” Lizzie’s voice comes from the corridor, through a tiny gap between the door and the frame that casts a thin strip of light onto the dark bedroom floor. “I only seem to make things worse.”

“Not to worry, mrs Shelby, this is why I’m here. To help. Your husband is very sick, and it’s difficult, caring for someone in that position.”

“I can’t get him to eat. At all. Barely get him to drink either.”

“That is concerning, of course, but there are measures we could take-“

“And it seems like he never sleeps. He just lies there, staring at nothing and-”

He can’t wake Esther up either.

He’s already a burden, doesn’t want to make it worse. Knows because of their tired eyes, each time they have to lead him back to bed, the same tired eyes Lizzie had, they

“-don’t understand, don’t know how to help you, Tommy-“

That’s why they were sending him away, to that place the voices spoke about behind the door, where they don’t have to see, don’t have to be bothered, they can safely forget and move on. Build their lives back up, bricks upon bricks, it’ll be easy to fill the hole until it’s as if he were never there they’ll be happy to be rid of it

The pain is fresh and raw, torn up again by the words in the paper, the glimpse into a life he doesn’t have anymore, perhaps never had, just clung to with a white knuckled grip

“For how long can you keep doing this?”

How long? Imagining the rest of his life stretched out in an endless string of days has installed nothing but terror in him for so long.

The pain makes his body seize up and his fingers close around something smooth. He looks down to find the chestnut there in his palm.

And he thinks of Alfie. Of falling asleep curled up in his arms as he reads, walking in the snow, sitting outside when spring comes, the way Alfie talked about. That would be nice.

Maybe he still wants things that feel nice.

The thought sparks a tiny, flickering light that warms the empty cavity in his chest.

“What do you think he gets out of this? Having to care for someone like you, without getting anything in return. You don’t deserve any of this.”

The answer comes instinctively, “I know-“

But he wants it-

“Haven’t you gotten enough of the things you’ve wanted?”

“But-“

“Stop questioning me.” A twinge of cold steel creeps into Grace’s voice.

When the urge to dig his nails into his skin comes over him he squeezes the chestnut harder. Tries to focus on the smooth surface.

“I want to stay.”

Wants to stay, wants to be here with Alfie. It feels so strange to want anything at all, he’s not allowed to. For so long there’s just been this void inside of him. How could he want anything, then?

But he wants to be here with Alfie.

Grace’s eyes glint with ice in the dark.

“He’s going to hurt you. How can you not see that? When he finally realises how much it’s cost him, all of this”

He nods, hopes to appease her, can’t stand that voice. Even if the tiniest part of him wants to protest. Alfie wouldn’t hurt him.

“You know you deserve to be hurt.”

The chestnut lands on the floor with a soft thump. Instead, his hand grips a green vase that glimmers on the mantlepiece. The glass is cool underneath his fingers and it rests heavily in his hand. Shimmers blue in the faint moonlight from the window.

“It’s so easy, Tommy,” Grace’s voice is soft again. “So easy. With me you’ll get to rest.”  

He closes his eyes and tries to breathe, fingers convulsively tight around the vase. Tries to will himself to put it back on the mantle.

“You can’t stay here.”

“I want to.” His voice cracks pitifully and the hand holding the vase is shaking, shaking wonders if his bones will crack before the glass does

“Evening Thomas. Thought we’d gotten an unannounced visit, but it’s just one of your ghosts again. Suppose they might classify as one, still.”  

Alfie is standing in the doorway, seems to fill it entirely with his broad frame and Tommy wants to fling himself into his arms and cling to him but he’s lost control of his own body, gaze flickering back to Grace who is still watching him with cold eyes. Alfie walks up to him without another word, takes the vase away from him and puts it out of reach on the mantle.

He was so angry, that time when he broke the vase, even if it was an accident. Yelled and looked at him with hard eyes full of accusation. Now, Alfie just strokes his cheek. His fingers are rough and warm against his skin and he leans into the touch.

“ ‘s alright, hm? Yeah, you’re alright,” he says. “Look, I brought your blanket. There we go- c’mere” He wraps the blanket tightly around his shoulders, pulls Tommy into his arms, into folds of sleep-warm fabric, solid muscle anf softness that he can bury his face in. He’s been holding his breath for so long it starts coming out in harsh hiccups against Alfie’s chest as he rocks him back and forth. Slowly slowly, until he eventually says, “A’ight, let’s get you back to bed and away from the ghosts, eh?”

When Alfie tries to move him, Tommy finds himself frozen on the spot.

“No? Not ready to go back to the bedroom? Do you want to stay here for a bit?”

He shakes his head but doesn’t know- what does he want? Wants to be close to Alfie. But in the dark bedroom, there’s the expectation of sleep. Sleeping feels impossible, his heart is still thrumming so hard in his chest. Hammers against his ribcage, sending vibrations through his whole body. He looks at the floor, searches for the chestnut he dropped. Alfie’s gaze follows his and he soon finds it, picks it up and presses it into Tommy’s hand

“There you go. Now, you just sit right here-“ He leads him over to the sofa and plops him down onto the soft cushions. “And hold onto that, while I light a fire. Think you can do that?”

The surface is smooth and familiar under his fingers. He nods and pulls his feet off the cold floor.

Alfie lights a fire that chases the shadows into the corners of the room, bathes the room and his face in warm light that breathes life into everything. Then he seats himself next to Tommy on the sofa and pulls him into his arms again. Tucks his head under his chin.    

“There we go. Suppose we’ll just sit here for a while, then. Can’t read anything I’m afraid, seeing as I left my glasses in the bedroom, but we can, yeah, we can just sit here and relax.”

He never realizes just how cold he is until he’s close to Alfie. Alfie is so warm. Warm and strong. Safe. Like this, he doesn’t have to believe the voices. Not any of them. Like this, he feels safe. The fire crackles softly and melts together with Alfie’s breaths into a soothing hum.

“Who is it that you see, hm, Tommy?” Alfie asks once he’s stopped shaking.  

It’s not the first time he asks. They all ask. The answer is always lodged in his chest and too hard to get out. But now it floats dangerously close to the surface. His breaths tremble as he pulls them into his lungs. He worries the fabric of the blanket under his fingers, rubs the pad of his other thumb over the chestnut. It’s warm now from resting in his palm. He buries his face deep in the fabric of Alfie’s nightshirt. Until he can pretend he won’t hear him.

“Grace.” It’s surreal, saying it out loud. Even if he whispers it so quietly it might as well have been the wind. As if it’s not his voice, as if the reply is separate from himself.

“And she speaks to you? When you see her.”

A hum is all he can manage.  

“And what does she say?”

He shakes his head. No no he can’t, he’s not allowed-

“Go on, you’re doing so well.” Alfie mutters into his hair. “Yeah? What does she say?”

“Bad things.”

“Like suggesting you put a gun to your head, or break my glassware to potentially do harm to yourself? Or walk into the bloody ocean.”

Perhaps Alfie can sense that he’s sinking with every word because he holds him tighter.

“See that’s important, innit? Granted I don’t fucking know your wife, but it seems highly unlikely she’d be so fucking adamant that you hurt yourself. So I think we can safely say whoever keeps pestering you isn’t really her. Does that seem like a reasonable theory?”  

He doesn’t have an answer. Grace, the real Grace, has gotten oddly blurred, the warm, rosy memories faded at the edges. It seems so long ago. And he was different then. Maybe a bit more deserving of her love. No, he never deserved it but at least he wasn’t… this.

The good memories hurt too much. He locked them away, tried to forget. And now it seems like he has.

“It’s my fault. My fault that- that she’s dead“

Alfie’s fingers wind into his hair and tugs it backward until he’s forced to meet his gaze.

“Did you hold the fuckin’ gun, eh? Logic like that is useless once you get into a business like ours. How many times do I have to fuckin tell you?”

“I might as well-“

“Don’t argue with me. See I’m a wise, wise old man, not to mention, a quite recently instated God. I’d be deeply hurt and offended if you decided to not treat my advice and wisdom with the utmost respect.”

“There are others,” Tommy says, still having to tear the words from throat to get them out. Alfie hums. Allows him to hide in his shirt again.  

“Suppose it’s hard, having so many people in your head all the time But, I’d say that all things considered, you probably shouldn’t pay too much attention to what they are saying either.”

“Why?”

“Well, to put it simply, if they tell you to hurt yourself, you shouldn’t fucking listen. Or if they tell you- fucking hell, whatever it is that make you wander off in the middle of the night, or stare into the distance with that horrified look on your face.” Alfie pauses his increasingly agitated monologue and huffs out a harsh breath through his nose. He combs his fingers rhythmically through his hair in the way that always makes Tommy feel as if he could melt. Now, it at least soothes his wracked nerves. Alfie sighs. “Whatever they’re saying it’s not worth listening to.”

“They’re right.”

Grace might’ve loved him, even if he didn’t deserve it. Maybe Lizzie did too. For short while, at least. Before he destroyed that too. There’s something wrong with him, something ugly and black and broken that makes it impossible to love him. Even Ada said so, everything he touches-

Alfie’s eyes glint in the light of the fire as he grasps his chin and nudges his head up. He focuses on the clear one, the one that isn’t a reminder of-

“They don’t fucking matter,” he says, voice sharp. “Fuckin’ ghosts and spectres. They’re not real and they don’t matter, you hear me?”

“It’s hard. Knowing what’s real.”

Alfie nods and guides his head back against his chest, his touch gentle again. His head is cradled in his palm, warm breaths in his hair as he whispers, “This, this is real.”

And with the sound of Alfie’s heartbeat and the crackling fire in his ears, Tommy closes his eyes.

…

The next thing he becomes aware of is that he’s floating. At least it feels like that at first. But he’s anchored in a set of two strong arms, head still propped against a familiar chest. Floorboards creak underneath heavy steps. He tries to open his eyes, but they’re too heavy. Shifts the tiniest bit to bury his face in soft fabric.

“Shh, shh, settle down. Settle down, I’ve got you.”

Alfie hushes him and rocks him ever so slightly, pulling him slowly back into sleep as he’s carried through the house.

The voices and the mud can’t reach him here, in Alfie’s arms.

[clairecrive]

"Jewish women" - Alfie Solomons x reader imagine

Hello everyone! I'm actually drawing in stuff to study but since I had this sitting for a while in my drafts I thought to give it to you while I try and work on the other imagines I've talked you about. I'm sorry if there are any typos but I haven't proofread it.

I just wanted to thank you for the support you've been giving me, it's actually mind-blowing and I'm very thankful for every smallest interaction you give me. From a like to a comment to an ask, they all warm my heart. So thank you, thank you, thank you.💞❤️

I'm sure I've bored you with this by now but remember that I'm always here for you. Not only for your requests but even if you just want to talk!

Well, I'm gonna leave now. Hope you have a great day and like this imagine. Can’t wait to hear your thoughts!

Tag list: @mollybegger-blog (let me know if you wanna be added)

Hearing Alfie shout wasn't a shock for anyone who had been to the bakery more than once. His strong voice filled the building and you were able to listen to what he was saying even if his office was far from the basement he was in.

"Jewish women? You do not go anywhere near them, because Jewish women for you are off the fucking menu." You hear him threatening and furrow your eyes in wonder.

You knew that Alfie was very protective of his people but why warn those men against going for Jewish women in particular though? Don't all women deserve the same kind of respect? Does this mean that he held them higher in his regards than other women? If that's so, then why was he wasting his time with you?

You didn't consider yourself as religious but you were a Catholic. Hebraism doesn't look well at mixed religious pairing, you knew that. Alfie never talked about it so you just figured that he didn't want that for himself and you had accepted it. Now though, in the light of what you just heard, you began to question your relationship with Alfie. It was still in the early stages so you didn't expect for things to become serious in the near future. Although, there was no point in denying that you wanted, hoped them to. Even if it took a couple of months.  Now you started to wonder if he wanted the same thing though.

What if he was fooling around with you because he knew that he couldn't get what he wanted from Jewish women? or that he respected them more than he did you?

The realisation hit you like a heavy brick to your face and suddenly breathing wasn't such an easy natural process, the air getting stuck in your throat. Feeling the walls of Alfie's office begin to close on you, you get up knowing that you should get the hell out of that place. You quickly stumble out of his office and hurry down the hallway too focused on steadying your breath to notice him before you. His strong hands reached out to hold your arms before you could crash into him.

"Woah, slow down pet. Where the 'ell are ya goin' in such a 'urry?" he says, amusement filled his voice until he saw the millions of emotions that swirled in your eyes. Wondering what could have happened in the safety of his office, he begins to open his mouth to ask you what was wrong, when your voice precedes him.

"I need to get out of here, please  excuse me." you weakly say trying to wiggle out of his hold.

"What are ya talkin' about? What's the matter pet eh?" he asks now concerned.

"As you don't already know." you can't help but mutter under your breath making his eyebrows go up in wonder.

"What shoul' I know?"

Annoyed with his apparent naivety you struggled with more force to get out of his grip. Noticing your discomfort he lets you go and you immediately bolt away from him and out of the bakery.

"Where the fuck are you goin' eh? Y/N!" you hear him call you from behind you and fearing that he was following you, you pick up your pace to put as much space as possible between you two. Storming out of the bakery you started to mindlessly walk away from it. You felt like had been walking for hours, exhausted with tearstained cheeks you sat on a bench to catch your breath.

"Would ya be so kind as to tell me what the fuck is goin' on Y/N?" his voice startles you when he plops beside you. You hadn't noticed him following you out of the building. He was out of breath and you knew about his bad hip so seeing him so dishevelled made you feel guilty.

"Alfie your leg. You shouldn't have followed me." you said trying to stop your voice from trembling.

"You joking, right? You storm out of my office, a crying mess and you expect me to just let you go?" he explains offended

"Why would you care? I'm not Jewish." you mutter huffy

"And what the hell does that have to do with anything?" he asks surprised

Gathering up all the courage you were able to find in your small body, you finally ask the question you were dreading to.

"Are you with me just to spend your time while you look around to find a nice Jewish woman you can marry?" you tried to keep all your emotions off your face.

Your question makes him frown and his bushy eyebrow shot up. Nodding in understanding he finally replies. "You heard what I said down there didn't you?"

"I think the whole London heard you." you scoff

"Well then love, there's something ya should know," he said and you braced yourself. "Camden Town is primely inhabited by Jewish families, innit? Since I got the bakery running I promised to take care of those families. I wanted those gypsies fuckers to know their place, right?" he tries to make you see his logic

"Yeah well I also live in Camden Town, don't I deserve the same amount of respect they do?"

"If you think that I haven't let them know that if they so much as look at you twice I'll shoot them in the fucking eyes, you don't really know me love." he replies scoffing at the insinuation

"Doesn't it bother you that I don't share your religious beliefs then? That we can't marry?" you shyly ask him with a blush blossoming on your cheeks

"We'll cross that bridge when we get there, won't we love? In the mean time, I don't give a fuck about anything that isn't you. Besides, no one can stop me from marrying you when the time is right." he sweetly admits holding your hand while removing the tears from your face. You couldn't help the smile that crept on your face at his sweet yet somehow smug words.

" Now gimme a kiss love. " he grumply said and you were more than happy to obliged, your heart finally at rest knowing that all your insecurities were unfounded.

[all-things-fic]

Divorce Harry II

A/N In all honesty I couldn’t think of a better title. This has been a long time coming so thank you for baring with me. I need to shout out every single person who has listened to me rant and rave, as well as those who have expressed that they’re looking forward to reading it.

@waitingfortwilight, @theasstour, @harryfeatgaga who have essentially been my main stay girls, reading over it and sending me their thoughts.

@talesofstyles, @always-jackedup and @majorharry for telling me that divorce harry is going to be the shit and I shouldn’t worry.

Word count is 27k. Enjoy! x

***

19 months prior

Your eyelids felt heavy as you scrunched your nose up at the incessant sound of the alarm cutting through the early morning.

You knew it was still dark outside, simply remembering the night before and the hushed conversation you’d lovingly shared across from your husband. The two you sleepily mumbling as you fought tiredness, discussing spending time together in the simplest of ways as you stripped away the scatter cushions to get ready for bed the night before. 

When Harry had suggested setting your alarm thirty minutes earlier, allowing you time to cuddle, you remembered the way your heart had fluttered because while it was so simple it also held a lot of thought, of making time for just you and him. Something that you weren’t afraid to admit had fallen to the wayside with children and work. Something that you both knew you needed to work on more. 

Now however, knowing that the clock read 5.30am, you weren’t so taken. Harry’s sleepy groan behind you made you realise that he also wasn’t as captivated by his idea as he had been at 10.30pm, the evening previous. 

As he rolled back over towards you from turning off the alarm, you enjoyed the way his forearm, heavy against your stomach, pulled you across the bed and closer to him. His chest enveloped your back in a sleep-filled warmth that made your feel incredibly cosy and comfortable.  The kind that could easily get you to doze off again, no bother. 

“Morning darlin’,” he groused underneath your earlobe as he pressed his lips faintly against your skin. “Remind me who’s idea this was again, eh?” He chuckled, his chest vibrating as he tried to make a laugh at the expense of you both, tucking his chin into the dip of your shoulder. 

A sleepy whine left your lips at his voice, enjoying the way his hand spread out across the skin of your tummy, tucking underneath the oversized sleep shirt and smoothing the tiniest back and forth motion with his thumb.

“Not so clever after all, are ya?” You replied, right hand reaching behind you and weaving your fingers into his hair at the back of his neck. “Coming up with all these bright ideas-“ you trailed off as you felt him slip his hand around the underside of your body and roll you over to him compactly, not wanting to lose any warmth the two of you had created throughout the night. 

You felt Harry tilt your head up slightly, his hair tickling against the skin on your forehead as he pressed himself closer to you. His lips met the corner of your lips, chuckling deeply at how he had completed missed them.

“Fancy a shag?” He asked, hand rubbing soothing motions to your shoulder blades and dropping lower towards the centre of your back.

“And here I was thinking that you did this so we could just spend time together, when really it was a dirty ploy just to get in my knickers,” you felt his lips twitch into a smile at your response, as Harry playfully nipped at the underside of your jaw.

“Caught me,” he joked, twining his legs with yours, lips returning to suckling gently against your skin. Rubbing his lips tenderly against the slightly wetter skin of your neck, thanks to his attention, he murmured, “Or we could talk about how we need to get new school uniforms before the start of term, or how bin day has changed again.”

You stifled your giggle, dipping your head slightly into the pillow underneath you. “God, bin day changing has really gotten to you hasn’t it?”

Feeling his head lift up and away from you, you rolled your lips into your mouth. You knew that would get a rise out of him. Slowly opening your eyes, you peered up at your husband in the now dim morning light and took in his puffy, sleep-filled, features.

His haphazard hair amused you to no end but rather than comment you reached up and smoothed it down. From your affection, Harry turned his mouth to meet your hand as it trailed down and pressed a sponging kiss to the inside of your palm.

“‘M such a Dad now,” he mumbled against your hand, feeling the way your stroked along his jaw. “But them changing the day really has fucked up my routine.”

He turned his eyes back to you before you had a chance to remove the teasing smirk. “Stop laughing at me, you’re the one who gave me the bloody job to begin with.”

“You offered-“

He shushed you, knowing himself that he’d lost this one and that he indeed had set himself up for the fall. “Did you just shush me?”

Leaning down he rolled the two of you so that his body was mostly on top of yours, enjoying the way that you accommodated him without any resistant or need for direction.  He brazenly shushed against your lips again, his mouth ghosting enticingly over yours. “What yer gonna do if I did?”

Humming you felt your eyes begin to dip as the warmth of Harry’s body enveloping yours lulled you into a light doze. “Apparently nothing cause yer falling asleep on me.”

Feeling your face scrunch up at how he’d caught you rather than thinking you were being lulled into some form of unyielding want that forced you to close your eyes, you moaned. 

“I’m just resting my eyes.”

Harry laughed through his nose at your deadpan voice. “Yeah, yeah,” he goaded. “Your age is showing again, such a Mum now innit.”

You dug your nails into his back in retaliation to his comment, pinching the warm and soft skin causing Harry to scrunch his nose up at the slight discomfort you had caused him. 

“An aggressive Mum,” he corrected.

“You act like you don’t like it.”

“Yeah, jus’ love it when you abuse me, darling. Really gets me going tha’—“

Thing was with him proudly sporting a semi that you could prominently feel growing more by the seconds against your leg, you didn’t quite know if he was entirely joking. 

“Is that something for you-“ 

“Is what something for me?” He hummed, keeping himself close and enjoying the hushed conversation.  

“Me being a bit forward—“

“I just love having sex with you.” He admitted, watching the way you closed your eyes at his words, feeling his lips spread into a smile that he knew was the kind he used when at school to get himself out of trouble. 

