#Need Some TLC fic

[landinrris]

How does this keep happening to me?

#this is vampire lando (and carlos) fic i posted a snippet of a little while ago #i have like one and a half small scenes to add and then some chopping so theoretically it should get a little shorter? #she may need more tlc than the other recent ones in terms of going back to establish more breadcrumbs and themes #but i showed the gc a peak at another bit and we got good reviews so im excited to share #writing tag

[gracieheartspedro]

Your Needs, My Needs

THE PRELUDE

a masterlist of how you can help gaza

pairing: cowboy!joel x f!reader (no outbreak)

description: you have made it to your new home in taylor, texas. your anxiety of owning your our home and being alone is coming to a head, but you need to be productive. a trip to the local furniture turns into you meeting some locals and your new cowboy neighbor.

word count: 3.7k words

warnings: there is no smut in this part. still MINORS DNI! no use of y/n! vague talk of reader's old life before texas, no real description of the reader, description of small age gap, joel being a sarcastic shithead. sarah is canon, so joel is a dad. distracted driving. talks of consuming food. reader has mental illness, mainly described as anxiety, but could be other illnesses. I make it pretty vague. the reader likes football? lmfao

author's note: this is the prelude to the many parts I have planned for these two. this is sort of just setting up everything. I want a slow burn for these two, so hopefully these first couple parts make you guys sweat with anticipation. I also wanna quickly thank all of you for the love on the preview of this fic. I hope you all enjoy it! let me know what y'all think. YEEHAW!

“Sign here and she’s all yours.”

When you brought the pen to the dotted line, you knew that this was going to be the start of your new life. 

While you were nervous about taking on such a huge project, you were ready to find solace in your alone time and work on yourself along with the beautiful farmhouse. You needed some peace and quiet, anyway. 

She was set on 20 acres of land on the outskirts of a small town called Taylor. The land looked like something out of a movie, it’s rolling hills and sprawling fields. 

The house was about 130 years old and needed a lot of TLC. You found it online after hours of scrolling. It was still liveable, but the older couple who owned it before moved to a retirement community and could not keep up with the maintenance. When the inheritance hit your bank account, you called the local realtor and told them you would be flying out there to check it out. When the car pulled up the long driveway, you knew that it would be yours. 

Texas was a new start for you. And boy, were you ready for it. 

You did not have a lot to move in, just a small UHaul full of boxes of clothes and miscellaneous trinkets. You left your furniture in your shared apartment in New York. You needed to find something that was more your style, anyway. 

You moved everything yourself. You were not sure you were ready to trust anyone to help you move in. You knew no one locally, anyway.

It took about three days to get settled, and by that, you simply put up a shower curtain and finally put sheets on your mattress on the floor. You had also created a laundry list of random things you wanted to get done around the house in the next month. Priority number one was getting the bathrooms working. The toilet downstairs doesn’t stop running and your upstairs one won’t flush at all. 

You decided that today was the day you would go out and buy some furniture for your living room and bedroom. You would also inquire to some locals about a plumber. It would take you days to work up the courage to reach out to someone in the phone book, so here’s to hoping you just run into someone on the street. 

You hop into the sedan that you were renting until you could buy a car. It was nice but it was no match for your long dirt driveway. You already expected to pay extra for all the dings on the exterior. 

The roads that lead into Main Street are long and winding. You loved driving, so when it was nice enough to put the windows down, you did so. 

Since there’s no one on this specific stretch, you decide to switch the CD you had shoved into the disc drive, opting for another mix you had made years ago. The radio never played what you wanted, especially the local stations in Taylor. 

In your distracted scramble for the CD, you don’t take note of the large stallion running next to your car. The CD is wedged between the seat and the main console and your fingers cannot reach the awkward position. 

You’re not speeding. But when a giant horse runs out in front of you, you can not hit the break quickly enough. You stop breathing, bracing for impact. You jerk the wheel slightly, swerving away from the steed.  Before your front end can make an impact, the horse is snatched back towards the divot in the road. 

You are in complete and utter shock over how abruptly it all happened. 

Your eye eventually catches a man on horseback, his cowboy hat shields most of his face, but you are more focused on how built this man looks. His biceps were straining against his button-up shirt as he held the lasso taut against his chest. His legs were locked around the brown stallion he was on, his jeans riddled with mud and dust. He had dark curls that peaked out from under his hat.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” You yell, your car slowly inching forward from its spot in the middle of the road, “Where did that thing even come from?”

The mysterious cowboy just shakes his head and trots away, clicking his tongue to guide the horse back into the field. 

Your heart felt like it may leap out of your chest. A car was chugging down the road ahead of you, so you knew you had to move out of the way. You turn into your lane and slowly start down the road again.

You do not even bother trying to find the CD, again. You would rather sit in complete silence. 

-

When you make it to the small stretch of downtown, your heart rate slows down. You spot a local furniture store that looks a bit dated. It was your best bet plus, you wanted to stand on solid ground and gain your bearings. 

You parallel park rather terribly and hop out of your car. You huff loudly, throwing your purse over your shoulder and slamming the door behind you. 

A hot cowboy saved your life. 

It’s the most Texas thing that’s happened to you since you moved here. 

You head inside the storefront. A smaller white-haired lady sits at the front desk, her head in a gossip magazine. 

“Well, hello there,” You muster in your best cheery voice, trying to act like you did not almost die, “I’m lookin’ for some furniture.”

She chuckles as she places her reading next to the register, “Well, you came to the right place, sweetheart.”

You return the laugh, glancing around the large store. Couches and recliners in rows in the front, wooden bed sets lining the back wall. You were so indecisive, you were not completely sure where to start. 

“I need a bedroom set and a couch or two. I just moved into th-”

“The old Caldwell farmhouse,” She cuts you off, hopping off her stool, “Saw you movin’ in a couple days ago. My boy is your neighbor.”

The joke about small towns is always true, you know that already. Everyone knows everyone else’s business. You could not shit without someone knowing about it. 

You raise your eyebrows, acting like you’re shocked she knows about you already. “Yes, that’s right. Your boy?”

“My oldest son, Joel. He lives across the way from ya,” She starts gesturing towards the couches, “Pop a squat on one and see which one ya like.”

You end up sitting on every couch before landing on a brown leather one with a matching loveseat. The old woman is a great saleswoman on top of being sickly sweet. She told you since you are one of her first customers of the month, she would give you a great discount on a coffee table. You were a sucker for a good deal. 

You knew what bed set you wanted immediately. It was a light-washed wood with tall pillars sticking out of every corner. It came with two matching dressers and one nightstand. It was only you, so you didn’t quite care about another side table anyway. 

When the lady starts tallying up your total, you watch the slow-moving downtown. A couple walking across the street into the small diner. An older gentleman walking his small dog. The rickety old trucks that loudly took up the roads. 

You’re so stuck in your head, you don’t even hear what your total is. All you do is hand over your credit card. She smiles and giggles as she swipes the card. 

“So I’ll have my boy deliver it to you tomorrow. He is busy workin’ today, but I’ll have him get it to you. He’s quite the handyman, always busy doing jobs around town. Will you be home in the morning?”

You would have to have some strange man in your home to set up the heavy wooden furniture. It made the hairs on your arm stand up. You knew you would not be able to haul it all, so you had to take the leap of faith and hope and pray this frail old lady’s son is not a serial killer. Or stalker. Or both. 

You needed your furniture, after all. 

It will be okay, you tell yourself. 

“U-uh, I will,” You swallow, “I don’t work right now, so I’ll be home all day.”

“Oh, goody! I will send him your way in the morning. He may have his brother with him just to get the bed up your stairs, but I promise they are good boys. If they aren’t, you come to me and their mama will deal with them.”

You laugh nervously, “Of course, thank you so much.”

–

You had woken up late, your anxiety creeping up on you last night. Your brain would not stop racing. You didn’t fall asleep until 2 am. You hop out of bed around 10:30 and wrap yourself in a cardigan. You have been leaving all the windows open at night, but you can tell the seasons are shifting because it gets so cold at night. 

The doorbell rings and it’s like your heart falls out of your chest. You know that after you open this door, you’re welcoming in someone completely new and unexpected and it makes your whole body jitter. You make your way to the front door and take a deep breath before opening it. 

Of course. It’s him. The hot cowboy. 

It made sense. The endless green across from your home had to be part of his property. The road you almost died on yesterday was right beside his land. His house was tucked right across from the end of your driveway, with countless barns spread across a couple of acres.

You were secretly hoping he would be some silly-looking hillbilly, but instead, you find out your delivery man is the ridiculously attractive cowboy from the day before. His hair is tidy and dark without the cowboy hat on. It’s peppered with some white hairs, but it only adds to his appearance. His flannel has the top three buttons undone and his jeans are stained with age. You are finally able to get a good look at his face with no shadows covering his permanent scowl. 

He had to be about 10 years older than you. You were not too far off from wrinkles, but you were still young enough to bear children without being considered geriatric. 

He squints at you when you swing the door open. The sun is hitting his eyes, highlighting the warm rich brown color. 

“Howdy neighbor,” He greets, a small smirk plays on his lips, “’m Joel. Nice to meet you officially.”

You introduce yourself, trying not to stutter as you say your name. He made you nervous. You chalk it up to just being nervous around men in general. But it’s the way his eyes trailed you as you moved just slightly.

You feel the need to clear the air because of the way he’s staring through you. 

“And uh, listen, about yesterday,” You try to apologize, but he cuts you off by raising his hand. 

“Wouldn’t be the first time an outsider got themselves hurt bein’ reckless down the backroads. Just glad you didn’t hit my horse.”

The response has a bit of a bite to it. You back up a step, your body also taken aback by his directness. You are used to confrontational people, but you’re not used to Southern folk being that way. 

“No, next time I’ll aim for the ditch and tell my insurance that there was a silly cowboy in the road that I had to miss.”

You can tell by the sheepish smile on his face that he was not expecting you to be feisty.

“Don’t think they’d give ya’ much money for that,” He says in a hushed but matter-of-fact tone.

You relax your shoulders, trying to collect yourself. “Probably not.” 

He turns back to his truck that has your bed frame in the back of it, disregarding the previous statements. “My brother is comin’ by in a few to help me get this stuff in.”

“Well, let’s not let all the air out of the house right now,” You extend the door wider for him. You are giving this man full access to your home now. You try to suppress your obsessive thoughts and instead decide that you know exactly what you can have him do while you wait. You remember his mom told you he was good with his hands, and since he wants to be snarky to you in the comfort of your own home, you would try to pick his mind about some of your home projects. “Come in, let me ask you something.” 

You begin, gesturing him into the entryway. He accepts the offer, kicking his boots off on the porch. You appreciate his thoughtfulness and for a second, you realize you may be the asshole. 

“Mama told you I was a handyman, didn’t she?”

You giggle, finding it funny that he could read the situation you were about to put him in. “She sure did.”

“She needs to stop tellin’ folks that,” His accent is so thick and syrupy, that it makes your insides tingle, “Got too many people askin’ me to fix their stuff.”

You guide him to the bathroom right off the living room and kitchen, “You know much about plumbing?”

“I’m assumin’ you don’t,” He mutters, “What do you have goin’ on?”

You point to the loudly running toilet, “This thing won’t stop running no matter what I do.”

“Well, what have you tried doin’?”

You both stand in the hallway, you looking up at him with furrowed brows, him looking down at you with anticipation. He was quick-witted, and you started to hate how much you liked it. He gave your sassiness a run for it’s money.

“I’ve flushed it a bunch of times. Cursed at it and kicked it,” He stares at you blankly. It makes your stomach roll, “Jesus, Cowboy, can you give a girl a break?”

He enters the narrow bathroom, approaching the toilet like there may be a bomb in it. He reaches towards the handle and jiggles it violently, which makes you giggle a bit. That’s exactly what you did. 

“So, why here?” He questions, squatting in front of the bowl. He continues to mess with the handle while you process his no-context question.

“What Texas or this bathroom?”

He chuckles, his smile spreading across his beautifully tanned skin. 

“You got tons of jokes, huh?” 

You don’t respond, just shrug your shoulders. He stands up, wiggling the top of the tank off the toilet. You watch his hands lock onto the sides of it, ensuring it will not drop off and shatter on the dated tile. 

“Texas,” He strains, freeing his left hand to mess with the handle. You lean against the door frame. 

You are not even sure why Texas. You just needed to get as far as you could away from New York. You did not want your past to catch up with you, and you did not want to get stuck in a city again. But you could not share all this with a random stranger. He may be in your house, looking at your commode, but you can’t completely trust him yet. 

“I just wanted a change of scenery. I always wanted a farmhouse.”

“Lots of upkeep,” He jabs, doing one more once over of the tank, “‘M thinking you may need a new float or chain. I can get my tools tomorrow and come over to fix it. May need to order a new part, though.”

You push off the wall, arms still crossed over your front. He puts the top back on and finally makes eye contact with you. 

He would come over again? To fix your toilet? 

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, ‘m sure it’s the chain or float.”

“No, I m-mean,” You start to stumble over your words. You swallow, collecting yourself for a moment so you do not look crazy to him. “Are you sure you’re okay coming back over?”

He gives you a thin-lipped smile, “What are neighbors for?”

-

His brother arrives in a rickety old truck at about 15 past 11. He looks a lot like him, but shorter. He has those same eyes though, permanently tired. 

“Nice to meet ya, ma’am. ‘M Tommy.”

You grab his hand to shake it and he lingers a bit longer than you anticipated. Joel stayed on your front porch, putting his boots back on to start unloading the furniture. 

You are thankful the weather was kind today, especially since every evening this week has been stormy. The sun was beating mighty hard on the men as they collaborated on getting your furniture inside.

While they get everything set up, you busy yourself making lunch. You get the bright idea to make them each a sandwich. It’s the least you could do. 

You pile the cold-cut turkey and cheese onto the white bread you had, topping it with some mayo. When you hear their footsteps trailing down the stairs, you race out with the sandwiches on a porcelain plate.

“For your troubles,” You say before standing in their path to the door. Tommy smiles brightly, instantly snatching a sandwich from the plate. 

“Thanks, darlin’,” He takes a big bite, humming in satisfaction. He walks around you, leaving you standing in front of Joel. His eyes are piercing, his lips ajar a bit, but nothing is coming out. 

“Turkey and cheese, I promise.”

He reaches out grabbing the sandwich from you, “No sweet tea to go with it?”

Your heart sinks, instantly becoming self-conscious of your decision to be nice to these hicks. He was so intimidating with his steely expressions and broad shoulders. There was an essence about him that did not speak to his stone-cold exterior. It was more gentle. But you could only see hints of it when he smiled. 

He can tell the wheels in your head are spinning. Before you can speak, takes a bite of the sandwich and shakes his head. 

“‘m kidding, Yankee. Thank you, I ‘preciate it.”

You settle for letting out a long sigh and returning to your kitchen. You spend a couple of minutes, putting back all the ingredients in their proper places. 

You hear Tommy yell for Joel, his voice kind of panicked. You race out the front door and see Tommy balancing your coffee table off the side of the truck. Joel is running to his aid, the dust from your driveway kicking up behind him. You hold your breath watching Joel help him balance the wooden piece of furniture. 

“Can’t have you breakin’ your back before homecoming,” Joel fusses, guiding the legs of the table to the ground, “You know damn well Maria would have me, too.”

“Yeah, what’s a homecoming game without the head coach?”

You perk up, instantly becoming interested in the conversation that you weren’t supposed to be listening in on. The two men lift the table and start heading your way, right on the threshold. 

“You coach football?” You ask Tommy, trying not to show your excitement. You loved football, it reminded you of Sundays with your grandfather. You never got the privilege to go to an actual game, even in high school. 

“Yes, ma’am, for the local high school in Taylor. We are gonna make it to the state championships this year.” 

You glance at Joel when he says it. He rolls his eyes, “Gotta win at least one game to do that, Tommy.”

They place the coffee table right in front of your new leather couch. Tommy grunts, trying not to argue with his brother in front of a strange lady. 

He can’t help himself, though. He instantly snaps back at Joel.

“You know them boys have been practicin’ day in and day out. Why ya gotta be so negative?”

Joel places his hands on his hips, “Cause Sarah told me the guys in her grade are a bunch of dummies. I highly doubt they are ready to kick Georgetown’s asses.”

Tommy starts towards the door, “Just cause Sarah says it, doesn’t mean it’s true.”

“I believe my honor student daughter before I believe my dumbass little brother.”

You are not shocked Joel has a daughter. You are just shocked that she’s in high school. He looked too young to have a teen, but then again, he did have some grays sprouting. You cross your arms over your chest, watching Joel scoot the table across your hardwoods. 

You’re staring at his hands, trying to conjure up a wedding ring on his left finger. But there’s nothing. Maybe he did not wear it when he was working. Maybe he just forgot to put it on this morning. Maybe his passive aggressiveness towards you was simply to ensure there was distance between you and him, giving you subtle hints that he was taken. 

He finally glances up at you, stopping in his tracks when he notes your gaze. 

“Somethin’ wrong?”

You have no clue what to say because you are so trapped in your head about him. He’s a stranger, god damn it.

“N-no, everything is okay.”

“Don’t look it.”

“I just was not expecting the coffee table to look so dark against the hardwood,” you lie, pulling whatever you could think of out of your hat, “Doesn’t it look dark?”

Joel looks between the floor and the table, shifting in his stance, “Don’t know bout that.” 

“O-oh okay.”

“Alright, well we got ya all set up now,” He starts to head towards the entryway. You trail behind him like a lost puppy, “I’ll be by sometime tomorrow with that part for the toilet. I’m expectin’ another sandwich for that one.”

You grab your front door as you wave to Tommy as he heads for his truck. He smiles and gives you a head nod. Joel turns back to you, his ears perked up for a sarcastic jab from you.

  You think back to something he said to you earlier. You crack a smile, “What are neighbors for?”

PART 1 COMING SOON!

taglist (ppl who asked to be tagged): @joeldjarin @taylorsmakingfuckingmacandcheese @mysaviorjoelmiller @brittmb115 @missladym1981 @jasminedragoon

#joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #cowboy!joel #joel miller #joel miller fanfic #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #pedro pascal #joel miller fic #joel miller fluff #joel miller au #joel miller angst #joel miller tlou #joel x reader

[familyvideostevie]

steel drum weight of me

joel miller x fem!reader, 18+ mdni

summary: joel comes back from his wall shift with hands in need of some serious tlc. but why stop there? | 3.2k

warnings: fem!reader, fluff turned to smut, a tender blowjob, p in v sex, unprotected sex, riding, creampie

a/n: this could be in the same universe as come care about me and watching you with wonder but who knows. what matters is it's a post-part i jackson au and all is well. this is my first fic in a while and i hammered it out today so hopefully it's coherent. <3 series masterlist here.

__

Jackson looks its best in the winter.

You've always thought so with its endless skies gone white, blending in with the grey clouds carrying the constant threat of snow. The peaks you never tire of, such ethereal beauty in a world otherwise gone to shit, looming over town with a steadfastness that you can fool yourself into thinking means protection, means safety. In reality, they're just something nice to look at when you have a free moment.

It's also fucking cold.

But you can deal with that. You've spent more winters in the last twenty years than you'd like to remember mostly outside, freezing your ass off, fingers so numb you could barely pull the trigger. But when it counted, you did.

Winter now means a town full of children laughing and having snowball fights. It means big pots of stew and your pick of hats, scarves, and a good pair of boots. It means a warm house to go back to every night, a bed to crawl into, and a man you love to hold you.

Things could be worse.

You're home first today. Joel and Ellie are on the wall and have been since mid-morning. The light is already going, the sun dipping behind the Tetons, sky that winter mix of purple and pink that makes the breath catch in your throat no matter how many times you see it. There's a flu going around and taking people out for a few days at most but it means fewer bodies free for the wall and for patrol. You're pulling a double tomorrow and you're already looking forward to the hot bath you'll take after.

Today, though, you change from your work clothes to something softer, a sweater that travels between your drawer and Joel's, thick socks Dina gave you for your birthday last year. It's hard to heat houses like yours the way you used to but it works well enough to fight the chill so long as you layer. That's the name of the game these days: adapting.

You set the kettle to boil and forgo thinking about dinner for a few hours. Joel won't drink tea with you but if Ellie stops by she'll have some. Maybe you can convince her to watch the movie you pulled from the library this week. You love him, but Joel just doesn't appreciate comedies.

The front door creaks, the bell you have hanging from the doorknob jingling.

"S'me," Joel calls into the house. "You home?"

"Making tea." The kettle isn't steaming yet so you lean against the counter and wait.

The sounds of his return are familiar even though you can't see him. He locks the door with a click, shrugs his jacket off with a sigh. He sits down on the bench you put in the entryway so he can take his boots off. The thunk of one and then the other. He'll tuck them next to yours under the coat rack. When the weather is bad you try to come in the back door so not as to track snow through the house but you don't want his back to get any worse so a bench in front makes sense.

The kettle screams. You pull it off quick and pour the water into your mug -- a chipped green one with a dinosaur holding a cookie that you find endlessly amusing -- and leave it to steep. The floor creaks under your socked feet as you make your way into the hall. Joel still sits on the bench digging into the meat of one palm with his thumb like he's working the feeling back into them.

He looks up and his jaw softens a little. His cheeks are rosy from the cold and his hair a mess from the wind. "Evenin," he says.

"How was the wall?"

"Fine." He stops messing with his hands and rolls his shoulders back with a grunt. "Ellie swears she saw a moose on her last patrol. Said to tell you. I think she's fuckin' with me. How was your shift?"

"Fine," you echo. "Is she coming for dinner?"

He shakes his head. "Game night at Jesse's."

You cross the remaining distance between you and he parts his legs automatically so you can stand between his knees. You run a hand through his hair, pushing the greying fringe back from his eyes. He looks up at you and finally smiles, just a little. You drag your hand down the side of his face and enjoy the feel of his beard on your skin.

"Maybe she did see a moose." He rolls his eyes and brings a hand up to cover yours. You lean down to kiss him but something catches your eye and you pull back, tugging your hand from beneath his to circle his wrist.

"Jesus, Joel." He makes a surprised sound.

"Hey now, what --"

You pull his other hand from his knee and hold them both close to your face, turning them over in the light of the entryway. "You didn't wear gloves, did you?"

He just shrugs. That means someone else on the wall -- probably Ellie -- forgot theirs and he handed his own over.

The skin of his knuckles is dry and cracked, the rest of his palm dry and cold to the touch. You've seen them bloody, broken and bruised, and compared to that, this is tame. Welcome, almost. But you know he won't do a damn thing about it, let himself bleed rather than take a second to make things better.

And you've never minded this part. Taking care of him, making him slow down and rest for even just a little bit. You both know you'd get your hands dirty or worse for him and he for you, but this is the part he has trouble with. So you take the reigns.

It's part of how you fit together -- part of how you look after each other.

"We've got something for this." Joel looks unamused. You press a light kiss to one of his knuckles and his nostrils flare. "Go sit on the couch," you say.

"I'm fine --"

"Joel, they'll bleed if you don't let me --"

"I said I'm --"

"Hey," you say. He hears the finality of your tone and lets you have it, sighing your name in one long breath.

"Alright," he says. "Move, then."

You press a quick kiss to his lips and release his hands to step back. He stands with his usual grunt and you have to stop yourself from leaning into the width of him, from wrapping your arms around him and slotting your nose in his neck and never letting go.

"It's that salve Dina brought over last week," you tell him. "The new one for the winter. Smells nice. Good for this kind of stuff."

Joel makes his way to the couch and you fetch the tin from the kitchen.

"What's it made of?"

"Uh -- oil? And some flowers, I think? Wax, maybe."

He's settled into the cushions when you return, smirking. "It's okay to say you don't fuckin' know."

You sit next to him and unscrew the top, folding your legs so you're facing him. "Well then, I don't fuckin' know." You're sure to imitate his drawl.

"Cute."

"Gimme those hands, big guy."

The salve smells faintly of lavender and it's cold on your fingertips. Joel extends his right hand and you work it into his skin slowly, extra careful around where it's cracked and split. You feel his eyes on you but you let him look.

"Feels good, huh?" He hums. "If you'd wear your gloves then --"

"What was I gonna do, let her freeze?" So it was Ellie, then. You flick your gaze up and find his brow furrowed. If you have a free hand you'd smooth the crease with your thumb.

"No," you say. "Guess it's a damn good thing you have me here, then."

He chuckles, a throaty, rusty sound. "Guess so."

You finish the first hand and motion for his second. He gives it to you and you dig your thumbs into the meat of his palm. Joel lets you touch him whenever you like, for the most part. Pressing into his side when you walk down the street in town, trailing your lips down his neck until he whines just a little in your bedroom. You've worked knots out of his shoulders and cleaned blood from surface wounds. You can never get enough of him, of his warmth, the expanse of his tanned skin all yours for the taking.

And, boy, he touches you back.

So you take your time. You rub the salve between his fingers, over the ridges of knuckles split so many times you don't even know about. His hands are rough even when they're not dry and cracking, callused from years of hard work. From years of violence and playing guitar, shooting a gun and holding the people he loves. Dotted with scars and nicks, hands that have touched every part of you.

Joel's slightly slimy finger taps your chin. "You okay?" You've been stroking the same bit of his hand for who knows how long.

"Yeah," you say and mean it. You rub your own hands together to soak in some of the salve before putting the lid back on the tin and standing. "Need to let it soak in."

"Feels soaked in already," he grumbles.

"Stay there." He purses his lips. "I mean it, Joel."

"Bossy today," he says. "There's wood that needs choppin'." You ignore him since he's just being annoying. The salve goes back in the kitchen and his voice trails after you. "And I told Tommy I'd --"

You turn on the tap. "You gotta let that soak in," you say again from the sink.

"What? Can't hear over the water."

You turn off the tap and dry your hands. Joel is still on the couch when you return. "Sorry," you say. You run your hand through his hair again and settle back down next to him. "I said be patient."

"Don't think that's what you said."

"It's what I meant."

And he looks at you in that way that always makes your face feel hot. Like he's seeing right to the bone of you, like he's laying you bare on the floor in his mind. Like he never wants to stop looking at you, next to him on the couch, leg pressed to yours. Like he loves you.

"Alright," he says.

You get an idea, the flames licking at your belly and your hands itching to touch him again, to touch him differently than before. That idea has you grabbing a pillow and tossing it to the floor, has you getting up and drawing the curtains before you sink to your knees before him.

Joel only looks mildly surprised, eyebrows raised, mouth tugging up at the corner. "Now, I ain't gonna complain but --"

"Then don't," you say. You tug his shirt from his waistband and start working on his belt. "Gotta pass the time somehow. And I don't know what we're doing for dinner yet, so maybe I'm just stalling."

"Hell of a way to stall." He reaches for you to touch your face, maybe, or help you with his belt, when you click your tongue. "We can just go to the community hall--"

"Don't touch," you remind him. "You have to let it--"

"Soak, Jesus, yeah, yeah." Joel tips his head back along the sofa and takes one deep breath. If he really wanted to he could ignore you and you'd let him get away with it, but if there's one thing you and Joel have solidified, it's trust. He trusts you to take care of him, to handle him with hands that love him.

So you do. He lifts his hips just a little so you can tug his jeans down, zipper undone and button popped. You pull out his cock, already half-hard at the promise of what's to come. You spit into your palm and stroke him once root to tip and he hisses. More blood flows and he stiffens in your hand.

"You just gonna look at it?"

You give him a squeeze for being a shit. He laughs but it sounds punched out, on the edge. Frankly it's an effort not to take him in your mouth right away. You've always loved this -- the exchange of power, the trust. You're the one on your knees but you're calling the shots. And he's mouthwatering. The way his cock curves a little, the vein that runs along the underside. The mushroom head a little pinker than the rest, the wiry hair at his base. The hefty weight of his balls in your hand, on your tongue. You know how to make it good for him and it's good for you, too.

Joel opens his mouth to no doubt say something else annoying so you finally drag your tongue along the vein, swirling a little at the top before taking just the tip of him in your mouth. His precome is salty. You work your hand along the rest of him as you start to suck in earnest, hollowing your cheeks and taking a little more each time.

"Look so pretty, baby," Joel says. His voice is gravely, broken in his throat. You manage to take almost all of him and you swallow, just once. Your reward is your name spilling from his mouth in a groan.

It's messy. Spit beads at the corner of your mouth and drips a little as you work him, breathing through your nose when you take him all the way. So good, takin' all of me, keep goin'.

Joel has clearly forgotten your directive as he winds one hand in your hair and pulls just a little, just enough to make you moan around him. You don't scold him for it, instead keeping your eyes on his face. His head is tipped back just a little, lips parted at he gazes down at you. His other arm is stretched along the length of the couch, his fingers digging into the fabric as you bob on his cock.

You know he's close. You can feel how he's trying hard to keep his hips down, trying not to fuck your throat cause usually he asks first. So it's only a little surprising when he pulls you off him, eyes a little glazed and some color high on his cheeks.

He wipes spit from the corner of your mouth with the pad of his thumb. "Why don't you c'mere?" he says. "Let me fill you up."

"Joel." This was supposed to be about making him feel good. You know even if he comes in your mouth he'll ask you let him touch you, so frankly you don't mind if he fucks you or not.

He smirks, presses his fingers into the side of your neck a little. You swallow so he can feel it. "We both know you can take it," he drawls, eyes dark. "Always gets you goin', my cock in your mouth."

You can feel the heat between your legs, the arousal pooling in your gut. He's right but he's also an asshole. "You're annoying," you tell him.

"So is that a no?"

You drag the flat of your tongue up his shaft one last time as punishment before standing, using his knees as leverage to get off your own. He shucks off his jeans the rest of the way as you drag down your pants, letting them pool with your underwear at your feet before stepping out. Joel holds out a hand for you to balance on and you take it, putting your other on his shoulder.

"Feels softer already," you mutter. Joel snickers and you straddle him. He uses one hand to drag his fingers through your cunt and you fail to swallow a gasp.

"Well, look at that," he says. "I was right." He pushes two fingers into you and they go easily, your hips jerking as he pumps them in and out once, twice, and then you're empty again.

"Smug bastard," you manage. He brings his hand to his mouth and takes a long lick before surging forward to kiss you. You can taste yourself on his tongue and it makes you even wetter.

Joel licks into your mouth and you kiss him back sloppily, desperately, in the way you know he likes. You're so busy with that hands on his face, his beard scratching your skin deliciously, that you don't notice what else he's doing. His hand presses into the bare skin of your back under your shirt and you lift up a little on instinct and then --

The head of his cock nudges at your entrance and his hand presses again and you meet the movement of his hips with your own and he fills you with just one stroke.

You moan in unison, Joel's arm wrapping around your back as you curl yours around his neck, mouths not so much pressed together as hovering as you pant, as you adjust. Even with how wet you are Joel is a stretch, a welcome one, but a stretch regardless. You shift your hips, roll them back and forth a little.

"Go on, then," you tell him. "Fuck me."

He laughs.

His lips leave yours and trail down your chin, sucking spots onto your neck and on that spot that makes you keen as he does what you ask. He goes slow at first, letting you meet him thrust for thrust. One hand snakes up your shirt, thumbs at your nipple when he finds no bra in the way. You wing your fingers in his hair and tug, tug until he picks up the pace, until all you can hear is the smack of his flesh against yours.

"Joel -- Joel -- right there --"

"M'not gonna -- I -- fuck --"

"Said you were gonna fill me up, didn't you?" you pant, managing to find a bit of cheek in the haze of your fucking. "C'mon, Miller. Don't keep a lady wait--"

His hips pick up the pace, his hands pressing into you hard enough to bruise. You give up trying to tease him and hang on for dear life, managing to snake a hand between your legs to rub at your clit as he pounds into you. The only thing you can say is his name over and over as you feel the hook pull taught, feel the head of his cock brush against and then pound that spot that makes your vision blur.

Joel comes just before you do, his thrusts stuttering and his name on your lips. You feel it, the heat inside you and it's enough to send you over the edge, your cunt squeezing him as he empties inside you.

You press your forehead to his and catch your breath. He palms your neck, your jaw, slides his thumb lazily under your eye and kisses the corner of your mouth.

"Hell of a salve," he manages.

You slot your lips over his. "Wear your damn gloves." Joel laughs and it shifts him inside you. Even softening it makes you both hiss a little. "Just gimme a second."

His hand drags up and down your back, pressing into your spine. "Take your time," he says. "M'clearly not goin' anywhere."

"You never stop, do you?"

Joel kisses you again. "'fraid not."

You laugh into his neck. "Good."

thank you for reading <3 reblog, send feedback, general masterlist here!

#joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #the last of us fanfiction #joel miller fanfiction

[sordidmusings]

Tender Love and Care - Hair Care (Buggy x Reader)

Art by Capitanpoops (link keeps expiring QnQ)

A/N: Ah yes, another 'taking care of Buggy's head' fic to take up space on the internet. Just gotta indulge in giving this man some tlc. Did I write four thousand words of simping for the cringefail pirate clown's hair? Yes. And I'd do it again >:p

Word Count: ~4 k

Warnings: feminine leaning afab!reader (no pronouns or gendered titles), Lots of Feelings, yearning, possibly angst?, probably hurt/comfort?, waxing very poetic, Buggy being a prickly bitch who doesn't know how to receive affection, Buggy also being a delusional bitch who immediately latches on to that affection

amab!Version

Next ->

~ ~ ~ ••• ✦✦✦ ••• ~ ~ ~

“Touch the makeup and I’ll bite your fingers off!”

“I’m quaking.”

“...I’ll spit in your face.” His eyes narrowed while you blanched. “I’ve got damn good aim too so you better watch those big ol’ eyes.” Almost a compliment? Progress.

“To save us both from catastrophe, I’ll let you keep your grease-face,” you promised. After a few more seconds of giving you the stink eye (really, you should be taking notes because his form is exemplary), Buggy finally settled back into your hold. His stubble scratched lightly at your palms and you allowed your thumbs a scant few passes from his cheek bones to the back of his jaw. That was easy enough to play off as mindless movements while you examined him for the coming wash. Hopefully.  You were at least putting in the effort to keep the affection in your chest from blooming into a wide smile on your face, lest he begin spitting like a wet cat again.

After placing him down on your clothes chest, you began gathering together the things you’d need to clean him up. You had already prepared a large basin of steaming water before you had grabbed Buggy from Zoro for your night shift with him. If he had truly protested against you then you’d just have extra water to pamper yourself with for your nightly routine. What a loss. While you flitted around grabbing a cup, a pile of towels, and care products, Buggy took to commenting about whatever his eyes fell on around your room. Your half-assed replies did nothing to discourage his gentle roast of your safe space. He only shut up when you picked him back up and brought him over to the basin.

You were taken by surprise when you took off his bandana.  You had guessed that his hair was thick from the pieces that framed his face, but you hadn’t expected long locks to be wrapped up in there. They slipped and fell down like silk despite being in clear need of a wash, and you started to become a bit excited to see how they would come to shine under your care.

“What’s wrong with you? Never seen hair before?” There was a bit more bite to him all of a sudden and it hit you that he may be self-conscious from your staring.

“Never seen yours before, duh,” you teased. “You should wear your hair out as a power move against all the scrangly ass men in these waters.”

Buggy took a blank-faced moment to process your words. Probably weighing your sincerity against the backlog of insults he’s heard in his life. Unfortunately, one joking compliment never stood a chance.

“Whatever, just do your job.” His bitter tone made you keep your mouth shut and drop the topic. For now.

Seeing how he had a lot more hair than anticipated, you got up again to grab yet another towel so that you could use it as a cushion. Finally settled, you grabbed Buggy in one hand, the cup in the other, and got to work. You had laid a small board across the basin so you could rest Buggy on it instead of having to hold him up the whole time. You may have gotten strong in this life, but you were not masochistic enough to try holding him up throughout this process. You made sure to be extra gentle when you put him to rest on the back of his head, mindful that the hard plank wasn’t the most comfortable.

Wetting his hairline was taking longer than you thought. The soft noises from the pouring water hitting his scalp and trickling through his hair into the basin below felt loud in the stillness of the room. Everything had a languid air like you could breathe freely without thought or time to measure the passing of each exhale. Wanting to check in, you looked down from your task and into Buggy’s face. Despite all his past showboating, Buggy was having difficulty keeping his gaze anywhere near your face.  You decided to take pity on him in his discomfort but not too much. “So how’d you get your damn good aim?”

Silence.

You’re beginning to think that him looking at you like you’re stupid is his comfort zone.

“You know, that ‘damn good aim’ that makes my ‘big ol’ eyes’ easy targets?” you supplied.  At first, you thought he would roll his eyes and make more digs at you, but he finally caught you off guard.

“It’s a trade secret,” he said with a growing smile and a glint in his eyes. His face grew even more pleased when you smiled mischievously back at him.

“Clown trade?”

He hummed out an affirmative. You saturated the last of his hair at the front and sides and now needed to dunk the rest in the basin. The sheer amount of long blue locks that this pretty, pretty man had may cause it to overflow, but you supposed that’s just a workplace hazard when becoming a glamor clown’s hairdresser. You paused in lowering him to look around quite dramatically (squinty eyes, pursed lips, and all) before leaning slightly closer to stage whisper, “You can tell me; I ain’t no snitch.”

You barely caught the laugh that he choked short in order to keep up his serious facade. He let his eyes wander the room to double check your surveying and pretended to be in thought. He let out a heaving sigh and said, “Okay, okay, but you have to lean in close. Can’t have this getting out.”

Ever obliging, you turned your head and leaned until you felt his warm breath on your skin and the roundness of his nose tickling to top of your ear. You were thankful he couldn’t see the little shiver down your spine or the goosebumps spreading down your neck. He was thankful you couldn’t see him close his eyes to savor the scent of your perfume. All was still for a few breaths too long.

“The secret?” you prompted, thinking he was waiting for your urging or that he was just trying to make you squirm. You didn’t see his eyes flutter open while he forced thoughts other than your closeness back into that head of his. Okay, he really needed to do something to reel himself back in and get some control of the situation.  Easier said than done when he’s only a head.

You felt as much as you heard him take a deliberate inhale… only for a loud raspberry to be blown right next to your ear.

Nearly dropping him in shock, you quickly pulled your head back and held him at arm’s length like a misbehaved puppy. Through his canting cackles, Buggy met your wide eyes with a proud grin. It didn’t even need the help of his makeup to split his face. Damn, you could stare at that forever. He had just the prettiest eyes you think you’d ever seen. The way they shifted color under the low lights and sparkled with his smile had you feeling entranced. It had the same commanding presence and addicting warmth as flames with their own swirling colors and sparking embers. You thought your poetic idioms for him would always center around the sea, especially for his blue-green eyes, but here we are.

The corner of his smile started to twitch downward under your stare until wild and cheerful giggles burst from your lips. They were the kind to shake your shoulders and scrunch your cheeks up into your eyes and he’s now certain that he has fucked right up. Buggy felt alarms blaring in his mind as he took in your joy and was certain he would make an absolute fool of himself in any and all ways possible to keep getting hits of it. Between your settling laughter, you managed to say, “Don’t worry, I’ll bring that wisdom with me to my grave.”

Readjusting your grip, you moved forward and dunked the back of Buggy’s head fully into the water. He sighed out at the sensation, but he fully melted when one of your hands went to support the back of his skull and the other flowed through his tresses to make sure all of them were wet. You let yourself take your time, both to make sure you were thorough and to indulge yourself in the comfort of the moment. A tenderness spread through you when you saw that this was also indulging Buggy. His breath was slow and steady, and his eyes were resting closed to better focus on the sensations coming to him. You truly were a people pleaser at heart and seeing someone so bedraggled and affection-starved accept your care made your heart and head feel fuzzy.

You slowly leaned him more upright and used your other hand to wipe out some of the excess water. Buggy felt you shuffling around, and his eyes opened to see what you were up to. After you moved him to rest on the flat bottom of his neck on top of the softest towel that he’s felt in ages, he realized that you went through the trouble to try to make even that wooden board comfortable for his sake. He was starting to feel even more uncertain and out of his element.

Careful fingers carded through and spread out his hair behind him while an equally careful gaze watched over their work. After lathering your hands with a shampoo bar scented by vanilla and spices, you set to work giving him the scalp massage of a lifetime.

While focusing on doing the best job possible and maybe also the beautiful color of his hair was keeping you from thinking about anything else, Buggy had no such luxury. He had nothing to direct his nervous energy at - didn’t even have fingers to fidget with! - so he closed his eyes and tried to keep his face neutral. Everyone enjoys a good scalp massage or at least some kind of pampering so it wouldn’t have been weird for him to visibly enjoy it, but something watery and vulnerable was pressing at his throat under your tender care. His mind and body (well… head) were at odds. While his train of thought spun every which way only to be tethered back to the word ‘why’, his muscles melted until they were soft and pleasantly limp. Has his brow ever been so smooth? His jaw so loose? His lips so softly set? Oh God, you must have noticed the stubborn stiffness in his neck because your fingers abandoned his hair to firmly rub from the base of his skull to where he met the towel and that was truly his undoing.

With a rumbly hum, Buggy finally gave in to temptation and tied his mind to your movements. He let himself imagine affection there - imagine that this was special and just for him. You’ve never tended to anyone else like this. You offered because you simply had to know what his hair felt like. You just wanted to touch him. You wanted it much more than you ever wanted to touch anyone else. If he opened his eyes and looked up at yours, he would see them pouring with love, just like your hands were, and you would look sweetly down at him with your pretty eyes and pretty smile and say lovely things and you’d love him-

You’d love him.

Fuck.

You noticed Buggy suddenly flinch under your hands and you tensed up.

“Are you okay? Did I snag your hair?” You hadn’t felt anything tug but you supposed you could’ve missed it.

Buggy cleared his throat before stiffly responding, “No. Keep going.”

Something thick in his tone caught your attention and you looked to see his expression was tense instead of the blissed out one you had admired not too long ago. That won’t do. You went back to the tried and true pressure points on the scalp that you knew from experience eased anyone up. Checking his face again, you noticed it was more relaxed but still too guarded for your tastes. Deciding he must be getting antsy, you switched to working the shampoo down his hair after getting a touch more product on your hands. The time it took to get it properly sudsed and rinsed was calm, despite the fact that there was some undercurrent to the air that felt charged. Maybe it was just from seeing the talkative and bratty clown be so subdued. As you began spreading conditioner through his hair, you decided that it was time to engage him again.

“This bar is my favorite; nothing makes my hair softer,” you said. Already, his hair was relaxing to glide even more smoothly between your fingers. You weren’t ready to give the feeling up, so you spent the entire time that the conditioner was setting to run your fingers through his hair.

Buggy couldn’t do anything at the moment to judge your claim, but the smell alone made him understand why it was your favorite. It matched that of the shampoo bar, but the richer ingredients in the conditioner highlighted the comforting tones of the vanilla and the sensuality of warm spices and wood. He relished in it on every inhale, hoping to unravel and memorize its every undertone. Was that a touch of orchid in there? A little pink peppercorn? Maybe some incense and amber at the base? Buggy suddenly felt ridiculous. He was never one to give much thought to fancy perfumes, yet here he was trying to dissect your scent like a sommelier tasting a new wine. 

You made quick work of rinsing his hair this final time and gently pushing and squeezing any excess water out. You set Buggy back on a towel, this time one that was spread on the floor. It was the one that you had just been sitting on. Buggy was embarrassed that he noticed and enjoyed the fact that he could still feel your body heat on it.

“How many of those things do you have?” Buggy scoffed as you pulled yet another towel over to dry his hair. You bopped his forehead with a finger in warning against further sass.

“You can never have too many. It’s something that you use daily and they come in handy during emergencies,” you explained.

“Oh yeah like what?”

“Well, I was thinking of situations like having to soak up a spill or blood, but the state of your hair definitely qualifies.”

The outburst was immediate.

“I KNEW YOU WERE MAKING FUN OF ME YOU DAMN LIAR! HOW DA-”

Good thing you were prepared for this and stuffed some of yet another towel into his screaming mouth. He bit down on it harshly and glared at you with all his might. Snarls and grumbles still made their way through the cloth, letting you know just how displeased he was. You were a little shocked to find that despite being gagged and despite just being a head that his glare still actually intimidated you. The time spent with the crew treating him like a harmless little pest had helped you forget that, when push came to shove, he could back up his talk with violence.

The brief glimpse of fear in your eyes gave him a twinge of satisfaction but mostly felt a lot more hollow than he’d expected. Wasn’t this what he wanted? 

When you reached back out to continue drying his hair, you were more tentative than he had ever seen you and his mood dropped even further. Even with your caution, the way that you moved the towel over his hair and gently squeezed more water out of it was filled with care. The whole thing felt very foreign to him. Buggy usually rubbed his towel through his hair chaotically like the more forceful he was the sooner he could get done with the bothersome task. You were working over him like any undue force would be an insult. Like he was something precious. That watery feeling started pressing on him again.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” you started quietly. “I just meant to poke fun, not make you actually feel insulted.” After a few more soft pats with the towel, you slowly removed his makeshift gag. He took a moment to wiggle around his jaw and get the dry feeling out of his mouth.

“Yeah, well good job, dumbass,” he bit. You winced at the hurt in his tone. “Just finish up.”

You took a moment to recenter yourself while you grabbed your comb and brush. This was not how you wanted this to go. One wrong comment had sent this whole interaction spiraling and it made you sad. Sensitivity like that was usually built up from years of feeling the same hurts over and over again, and you didn’t ever want to be someone to aggravate an already festering wound, especially not on someone who you genuinely enjoyed. Not on someone who you were increasingly craving affection from. This needed to be fixed. Steeling yourself for the resistance you were about to meet, you began combing the ends of his hair and spoke, “The blue color is so pretty.”

He ignored you. As expected.

“It was one of the first things I noticed about you.” He still wouldn’t even glance up at you. “Also how it brings out the color of your eyes.”

He snorted dismissively in a way that very clearly told you he wasn’t believing a word you said. Also expected. You’re just going to have to soldier on until this eventually worked… maybe worked… hopefully worked?

Just as in the rest of the process, you were slow and thorough when combing his hair. You murmured compliments to him about how soft it is; how thick and how beautiful. By the time that you had switched to using your brush, he was showing signs of being worn down by your flattery. His face was more relaxed and he let himself look around instead of trying to burn a hole through the floor. All you could focus on, though, was how downcast and tired his eyes looked.

“Alright, I’m all finished up,” you told him. “I’m going to put you in the hammock for a minute while I get ready for bed.”

After placing him in the middle of your bedding, you disappeared behind a dressing screen. The routine of bathing  yourself with a washcloth and bowl of soapy water eased you. Since you had taken so much time tending to Buggy, the last bowl of fresh water had become lukewarm. Despite this, the final wipe down had you feeling refreshed and ready to jump into bed. It was no soak in the tub, but still left you feeling much better after a long day of helping work around the ship.

You had set about your routine briskly so that you didn’t leave Buggy waiting too long. Little did you know, he didn’t mind the time of having nothing to do besides enjoy the soft blankets you curled up in every night. He was trying to soak it in before you inevitably put him back down on the floor. If the night had taught him anything, you’d at least put him on one of those fluffy towels instead of throwing him back in the bag like the others did.

You came over to him on the hammock and he admired how you looked, now clean and fresh in a modest slip. When you picked him back up, your face and body language were as placid as he had ever seen them and he was surprised at how content that made him feel. He readied himself to be moved away, left cold and forgotten, but he was astonished when you plopped yourself in your bedding instead with him still in your hands. The shock must have shown on his face because you giggled at him and gave him a bright smile. Even with the bumpy road that the night had been, your smile made him soft and content. He was realizing with more and more resignation that your smile and laugh would let you get away with anything when it came to him.

“So no floor? Trying to bribe me with favors?” His voice was mostly back to that sarcastic lilt you’ve come to adore.

Content that he was feeling better, you answered, “Nah, just using you so I can have a teddy bear. Haven’t had a good one in ages.”

Making good on that promise, you made sure that he was securely nestled into your neck and shoulder. You used both of your arms to cradle him there and both hands to continue your worship of his hair. It was just barely damp and the coolness felt nice on your hands, especially in contrast to the cozy heat emanating from his head. His long eyelashes tickled at your neck every time he blinked, just like the light scruff on his jaw teased at your chest. His big nose felt cozy rested on your clavicle, and you had to resist the urge to reach down and trail your fingers on it. A giddy and victorious feeling flushed through you when you felt him close his eyes a final time and sink into your embrace.

Buggy should have known that he was doomed from the start. He was having a hell of a time trying not to moan at your fingers scratching and massaging his scalp, both during the hair care and now, when he was held in your arms. He couldn’t stop his little movements to nestle into you and get just that much more of your warmth and touch. If he thought that he loved the smell of you before, he was absolutely intoxicated now that he knew what it was like when it floated over the two of you while wrapped in body-warmed sheets.

He wanted to ask you why you were doing all of this, but he didn’t want to know the answer. Not right now. Right now he was going to let himself go back into that place in his head where you lo- cared about him. A place where each night he would crawl into bed with you and, no matter how the day went, you would be there to empty his mind of anything but the two of you. You’d greet him with a kiss or a laugh or an embrace and you would shine with so much joy because he’s next to you again. He’d know what your love felt like, how your body felt under his hands, how your skin felt under his lips. All these daydreams swirling in his head started to make him sick with want, and he needed to know at least one of them. He couldn’t handle all of them staying forever in his mind.

The tiniest increase of pressure from his lips brought your attention to where they rested below your collarbone. The almost kiss was so heartbreakingly shaky and hesitant that you felt your eyes burn with the threat of tears. To reassure him, you dragged your cheek across his temple before turning to leave a deliberate kiss there. Buggy relished the contact, the satisfied sigh you let out afterward, and the gentle weight of your cheek as you snuggled back into him. Your reward came in the form of a grinning cheek pushing into you.

All his humor and posturing certainly caught your attention in the best way and even his explosive temper was something you couldn’t say turned you away. This gentleness, though, this uncertain and wounded place, had you bursting with affection and you were hoping to keep experiencing it. You’d meet it each time with steady affection until it turned into something he embodied with the same surety that he had in his beloved spotlight.

Both of you slipped more sweetly into dreams, curled up together as you were, and with more peace and ease than the years before had allowed. Neither of you would let the years to come be absent of this sweet treasure, either.

Next->

#buggy x reader #opla buggy x reader #buggy x you #buggy x y/n #buggy the clown #one piece #buggy fluff #opla #opla buggy #one piece x reader #one piece live action #my writing #gn reader #afab reader #x reader

[risingoftime]

home sweet home

⤷ mafia!coriolanus snow x housewife!reader: Coriolanus comes home after a long day at work and needs some tlc.

contains: smut mdni 18+, coriolanus being horny af, blood, unprotected sex, p in v, voyeurism, choking, oral (reader receiving), slight orgasm denial, fingering, possessive behaviour, overstimulation, breeding kink? body worshipping? porn no plot.

a/n: lowkey want to write a modern mafia!au series fic of coriolanus snow x reader.