“Wha’,” he drawled. “I do. Love shagging, love making love, love playing about and seeing what ‘appens.” 

You remained silent knowing that he wasn’t finished. Part of you wanting him to continue to see what he had to say next. 

“Love it when you’re a bit forward, Iove it when you go coy on me,” he acknowledged, mouth falling open slightly as his breathing changed along with the direction of the conversation. “Love it when you let me take you from behind and you push back cause you want me to slap your arse, but even though we’ve been together for years you still won’t ask me outright, cause you still like to think that you’re all proper like that.” 

You dug your nails into his back once more for his cheek, causing him to breathily chuckle again. 

“What do you mean ‘still like to think’?”

The dirty chuckle that accompanied his deep voice caused a fluttering in your nether region that was entirely undeniable. “You seem to forget that I’ve seen the way you get when you’re gagging for it.”

“How’d I get?”

With glittering eyes he responded, “D’ya want me to talk dirty to you?”

“D’ya want to?”

“Why don’t y’jus’ ask me?” He nudged your nose. “Gonna let me slip in?”

You hummed, sliding your fingers into the back of his messy bedhead. “Gonna put me in, gonna ‘elp—“ 

He deeply hummed when he felt your hand slide under the covers and found his leaking cock before placing him against your soaked knickers. “Rub it against ‘em.” 

You watched his jaw fall at just how wet he could feel you through your underwear, slightly slacker than before, and felt his hands slide the pantyline to the side. “Not even takin’ off your knickers, wan’ it that bad eh-“

He saw the way you clenched your jaw, not liking how in the slightest you were proving him right about how desperate and urgent you sometimes got for him. 

“You letting me fuck you without a rubber, are you?” 

Your chest heaved slightly from his words and how brazen he was being. The two of you had taken to using condoms again lately, following a stint with changing your pill and the thought of fucking to be close, or maybe so much more, without the need for him to wear protection, was proving more exhilarating than it should be.

“S’working now or we trying?”

“Harry-“ you hushed his name.

“Eh,” he coaxed. “Are you letting me make you a Mommy again?” 

With eyes closed, you cupped his face in your hands, enjoying the way his voice - that little bit lower than usual - continued to talk to you, melding into your skin as he pressed and rubbed his lips against your face. 

“Gonna get our girl this time, complete our family aren’t we?” 

You found yourself subconsciously nodding because having a girl would mean a third baby, which you were always adamant against. There was no denying it that the two boys that you and Harry had were more than a handful, having that little girl for you both to fawn over was desirable enough to push your two child rule out of the window. 

“How long you known its started working again, how long you been keeping this from me, doll? Knowing just how much I love to fuck you bare.” 

You were sure it had been four weeks since you had changed up your contraceptive. So sure. And besides even if you weren’t, would it be such a bad thing?  

“Love having the power, don’t you? Truth is,” he leant in, nose now slightly squashed as he rest tightly against you, nuzzled between your legs just right. “Love giving it to you.”

Your eyes rolled back into your head as he slid all the way in, and you didn’t miss the double meaning of him giving you both the power and his cock. 

Mouth falling open you let out a silent sound of approval when he found himself deep inside of you. The choked groan that left Harry, whose teeth were bared as he clenched at the feeling of taking you this way again, filled you with a desired warmth from head to toe.

Feeling him pull out slowly, you found yourself faintly whispering a mantra of “no’s”, knowing that he was going to try and have you as slow as he could possibly get away with.

“We don’t have time,” you gasped, against the skin of his cheek when he turned his head slightly to the side and thrust into you with slightly more force than before.

“Make time don’t we,” he hummed, hand sliding underneath you and gripping to the skin where your bum cheek and thigh met, creating that nice tilt to your body that he knew you loved.

Falling away from him and deeper into the mattress, you felt the way he picked up the grind of his hips, each  thrust hitting deeper and faster than its predecessor. 

Bed creaking, Harry who was now kneeling above you as he fucked into you, leaned his body back to grab at the corner of duvet that had fallen off the two of you in the process of him changing his position. 

His thrusts became slower and deeper, pulling you under as he tugged at the blankets and brought them over the two of you like you were teenagers.

Cocooned underneath the thick plush sheets that screamed adults with an affluent income, you felt the stifling heat creep up on you quickly as you choked a gasp when he thrust just the way you liked it, the way you needed it. 

“Remember the last time we woke up early like this to get a shag in at m’mums.” His words were thick, mouthed into your cheek as he pressed his body down to yours and nuzzled his head to rest against you. 

“Harry-“ 

“Said my name like tha’ back then too-“ he paused. 

You were overwhelmed, legs falling open as you asked for more. His hand gripping at your plush thigh and welcoming you accommodating him in such a way. 

“You like me fucking you when we shouldn’t. Turns you on, doll? The idea of getting caught. Or is it me making time for you, going out of my way in admitting I can’t keep m’fucking hands to m’self.”

***

Now Sitting opposite Harry in what could only be described as the most corporate boardroom you had ever seen wasn’t getting any easier.

This was your fifth meeting since the two of you had filed your divorce, and the process itself was starting to become quite tedious now. You were pretty sure that Harry’s lawyer was dragging out the formalities to get a heftier pay out at the end of it, which struck you worse than it should’ve considering you were no longer together.

It was quite clear that the emotion you felt about anyone taking advantage of his position, especially in a vulnerable situation such as divorce, didn’t sit well with you.

The fact that it was actually him who was dragging out proceedings never really entered your mind. 

Assets were today’s topic of conversation, and you had made it quite clear along with your solicitor, Gavin that you weren’t interested in taking anything that belonged to Harry. If anything, you were just more adamant that everything went to all three of your children. As long as they were taken care of - now and in the future - then you were happy.

You fiddled with your watch and tennis bracelet that sat delicately against your ever thinning wrist, a sign that stress had taken a hold of you in a different way than it usually did. You felt confident albeit still slightly anxious about these official meetings, surrounded by people who shouldn’t know about the ins and outs of your life, but here they were watching you air your dirty laundry.

“My client is quite keen to stress that she doesn’t require the marital home in Hampstead and has insisted that Mr Styles allow her and their children to vacate the property,“ Gavin was confidently repeating the words you had told him the evening prior, over a glass of wine in the wine bar around the corner from his offices. His eloquence of delivery filled you with enough belief that you found yourself sitting up a little bit straighter. 

Gavin has been yours and Harry’s lawyer through the majority of your official dealings. Sorting out housing concerns, anything relating to the press or privacy matters for Harry throughout the years that you had been courting and beyond. He knew it all. Somewhere inside you that gave you comfort, that he would be able to fight for you in a fair manner that wouldn’t harm Harry.

You didn’t want to harm Harry. To have or make unnecessary digs during a time that was already incredibly strained, uncomfortable and quite frankly heartbreaking.

Harry had been the one to suggest it to you. For you to take the family solicitor, and for him to get someone else. And someone else he did get. Eloise was part of the same company but a different branch, based closer to Manchester and in turn closer to Anne. That was something that you’d noted quite easily. The significance of it a topic that had yet to be discussed.

Since the news broke of you two filing for a divorce things had been different with the wider family. It was a shock but you weren’t surprised. Gemma cut you off immediately, much to the severe annoyance of Harry. While he understood that she was merely being the protective older sister, she had once doted on you so much so that you soon became thick as thieves. He once claimed that he had no chance when the two of you got your heads together, that’s how much of a unit you were.

He knew it had hurt you too. Gemma was a life source in an otherwise harsh reality of London. She was a rock. Someone who broke up the mundane routine of parenting life and would always try (even if turned down and batted off several times) to remind you that there was more outside of your three little ones and the four walls of your wonderful family home.

Anne was a little more understanding. It had been strained at first, but she had been there before herself. She understood the weight of stress that divorce had upon people, and where she found it appropriate she supported not only her baby boy but you. 

Eloise was friendly, a warm smile one her face whenever she walked into the room and greeted both you and Gavin. But the minute the door was closed, she became the ultimate professional, stepping in where required for her client, your soon-to-be former husband.

She cleared her throat having heard Gavin’s words and shuffled around with the papers in front of her. “Mr Styles has time and time again told that this is not what he would like. The family home and the stability it provides his children is something he would like to remain the same for peace of mind when he is out of the country. For safety and security.”

You bowed your head hearing the words that he would’ve no doubt stressed to his representative. You knew how much he prided himself on keeping his family safe and the levels he went to in ensuring that the current home you were still living within was secure.

A sigh left you lips as you reached forward for a glass of water knowing that you really weren’t going to get anywhere. You made the fatal error of lifting your eyes as you sipped, eyes falling onto him properly for the first time since the two of you shared the room on that grey Wednesday morning. He was broken in front of you. A bit more disheveled than you knew he would like to be with his presentation in a professional setting. 

His eyes were on you immediately, letting you know that while yours had been elsewhere he was absolutely taking the time to gaze at you. Green stare was filled with an emotion that screamed out at you to give him a second chance, so powerful you were forced to look at the wall above his head in fear of welling up.

Harry dropped his head at your emotional wave, right hand coming up to his left where he quickly started twirling his wedding band around his finger. See he hadn’t taken his off. 

Shame he couldn’t say the same about you.

Before you could stop yourself, you turned to look at Gavin and mumbled under your breath, “See, I told you last night he wasn’t going to listen, didn’t I?”

Mumbled or not, Harry heard you loud and clear. His head snapped up to look at you. His eyes running over the way you had slightly leaned closer to a man that he had known for almost as long as Harry had known you. Green gaze frantically moved back and forth between you both, his eyes taking in how Gavin was mumbling something back to you. Something that he couldn’t quite make out, which frustrated him to no end. 

Were you fucking? Were you fucking Gavin? The question swarmed his brain, him almost succumbing to the sea of that thought which was so willing to pull him under. Instead he cleared his throat, he couldn’t let that happen. There could be no sign of any unwillingness to compromise in this situation; you and he had yet to have the conversation (in an official capacity or otherwise) about custody. He wasn’t willing to risk that. 

“Have the house,” he croaked, silently wishing that it hadn’t given away the way he was really feeling. 

He noticed how you turned to look at him. Your mouth falling slightly as you watched him clear his throat and sit up straighter. “I want you to have that house.” 

“It’s your house, you bought it.” 

Your voice was soft as you spoke back to him, watching the way his eyes sharply cut over to Gavin who was busy writing something down into the edge of his paper next to the notes he had made a mere twelve hours ago when sat across the table from you in the atmospheric wine bar. 

“It’s our house,” he corrected, moving his eyes back to you. “As little disruption as possible for our kids.” 

You were suspicious, he knew it. The use of ‘our’ wasn’t lost on you, the way that he had chosen to stress the word both times as he addressed you. Just like it hadn’t previously been lost on you when Eloise referred to your children as just his. Just Harry’s. 

Licking at your lips, you felt him and everyone else in the room waiting for your answer. He had backed you into a corner with this one and you found yourself quickly starting to resent him for the way he had turned it around, whether he had done so intentionally or not. 

“Why’d you think I moved out?” his question was fired at you quicker than you wanted it to, almost too fast. You couldn’t process how to respond before he was basically responding for you. “Because,” he started, breathing deeply. So deeply you saw the way his shoulders heaved.  “Because we said that we wanted their life to remain, as much as it possibly can, the same as before this entire mess started.” 

He spat the words at you. His hand running roughly through his hair before he glared over at Gavin again. “Write it down, Gav. She’s having the home in Hampstead, so change your notes.” 

Mouth slightly fallen, you turned to watch Gavin raise his eyebrows as he looked down at his paper and scribbled out his notes. You reached up to press your left hand to Gavin’s right, stilling his pen and all movement. Eyes back on Harry, you took great care in reading his facial expression. For the first time - since you had started these divorce proceedings - he looked the most bitter and angry you had ever seen him. 

“Don’t write that down,” you told your representative. “We need to discuss this one further.” 

Harry’s eyes flashed over at you, as he turned quickly to look at Eloise before he looked back at you. “Don’t you think you should respect my wishes on this one?” 

“What, like you did by not even considering mine before you actually filed for divorce?” 

“Harry-”

His name was heavy as it left your lips. Laced in a tired sigh but feeling every ounce of his pain and yours combined. 

“What?” 

“This isn’t the right time or setting for that conversation.” 

His jaw was clenched; he hated when you took the mile high ground. “This isn’t a control thing,” he kept your eyes, a sincerity behind his words. “We made a lot of good memories there, the kids love it. School is so close, so are all their friends.” He sighed heavily, “All I’m saying is please think about it. Don’t take the idea off the table completely. I’m happy for you to have it.” 

Nodding, you looked at Gavin under your eyelashes and sheepishly nodded for him to continue with his writing. You were getting the house. The house that Harry had bought so many years earlier. Years before you had come onto the scene. The house he had coaxed you into moving into. The house where you had made love several times and conceived all three of your babies, and not always in the master bedroom either. 

The rest of the meeting had gone quite smoothly. Well as smoothly as it can when you’re divvying up your life assets and valuables between two people who never thought that it would come to this. A sadness had laced both yours and Harry’s words as you easily listed off which things would go to you and which things would go to him. 

You weren’t interested in the cars. His vintage sports cars were gorgeous but they would be useless to you and your trio of children, who needed a suitable car to get them from A to B. With this, you kept the Range. He had the rest.

That was how the rest of the morning went. By the time you were done, your head felt like it was about to explode and your rayon crepe dress was almost sticking to your body from the way you had perspired under pressure. 

Harry was waiting for you when you exited the room, having lingered back for a while longer to speak to Gavin about when the two of you could next put some time in to discuss the next steps before the next meeting with Harry and Eloise. 

His head was down as he furiously typed on his phone. You could only imagine that it would be a business email of sorts from the way he concentrated, pausing every so often to re-read what he had written. 

The sound of your heels clipping against the floor pulled his attention away as he shot his head up to look at you. He looked worn down now that he was out of the setting, the two of you in that awkward jig in the hallway of the magistrates building. The knot in his tie looser around his neck, very top button of his shirt now undone to help him breathe that little bit easier. 

Scratching at the back of his neck, Harry eyed you with caution. You looked every inch the put together business lady that he knew you were. Stylish dress that he knew you had once longed to fit back into after having your youngest now fit you just as well, if not better than before. 

“Did you need me for something?” you asked, question light. He soared at how you hadn’t ignored him and he felt silly - embarrassed even - for grasping at anything. 

Jutting out his lips, he shook his head. Hand in left pocket, hiding the ring he continued to wear. He felt desperate, he was desperate. He didn’t want you to know that, however he knew that you did. “Are you happy with how everything just went?” he asked, holding the door open for you as you started to walk closer to the lifts. 

He hoped you would opt for stairs, not wanting to have to cull any conversation the two of you were sharing short. When you spun towards them, he slightly thanked the gods above at how they were still - even just a little bit - on his side. 

“I think it went okay,” you hummed in response. Recognising the small talk for what it was. There was a lull in the conversation as you walked down the two flights of stairs, nothing but the sound of Harry’s breathing and your heels. “Were you happy?”

He wanted to blow at your question, but he knew that you were just trying to fill the empty air. It wasn’t your fault. This was just the state of affairs at the moment. The two of you trying to navigate it as best as you possibly could. 

“I don’t want us to go through with this,” he started, voice thick. 

“Harry-” you sighed. 

“I’m not happy, of course I’m not happy,” he exclaimed in a whisper, eyes on your profile. He was silent as he followed you, your walk strong as you headed towards your car. Manicured nails pressing down on the key fob to get the doors to open for you. “I don’t want this, I’ve never wanted this.” 

Spinning around after setting you handbag down on the passenger seat, you shut the car door. He looked at you, really stared at you, noticing the way your eyes fell to look at something behind his shoulder as you stood in front of each other in nothing but awkward silence. 

There he was. Gavin. Sinking down into his silver Porsche. Harry’s eyes scrunched into slits and before he could stop himself, he turned back to face you. “Are you shagging, Gavin?” 

“I’m not even going to dignify that with an answer,” you responded in deadpan. 

Harry scoffed, shaking his head and feeling his nostrils flare. He let you walk around him, quick on your tail as you walked around the bonnet of the car and jumped into the drivers side of the car. He stopped the door as you tried to close it, his reflexes too quick for you. 

“You are then,” he spat, watching as you shoved the key into the ignition and harshly glared at him. 

“I am the mother of your children. I am your wife,” you reminded him. The way in which he was so easy to think about you in a negative fashion.  

“Not for much longer, eh?” he shot back. “And who’s doing is that!”

You stilled as you looked at him. Stuck between anger and a fresh batch of tears. “He’s known us for years, and you’re shagging him. I told you last night,” he mimicked the words you had spoken in the room two floors up a couple of hours earlier. 

“We went for a drink,” you started. 

His mouth fell, “This gets better and better. I think you’ll find that that is a conflict of interest.” 

“Of my doing then,” you screamed. Your outburst caused his eyes to widen as he looked at you. So put together but so easy to break. “I asked him to meet me at the wine bar around from his office for a change of setting, because I am sick to death of being holed up in stuffy little meeting rooms talking about the way my life, and the life of my children, is slipping through my fingers.” 

“You asked him out for a drink?” 

You closed your eyes, breathing deeply before pinching at the bridge of your nose. He was picking and choosing what he wanted to hear at this point. Opening your eyes, you looked at Harry, “I have not slept with Gavin, nor do I want to sleep with Gavin.” 

“Darling-” his voice wavered as he tried to start his apology.

“Please let go of the door,” you asked, voice hollow as your reached for the inside door handle. “I’ve got somewhere else I need to be.” 

“I’m sorry,” he choked, car door slowly closing. “Please, just-” 

“Just what?” You asked, sad eyes meeting Harry’s upset gaze. 

His lips were down-turned as he fought against the burning in his throat. Licking his lips, wanting to tell you how much he loved you. Instead he opted to keep it to himself. “Tell my babies how much I love them.” 

“Always do,” you choked. 

***

The flat was empty, the way he liked it. That way he didn’t get attached. He didn’t plan on being long anyway.

The harsh light from the windows caused him to groan as he dropped his head and leaned his forearms on the tops of his thighs.

His life had changed drastically in the last eight weeks. Silence consumed him the minute he closed the door behind him and day and night began to blur into one. It felt strange, foreign and entirely not what he wanted.

He missed being climbed on the minute the door shut. The sound of feet stomping as they ran along wooden floors to him with squeals of “daddy” following not long after. He missed dropping his heavy bag, filled with clothes but even more so with gifts, for his best boys and best girls. He missed over exaggerating groans at the weight of his kids on top of him as he would collapse against the front door and tickle them into a fit of crying laughter. He missed sighing happily once they’d had enough and ran off leaving him spent against the door. More importantly, he missed looking up and seeing you watching him, leaning against the kitchen door opposite the front door, wearing a sleepy smile that showed how glad you were to see him not only for him to help pick up his end of the slack but just because he had come back to you. Like always would.

Well, like he always would have. 

Head like cotton wool, Harry palmed down his face and ran his hand along the five days worth of stubble that lined his jawline. Closing his eyes, he slid his tongue along the front of his teeth as he fought the oncoming emotion and swallowed harshly. 

Before he could think, he swiped his phone off the coffee table and scrolled through his camera roll looking at the FaceTime call he’d undertaken with his babies four nights prior.

That’s what it had become. Contact through a phone. Not all the time, but mostly. It was his own doing and he knew it, and he didn’t try and twist it as something that was more your choice.

He had found himself pulling away after your last meeting. Guilt ridden by his accusations of you sleeping with your solicitor. He knew you were pissed off with him because you didn’t start the FaceTime calls now, even though they were done through your phone. So many times he’d call and expect to see you but he was always greeted by his eldest son smiling and his younger baby boy shoving another new toy in front his elder brothers face to try and get some attention too. 

“Wow mate, looks cool.” He would always say, wanting to acknowledge both boys as equally as possible. “Where’s you little sister? Let Daddy say hi.”

That’s where he would melt. Every single time she would pop up on the screen she would be that little bit different. Steadier on her feet as each day pressed. 

He only had to look around his flat, which was nicely decorated with the odd leftover bottle of beer on any surface that could hold something to know why his head felt stuffy, to know he needed to sort himself out. 

An outsider looking in would say that he was firmly on the first stage of a grieving process. Harry was in denial. He knew it. Sometimes he found himself processing scenarios in his head at how his current abode was only temporary, found himself answering questions on autopilot at the studio with nothing but complete and utter lies.

Lies about you, about your kids. About your situation. He’d talk about how his sons were thriving at school, and how his daughter was practically ready to join her two big brothers and climb into her own little uniform. And it was all utter bollocks, he didn’t have a clue. 