You had just finished mashing the potatoes in the kitchen when the alarm went off on the cuckoo bird timer on your countertop. It was time to take out the whole chicken cooking in the oven. Grabbing your mitts, you took the perfectly roasted chicken to cool on the rack before you heard your name being yelled from the front foyer.

"Honey, I'm home!" Coriolanus called out. His henchmen stood not too far behind, straight-faced and unfazed by his theatrics.

Coriolanus Snow, the most wanted mafia boss in Panem, is a man of power, feared and respected by all. His name invokes terror, and his empire spans the city. Coriolanus was known for his ruthless tactics and cold-heartedness, a force to be reckoned with. But, hidden beneath his hardened exterior is a deviant soul inexplicably drawn to you. And he wasn't timid about it. Your heart still skipped a beat whenever Coriolanus had returned home safely, given his line of work.

When you walked to the front door, Coriolanus stood in his glory in an impeccably tailored suit. His platinum blonde hair was slicked back with no sign of his curls, giving you a clear view of his blue eyes and face. The white rose pinned to his blazer was stained with crimson red blood splatters that painted his white dress shirt into a deep rustic red, blood that partially dried—the only indication of what his day entailed as Coriolanus smiled brightly at the sight of you. Everything else about him remained clean-cut. He resembled what you would imagine an angel of death in a suit.

"Busy day?" you asked.

"Things got a bit messier than I had anticipated, but nothing that I can't handle," Coriolanus unbuttoned his dress shirt and removed his blazer before handing the items to the hired help. The maid offered him a hot sanitization cloth to wipe his hands, and he gladly accepted. Then he pulled you closer to him into a tight embrace, pushing his muscular frame against yours. Coriolanus's hard cock pressed into your abdomen, making it very apparent what he wanted from you. Goosebumps appeared over your skin, and it became difficult to breathe normally as his hands roamed over your body freely, as if it were his for the taking.

"Coryo, we have company." You whispered urgently, attempting to voice your objections, but his lips silenced you. Coriolanus trailed tender kisses along your jawline and down your neck.

"I can't help it," he murmured between kisses, his voice filled with longing and lust. "I missed you so much." You were barely able to keep yourself steady at this point, with your rapid heartbeat, and he knew. Grabbing your waist, he lifts you off of the ground, and your legs wrap around him instinctively. His hands feel huge, gripping your ass to support your weight.

Your body desperately wanted him to fuck you right then and there, but the embarrassing thought of his henchmen hearing your moans and pleas was enough for you to keep your composure. Although, you wouldn't mind if Coriolanus did it anyway.

Something ignites in Coriolanus's eyes when he looks down at your core pressed against his dick. He watches as his hands push you against his cock, creating friction between you. The movement elicits a lewd moan from your lips, "Coryo, please." Coriolanus's Adam's apple bobs in his throat at the sound. He placed you on top of the entryway table and pushed your legs further apart, exposing your wet panties.

"Coryo, they'll see…" You feigned concern, but the truth is that you like to be watched, and Coriolanus was aware of this. His men stood still at the doorway with their gaze ahead, but one slipped up and made eye contact.

Coriolanus grabs your chin and forces your attention back onto him, "let them," he grumbled, his judgement hazy from your effect on him. His actions were calculated, taking one of your legs over his shoulder as he pushed your underwear to the side. Coriolanus shoved two fingers into you, "Ugh, you're so wet, and I haven't even given you my dick yet." You were practically writhing on his hand like a crutch, hypnotized by his touch. Each time was better than the last. It's intense. His thumb massaged your clit at the same speed as his fingers. You were ready to collapse at the ecstasy he brought you from just using one hand. “Such a pretty pussy, all for me.” Coriolanus got off by pleasing you and seized any opportunity to show how genuinely devoted he was to winning you over and showing others you were only his.

"Hmmm, look at the mess you’re making," Coriolanus cooed.

You watched while he played with your arousal between your folds, gathering more of it for lubrication before pushing his fingers deeper inside your cunt. Guiding his lips back to yours, he bit down on your bottom lip, slightly drawing blood and tasting it with his tongue before enticing yours.

“Fuck you make me feel so good.” you exhaled and relinquished all control to him. “Baby, I’m so close,” moaning softly in his mouth.

“No, not yet. They don't deserve to see you." Coriolanus slowed down his speed. You whimpered from his denial of your release. "That's only for me, you're mine." He picked you up again, taking his fingers out of you, ready to take you to bed. But the darn cuckoo bird clucked from the kitchen once more.

"You cooked dinner already?" Coriolanus asked. You nodded shyly, acutely aware that you were not far from cumming in front of an audience. In your peripheral vision, you could see the henchmen adjust their pants in a failed attempt to hide their erection. “I can’t wait to taste what you made,” he said. Coriolanus looked over his shoulder at them and muttered under his breath, “Perverted fucks.” he continued to carry you towards the kitchen. Having his arms wrapped around you made you feel safe and protected.

Coriolanus placed you on top of the kitchen countertop, hooked his index finger around the band of your underwear and tugged them down.

“what are you doing?” you giggled.

“I told you I can’t wait to taste you,” he stated.

“No, you didn’t,” you replied.

“Didn’t I?” He questioned as he lowered his head between your legs. Coriolanus took his time teasing you, lazily dragging his tongue from your inner thigh and inching closer and closer to your exposed cunt until it met its mark. He lapped up your juices, sucking on your clit and flicking it over and over again with the tip of his tongue. Your eyes fluttered shut, overconsumed by bliss.

"Don't stop," you sighed. Coriolanus ate you out as if it was his last meal. Hungrily, licking and slurping your pussy.

"I wouldn't dare," he swears under his breath and groans. “Fuck, taste so good." Your hands tangled in Coriolanus's hair from tugging him closer while you roll your hips across his face. He'd done this countless times, yet this felt different. On his knees, Coriolanus moaned out your name like a prayer, worshipping your body. He moved with vigour and dedication to add to the tension that grew within you. "Ah, Coryo-" your breath was staggered, and your legs clenched and shaken around his head, trapping him there on the edge of the counter. It was too much as your orgasm rippled throughout your body all at once.

Coriolanus reappeared with your fluids still on his chin and lips. While taking you in a passionate kiss, he wasted no time in unbuckling his trousers. Your arousal still dripping from his tongue as he lined his cock up to your entrance. You bounced up and down on his cock, as Coriolanus grinded his waist up to eagerly meet your movements halfway. "That's it, baby girl, just like that." He’s so hard that it almost hurts. Coriolanus couldn’t get enough of it. His fingers dug into your thighs while he fucks you and watches your breast move with each thrust. Coriolanus was aggressive and needy, and you loved every moment of it.

"I— shit, I'm gonna cum," you could feel Coriolanus’s body tremble against yours. "Give it to me. Every last drop," you moaned. Demanding him to surrender you all his body can offer, you would take whatever he yields to you. Riding his cock until Coriolanus couldn’t keep his eyes open, “Baby s’too much,” he slurred. Wet slapping sounds echoed throughout the house, intermingled with your moans. Cumming together. Coriolanus's hand raised around your neck, applying enough pressure to slightly cut off your circulation as he continued to pound into your pussy relentlessly. "Tell me that this pussy is mine," he growled. "It's yours, Coryo." you cried out. You stuttered out his name as you lost control of your limbs, trembling in bliss, your walls clenched and pulsed around his member. You were at your wit's end, but your body wouldn’t stop, edging yourself closer and closer to orgasm. There was an insatiable urge that remained between the two of you. Even as he pumped his cum deeper and deeper inside of you, it was never enough.

#⟢CREATION OF TIME #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow smut #coriolanus fanfiction #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus x you #corio snow #coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow x black reader #x black reader #x black!reader #thg series #thg #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #tbosas smut #tbosas #tbosas fic #the hunger games #writers on tumblr

[reverie-starlight]

this one goes out to everyone who gets horrible back pain and big emotions before/on their period. aka me last month when I started this fic but was in too much pain to finish it lmao. notes from when I started it: get me a heating pad, a blanket and a hug stat. is it so wrong to want to be taken care of and babied a bit after doing it on your own for so long? I think not.

gn!reader that gets periods, no physical descriptions. extreme fluff.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

as soon as he got home, he frantically shimmied out of his jacket and shoes and made a beeline for your bedroom. he was worried about you- a fear that was founded on some text messages you had sent him about being in so much pain you couldn't even sit up properly.

upon entering, he was met with a sight that made his heart clench up a bit. he let out a sigh and made his way over to where you were curled up under a fuzzy throw blanket, scrolling on your phone. despite the discomfort he could see you were in, when you noticed him enter the room, you tried to smile and move to greet him.

he quickly crouched down by the side of the bed and stopped you from getting up. his hand moved to caress your cheek and he smiled at you in return.

"hey sweetheart," his voice was quiet and soft, knowing you were probably feeling too horrible for anything more than that.

he also knew that you probably needed (and wanted) lots of TLC. you usually did in the days leading up to your period and that was fine- he was always more than willing to baby you a bit, whether you were feeling poorly or not. "rough day?"

your smile fell at his words and a pout took its place. his heart clenched again, this time out of affection, and he silently scolded himself for thinking you looked cute while in crisis.

you nodded and nuzzled into his hand a bit. "hurts," you mumbled.

"what hurts?" he asked, running his thumb under your eye. your skin felt warm and he made a mental note to get you something cold to balance out the heating pad he could see peeking out from under the blanket and behind your figure.

you shifted a little and whined when a sharp pain shot through your body. his hand immediately went to your hip, trying to soothe you however he could. "my back, mostly. my thighs, too."

seeing you in pain was always one of his least favourite things. it was a monthly occurrence, so he should have been used to it by now, but he knew he never would be.

but if there was one good thing to come from your suffering, it was that he knew how to take care of you exactly how you needed.

he hummed at your response and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. "I'm sorry, my love. will you wait here for me while I get changed and grab some things for you?"

you cracked a small smile. "it's not like I could go very far without help anyway, so yeah, I'll be here."

he chuckled and stood back up, but before he could turn, you weakly grabbed at his hand. when he looked down at you, he wasn't surprised in the slightest to see a hesitant look on your face.

now that you had him, you didn't want him to leave, even if you did just say you were fine with it.

once again he sighed fondly and gripped your hand a bit tighter, crouching back down and pressing his forehead against yours. your eyes got a bit teary and he nudged his nose against yours. "baby, I promise I'll be back so soon. I'm just going to the kitchen and the bathroom to get a couple of things, and then I'll be over by the dresser where you can see me."

your lip started to wobble a bit and he frowned a little, feeling bad that he was the source of your sadness in that moment.

"but you just got here... please don't leave..."

fuck. he bit his lip. you sounded so dejected that it made him want to abandon everything and jump in bed with you, but...

"sweetheart... I promise I won't even be five minutes. I'll be back in no time, and then I'm going to wrap you up in my arms and work on making my baby feel all better, okay? but you need to let me go so I can come back."

you sniffled and nodded against him, reluctantly letting go of his hand and pulling the corner of the duvet up to bury your face into as a replacement for him.

he smiled down at you and pressed a kiss to your temple before quickly making his way out of the room. he made a promise for under five minutes and he intended to keep it.

from the kitchen, he got you a bottle of water from the fridge, and something he had hidden away from you for moments like these, just incase you got hungry later. then he made his way to the bathroom and tried to balance everything in one large hand as he got some pain meds from the cabinet before walking back out into the hall.

he checked his watch. two minutes to spare.

you visibly lit up when he walked back into the bedroom with everything in his arms, watching closely as he set some things down on his side of the bed. you put your arms out for him, but he just chuckled and shook his head.

"gotta change first, baby, I'll be right there."

you nodded a little, clearly getting impatient, but you didn't push him to hurry. instead, he felt the intensity of your gaze on him as he put on some sweats and took off his shirt. grinning teasingly, he looked over his shoulder at you.

"see something you like? you're burning holes in my back."

you didn't say anything until he moved to put on an old t-shirt. "leave it off."

he turned around and raised an eyebrow at you. "hm?"

you gave him an embarrassed look and turned your face away. "please leave it off... I just wanna feel you."

he nodded in understanding, not even thinking of teasing you further in your state of mind and tossed the t-shirt onto the chair in the corner of your room. sometimes skinship was just nice.

he got into the bed behind you as gently as he could so he wouldn't hurt you further, but then asked a favour of you. "my love, do you think you can turn over to face me?"

you nodded and slowly but surely shifted onto your back, taking a second to adjust, before moving again to turn on your other side. he smiled at you. "thank you, darling, I know moving’s not easy right now."

you pouted up at him in response and he shifted a bit as well, running a hand up and down your back to soothe you.

he formed a fist and started applying some gentle pressure to your lower back and you mewled as some of the pain was relieved.

“does that feel okay, my love?” he really tried to lay it on thick with the pet names- trying to be as sweet and attentive as possible.

you weren’t complaining one bit.

“feels nice… thank you.” you mumbled, pressing your face against his chest and throwing an arm over his torso.

he nuzzled his nose into your scalp and pressed light kisses in a line along the area. “I’m sorry you had to deal with this alone today.”

you shook your head against him. “it’s okay, it’s better now that you’re here.”

he trailed the hand that wasn’t focused on your back to your upper thigh, gently digging into the soft flesh and making you groan. “that’s amazing, thank you.”

after a couple moments of comfortable silence, he realized that you were trying really hard not to fall asleep.

“poor thing, you must’ve been exhausted all day, hm?” he slid his hand under your shirt and rubbed his warm palm over your skin, making you mewl and cuddle closer to his chest.

you nodded a bit and rested your cheek against his collarbone. “couldn’t fall asleep cause of the pain.”

he kissed your forehead kept smoothing his palm over your skin. “you can sleep now, baby, I’ve got you.”

you peeked up at him and he melted at the soft, sleepy look in your eyes. “you’ve got me?”

he nods and for the third time that day, his feels his heart clench because of you. “I’ve got you, you’re safe with me. just rest, you deserve it.”

“you won’t leave while I’m sleeping?” your words were slurred and he bit back a soft laugh that was bubbling up. he’s never loved anything as much as he has loved you. what a pleasure it’s been and always will be.

“I won’t leave, darling. I’m not going anywhere. ever. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

you seemed satisfied with that answer and finally let yourself succumb to the sleep you’d been denied all day. he knew you had it rough some months, and he hated that you had to endure it, but he was more than glad to be your main source of comfort during those times.

“sleep well, baby,” he kissed the top of your head one last time before you fully dozed off, still gently rubbing your back. “sweet dreams.”

KUROO, GETO, kirishima, sakusa, hawks, any and all of your favs honestly.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(I fully wrote this with kuroo in mind, then I was like WAIT this really fits geto too, so that’s why those two are bolded and tagged. but it can be whoever you want 🫶🏻)

#geto x reader #kuroo x reader #kuroo x reader fluff #geto x reader fluff #haikyuu x reader #jjk x reader #bnha x reader #jjk fluff #hq fluff #haikyuu fluff #mha fluff #bnha fluff

[harrygoeswest]

Infatuation On A Mutual Level

You and Harry are housemates and are both secretly quite fond of one another.

A/N: Woooo she’s here!!! I loved writing this one shot a lot and I really hope it shows. I haven’t had motivation to write for ages and this year I’ve really come back to it and I’m so happy. I hope you all love it as much as I do. She’s special to me. Special mention to the only person who ever wants to read for me @all-things-fic​ <3 Please come tell me what you think afterwards!! Katie x

Trigger Warnings: sexual content, brief mentions of loss, nightmares

Word Count: 18,777

~.~.~.~.~

Now

Every morning was the same.

The creak from the only bed on the first floor began the day. Then the gush of the tap in the shared bathroom. The kettle in the kitchen on the ground floor. The door closing when George left for the day. Then again 15 minutes later when Rhys did. Abbie starting the shower immediately afterwards now her boyfriend was gone. And then the only thing that ever made your skin prickle:

Harry’s door opening.

Every morning you would roll over at the sound, away from it. God forbid the man who defined ‘sex on legs’ ever pinned you with that warm, green-eyed stare first thing in the morning through the open gap of your own bedroom door. No, you might never be able to survive such a thing.

Living in a shared house was hard. Not least because you felt responsible for the place itself; owned by your single dad who would do anything to bring in what income he could, including taking more rent off his eldest child than he’d like. An argument arose regularly over your living situation but it was hard enough filling the fourth bedroom with a tenant. Living in the third was the least you felt you could do. The building was in dire need of some TLC but it wasn’t exactly an affordable fete. Sometimes the ceiling leaked on the second floor when it rained thanks to some shabby scaffolding work a few years back; the main reason why it was so hard to let the fourth bedroom. Part of you didn’t want to.

It was also hard in a house share because people were messy and you had a horrendous phobia of general mess. If you could quit your job and play full-time housekeeper you absolutely would. But your dad wouldn’t allow that. “Not in my lifetime,” He’d say with the gentlest scowl.

But the hardest part, by far, was being in such close proximity to the man who rented the bedroom across the hall. You weren’t sure why you were so terrified of him. Scarred by your original encounter with him, perhaps, but he wasn’t actually scary. He was, rather annoyingly, the nicest person in the house. Constantly aloof, yes, but still the poster boy for gentlemen everywhere.

Maybe if you spoke to him you’d learn he’s just a normal bloke, your inner voice trilled.

“Shut the fuck up.” You hissed into your pillow.

You waited for the inevitable sputter of the shower starting up again, and then rolled out of bed, threw on the clothes you’d hung up on the wardrobe door the night before - clean white shirt and grey trousers, ironed within an inch of their life - and scurried downstairs to arrange your usual to-go breakfast. Coffee in a reusable cup and a cereal bar. Hair and makeup could be fixed at work. You were always thirty minutes early anyway.

~

Harry wasn’t sure how you managed it. How every day you managed to evade him to avoid a puffy-eyed “good morning” or a potentially awkward conversation over breakfast.

As he stood in the hallway between your bedrooms towelling his hair dry in nothing but a pair of boxers and a damp t-shirt, he stared into your bedroom and marvelled yet again at how you seemed to have managed to keep it tidied to a borderline compulsive degree.

A large king bed sat against the left wall with ironed white linens and a plush sunflower yellow throw draped across the foot. One lone bedside table tucked against the right side with a tasselled muted green 60s velvet lamp and a book resting atop. A picture hung above the headboard - some vibrant canvas of abstract art. Every morning he wondered if you’d painted it yourself. Against the opposite wall stood a tall regal-looking cherrywood wardrobe next to a matching dresser with a sleek TV on top. It was the most modern thing about the room. In the window overlooking the garden a dream catcher hung in the dead centre. It was the only nicknack you seemed to have, and part of him hated that it seemed like something negative. Something to catch nightmares, to ward off evil.

Did you have bad dreams? And if so, why?

As always, the window had been opened two inches to let in fresh air. You never closed your door, not even at night. You never had clothes left out. Clutter didn’t exist in your vocabulary. Dust wasn’t permitted in your room. Or the bathroom, or kitchen, or living room, he’d deduced. You took Wednesdays off in the week and cleaned when no one else was home to bother you. He doubted the others had picked up on these things about you, but he’d noticed.

Harry had noticed a lot about you.

Especially that in the mornings, you waited until he took his bathroom time to get ready for work and leave without having to run into him. Some chaotic part of him wanted to change his routine so you’d have to. He wanted to know what you looked like straight out of bed with puffy eyes and linen marks on your cheeks and hair in disarray. The other part of him, the gentleman, told him not to. Who knew what might happen if he threw your routine off kilter.

Distress, probably?

No. He wouldn’t be having that.

Shaking his head, he wandered into his own room and shut the door behind him. One day the puzzle of you would finally form a complete picture. Today, he settled for the tethered, jumbled segments he’d managed to collect this far.

~

You stared at your phone, face a picture of bewilderment. Deciphering text messages from the housemates was starting to get increasingly difficult, no thanks to the fact that you were shit at it and everyone else seemed to excel.

Blackpool Tower

🌚 👰🏼❌🧽🍽️🔄

🌝 🙈🖕🏼

👰🏼 😕

Translation: Abbie George didn’t wash his dishes again.

Rhys Oh for fuck’s sake.

George Whoops.

You were on a roll with the emojis. It had started as a joke because George had said he hated people who only used emojis to text each other rather than actual words, so for a week the four of you had sent every text using only emojis. Then it had turned into a bet: how long could all of you go without using words, and who would be the first one to crack. You all knew that, without a doubt, Rhys would crack first, even though he was the one who’d proposed the bet in the first place. It had been two weeks and no one had cracked yet.

🍉 🤔👰🏼🥄🥄🍱🔄

👰🏼 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣😠

🌝 😒🙄

🌚 🏃🏻‍♀️🏃🏻‍♀️🏃🏻‍♀️

👑 ❌❌❌❌❌❌❌

Translation:

Harry Maybe George should cook dinner again…

George HAHAHAHAHAHAHA no.

Rhys Yeah right.

Abbie No thank you.

You Absolutely fucking not.

Why did all of you have such ridiculous headers?

Abbie and Rhys were the twin moons because that was the look they always gave each other when they thought something was cute, funny, interesting, or otherwise. They’d moved into the house as a couple and had remained in said couple for 3 years. Sharing a room was their way of saving money to buy a house. It made sense.

George was a blonde bride because he was the most outwardly gay man any of you had ever known and often acted like an utter madam. Madam was actually George’s nickname to his friends now thanks to the house’s light ribbing. He had also chosen his own emoji.

Harry was the watermelon because we were never without it thanks to a frankly concerning obsession. If there wasn’t a watermelon in the fridge, or slices, or packaged chunks, something was very wrong.

And you were the crown because you’d refused to pick an emoji and the house had affectionately bestowed the title of Tower Queen to you. You’d pretended to hate it, but they all knew you viewed it as the highest compliment.

Oh, and the group chat was called Blackpool Tower because you lived together in a tall, two-rooms-to-a-floor townhouse at the top of town. The Eiffel Tower had been suggested but George immediately pointed out that we were not a classy enough bunch to live in such a fine establishment. I’d told him to speak for himself.

The talk of food made you hungry, and it hit you like a landslide that you hadn’t had any dinner. You rolled off your bed and sent a text to Blackpool Tower, then shoved your phone away.

~

Multiple things happened at once. The shower turned on in the bathroom; your bedroom door opened with a quiet creak (which would not happen again since you went through WD40 like a bee in pollen); Harry’s phone vibrated with another text.

Blackpool Tower

👑 👩‍🍳🍝 … 🌚🍝🌝🍝🍉🍝➡️🧊 … ❌🍝👰🏼

Harry snickered.

Translation: You Making dinner. Leftovers in the fridge. None for George.

It wasn’t unusual you’d make enough food for everyone. Harry had learned that you’d picked that trait up from your dad. Sometimes no one would stop you, especially since there was never anything wrong with a meal you’d cooked. In fact, if there were a restaurant with food cooked by you, Harry would dine there every night. But he also knew that letting you cook for all the other housemates all the time wasn’t fair.

🌚 🍉➡️🍉❌🍉➡️🍉❌👑

👰🏼 🚫🚫🚫🚫

“For fuck’s sake.” He muttered.

Rhys must have been in the shower. If George or Abbie were home they’d have rugby tackled you to the floor given the chance.

Harry abandoned his phone and lurched out of his room, down the stairs to the kitchen. He nearly stacked it twice but he made it, with panting breaths to accompany him.

You turned your gaze on him with a startled look, giving him a once over. “What are you doing…?”

“Don’t you dare cook for everyone else.”

You blinked twice and then rolled your eyes. “It’s fine - I’ve got plenty.”

“It’s not fair.”

“If I don’t cook it today it’ll go off. So might as well.”

Harry looked at the produce you’d piled on the counter and back at you, then back again. “Bullshit.”

“Excuse me?”

“You bought enough for everyone.” He straightened and folded his arms across his chest.

You spluttered and scoffed for far too long. “No.”

“Yes.”

“You can’t stop me.” You scowled at him.

It was the most emotions he’d ever seen on you. If he’d known all this time that all he needed to do to get a conversation out of you was wind you up a bit, he’d have done it much sooner.

“Yes I can.”

You put a hand on your hip. Christ. “How?”

He stared at you, statuesque and cursing himself for challenging a bet he couldn’t win. You were right. How would he stop you? He wasn’t going to drag you away from the kitchen and up the stairs without your permission. Hell, he didn’t want to do anything without your permission, threats begotten. He hadn’t thought this through.

You let out a breath, a mocking one, and turned away from him and picked up a knife to start chopping. “Didn’t think so.”

“You can’t do this forever.”

Chop.

“Do what?” You challenged, refusing to look at him again.

Chop chop.

“Look after every person that comes in here because you feel like you owe people something. The world will take advantage of you. Is that what you want?”

Your shoulders visibly tensed over the words that tumbled out of his mouth. They weren’t even spoken with malice. They were soft and cautious.

CHOP.

“This feels like a very deep conversation to be having on a Tuesday evening.”

He growled, frustrated. “Stop babying everyone.”

Chopchopchop.

“If they didn’t want me to baby them they simply wouldn’t let me. And maybe I like babying people. Sometimes it’s nice to have a responsibility.”

“That’s just it, though. They’re not your responsibility.”

You smacked the knife down on the chopping board and turned to face him, an unfamiliar anger in your eyes that muddled with something else murky and grey. Hurt. “Will you just let me cook my fucking dinner in peace?”

Harry stood, tense, staring at you with his fists clenching and unclenching. Finally, he said, “Fine. But you’ve got to let me help you.”

“Oh, Jesus Christ, Harry.” Your head lolled back.

“Two different people, but I appreciate why you might get confused.”

You stared at him for an indecipherable length of time. Or gawked might have been a better descriptor. And then you snatched the tea towel off the side and smacked it in a whip-like movement against his arm. “Git.”

~

Two weeks later and you and Harry had begun a sort of ritual; you would cook with each other every other night. The distinct difference was that when you bought food, you bought enough for everyone. When Harry did it he only bought enough for the two of you.

You hadn’t quite figured out yet if being in this new… friendship with Harry was better or worse. Cooking together four nights a week versus blissful ignorance towards him and his attractiveness? The now near-constant proximity to him was making your head spin for stupid reasons. Namely said attractiveness.

His biceps for one. No one should be allowed arms that had the ability to make one’s mouth water. Pair his strong muscles with the litter of tattoos that were drawn down his right arm and you’d found yourself sweating even on the coldest day. A man’s body should not have such a strong effect on a person, yet here you were - a swoon personified.

Then there was his face, which was worse. Eyes mouth jaw. Those three things individually on a man were the first thing that always drew you in, but Harry had a triple threat. Seaglass green, blush pink and the perfect 100 degree angle. Not too square. And to top it all off, a wispy mop of chestnut waves atop his big head.

The perfect man?

“Aye,” Harry took the knife off you before you started chopping an onion, “thought we established that needed sharpening. A blunt knife is more dangerous than a sharp one.”

A man who cared about your wellbeing?

His bedside manner could use some work.

“Fuck off.” You whispered to your inner voice.

“What?”

“Nothing.” You shook your head, cheeks burning. Great, he probably thought you were crazy.

You silently passed Harry the stone out of the drawer. He could sharpen it if he was going to make such a big deal out of it.

“Thank you.” He mumbled, and started swiping the edge of the knife along the full length of the stone.

Chalky noises. Sharp noises. Furrowed brow. Biceps flexing. Obscenely attractive. Abort abort abort.

You busied yourself by turning on the hob and drizzling oil into a pan. Basically looking anywhere but at Harry and his arms. Sexy arms.

Sex on legs.

Your legs were wobbling. A flame of burdened heat licked its way between your thighs and you had to lean against the counter to stop from buckling. It had been a long time since a man had touched you.

Yeah. This was worse. Definitely worse. Hyper-awareness of everything going on around you wasn’t unusual, but being hyper-aware of everything Harry did was like some unfound form of torture. There was being attracted to someone and then there was whatever this situation was.

Ridiculous?

It was ridiculous, but at least you could suffer knowing that your inner voice had been wrong. Harry was not a normal bloke. He was some kind of enigma.

~

For the past couple of nights Harry had kept his door open. He’d learned that you did indeed have nightmares regularly so the dreamcatcher you kept in your bedroom window was doing little for your unconscious mind. He’d debated buying a bigger one for you but wasn’t entirely sure how appropriate that would be.

You weren’t loud. In fact, if he hadn’t kept his door open he never would’ve known, because the ajar-ness of his door had come prompted for completely different reasons - that unusual urge to see you first thing in the morning. Now two nights in a row he had been woken up by your little yelp, followed with a hissed string of curses while shifting around your bedsheets to get comfortable again. As soon as he knew you were asleep, he wasn’t too far along after you.

He still hadn’t been able to decide if cooking with you nearly every night was a good thing or a bad thing. While he never failed to enjoy himself during your bi-nightly kitchen sessions, he hated separating from you afterwards. It wasn’t enough. The persistent nearness of you for an hour or so only to be followed by a later severance was almost painful. The bedroom door being left open was just another attempt at trying to get closer to you.

He knew it was you in the bathroom because you took longer than everyone else. Not because you were using up all the hot water but because you used it as an excuse to give it a thorough clean. Being able to hear everything going on in the house was both a gift and a curse, but Harry wasn’t attuned to all the tenants. Only you.

Five minutes later the bathroom door opened, and you plodded up the two flights of stairs. He knew the way all the stairs creaked, and you were going at nothing more than a leisurely pace. He caught a glimpse of you as you passed, but it wasn’t enough. It was never enough. The scent of strawberries and jasmine wafted through the gap in his door after you.

Harry’s phone vibrated.

Blackpool Tower

🌝 Friends coming over tomorrow night for drinks 🍻 we’ll behave

👰🏼 You idiot

🌚 RHYS

🌝 NOOOOOOOOOO

🍉 Pay up dipshit

🌝 😭😭😭

A few minutes later Harry got a notification to say he’d received a £10 payment into his bank account.

~

Then

The cold had crept in again. Not from the weather - it was warm at night. This was a different kind of cold. The sweaty kind that kept you up at night. Medication had kept the nightmares away for some time but now you were locked in the house for the foreseeable future you couldn’t bear the idea of being constantly dimmed down by it in front of your housemates.

Last night was the first time you’d had a nightmare in close to a year and it was just as terrifying as it used to be. Some traumas just wouldn’t leave you be. You’d taken a couple of painkillers to numb your headache and they’d graciously knocked you out for another few hours and brought you right on through to 8am. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d slept that late. With everyone at home all the time now, it seemed no one wanted to get out of bed.

You had a job to do today, anyway. The room next to yours had finally been rented, so you’d been tasked with giving it a proper clean before the new tenant arrived this evening.

You did need to eat, but before that you wanted to get the window open in there to coax some fresh air in.

Hauling yourself out of bed, you meticulously tidied your room the same you did with every morning, dressed in clothes appropriate for cleaning, and took the short step across the hall to the other room.

The door was closed which was unusual. You always left the doors to the empty rooms open with a wedge so they wouldn’t get stuffy from disuse. Maybe you’d opened the window yesterday and forgot? Had the wind closed it for you?

Shrugging to yourself, you opened it anyway.

“Oh,” your eyes widened, “fuck, shit, sorry.”

Inside, collapsed face down on the bed dressed with only a sheet was a man, near-naked in only a pair of boxers. You couldn’t see much of his features bar a mop of chocolate curls, a heavily tattooed arm, and a particularly nice arse beneath his pants.

He lifted his head, complete with a gorgeous profile, and peeled open an eye. A very green, beautiful eye. He made a confused, questioning noise.

The room was full of belongings, so this must be the new tenant and not some homeless person who’d managed to sneak in without anyone realising. At least you hoped.

“I’m sorry, I thought you were moving in later today. Sorry.”

“Friday.” He managed. A sleep-coated, groggy and somewhat delirious voice. It was delicious. You wanted to taste it.

“What?”

“Friday was moving day.”

“Yes. Today.”

“No. Yesterday.”

You looked at your phone. “Christ. I’m sorry. Isolation is getting to me. You don’t care. I’m sorry. I’m interrupting your sleep. I’ll go. Sorry.”

You pulled the door closed before you could embarrass yourself any further, and then hid yourself in the bathroom out of sheer embarrassment.

If you never saw that marvellous-looking man again it would be too soon.

~

Now

Harry often thought about that first day.

Morning. Just after dawn. Early summer sun casting you in gold. Tiny shorts. Faded creaseless t-shirt. Sleepy face messy hair.

He hadn’t seen you anything of the sort since and he craved it like an addict did cocaine.

A pandemic had ruined many things for many people, and the most recent ruin back then had been Harry’s longest relationship. That’s what had brought him to a double bedroom in a shared house rather than a flat and his own fucking space. He couldn’t afford the latter.

It had been hot that night, moving into a new home in the darkness. He’d picked up the key from the owner, your dad it had turned out, and transferred his possessions from one place to another in the late night simply to avoid having to discuss his situation with people he didn’t know.

But yes, the heat is what had caused him to strip down to his underwear before passing out. The startled look on your face at the sight of him had absolutely been worth it. The sight of you had been worth it. Such a strong attraction to someone fresh after a breakup should be wildly inappropriate, but there you suddenly were, bare-legged and dangling yourself in front of him like a piece of string to a kitten. Still, the fact remained that Harry liked to think himself a gentleman. He tried to be a gentleman, and after living so close to you for so long, it didn’t take long to learn that you liked to keep to yourself. So he had done the same.

Until now, apparently.

“That housemate of yours here?”

Harry’s ears pricked up at the question like a cat’s would if it heard something interesting. He recognised the voice and hated the speaker. He always had. Today was no exception.

“Which one? I’ve got three of ‘em if we don’t include Abbie.” Rhys’s oblivious laughter filtered up the stairs to the sanctuary of the top floor.

“Well I ain’t talkin’ about the lads, am I?”

Harry shivered. He imagined if you could hear them then you would too.

“She’s here”, “Don’t bother,” came simultaneously from Rhys and Abbie. Abbie sounded almost defensive, and that pleased Harry to no end.

“Why not?”

“Because she isn’t interested.”

“Maybe you should let her decide that for herself.”

Unconsciously, Harry rose from the desk in his room and made his way across the hall to yours. The door was open, obviously.

You were sitting up with a book but you had earplugs in. Whether it was playing music or just to block out the noise from downstairs he wasn’t sure. As soon as you spotted him a small smile curved on your lips, and you pulled an earplug out. It was playing music.

Harry had never met anyone who could listen to music and read at the same time. There were surely plenty, but this put you in the Elite Tier in his head.

“What’s up?”

Footsteps began on the stairs, and Harry threw a cautionary glance over his shoulder before he slipped inside and closed the door behind him, sliding the lock across.

You were leaning forward now, a crease in your brow. “What’s going on?”

“Rhys’s friends are here.”

You blinked. “I know.”

“Yes but his idiot friends are here.”

You tipped your head. “I’m not following.”

“I don’t trust him.”

“Who?”

“I don’t know… Gaz? The one with the teeth.”

“Oh. Right. Why not? He’s harmless, no?”

“Is he? I’m not so sure.”

Your name suddenly trilled from the floor below. “You home?”

You looked at the door as Harry moved to the side, dumbfounded. Harry shook his head at you when you began to move.

Why not? You mouthed.

Harry pretended to drink from an invisible glass and grimaced.

The idiot called your name again and knocked on the door. “Come on, come say hi.”

Harry was really scowling now. You flashed glances between him and the door multiple times.

“She’s probably asleep, mate!” Rhys hissed from outside the door. “She works early some Saturdays.”

That was not true. You’d never worked weekends, not even as a teen. It was Rhys’s smart ruse to get him to back off.

The door handle jostled. Harry suddenly looked more threatening than a mafia boss, and your jaw fell slack from shock.

“Oi,” smack, “what the fuck is wrong with you?”

“What? Worth a shot.”

“No it fuckin’ weren’t, go downstairs.”

Some heated muttering commenced, but neither you nor Harry moved or spoke until you were satisfied they wouldn’t hear anything.

“Did he seriously just try and get in here?”

“While you were ‘sleeping’?” Harry air-quoted around the word. “Yes. He did. Hence the distrust.”

“What the fuck…”

He watched you for a moment and the look on your face said it all. You were upset, in a confused sort of way. Your mind was somewhere else, no longer in this room. Eyes glassy and breathing shallow.

Someone had tried to come into your personal space while they had the impression you were sleeping. If that had been the case there was no telling what would’ve happened. If Harry hadn’t come in you probably wouldn’t be any the wiser to Rhys’s friend’s real character, and that was what scared him. You had a tendency to put too much faith in people as just people. If someone was being nice to you that must mean that they are nice.

“What are you reading?” He asked into the silence, not only to break the quiet but to pull you out of the trance you’d been in.

“Oh, er,” you looked down at the book in your lap and turned it upwards, flashing the cover to him, “some daft romance.”

You put it aside after slotting the bookmark inside to keep your place. He smirked to himself. God forbid you dogear a page.

“Happy ending?”

You nodded, playing with your loose earbud. “Yeah. Has to be.”

“They’re my favourite.”

You gawked at him then. “Really?”

“Yeah.” He shrugged. “Is that so shocking?”

You laughed musically. “I don’t know… I kind of assumed a guaranteed happy ending would irritate you or something.”

“Not at all. Sad endings are rubbish.”

“Aren’t they?” You patted the bed by your lap, suddenly animated. “I hate them.”

“Me too.”

“What are they for? No one wins, everyone is miserable, and someone has almost always died in the middle.”

He folded his arms, brows furrowed in a mock defence. “Now who hurt you? Tell me. Who do I need to beat up?”

“John Green.”

Harry scoffed. “He’s the worst.”

“Paper Towns? What the fuck was that all about?”

“Load of shit.”

“Exactly!”

He grinned, relaxing his posture. A commotion began downstairs, and he turned over his shoulder towards the door. Two phones dinged inside the room.

Blackpool Tower

🌝 🍻🍻➡️🌃➕👰🏼

You were being left alone. Thank God.

Harry met your gaze with a passive smile that didn’t touch his eyes. “I’ll let you get back to your reading.”

“Wait…”

He raised a single brow at you. “Yes?”

“Why don’t we watch a movie? If they’re pissing off out…”

He was both surprised and elated by your suggestion. All he’d be doing otherwise was looking for flats to move into alone and listening to some murder podcast before passing out. Friday nights were raucous in one’s late twenties.

“Two movies.” He bargained. “One we can bitch about first, and then one we like to make ourselves feel better.”

Your returning smile was prizewinning. Priceless. “And… takeaway? I really don’t want to cook.”

He clicked and pointed a finger at you. “You’ve got yourself a deal, madam.”

~

This was a new low for you. Or perhaps it was a high - you hadn’t decided yet. Using the newfound common ground over a love of happy endings off the back of the fear of a mad man trying to let himself into your room to coax Harry into a movie night with you. In your room, no less. The house was empty yet you chose to suffer the shitty WiFi signal in your tower room because your bed was more comfortable than the communal sofa in the living room on the ground floor. The cold ground floor.

Now, after a shared pizza that was delivered in record speed, you and Harry lay parallel to one another as you batted bitchy comments between one another about the infuriatingly devastating plot of Atonement.

“I wanna smash her face into a wall.”

You nearly choked on your wine, and wiped a pre-existing tear off your cheek. “Harry,”

“What?” He whined. “Every time I get to the end and she tells the real story I see red. Why get people’s hopes up like that?”

His eyes were red around the rims.

You sat forward as the credits began to roll and looked at him with a timid smile. “Opinionated, aren’t you?”

He was draped across the left side of your bed closest to the door, legs crossed at the ankle and hands tucked behind his head against the headboard. He was close to slouched, but he looked so impossibly at ease you wanted to just nestle right into him.

You could do it. Nothing is stopping you.

You repressed a growl.

“Coming from you?” He retorted, amused.

Childishly, you stuck your tongue out at him. “What’s next?”

He pursed his lips and gave a thoughtful look towards the ceiling. “Notting Hill?”

You gasped. “Fuck yes. Do you fancy dessert?”

“Always. What have you got?”

“I picked up a chocolate trifle on the way home from work.”

“That sounds dirty as fuck.”

“It is dirty as fuck.” You agreed and stood from your bed. “I picked it up on the way home with the intention of eating it all by myself, but… I’m willing to share.”

“How kind.” Harry chuckled. You felt his gaze on you leaving the room.

Two minutes later you returned with an unwrapped trifle and two spoons. Harry had already found Notting Hill on one of the many subscription sites you paid for and had it paused right at the start. He sat up straighter as you settled back down, pressed play, and then the two of you sunk into cake and gooey chocolate layered beneath sweet cream.

“Is Hugh Grant too posh?” Harry asked between mouthfuls.

“Yes, but it suits him?” Your question pondered. “Like, I couldn’t imagine him with a Scouse or Georgie accent.”

Harry’s returning laughter was delighted, magical. “This would be a very different film if he did.”

You gave a gutterall, mischievous laugh. “I would like to see it.”

Once you’d spoiled yourselves with trifle you settled back down, two parallel figures unmoving in the dim room, except to drink wine.

Harry was an ominous presence beside you. Warmth radiated off him in languid rolls, beckoning to you like an evil sea siren. Your hands fisted on your stomach, muscles tense. It really was taking everything in you not to lean into him and inhale his scent. Let it lull you to sleep like a safety blanket.

Occasionally you peeked glances at him. If he’d noticed you he never said anything, and it made you brave. After so long the film became background noise and Harry was the real star. A black t-shirt across a flat, muscular chest, steady breaths causing a rise and fall. Black jogging bottoms that rose higher up his legs with each slight movement, showing more scrumptious leg hair per inch. Big, boney, veiny feet with heinously long toes. Hair taken off his face with a tiny claw grip, a little greasy around the ears.

The overwhelming need to shove your face into his armpit finally gave motive to look away. Hugh Grant and Julia Roberts meant nothing anymore. There was a sexy man sprawled across your bed who ate your trifle and wanted to watch stupid rom-coms with you.

You fell asleep before the end.

~

Harry was sure he was dreaming. It wasn’t possible, the situation he found himself in. It was what he wanted, what he had really wanted for a while now, but the actual possibility of it coming to fruition had been next to none. Zero. Impossible.

He’d woken up in your room. That was the first tell that he was still dreaming. Then he found a warm body curled around him, and him around them in return. Your warm body. Leg draped over his thigh, arm slung across his torso, head tucked under his chin, his arms around your shoulders and inhaling your strawberry shampoo.

You were both still on top of the covers, neither able to finish the movie without passing out. He’d even noticed you had nodded off first but he didn’t want to leave you without making sure you’d lock the door behind you again in case Rhys and his idiot friends returned.

Huh. Maybe it wasn’t a dream. That was too accurate and not nearly lucid enough for an unconscious mind.

He didn’t want to move in case he stirred you, but he was desperate to see your face. Your beautiful, sleeping face. He refused to believe you’d cuddled up to him while conscious. Because it had been that way around - you were parked up on his side of the bed. His lips pricked upwards at the corners with that knowledge.

It was raining heavily outside. It fell against the window in loud smatters, the room cast in a dull grey tone. It made him want to squeeze you tighter, to keep you from any harm. He still refrained.

Eventually you woke. He could tell from the way your body tensed and your breath caught in your throat.

“Don’t freak out.” He mumbled, voice thick from lack of use.

You took in a deep, obvious breath. “No? Why not?”

“You don’t need to.”

“I think I do.”

“Explain, please.”

You hesitated, wetting your lips, and took in another deep breath. “I’ve embarrassed myself.”

“How?”

“I’ve put myself into your personal space without your permission.”

“You were unconscious.” He argued.

“Doesn’t make it any better. You should’ve run for the hills the second my foot touched your lovely hairy leg.”

Harry chuckled. He tightened his arm around you and brushed his nose through your messy hair. “Maybe I don’t mind you in my personal space. Maybe… I like it.”

“Do you?”

“Perhaps.”

“Perhaps?”

He laughed again. “You’ve nothing to worry about.”

You sat up and faced him.

Gah. There you were. Puffy eyes, cracked lips, scruffy hair. His stomach did a backflip at the sight of you - a dream he had nightly. In equal measure, he missed having the warmth and weight of your body against him.

“Don’t think about it too much.” He gave you a gentle smile. “Nothing needs to be complicated.”

You remained silent, either awestruck or dumbfounded. He wasn’t sure.

He stood, reluctantly, and pinched your cheek. “You’re cute when you’re in shock.”

That sorted you out. Your face rearranged itself into a scowl, gaze following him as he left the room. He hadn’t wanted to leave, but such a conversation felt too poignant for 8 o’clock in the morning. You needed space to let your thoughts take over.

~

Cooking dinner and movie nights. That had become yours and Harry’s thing. After he’d dropped what you considered a bombshell that he didn’t mind you in his personal space you’d had the longest shower of your life - accidentally using all the hot water - and then spent the morning face down on your bed trying not to scream into your pillow.

Since then you’d been obsessively cleaning, more so than usual by way of distraction from the man living across the hall. The house was spotless. You’d even cleaned the windows at one point, outside, with help from your dad and looked at a way to fix the leaking problem in the empty bedroom.

It still didn’t stop your mind from constantly drifting back to the other morning. Waking up curled around Harry like that had been both terrifying and utterly perfect. For a man with such a hard physique he’d been incredibly comfortable. Too comfortable. Then he’d said a number of things that threw your somewhat orderly brain into complete disarray and chaos.

“You’re cute when you’re in shock.”

Harry hadn’t seemed to take his own words lightly, either. He’d been more comfortable in closer proximity with you since that morning, in the little things like light touches to your arms and back while you cooked together, or a kiss on the top of your head before you disappeared into your room for the night. Some nights you would share a bed after a movie because it was just easier - you were already settled, and you always woke up cuddled against him like a fucking creep.

“This,” Harry said as he pulled the oven door open, a waft of heat filling the cold room, “is gonna be fuckin’ banging.”

“Mhm.” You quipped, shoving a tortilla chip into some salsa, and then into your gob.

It was a Saturday night. By a freak stroke of luck, all the other housemates had gone away for the weekend - George to his parents’ and Rhys and Abbie on a weekend break to Amsterdam. So, a dinner and movie night had been a given, but you’d stuck a portable heater in the communal living room downstairs, found as many blankets as you could and piled them onto the sofa, then queued up enough movies to last all night.

Harry’s carefully crafted pizza sat atop the stove, cooked to perfection with your favourite ingredients on one half and his on the other. Your mouth watered.

You carried everything into the lounge, set it all up on the coffee table, and pressed play on your first movie of the night.

It was civil while you ate, and you were admittedly starving. To Harry’s credit the pizza was delicious and you wished it was bigger because you could’ve eaten another. You filled the hole in your stomach with tortillas and salsa instead. He graciously took all the dirty plates back into the kitchen when you were done, and returned with two bowls of strawberries, raspberries, and of course, watermelon. It was a very healthy dessert but the watermelon looked seriously out of place.

“I can’t believe you’re letting me eat your watermelon.” You joked. “Feels like a sacred honour.”

He snorted but remained silent.

Eventually, after all the food and a couple of glasses of wine, you were horizontal, your feet in Harry’s lap. He had his hands locked around your ankle after you accidentally kicked him in the thigh.

“If you were in a rom-com, who would you want to play your love interest?”

Harry pursed his lips. “Hugh Grant.”

You giggled, turning your face into the sofa cushion. “90s or current Hugh Grant?”

“90s. Current Hugh Grant is into much more sophisticated roles that I don’t care for. Even if they are generally great films.”

“I see…” you mused.

He squeezed your ankle, a smile flirting on his lips. “No, I don’t know. Who’s queen of romantic comedies? Reese Witherspoon? J-Lo?”

“Oh my God, I love J-Lo.” Your voice was a dreamy, breathy sound.

“A fine woman indeed.”

“I love it when you talk like it’s the 1800s.”

He laughed so loudly it was almost a bark. “Noted. Who would you want to play opposite?”

“Sam Claflin.”

“The king of rom-coms.”

“Exactly. Very easy on the eye.”

Harry was smirking again. His hands were moving now, smoothing up and down your leg in easy strokes.

Thank fuck you shaved, you little scruffy bear.

You mentally flicked your inner tormentor behind her ear.

The film played on and held your attention for some time. You were possibly the most relaxed you’d been for a very long time. Not one muscle in your body felt tight.

Harry’s lackadaisical caressing continued, which you were still half-conscious of. It was nice to be touched that way - you don’t think you ever had been. You didn’t panic until you realised he’d been venturing just a touch further up your leg with every stroke; until his fingers tickled your thigh.

You gasped, grabbing his wrist, wrenched yourself upright.

Heat flooded your centre, slick and warm. It was so instantaneous it took you by surprise, and your cheeks burned, the tips of your ears warm.

His eyes were on you, wider than usual. “Sorry,” he tried to speak but it only came out in a whisper.

What is wrong with you, woman? You wanted this.

The inner tormentor was right. You had wanted it, and for quite some time. But the advance of it had taken you so completely off-guard that your body had reacted before your brain did.

“Shouldn’t have done that.” Harry muttered, a furrow between his brow. He was angry with himself.

Finally you managed to shake your head. You managed to manoeuvre yourself by taking one leg - the leg he still had his hand on because you were keeping it there - off his lap and tucked it under itself. You pressed his palm flat against your skin, smoothing over each of his long fingers in turn, and met his intense gaze.

You were much closer now, faces and bodies mere inches from each other. You could feel his breath against your face, and you knew he could feel yours too from the way his eyelids fluttered with each exhale. Shiny eyelids, you noted.

He slowly closed the space to brush his nose upwards against yours, and your next exhale was much shakier.

“What are we doing?” You asked.

“Whatever you want.”

You wanted many, many things. And 99% of them involved him.

You licked your lips, and his gaze dropped to them at the action. Your stomach squirmed and your inner voice squealed with nerves.

Harry placed his other hand firmly on your hip and tugged, and you spilled over his lap, straddling him with your hands using his shoulders for balance. Another gasp fell out of you at the feeling of a certain something between your legs. A certain hard something.

“Is this okay?” He asked, both hands tentative on your thighs.

“Mhm.” You managed.

His hands spread wider, and you grew wetter, breathing heavier

He swallowed thickly. “Can I kiss you?”

All you could do was nod.

You noticed the beginning of a smile before his mouth was on yours. That mouth you’d thought of many times, at all hours, on all days of the week. And it was finally on yours, and perfect too. Soft, big, spongy. It felt like heaven against your own.

He took his time, leisurely testing the waters with you. What you would allow and what you wouldn’t. What you liked and what you didn’t.

You liked all of it.

His tongue was reverent as it eased your lips open, but thorough once you’d granted him access to you. He tasted like strawberry and watermelon, a delicious combination. A lethal combination.