And that was because he hadn’t done the school run in the longest time. His time with the kiddies assigned to the weekend, a decision that had been come to simply because disrupting their routine was not what he wanted. Probably one that was more so posed upon him but one he almost didn’t have the energy to fight.

You always seemed so sure of yourself when you met at your solicitor meetings. Sitting opposite him put together, this confidence radiating from you as you presented yourself with your best foot forward, as every inch the impressive woman that had caught his eye all those years ago. 

And he always felt a bit of a mess. Regardless of how expensive his suit and shoes were. His tie didn’t sit right against his collar, not like it used to when you helped him do it.   

You’d survived arguments before. Long periods of time of FaceTime conversations and nights in the studio that turned into early mornings so him being in his current surroundings didn’t feel so strange when he really thought about it. 

As his fingers ran over the screenshot of his smiling son, Harry felt his denial was as strong as ever. This was a phase, it wasn’t reality. 

This wasn’t forever. He had to make sure of it.

***

Vision blurred, you squinted at the scrunched up piece of paper that housed Harry’s scrawl. 

The four digit number should probably have been embedded into your brain by now, given the couple of times that you had dropped your children at the location when Harry couldn’t always get to you. However, your slightly inebriated state meant that you weren’t entirely of sound mind as you punched the code into the grey buttons. 

Meeting up with the Mum’s from school had appeared all nice on the surface, until the four of you had to come to realise that the mixing of cocktail beverages wasn’t going to work out the best in the end. Especially considering the last time that any of you had had a night out (a proper night out) was probably before you’d had children. And well, that was a long time ago. 

The electronic whirling sound signalled to your that the code you had managed to squint at was successful. Pushing at the door you meandered over to the lift, pressing at the call button, a little irritated at how long it was taking to get down to you.

Harry’s apartment was on the eighteenth floor at the very top of the eighteen story apartments block that boasted postcard panoramic views towards Westminster, River Thames, City, Chelsea, Battersea and beyond. 

You remembered so vividly Googling the block of apartments the first time you had dropped off your three babies. Looking online to find his exact flat that he has purchased and flicking through the pictures that were available to you.

The open plan reception, the modern kitchen with breakfast bar. The three double bedrooms - one for Harry, one for the boys to share and one for his baby girl. Each room had its own en-suite, his room complemented by the wrap around balcony that was accessible by the living room too.

Standing, waiting for the lift, you remembered so vividly the stern conversation the two of you had shared about the balcony and the sliding door to access it. How you’d read him your own version of the riot act about how you thought he was such an idiot for buying some sort of bachelor pad, when he had children who would want to explore outside the balcony, and could get out so easily and harm themselves if left for only the smallest amount of time.

Harry hadn’t taken too kindly to that one. His expression hard, as he walked over and showed you how he had child proofed everything. The doors, the windows, the plugs. He also took the opportunity to remind you that it wasn’t forever, that he would win you back. A stance that he often took whenever he had the chance to talk to you and slip it into conversation; he most definitely took it.

Lift pinging, you ignored the shiver that left your body at the thought of his fervour whenever he tried to fight for you both in the current day, and all those years ago when you were a solid couple. 

You jammed your red fingernail into the silver circle that housed the number eighteen, watching the orange digital number slowly rise as the lift did. It pinged once more to tell you that you had arrived, and you took the opportunity to slowly stumble down the corridor. 

The balls of your feet ached as you wandered to his front door, wondering if he would still be awake. Stopping at one of two doors on this floor, you let you hand hover for a short time before you knocked and ignored the way you slightly tripped over your aching feet from your off kilter balance, thanks to one too many strawberry daiquiris. 

There was silence in the corridor other than the shuffling of your bag, and you thought he was further into a deep sleep than usual, but the sound of a chain jangling over the other side of the door cause you to snap your eyes up from where they had been, looking at your freshly pedicured feet. 

The ivory door of Harry’s apartment, nicely glossed wood, slowly pulled open to reveal his squinting eyes. He looked like he’d been asleep, maybe not for long but he’d definitely been dozing on the couch. His bleary eyes stared at you, face holding at least four days worth of stubble and body covered in a jumper that you knew had been stored at the very back of the wardrobe at the Hampstead house. He must’ve been having a clear out at his apartment, downsizing was never easy. 

He pulled open the door when he saw you fidgeting in front of him and held it open with his arm. You nodded, ducking underneath his arm to walk into the apartment, letting your feet take you the way you knew to his open plan living room.

As you waited on him to lock up behind you, you let your eyes scour the living room. There weren’t any lights on in the room, baring the glow of the television screen. You noted the way the couch was particularly worn in from where he must’ve fallen asleep, with his feet resting upon the table. 

You could almost picture him, head tilted back against the back of the couch; mouth slightly ajar and arms folded across his chest with hands resting under his armpits to keep them warm. He’d probably had his legs crossed at the ankles too on the table, just like you’d often found him in the small hours after he’d crashed on the sofa following a particularly late night session.

And just like all those times before, when he came into your vision you spoke the words that you knew well, “‘s gonna do nothing for your back.”

Harry looked over at you, hands now pushed into the pockets of his navy blue sports shorts. He stood in silence, smallish frown between his brows. You dared to glance over at him from the corner of your eye, knowing he needed more to figure out what you meant. 

“Falling asleep on the couch, is gonna do nothing for your back. You’re pushing thirty-eight-“

“Cheers for tha’ one, could do without the reminder!”

You fought the smile hitting your lips as you looked at him again from the corner of your eye, and saw he was pleased with himself for getting your lips to twitch up, even if for the shortest time. 

“Anyway, what have I done to owe this pleasure,” he asked, walking around the back of the couch to the table to pick up the half finished bottle of red wine and the wine stained glass. 

“Went out with some of the Mums,” you caught his eye as you spoke, his expression amused as you crossed your left leg over your right. “Bursting for a wee and you were the closest.”

“Can see tha’,” he raised his eyebrows. You didn’t know what he meant by that comment. Were you that pissed he could tell by barely looking at you, or was it the comment about needing the loo? You knew that was obvious from the way you swayed as you stood. 

“Know where it is, knock yourself out,” he nudged his head up to the door behind yours that led you back out into the hallway, and didn’t fight the smile that split his face as he watched you reacted the quickest you had done since you arrived.

Your bag was off your shoulder, dropped over the sofa to fall against the cushions and your jacket - the one he remembered buying you when you turned thirty-five, when you’d spotted it in the Paris Chanel store - was pulled off and draped over the back of the couch too.

Harry stilled in the silent lounge, looking on as you tottered away, so unsteady on your feet, but in too much of great need to use the toilet before even thinking about taking your shoes off.

He busied himself with setting the bottle of wine and lone wine glass to the breakfast bar. Resting his hands to the black marble worktop, he dropped his head between his shoulder blades and closed his eyes alongside his deep breath.

Pushing away from the kitchen area before he could wind himself too much about the possibility of how you and a few of the other school Mums - he knew the odd one was newly single - had possibly gone out on the pull. He turned to fluffing up the cushions on the couch and quickly took to tidying the coffee table, which housed some of the song lyrics he’d been writing, mostly about you, into a small pile before folding them and shoving them into his leather bound journal to hide. 

Sitting down on the couch behind him, Harry turned his head to the left and let his eyes linger on the jacket and bag next to him. So many times this was how a night would end, when the two of you did have a chance to go out just as a couple. He’d be fiddling with his shoes while you scampered off to the downstairs toilet, never being able to time your toilet breaks correctly for the journey home. 

It always had the two of you friendly bickering - well before it started becoming proper bickering - and even had Harry softly apologising each time he had to drive over a speed bump, because he knew how much it would jolt your bladder. 

You used to laugh that it was his doing anyway. Your bladder changed after becoming a Mum and that was totally his doing. He always reminded you that it took two to tango, often with a kiss left to the back of your hand in the process, which always caused you to soften out of your irritated mood. 

But neither of you had tangoed in a while. 

With the light of the television harsh against his eyes, Harry - now feeling slightly riled at the thought of your separation so bold in his mind - snatched at the remote control, and turned the television off. 

Now, in some state of matching his mood, he sat in darkness. Resting back into the seat of the couch and silently groaning to himself. He knocked his head back against the cushions and reached for the lamp next to him, turning it on and filling the room with a warm light. 

You’d been gone longer than you usually would have been. His eyes glancing over at the large ticking clock sitting on the wall of his kitchen. Just after 1:15am was what it read, time matching the burning sensation behind his eyes. 

Pushing himself up with a groan, he was reminded of your comment earlier about his age and tried to ignore the way you were always right. He felt every inch his thirty-seven, and soon-to-be thirty-eight years.

Circling around the back of the couch, Harry ran his hand along the back coming to a halt at your jacket, before the backs of his fingers smoothed over the tweed material. It felt soft to his touch, and he wondered if his hand would smell of your preferred perfume, the one that he always found incredibly intoxicating. Then he remembered how creepy he would look smelling his hand, regardless of there being no one around to know; he would know. 

The sound of the toilet flushing broke his reverie and caused him to shake his head. Expecting you to return any minute now, he waited. His bum resting against the top of the couch, he kept his eyes on the door wanting to catch you expression the minute you reappeared. 

When you didn’t show yourself, he exited his lounge and walked along the hallway. His meandering came to a halt when he saw you walking around the corner that led to the bedrooms. 

Slowly his feet pattered behind you, crushing into the soft carpet underneath them with a muffled noise. He was silent as he watched you, slowly pushing open the door of your boys shared bedroom. 

The only light that lit up the room was that from the hallway, casting enough of a glow to allow you to see what it was like. Harry didn’t say anything at first, watching the way your tense shoulders relaxed as you swayed slightly on your feet, and turned your head a small amount to the right to get a look at the pictures that were hung on the walls. 

“‘M trying to make it feel more like a home for them.” His voice was calm behind you as he broke the silence, not loud enough to make you jump. In fact, you found it incredibly soothing. “The boys fought it out on whose curtains to replicate here from Mommy’s home, and rather than fighting I just tried to make it fun and told them to pick the ones that I knew you would dislike the most.”

You grimaced when they came into view, Harry reaching around you to turn on the light for their room. Part of you was slightly embarrassed at how he had caught you snooping after leaving the bathroom, but he knew you meant well. The Mother Hen in you coming out to protect her babies and see that their second home was fit enough for them.

“They’re horrendous,” you slurred your deadpan, the horrible brash colours of abstract print sitting among bright yellows, oranges and greens of dinosaurs staring straight back at you. 

“They’re exactly what boys of six and almost four like though,” he half smiled, leaning against the door frame. He scanned your figure taking in your outfit as you continued to look around the room and noticed the extra effort you had put in that evening, enough to make him feel the kind of way he used to feel when you did date nights.

“Walls are still stark and white,” you commented, eyeing them before turning to look at him over your shoulder. You tried not to focus on the sadness that laced his features.

“‘S tha’ you telling me that this definitely needs to become more of a permanent thing?”

You dropped his gaze, shrugging and swallowing the lump in your throat. “Maybe that’s a conversation topic for another day?”

Humming, you nodded your bowed head and moved to walk around him. “D’you wanna see the bab’s room?”

He didn’t wait for your reply, instead he walked around you this time and took you to the room closest to his. Harry flipped on the light without a second thought, walking in and quickly moving some of the clothes off the changing unit into the designated chest of draws.

“‘M trying out the big girl bed in here,” he said feeling your presence as he shuffled the clothing around and folded things quickly before placing them neatly inside the draws.

You barely heard a word he said after that, eyes transfixed by the bed that was the replica of yours at home, just the cot element of it had been taken away. Harry had come to recognise that you baby girl was no longer a baby and more so becoming her own person. Something you were so so desperate to avoid.

The thought of her growing filled you with a panic that you hadn’t wanted to face just yet. An emotion that caused your chest to close and a choked sob to catch his attention.

Harry was panicked when he abruptly turned to face you, taking in your crumpled expression as you remained consumed on the children’s bed. “Hey, hey,” he soothed, wrapping his arm around your shoulders and scooping you towards him. “Everything’s alright, they’re okay here. Promise I’ll never let anything ‘appen to ‘em when they’re here. The sides can go back on to the bed, they’re stored in my room at the minu-“

“No,” your voice trembled, “they should stay off. She is a big girl now.”  

You looked up at him, lips downturned as you found it hard to fight your vulnerable state; something you knew wouldn’t be the case if you hadn’t been so inebriated. 

“What happens when I no longer have a baby,” you spoke the question aloud, watching Harry’s eyes try and decipher the question and the many meanings it held. 

“She’s always gonna be your baby. They’re always gonna be your babies. You’re always gonna be Mummy.”

“You’ve done what I’ve been putting off,” you breathed heavily, sniffling. “I like to find her laying down looking for me through the wood after one of her naps, or bopping as she holds the sides and bounces her little legs cause she wants Mommy to lift her out.”

He reached for your face, listening and letting you speak. His fingers joined yours to swipe away some of the fallen tears that hadn’t dried and he knew in so many ways that you were admitting that you babied your youngest to keep her exactly that; a baby. 

“I’ve tried to keep her tiny for as long as possible,” you confessed. “Cause when she doesn’t depend on me anymore, I’m back to being me and-“ 

Harry noticed the heavy pause. He softly stroked underneath your chin, trying to non-verbally encourage you to continue.

“I don’t know who I am. I don’t know if I’m going to like who I find.” 

You saw the way Harry blinked heavily, the smallest frown finding the middle of his brows as his mouth fell ever so slightly at your honesty. 

“How can you not like who you’ll find?” He breathed, eyes taking your entire face in. Your words were hard for him to process, considering he’d seen the way you had vehemently held onto your career through pregnancy and after. 

“Cause I don’t know who she is anymore. Outside of being a Mum, who am I?”

He spoke you full name, including your married surname. “That’s who you are.”

“Not for much longer,” you rolled your eyes, annoyed at yourself for showing yourself to him this way. He felt cold when you stepped away from him, watching you sniff and abruptly wipe at your face with harsh fingers to remove any makeup marks from your skin, thanks to running eyeliner and mascara. 

His lips twitched, saddened by the tough reality that those four words from you had delivered to him. You weren’t far from the truth, regardless of how much he had tried to halt proceedings, it was getting a bit silly now. 

“I’m gonna have to use the bathroom again to clean up,” you straightened yourself out. So easy to put on a mask even in front of the man you were supposed to be able to be your most raw; your most vulnerable with. 

“Know where it is, knock yourself out,” he repeated the words from earlier, this time a bitter edge to them, looking on as your turned to walk back through his hallway and into the bathroom. 

Harry groaned under his breath as he let his head fall back on his neck, eyes facing the ceiling. Scrubbing his hands down this face and round to find the back of his neck, he clenched his fingers at the tightening of his shoulder and neck muscles, before he sighed and exited his daughters bedroom.

Flicking the light off, he let his feet lead him back to his dimly lit living room. His eyes watched the London skyline, alight and beautiful, before they focused in on his own reflection in the glass.

His expression was downtrodden, not entirely, but you could tell he was exhausted. Some of it his own doing from late night studio sessions, other from the physical and emotional toll his family life (and lack of it) was having upon his heart. 

He turned his attention to filling up two glasses of water, wanting to give you one upon your return. A small smile laced his lips at that thought, he wanted to give you one in more ways than one. 

Heel clipping against the floors, they came to a dull shuffle as you entered his living room. You came to a stop, not too far from where he had previously been stood admiring the skyline for all that it was. 

Harry looked on silently as you took in the London skyline, the way it was dreamily lit up. On any other evening it would’ve been romantic, the kind of setting that you would’ve liked to admire along with him. Maybe sat in the balcony with a glass of wine each. Creeping from your chair and into his lap as you both got further down the bottle and maybe into a second. You wrinkled your nose as you took in the view and the scene you had created, reaching down and tugging at your shoes, quite the topple to your balance. 

He didn’t help though, knowing you would most likely chew his head off. Instead he pressed his hands harder against the marble counter of his kitchen as a lopsided smile fell onto his lips.

“Well done,” he spoke in sarcastic deadpan behind you when he saw that you had successfully removed your shoes without falling, the sling back heel straps curled around your fingers. 

“Shut it, you wanker.” 

He laughed, harder than he should’ve. For the first time in a long time in your presence. The delivery was perfectly timed, back still facing him as you twisted your body slightly to drop the shoes over the back of the couch to join your bag and jacket. 

The interaction felt nice. Such a boring word to describe a situation but spot on in the current happenings. It was just nice. Nice to be in a room, not arguing but bickering. Bickering like a married couple, which technically is what you still were. 

“Felt really good going out with the Mums tonight,” you broke the bubbling silence, left arm coming up to fold across your chest. Your eyes remained fixed on the view as you heard Harry shuffling behind you, his movements were sluggish though, you could tell by the huge gaps of silence between each knock of something else that he was tidying away. 

“You should do it more often,” he replied, voice wistful. “Got you a glass of water ‘ere, if y’want it.”

You hummed but didn’t provide him with a solid reply, a sign that he took as you being deep within your thoughts. He decided to leave the water to sit untouched next to his. 

Chin resting on his hand, Harry really admired you in the dimly lit open plan lounge and kitchen. 

“Was nice to feel my age,” your voice was far away as you spoke. “Felt nice to let my hair down. Someone sent drinks over to the table tonight.”

He slowly pushed himself up from where he had been leaning on his forearms on the counter at your last sentence. “Did they? No’ surprised, looking like tha’” 

You turned your head to look over your shoulder at him, the bounce of your hair felt skimming the skin of your shoulder in a flutter that matched Harry’s nerves. You didn’t know what response you were expecting but it wasn’t that, maybe more of a blow up towards the idea of someone else chatting you up. 

The face that met your eyes was one of pure lust. Even across the other side of a room, kitchen counter in between you both, it was easy for you to decipher. Dim light and all, he was mesmerised. While he felt himself getting hot under the collar at the idea of some random bloke trying to cop a chance with his wife - even if only still in name -, there was something exhilarating at how you’d ended up winding back at his place regardless of the advances of another.

“Sorry for being a shit husband and not noticing sooner.”

“Noticing what?” 

“Noticing that was I neglecting you. Neglecting letting you know how proud of you I am. How much I fancied you. How much I still fancy you.” 

You blinked silently over at him, your breathing picking up as you watched the way he wiped his hand down the front of his mouth and chuckled. His head shaking lightly from side to side, try as you might you weren’t forgetting those words. 

“This place is tragic,” you watched him slowly pull his hand down from his mouth at your words, arms folding against his chest. He was about to lay into you, you could tell by the way his mouth fell and the softest frown lay in the middle of his brows but deep within himself, he agreed. “You’re a Dad of three and you’re buying a place that’s fit for a bachelor who has just hit his mid-twenties. Floor to ceiling window that is just begging to have some younger model pressed up against it, gagging for it.”

“Who said anythin’ ‘bout havin’ a younger model?” You stilled at his question, it’s delivery slow as he waited for your response. 

When the response didn’t come, he gave up eyeing you from afar. You heard his socked feet against the floor, the rustle of his sports shorts as he padded across the floor and they rubbed between his muscular thighs. 

You jumped when his arms snaked around your front, and you knew you should be stepping out of his familiar embrace, but the warmth of his body in your emotional state was propping you up, even if you didn’t want to admit it. 

“‘S just’ me,” his voice vibrated into your temple, feeling you squeeze at his arm as his hand lay flat against your sternum. After the smallest amount of silence Harry confidently murmured, “Why’d I need a younger model, when I’ve got what I need righ’ ‘ere? No trading in necessary.” 

He felt your body still in front of his, wondering if he had pushed himself too far. His concerns were warranted but he was insistent on continuing. “D’ya wan’ me to shag you against the window? ‘S tha’ wha’ all this pussyfooting ‘s about?” 

You sighed heavily when you felt him drop his lips against you ear, his breath ragged as he allowed his lips to trace your skin. “Only hav’ta say darlin’, ‘s yours.”

“Please-”

The beg within your voice caused Harry to groan so animalistically it sounded like a growl. His fingers dug into the plush skin of your hips, his groin nudging into your arse cheek as he urged you to walk that couple of steps closer to the window. 

The lights of London became a blur as you focused on the frantic sucking and licking of his mouth to your exposed dip of skin where your neck and shoulder met. “‘S all this not being able to tell me,” his voice moulded into your skin. “‘F my wife wants me t’shag her against the window, then that’s what she’ll get.”

“Yes,” you hissed, hands scratching at the fabric of your blouse, pulling it out of the waistband of your skirt as Harry unbuttoned it from the top down. Once opened his hand slid into the cup of your bra and gently squeezed your breast.