His hands still smoothed over your thighs, reaching for your arse but never quite making it there. He didn’t want a repeat of the previous reaction from you.

You held onto him tightly, hands squeezing over his shoulders in an accidental but welcomed massage. You wanted to touch him everywhere but weren’t sure if he was okay with it.

“I never thought I’d be able to do this with you.” Harry’s voice was gruff, strained. He spoke against your lips.

“Neither did I.” You said breathily.

“Thought about it a lot.”

“Me too.”

He groaned into your mouth, hands rising to your hips and waist, tugging on your loose t-shirt.

You continued kissing, mouths bruising with lust, skirting around the removal of clothes. His arousal only got harder between your legs and it made you wriggle. Your wriggling caused friction, and the friction caused whimpers.

“I won’t last if you make noises like that.”

This information gave you immense satisfaction. He practically ate the smile off your face, and you wriggled again over the top of him. More whimpers, more movement. Back and forth, back and forth until you were utterly soaked inside your pyjama shorts.

“Jesus Christ,” he hissed.

“Harry,” you moaned, fisting his t-shirt at the chest.

“Keep going.” He practically begged.

You gave a frustrated noise and did as he said, rolling your hips over the length of his clothed shaft. Over and over and over again. Tits began to bounce. Back began to sweat. Toes began to curl.

Harry stripped you of your top and buried his face in your chest. Kissing, licking, sucking, bruising. A canvas of vivid colour. He dragged his lips across any inch he could, leaning forward, arching you backwards, just to access more. More more more.

Rolling, dragging, rolling and dragging your dampness against his erection. It was your sole focus. You needed it - the release you hadn’t felt for some time. You were always too nervous to masturbate with only two walls and doors separating you and Harry. You needed this more than anything else.

He held onto your back with one strong arm, hand gripping your waist while his other cupped your breast, and he took your nipple into his mouth without any further hesitation. Lick, suck, lick.

You squealed at the sensation, grabbed his face and brought his mouth back to yours. Faster faster faster you moved your hips and devoured his mouth until-

“Harry!”

Heat burst through your body, crashing through every cell, corner and crevice. You were tense as you came, clinging to Harry as tightly as possible. Then, as breath left you, you fell limp against him.

Harry stroked your hair and kissed your temple. His nose drew circles on your cheek.

When you pulled back, thoughts catching up to you, you looked confused.

“What?” He asked, head tipped to one side.

“This doesn’t make sense to me.”

“What doesn’t?”

“This,” you pointed between him and you.

“Why doesn’t it?”

“Because,” you gestured at him and then dropped your hands to your lap, “have you seen you?”

“Many times.”

You gave an exasperated sigh. “I’m serious, Harry. People that look like you aren’t interested in people who look like me.”

“What a horrifically outdated cliche.” He said in a flinchingly bored tone. “For the record, I think you’re bloody gorgeous. Have done since the day I met you.”

“Why?”

“Because I do! Life is too fucking short to let society dictate who is attractive enough to date who.”

You made a face, one where your eyebrows and your mouth stretched. “Yes, but-,”

“-No buts. I fancy the pants off you and that’s all you need to know.”

“Are you sure?”

He laughed. “Well, I certainly wouldn’t have let you do what you just did if I wasn’t sure. Would I?”

“I don’t know… some men are pigs.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Look,” he took your face in his hands, “some men are indeed pigs. But I like you. A lot. And I’ve had fantasies a hell of a lot like what we just did together for a damn embarrassing amount of time. About you. That’s all you need to know. Ever since I met you, I’ve been all about you.”

You pulled your lips between your teeth and stared at his chest, unseeing. Giddiness filled your tummy and white noise flooded your ears.

Harry picked up your hand and pressed a kiss to the palm. He watched you closely as he peppered kisses to your skin. “You’re thinking too hard, but I get it.”

“I think too hard about everything.” You mumbled. “Especially when it comes to you.”

“Is that a good thing?”

“I don’t know but I’ve always thought about you more than I’d like to.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. You’re very distracting.”

“Sounds like a compliment to me.” He said, and pecked your nose. “Shall we finish our movies and go to bed?”

Involuntarily, and as if prompted by the suggestion, you yawned. “Probably a good idea.”

Harry smiled, wrapped his arms around your middle and squeezed you tightly to his solid frame. “Let’s do it.”

~

Harry worked late a lot over the next week or so. He hated it mostly because it meant less time with you. Less conscious time, anyway. For the first few nights he’d come home to find you asleep and couldn’t bear the idea of accidentally waking you up, but after sharing a bed with you for so many nights now, it had been a hard drug to quit.

It was late now, well past midnight and you’d probably fallen asleep hours ago. But seeing you curled up and facing the window, sheets bunched up to your chin and face buried in your pillow, he couldn’t help himself.

He quietly stripped out of his clothes, save for his boxers, shut the door behind him and slid into bed beside you. He surrounded you with his warmth - arms around your middle and his face pressed between your shoulder blades. He tugged you backwards until your bodies were flush together, chest to back, and sponged a wet kiss into your shoulder.

You did rouse a little, giving out a soft, sleep-filled squeak. “Hi.”

He smiled, leaving another kiss closer to your neck. “Hi.”

“Wondered when you’d be back.” You said around a content sigh.

“And me.”

You giggled. You took a hand that clasped around your chest and brought it up to your lips. “Tried to stay awake for you but failed.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“But I want to.”

He littered more kisses against your skin, because he could just never get enough of you. “Thank you.”

“Pleasure.”

“Now go back to sleep.”

“Yes sir.”

~

“You look different.”

You frowned, meeting your sister’s scrutinous eyes between washing a saucepan clean. You were washing, she was drying, like you always did. You didn’t trust her enough to actually clean the dirty tableware. Sometimes she didn’t properly dry things either, but you’d make the most of what you could.

“What do you mean?”

“I dunno.” She shrugged. “You’ve got a kind of… air about you.”

“Right…”

“Hey,” your dad appeared, nudging your sister’s arm, “maybe she’s got a boyfriend.”

Embarrassed heat filled your body.

“No, that’s not it.” Your sister shook her head. “Anyway, whatever you’re doing, keep doing it.”

“I don’t…” you didn’t know how to finish that.

Perhaps your many nights sharing a bed with Harry had been what she was talking about, but the label of boyfriend/girlfriend definitely hadn’t come up yet. You just liked each other. A lot. Add that to the fact that any night you shared a bed with him you didn’t wake up in cold sweats or choked screaming fits, it wasn’t exactly something you planned to stop doing any time soon.

“Oh my God, don’t overthink it like you do everything else. It’s a compliment. Take it.” She rolled her eyes.

“Aye, don’t be snotty.” Dad swatted your sister’s arm.

“I’m not!”

Your sister was younger than you, and for all eternity most definitely cooler. She was in school and that hadn’t changed into adulthood. It didn’t particularly bother you. Generally you got on very well, she just didn’t have a problem opening her mouth when she had an opinion.

“Anyway, don’t forget family dinner night. Next Friday?” Dad reminded you.

Ah yes. Family dinner night was not here at Dad’s house with just you and your sister. It was at the house with Dad, your sister, and all the housemates. George proclaimed it his favourite time of the month, because Dad, an ex-chef, always cooked. Harry, because of his often awkward shift work, was almost always absent.

“Okay.” You nodded.

After finishing your last dirty dish, you pulled your phone out.

Blackpool Tower

👑 ❌😃

Sometimes a text simply couldn’t be written exclusively in emojis, so you’d come up with a rule whereby if you needed to write one, you’d send a ❌😃 to alert them.

👑 Family dinner night next Friday. Be there or be square 💘

👰🏼 🤯🤩🤯🤩🤯

🌚 🎉🎉🎉

“You’re still doing the emoji thing?” Your sister asked with a narrowed gaze.

“We have another bet running to see who’ll crack first.”

“Right… will everyone come?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

“That’s me asking if Harry will be there, by the way.” She said with a smirk, nudging your arm.

If you didn’t know any better you’d be hot under the collar thinking she was onto you. The mention of his name got you flustered anyway, but you did know better. As any sensible woman would, your sister had a little thing for Harry that she’d never shied away from.

“I don’t know.” You repeated, somewhat irritated.

“Well, find out! Do I need to make an effort or not, you know?”

“I mean… he doesn’t usually come. So probably not.”

“Double check. To be safe. Or give me his number.”

“No.”

“Please?”

“No.”

“Bore.” She scoffed, and swished away.

~

Sundays were laundry day. Harry knew this, which is why he’d never do his on the same day. Everyone in the house knew that first thing on a Sunday morning you would head down to the basement with a book and a basket full and sit there until everything had been through the tumble dryer (unless it was delicate in which case you’d air it in your window for the day).

Today, though, Harry travelled from the top of the house to the very bottom and slipped inside the utility room, closing the door behind him before any of the other housemates could hear him.

“What are you doing?” You asked, voice light with laughter.

Harry’s gaze rested on you, full of some kind of infatuation. You were sitting atop the industrial-size tumble dryer in the far corner of the room, back against the wall and knees up, book held against your thighs.

He shrugged. “Wanted to come irritate you a bit.”

“You never irritate me.”

He grinned and put himself in your personal space. He found your bookmark and placed it between the pages, and then took it away, abandoning it. “Are you sure?”

You let him manoeuvre you; pulled you forward a little and spread your knees apart. Your legs fell over the side, resting either side of his hips, and your breathing quickened. He placed one hand on your thigh and the other stroked over your cheek.

“Feel free to interrupt laundry day any time you want.”

“That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

You laughed at his mock genuine tone and brushed your fingertips against his lips. “You know, my sister has a massive thing for you.”

He stood quietly for a fraction of time, gaze assessing. “I would tease you about it but I just can’t. I kind of already guessed.”

“Did you?”

“Mhm. She’s not exactly subtle.”

“No, she’s not. She asked me for your number.”

“Did you give it to her?”

“What do you think?” You rolled your eyes.

He smirked. “You getting possessive of me?”

“Maybe. But she’s too self-absorbed to realise. She thinks I’m doing it because giving out your number willy nilly is morally wrong. Which it is. But yeah, I also just don’t want her to have it.”

His lips tightened, nose flared, eyes light - batting away a smile. “I think I like this side of you.”

You gave an uncharacteristic grunt, but your eyes never left him. “You look like a frog when you make that face.”

His face neutralised and he sucked in a breath. “You’re not the first person to tell me that.”

This visibly delighted you. “Maybe I’ll start calling you Froggy.”

“Too far.” He pinched your waist

You giggled, hands pressed against his chest. Your palms felt warm over his t-shirt and he never wanted you to take them away.

“How long left on your cycle?”

“Er…” your gaze dipped downwards to the screen on the washing machine. “Like, 20 minutes probably.”

“And then it’s going in the tumble dryer?”

“Yes… why?”

“Because,” he pecked your lips once, “I think I know,” he kissed your left cheek, “something we can do,” then your right cheek, “while we wait.”

Your gaze was curious and intense as he started sponging his lips down your front, from neck to chest to stomach. You reclined some, breathing heavy, and he pulled your legs up by the ankle and planted your feet back on top of the dryer.

“Oh,” you spoke, voice caught.

“You okay with this?” He asked hesitantly.

Even though you’d been sleeping side by side something close to 5 nights a week, your little dry humping session last weekend was as far as you’d gone in the sexual intimacy department.

You made a strangled noise. “Christ, yes.”

Grin fully spread across his face, he smoothed his palms up your thighs to your hips and tucked his fingers into the silky waistband of your pyjama bottoms.

“Can we take these off?”

You hummed an affirmed noise, and lifted your arse off the surface. In one smooth pull he had the garment off your legs and over his shoulder, probably in the same vicinity of the book he’d taken off you.

He met your gaze with a lifted brow. “Not a fan of knickers?”

“Not in my jim-jams, no.”

His smile blossomed like daffodils in spring. “That’s either the cutest or sexiest thing you’ve ever said.”

“Can we go with sexy considering what I hope you’re about to do?”

“Sure thing, cutie.”

You squealed a little at the name, but he couldn’t tell if you loved it or hated it. Regardless, he kept a firm grip on your legs and lowered his lips to your knee. In a slow, measured movement, he kissed his way up the inside of your legs with his hot, wet mouth.

Your breath was laboured as you watched him, eyes wide when he met your gaze again but so incredibly keen. To prove it, you pushed a hand through his curls and massaged his scalp, coaxing him forward.

“I’ve wanted to taste you for so fucking long.” He admitted, mouth dragging over the softest part of your thigh.

His hot breath fanned against your waiting lips and you visibly clenched.

“I’ve wanted you to, believe me.” Your voice was but a rasp.

“Yeah?” He sighed happily, left hand moving closer to your centre. He extended his thumb out, “Are you wet for me?” He pulled your lips apart, and the noise he made at the sight of you was practically carnal.

“Harry,” you whimpered, tugging on his hair.

He hummed again, face inching closer to your dripping lips. He licked between you, wetness collecting on his tongue. The taste of you was something better than he could’ve ever imagined and he growled because of it. He gripped your legs tighter, hesitant no more, and buried his face right between your soft thighs.

“Oh, God,” you whined. Your head lolled backwards and both fists found purchase in his beautiful hair, twisting and tugging.

He grunted in response to you, spurred on. He collected as much of your juice as he could, firm stroke after firm stroke of his perfectly capable tongue.

He played with your clit in a way that made you squirm and squeal, eliciting the most delectable little noises out of your hoarse throat. Harry didn’t hold back - he never had in that department. He went for it completely and utterly.

The washing machine launched into rapid spinning, filling the room with wheezing, screaming noises.

“Harry, don’t stop.” You begged, body rigid with desperate tension.

He obeyed your every word. He spread your legs further and further with his digging grip. He burrowed his face into your cunt, tongue plunging inside of you and spading inside your heat like a desperate gardener.

“Yes, yes, yes,” you panted as you lifted your head again to watch him.

His eyes were already on you, dark and hooded and filled with keen lust. His head moved with an eager precision like his mouth did. He wanted you this way. He’d wanted it for so long he couldn’t quite believe he was getting it. You were a goddess, ethereal and perfect.

The washing machine’s cycle reached its peak, vibrating harshly beside the two of you. It was deafening yet the least bit distracting.

Harry pursued his advances on your cunt relentlessly and without breath until your body went rigid and then shuddered. You screamed his name, withholding nothing, any cries drowned out by the washing machine. Your body visibly vibrated like the machine beside you, and eventually your limbs weakened to jelly.

Harry stood straight and helped you sit up again, wrapping his arms around your middle. He tucked your head into his neck and twisted his face into your hair.

“You’re right, that was incredibly sexy.” He mumbled.

He revelled in your returning laughter, the sound light and airy. You showed no shame in clinging onto him, fingers raking through the curls at the back of his neck.

“Maybe you can do it again later.” You suggested, lips sponging against the skin on his neck.

“Any time you like.”

After another minute or so you pulled away, eyes scouring his face. “You’re a mess, sir.” You commented as you wiped your thumb around his shiny mouth.

He made a wordless noise, held your wrist, and took your thumb in his mouth. “I’ll be a mess for you.”

“Perhaps I’ll be a mess for you, too.”

His brows shot up and it made you laugh. “It’s cruel to joke about that.”

“I’m not joking.”

He gave you a challenging look.

“Want me to prove it?” You offered.

Was it even worth the question? “Always.”

You grinned. “Let me put my washing in the dryer and I will.”

He took a step back and bent at the waist, arms extending like he was bowing. “M’lady.”

You hopped down from where you’d been sitting and pulled him in for a kiss.

“Sir.”

~

The kitchen was a hive. And a mess. There was shit everywhere and your anxiety was through the roof just looking at it. It wasn’t an unfamiliar sight because any kitchen your dad found himself in nowadays ended up looking like a pig sty but it didn’t settle the tightness in your chest.

He moved around the room with chaotic precision while you trailed after him tidying up any unnecessary mess, and your sister sat at the dining table Rhys and George had brought up from the basement an hour ago, scrolling through her phone.

“What about him?” Your sister flashed her screen to the two of you, the next Tinder profile filling it.

Your dad leaned over and squinted. “His eyes are too far apart.”

“Ugh. Knew you were gonna say that.” She grumbled.

This was a game you played regularly. Your sister would showcase potential Tinder matches either for her or for you (which you always declined to comment on), and your dad would garner his unfiltered opinion. It was probably a big part of the reason you were both still (technically) single. No one was ever good enough. That, and you didn’t have a Tinder account. Or any dating app account, actually.

“Him?” She flashed the next profile to you both.

Cute. But…

Not Harry.

Your inner tormentor smirked.

“What’s his anthem?” Dad knew all the terminologies now for the dating app world. He liked to call Hinge ‘UnHinged’, because that’s what the suitors on there usually were.

“Um… Wonderwall.”

You gagged, and Dad scoffed. “Next.”

You carried on for a little while, joining in when you felt like it but mostly just trying to keep the kitchen at an acceptable level of clean.

Rhys, Abbie and George were upstairs getting themselves ready for dinner as if it was some kind of gala they were about to attend. They did it everytime; dinner with Dad felt like an occasion. Harry wasn’t home and you hadn’t worked up the nerve to ask if he was going to be. He left at such a weird time this morning you couldn’t figure out what shift he was on and how that would affect his ‘home time’.

“Lay the table please, poppet?” Your dad asked of your sister, because he knew it was the only task she’d willingly do.

She leapt to her feet in a dramatic flurry and made for the cutlery draw. “Have we got enough for matching sets?”

“Very unlikely.” You muttered. You hadn’t eaten dinner with matching cutlery since you moved in.

The front door opened, cold air blustering in and mixing with the heat of the kitchen. Harry stepped in, bundled up in a big coat and rucksack slung over one shoulder.

“Hope I’m not late.” He said in a gravelly voice, smile sheepish.

“Harry!” Dad greeted him with complete joy. “Wasn’t expecting you, what a nice surprise.”

Your sister looked flustered all of a sudden. She’d convinced herself he wasn’t coming. Part of you had, too.

“I’ll just change and be back down.”

“Sure, we’ve got a bit of time yet.” Dad waved him away.

You’d pretended to busy yourself, but you watched as he headed for the stairs and caught the subtle wink he gave you.

Ah shit.

“What am I going to do?” Your sister panicked. “I'm a disaster - I look hideous.”

“No you don’t.” You grumbled. She’d never looked hideous in her life.

“Can I borrow some makeup?”

It was easier to just give her what she wanted rather than fighting her on it. “Sure - what do you need?”

She listed off a bunch of makeup items, most of which sounded completely foreign so you were sure you didn’t have them. You’d just give her your entire makeup bag and let her do what she wanted.

You knocked on Harry’s door before you went back down, makeup bag in hand. He opened in just his jeans, a light straight-leg pair with gaping holes at the knees.

“Hey,” he smiled, and rested an arm against the doorframe.

“Hi… I thought you’d be working late?”

He shook his head. “I was supposed to be. Swapped my shift ‘cause I always miss family dinner.”

“I see… well, you’ve successfully panicked my sister.”

“That was my plan all along, actually.”

“Mhm, sure.” You bit away a smirk. You liked this playful side of him a lot. “If you need half an hour to mentally prepare… I’d take it.”

“Noted, thank you.”

You left him to change and made your way back downstairs. Your sister eagerly took your makeup from you and dashed to the bathroom on the first floor.

Neither she nor Harry, or anyone else for that matter, came down until it was time to sit down.

Your dad sat at the head of the table as he always did, spread laid out in front of you in the middle. You sat to your dad’s right on the corner, and your sister to the left. You knew she was going to try and save the seat on her other side for Harry, but George ended up taking it instead, which visibly irritated her. She did have a particular ‘gay man’s best friend’ vibe about her - they flocked to her like sheep. Abbie sat at the other head, Rhys on her left, and then Harry sandwiched between Rhys and you.

He squeezed your thigh under the table, and you tried to pretend like it didn’t have some obscene effect on your intimate places. You lightly kicked his shin and started piling food onto your plate.

Like some kind of mafia father, your dad went around the table and asked all of the housemates for an update on their lives. He liked to do this, and fortunately your housemates liked pleasing him. He was a good landlord, and that showed by the way they gravitated towards him. He probably wouldn’t do this sort of thing if you weren’t living there, but he had a responsibility to them as tenants as well as you, his eldest daughter.

When you were done eating you sat back in your chair and put your hands in your lap. Harry didn’t hesitate to take one in his own and link your fingers. You peeked up at him as subtly as possible, unable to fight the giddy warmth that spread through you. He didn’t meet your gaze for the sake of keeping everyone else out of your business, but he did squeeze your hand, which only made the airy, slightly delirious feeling inside of you that much stronger.

Your sister spent 20 minutes talking about herself without breath, and as self-absorbed as she was, she was harmless, really. Not to mention entertaining. You never laughed as much as you did when she had her mouth open.

“Harry, you should come to these more often.” She said to him, batting her eyelashes.

You were about to walk her and your dad to the car and send them on their way. Harry was trying his absolute hardest to escape.

He cleared his throat. “I probably should, yeah.”

“It was good having an extra nice body.”

You gave her a look, brow raised. She shrugged. “I think it’s home time, no?” You prompted, gripping her arms and nudging her away.

“Fine.” She huffed, and began walking towards the street. “Bye team!”

Most people had already disappeared to their rooms but you had to admire her spirit. Dad was already gone, eager to go to bed.

You were halfway to the car when your sister asked, “So are you gonna tell me or what?”

You met her gaze with another raised brow. “Tell you what, exactly?”

“Mate,” she swatted my arm, “I am not an idiot. I know when I’m not wanted, because it’s not often.” She could not get any more vain if she tried. “I always did wonder what I had to do to get Harry’s attention better, and today I finally figured it out. I need to be you.”

Ah. Not as ignorant as she appears, then.

You pressed your mouth closed, looking away. “Er,”

“Don’t ‘er’ me. I saw that wink he gave you when he got home, but I thought he was just trying to wind me up. And then he sat next to you, not by choice it seemed, but there was barely an inch of space between you and practically a metre between him and Rhys. Then he just didn’t stop looking at you, even though he pretended he wasn’t. Let me tell you, that boy has not learned the art of subtlety.”

She turned to you then, a searing gaze heavy. “Look, I don’t know if you’re aware of it, or if you’re already shaggin’ him and lying to me about it-,”

“-We’re not having sex.” Yet.

“Okay, fine. Whatever. Just do something about it, please. If I can’t have him you should. Don’t let a man that beautiful go to waste. You hear me?”

“Loud and clear.”

“Good.” She huffed, and then pulled you in for a tight hug. “Fed up of seeing you alone and underselling yourself. You’re hot shit! I know it, and Harry clearly knows it.” She suddenly takes your face in her grasp. “So do something about it.”

~

You appeared in the doorway of Harry’s room around 20 minutes later, fresh-faced and in your PJs. He was reading in bed, having stolen a book out of your cupboard.

“Is he secretly in love with her?” He asked without taking his eyes off the pages, his long finger brushing the spine.

You squinted at the title as you moved closer to him. “Yes. What made you pick that one?”

“Because it’s obviously your favourite.”

“How’d you work that one out?”

“The spine is cracked beyond belief. It’s nearly falling apart.”

“I might’ve bought it from a charity shop.”

He lifted a brow. “Did you?”

“No.”

He put the book aside, focussing all of his attention on you. You’d sat down cross-legged on top of the covers, and you wore a calm yet unreadable expression. There was a hint of something in your eyes. Infatuation, maybe?

“What’s going on?”

You shook your head, smiling. “Nothing. I’m just… happy.”

“Me too.”

You remained quiet for a moment, gazing at one another in a comfortable silence. Eventually, Harry opened his arms in request of your embrace, and you gave it to him without hesitation. You settled against him, head tucked under his chin.

“I like this, Harry. Us.”

“So do I.” He nodded, pressing his lips into your hair. “A lot.”

“You make it easier.”

“Make what easier?” He asked, and then held his breath.

A beat passed. “Life. Sleeping. Consciousness. Cooking. Just… being.”

“That’s a very big compliment.”

“I mean it.”

“I know you do.”

When you peered up at him, he lowered his mouth to yours for a slow and tender kiss. It wasn’t abrasive or demanding; it was perfect. Full of an understanding that neither of you expected to find in another person.

“Tell me about your nightmares.”

“I don’t have them when I’m with you.” You admitted, as if he hadn’t already worked it out. When he didn’t respond to you, you reluctantly continued. “They’re about my mum. She died in a car accident a few years ago and I dream about it sometimes.”

Harry’s heart found its way into his mouth. “You were there?”

“No. My sister was. I was with dad - it was a weekend. Me and dad at his work cooking, mum and my sister shopping in town. Were on their way back and someone just ploughed into the side of the car, driver’s side. She died on impact and my sister was in hospital for a week.”

Harry held onto you tighter, his lips against your temple. “I’m sorry.” He whispered.

“It’s okay…” you swallowed, body tensed in stillness. “I dream about that day a lot. Mostly the part where Dad broke the news to me. Seeing my sister in the hospital plugged in and drugged up. The funeral; the look on Dad’s face. I wake up crying more than screaming, usually.”

He took a deep breath, and he clung to you like you might disappear. “I’m really sorry. Sorry that happened to you and your family, and that you have to relive it most nights. That’s not fair.”

You met his gaze, cupping his cheek. “Ever since we started doing… this, I haven’t had a single one. Not even on the nights we don’t share a bed. I don’t know why, I guess my conscience has decided it’s safe with you. And I do feel safe with you.”

“Then I will stay with you every night to make sure you never have a bad dream again.” He vowed, turning his head enough to kiss your palm. “I like knowing that you feel safe with me. S’a pretty big compliment.”

“I’m full of those when it comes to you.”

His chest swelled, a helpless smile on his face. “Even when you tell me I look like a frog.”

You snorted and hid your face in his chest. “You do, though.”

“Okay, thank you.” He huffed, feigning offence, but he didn’t let you go; didn’t loosen his hold on you.

You talked late into the night until you fell asleep, wrapped around one another and bundled under his bedclothes. Having you so close and being so open gave Harry a sense of clarity. He’d had an attraction to you since the day he met you, but this was turning into something more. Feelings were now coming up to bat, and he had a pretty solid idea of where they were heading.

~

“You are filthy.”

You wiped your brow, meeting Abbie’s gaze with indifference. “I am not letting this garden turn into a jungle again like it did last year.”

“I know, but I’ve never seen you so dirty. You’re the cleanest person I know.”

“Believe me, I’ll be jumping straight in the shower once I’m done.”

It was the warmest day of spring so far, and for once it wasn’t raining, so you’d taken the opportunity the second you had it to get outside and sort the garden out. The winter had turned it into a tangled overgrown mass of green mess, and you’d been desperate to get it sorted.

Abbie had offered to help but had realised very quickly that she was out of her depth, and eventually offered moral support in lieu of the physical kind. You didn’t mind the company - it beat waiting inside for Harry to come home, alone all day.

You chopped away at the forest that had grown, turned the soil over when you found it, and potted some new plants to give it some life. By the time Harry came home your legs were covered in dirt, cuts and fresh bruises, nail beds black, hair full of dead foliage, and just downright sweaty.

Abbie had surrendered to the house to be entertained by Rhys, and George wasn’t home. He was never home much anymore, you were all under the impression he had a boyfriend.

Harry helped you to your feet where you were kneeling in the soil, eyes giving you a thorough once over. “You look…”

“Filthy. Yes, I know.”

He grinned. “Yeah, but I like it.”

“Really?”

He followed you as you collected your gardening tools and hid them in the shed tucked against the side of the house. “Absolutely. You’re so clean and put together all the time, it’s kinda nice seeing you a bit roughed up.”

You hummed out a laugh. “Interesting.”

Harry boxed you up against the wall, out of sight of any of your nosey housemates. His hips trapped yours, hands holding your sides at the ribs. Without a hint of hesitation, he pressed his mouth to yours, eagerness overpowering tenderness.

You simply let him, never one to deny the most handsome man you knew a hot and heavy kiss. You enjoyed being wanted by him. Who the fuck wouldn’t?

“I’ll let you go shower.”

“Okay.” You murmured, delirious.

He pulled away, giving your hip one last squeeze before he vanished into the house. You spent five more minutes in the garden making sure you’d tidied up after yourself, and took some pictures to send to your dad.

Your shower was longer than you’d have liked thanks to the state of you, and in turn it took you longer to clean the bathroom down than usual. You were starving by the time you got back to the top floor.

Harry was at his desk when you slipped inside his room, browsing something on his laptop.

His room and yours were polar opposites of one another. Where you hid all your belongings, made your bed and kept things as minimal as possible, Harry had more shit than necessary. A bulging wardrobe, unmade bed, things everywhere. He was a man with stuff, and lots of it. Sometimes it made you itch. But he wasn’t dirty in any capacity. It smelled of fresh linen and clean air all the time.

“Do you feel better?” He asked, closing the lid on his laptop again.

“Mm. Loads better.” You gave him a warm smile as you perched on the edge of his bed.

He rolled over to you but abandoned the chair halfway to stand up. Then he crawled over you, forcing you to lie backwards and caged you against the bed.

“You smell amazing.” He said with a voice like gravel.

You ran a hand down his front and slipped it under his t-shirt, trailing your fingertips over his chest. “Thank you,”

He lowered onto his forearm, face an inch from yours and groin against your pelvis. You inhaled sharply, noticing the very obvious stiffness coming from Harry’s midsection. His hand smoothed the length of your side, down your thigh to your knee and then back up again to your arse.

He met your mouth with a kiss, deep and hungry. Dizzying. He led and he was all over you, tongue devouring yours.

“It was a lot harder than it should’ve been to not follow you into the shower.” He admitted.

You let out a soft whine and fisted his t-shirt, pulling him flush against your chest. You wanted to feel the weight of him on you. “You should’ve.”

He returned that with a growl, and his hand on your arse gripped tighter. Your name tumbled off his lips in a husky plea, “I want you so fuckin’ bad.”

Hooking your legs around his hips and pushing his centre against yours, you gave him the silent go-ahead. You looped your arms around his shoulders, fingers tangling in his hair.

“I’m right here, and you can have me.”

Something inside Harry snapped. Any reservations about your desire for him vanished. His kisses became punishing and carnal. His hands on you a little rougher than before, than ever. Possessive.

You helped him out of his top and in turn he helped you out of yours. You scooched backwards up the bed as he drank you in. It wasn’t lost on you that this was the first time he’d seen your top half naked. Somehow, amongst all the nights of bed-sharing, you’d never been fully naked.

His eyes were dark, hooded. He looked at you like you were his last meal, and honestly you lived for it. You wanted to die under that gaze.

“You’re so sexy.”

You bit away a timid, flustered smile. Bashfulness wasn’t sexy.

He stalked you like a wild cat as you lay back. His mouth and hands descended on you again, searching and exploring every inch of you, searing hot and wet kisses into your skin.

His hands slipped into your pyjama bottoms, feeling around your arse again before he tugged them down your legs, leaving you completely stark under his burning gaze. A strangled moan fell out of him while he regarded your naked form, hands smoothing and squeezing your hips, your waist, your boobs.

“You’re so fucking soft.” He said the words like praise.

You laid your hands on his as they travelled over you, and he pushed his mouth back to yours in that same eager dance as before. He ground himself against you, hard as a rock underneath his joggers, and it was doing all sorts to your core. Your heartbeat fell down and down again to your middle, slick heat flourishing between your legs.

“Please, Harry,” you begged him, pushing his hand down.

“What do you need?” He asked, a little cruelly, as if he didn’t know exactly what you needed.

“Touch me.”

The man gargled at you. He was fucking strangled. He traced between your thighs delicately to the point it tickled, and swiped a finger easily in a stripe up your folds, wetness collecting.

“Like that?”

“Yes.” You wriggled under him, desperate for more. “More.”

He played with your clit teasingly, enjoying the way you squirmed. “More?” He asked as he slid a finger into your waiting heat.

A small cry left you. It wasn’t enough and he knew it. “More.”

“Bossy, aren’t you?”

You whined. Now you were the one being carnal. You gripped his head tightly and kept your mouth to his, tongue abrasive and lashing.

While he wound you up in the most irritating way, you found your own ways to move him on. Your feet dug into the backs of his thighs and pushed downwards at an attempt to budge his joggers off. You didn’t want to wait anymore. You wanted him in all his solid glory, right now.

“Are you trying to take my bottoms off with your feet?”

“Yes.” You grunted.

“Oh,” he gave you a dark laugh as his kisses trailed back down your front, “that’s gonna cost you.”

He licked around your belly button, the warmth of his hands vanishing from your body to push his joggers down. He gave your cunt the shortest, most mind-blowing piece of attention with his mouth, dragging noises out of you that you weren’t even aware you could make. Then he turned you over without warning, on your front, and tugged your arse up to rest against his crotch.

You gasped, excited by the somewhat aggressive nature he’d taken on. Your Harry - soft and gentle as they got - man-handling you. You peered at him over your shoulder as he produced a square foil wrapper from somewhere and ripped it open with his teeth. He watched you watching him as he rolled it down his shaft, drawing your attention to it - visually, anyway - for the first time. You had to swallow the lump in your throat.

“This what you wanted, darlin’?” He asked as he smoothed his hand over your arse, but his gaze never left you. “You want me to fill you up with my cock?”

“God yes.” You said without a hint of a waver.

“You want it like this?” He lined himself up, fisting himself at the base, and glided the head of him through your wet, parted, waiting folds.

“Yes.” You whimpered. “Please. Please please please.”

He made that noise again, his large fist grabbing your hip as he hovered at your entrance, and then he thrust himself inside you.

A ripping, searing pain had you wanting to scream so loudly you had to shove your face into the mattress to muffle it. An ache blossomed in place of the initial pain, one that was all too familiar and yet quite unfamiliar. It had been absent, like a friend who lived too far away. Now it homed itself inside of you like it belonged there. Perhaps it did, and the only way to quell it was to entertain it.

“Jesus fucking Christ, you feel good.” He hissed, his hands squeezing your hips and your bum in turn.

Harry pulled out, enough that only his head remained inside you, and then he gave another powerful thrust until he completely filled you. “So fucking good, my God.”

He started moving, in steady, sharp movements. He didn’t want slow. Hell, you didn’t want slow. You wanted fast and hot and sweaty, and that’s exactly what he gave you.

Harry started fucking into you so viciously you could feel it in every part of your body, from the jiggle of your tits to the shake of your arse to the rock of your hips. Oh, and the stretch of his cock as he buried deeper and deeper inside you. Every part of your body was aflame with need, a desire, a craving to be fucked into oblivion.

His hands were on your hips again, fingertips digging into your skin. He rocked you back and forth in time with his thrusts, not that you needed him to. You were doing that all on your own.

He grunted and hissed through every single powerful drive of his cock into your cunt, your name tumbling out of his mouth over and over again.

“Harry,” you whimpered, “harder.”

He growled and obeyed, pistoning inside of you.

“Yes, oh fuck yes.” You cried, head burrowing again.

You felt him on you, all over you then, his chest against your back, lips kissing your shoulders and his arms with a vice grip around your middle. His skin was tacky, as was yours. You were surrounded by a cloud of packed heat, like a humid summer day.

“You are…” Harry began to say, panting in your ear, and his head shook against you, “fuck, I can’t even think straight.”

You moaned, lifting up and twisting your head in search of him. He caught your chin and brought your lips to his in another deep, claiming kiss. You wanted every kiss to be like that from then on - owning, possessing, asserting. You were his and you wanted him to know it.

He gave another round of punishing thrusts before he made a winded noise, “Turn over,” he pleaded, “I want to see your face.”

A whimper fell out of your mouth when his thickness disappeared from inside you, and he helped you onto your back before he got straight back in there. He was low over you, chest on your chest, hand on the back of your thigh, and his eyes roamed your face while it contorted with pleasure.

He hooked your leg over his hip and went harder. Harder, faster, harder, faster. Your head lolled back and a string of curse words fell out of your mouth. His lips danced across your chest and you tangled your fingers in his hair to keep him there. There was nothing better than being worshipped by a mouth. Especially Harry’s mouth.

He licked and sucked over your skin until your boobs and sternum were littered with little purple spots of lust, and honestly you didn’t care. You wanted them all over you. You wanted yours all over him.

His hips never stopped moving - pushing, pushing, pushing you towards a beautiful, glorious high like a high-speed train ploughing towards a dangerous cliff edge. God, you wanted that edge and you wanted it now. You wanted to be flung off it whilst securely attached to the man currently pushing you there.

You pulled Harry’s mouth back to yours, holding your body to him as you clenched, milking him towards his end and yours. You needed it. Your head was about to explode with rampant thoughts and you needed to wash them away.

“Fuck, Harry,” you whispered, neck and shoulders spiked with heat. It radiated off you.

“I know.” He groused and bit your lower lip. “I’m fucking close. So fucking close, and I’m gonna blow if you keep doing that.”

“Please do it,” you begged, clenching again to feel his growl in your mouth, “come, Harry.”

And boy did he fucking come.

His body wracked with a shudder, movements ceasing as you wrapped yourself tightly around him. His muscles rippled beneath your fingertips while he came, oblivious to your own masterful undoing.

You calmed together, lips moving in tender kisses until your breath was caught again and your limbs were sore. You deflated when Harry abandoned you to clean himself up, and you dipped into your bedroom to do the same when you found the strength.

When he came back you snuggled up to him in his bed, between his legs with your head on his chest. His lips grazed through your hair, breathing light and content.

“I am… fucking obsessed with you.” He mumbled.

You traced your fingers over the hair and the swallows on his chest, a warmth filling you, like an acceptance. Being wanted hadn’t mattered to you until now. Until Harry.

“I… am also quite infatuated with you. And I have been for some time. Just… quietly.”

“You been sniffin’ my bed sheets while I’m at work?”

You giggled and nuzzled closer to him. “No. Not recently, anyway.”

“Not recently?”

“I’ve never sniffed your bed sheets, Harry.”

“I wouldn’t mind if you did.”

“I’m weird, but I’m not that weird.”

“But you’ve been infatuated with me for ages.”

“Not enough to go into your room and sniff your bed sheets.”

“Did you do anything a bit weird?”

“No.”

“Really? Not even… a little… you know?”

You gave him a bewildered look, and he waggled his eyebrows at you.

Haha. You totally did that, you creep.

“Maybe.” You murmured, hiding your face again.

He chuckled and held onto you tightly. “I did, too. Feeling’s always been mutual, darlin’.”

You heaved a content sigh. “I’m glad it was. I really do like this. Us.”

“Me too.”

~

Harry had been living life with a permanent spring in his step. He had you, living in the same house and sharing a bed, cooking at dinner time, shagging at night time, and just generally being wonderful, fantastic, gorgeous, brilliant you.

Tonight you were at your dad’s house with your sister so he was cooking alone, but George was in the living room watching one of those daft culinary competition programs on Channel 4, the commentary filtering out with an occasional expletive. Abbie and Rhys were out but would likely be home soon. You’d be back eventually, too, and he liked knowing that nowadays you came home to him.

Rhys and Abbie came back first. Harry had decided to join George in the living room, too intrigued by the shouty drama on Come Dine With Me to ignore it.

Abbie gasped at the TV. “This is the one!” She squealed.

“What one?” Rhys demanded. “Oh, yes!”

“What am I missing?” Harry asked, a little bewildered.

George shushed everyone with a finger to his lips. “I’ve been talking him through it but I want him to see.” He flailed a hand in the couple’s direction.

All four pairs of eyes glued to the TV, a vetted interest in the argument unfolding. The contestants from that week’s episodes were gathering in the final host's living room, bank notes spread in a circle atop a silver tray and holding up a scroll wrapped in red ribbon.

The front door of the house opened again, and in you waltzed, a baffled look on your face. Very rarely did you come home to find everyone in the living room.

Abbie squeaked your name, begging you to join before it kicked off on the telly. “Come on, quick.” She patted the space between her and Harry, conveniently.

His eyes were no longer interested in the TV drama, only in you.

“In fourth place is… me.”

“Ah,” you said in recognition of the scene on the telly as you sat down. Your arm brushed against Harry’s as you tucked your right foot under your left thigh, and caught yourself before you settled into his side like you normally would.

A chorus of patronising oohs filled the room from the contestants on the screen. The host was shaking his head.

“Wait, is this the-,”

“You won, Jane.”

Barking laughter filled the room from the housemates, including Harry, but the host didn’t stop there.

“Dear Lord, what a sad little life, Jane.”

“You’ve got that on a T-shirt!” Harry swatted George’s arm.

“Damn right I do.” He grinned. “Cultural icon.”

“You, or the bloke having an aneurysm?”

“Both.”

“... grace of a reversing dump truck.”

More squeals filled the room, as if the entire scene hadn’t been a meme for years now.

Abbie patted your shoulder. “Did you see the video of Penn Badgley doing this?”

“Obviously.”

“Wait, I wanna see.” Rhys frowned.

Episode forgotten, Abbie found the clip on her phone and showed it to everyone.

“Oh my God, I think I’m going to hear it in that voice forever now.” George muttered, a wistful look in his eyes.

“Shall we watch a movie or something?” Abbie suggested, a hopeful look in her eye. “We never do anything all together… it would be nice.”

“I’m up for that.” Rhys grinned, because why would he ever turn down one of his girlfriend’s ideas?

“Yeah, me too.” George nodded.

All eyes turned to you and Harry. You couldn’t very well say no now, it would look odd. Especially if you both did, which is what you both wanted to do. There were two perfectly good beds upstairs, one of which needed to be destroyed. That wasn’t very well going to happen if you both sat on the couch and watched a film with your housemates.

“Yeah, sure.” You finally said, because you hated the way everyone was looking at you.

“Go for it.” Harry managed, much worse at hiding his disapproval than you were.

“How are we going to decide, then? ‘Cause I don’t really watch the horror films you two are into,” George pointed between Abbie and Rhys, “and Harry probably only watches underground indie movies or something.”

Harry had no idea what gave him that impression, but the laugh that came out of your mouth - hearty, loud and delighted - was worth the assumption.

“Why don’t we all write a movie name down on a piece of paper that we’ll all like - a comedy or something - and do a raffle.”

“Okay, but who’s choosing?”

Harry rolled his eyes and waited for the inevitable to happen. George and Abbie fought for five minutes, both arguing that one of them should choose, and then the decision was given to you as the honorary house mediator. Everyone wrote their choices down on a scrap of paper and dropped them all into one of Rhys’s beanies. Then you closed your eyes, body screaming reluctance at having to be the decision-maker, and plucked a folded square out.

Your mouth lifted at the corners. “Shrek 2.”

Snacks were brought in, beers were shared out, and someone pressed play on the film where it had been queued up.

“Wait!” George screamed.

You all looked at him, bewildered by his dramatics. He’d even stood up.

“What?” Rhys gave him a baffled look.

“I wanna sit in the armchair.” George pointed to the very one Rhys sat in. “I don’t wanna sit in a couple sandwich. A third wheel is bad enough, but a fifth wheel is a disaster.”

“What are you talking about?” Harry asked, laughter nervous and the ultimate giveaway.

“Oh fuck off if you two think we don’t all know you’re a thing.”

Your body tensed. Harry could feel it, the way you went from soft to rigid in a split second. “What?”

“We’ve known for ages.” Abbie said with a sweet smile.

“Yeah, like, the second Harry moved in.” George rolled his eyes.

“But we haven’t been-,”

“-Maybe not the whole time, but definitely recently. I can hear the floorboards creak, you know.” George gave you an accusatory glance. Curse him living directly beneath you. “Amongst other things.”

Harry wasn’t sure whether he was relieved or whether he wanted the ground to swallow him whole. His cheeks and the tips of his ears had turned pink, and you looked like you were in shock. “Right…”

“I am slightly offended that you didn’t want us to know.” Rhys folded his arms. “What did you think was gonna happen?”

He had a point. What did you think was going to happen? Mild ribbing and inappropriate jokes? It wasn’t exactly any of their business what the two of you were doing on the top floor, but that didn’t mean you’d needed to hide everything from them. Why had you stopped yourselves from being affectionate when around them? They were your friends. You all had inside jokes and a group chat and emoji code names. They were like a second family in a way. Even though you all enjoyed your own company, you liked each other too.

“I think… for a while we didn’t really know what was happening.” Harry finally spoke, twisting in his place. “We just started hanging out and it kinda grew from there.”

“I called this on day one, by the way.” George said smugly.

“It’s true, he did.” Abbie nodded, still smiling. “Two good-looking people at the top of the house? Recipe for heaven.”

“We’re happy it finally happened. Just… don’t hide shit like that from us. We’re all friends.” George was back to scowling.

“Friends.” Rhys cooed, like Jay from The Inbetweeners.

“Anyway, now that’s all out there, can we start the film please? Or it’s gonna be my bedtime.” Abbie flailed her hand around.

The movie started, everyone settled into their places, and you managed to find a comfortable position against Harry’s side.

Even though you chatted along with conversations and laughed at the telly, Harry knew something was off. You were still tense, and you didn’t touch him like you normally would. He wanted you in his arms, not pushed awkwardly against his side. He wasn’t sure if it was because you were uncomfortable displaying affection in front of other people, but whatever it was he wanted to make it go away.

He shifted at one point in an attempt to wrap an arm around your middle, but instead you moved further away. That utterly terrified him.

As the movie credits rolled, everyone started to move, ready to get to bed for the night. Except you.

“Guys,” You said, quiet as a mouse, but everyone heard you. Because you never stopped anyone for anything, “can we all have a chat?”

Dread nestled itself into Harry’s stomach. A chat? About what? Everyone? Why did everyone have to be present? What was going on?

The housemates sat back down, if a little tentatively, gazes wary. You finally gave Harry your attention, if only fleetingly with a worried smile.

“Are you alright?” Abbie asked and pulled your hand into hers.

Harry leaned forwards.

“You’ll all be getting an email tomorrow, but I wanted to tell you in person.” You licked your lips, stare heavy on the stone floor of the living room. “Dad is selling the house.”

~

A little piece of your heart broke that evening when your dad told you his plans to sell. It was a place that you had such an odd relationship with, because while it cost a lot of money and caused a lot of financial problems, it also brought you a family you never asked for and a man you never dreamed of having.

You knew your dad would try and hold onto it as long as he possibly could because it had become your home, and he’d been in bits over dinner as he broke the news. He cried, so you cried, and then your sister cried, too. Everyone had been a mess.

“What?” George said, dumbfounded. Hell, everyone was dumbfounded.

“It’s the last thing he wanted to do, but it’s kind of burning a hole in his pocket and we can’t afford it anymore. Between the leaking second floor and dodgy plumbing there’s also woodworm and stone repairs and all sorts of other crap I don’t want to bore you with.”

“You found this out today?” Abbie asked, bottom lip trembling.

“Yeah, an hour or so ago. I’m really sorry, guys.”

“Don’t be sorry.” Rhys frowned.

Abbie crawled across the small gap between her and you and wrapped her arms around you. “We get it. It’s old, it’s a bit rickety and it needs a lot of TLC. We all know your dad gave it all the care he could afford and it’s okay that he can’t afford it anymore.”

“How long do we have to find new places?” George asked, biting his lip.

“As long as it takes to sell. Given the condition of the place it could be fuckin’ ages.” You managed a laugh.

“If your dad needs us to do anything, he just needs to let us know. And we’ll make sure it’s tidy as fuck for viewings and shit.”

“Thanks, Rhys.”

The housemates starting shifting again, collecting up their bits and leaving with softly spoken good nights. You still didn’t move, and neither did Harry. After a quiet minute or so, he slipped his hand into yours and gave it a gentle squeeze.

“What are you thinking?” He asked in a gravelly whisper.

You took a deep breath, nibbling away at your lower lip. “That I’m scared.”

“Scared?”

“Mhm.”

“Scared about what?”

You turned to face him, cataloguing every crease of worry on his handsome face. “Us. What this means for us.”

He gently cupped your cheek, his thumb stroking over your cheekbone. “What do you think it means for us?”

“Well, I don’t know. I’m scared it means the end, when I don’t want it to. I’m scared that what we’ve been doing is just… convenient? And now that we have to leave it won’t be so convenient anymore and it will be over.”

“You don’t want it to be over.” It wasn’t a question.

“No. Not even a little bit. I… I don’t want a night without you ever again. I can sleep with you around. I can breathe. I need to breathe, and I can’t do that without you. And part of me hates that I need you, but I do, and the rest of me that doesn’t hate it tells me to fuck everything to the wind. Because it’s not just need, it’s also a want. I just want you around, like you have been. Presence is such a funny thing when it comes from different people, but yours… I like yours. A lot.”

Harry spoke your name in a low voice, gaze on your mouth as he smoothed his thumb across your lower lip, “I don’t want it to be over, either.” He meets your gaze again, cool, calm and collected. “I really hoped it wouldn’t be at any stage ever, least not because we have to leave the house and find another one. I’ve been living with you for three fucking years and I also don’t want to have to spend a night where you don’t live with me. Hell, it’s not even a fucking option. I know you love this place because it’s your family’s, but I don’t care where we live as long as we do it together. I’ve been looking at other places since the day I moved in, and the only reason I haven’t bothered to leave is because you kept me here, whether you meant to or not. And now we have to leave, and I’m sure as shit gonna take you with me, because I can’t live without you.”

You stared at him for a moment, and then launched into his arms, tackling him into the sofa. You peppered his face with kisses until he caught your lips and held you there, happy in the knowledge that you needed each other and that was absolutely fucking okay.

“You’re special to a lot of people, but especially to me.” Harry mumbled into your lips. “I’m selfish enough to not let you go.”

“I don’t want you to.”

“Good.”

You remained in the lounge for a little while longer, wrapped up in one another, until movement began upstairs and you decided it was probably time to head upstairs to bed. Before you made it to the stairs, Rhys and George appeared in front of you. Rhys looked apprehensive and George looked irritated he’d been dragged out of his room again.

“What’s going on?” You asked, cocking your head.

“Abbie’s in the loo so I’m gonna make this real quick before she comes back.” Rhys threw a wary glance over his shoulder. “I need your help.”

~

Every morning was the same.

This week it had been, anyway. You woke up with the sunrise, wrapped in Harry’s arms, and you listened to his heartbeat and his unconscious breathing for a blissful twenty minutes before his alarm went off. Then he’d fall out of bed with a reluctant yawn, mooch his way around the room and disappear into the bathroom to get ready for work.

Upon reappearing he’d head to the kitchen to make a coffee and leave a cup of tea on your bedside table, then a kiss on your lips, and then you’d watch the man who defined ‘sex on legs’ leave your apartment from the comfiest spot in the bedroom.

Today was the same, but different. He wasn’t going to work today, and neither were you. It meant longer in bed, with enough time for sexy shenanigans, then he’d make for the bathroom, bring you tea afterwards and breakfast.

You spent the day in bed, right up until 5 o’clock when you had to get up and go out to give your keys back.