He leaned his upper body back reaching for the neck of you blouse and harshly tugged the fabric away from your body. Your limbs pulled back with the item of clothing as it was torn from your body. 

Left hand contorted behind you, you let your fingers make light work of your bra. It fell slack and away from your chest, giving Harry more movement to his fingers and allowing him the chance to soothe his thumb over your raised nipple. 

You stumbled together until you roughly came into contact with the cool glass, tits squashed against the window. An involuntary gasp left your lips from the harsh intrusion of the cold, hard surface. “Gonna leave some questionable marks against this glass for me, give ‘em something to really talk about eh?”

“Want your window cleaners to know you managed to get a shag?”

“I do when it’s wi’ my fit wife,” he breathed around an open mouthed kiss to your neck. He faltered when you pressed back against him, a breathy chuckle leaving him at how you had grown impatient. 

You were stuck within this cloudy decision of whether to push your chest further into his greedy squeezing hands, or push back enticingly into his groin. 

The haze that had come over you had long gone passed being alcohol induced, as you felt him move the two of your more closely to the window. The shuffle of your feet against the plush carpet rushing around your ears as you panted.

Harry’s free hand busied itself with rucking up your skirt, the item bunching up as he grunted when you slid your fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck, and pulled him closer to you. 

His hand slid down your bare side, cupping underneath your breast and smirking against your skin at how you were quick to rid yourself of your bra, letting the straps slip down your arms.

His hand slowly trailed down, sliding soothingly over your abdomen; the soft pouch of skin that you referred to as your Mummy Tummy, delicately caressed by him in a manner that told you that while you disliked this part of you, it was one of the many things he warmly thought highly of. 

He tugged your lower half away from the window, encouraging you to move- “pop up your arse for me, love. Tha’s it.”

Breathing that bit heavier now, feeling him heavy behind you, you moaned frustratedly at how he had slowed his movements. Chuckling, against you shoulder, Harry placed his warm hand against your intimate area for the first time in a couple of months. 

“You’re hairy,” he acknowledged, voice gruff and breathy with wonder as he cupped at you underneath your knickers. His mouth fell against your shoulder blade, teeth gently grazing your soft skin as he closed his eyes to visual you. He secretly loved you like this, loved pulling out and wanking himself to his end when you were hairy, just to see the way his released sat against your pubic hair when he tapped and rubbed himself against it. 

Turning your head to the side, your nose brushed against his as he waited for you when he pushed himself closer. Both with heavy breathing, mouths agape and wet with want, you whispered, “Who’ve I got to shave for? Got a husband who doesn’t want it anymore.”

“He wants it,” he lustfully put you in your place. “He’s gonna take it.”

“Then take it, make it yours.” Your words died on a dry throat as the tips of his fingers pressed to your clit. He roughly rubbed, feeling your face contort into a soft frown from his ministrations, and closely watched through blurring vision from the sheer closeness of your faces.

There was no messing about as he dipped his fingers down lower and felt your arousal, begging to be sunk into. With curled fingers he dragged the wetness to your clit, and applied pressure as he swiped upwards with heavy pads of his fingertips.

Choking for breath, the unflattering moan that left your mouth may have - once upon a time - caused you to blush. This time however, it made you want Harry that little bit closer. 

His desperation to get you to come simply by rubbing your clit like some inexperienced teenage boy, was somewhat exactly what you needed. 

Heavy behind you, you pressed your lips closer together, heavy lids matching his. He caved in and suckled gently at your bottom lip, feeling your mouth pop off when he swiped up on your clit in the right way that created a sensation that tickled through you. 

“‘M gonna come like this-“

“Yea’ you are,” he breathed back instantly, fingers slipping and starting to cramp. The speed of his fingers crept up, noticing the change of your breathing as he started to chat into your cheek, incoherent mumbles while your mouth hung open as you panted.

No noise is how he knew how much you needed this. Needed to be completely lost in the touch of another; of him and his touch. “This how you want it, doll? Yes, this is how you want. Just like this-“ his comments were only confirmed by the way your hand scratched over his knuckles, as you felt them and his fingers shaking from the vigour of his rubbing. 

He was so sure of himself and there was nothing you could do to disagree when your body was so pliant and receptive to his actions. He frowned along with you when he felt you begin to go taught and when you breathily gasped his name, he scooped you into him and held you against him as you shook.

Shaking from an orgasm delivered by clit stimulation hadn’t happened since you first started exploring your own body as a teen. You folded into yourself, humming your whine at your sensitivity as you wrapped your left leg over your right and trapped his hand between your legs. 

You were sharing a kiss with him languidly before you could comprehend it. A non-verbal thank you at the orgasm he had just given to you. 

“Gonna need m’hand back at some point,” he mumbled, nose resting next to yours. 

“Don’t like it between my legs?” 

“Not as much as you do,” he quipped, hearing the sexiest snigger from you at his quick witted remark, confirming everything he already knew. “Can think of summat else y’like more?” 

You ground back against him, the move causing a gap to form between your squashed together thighs that had Harry able to drag his damp fingers against your soft skin, leaving a trail of you behind as he did. 

Left hand gripping at your hip, he saw the way you nestled against the glass. Left cheek pressed to the window so that the right side of your profile was visible.  

With your arms elevated above your head as you pressed your entire upper body weight to the window, he found himself thinking of your squashed tits against the usually impeccably, shining surface. 

Speaking of shiny, he was throbbing behind you. Aching. And the need to change that had him whipping himself out of his shorts and leaving them nestled underneath his bum cheeks.

You hazily smirked at him when he looked up at you from his glistening cock, tapping himself against the skin of your bum cheek, and hearing the tacky stick of his arousal and skin upon skin. 

He pulled at your body, stretching your back into a delicious curve as he bobbed behind you and nestled himself against the middle of your cheeks. 

Head down, hair hanging over his forehead as he studied the visual. He spat, this long dollop of saliva, onto his cock and watched as you went to reach behind you. At your movement he released a sound of disapproval.

“Hands,” he said firmly, seeing the way you complied and pressed your arms back up straight to keep your body pressed securely against the glass. “Ain’t this a sight for sore eyes,” his voice hummed deeply. “All stretched out, well,” he paused, humour to his tone. “Nearly all stretched out.” 

“Harry-“

He pushed his dick down from the top with the tips of his fingers, letting his sensitive head bump against the hole you had yet to explore. “Could be a nice change,” he mused. “Want tha’?”

Your whine was the thing that had him moving on, as his lips twitched into a chuckle that let you know that he knew that now was not the time, nor the place, to not just succumb to what it was you both knew so well. 

“Alright,” he exhaled the word lengthily. “Don’t want me in your arse. Cunt will do just nicely.”

“Do it nicely,” your mouth breathed heavily against the glass, a pool of steam imprinting onto the window as you spoke. 

“Don’t I always, eh?” 

When his head slipped in, your rolled your cheek to rest onto your forehead and you whined - whined - and he wasn’t even in yet. 

“Relax,” his hand soothed up from your lower back to sit in between your shoulder blades. 

“How can I do that when you’re shagging me with your socks on,” you retorted.

He spluttered his laugh through a closed lip smile, that had him clenching at your hips to hold you still. “I can see ‘em,” you continued, as he frowned and pressed forward some more, causing your mouth to fall with a delighted moan.

“Darlin’ gotta relax,” he gritted, struggling with the way you were taking him. “Be fair. Gave you yours.”

With pouting lips you pressed back, taking more of him on your own accord. “Tha’s right, push back. Christ.”

He bottomed out against you not long after, hands curving up to your waist and clenching as he pulled back, and thrusted with a dip to his knees that had you exhaling a shaky moan.

Your arse jiggled, cellulite and all, as he drove forward and usually you would’ve passed comment about it by now, but instead you were hanging your head between your shoulders as he grunted with the quickening pace.

“Let me shag you first,” he mouthed against your shoulder blade. “I can’t,” his jaw jutted. “I can’t stop this, ‘m desperate. Darlin’.”

You understood, he knew. Your wanton moans did nothing to tell him otherwise and instead only confirmed that you wanted him - needed him - just as rough as he was giving it. “I’ll have you after slowly, eh? So slowly.”

But he was listening to his own words now, slowing and teasing at the ebbing burn that was so deliciously consuming and had you whining your “no’s” that were really yeses. Because he hadn’t missed a beat and he was drawing your orgasm out of you quicker than you would have liked but - god - it was good. He was good. So good. And he knew it surely-

“‘S tha’ good?”

Maybe he didn’t. “Still like this?”

You looked back at him, just as he removed his concentrated gaze from where the two of you were going at it, to catch your open mouthed nod. His nostrils flared as he panted, snapping forward thanks to the pleasure-filled expression you had awarded him.

“Still know me.”

“Still fuckin’ know you,” he confirmed, jaw ticking as he gritted his teeth. 

“You’re gonna make me come so much.”

He pushed forward with more force, as your one hand reached behind you to feel the tense muscles of his abs as he digged and pulled. And you knew he was going to come before you but the strong emotion inside made you not care, you needed to see it.

He continued to fuck you, alternating between shallow strokes that drove you wild, to deep strokes that penetrated you meaningfully. As his rhythm started to waver he breathlessly spoke, “You haven’t-“ 

You shush him, urging him to press upon your back as much as he could. Before he did, he reached at the collar of his t-shirt and swiftly pulled it over his head, scrunching it up and using it to wipe away the sweat that has collated against his skin. Hair pushed back off his face and legs spread slightly wider, feet planted into the carpet of his living room, he leant upon you and rocked harshly, moving only his hips. 

They were stronger now, held more meaning. 

“Give it to me.”

This determination in his eyes appeared. “Fuck your wife,” you breathed. His eyes tried to read where you were and how much you were holding off. “‘M coming again,” you whispered in the lightest whine, knowing he wouldn’t leave you with just the one that night, but surprised at how quick you could feel it.

And it was your admission that started him. He growled when you begged him to “push it in”, and released a drawn out moan that resembled a curse word as he relaxed and gave into his own desires. 

“Shit, shitshitshit,” he hissed, pressing the two of you harshly against the glass as he came to his end. You were both trying desperately to regulate your breathing, which proved more difficult for you as Harry was resting heavily against you. 

As the two of you stood rested there, hot and sweaty bodies mixing with the condensation, you felt him nuzzling into you, pressing the faintest and most gentle kisses to your temple. 

As you regained your bearings, your chest struggled to catch up but you found yourself welcoming the cold of the window now. The room was quiet except for the moving of limbs and the sound of Harry’s now even breathing in your ear. 

You could sense the room around you shifting when he allowed his shorts to pool around his ankles, kicking them along the floor out of the way. He turned his attention back to you, scooping your back to his front as you felt his very naked form against you. 

“Missed you,” he admitted, his voice worn. His lips peppered kisses to your exposed shoulder and the top of you back before he mumbled against your skin. “Gonna get some things to clean up, stay right here.”

With a strong kiss to your shoulder, he left. And as you turned slightly to the right, you caught the visual of his bare arse as he tip-toed out to his bathroom to grab at one of the many flannels that you and he always kept next to the bath, for the kids to use when bathtime commenced. 

You knew he had told you not to move, but you could feel the panic hit you as fast as your comedown. You peeled your body away from the window and turned with legs pressed closely together, spotting the box tissues sitting on top of the table that housed the lampshade.

If there was ever a sign of a parent, it was the box of tissues on the side, or the half opened pack of baby wipes left wedged by the arm of a sofa, within reaching distance for those sticky hands before they pressed into the couch.

Skirt slipping down, now no longer held up by Harry’s grip, you reached for the tissues and grimaced as you cleaned yourself. The reality after the heat of the moment always so much grimmer than it was ever told to you.

Bra scooped up in your hand, you fiddled with it due to your trembling fingers; the clasp playing hard ball. It snapped against your skin before you bent down for your blouse and made light work of the buttons, roughly pushing it into your waistband. 

You were reaching for your shoes when you heard him returning, a whistle of an unknown tune leaving his lips but abruptly dying as he stopped in the doorway. 

His eyes were piercing as they didn’t blink. His face, void of any emotion quickly ran over your body, now redressed like nothing had happened. However the lack of underwear covering your modesty underneath your skirt told you otherwise. 

His scoff at the scene before you snapped him out of your stillness as you started to pull on your shoes. The added height made you wobbly, and you wished you could still blame the alcohol, but you were not inebriated in the slightest now. 

Harry felt in a weird place as he stood still, wet flannel in his hand, getting colder as he held it. He felt embarrassed that he’d even been considerate enough to wet the item using lukewarm water, so it was welcomed so much more by your sensitivity. An embarrassment that he knew would quickly become a burning rage.

“Don’t get the wrong idea,” your voice permeated through the silence. 

His face fell from your words, swallowing heavily. “The wrong idea?” He was incredulous. “You’ve just let me fuck you in the middle of my living room and you’re telling me I’m getting the wrong idea.” 

Voice going straight through you, you pulled your gaze away from him and his naked figure. An answer was nowhere to be found, one didn’t even sit on your lips. He had you over a barrel with that one. 

“I thought-“

“You thought what?” You snapped, eyes straight onto his. “You thought that we could play happy families.”

Your words knocked the wind right out of him. The stoop to his body visible even in the dimly lit room. And it was heartbreaking. You were doing that to him. Sniffing, you ignored the closing of your throat, part of you willing him to have a go at you. To allow the bubbling verbal slanging to commence, but his heavy body was tired. 

Clearing your throat, you scooped up your jacket and bag declaring, “I’m leaving. Pick the kids up in the morning.”

Breezing passed his figure, the corner of your vision allowed you to see the clench to his jaw and tautness of his shoulders. You made it out into the hallway, halfway to the door before you heard him speak. 

“Might wanna take these wi’you an’all.”

His ambiguity caused you to turn, to walk the short distance back into the room before you were looking at him from the doorway. Knickers, scrunched up in his hand met your eyes, the harsh contrast of the black against his white skin hard not to notice. 

He sarcastically held them looser in his hand, the fabric dangling from his fingers, bitterly scoffing when you snatched them out of his grip and roughly shoved them into your bag, mortified. 

His laugh, a harsh single syllable “ha”, filled you with a sense of shame as you felt your face start to scrunch. He saw, because he started to apologise. A dying, “darling” on his lips as feeble as his touch that reached for you and narrowly missed.

“Don’t be late tomorrow.” 

The sound of the door banging shut caused him to growl, the flannel held in his hand was flung across the room, the item slapping against the painted white wall directly opposite him encapsulating his frustration.

Hands pressed into the back of the couch, Harry hung his head in between his shoulders as he tried to regulate his breathing. And for the first time since the divorce was filed, he let the sob he had been keeping within his body rack through him and fill the empty shell of an apartment. 

Naked and alone. That was when it really hit him.

He couldn’t save this. 

***

The incessant buzzing in his pocket was off-putting. It was so unlike him to leave his phone in his pocket when he was recording vocals, but he had simply forgotten and he was waiting for an important phone call from his solicitor that afternoon.

He sighed into the mic, raising his hands up to the producers in the booth. “Sorry, hang on,” he spoke, reaching for his phone and moving the headphones to loop around his neck. 

A deep frown etched upon his brow as he fished the phone out of his pocket and saw your name on his screen. He found himself slightly breathless as he took in the photograph he still had as your contact photo, one he’d taken that was always slightly risqué for you overlooking the Positano coastline.

“I need to take this.”

Clearing his throat he turned his back to the window and slid his finger across the phone. “Hello-“

“H-“

Harry felt his chest tighten at the use of his nickname. He hadn’t heard it from you in so long, he wasn’t surprised it hit him with the amount of force it had. The way you spoke, fast and breathless, as he zoned out was what had him on high alert instantly. Even more so when you’re eldest sons names was mentioned.

“Woah, woah, woah,” he licked his dry lips. “Calm down, what’s happened to him?”

“We’re in an ambulance, they think he’s broken his arm but they don’t know if it’s worse than that. The school-“

“Wait, this ‘appened at school?”

“We’re going to Royal Free-“ you didn’t respond to his question. “Will you be able to get there?”

“‘M comin’ now,” he spoke quickly, pulling his headphones from around his neck and pulling open the door of the recording booth. “I’ll be there in about twenty minutes, ‘m in Central.”

“Please don’t speed-“

“I don’t gi’a fuck ‘bout gettin’ a ticket-“ he harshly spoke, hands snatching for his keys and wallet that he had dropped carelessly onto the couch when he first got the studio earlier than morning. 

“No, but ideally we want you there in one piece.”

He felt a tightness rage through his body as he walked with purpose out of the studio. Harry held his tongue as he heard your words, wanting to bite back spiteful words of how you didn’t seem so caring since he had last been in your presence. Regardless of how long or short it had been.

Instead he swallowed harshly, slamming his car door shut and throwing his wallet onto the passenger seat. He sighed, rubbing a hand down his face before he announced, “‘m in the car, so I better go.” 

Clearing his throat, he continued, “Text me or summat if you get moved from A&E by the time I get there.”

He let your reassurance go into one ear and out the other as he hung up without even speaking his goodbyes. His head, filled with all kinds of emotions, dropped back against the headset before he covered his face with his hand and growled. 

Slowly sliding his palms down and away from his face, he fiddled with his keys and let the engine of his newly bought Mercedes G-Wagon roar to life. 

Harry managed to make his way out of the city and get to Soho before the car had had to change to nothing more than a crawl. He tried to not let his eyes fall onto the inbuilt satnav in fear that it would only confirm what he already knew, that he was going to be stuck in traffic for far longer than the normal twenty-minute drive would usually take. 

“Come on, come on, come on,” he muttered under his breath, watching as the car in front of him let another car into the traffic, as it pulled out from a side street. “Yeah, that’s right mate. Let everyone into the fucking traffic, ‘s not like m’sons in ‘ospital or ‘owt, you fuckin’ wanker.” 

Hands clenched around the wheel, Harry fought against his urge to beep his horn and avoided letting himself creep too close to the rear end of the car in front just to piss that driver off. 

Instead he tried to relax, to sit back against his seat and ignore the bounce of his left leg as he sat idling in traffic. He knew his body wouldn’t have any of it, hands fiddling with the different knobs on the dashboard as the car windows started to steam up.

He turned his heaters on feeling the warm blast of air hit him square in the face. Agitated he slapped the air vents to close them and fiddled with the knobs. “Get a fuckin grip, Harry,” he spoke to himself, watching as the warm air blasted onto his window and removed the condensation.  

As he glanced around the window, his eyes zoned in on the left hand side of the car, closer to the passenger seat. A sarcastic laugh left him, a small shake of his head as he said, “Fucking birds shit on me window now an’ all, couldn’t fuckin’ write it could ya eh?”

He closed his eyes knowing that the harsh muttering under his breath stemmed from a worry that he had never felt before, Harry tried to shake it off. Focus on the traffic again, he saw the car in front of him slowly start to roll forward. 

Snapping into action, he couldn’t help himself as he added one final quip of, “Hallelujah we ‘ave lift off!”

The last fifteen minutes of his ride seemed to be a breeze as he got to the end of the street and wondered what had been the hold up, considering there was no traffic to be seen. 

Once he turned onto Prince of Wales Road he knew he didn’t have far to go; just that he would have to deal with hospital car parking, which was always a delightful nightmare.

The multi-storey car park at Royal Free Hospital had been a god send on many an occasion when he’d brought you in those early stages for your second pregnancy, after you’d had your blood spotting scare, but now the car park was non-existent. Instead it was located upper south car park which was off the hospital grounds, and a whole nine minute walk from the hospital itself.

“Nine fucking minutes,” he grumbled, pulled on his coat as he pressed the button on the car keys and started the trek. “This hospital is a fucking shit show.”

His footsteps were quick, his feet catching against the pavement underneath him as he tried to get to both you and his son as quickly as possible. He apologised as he bumped into a man, stood outside and smoking next to a “no smoking sign”. 

Breath slightly heavier, his eyes ran over everybody that was sat in the A&E waiting room. Not one figure was you and his first born. Fishing out his phone he noted that you hadn’t texted him, turning and walking to the front desk and politely getting the attention of a nurse filling in some paperwork.

He knew she recognised him, but now wasn’t the time nor the place as he asked about your whereabouts. She smiled softly at him, clearly sending the worry from his frantic delivering of his questions. Three or four in quick succession asking what had happened, where he could find you both.

“Mr Styles,” the nurse started, “They haven’t long gone through; a doctor has been assigned to them so they’ll be in a cubicle. Just let me get you the number you’re looking for.” 

Harry nodded, clumsily fumbling with his car keys and watching as she turned to look at a board against the back of the nursing station, half hidden from his view.

“I’ll take you through, your wife will be glad to see you. She was a bit shaken when she came in.” 