Yes, your dad had managed to sell the house. It had taken a while, but it got there. The new owners were moving in tomorrow, and you’d all arranged to meet your dad and your sister there to do a final ‘handover’.

George had moved into a studio flat in the centre of town but spent most of his nights at his boyfriend’s place. Rhys and Abbie had finally bought that house they always wanted, out of town but easy to travel into. And you and Harry also had your own place, still renting and in the city, but it was yours together, and that was all you wanted.

“Are you nervous?” Harry asked as you walked up to the front of old Blackpool Tower.

“I’m not the one that needs to be nervous.” You shrugged, even if you had been the one to help Rhys with most of the planning.

He’d been a lot of work over the past few weeks. After he initially asked for your help he spent so long searching for the damn jewellery he forgot about the rest of it. You had reminded him on many occasions that it didn’t need a big song and dance, but he insisted, because he wanted it in the house you’d all shared with her favourite people to witness it.

The garden was lit up in the early evening with fairy lights and candles. George, your sister and your dad were already at the far end waiting for Rhys and Abbie to arrive. You gave over your keys - dad had the house professionally cleaned even though you had offered, because it was too big a task for one person.

Blackpool Illuminations

Rhys We’re nearly there…

Yes, Rhys had really named the group chat for the planning committee ‘Blackpool Illuminations’.

You stood next to your sister who wrapped herself around your middle, and Harry kept hold of your free hand.

“I hope she says no.” Your sister said, and Harry snorted. “Just for a laugh.”

“I don’t think Abbie has it in her to say no to Rhys.” You mused.

Five minutes later the couple in question turned up. Abbie had no idea what was going on, obviously. She’d been told they were going for dinner and then for a walk. The walk was always supposed to end here, at the old house.

Abbie gasped at the sight before her, hands on her mouth as she moved through the garden. “What’s going on?”

Behind her, Rhys swiftly dropped to one knee and presented the ring he’d spent months agonising over. “Abbie,”

You all watched and listened as Rhys spent five minutes talking about how perfect his girl was for him. It was very typical Rhys - overboard and unnecessarily long. Most things maybe could’ve been kept for his wedding vows.

Just as your sister was about to explode from restlessness, Rhys finally asked, “Will you marry me?”

“I would’ve said yes five minutes ago.” Abbie giggled, nodding, and held her left hand out.

George and your sister started hollering, your dad was pretending not to cry, and you fell into Harry’s hold again, watching the happy couple with a warm smile.

“I hope to God they don’t ask me to help plan the actual wedding.”

Harry chuckled and pressed his lips into your temple. “I’ll make sure they don’t.”

Your sister presented herself in front of you with an assured look on her face. “When are you two getting engaged, then?”

Harry choked behind you, and you gave your sister a bewildered look. “Reel it in, please.”

“What?” She shrugged. “Being in love suits you. A wedding would really suit you.”

“A wedding isn’t something you arrange for an aesthetic, sis.” You reminded her.

“Speak for yourself, but I do recommend heavily considering it.”

After she turned away, Harry lowered his mouth to the shell of your ear. “I wouldn’t mind marrying you.”

You tightened his arms around you. “One day.” You said with a kiss to his palm.

His smile imprinted on your cheek. “One day.”

~.~.~.~.~

Thank you so v much for reading if you make it this far. It’s a long one, I know. The longest one shot I’ve actually ever done. Much love to you <3

#harry styles smut #harry styles smut imagine #harry styles smut imagines #harry styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles imagines #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles writing #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst

[bakugoushotwife]

TLC

a/n: this lovely lil comfort fic was requested by my lawfully wedded wife, @keigotakamiz !! i know hawks if your brainchild, so i hope i did him justice! as for everyone else, i know i know, a sfw fic???

pairings: keigo takami (hawks) x fem!reader

cw: periods, comfort, just fluff tehee

wc: 2k

Keigo was extremely perceptive. He may have a carefully curated persona for the other pro-heroes and the hero commission, and that was not one of a loving and considerate partner. But for you, his character was thrown out the window. He was empathetic, highly in tune with you and actually a very doting and caring man. That’s why he was so anxious, you haven’t been yourself all day. Your replies have been short and almost angry with him while he’s been on patrol, and you turned down every option for lunch he offered. This was utterly unlike you, his easygoing, warm, and bubbly girlfriend. So he cuts his patrol short, Mirko owes him one anyway, she’ll take over. He realizes what must be interfering with his pretty girl’s mood, so he stops to get you the food he knows you’ll like because it’s the only thing you ever crave on your period. He takes the liberty to get some other stuff too, some flowers just to see you smile, a few sweet snacks for after lunch, and the ugliest stuffed animal he could find, an inside joke for the two of you. It started years ago, when you were both still teenagers. He found a Frankenstein-esque plush and held it up next to his face, claiming it was his twin. Ever since then, you’ve gifted each other horrendous stuffed animals just to get the other one to laugh. 

He’s hoping this plan will be foolproof, cutting his day short to come check on you was rarely something you took as a good thing, never wanting to be the reason that he didn’t take his job as seriously as you would hope. However, he felt like this was a special exception, given your curt texts and irritated looking snapchats. He takes the bags and carefully secures them, flying over to your place to get there as quickly as possible. He ducks inside through the open window, looking around your vacant living room and kitchen. He tucks his wings back down, not noticing anything out of place. He approaches your closed door, extending his hand to push it open. His suspicions are confirmed by the darkness of your room, the curtains drawn tightly and the TV on low volume. You were splayed out on the bed, cuddling a pillow for dear life. At the sound of your door creaking open, you sit up quickly, prepared to chuck the pillow at your intruder. 

Your arm falls to the side when you see your boyfriend standing in the doorway, slightly illuminated by the light in the hall. He closes his eyes and gives you a sweet soft smile, holding the shopping bags up by his face. 

“Hey pretty girl. I thought you could use some TLC.” He hums, closing the door behind him before making his way to the edge of your bed. Your irritated gaze slightly softens at the sight of him, and you flop back into laying down, groaning aloud. 

Your back is turned to him, arms still wrapped tightly around that pillow. He sighs a bit. You’re definitely on your period. He reaches his hand out to rest on your hip, squeezing the bone gently. He pushes his glasses up to function as a headband, and he tugs his earmuffs down around his neck. 

“I brought you some food.” He coos, a singsong lilt to his voice as if he’s enticing you to eat. 

You groan again, flailing your body against the pillow. “Don’t wanna eat.” 

“Yes you do, you just don’t wanna sit up.” He chuckles out knowingly, his gloved fingers wrapping around your wrist to pull you into a seated position. You certainly don’t help him at all, all your body weight working against him. He sighs, moderately amused by you. He knows better than anyone how clingy you tend to be around this time of the month. You’re powerful and independent, all things he values about you, but he can’t deny how nice it feels to be needed, even if you were playing hard to get. You wouldn’t admit it, but he’d ask anyway.  “Aw, babygirl, did you miss me?” 

You huff, rolling your eyes at him before snatching the bags he brought. You squirm under the covers, a sure sign that you’re pleased by his offering. You fished out your food and some medicine he brought, and finally, your gaze towards him becomes loving, and you lean into his body. He smiles, knowing you missed him more than anything, and while all these goodies were nice, all you ever wanted was him by your side. Sure, you’ll feign annoyance in the fact he took the rest of the day off to hold you and eat shitty convenience store snacks, but after that, you’ll cry your annoyance out in his shirt and then fall peacefully asleep to him telling you all about patrol. 

“Somebody definitely missed me.” He gleams, a shit-eating grin splayed across his cheeks as he presses a kiss to yours. 

You hum in agreement, popping the pills for some relief and picking at the food he brought you. He reached over you and grabbed the bag, digging out the ugly stuffed animal he brought you. It was supposed to be some sort of bird, he thinks, but the way it was printed across the fabric made it look more like a feathered…deer or something. What a perfect gift. He holds it up excitedly. 

“Another one to add to the collection, it made me think of you.” He jests, setting it in your lap. He watches you in adoration, the giggle you give him after you see it was worth any attitude he needed to disarm to get to his sweet girl again. 

You pick up the stuffed animal and hug it close, chuckling at the ugly thing. “Say you, I’m pretty sure this was a misprint of your merchandise.” You tease, checking the tag to confirm your suspicions. Now you’re howling, the ugly stuffed animal was no animal—it was a severely fucked up version of your superhero man. 

He yanks it back from you to see the tag himself, shaking his head at his hero name scrawled across the label. He’s chortling too, horrified by such a mistake but glad it could bring you such joy. Laughter is the best medicine after all, aside from snuggles, of course. You reach over and tug the toy back, cuddling it back to your chest. 

“This is my prized possession now.” 

He rolls his eyes, taking the opportunity to properly remove most of Hawks’ uniform, placing his glasses, earmuffs, and gloves on the bedside table. He shrugs out of his heavy coat and slips out of his boots, tossing the fabric to the floor. He’s certainly not getting out of bed now, not when you’re eating willingly and leaning into his side, an appetizer to cuddling. You groan at the feeling of another cramp rolling through, the medicine not kicking in yet. You pout, your bottom lip wavering and wobbling as you remember how bad the day has been, and that Keigo must have taken the day off to come to your rescue too, and you laid out of work! 

He knew it was coming, so he turns his body a little more to give you access to his chest, where you promptly bury your head under his guidance. His hand comes up to secure you there, resting on the back of your head. The sounds of your little sobs and sniffles soon follow, and he nearly chuckles at how you try to quieten yourself even after all this time. He figures you’re a bit embarrassed to be vulnerable, and he supposes that bit still applies to him as well. But still, you were a leading lady on your own, perhaps it made you feel a little silly to reduce yourself to needing his comfort, so he wouldn’t rub it in too bad. 

“Oh, c’mon babe. Let loose. It’s just you and me anyway, let me be your lil tissue.” He hums encouragingly, his other hand rubbing circles in your back. 

“It’s just be-been such a r-r-rough day!” You stutter through your tears, your wails certainly increase in loudness though, and your hands grasp at his black and yellow turtleneck. He hums through it, knowing you just needed to get it out for a second. 

“I bet, sweets. I’m sorry you’re feeling so bad, but you know I’m not going anywhere ‘til you feel better.” He says, leaning back a little so he could see your face. He smiles sympathetically, holding your tear-stained cheeks in his warm hands. “And before you even start, Mirko owed me a favor anyway so everything’s covered.” 

You smile softly at his comforts, your eyes fluttering shut from the sweet paths his thumbs rubbed in your skin. His smile spreads a bit, and he leans forward to kiss your forehead. 

“Wanna lay down? I’m multi-use, tissue, wallet, sex machine, heating pad, etc, etc.” He smirks a bit, laying back against your impossibly comfortable pillows. He understood why you clung to one until he got here. “C’mere, wanna hold you.” He says a little bit more commanding, just in case you were thinking of being difficult. 

You laugh softly, crawling on your hands and knees back up to your positioning on the bed. He lay on his back, his arms spread to the side as he waited for you to pick exactly how you wanted to curl up on him. He gives you such a kind smile, amber eyes twinkling with his adoration for you. You can’t help but return his grin, his energy always contagious. He reaches out for your hip, tugging you closer to him. You both snicker a bit as you fall the short distance to his chest, laying with your top half stomach down on top of him, legs tangled together in an effort to create maximum comfort. 

“There. Much better, now, huh?” He quizzes, the pads of his fingers smoothing circles into your lower back. You nod, heaving out a long sigh as you snuggle your face into his warmth. 

He knew it wouldn’t be long until you fell asleep, and the prospect made him smile. Whether you ever said it or not, being the only person that could ease your pain and lull you back to sleep was the highest of achievements in his book. He would relish the way you snore lightly and the way you would squirm closer and closer to him as if you wanted to be in his skin. He’ll flip on a show to watch, mostly just for the background noise, because he would watch you sleep. You always looked so peaceful, the stress lines in your face relaxed and your nose twitching on occasion. You were a work of art, maybe a difficult one, but his nonetheless, and he wouldn’t trade this for anything. He prided himself. He can read all your signs, know exactly what you need, and be that. It was the only thing he really wanted to be good at, and luckily he seemed to be a natural at it. He looks down, and sure enough, your lips are parted and barely audible snores slip out. He smirks, and turns the TV up a little, his eyes comfortably watching you sleep until a nap claims him, too.

#kyleewritesmha #mha x reader #bnha x reader #hawks x reader #keigo takami x reader #takami keigo x reader #mha fluff #hawks fluff #bnha hawks #takami keigo #keigo takami

[liminal-space-lesbian]

BG3 Ladies cuddling headcanons

Thank you guys so much for 200 followers (even tho I’m literally never active 💀) I’m currently obsessed with Baldurs Gate so if y’all have some headcanon requests or blurbs or whatever send them over. I won’t commit to writing entire fics bc I’m writing exclusively on mobile rn 😀 but I wanna do a little something

These are mostly self indulgent sorry guys🤧

Karlach:

The second she gets her engine fixed it’s nonstop cuddles. Whenever you’re not traveling or fighting some absolute cultists, Karlach wants you in her lap. Or vice versa, she won’t complain.

Loves loves LOVES when you play with her hair. She just wants to be petted <3

She usually likes to be the big spoon, or just wrap you up in her arms entirely because she loves the feeling of holding you against her chest. However, if she had a bad day or after a particularly rough fight she will climb into your arms and tuck her head into your chest. You’d best rub her back and tell her how much you love her, bc my girl needs a little TLC every now and then.

I’d say Karlach likes to be face to face when cuddling, because she gets the most attention that way. Also best position for kisses!! She loves leaving kisses all over your face, especially your forehead. She loves getting kisses too, she’s constantly giving you puppy dog eyes and asking for kisses throughout the day.

Verdict: Karlach is a lover girl (we knew this)

Shadowheart:

Shadowheart is a bit reserved when it comes to cuddling. She loves it, don’t get me wrong, but she also values personal space a lot. She usually settles for resting a hand on your thigh, or holding hands even. She’ll lean against you while sitting next to you, and even rest her head on your shoulder.

When you’re alone in her tent she will climb in your lap and talk about whatever topic has her currently intrigued. She loves being pampered, honestly. I mean, she’s Gods favorite princess, how can she not?

She usually likes to be receiving attention like kisses and hugs, even back rubs and other forms of affection like that. She does give back though, she’s just more hesitant because she is honestly a bit shy! She can flirt all she wants but when she has real feelings she gets a bit nervous. She doesn’t want to violate a boundary or overstep!! Also she worries about being annoying.

Her favorite cuddle position is when you lay on your back and let her cuddle into your side, resting her head on your chest. She enjoys the freedom it gives her, she is the one in charge of how much contact there is. She also likes being able to drape her arm and her leg over your body :3

Overall Shadowheart is not a huge cuddler, but at the end of the day she likes to curl up with her lover as much as anyone else <3

Lae’zel:

Hates cuddling. Any affection, actually. She thinks it’s disgusting and weak!

However….

When you two are alone she may or may not lean against you. And hold your hand. And maybe even rest her head on your shoulder. And climb in your lap. And…

Okay maybe she doesn’t hate affection that much.

She had honestly never experienced tenderness in such a way before meeting you. She detested it at first, because it felt almost too good to be true! It seemed like a trick of sorts even. A strategy for her to let down her guard so you could strike.

But… you never did. And Lae’zel reluctantly warmed up to the idea.

Her favorite position is surprisingly enough, little spoon! She likes the feeling of you wrapping your arms around her, it makes her feel safe. She’ll say it’s because you are behind her to protect her from sneak attacks, but honestly she’s just a sucker for a good hug.

She will NEVER be caught DEAD cuddling by your companions though. Cuddling is strictly behind closed doors. The best you’ll get is a handhold or a quick kiss.

Ultimately, Lae’zel is secretly a bit of a softie. I SAID IT!! She is very hesitant with affection because she is ultimately distrusting, and gentleness in general is foreign to her. After she warms up to it though, you bet she is climbing in bed and instantly tugging your arm over her waist. She would rather die than let anyone else know that though, especially Shadowheart.

Dame Aylin:

Omg hot lesbian demigod with wings?? You know the cuddles are insane.

Alyin is a lovergirl, you can’t change my mind. She wants to be in your personal space 24/7 and LOVES having a hand on you in some way all the time. She particularly enjoys having her arm wrapped possessively around your waist. Loves kissing you randomly all the time too. A century of being trapped in shadow fell will make a girl pretty touch starved.

She loves to be the big spoon, but she also enjoys lying on her back and having you just lay completely on top of her. She wants as much physical contact as possible. She loves rubbing your back or playing with your hair, and just kissing every inch of exposed skin she can reach.

She also enjoys having you sit on her lap. She’s constantly pulling you down onto her lap so she can wrap her arms around your waist and rest her chin on your shoulder. She doesn’t care who sees either, she’s happy to show off her love for you.

Isobel:

Isobel is such a love, omg. She’s unbearably sweet, she loves cupping your face in her hands and kissing you impossibly gently. She also loved just giving you random hugs throughout the day. Holding hands!! She just loves being near you.

She likes sleeping on her back, so she’ll let you cuddle into her side. She also adores playing with your hair as you fall asleep. It lulls you to sleep, and also helps her wind down after a long day. She also enjoys the way you trace patterns on her stomach as you two talk before bed, she cherishes how loved it makes her feel.

She’s not exactly shy about her affections, but she doesn’t enjoy the feeling of other people watching you share a moment. Those moments are private and sacred to her, so she tends to keep the affection light when people are around. Maybe just handholding and quick kisses.

When you’re alone though? This girl is showering you with all the affection you can handle.

A/n

Yes I know Aylins wings are technically just her armor but for the sake of the plot PRETEND THATS NOT TRUE !!

#bg3 #bg3 headcanons #bg3 lae'zel #bg3 shadowheart #bg3 karlach #bg3 dame aylin #bg3 isobel #karlach x reader #shadowheart x reader #lae’zel x reader #dame aylin x reader #dame aylin #aylin x reader #isobel x reader #isobel thorm #Isobel Thorm x reader #bg3 fluff #cuddles #bg3 fluff headcanons

[bakubunny]

let’s talk a bit about daddy!shoto. this unfliltered list of headcanons has been brewing in my head for a couple of days because of some self ship thoughts that are developing to fit in an upcoming (undisclosed) fic of a lovely mutual. i might share some self ship thoughts in a separate post; i don’t know that i’ll ever write a fic on it so sharing what’s in my head could be fun.

if you’re interested in how i think the topic might come up, take a look at this drabble.

shoto’s not the type of person you (or he) expected to take on this role. but there’s a certain feeling of reclaiming he gets when you need him so. it’s not always that he can handle the title of “daddy,” but saying his name with the same inflection and respect has almost the same effect.

getting into this takes him a lot of difficult conversations and self reflection, a willingness to be vulnerable with you in a way he hasn’t been with anyone else. he’s not someone you can spring this on and expect a positive outcome.

specifically, the title of “daddy” and all its related aspects to whatever degree you might agree on takes shoto a while to figure out. he needs to understand why certain things are important to you, that it’s more than just something you’re throwing around because it’s “hot” or whatever. while it might be something that turns you on, if it’s not rooted in love, respect, and affection, all of the appeal is gone for him.

he loves taking care of you. showing you that he adores you. making you feel loved. and if that comes down to making you feel small and special, he’s okay with that.

he’s so touch starved. he loves snuggles, hugs, kisses, hand holding, affectionate touch, all of it. he needs it. not huge on pda tho.

he’s a bit of a perfectionist and definitely a researcher. if you mention something that might help him understand all of this more, he’s on it like a moth to a flame. wants to have extensive knowledge before he’s willing to try something new you’ve mentioned because again… he adores you. he’d never want to harm his precious partner even for a second. he also likes the thought of surprising you. 😉

shoto is more playful, rough, and teasing than you ever expected once he comes out of his shell. sure, he’s huge on praise (when he can form words) and sweet as can be, but he’s also sly and a bit of a menace lmao. also he loves the idea of getting caught so 🫢

shoto needs aftercare just as much as you do. sometimes dom drop hits immediately, other times, it takes a couple of days. but when it hits, it hits hard - especially early on or after a difficult scene. he needs your reassurance that you still love him all the same, that you wanted everything that happened. he needs to take care of you and know that you’re okay.

furthermore, the second your enthusiasm is gone for something, he checks out. he hates seeing you in distress. if it’s not tears of “i love you so much and this is perfect,” he doesn’t want it.

(imo) he doesn’t have a punishing bone in his body. it brings up too much baggage for him. he’ll give you guidance, but never rules unless it’s absolutely necessary. if you want something, just ask. it turns him on to know you want it, anyways.

it takes him a while to figure out, but he’s got a bit of a mommy kink. not in the “i need you to hold my hand and guide me” kind of way, but more a need for nurturing love and care he lacked growing up. aftercare is good for those moments as well as particularly tough days when he needs the tlc.

#todoroki shouto #todoroki shoto #tw daddy kink #tw mommy kink #x reader #f!reader #bakubunny #aged up characters #todoroki smut

[shmaptainwrites]

𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐄 [𝐉𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐒 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐒𝐎𝐍]

PAIRINGS — James Wilson x Reader (no pronouns used)

SUMMARY — James comes home just in time to help with dinner

WARNINGS — one almost dirty joke

NOTE — This is a request from the winner of my fic lottery @anayame The concept was so cute to write and I hope you like it!

Middle picture credit goes to @shots-of-wilson-and-whiskey

It had been a while since James could confidently say he had come home to the smell of food being cooked in the kitchen. The sound of onions sizzling and sauces bubbling was like a fanfare welcoming and inviting him into the space. 

“Hey, you got back home just in time,” he heard your voice call from the kitchen. “I need an extra pair of hands, get in here.” 

“Normally when people say that it means the food is already finished cooking,” James teased, after having taken off his shoes and rolled up his sleeves so that you could put him to work. 

“And let you miss out on this fun?” you scoffed. “No way.” 

“Where do you need me?” he asked, coming to stand behind you, placing his hands on your hips and pressing a kiss behind your ear. “Cause I’m more than happy to just keep doing this.” 

“Ease up, lover boy,” you chuckled. “Steak needs searing and I know how particular you get about your perfect medium.” 

“Steak, are we celebrating?” he asked. 

“Yes, the fact that you made it home on time for dinner,” you looked over at him to gauge his reaction and he couldn’t fight back a smile and shook his head. 

“How was work?” he asked, side-stepping your comment. 

“My arch-nemesis is an eight-year-old named Justin, how do you think work went?” you asked and James laughed at your response. “I’m kidding, it was alright, Justin has a cold so he wasn’t in class today.” 

“I’m excited to come in for career day and meet all these eight-year-olds that occupy every story you tell,” he said. “Who knows, maybe Justin will like me.” 

“I doubt it, he only likes his friend Asante and even then sometimes Asante still gets caught up in his whirlwind. Kind of like you and House actually.” 

“I do not get caught up in his whirlwind,” James looked at you, offended, and you looked over at him to ask if he was serious. 

“You lied to the police for him, you most definitely got caught up in it.” 

James opened his mouth for a rebuttal, but shut it seeing as you had made a very valid point. 

“How was your day at work?” you asked. “Did Cuddy finally approve that expansion for the playroom?” 

“Not quite yet, but I think I’m almost there. Maybe if I throw House under the bus when he goes behind her back that’ll sweeten the deal,” he thought to himself. 

“But at what cost, House is gonna fight back and you’re gonna regret every decision you ever made.” 

James weighed his options before giving up and saying he’d decide what to do about it later. 

You moved over to the stove where James was to pour some pureed tomatoes into the onions frying on the stove to make a sauce to go on the side with the vegetables and the steak. What you didn’t realize is that James, in his haste to turn down the heat on the stove, would knock the spoon out of your hand, making it fall in the dish and making the tomatoes splatter all over your shirt. 

“Oh my God,” James’ eyes went wide, seeing the splotch on your shirt. “I’m so sorry.” 

“I should have known having you in the kitchen would only result in disaster,” you teased, not at all upset by the mess. “It’s nothing a little TLC can’t take care of.” 

“Can I make it up to you?” James asked. “I know how much you liked that shirt.” 

You used your finger to scoop off some of the pureed tomato off your shirt and place it on his nose. 

“I don’t know, can you?” you asked with raised brows. 

James wiped the sauce off his nose before grabbing your sleeves and giving you a signal with his eyes for you to slip your arms out of them before he helped pull the shirt off your head without contaminating anything else, leaving you in a thin tank top. 

“I think you’re just making it up to yourself,” you laughed, looking down at what you were wearing. 

“If I were making it up to myself, I would have done this,” he took the spoon out of the tomato sauce and flicked it at you, now getting your undershirt dirty. “Oops.” 

“Oh, you’re so going to pay for that,” you shook your head and just to spite him you kept the tank top on even though it was dirty. 

By then the butter in James’ pan had melted and was beginning to bubble so he turned his attention back to the stove so that he could begin searing the steak. You cooked in tandem for a while, and once the steak was cooked James stole a few kisses from you, apologizing again for your shirt and you assured him he could take it off later if he really wanted to. 

“Do you want me to set the table?” James asked, after washing his hands and having set the steak off to the side. 

“That would be nice, it could be like a little home date,” you smiled while putting some potatoes in the oven to cook. 

You watched as James dug around the cupboards for a tablecloth and candles, carefully setting everything up on the dining room table so that it was just right. 

Slowly, one by one, the dishes made their way onto the table as they were ready and when everything was set up you looked down at yourself and wondered if maybe you were a bit underdressed. 

“Maybe I should change into something a little nicer,” you said while James lit the candles on the table. 

“Change, what for?” 