He knew immediately it was down to the clingy nature that had no doubt taken over your eldest son’s demeanour. Something that you always found difficult to comprehend considering he - for the longest time - appeared to have outgrown his kisses and cuddles.

Harry found it difficult to respond to the nurse, humming from time to time, before he felt himself come to a standstill when his eyes were set on your figure. 

He was hesitant, eyeing you and watching as you conversed with a much younger nurse who handed you a clipboard with papers attached. 

His eyes were everywhere, something he would never admit to anyone but himself. You looked, dare he say it, mum-sy. Hair pulled back in a messy top knot, glasses perched on your face. 

You were in a world of your own, eyes dropping down to the forms that you had been asked to fill out, bombarded with information and absorbing none of it. 

Lifting your eyes you were met with Harry and the close lipped smile he flashed to the nurse who had brought him to you. He looked bedraggled, and every inch a worried father, but hopefully of a sounder mind that you to complete the forms you had just been handed. 

He glanced over as he half listened to the nurse, looking away only to quickly place his eyes back onto yours in a double glance. 

“Thank you,” you just about heard him say to the Sister on the nursing team within the Accident and Emergency. 

The minute he stepped closer to you, you felt your nerves heighten. How would he react to the situation you found yourself in? He sounded concerned when you called, but a touch irritated nonetheless.

Pulling the clipboard to your chest, your crossed your arms against the plastic as a way to hold it to your body. If anyone asked, it was just easier to hold that way and nothing to do with closing yourself off.

When his hand rested against the top of your arm, you shrank into yourself. 

“Where’s my lad?” He asked once he locked eyes with you, noticing how your right hand was gripping at the clipboard and the way your eyes watered at the emotion within his voice.

“In here?” Harry nudged his head to the curtain that he stood in front of, in the busy corridor. 

You hummed, unable to meet his eyes for long. “What you got ‘ere?”

“Some forms we need to fill in about allergies, I don’t know I wasn’t really listening-“

He heard the crack in your voice, ignoring the need to keep his distance and pulled you towards him with a strong arm around the tops of your shoulders. 

“Can fill ‘em in after,” he pushed them to the side. “What you doin’ stood out ‘ere, should be in there wi’him.”

“We shouldn’t be here at all,” your voice was thick as it caught in your throat, causing Harry to pull away to look at you. “I wasn’t even in work today and I still said he needed to stay at the after school rugby because ‘m too fucking busy-“

“Hey,” Harry stopped your start to the self-loathing. “He’s alright.”

“He’s in hospital,” your face crumpled as you spoke.

“And he needs his Mummy, so what are you doing out ‘ere?” His voice was hard as he questioned you, sighing through his clenched teeth and closing his eyes. 

Breathing deeply, he turned his attention to walking through the curtain and in on your eldest son. The almost seven years old didn’t notice his arrival with eyes fixed firmly on what Harry recognised to be your phone.

“What did I say about no games on the phone or iPad before homework?” 

You watched as your son's eyes shot up from the game he was playing, the phone dropping gently into his lap as he half-sat, half-lay on the hospital bed. His little face lighting up at Harry’s appearance. 

Harry’s eyes looked over his son, the grey rugby uniform with the schools emblem resting on his body. He looked really grown up, which caused an ache in Harry’s chest. All this shared visitation and weekend custody wasn’t enough for him. His little boy, the one that made him a Daddy, wasn’t little anymore.

“Dad, look at my cast.”

“I know, mate. I can see,” Harry walked further into the room. 

“Don’t be moving,” you started, watching as your son began to lift his arm to show the cast that he had chosen. “It won’t have set in place yet-“

“Darling, ‘s alright,” Harry looked at you, watching as your shoulders sagged. “What’ve you been doin’, frightening me and Mum like tha’.” 

“Sorry,” he mumbled, dropping his eyes when Harry turned his attention onto him and moved the phone from the bed and onto the side, brushing his son’s curling dark hair from across his forehead. 

Lips against his first borns forehead, he whispered, “Don’t make a habit out of this, worrying your old man t’death.”

“You’ll always worry-“ 

Harry ignored your comment, feeling your son laugh lightly at the bickering between you both but lean into his embrace. 

“What do you think of the colour?”

“Thinks it’s cool.”

“Don’t think it’s too girly?” 

“Thought you’d have gone with red for Iron Man-“

“He’s not into that anymore, wants me to buy him the Lord of the Rings boxset-“ you interjected, feeling slightly left out at the way the two of them conversed closely; almost feeling like you were intruding on their bonding. “Something about a movie marathon-“

Harry felt his lips twitch as he pushed forward and kissed the top of his son's head; recalling how they’d started watching the films together on their last weekend spent at Harry’s. He remembered the way his son had joined him having woken up and fallen asleep in his arms when the films got too much and the clock edged closer to midnight. 

“Love you, mate.”

“Love you, Dad.”

You decided to leave them to it not long after their exchange, turning to the other side of the room to fill in the four forms that had been handed to you. 

Harry joined you shortly after, having handed your phone back to your son after he requested another ten minutes on the item, to which Harry caved in. 

You eyed him after he’d stood next to you, shaking your head.

“What,” he stressed, as you looked up at him again from under your brow. “He’s allowed the pass, just this once.”

“Oh yeah, and what about the other times?” You joked, quickly turning the page over and ticking the boxes that applied. 

“What other times?” He feigned innocence, hearing you laugh under your breath. As you silently filled in the forms, you heard him ask who had managed to pick your middle boy and daughter from school and nursery respectively.

“Your Mum,” you replied with ease, feeling his body still against the surface. “Contrary to the belief of Eloise at the last meeting, me and your Mother do still talk.” 

Harry looked uneasy when you lifted your gaze to look at him, knowing he had been caught out with his game playing at trying to drag out divorce proceedings, and create unnecessary battles at each stage. 

He knew his Mum was in town but he hadn’t had a chance to spend time with her just yet, knowing that she was busy helping Gemma with her big move. 

“Don’t know where she got that from?” You wistfully questioned, watching his skin pinken in embarrassment. 

The two of you held each other’s stare for the longest time, chests heaving as you admired each other’s faces and tried to see who would be the first to break. 

His blush was enough. 

“Can we go home now?”

You snapped your eyes away from Harry as they fell onto your son. He sat, face so alike your own with Harry’s eyes staring back at you, that you found yourself unable to respond.

“Course we can,” Harry replied with ease. “Let me and Mum do some grown up things and then you can have a go in Dad’s new car.”

Again his eyes lit up and you found yourself looking away from a scene that you couldn’t compete with, harshly scribbling down a response to an allergy question which would allow the hospital to provide him with an alternative pain relief option without penicillin. 

Quickly excusing yourself, you walked to the nurses station and handed over the forms, slowly meandering back to the cubicle and watching the way Harry soothingly stroked the hair off your sons face.

You could tell he was tired, the way his eyes were heavy as he tried to keep his gaze on Harry. His blinks got slower and slower each time, eyes occasionally popping open as he fought sleeping.

“‘S okay to sleep, mate,” Harry chuckled on your son’s last attempt to keep his eyes open. “Daddy’s gonna be ‘ere when you wake up-“

“Promise-“

The single word leaving your sons lips made your heart ache. 

“Promise you,” Harry mumbled, kissing his forehead again. “‘M right here.”

***

Harry held your limp son in his arms, head resting against his shoulder and legs long. 

He was too big for this kind of treatment, the kind that had you stroking softly at his hair and face with the backs of your fingers as you stood in the queue to pay for your hospital parking, but you didn’t care. 

Harry was grumbling beside you, his eyes running over the signs as you juggled with the information sheets for the Greenstick Fracture that had been identified.

“Bastard three quid an hour for parking,” he muttered, causing you to snap out of your daze. “Tha’s daylight robbery!”

“You’re a tight sod, Harry,” you tightly replied, turning to look at him as you saw him fishing out his wallet from his coat pocket, a small smile on his lips at how he’d gotten a rise from you.

Looking you square in the eye now, he responded, “Have’ta be if someones trying to fleece me in a divorce.”

His face was smarmy, eyes alight as you felt a burn in your throat at his words. You knew he was joking but given the upset of the situation you found yourself in, you didn’t quite know how to react. It wasn’t a laughing matter, yet it had become some sort of laughter source at the expense of everyone involved. 

“How much is some private landlord swindling me out of?”

You were meek as you replied, “Eighteen pound.”

“Call it a twenty,” he spoke, handing over his wallet, “‘ere. Shove the change in tha’ charity box.”

“Machine doesn’t give change.”

He scoffed, “Why am I not surprised?”

You didn’t respond, letting the machine snatch at the twenty pound note and spit out a ticket for you to scan at the barricade to allow you out of the multi-storey car park down the road.

“D’ya wanna go and get the car?” Harry asked as you stepped to the side of the hospital to collect yourselves. 

You eyed him. “You’re going to let me drive your new car.”

He smiled, “‘ve let you do worse in-“

“Shush-“ you were harsh, watching as he rolled his lips into his mouth, not wanting him to finish his sentence because unlike your son and the rest of your family, you had seen Harry’s car since he brought it just over a week ago. “What level did you park on?”

“Four.”

Not much more questioning was spoken after that, he told you to get the keys out of his coat pocket and away you went. The distance to the car in the dark wasn’t the nicest to make, the cold evening catching up with you and how you hadn’t grabbed for a coat in a panic after receiving a phone call about your baby from the school. 

The Black G-Wagon lit to life as you pulled open the car door thanks to the inside light and you quickly found yourself sat inside. You hated driving these kinds of cars, but having both moved to London to live and with your small army of kids, they were the sort of cars that had become a necessity. 

Resting against the seat, your body fell slack as you found yourself overwhelmed by the smell of Harry. You crumpled, hands covering your face as you silently cried to yourself; an enormous amount of guilt racking through you about an array of things. A feeling that was only strengthened by the scene of the three empty car seats in the back of the vehicle. 

Today’s accident, the interaction between Harry and your son, the way that you were a cause of both of those things happening or helping to enable the bond to wither.

Quickly you pulled yourself together, clearing your throat and sniffing harshly. Pulling down the visor above your hand you wiped at your face, pushing your glasses frames up into your hair as you tried to remove any smudging to your makeup, before returning them to the bridge of your nose. 

Turning the car on you carefully pulled out of the parking space that Harry had seemed to just abandon his car in (his parking not even within the two white lines for one space), and drove to exit barrier.

Ticket accepted, the barrier raised and you drove the short three minute drive to the front of the hospital; glad that it was so short that you didn’t have time to think too much. 

Your eyes took in Harry, who had somehow managed to get half of his coat wrapped across your sons body, his cheek resting against the side of his head as he swayed lightly in the London evening, waiting for you at the drop off and pick up point. 

Carefully manoeuvring into a space, you jumped out and heard him commenting on how you’d pulled into the spot. You glared at him, turning to busy yourself with opening the back door of the car and allowing him to walk closer to the vehicle to place your son into his car seat.

“‘S okay, baby,” you whispered as Harry gently strapped him in, and he grumbled from the discomfort.

“I know, I know. Daddy’s sorry-“ he muttered, watching the way his little boy’s face fell back to being peaceful. “You know the blankets in the boot? Will yer grab his?”

The mention en passant about the blankets didn’t go amiss, but you didn’t acknowledge it. Instead you walked to the back of the car and searched for the blanket. 

“Don’t want these little legs getting cold for the drive home, do we, mate?” Harry whispered, standing to full height as he pulled his body out of the car. 

His eyes roamed the few people outside the hospital, an elder gentleman watching the scene in front of him that was Harry and you. “You’re very lucky,” he commented in a thick London accent, a sad smile hitting his lips.

Harry nonverbally acknowledged him with a nod of the head, as you walked back around to him with a blanket in hand. He went to take it out of your grip but you whispered, “No, let me.”

Stepping around you, he heard the way you mentioned that the keys were still sat in the ignition, before he jumped into the drivers side, and fiddled with the seat that he knew you would’ve adjusted due to your difference in height and being unable to reach the car pedals. 

He heard you whispering quietly to your sleeping son as you gently tucked him in with the garish Iron Man blanket. “Mummy does it better, Daddy doesn’t know how to always tuck you in tight does he?”

“Hey, ‘m getting better,” Harry commented, hearing you softly laugh at how he was slightly offended. 

“That’s what he thinks, eh?” You responded to your little boy, who was still out for the count. 

Harry smiled in the drivers side, turning the engine on and messing with the heat settings to ensure that the chill was taken off the car to avoid waking up the sleeping boy. 

“Gotta get goin’, doll. Only supposed to be ‘ere for five minutes.”

Nose against your son's hair, you lightly breathed him in before pressing the softest kiss to his hair and pulled back out of the car to close the door on him. 

Joining Harry in the front of the car, you saw the way he stuck his thumb up at the security guard who had eased off and allowed you that little bit extra time in the set-down parking zone. 

The drive to the house was quiet, your body turned half in your seat, watching to make sure your son didn’t move too much in his sleep to cause any pain against the sling that his broken arm was now strapped up in for extra support.

Harry let his gaze fall to you a few times from the corner of his vision. He wondered if the thoughts he was having about the difference in how you had both found yourselves in his car this time, were as loud in your head as they were within his.

He slowed his car to crawl down the last streets, before coming to a halt outside the house that he once knew so well, which has since grown foreign to him.

“Haven’t changed the gate code, ‘av ya?” He asked, as he reached out of the car window to punch the digits into the keypad to open the black gate.

The electric buzzing revealed to him, before you could respond, that you had left the code the same as it had always been since he first moved in in 2012. 

The sound of his tyres on the gravel was a sound both he and you had missed. It was far and few between that Harry would pick the kids up since that fateful night when you’d drunkenly fumbled in the middle of his living room.

Yet, here you were, finding delight in the smallest of things like tyres against gravel. It sounded silly but you found yourself holding onto things like that more and more.

“Coming in for a cuppa?” You whispered, when he rested against his seat. He lolled his head to the side and looked at you wistfully. 

“Only ‘f I’m making’ ‘em,” he slurred, tiredness catching up with you. 

“Nothing wrong with my tea making skills, you cheeky sod. Was fine all them years we were living together and married-“ your sentence died on your tongue as you watched the way he smiled.

“Are we not still married?” He asked, voice light. 

You became flustered, suddenly reaching for everything around you and not knowing what to grab first. “Will you get him and I’ll unlock the doors-“

“Yeah, ‘s fine,” Harry whispered, willing you to slow down in your mad rush. You were out of the car like a shot after you’d heard his answer, lightly jogging to the front door and quickly unlocking it. 

“She never changes, does she, your Mum?” Harry started, regardless of knowing that his son was still asleep. He knew without looking at him, the sound of his soft snores filling the car. “Always wearing herself into the ground.”

Jumping out of the car, he quickly walked to the door behind his and set about unbuckling his almost seven year old son. With a heave, he was on Harry’s shoulder again, grumbling as Harry shushed him, gently encouraging him to go back to sleep.

“Since when did you become such a big lad,” he mumbled, walking into the house and pressing his lips into the side of his son’s head. “Stop growing, Dad can’t keep up.”

He found you in the living room, manoeuvring pillows to create a resting place for the two of you to lay your little boy, so he could continue his slumber comfortably. 

You watched as Harry sat down on the edge of the couch, turning his attention to removing the uncomfortable parts his son’s private school uniform. 

“Careful, Harry-“

“‘S fine,” Harry interjected, as his son softly whined in his sleep at the jostling. “He’ll go back down.”

“Watch his arm-“

Harry didn’t comment, knowing you meant well even if you were pointing out the obvious. He didn’t quite know how he’d managed to heave him onto the couch, but Harry gently placed his son down without fully waking him. A slight grumble here and there that were quickly and gently shushed. 

The shuffling behind him let him know that you had left the two of them in the room, Harry making light work of the school shoes on his son’s feet, and holding them in one hand and the jacket in the other. 

He discarded them in the hallway. Shoes on the shoe rack and coat on the assigned pegs. He followed you into the kitchen, seeing you silently turn on the kettle and feeling hopeful that your offer of having a drink was a genuine one rather than a polite gesture. More so when he saw that you had taken down two mugs from the cupboard and not just one. 

“Changed the colour of the hallway,” he commented, resting against the counter behind him and folding his arms across his chest. “How long’s it been grey?”

“Not long,” you hummed. “Dad came and did it for me. Your dad-“

“Me Dad?”

From his interjection, you looked at him. “They dropped in one afternoon after golfing. Mentioned it in passing, week later they both turned up and by the time I was home it had been given two fresh coats of paint.” 

“Should’ve said ‘f yeh needed anythin’ doing.”

Before he could stop himself he broke the sad silence as you both realised things were changing, “This wasn’t how it was supposed to go, this was supposed to be our forever home. You said that to me, all those years ago, stood in this very kitchen.”

Rather than insight sadness within you, his words created a bubble of anger, something you tried to nonchalantly hide. With a blase tone you replied, “Things change.”

That annoyed him.

“No they don’t,” his tone was clipped. “They don’t just change. Not like that.” There was a snapping sound behind you, one that you assumed had come from him clicking his thumb and finger to emphasise his words. His voice sounded again, “Not in a blink of an eye when we’re three kids deep, doesn’t happen.” 

And you knew it did, because so many parents were facing it at your children’s school, but you stayed quiet. Swallowing harshly, you heard the kettle click to signal that it had boiled. 

Tongue running along the front of your teeth, you poured the hot water into the mugs, feeling the aggravation radiating off Harry.

Walking to the fridge, still in silence, you pulled out the milk and poured a splash into your mug. “Are you still off the dairy?” You sarcastically asked, letting the milk hover over what would be his mug.

“Forget the fucking tea-“

You ignored him, pouring milk into his mug and making it the perfect colour that you knew he would drink. Part of you hated how you still knew him so well, right down to the shade of tea he preferred. 

His harsh words lingered in the quiet kitchen, the two of you not knowing how to break the icy atmosphere. He stood dejected at how you couldn’t look at him now, and he wondered whether it was down to how the environment you were standing in hadn’t changed regardless of the fresh layers of paint trying to mask the cracks. 

Everything was practically the way he remembered. Photos and drawings on the fridge. The breakfast stuff from that very morning stacked in the sink, waiting to be rinsed and loaded into the dishwasher.

And he didn’t know what came over him but he did exactly that. Pushing himself away from the counter that he was resting against, he turned on the tap and rinsed away crumbs on the breakfast plates before bending down and stacking them into the dishwasher.

And you let him do, standing there with two teas that were now too strong as you hadn’t been able to bring yourself to strain the teabags and drink them. 

He groaned as he stood to full height, shutting the dishwasher door. Head hanging down as he pressed his palms to the work surface, his begging voice permeated the silence. “Tell me how to make it better-“

“You can’t,” you were dejected. 

He was determined, however, regardless of how sad. “I can,” he looked across at you, standing and turning so his back was against the counter. “You want the legal separation, ‘s yours. I’ll give it to you if it’s what you want-“

His words caught in his throat as he kept your eyes with his as he continued. 

“Even if s’not wha’ I want. But you’ve gotta tell me cause ‘m in love wi’you and can’t keep shagging you when you come to me half-cut, and then have you claim you don’t remember a thing when I’m feeding you the next morning.” 

You snapped your eyes away from him, feeling him continue to stare at you regardless of how much you tried to block it out. 

“You know I’m in love with you, so you’ve gotta stop coming to my place because you know I can’t turn you away cause that’s not fair-“

Before you could stop yourself, you cut in, “Stop thinking with the wrong head.” 

And just as quick he shot back, “Or maybe just stop opening your fucking legs.”

The words were barely out of his mouth when you moved straight in front of him; delivering a slap across his face. 

You gasped your cry in shock at how you’d hit him. His jaw clenched and head turned to the side, as he moved it from side to side, feeling the burning sensation of your lashing out. 

“Harry,” his name died on your lips as you reached for him but felt him step away from your touch.

His head was hanging as he laughed, just the once, shaking his head. “Can’t believe I was suckered in to think that you’d changed your mind.”

“It’s just sex-“

“No,” he shot his head up to look you in the eyes, “It’s just sex when you do it once. Not every weekend and certainly not three fucking days ago in the back of my fuckin’ car.” 

You were stumped because he wasn’t wrong, which was why you were both stood just staring at each other. The juxtaposition of looking into the back seats of the car earlier at the hospital, housing your children’s car seats when 72 hours prior you’d had him sweaty against them as you rode him. 

Closing your eyes at the visual entering your mind, you forced yourself to look at him when you heard him starting to move. 

Suddenly, it was like a whirlwind when he swiped up his coat and the car keys he had discarded on the kitchen side. You almost felt planted watching him collect himself together with a tight expression. Somehow now he had got the upper hand and you were scrambling after him before you could stop yourself.

Desperate hushed whisper of his name left your lips as you followed behind him, Harry took long strides out of the house, leaving the front door open wide behind him because regardless of how much he would vehemently deny it, he wanted you to follow after him.

Gravel of your driveway was loud under your feet as you followed him to the car, and a sound that you were so happy to hear not even an hour ago was now mocking. Suddenly you were fighting with him to get to the lock of the driver side, somewhat thankful that his key fob to automatically open the car was temperamental regardless of how new his latest boy’s toy was.

You were fighting with him to cover up the lock of the door so he couldn’t open the car. Pushing his hands away, you tried to wrestle the keys from his grip and in some form of wanting defiance, you ultimately ended up turning your back to rest against the car door.

You were covering the drivers side, staring straight into his eyes that flashed more with hurt rather than anger in that moment as he jutted his jaw up slightly. “Move,” he was forceful with his words, jaw clenched.

You hated to admit to it, but he was way more masculine when he was angry. His shoulders and chest heaved as he tried to control his temper and his jaw was that much bigger as he fought against saying something he knew he was going to regret.

“Make me,” you challenged in return, watching the way his nostrils flared and eyes flashed with an anger that you hadn’t seen in the longest time.

“Don’t push it,” he responded but you knew he wouldn’t do a thing, cause he would’ve done it by now rather than staying stood angry and stoic in front of you. 

“You’re not driving ho- away like this,” you spoke reaching for his face, catching yourself. He was home, he wasn’t going to be driving home. He quickly pulled away from your touch, looking up to the dark sky. “Just come back inside. Please. Please, come back inside. Even if just to cool off-“ you dropped your face into his chest, feeling his arms limp by his sides as you clung to him. Slowly you felt the way his hand slid up into the hair at the back of your neck, fingers scratching lightly.

“Gonna ‘av to let me make another brew ‘f I come back in-“

Against your emotional state you found yourself laughing, and pressing your face against him tighter. 

“I’ll even sneak an extra sugar in yours,” he stroked his thumb against your jaw. 

“‘M meant to be dieting,” you mumbled incoherently into his chest. 

“Look alright to me,” he hummed. “Look more than alright.”

“You would say that,” you deadpanned, feeling him scoop you closer to him, anchoring your body to his. As he lightly began to sway you both, the ringing of his phone caused him to pull away.

Staring at the screen he saw his Mum’s caller ID and quickly swiped to answer her. “Hey Mum,” he softly spoke. “No we’re home now, can bring them back anytime-“

You knocked your head back looking up at him, he smiled down at you, brushing some of your hair back as you softly smiled. You nodded agreeing to how he had asked for your other two children to be returned to you both.

“I’m gonna go in,” you whispered, seeing him acknowledge you with a nod, watching the way his slipped away from him. 

“Yeah I’m still here, Mum,” you heard him continue his conversation, looking at him over your shoulder and seeing if he would follow behind you. “Hang on a sec-“

As you looked back at him, he turned to look at you. “Let me just finish this and I’m right behind you,” he raised the phone, admiring - even if only for the shortest time - your soft smile.

“No rush,” you dipped your head as you walked into the house and lingered in the doorway of your living room to check on your son.

Harry pulled the phone back to his ear outside, “Thanks for giving them their tea. We haven’t long got home so we’re starving this end.” 

“Do you need me to bring some leftovers and then you can just warm ‘em up when I get there?”

“You don’t have to-“

“Don’t be daft, it’s no problem. I’ll bring what we have left.”

Harry smiled but didn’t verbally respond, listening to his Mum tell him she’d get there as quick as she could. He knew he’d see her within the next thirty minutes. 

With that thought he braced himself, turning after taking a deep breath to walk back to the house.

You were treading on eggshells when you sat at the breakfast bar, kettle boiling when he lingered in the kitchen doorway. 

Peeling his coat off when he entered the room, he set about making the next round of drinks and empty out the cups that neither of you had previously drank. As he poured them down the drain, the dull thud of the tea bag hitting the sink filled your senses as you kept your eyes off his figure. 

You needed to apologise. Wanted to, even.

You were wrong. So wrong and so very sorry. Lashing out was never the answer, regardless of how low the words he had spoken. 

Cup of tea pressed to the island in front of you, his voice explained his tea making skills to your preference. “Two sugars, milky,” he warmly described.

You reached for his hand once lifted off the mug handle, you caught it and turned to look at him. “I’m sorry, Harry. I’m so-“

He shushed you, as the sound of a knock cut your apology short. “Later, okay? Let’s talk later. I’ll go and see who that is.”

You nodded, swallowed harshly as he walked around you and answered the door. As soon as it was open, his middle lad zoomed straight passed him, heading in your direction, always a Mummy’s boy.

From one Mummy’s boy to another, Harry’s eyes were set straight on Anne as she stood on the doorstep and silently tried to talk to him. He got the message pulling the door to as he stepped out on the doorstep as well to join her.

His soft gaze fell onto his sleeping daughter, mouth open, but somehow still managing to house her thumb that she had taken to sucking in order to self-soothe. 

Turning back to Anne he said, “Please don’t say anything. Don’t make this a big deal.” 

Anne didn’t say anything, turning her body slightly when Harry guestered to wanting to take his little girl off her hands. He lightly groaned as he took his daughter into his arms, mumbling lightly against her hair, “C’mere, best girl.”  

Once she was settled against him, he took up a small rocking motion from side to side as he held his mother’s concerned gaze. “Are you okay, my baby?”

He tried to duck the hand that she brought to his face but failed, feeling her nails scratch gently against his hair as she pushed it back off his face, like you had seen him doing earlier in the hospital to your baby. 

Harry below out a massive sigh, his bottom lip quivering from many emotions - mainly uncertainty. “‘M okay, he just gave us a scare and I don’t want to not be here tonight. Don’t want her on her own-“

Anne gave him this knowing look, staying silent for a while before responding with, “Change her mind.”

Harry’s voice was shaky as he replied, “‘m tryin’, Mum.”

She nodded, adding, “Cause it’s more than just you two. It’s this little one right here and those two beautiful little boys you should be thinking about so stop acting like you’re the kids here-“

His lips twitched as she started giving him a dressing down on his own doorstep. “Don’t fancy coming in for a drink?”

“I love you, Harry but I’ve got a bottle of wine and a boxset with my name on it. They’re exhausting-“

His smile deepened as he let his eyes look down at his youngest. “Worth it, though.”

“Won’t argue with you for a second there. Get inside and be with your family, call me in the morning.”

Harry nodded as he accepted the kiss to his cheek, and watched his Mum press a kiss to her grand baby’s forehead. “Night night, my darling. Don’t let the bed bugs bite,” she whispered against her only granddaughters hair before retreating to her car. 

Harry waved her off, watching her leave his property and ventured back into the house to the sound of hushed voices in the kitchen, with his youngest son animatedly interacting with his mother. 

Your middle baby was all you. Not only in his temperament, but in the way he looked and the way that he always clung to you. Often Harry felt like he was intruding when the two of you had your time together, and it was probably something that he should address at some point, but that point wasn't right now.

“I’m gonna gonna go and put her down,” he said, turning slightly so you could see the way that she was dead to the world. “Don’t know if you’re planning on winding down with him?”

You nodded, looking at your littlest. “Did your Mum not want to come and say hello?”

“It wasn’t like that‍,” he sighed. “I think they wore her out, couldn’t wait to see the back of ‘em. Grandparent privileges, getting to hand ‘em back, innit?”

You chuckled under your breath at how candid he was, and how correct his words were. “Gonna come and join Dad in winding down for bed, mate?”

Big eyes blinked up at you, slowly turning to look over at Harry. Resting against you, you felt him nod. “Come on then,” Harry softly smiled, addressing his son and moving his body, “room for you too.”

Trying to fight back your emotion, you watched as your younger boy climbed onto Harry’s back from where you had sat him on the kitchen counter.

“Careful H,” you choked, as his hand rested against the bum of your son while he continued to hold your daughter against his front.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got him. Hold on tight, don’t want Daddy to drop your sister-“ Harry felt his boy shake his head ‘no’, his little arms wrapping a bit tighter against Harry’s neck, before he exited out of the kitchen and towards the stairs. 

***

You left Harry to be in charge of bedtime, it all becoming a little too much for you when you overheard your eldest sleepily letting his “daddy” know that he was glad to have him home.

You wondered if Harry has struggled with that one, knowing his eldest didn’t refer to him as Daddy anymore, always opting for Dad. But you gathered that he had, as you sneaked a look behind the door and watched him press his nose into his son’s hair, before breathing out his response of, ”Me too.”

He walked in on you twenty or so minutes later with one hand full of dirty school washing and another housing microwavable Tupperware with the leftover lasagna that Anne has pushed into Harry’s spare hand earlier in the evening. 

Having discarded the lunchbox on the side, Harry - seeing a frown upon your face - got rid of the dirty school uniform placing it in the utility room for washing and walked back into the kitchen.

You heard him rummaging with the lunchbox, pushing it into your microwave and blasting the leftovers with heat. “You fancy some of this leftover lasagna Mum left me with?”

Humming, only half listening as you read, you thanked him softly when you saw that he’d rested two forks into the side of the Tupperware, which was now just right with heat, rather than piping hot.

Seeing that you were reading the accident report from today’s incident at the school, and still wearing a frown, he broke the stillness. “What’s wrong?” 

His front was to your back, hands on your shoulders as you kept your eyes trained on the accident report, reading it before raising it behind you for Harry to take. He kept his left hand on your shoulder, his right taking the paper and reading it.

There was a silence as he read exactly what you had, and you were sure that he was joining the dots just like you had done. From what you had read it was quite clear that the accident today had had malicious intent behind it. 

“We’re paying almost twenty grand a year for this shit-“ Harry’s voice pierced through the slow breathing as he finished reading. He threw the paper down to the kitchen surface, “s’not good enough!”

His outburst caused you to jump slightly, his voice - while not booming - something that you weren’t expecting. Harry felt your body jolt, causing him to  squeeze at your shoulders in a non-verbal apology as he moved to stand at your side rather than behind you.

While you stood in silence, staring directly ahead of you and quite clearly trying to compute and join the dots. He leaned against the worktop, reaching for the fork and realising that while now wasn’t exactly the best time to eat, for him to comprehend anything, he needed to have some substance within his stomach before it ate itself inside out. 

“Why hasn’t he said anything?” You questioned softly after a couple of minutes. 

The guilt rolled through you. The guilt on how both you and Harry had been so swamped by your own pathetic battles, sorting our solicitors fees and magistrate dates. Who should have what assets, and how you would spend your time co-parenting as much as you possibly could, that you’d missed this. 

The feeling that your little boy did not want to burden you with the troubles he was facing at school. Aspects of his life turned upside, and his safe haven of learning and playtime infiltrated and tarnished, by the aspect of another who possibly saw him as an easy target. 

You realised that you were on the verge of tears when you next spoke, “If he felt like he couldn’t come to me because he thought we were already going through enough and-“ you paused, thinking back to the times when Harry was originally gone, and your eldest would sleep beside you in Daddy’s place in bed because he didn’t want Mommy to be on her own. 

Harry, who stood feeling somewhat helpless regardless of the anger that racked through him, responded, “This is not your fault. I’ll go in tomorrow and have a word with the headmaster and we’ll get it sorted-“

If you hadn’t been so caught up in your own head you would’ve noticed the way he reached for you but halted his actions. It was almost like he knew you were going to be far too in your own head.

The blame and Mum-guilt that you were feeling was almost too much for you to hear what he was saying as you quickly interjected him. 

“I should’ve seen this. I should’ve noticed the signs. He’s been withdrawn, but I just thought it was cause you weren’t around and he’s been dealing with this on his own and he’s our baby-“ 

And kids were cruel and you knew that. Could be cruel to adults, but even crueler to people their own age.

“You’re right he’s our baby, so we sort this. Together.”

You swallowed audibly, trying to fight the lump in our throat as it began to close up. 

“Just like we have done before, together.”

The conviction of Harry’s delivery should’ve been enough, but considering the current landscape it was hard to not have doubts. 

“It’s not that easy,” you said around downturned lips, turning your eyes to look at him for the first time since this conversation started.

You looked at him in the dim light of your kitchen. His hair was fluffy and mussed, quite clearly one of your kids had taken to playing with it for comfort when Harry had been dealing with the bedtime routine. 

He looked tired. His face housed stubble and looked a little puffy and round, which made you wonder if the night before he’d partook in a drinking session. 

In the silence, he also admired you. The concern you felt and guilt you harboured dragged down your features, the smallest frown between your brows and stoop to your lips. Eyes sparkled from the welled up tears and the tightness of your jaw, made him realise that you were fighting to keep them at bay. 

“S’as easy as we want to make it,” he replied, knowing he needed to take some of the worry away from you. “Has he had more of these from school?” You looked at Harry, as he reached for the discarded accident report and nodded.

He caught your non-verbal response and continued. “Where’re they?”

“In the stack of papers on the dining table-“

He nodded, leaning forward to press his lips delicately to your forehead before he pushed himself away from where you stood. “Be right back.”

The rustling and rummaging happening in the other room would’ve once annoyed you, being particular about certain things, but in your almost numb-like state, you couldn’t even think about it to that amount of detail.

Not long after, Harry held two pieces of paper in his teeth as he walked back into the kitchen, making some sort of muffled noise for you take them off of him.

“S’been happening a lot hasn’t it?” He spoke, the minute the papers left his lips as you gently pulled them away. “There’s stuff here from when I was last in LA.”

“I know, I’ve been in to see them about it before but he always insisted that he was just being clumsy. And that’s not so far fetched to believe, we know what he’s like a home.”

“Yeah falls over his own two feet, don’t know where he gets it from,” he joked, eyes scanning the papers in front of him. He frowned, turning slightly to look at you, “You’ve been in to see the school without me? When?”

“Loads of times, don’t make it a big deal-“

“About this?”

You sighed, “Yes, I’ve gone in about accident reports before. S’that a problem?”

“It’s a problem you didn’t share it with me, yes.”

“You’re never here-“

He sighed agitatedly. He wasn’t going to go there again. Before he could speak, you cut in, “Sorry. Now is not the time nor the place.” 

Harry’s shrugged off your apology, knowing that it actually was the time and the place but you weren’t quite there yet in the conversation. 

Lifting another piece of paper, his eyes scanned how it detailed another incident where your son had been injured. It was quite clear that an element of bullying was taking place that needed to be resolved. 

Placing the paper to the side, Harry dropped his eyes down to the thick stack that rested upon the kitchen counter. 

His eyes scanned the page, reading so clearly the front cover of the separation agreement, seeing his name typed neatly under the descriptor of husband in block capitals. 

“‘Ave you got a pen anywhere?” He asked instantly after feeling his emotions change, he pressed his hands over his body as if he carried a pen on his person every day of the week. 

Frowning you slowly drew your eyes away from the report that you were reading and frowned. “Usually one in the miscellaneous draw next to the cutlery-“

“Thought you would’ve gotten rid of my shit draw the minute you kicked me out-“

His tone was easy and light, but the words stung both you and him as he spoke them. The ‘shit draw’ was exactly that, full to the brim of crap that you didn’t necessarily need to be kept, but you couldn’t bring yourself to throw away. You watched him walk to the draw with ease, opening it and finding a pen resting near the top after a short amount of rummaging.

“Why’d you need a pen-“

He clicked the lid so easily as he walked to you, a couple of times possibly highlighting his nerves, before he pressed it one final time.

“May as well sign this while I’m here, save on costs of you getting it posted to me.”

Your eyes widened as you saw the way he leaned down to sign next to his name. Before you could stop yourself you reached your hand forward and covered the piece of paper where he would be required to sign. 

Harry’s hand stilled, his breathing you were sure, coming to a halt. Slowly, he looked up at you from underneath his brow and somewhere within a second or two, this visual of him became blurry as your eyes filled with tears.

“Don’t-“

You watched him breath deeply feeling the way his hand cupped over the top of yours to lift it off the paper. You didn’t put up much fight, watching the way he placed your hand away from the paper and leaned down to go to sign again. Just as the pen was about to hit the paper, you reached for the top of the document and managed to snatch is out for underneath him.

He growled under his breath from your petulant but quick action, head hanging low as he pressed his hands onto the kitchen counter. “I don’t know what you want from me-“ he harshly whispered, head swiping up to look up at you, heart breaking as he saw your crumpled face.

“I don’t know what I want either. From you or from me.”

Staying rested against the kitchen counter, he let his eyes run over your small figure. The way you let your body stay facing forward, but you eyed him from the corner of your vision. Eyes weary and filled with tears as they peered at him,

“I feel so lost, H.” 

It hurt him to see the way you reached up to wipe your own tears as they fell. He was almost shocked when he saw the way you blew out a puff of air, cleaning off your face and shaking your head.

Within a split second, it was almost like you hadn’t been crying hot, messy tears a mere ten seconds before. He found himself vaguely intrigued by what he was seeing, but highly concerned at how abnormal it was that you were able to mask your emotions.

Had you always been this way? Had he missed so many signals himself when it came to you, just like you claimed you had with your son? 

He knew if he remained silent for long enough that you would fill in the silence between the two of you, and he couldn’t help but allow himself to softly smile when you took to reaching for a forkful of lasagne, to try and busy yourself from speaking.

Harry didn’t give in however, he wanted you to know that you were in control. Somehow he sensed that you needed it, even if you didn’t have any idea where to start in being given it. 

“I’m struggling-“

He slumped a little at the two words, an almighty confession from someone who was always so put together. 

“I recognise it.”

Harry breathed deeply at those next words. “That’s good,” he responded, watching you slowly look at him. “With what?” He rubbed under his nose, clearing his throat. “What are you struggling with?”

He didn’t need the clarity, he already knew but he needed to hear you say it. 

“With being a Mum. With this weird feeling that hangs over me sometimes.”

A small amount of silence, a nervous energy. 

“Right, you tell me. Talk to me.”

Fiddling with your hands, and then your shirt, he recognised how robotic you almost looked as you thought through your words. A coldness had come over you, like a thin sheet of ice waiting to crack. 

“It’s hard. I mean it wasn’t easy with the boys, was it?”

“No it was bloody ‘ard work. They were ‘ard work. Worth it, but ‘ard work.”

He saw the way you softly smiled at the ferocity of his words.

“Was it hard work?” You joked, watching him drop his face with the softest smile. Both you and he appreciated that there was humour, but knew deep down it was a deflection. 

Then it went silent. Again. 

“Gone quiet on me, doll,” he wistfully, acknowledged.

You sighed heavily, “She’s everything you ever wanted. But I can’t bond with her, I haven’t really bonded with her and-“ closed your eyes, trying to stop your trembling bottom lip. “And that makes me feel so shit as her Mum. Cause she’s number three and it should be easy. I should have this down now. I should know what her cries mean and I should be able to deal with it. Everything else comes so natural to me, even with the boys I was-“

“You were in your element.”

You nodded as you felt your face scrunch up with a fresh wave of tears, this time he was hopeful they were ones you wouldn’t fight and pretend they didn’t happen.

He let you cry, a silent cry where you buried your face into your hands and your shoulders shook lightly. 

“Promise you won’t bite my head off,” he whispered, standing closer to you and to his comforting height. 

“Depends what you’re gonna say,” you scoffed around your laugh, pulling your hands from your face that remained bowed. You saw Harry drop his head as he looked up at you with a coy smile, to try and catch your eye with his.

“I love you-“

“Harry-“

“Please darlin’,” he hummed “I love you. I do. It’s not a bad thing feeling low-“ he sighed, “But you’re so bloody stubborn. It’s okay to not always be on it, it okay to miss things or not know what someone wants or needs. Even if that someone is our baby. It’s okay to have negativity - not to harbour it but for it to be fleeting. It’s about what you do when you get to those hurdles-“

“I shouldn’t feel like that towards her. God, we wanted her so much. I even broke my two kids only rule for her,” he and you both chuckled around your tears. 

Watching the way he stared at you lovingly as your laughter died down, you dropped your eyes away from his. 

“You feel how you want to feel. Okay? Alright?” You closed your eyes, fresh tears rolling down your face. “‘M sorry for being such a shit husband, ‘m sorry darlin’, ‘m so sorry.”

“‘S not your fault I don’t talk.”

“Hard to talk to someone if they’re not around.”

You both were silent as you stood next to each other. “I think when we go for her next check up I’m going to talk to the doctor about my options.”

“That’s good,” he nodded in encouragement, “You should do that, if you feel up to it.”  

There was a small amount of silence as Harry half-smiles as you reached for another forkful of lasagna. As you chewed, you felt his eyes on you, placing the fork back into the Tupperware.

“I’ll be there too,” he paused, a slight stutter to his words. “Only if- if you need me to be.”

“Nice of you to offer,” you fidgeted with the fork, unable to look at him before mumbling. “Thank you.”

Harry, not knowing what to do with his hands, pressed his left hand gently to the back of your neck. He cupped your skin lightly feeling your body somewhat fight against his want to offer comfort. 

He didn’t force you, instead he waited for you to feel comfortable with his actions and step a bit closer to him, your body less rigid. Lips against your temple he mumbled, “You’re welcome.”

The kindness of his voice and warmth of his hand against your skin caused you to fall against him, allowing him to hold you properly for the first time in the longest time.

Harry enveloped you, sensing that you needed it, his hand rubbing up and down your clothed back with the confidence of a man who had been married to you for quite some time.

Pulling away, you looked up at him and met his gaze staring down at you. The two of you stayed silent, admiring the aging faces of each other that you both knew so well. Meeting in the middle both pairs of eyes slipped closed as you kissed, nothing provocative or sensual, the smallest pecks of comfort that felt familiar and necessary. 

You weren’t quite sure how long the two of you stayed in each other’s embrace, or how long you talked over a variety of different concerns that had been silently bubbling away for far longer than either of you would care to admit.

However, when you surfaced out of probably his fourth hold that evening, the skies outside had started to get lighter to signal the morning had broken for a new day. You felt strange, eyes puffy and tired as you pressed the heels of your palms against them. 

“Why don't you go and enjoy a nice, long shower, rather than rushing yourself?” 

“One of ‘em’ll probably come barrelling down the stairs in a bit, having woken up another one to come and tag team me with. Unfair advantage.”

“Doesn’t exist today. Dad’s home.”

Harry spoke so easily, his eyes soft and full of love. A love you found hard to stare right back at but couldn’t pull yourself away. He was gentle as he rested against the kitchen island, temple resting against the heel of his hand as he leant down. 

“Can even take a bit of a nap if you’d like? Let me do the breakfast, and the school run. Go an’ have a rest.”

He knew you were reluctant. He could see the worry forming across your brows as you continued to look at him in silence. 

“Got what? Three hours before they need to be at school? Ideal amount of time, tha’. It’ll give you a chance to nap and shower.” 

“Harry,” you sighed, in the same way you always did as you would start to unpick at how easy he was making everything seem.

He breathed deeply, standing to full height again. “I’m not asking, I’m telling,” he spoke with a jokey lilt, hands on your shoulders as he turned you to walk you out of the kitchen. 

“What happened to compromise in marriage?”

Harry chuckled, “Disappears when you’re in the middle of a divorce. Stop trying to be smart arse and go.”

You let your heavy feet drag you to the bottom of your stairs, Harry rolling his eyes behind you from your reluctance that resembled a teenager being forced into a family party. He stayed leaning against the doorframe of one of your downstairs rooms, watching as you stilled and looked up to the top of the staircase.

“What is it?”

With a smile, you turned your eyes to look at him. “Someone’s waiting for me.”

With a frown, he approached you. Hand resting against the bannister, he looked up in the same direction as you did just seconds earlier. His eyes were met with your middle son, sat at the top of the stairs almost appearing to be patiently waiting, with his chin resting against his two hands.

“Told ya,” you whispered, smile deepening.

Harry chose not to respond. “Can come down, mate,” he softly addressed your son, watching him carefully raise and descend down to you both. 

Standing three steps away from the end, your son raised his arms gently in the direction of Harry, silently asking to be picked up. Without question Harry reached for him, gently pulling him into his chest and feeling him rest against his shoulder.

He looked on at the way you watched the two of them, and when you eyes met his green ones he softly spoke. “Don’t even think about it. Go. We’ll be fine. Won’t we, eh?” He directed his question at your son, the little boy nodding.

Slowly blinking, you heard Harry once more, “He’ll drop off again, I know it.” 

Turning, you started to walk upstairs, and somehow found it in you not to turn back to check on your boys, however you weren’t far  enough to not make out Harry’s bribe to your youngest boy of chocolate Nutella pancakes for breakfast if he was insistent on being awake so early. That made you smile. 

Your bed felt blissful as you sank against it, not even bothering to remove your clothes to doze. Sleep took you quickly, and gave you the most restful slumber you’d had in the longest time. A restful slumber that wasn’t interrupted by the sound of laughter just shy of three hours long. 

Feeling fresh as you woke was rare, getting to lay in peaceful silence didn’t exist and you had come to forget what it was like to not wake up with the feel of a toddlers foot against your ribs (or even better the side of your face) having slept next to you. 

However, the panic that rolled through you was so familiar as you snapped your eyes over to the bedside clock to see that you intuition was indeed right and you were late. 

Duvet flung back you pushed yourself out of your bed and took large strides across the room. Mad dash down the stairs, you made quick  distance to the kitchen before coming to an abrupt halt at the threshold. 

A serene scene met your gaze of a father with it all under control. A baby girl against his hip, as he kept his back to your son who sat animatedly colouring one of the free drawings at the back of his favourite children’s magazine. 

Orange juice and glasses of water sat amongst the cereal boxes and bowls. A warm, buttery and sweet smell flowed through the air as you saw Harry move around the kitchen that the two you had done all and sundry in. 

“Remember what Daddy said, ‘s hot so no touching. Hands in,” Harry kept his voice calm as he began to turn. “Good girl. Mate, which toppings do you want?” 

“Chocolate drops,” he replied, eyes still concentrated on the page. You looked away from him just in time to catch Harry’s gaze. 

“What will Mommy say about chocolate on a school day?” The question clearly directed towards you. 

Staying silent, you shook your head and raised you hand slightly at him to let him know it was fine. 

Pancakes set in front of your growing boy, you smiled as you watched the way he quickly reached for his fork, the silver cutlery spearing though the golden goodness.

“Steady on mate, let me add the toppings. Uniforms after this,” Harry chuckled, looking at you again as you stayed fixed to the spot. “Fancy a cuppa?”

Part of you found this hard to process, as you stepped inside the kitchen to the perfect family life. He had it all in hand. No angry snapping at anyone to sit still at the table and eat, no constant reminders to get coats and shoes on (sometimes up to ten repetitions that ended up with a grizzly child sitting at the bottom of the stairs with shoes being forced abruptly onto feet). 

Yet for the first time in a while, there wasn’t envy. There was gratefulness. Lots of it. That had to be progress. 

You sank against the island counter as Harry placed your daughter between the two of you. She sat mesmerised by the toy kitchen tools of a wooden spoon and mixing bowl on her lap.

Harry said something about her helping him, as she slowly mixed nothing but thin air in her bowl but proceeded to lift whatever it was she was “making” on her spoon to Harry’s lips.

“Mommy try,” she turned the spoon to you, big blue eyes filled with innocence but intrigue to see your reaction. Of course you played along, never as animated as Harry but enough for her to giggle and snatch the spoon away into her little torso.

Harry yawned loudly next to you, your daughter falling against you chest to cuddle as you took to trying to smooth her unruly bed head. 

“Mum said she’d come around to take care of sleeping beauty upstairs while we take care of the school run,” Harry commented, rubbing at his eyes and pushing his hair from his face. 

“We?” You questioned, side-eyeing him. “Think I’m letting you behind the wheel in this state.”

“Nothing wrong wi’me, ‘m alrigh’,” he yawned, barely eligible. You stared at him silently, eyebrows slowly raising to emphasise your point. “Alright, fine.”

After a small amount of silence he added, meekly, “Any room for an extra passenger?”

“Yeah, think I have a spare booster seat in the boot.” 

You watched the wry smile pull onto Harry’s lips as he fiddled around with the pancake pan that sat waiting to be washed. The silence was broken when your middle boy declared he was “finished mummy!”, not so politely wiping a lot of his chocolate stained lips against the red sleeve of his pyjamas.

Then came the military operation of getting ready for school. Making up bookbags and remembering the water from the fridge to sit inside the lunch box. Trying to locate the matching grey sock that was part of the school uniform and in the end deciding to take the hit with a passive aggressive text you’d receive from the school later that afternoon about how you’d sent one of your children in wearing socks that weren’t part of the school regalia. 

As you ushered your daughter out, seeing her little legs still a bit unstable in her t-bar black patent school shoes, you paused on your doorstep.

Anne stood next to Harry, engaged in a conversation that had the two of them looking at you as you shut the front door behind you. 

Your brain was telling you to smile, but somehow you knew it looked like a grimace as you walked across your drive and busied yourself in buckling in you little girl as to not be stood uneasily next to your mother-in-law.

“Thank you for agreeing to babysit him while we go in to the school,” you said, looking between Harry and Anne. Her eyes were warm as she felt the way you overcompensated. 

“He won’t be an ounce of trouble,” she reassured you. “He never is. All three of them aren’t. Harry said you’ll probably be a bit longer than usual, something about needing to speak to the headmaster.”

“Mum,” Harry started.

“Harry, I’m not being nosy. I’m genuinely concerned for my first grand baby. It’s allowed.”

 “We’re going to be late,” he chuckled. “We’ll fill you in when we get back. Make sure you put t’kettle on.” 

“Know when I’m not wanted,” Anne joked, seeing the way Harry manoeuvred his son to walk around the other side of the car. 

He disappeared out of sight, leaving both you and Anne blinking at each other. Clearing your throat, you told your daughter to say hello, watching the way she silently waved at Nana Anne.

“Woman of very little words in the morning, at least she takes after me for something.”

You cringed at your attempt to joke, seeing the small smile on Anne’s lips. As you shut the door for the car, she reached for your arm. Hand resting carefully against the sleeve of your coat. 

“Everything will sort itself out,” she held your eyes. “It always finds its way.” 

A heavy weight left you as she squeezed your forearm. “If not there’ll be a hot toddy waiting here for you when you get back.”

Her eyes twinkled at you, cause the smallest laugh to bubble against your lips. 

“What are you two conspiring about over there with that laughter?”

“Never you mind, Harry Styles. Just like your father, getting involved when you feel left out-“

When you looked over at Harry the softness of his features from the display in front of him made warmth ooze its way through you, enough to take the edge off the October cold.

What were you doing divorcing this man? 

“Ready?” He hummed, as his mother walked the short distance to the front door and inside.

“Just give me five, will you? Start the car to take the chill off. I shouldn’t be too long.”

As the door shut behind you with a louder bang than you wanted, Anne popped her head around the door frame of your kitchen. Yellow marigolds on her hands, you softly smiled at how she’d taken to washing up the breakfast dishes the old fashioned way even before you’d left the driveway.

“Forgotten something?”

You shook your head, pushing away from the door and sliding around her in the doorway. “No, I’m just doing something I should’ve done a long time ago.”

She stayed silent behind you as she watched the way you reached across the kitchen island and grabbed at the stack of papers. Finding the brown envelope with ease, you pulled out the white papers title with your names and reason for filing typed across them. 

Pushing them back in the envelope, you turned on your heel back to the entrance of you house. Anne wore a light frown causing you to feel the need to help ease her confusion, “It’s bin day for the recycling,” you started, watching the way her face relaxed.

She smiled when you started to laugh under your breath, and took a step forward. Gently fingering at your necklace and the rings that sat against the chain, she spoke softly, “Might be needing these.”

Although you hadn’t been wearing them didn’t mean that you hadn’t kept them with you all this time.

“Let’s hope they still fit,” you quipped. “Would you mind getting the clasp?”

Turning, Anne quickly made light work of the jewellery, taking the delicate chain and collecting in the palm of her hand before handing over your rings. She silently looked on as you pushed both your engagement ring and wedding ring back onto your third finger.

You closed your palm and then stretched out your fingers a couple of times, fiddling with the diamond to set it in the middle of your wedding band.

“Feel good?”

You hummed, “Feels right.” 

She didn’t say anything else to you after. Instead she let you breeze passed her and out to the car. You headed to the recycling bin, slipping the brown envelope inside and letting the bin lid bash shut.

Harry wore a slight frown, looking so similar to his mother just moments earlier. He started to open his mouth as you jumped into the drivers side, questioning what you were doing, until his eyes dropped down to your hand against the steering wheel. 

His questions answered. 

Without a word, other than a shy smile on your lips, you put the car into reverse feeling ready to put on a united front and face whatever was next.

Together. As husband and wife. 

[neerasrealm]

SPEAKING OF LAUGHING JACK FLUFF- whenever you're not busy writing something else, can I get some LJ fluff? I'll accept anything I just need m o r e, sick day fluff, general fluff or s/o, comfort fluff, crack fluff,,,anything just LJ fluff ily and I need to keep loving my man

I had some trouble coming up with ideas for this ngl but then my brain went "how would LJ react to a human asking him out on a date?" And I went with that 😌 hope you like it. It's- actually not that fluffy when I read back over it but....still got a lotta goofy clowning so, I think it counts!

You’re obsessed with him.

You see him every few days, down the local park when you’re out taking a walk. He’s always in the same spot. The children’s playground, surrounded by smiling kids while he gives out candy and balloons and does tricks for them. It’s impressive, honestly, how he’s able to do everything he does. He holds the kid’s attention perfectly, he always seems to have what they ask for just- hiding in his puffy sleeves, he plays the accordion and sings in an angelic voice, creates amazing balloon animals and juggles- oh god the juggling, it’s unreal how much stuff he can juggle at once. Not to mention how flexible he is. You’ve seen him do all sorts of tricks like cartwheels, somersaults, flips and god knows what else. And he has the biggest, brightest smile you’ve ever seen. When he smiles it lights up his whole face and spreads to everyone around him, not to mention his laugh! He’s the funniest guy you’ve ever met, and when he laughs it seems to make everyone around him feel better.

His name is Jack, and you’re hoping to catch him again this evening. He usually leaves just as it’s beginning to get dark, so he’ll probably have more time to speak with you once the kids are gone. There’s so much you want to ask him- he’s fascinatingly weird. You’ve begun to think of him as some kind of supernatural being rather than a cute street performer. You laugh a bit at the thought.

As you approach the playground you glance around. Finally, you spot him. Wispy black hair, feathered shoulder pads, and striped socks. Jack certainly knows how to make himself stand out, as if his height wasn’t already enough. He doesn’t even need bright colours to stand out- in fact he avoids them and wears only blacks, whites and greys. Another thing to make him look weird. Maybe even a little monstrous.

Jogging over to the playground’s entrance, you lean ever-so-casually against the gate and wait until he walks out, past you. You watch him for a moment, admiring the way his hair bounces as he cheerfully strides along. You lean off the gate and walk after him. ‘’Hey, Jack!’’ you call out casually. He stops and looks over his shoulder, blinking at you. Then he smiles wide.

‘’Oh! ‘Ey there!’’ he turns around and waves slightly as you walk up. You can’t help but smile gently. He has such sweet, innocent eyes. They’re a bright blue colour, and always full of emotion. ‘’y/n, innit?’’

You laugh gently. Oh yeah, he’s british. Very british. The thickest accent you’ve ever heard. ‘’Hey.’’ you greet. ‘’Heading home?’’

‘’Yup.’’ he tilts his head at you, his hands on his hips. ‘’Wha’re you up ta?’’

‘’Oh, uh-’’ you panic for a moment. ‘’I was heading home too! Heh- mind if I walk with you?’’ you ask quickly. He smiles.

‘’Course ya can.’’ he turns around and gestures for you to follow. Perfect! So far so good. You stuff your hands into your pockets trying to be casual, and stroll along beside him. He looks down at you and smiles.

‘’How was the day?’’ you ask. ‘’Business good?’’

‘’Ah yeh,’’ he runs a hand through his wispy black hair. Everything about him is fascinating. His outfit, his makeup, his entire persona. ‘’I wuz doin’ candy ‘n tricks t’day. Thos’re some’ve my fav’rites.’’

‘’Oh yeah?’’ you tilt your head at him. ‘’You’re pretty good at your circus tricks. Where’d you learn em?’’

‘’Oh! Uh- jus’ picked em up hones’ly. Lotsa practice over th’ years.’’

You smile. ‘’Huh.’’ he always seems to...dodge questions. ‘’So- where’d you grow up?’’

‘’London.’’

Alright that’s the answer you expected. Next question. ‘’So is this performing thing your fulltime job?’’

‘’Yep!’’ he seems to become excited. ‘’Makin’ kiddos ‘appy is wha’ I wuz made fer!’’ he laughs, a raspy joyful noise that makes your heart flutter. "Me mum always said I wuz like a daffadown dilly, hah! So 'f course I became a clown, heheh."

You have no idea what that means but you laugh with him. "Your mom said you should be a clown?"

"Yup!"

"Yeah mine too, but only when she was mad at me." You grin at him. He breaks into a wide grin and then wheezes loudly in amusement. Perfect, you made him laugh! He snickers and looks at you again. God he's adorable when he laughs. Which is good, because he does it a lot. "So- how'd you come up with the costume?"

"Oh! Er- jussa lo'a mixin' an' matchin'. I already 'ad black 'air an' a lo'a striped fings so I er- jus tossed i' all together." He seems to become fidgety at the question. Odd. He coughs. "So wha' abou' you?"

"Me?"

"Yeh," he nods and smiles at you. "No' often some'ne who isn' a parent asks me abou' me act. I've seen ye a few times b'fore, so ye seem ta like me." He smiles at you. Shit. He has you completely figured out, doesn't he? Well...alright then. You take a deep breath before responding.

"I...find you interesting." You finally answer. He cocks a brow at you. "British guy who performs for kids and does tricks in a big heavy costume- who wouldn't be interested in learning more about him?"

He laughs gently. "Ye like me fer me accen'?"

"It's a bonus." You give him a sly smile. He laughs again and glances down. "So...what do you do on your off days, Laughing Jack?" He seems surprised at being called his stage name.

"Oh! Er- …'uman fings." He responds nervously. You snort, then crack up laughing. He laughs along with you, still sounding nervous. You had no idea he'd be so easy to fluster!

"Alright then...how about next time you're doing human things, I come along with you?"

"Eh?" He seems surprised and confused.

"Y'know- we could...get coffee or something…?"

He blinks, then his eyes widen. His mouth opens as he suddenly realises that he's being flirted with. "Oh- oh! Er- uh-" he blushes a light pink beneath his makeup. "Ye'd wanna...g-go ou' wiv me…?" He sounds like he can't quite believe what you just asked him. You nod. His blush deepens, and his shoulders arch up, burying his face in feathers. You laugh at his embarrassment. "A-ah...I see." He gulps and peaks out at you from beneath feathers. God he's adorable.

"Doesn't have to be coffee, if you're not into that."

"Nah, nah! I like coffee." He coughs, clearing his throat. He suddenly stops walking and looks at you. "Can I er-" he seems completely out of his depth here. You absently wonder if he's ever been flirted with before. "Can I getcher number?"

Score! This is exactly what you'd been hoping for! You reach into your pocket and pull out a small slip of paper you prepared earlier. You wrote your phone number on it earlier in hopes that he'd ask for it.

"Here you go." You say with a smile. He quickly steps forward and takes it, looking down at the small scrap of paper like it's the most important thing in the world. He slips it into the pocket of his shorts and nods at you, still looking surprised and worried. He forces a smile.

"Righ' then." He finally says. "I'll er- I'll text ya la'er an' we can arrange ta ge' sum coffee." His smile is flustered and his eyes are shining with excitement. You nod.

"Sounds good." You step back away from him and give him a small wave. "I'll see you soon, Jack."

"S-See ya!" He calls after you. You walk a little bit away until you're out of sight, then double back from behind the cover of trees. Just as you'd hoped, he's still right where you left him, staring in the direction you just went. Even from your hiding spot you can see his blushing face and wide excited smile. He suddenly jumps on the spot and looks around excitedly. He buries his face in his hands, crouching down slightly. You frown. Is he- shaking?

Jack suddenly explodes back up into the air, his arms stretching out more than they realistically should. He lets out the loudest cry of excitement you've ever heard and bounces on the spot, giggling to himself like a schoolgirl. You grin in amusement and watch him cartwheel over toward the forest, still making loud noises of excitement and joy. He spins and flips, then disappears into the trees. You snort.

He's...so weird. And somehow it just makes him more loveable.

[shuahoonie]

everyday. [tom holland]

PAIRING:  college!tom holland x female!reader

SUMMARY: somebody call disney because you and tom met in the cheesiest way possible. karaoke was involved. so was high school musical. you could say it’s pretty meta. 

WARNINGS: swearing, i think? some alcohol. hella fluff yall. like sickly fluff. 

WORD COUNT: 2639

SONG INSPO: everyday (from disney’s high school musical 2) - troy & gabriella

A/N: hiya babes! get ready for a long ass note! first off, with everything that’s happening around the world, i hope that you guys are safe and you’re taking good care of your health!! i’m sorry if i’ve been away for quite a while, i’m really trying to be better at this. 

anyway, wrote this lil’ imagine for you guys since i can’t get this concept out of my head. i based it off on the tiktok that i saw and i just couldn’t help but write about it. i hope this piece provides a short distraction, something that we need from time to time. thanks and enjoy!

stay informed. stay safe. wash your hands, people! 

(also, the next chapter for the “you” series is still under works and i’m not entirely sure when that’ll be up. hopefully by the end of this week!!) 

gif credits: @loooo-lou  

vanessa’s masterlist  

“It’ll be fun, Y/N,” Your friend Kimmy said with a huge smile, dragging you to the student lounge located on the west side of the campus. 

"You’re just saying that because you’re part of the organizing committee,” You mumbled as you tried to hold on to your binder full of this week’s readings.

You were basically camping in the library the whole day as you tried to conquer the list of things that you had to do for the whole week. You were already knee-deep with your readings just for that research paper from one of your psych classes alone so what more from the other classes right?

It was already a rough couple of days for you and you definitely needed this as a break-whatever this is. Kimmy was basically doing you a favour.

“Okay, but you like High School Musical that’s why you had to go.” She pointed out as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“I enjoy it,” You stressed, “To say that I like it would be an exaggeration.”

“Bitch, please” Kimmy snorted as you two found an empty booth at the lounge. “You can practically quote the whole trilogy and you can sing the songs like ABC’s.”

You just glared at her and made yourself comfortable, “This better be worth it, Kim. I am losing sleep because of my research paper and I can’t spend my spare time doing other things.”

“Honey,” Kimmy gasped as she put both her hands on top of your shoulders “Are you even hearing yourself? You know you can take a break, right?! No, actually you have to take a break.”

You sighed and just succumbed in defeat as your friend clasped her hands in excitement. “This is going to be great, Y/N.” She said in glee. “The org’s providing dinner tonight so you don’t have to worry about that. Also, we have karaoke set up and you can win at least a £50 gift card if you scored like a 90 and above.” 

“Wow, free dinner and a gift card?!"

“The org’s also serving alcohol if you really want to take an edge off,” Kimmy winked giving you a light nudge. 

“Now, there’s alcohol? Why didn’t you lead with that, you bitch!” You gasped, jokingly. 

Kimmy rolled her eyes, “Okay, I’ll get back to you later. I have to check with the others if the food’s ready.”

“Mkay,” You murmured as you pulled out your readings and took out your stack of sticky notes. “I mean, I think I can squeeze a bit of reading.” 

You tried to do a bit of your reading but with how they set up the lighting at the lounge, it was nearly impossible. They dimmed the lights and set up a few red lights in the corners of the lounge, the red popping out and setting the tone for the whole event. Fairy lights were put out as well, giving enough light to see the decorations that they did. 

It was High School Musical themed so you did expect a whole lot of red and white colours popping every now and then. Boy, you were definitely feeling the wildcat spirit. 

Knowing well enough that you weren’t going to accomplish any of your research work, you made the decision to scroll on your phone. After spending a good few minutes scrolling on Instagram, you’ve decided to take a quick video to post on your Instagram story. 

You posted the story with the caption saying: “high school musical karaoke night! @/kimmydelacruz thnx also u have to sing with me, i can’t possibly do it myself.” 

Kimmy was in the kitchen when a pair of arms snuck its way and were wrapped around her waist, “Hi babe, you okay?” 

“’m okay, love. Don’t worry,” Kimmy replied as she viewed her friend’s story, rolling her eyes in amusement. “Hey, Haz, did you manage to bring in more people?” 

“Uh, not a lot. Tom and a couple of mates from my kinesiology class are here though,” Harrison settled his chin on the crook of Kimmy’s neck. “What’cha watching, babe?” 

“Oh, it’s just Y/N’s story. She posted about our HSM-themed karaoke night and she wants me to sing with her, hoping that she can claim that gift card.” Kimmy replied as she continuously tapped on her phone, skipping a lot of stories from other people. 

Harrison hummed, “Babe, you know we can’t participate right?” 

“Yeah, I know.” 

“You know, Tom really wants that gift card too, he wouldn’t stop saying how he would risk his reputation for that 50,” Harrison pointed out. “Tom’s gone mental, I’m telling ‘ya.”

Kimmy locked her phone and shoved it in the back pocket of her jeans. She turned to Harrison with a smirk playing on her face. “Haz, my love, has Tom ever met Y/N before?” 

Harrison took a good look at his girlfriend, he knows that devious smile anywhere. “Babe, what are you planning?” 

“You are the music in me,” A couple was on stage, trying their shot on the karaoke. The karaoke was now jumbling to flash the scores, the couple were both waiting in anticipation. 

“A bloody 81?” The girl yelled, appalled. She was trying to pull a serious face but a laugh was threatening to come out. “I have harnessed my vocal cords for this and all I got was a bloody 81?” 

The crowd couldn’t help but laugh at her comment. Their singing wasn’t bad, “maybe it was just the machine” as they said. 

“Why don’t you give it a go, mate?” Harrison nudged Tom, who was taking a sip of his beer. Harrison dropped by to check up on his mates when he found Tom, who was sitting at one of the booths along with a couple of mates from class. 

“Haz, mate, are you sure you want me to go up there?” Tom asked, laughing. “Might I remind you that you were the same person who practically begged me to not embarrass you in front of people.” 

“Yeah, ’m starting to regret even saying a mere word,” Harrison muttered to himself. “But I know you're not one to turn down karaoke, let alone have the opportunity to get £50 along innit,” Harrison said, placing a hand on Tom’s shoulder. 

“Alright, c’ mere, mate.” Harrison stood up and walked towards the karaoke machine. He punched a couple of numbers to a song and gave Tom the mic. 

“Mate, you are making a big mistake.” Tom chuckled, happily grabbing the mic. As soon as Tom saw the song that was playing on the screen, he quickly pressed the ‘pause’ button and grabbed Harrison’s arm before he left the stage “Mate, hold on, this is a duet.” 

“Yeah, I know.” 

“Oh, so you know, do ‘ya?” Tom mocked. “Well, come on, mate. I am not going to sing this alone, ‘cause ‘ya know, a duet means two people.” Tom laughed, doing an impression of Sharpay’s infamous line. Tom loves binging the High School Musical movies and he isn’t afraid to say that. 

“Absolutely not, mate,”  Harrison stressed, making Tom raise his brow. “Look, don’t take this the wrong way, Tom, but there’s no way I’m singing tonight. Why did you think I volunteered to be part of the organizing committee?”

“Uh, because you couldn’t say no to Kim?” Tom countered. 

“That and I’m not allowed to participate. Mate, if you want to win the gift card, you would have to find someone else to sing up here with you,” Haz explained. 

Tom let out a sigh, “I guess you’re right.” 

“I’m always right,” Harrison pointed out jokingly. 

“Alright, but who am I-” Before Tom even got the chance to finish his sentence, Harrison quickly left the stage. He looked over at the table where his friends were and asked,  “Connor, mate, do you want to sing up here with me?” 

Connor shook his head insanely fast. “Absolutely not, Tom. Have you forgotten that I am tone-deaf? I do not want to embarrass myself in front of people.” 

Tom turned towards Brandon and he shook his head as well. “Mate, I only came here for the food and drinks, remember?” 

“Great,” Tom muttered. He looked around the crowd, trying to figure out if he even wants to even push through this at all. 

“You still doing okay, Y/N?” Harrison asked as soon as he approached you. You just saw Harrison walk off stage after he finished talking to some guy who was about to sing. 

You gave him a nod as soon as you took a sip of the hard lemonade that they were serving at the bar. “Shouldn’t be drinking, but I really wanted one so...” You trailed off as you raised your cup at him. You wanted a drink but not something that would give you a headache after.  

“Eh,” Harrison shrugged. “You deserve to relax from time to time. Heard from Kimmy that you’ve been stressing a lot on that research paper of yours.” 

“Thanks,” you muttered. Harrison quickly excused himself, saying that Kimmy was looking for him, which you just dismissed him anyway. 

You were scrolling on your phone when you heard someone clear their throat. “Sorry, but have you seen Harrison?” 

You looked up and made contact with a gorgeous pair of brown eyes. He was the same guy who was on the stage not too long ago. You recognized him from the photos that Harrison posts on his Instagram.

One drunken night, you were sitting next to Kimmy as she mindlessly scrolled through her boyfriend’s photos on Instagram. You both came across the photo of Harrison and his friends, sitting at a luxe sofa, assuming that they were at an event. Harrison was sitting next to his friend who was wearing a white button-up shirt, his legs sprawled. This was the same night you admitted to your best friend, that you found Harrison’s friend cute.  

Well, he looks cuter up close.

“Uh, yeah, he just left and said that he has to meet Kimmy. Think they’ll be back quick though, I practically begged Kimmy to sing with me on stage.” You explained.

He nodded understandingly. “You here for the 50 quid?” He asked, a small smile playing on his lips. 

You gave him a sheepish smile, “Yeah, I’m in university and am broke. I’d do anything for that 50.” 

“Oh, I hear ‘ya,” He laughed “However, I do remember Haz telling me that the organizers aren’t allowed to participate though.” 

“You’re kidding,” You said in disbelief. This was news to you as you were really looking forward to singing up there and getting that prize money. Well, you were looking forward to singing with someone to get that prize money.

“I’m afraid not, darling.” He chuckled. “Trust me, I asked Harrison to sing with me as well.”  

“Well, that’s a shame,” You muttered. Well, tonight could be worse. At least you had a free meal. 

“Hold on, what would you say if we both get up there and sing?” He asked with a bright look on his face. 

“Are you joking?” You asked, taken back with the idea that a stranger (sort of) is asking to sing with you. 

“Absolutely not,” He insisted “It’s not like we have anything to lose-”

“Besides my dignity” You claimed. 

“C’mon,” He laughed “If anything, we can only gain from this moment.” 

“Which is?” 

“That prize money,” He listed off using his fingers. “A night to remember,” He continued. 

You nodded after every point until he said, “Maybe romance?” He suggested cheekily. 

“Shut up,” You murmured shyly, feeling your cheeks burn. You took a minute before you grabbed your cup of hard lemonade and finished the rest of your drink. “Alright, loverboy, c’mon.” 

You stood up and followed the stranger to the karaoke machine. You couldn’t believe it, you’re actually singing with someone you don’t know. 

He handed you a spare mic before he pressed the ‘play’ button and not long after, you heard the intro to the song that brought you nostalgia. 

“Once in a lifetime, means there’s no second chance

So I believe that you and me, should grab it while we can,” He was looking at the screen to guide himself with the lyrics and started singing,  surprising you that he had a wonderful voice. 

He was becoming more and more attractive to you and you didn’t even know his name. 

“Make it last forever and never give it back,” You sang into the mic, reading off the screen as well. You know this song by heart so god knows why you’re all of a sudden reading off the screen.

This was a whole new experience for you. You usually do karaoke in a private room with a couple of very close friends, and this is the complete opposite: you were singing in public with a stranger. 

“Because this moment’s really all we have,” Your voices melded together smoothly, which shocked you if you were being honest. It’s as if you were both meant to sing together. 

“Every day of our lives,” He was now facing you, stepping a bit closer to you.

“Wanna find you there, wanna hold on tight,” You faced him and did the same thing as well, taking a step closer to him. 

“Gonna run,” 

“While we’re young and keep the faith,” 

“Every day,” He took another step closer. “From right now, Gonna use our voices and scream out loud.” 

“Take my hand,” You sang, holding out your hand. At this point, you were convinced that the spirit of Gabriella Montez has taken over your body. Y/N Y/L/N would never be this bold. 

He gladly took your hand, a smile was permanently painted on his face, “Together we will celebrate.” 

“Oh, every day.” 

The instrumental kicked in and you two were really feeling the music when he leaned over into your ear and said, “Never would’ve pegged you to know this song, darling.” 

You laughed softly and said, “I should be the one saying that.”

You two carried on singing, having an absolute blast. Never in a million years would you have imagined for this moment to happen, it felt too good to be true. 

“Every day,” You both sang the last line with your faces in close proximity. How did this happen? Maybe it was the alcohol? Maybe you two were just so into it that it felt right? No one knows. 

As you two were waiting for the karaoke machine to show your score, the guy leaned in and said, “Darling, I don’t think I even got your name.” 

“Y/N,” You said with a smile and offered your hand. 

“Y/N” He repeated with a warm smile, shaking your hand. “What a lovely name, darling, I’m Tom.” 

“It was a pleasure to sing with you, Tom.” You said, laughing softly.

Tom brought your hand up to his lips, “Oh, trust me, darling, the pleasure is all mine.” He disclosed placing a gentle kiss on the top of your hand, leaving your cheeks burning. 

Maybe you and Tom were so into the moment that you didn’t even realize that Harrison and Kimmy joined you on stage. “Alright, give it up for tonight’s real-life Troy and Gabriella!” Kimmy yelled to the crowd, in which they happily obliged and gave you and Tom a thunderous cheer.

“Okay, lovebirds, in case you didn’t notice-which I know you didn’t,” Harrison pointed out “You two scored a 91, so here are your gift cards.”  He handed you both a gift card each. 

“Use it well.” Kimmy teased, in which you rolled your eyes and nudged your best friend. 

“Well, I guess this is our start of something new, huh?” Tom whispered in your ear, a teasing smile playing on his face.

TAGLIST: (if u guys are interested hehe)

@thomasthetankson @autty0314 @marvelous-tswiftfan @averyfosterthoughts @theolwebshooter @jackiehollanderr @sltwins @herondalescecilys @notjustpenandpaper @ihopethatwemeetinanotherlife @gothicwidowsworld @heartofholland @stxfxniexreads​ @peruvian-bae​ @hollands-osterfield​ @thenoddingbunny-blog​ @galacticstxrdust​ @sweartomendes​ @itsjstz​ @muade-mua-de​ @hayoosh2

[maerose-late-at-night]

basically I was a little upset & confused about Callum being portrayed as  tickety-boo after only a day in the hospital? so I wrote a thing. so you know.. have some Ballum angst. and a little bit of fluff.

Ben had all but collapsed in his arms. Breath heaving, eyes stinging. From what Jay and Stuart had told him, he had to be absolutely exhausted - and Callum could tell that he’d been trying to put on a brave face for a really long time. It was a privilege to know he felt safe enough to let down his walls with Callum, but then, he’d always been able to see that side of Ben, hadn’t he? It’s what had made him fall in love in the first place.

Like a kiss on his cheek, to soothe him in the middle of a crowded street. Like hands connecting and not wanting to let go.

They stayed in that kitchen for what seemed like hours. And all that time, Callum pushed through his own pain. Held back from flinching when Ben’s body pressed against the bruises on his chest. Ben deserved to fall apart right now, he was practically owed it by the universe. And Callum was going to be there for him through it all. 

Stuart had explained in his own concise way what’d happened, his mouth twisting a little at the first mention of Ben’s name. It was like a built-in reflex, but Callum could tell things had changed between them - because at the end of it, there was just the flimsiest glimmer of something like respect. That Ben had apparently never given up on finding him and - even though he’d not been able to hear a single thing - had actually found Callum, where Stuart had tried before and failed.

“Can you take me to him?” 

His brother had given a nod, followed by a questioning look at Callum’s broken body. “You sure you’re up for that, bruv? Doctor’s cleared ya?” 

Callum had sent a reassuring smile his way. “I’m alright, Stu. Promise.”

He wasn’t. Not really. 

He knew he should’ve taken his meds a couple of hours ago, but all that had mattered at the time was taking care of Ben. No more talk of sexy times now, Callum just sat him down on the edges of the mattress, and carefully untied his shoes. He’d glanced up at his boyfriend, who was looking at him through hooded eyelids, and gave him a small smile. 

“Alright?” 

Ben nodded, willingly falling back against the sheets. When Callum climbed in after, Ben twisted in his arms to face him.

“Need to see ya.” 

It was just a soft murmur, but it nearly made Callum break to pieces. For the last couple of days, he’d been alone, and freezing and tired. His body’d been battered, had suffered harsh angles and construction rubble digging deep into his skin. Cold and heavy chains around his wrists, weighing him down. And all he’d wanted, all he’d needed, was Ben.

He was truly home again. 

*

It took only half an hour for the dizziness to set in. His lungs began to violently scream their distress at him - or they would have if there’d been any air left in the room. He felt feverish and out of balance, his eyes darting rapidly from side to side - desperate to find anything to focus on. Darkness honestly seemed preferable.

Breathe. 

He tried to shift himself backwards on the bed, fighting against the way his muscles protested from disuse. God, he felt sick. Sheets that’d been crisp and welcoming now felt damp and sticky with sweat. It was like pushing through a desert of sand, ploughing through every single grain that was in his way.

He had to shoot out his hands to steady himself against the wall. Catch it, like. Wiggling his fingers, he all but clawed at the white surface, frustrated by its smooth texture. 

He took a step. Another. Swallowed hard. He’d survived too much to fall down now.

But then, the bathroom had honestly never seemed so far away. The lights had never been so harsh and demanding. He caught sight of his reflection in the mirror - and he’d never looked so pale.

His first attempt at swallowing one of his painkillers failed. Why’d they have to make them so awkwardly shaped, anyway? They were just perfect to roll round in the sink and shuffle down the drain, weren’t they? 

Callum braced himself on the edges, eyes closing and head dropping, far too heavy to hold up anymore. So he didn’t see Ben approaching as much a he heard the shocked “Jesus, Callum!” from behind him.

Quite the pair, weren’t they? 

Ben rushed to him. A cool hand touched his forehead, trying to calm his feverish head. “You’re too hot.”

Any other time and they’d be cracking jokes about this, weaving innuendo through every uttered word. It’s what Callum had tried to do earlier, innit? Take away some of Ben’s sadness by teasing him, to lift the heaviness from the room. He was just too tired now. 

So he let himself be made to sit down while the world spun fast around him. His eyes shuttered closed again. He heard frantic footsteps and the turning of a faucet, felt wetness to his skin. He wanted to catch Ben’s hand to slow him down. “Ben…”

Fingers closed around his own, aiding him to take hold of a glass filled with water. “I’ve got your pill,” Ben’s soft voice filtered through the darkness. “Think it’ll go down?”

He nodded, pushed himself to look at the proffered item in Ben’s palm. Placing it on his tongue, he focused on the sensation of it, trying to angle the item so it would slide smoothly down his throat. Luckily, it worked.

“I’ll take ya back to bed, yeah?” Ben was solid against his side. Real and true. There. 

And he knew what Ben was thinking. Knew that he felt like it was all his fault, that he was to blame for every second since Keanu had taken him - for every cut and every bruise, for every memory that’d haunt Callum for a while to come. What he never seemed to realize was that he was the balm for all those wounds and more. That the mere thought of him was the only reason Callum had survived to begin with.

He saw the pain on his face when they removed the first layer of his clothing together, laying bare the mottled skin of his wrists. Heard his quick and sharp intake of breath when the next step displayed his chest like a study in black and purple. Ben looked away, trying to busy himself with throwing Callum’s clothes on the floor and retrieving him a new shirt to sleep in. The soft glow of the bedside lamp illuminated the wetness in his eyes.

Callum hooked a finger under his chin, turning so their eyes reconnected. “This ain’t your fault.” He made sure to articulate very clearly, so there was no way Ben could misunderstand. “It ain’t. Keanu.” 

Ben, of course, dismissed him completely. “You should’ve said you were hurting. No, I - I mean, I should’ve kno-”

“Stop.” Callum said. “I was alright. I was.” He pointed to this temple. “I forgot to take my pills. That ain’t on you either.”

“Callum-”

Callum lay them both back down, reveling in the way his eyes had regained some of their focus, and in the absolute beauty of Ben’s shape beside him. “We found each other.” he said. “Tonight that’s all that matters.”

He could tell Ben wasn’t convinced; and that it would take a lot more time for him to believe it. He’d work on that, starting tomorrow.

Just when he was about to nod off, he heard Ben’s quiet voice ringing out. “I love you.” 

He was looking at him, heart completely on his sleeve in a way he hadn’t quite before. “I should’ve told you sooner and I’m sorry.” A tear fell from his eye, making an odd track along his nose with the way his body was angled. “And I’m sorry.”

Callum smiled at him and cradled his right cheek with his palm, fingers gliding over the light stubble there. “I know, Ben. I’ve known for a long time.” He just hoped Ben understood every word. “Let’s get some sleep, eh? We have tomorrow and every day after that.”

He pressed a slow kiss to Ben’s lips. Smiled brightly.

“You are never getting rid of me now.”

*