“I’ve got tomato all over my shirt, James. I thought that one was pretty obvious.” 

“No, I mean this is a home date, isn’t the whole point that it can be as messy as we want it to be?” he asked. “I mean, I don’t have to wear this tie,” he pointed to it as he came closer to you, prompting you to take it between your fingers and feel the fabric before helping him untie it and throw it off to the side. 

You unbuttoned the top few buttons of his shirt and for good measure he took a spoon of the sauce and poured it on his shirt. 

“There, we match.” 

“And need to do a load of laundry after this,” you chuckled and pulled him in by the collar of his shirt for a kiss. “I love you, and I love cooking with you.” 

“Me too, to both of those things,” James agreed and you grinned before turning him around and pushing him in the direction of his seat, insisting that you were starving and needed to eat. “So, I was thinking,” James started while serving you some sides. 

“Oh, that’s dangerous.” 

“I was thinking,” he repeated. “Our anniversary is coming up. Do you want to do something special?” 

“Hmm,” you thought for a moment. “We could both take a sick day,” you suggested. “Or a few, go up to Connecticut, rent a cabin.” 

“Cook all day,” James teased and you smiled. “I think that sounds like a great plan. We’ve always talked about doing something like that haven’t we?” 

“Yeah, it just…I don’t know, never seemed like the right time.” 

“You sure you won’t miss your kiddos too much?” he asked. 

“As much as I love them, a few days just the two of us is too enticing to pass up,” you sipped your drink. 

Eating dinner was not nearly as fun as cooking it together, but you both made do with what you could and James stories were nothing short of interesting especially when they included House and his team. 

“Alright, I think I’m stuffed now,” you leaned back in your seat. “But we should clean this up before I go into a food coma.” 

“I wash, you rinse?” James asked. 

“We have a dishwasher, James,” you chuckled. 

“I know, I just thought you might want to spend more time, but I know when my company isn’t wanted,” he feigned offence. 

“Awe, that’s actually really sweet,” you let out a small laugh. “Alright, I’ll suffer through dishwashing for you, Wilson.” 

“Just for that, you’re washing and I’m rinsing,” he gave you a look and you conceded, standing up from the table and clearing the leftovers before getting started on what was in the sink. 

“James, be careful with that, you’re accidentally spraying water all over me,” you nudged him with your hip. 

“Oh sorry I meant to actually spray water all over you,” he turned the moveable faucet in your direction and you gasped when the water hit your shirt. “I mean you did say we needed to do laundry.” 

“Is this why you wanted to wash dishes? To get me wet?-I heard it James don’t you dare make a comment,” you immediately amended and he fought back a chuckle. 

“I love you,” he smiled again and you wished he would wipe that stupid grin off of his face because it made it really hard to be annoyed with him. 

“You think you can just say I love you and it’s gonna make it all better?” you asked. “Cause you’re right, it is,” you grabbed his face with your soapy hands and pressed a kiss to his lips, sandwiched between smiles and chuckles. 

To say you both looked ridiculous by the end was an understatement, but James couldn’t remember the last time he’d had so much fun at dinner and it became very clear that maybe he needed to come home a little early more often.

TAGLIST —

@cuntyvicodin @paola-carter @kiddbegins @il0vebeingdelulu @illicit4ff4irs @lynnsthoughts @miarabanana @iwmflbb @/shots-of-wilson-and-whiskey

#james wilson #james wilson x reader #house md #house md x reader #house md fanfiction #james wilson fanfiction #james wilson fanfic #dr wilson x reader #dr wilson x you #james wilson x you #james wilson fic #dr wilson fanfiction #hate crimes md

[familyvideostevie]

just and just as | a joel miller x reader jackson au series

joel miller x reader

a collection of stories set in the same post-part i, non part ii-compliant jackson alternate universe. general themes: domesticity, softness, love and laughter.

please heed the warnings on each individual fic. written as game!joel but feel free to picture hbo!joel if you'd like!

__

come care about me: a quiet evening at your house in Jackson with the man you call home | joel miller x reader, implied but unspecified age gap, domesticity, jackson au, joel is a flirt and a gossip [2.2k]

watching you with wonder: joel claims to have heard something interesting. too bad he keeps insisting he needs more information before he can tell you | domesticity, post-part i jackson au, joel is a flirt and a gossip but good thing you are too, a fair amount of kissing, fluff, softness, peace and all that good stuff [5.4k]

steel drum weight of me: joel miller x fem!reader, 18+ mdni | joel comes back from his wall shift with hands in need of some serious tlc. but why stop there? [3.2k]

you have me, you have me only: joel miller x fem!reader | you get (minorly) injured on patrol. joel does his best to patch you up and not worry too much. | jackson!joel, hurt/comfort, wound-patching, some blood, a jesse cameo, joel being joel, all that good stuff. |4.2k]

time you will not spend alone: romance at the end of the world is this: flowers, lazy nights in bed after long days, and savoring every moment | or, joel makes you something. | 18+ mdni jackson!joel au, fem!reader, fluff, maybe a bit cheesy but idgaf [5.7k]

#navigation #decided to make a series here for this couple bc i cant stop thinking of things for them! though three parts is far too many already lmao #joel miller fluff #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader

[nahoney22]

Hello darling!

I’d love if you wrote a NSFW fic with Tech or Wrecker.

Maybe you’d be coming home from a bad day at work and a bad fight with your parents and he comforts you and makes you forget your troubles with some soft sex. Lots of praise and pleasure. Maybe some overstimulation??

Only if you have the time of course!! If you’ve already written something like this, I’ll scour the master list

Many thanks lovely!!

Gentleness***

Wrecker X F!Reader

word count: 1.6k

After visiting your parents, you brain is fried with their words and demands of wanting you to have a different path in life. So when you return to your boyfriend, Wrecker, you crave some much needed TLC.

warnings: NSFW, 18+ only. Explicit sexual content and language. Soft smut, cunnilingis, praises, overstimulation, established relationship, aftercare and female reader. A little bit angsty, mentions of arguing with parents.

authors note: I chose to do Wrecker because I’ve not wrote for him in a hot minute and I feel like this is Wrecker coded. Sorry for the wait @originalcollectionartistry ✨🤍

With a raspy throat and misty eyes, you approach the Marauder following what was meant to be a pleasant reunion with your parents, only to unravel into a heated debate about your life choices. Are you old enough? Mature enough? In their eyes, the exhilaration of navigating the galaxy with a band of rogue Clones was an unacceptable life for their daughter. They envisioned a different path—one confined to a desolate planet, toiling behind a counter in a dreary little shop.

You yearned for their support, but some convictions remain unaltered. It had been this way for many years and each time you see them, you think they would change their minds.

Outside the Marauder, you collect yourself, wiping away tears and clearing your throat before boarding.

However, the usual clamor had subsided this evening, leaving you in solitude momentarily. Yet, a yearning for your boyfriend lingers.

Thinking you've found respite, you settle into the cockpit, allowing tears to cascade. With your head in your hands and fingers entwined in your hair in frustration, your sobs echo in the silence. Unbeknownst to you, the familiar and resounding footsteps approach, shattering the quiet.

"I thought I heard ya—hey, what's wrong, babe?" Wrecker swiftly joins you, crouching beside you and tenderly placing a hand on your thigh.

Peering at him through your hands, you manage a smile amid the tears and emit a soft sniffle. "I'm fine, just parents."

A frown creases Wrecker's brow. "I thought you were looking forward to seeing them?" he asks.

"Yeah, until they started bombarding me about what they think I should be doing with my life," you groan, swiping away your tears once more and straightening up. "Just annoyed."

Wrecker offers a sympathetic smile, planting a gentle kiss on your cheek. "Did they, um, mention anythin’ about me?" His hand grazes the back of your neck, prompting a playful eye-roll from you.

Fortunately, your parents did inquire about Wrecker. Your relationship with him wasn't exactly a secret after their initial meeting, which left a favorable impression. That much you were thankful for.

"They just asked about how you were and all," you mention, crossing your arms and leaning back against the chair's headrest. "But... they still disapprove of me traveling with you all. They want me to stay home and work for them."

Wrecker tilts his head, his brow knitting together. "Is that what ya want?"

"Absolutely not, Wreck," you declare. "I just wish they could understand that this is the path I've chosen."

Wrecker stands tall and concerned above you. “Well I’m glad you're still here,” he says, a gentle smile tugging at your lips in response. Yet, he's not entirely convinced. “Is there anything I can do?”

Initially stumped, you gaze up at him, taking in his towering presence, his striking features, and suddenly, a longing for something, anything, wells up within you. "Honestly?"

"Yeah, anything!" His smile widens, noticing a glimmer of light returning to your eyes.

As you stand before Wrecker, your voice carries a hint of vulnerability. "I want you to love me."

Confusion knits Wrecker's brow. "But you know I already do? Don't you?"

You let out a soft, tender laugh at his innocent bewilderment. Your hands trail up his sturdy arms, tracing the contours of his broad chest before delicately cradling his cheeks. Your fingertips brush over the rough, scarred tissue, as you gaze deeply into his eyes. "Yes, but I want you to love me," you express, your voice filled with longing and an unspoken yearning for more.

He’s silent now, but he understands what you mean as his eyes spark with interest.

With such a gentleness, he took your hands away from his face, starting to trail soft kisses up your arms until he seals his lips over yours, drawing you in.

You let him take the lead, keening into his touch as his hands begin to pull the clothes away from your body, his large hands gently kneading at your soft, nude flesh as his tongue dances with yours.

It’s not long until he has you wrapped around his waist, carrying you through the ship until he lays you down on his bunk, warm breath waltzing against your skin.

Soft moans begin to part your lips as Wrecker kneels at the foot of the bunk, your legs spread and balancing over his shoulders as he slips a finger between your folds. Your increasing arousal helps Wrecker to move his digit up and down before he gathers your slick on his fingers, using it as lubricant to rub at your swelling clit.

You choke on a groan, knees subconsciously closing around his head but Wrecker doesn’t mind, infact, it spurs him on as you start to gently roll your hips to his touch. He encourages you, keeping a steady pace as he places kisses to the inside of your thighs as he works at your clit with intent, yet gentle.

Your legs start to tremble, chewing on your lower lip as Wrecker lets out a satisfied growl of pleasure as you grind down on his hand, slipping a finger inside you and curling it as he gently thrusts. “That’s it pretty girl, take what ya need.”

“S-So good Wrecker… you’re so good to me.” You whine, toes curling as he maintains a steady momentum.

“Of course I am, I always will be,” he rasps, eyes fixated on your glistening pussy, “let it go, cum for me. I’ve got ya.”

Your eyes are seeing stars, stars more beautiful than those through space as your body becomes rigid and your breathing becomes heavy. Then, you cry out his name, your orgasm shooting through you as you ride out the pleasure against his hand. “That’s it, you did so well.” He cooes. “That was a lot.”

A happy sigh parts your lips but Wrecker didn’t stop there. “Do you think you can cum again sweetie? I think you can.” He cooed as he placed soft kisses to your thighs before his warm breath fans over your tingling pussy.

Naturally your hips bucked as his tongue glides over your folds, licking up the residue of before and melts as he whines softly at the taste of you. You squirm, getting a bit too overstimulated but a part of you wanted more, you wanted to fight against it and let Wrecker continue to have a taste of you.

“Don’t worry,” he purrs, sensing the struggle between wanting another orgasm and for him to stop teasing at your pulsating cunt, “I will take extra good care of you if you are a good girl and cum on my tongue.”

Your blood runs hot, his praises alone almost making you hit your high. Softly, you hold onto the back of his head, grinding your hips on his tongue as he delves his tongue against your stimulated clit, the burn now desirable.

His large arms wrap under your thighs, bringing you even closer to his face than before, chuckling into your pussy as you let out a wanton cry of pleasure. Your hands move to the sheets on the bunk, gripping as if for dear life as he laps eagerly at you, sucking and flicking his tongue expertly against your sweet sex. “Oh f-fuck! Wreck..!”

“Say my name again sweetie, let me know how much I’m pleasing ya.”

You were blessed to be laying down because if you were standing there was no way you would’ve been able to hold yourself up. “Wrecker, you’re so good at this.”

Again, he chuckles, sending vibrations through you that have your toes curling as your cunt becomes numb. As your moans become louder, you knew you were close again. Wrecker groans as he slips his tongue into your pussy, feeling you clench around his tongue that has you soaring into the galaxy.

“Your moans are so perfect, baby. You’ve done so, so good for me.” He pulls away, catching his breath and you almost sob at the sight of your juices around his grinning mouth before he moves his hand back to your core and lets his fingers strum rapidly against your clit.

It’s too much and somewhat not enough either. His name runs past your lips like a mantra all the while he ushers words of praise. “That’s it, good girl. Cum again.”

One part of your brain makes you squirm away from his touch, finding it unbearable but the other half craves for the intensity of another orgasm. “It’s too sensitive Wrecker,” you moan, knuckles turning white as you grip onto the sheets.

“I know baby but I know you can do it. Let it go, you’ll feel so much better.” For someone so loud his words were so quiet and soft yet laced with pure filth. You’re hot, the stimulation relentless and it’s not until his mouth is back on your clit when your climax finally hits.

“O-o-oh stars!” you whimper as your orgasm rakes through you and onto his mouth and chin, your whole body tingling now. He continues to lick your pussy, collecting every ounce of your high before he stands, wipes his mouth and chin and pulls you into his arms as he sits on the edge of the bunk with you.

“That’s how it’s done, sweetie. Well done.” He cooed, stroking a hand through your sweat covered hair, “was that enough?”

You give him a dazed, dopey grin and nod. “It was perfect.” You sigh happily, resting your forehead into his chest as he cradles your nude body. “Thank you for this.”

“Like I said, I’d do anything.”

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[libraryofgage]

Hashah Tovah! It's Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year, and there's no such thing as too much Jewish Steve in my book (that being said, this story isn't about the New Year, it's about Shabbat hfjdks)

Also, I'm gonna be honest, this fic is a love letter to Judaism and my experiences with my temple and the people there. My experiences aren't universal, though, so please don't take anything here as, like, the end-all-be-all of Judaism. If you have questions about anything here, you can ask me; I'll be happy to answer ^_^

The time period is also very loose. Upside Down happened, but some of the attitudes are probably a bit more modern. Honestly, I suggest just shutting off your brain and enjoying the story lmao

CW: vague mentions of antisemitism and homophobia

As always, if you see any typos no you didn't

(also this is like 4k so buckle in bois)

----

Steve's car has officially given up on life. Honestly, he's surprised it even managed to live this long. For all it's been through, it probably deserves some rest and TLC. Steve just wishes it could have demanded that rest and TLC on any other day.

Because it's Friday. Because it's Shabbat. Because he's about to have a mob of concerned elderly members of his temple crowding his door if he doesn't go to services tonight, and that's not something he wants his neighbors to see.

He considers calling Robin, but she won't be much help. She might be his Emergency Goy, but she doesn't have a car. Now that he's thinking about it, Robin may not be the best Emergency Goy, not that he'd ever tell her that.

He knows one other person with a car, of course, but that means he has to call Eddie. Not that Steve has anything against him, of course, but Eddie makes him feel a lot of things that he's not quite ready to confront just yet.

Steve frowns, staring at the phone for a long moment, trying to come up with any other option.

Steve comes up empty.

Shit.

He takes a deep breath and takes the phone off the receiver, slowly punching in the numbers as though he'll suddenly have an epiphany before he's finished dialing.

Unfortunately, he doesn't, and the phone is now ringing. It rings twice before getting picked up, Eddie's familiar voice saying, "You've reached Casa de Munson. The fuck do you want?"

"Do you always answer the phone like that?" Steve asks, momentarily forgetting about the favor he was planning to ask.

He hears Eddie hum and can practically picture the way he's now leaning against the wall next to the phone, an amused smirk tugging at his lips. "Well, well, well. If it isn't Stevie. What, pray tell, has you calling me?" he asks.

Steve almost hangs up. This is already stressful for him. What if Eddie doesn't agree? Worst, what if he does? Wouldn't that mean Eddie is going to see a part of himself that nobody but Robin has seen? That's fucking terrifying. What if Eddie suddenly hates him?

"I, uh, I need a favor," Steve admits.

"What kind of favor?"

If he wanted, Steve could just lie. It wouldn't be his first time lying about Friday plans. "My car won't start," Steve says, hesitating for a second more before continuing, "and I need a ride to the next town tonight."

"Gee, Harrington, get invited to a party?" Eddie asks, a slight edge to his voice that Steve can't quite place.

"What? No. I...it's not a party, okay? This is really important to me, man. Can you give me a ride or should I ask someone else?"

Maybe Hopper or Joyce would have enough time to give him a ride. He just needs to be dropped off. Getting back...can be a bridge he crosses when he comes to it.

"What time would we be getting back?" Eddie asks, pulling Steve from his thoughts.

"Probably after nine. And we need to be there at six, so that means leaving here no later than five," Steve says, trying to ignore the growing hope and sense of dread in the pit of his stomach. "I know it's really last minute, but you could spend the night at my place after. If you want."

"Will it be fun?"

"Uh, maybe? I don't know, man, it kinda depends. I find it fun, but you might get...bored," Steve says. Or offended. Maybe infuriated? Maybe betrayed that this is a whole part of Steve's life he's never hinted at.

"You're being real mysterious about all this, big boy."

"Yeah, I'm sorry. It's just hard to explain."

"Well, lucky for you, I'm bored and curious."

----

On the drive, Eddie keeps trying to figure out where Steve is directing him. He keeps asking questions, Steve keeps dodging them, and that feeling of inevitable dread keeps growing.

Of course, all that dodging is rendered obsolete as Eddie pulls into a parking spot and shuts off the van. A few families are walking into the temple, some parents glancing curiously at the unfamiliar van, some glancing suspiciously, and some too distracted by kids to notice.

"Uh, are you sure this is the place?" Eddie asks, frowning slightly as he looks at the temple and then at Steve.

Steve swallows around the lump in his throat, his hands nervously gripping the material of his sweater. "I'm Jewish," he blurts out, feeling his face burning. When a few seconds pass without any response, he burns holes into a tree outside and adds, "It's Friday night services. Shabbat. I've missed too many because of...you know. The, um, the Rabbi called and asked if I was okay, and I promised to be at services tonight. You don't have to stay if you don't feel comfortable."

"You don't look Jewish."

Steve tenses, jerking his head to look at Eddie. There's no malice in his eyes. No suspicion, either, thankfully. He just looks...confused. "What's a Jew supposed to look like?" Steve asks in return, wondering if Eddie even knows that he's toeing the edge of the antisemitic swimming pool.

Eddie opens his mouth before closing it again. "Uh...I don't know, actually. Just...not you, I guess?"

Okay. Yeah. Steve can deal with this. He forces himself to relax. "Well, Jews come in all shapes and sizes," he says. He hesitates before deciding to get a burning question out of the way. "Are you angry?"

"What the fuck would I be angry about?"

"That I didn't tell you. That I was Jewish. To be fair, only Robin knows."

Eddie shakes his head, turning in his seat to face Steve. "No, Stevie, I'm not angry. I mean, I live in Hawkins, too. Not exactly the place to be standing out unless you wanna get accused of murder."

Despite himself, Steve can't help snorting at that. He takes a deep breath, the last bit of tension leaving his shoulders. "Well, uh, do you want to stay for services?" he asks.

"Can I? I'm not Jewish. And I'm dressed like this," Eddie says, gesturing at his clothes.

A Hellfire Club shirt, denim vest, gaudy rings, and dark jeans. It's incredibly Eddie, and something about it reassures Steve. He says, "You're with me, so not being Jewish is fine. And your clothes are okay, too. It's not formal."

"My shirt literally says Hellfire."

"Well, it's a good thing Judaism doesn't really have a hell."

Eddie stares at him for a few seconds, clearly full of questions, but then he just nods and climbs out of the van. Steve blinks and scrambles out as well, wanting to create some kind of buffer between Eddie and the congregation members who see a stranger and instantly become defensive.

The moment he's shut the door, he hears a little kid shout excitedly, "Steve!"

He whirls around in time to see a young girl rush across the parking lot, much to the shock and concern of her guardian. Thankfully, there aren't any cars, so the girl is unimpeded in her rush to Steve.

Eddie comes around the side of the van just in time to see the girl launch herself at Steve, giggling when he lifts her up and spins. "Yael! Have you gotten bigger?" he asks, smiling brightly as he comes to a stop and sets her on his waist.

Yael returns his smile with a grin of her own, tilting her head up so he can clearly see the brand-new gap in her teeth. "I lost a tooth! See? It came out last week," she tells him, practically bouncing in his arms.

By now, Yael's grandfather has reached them, smiling indulgently. "Yael," he says, his voice gentle but firm, "you know better than to run across parking lots." When she mumbles an apology, he looks at Steve, his smile turning warm. "Steve, it's been a few weeks. I'm glad to see you again, and you've even brought a friend."

Steve returns the smile and nods, shifting closer to Eddie. "Yeah, things got a little...chaotic in Hawkins. Oh. Mr. Adler, this is Eddie Munson. Eddie, Elijah Alder."

Mr. Adler's eyes light up, and Steve suddenly remembers something incredibly embarrassing. "Oh?" he says, looking at Eddie with renewed interest, "So this is the famous Eddie Munson? I'm glad to see you've healed well."

Eddie blinks, glancing at Steve. "Uh, thanks. How'd you know?"

"Steve asked the Rabbi to include you during the Mi Shebeirach."

"The Misha what now?"

"Mi Shebeirach," Steve says, gently nudging Eddie with his elbow. "It's a prayer for healing."

Mr. Adler nods once, his eyes practically dancing with new gossip. "Oh, yes, you've created quite the stir among the Sisterhood, you know. They have a backlog of Mi Shebeirach cards and nowhere to send them."

Steve translates that information as "the old ladies have been dying to know who this mysterious Eddie Munson is, so Steve had better brace himself." His smile becomes a little strained. "Well, let's get it over with, then."

Mr. Adler nods and gestures for Steve and Eddie to follow as he leads them toward the temple. While they walk, Yael looks at Eddie, her eyes wide. "Why is your hair so long?" she asks.

"Cuz I like it that way."

"Oh. Why are you wearing rings?"

"Because they're cool."

"Oh. Why did you need healing?"

"I was hurt really bad."

"Oh. By what?"

"A bear."

"Oh. Are you Steve's friend?"

Eddie glances at Steve, meeting his eyes for a brief second before smiling at Yael. "Yeah, Stevie and I are best friends."

Yael smiles right back. "Steve is my best friend, too! He's super strong and can carry me without getting tired and makes the best hamentaschen at Purim!"

"Yael," Mr. Adler says, cutting off any continuation of the conversation as they reach the doors of the temple. "Why don't you go let the Rabbi know Steve has joined us?"

Her entire face lights up with joy. "Okay!" she shouts, wiggling in Steve's arms until he lets her down. She tugs open the door, straining until Steve smiles and helps her. "Thanks! Bye, Steve!"

With that, she dashes into the temple, her voice carrying Steve's name into the room full of other people. When almost all of them, including three children that Steve can see, stop what they're doing and look over at the door, Mr. Adler says from behind Steve and Eddie, "Brace yourselves, my boys. The wolves have appeared."

Steve groans as Mr. Adler pushes them both inside. "Should I be worried?" Eddie whispers, leaning in closer to Steve as the door shuts behind them.

"I apologize in advance," Steve tells him.

Despite his words, he has a large grin as the three kids shout his name and rush over, much like Yael did. They're followed by a few teenagers and their parents. The kids pounce on Steve, two holding onto his biceps and hanging from them as he raises his arms while the third clings to his leg.

"Where ya been?" one of the teens asks, her hair pulled back into a ponytail so permed it looks ready to burst.

"Yeah, man, I've been manning the oneg table by myself," another teen says, his arms crossed over a Metallica shirt. He's got piercings climbing up one ear and through an eyebrow, and his gaze moves to Eddie as he speaks, taking in the other boy. "Who's this?"

"Yeah," another girl asks, smiling at Eddie and batting her eyes in a way that makes even Steve feel uncomfortable, "who's your friend, Steve?"

"Kids," an older woman says, pushing her way through them, "you know better than to crowd. Shouldn't you be passing out prayer books right now?" Once she's managed to shoo the teens away, she turns her gaze on the children still clinging to Steve. "And you three, I heard Mrs. Rost needs help in the kitchen. Something about there being too many cookies to platter all by herself."

Steve suddenly finds himself weightless as the kids abandon him, dashing down the hall toward the kitchen. He smiles with slight relief and looks at the woman. "Thanks," he says, rolling his shoulders.

"Of course, Steve. Now, who's your friend?" she asks, looking Eddie up and down curiously.

"Oh, right. Uh. Rabbi, this is Eddie Munson. Eddie, this is Rabbi Sara. I, um, I was hoping he could sit in on services tonight?"

Rabbi Sara immediately smiles at them. She holds out her hand to Eddie, shaking firmly when he returns the gesture. "Of course! I'm glad to see you're doing better, Eddie. We've been a bit worried about you here," she says. She glances around before leaning in and conspiratorially whispering, "There's a betting pool on whether his name would be added to the Mourner's Kiddish."

Steve snorts, knowing exactly which members would have started that bet. "Yeah, well, tell Diane and Yakov they've lost."

Rabbi Sara barely holds back her laughter, nodding once as she lets go of Eddie's hand. "Well, how about I spare you boys from socializing more," she offers.

When Steve nods, she gestures for them to follow her, leading the way to the sanctuary. He glances at Eddie as they walk, taking in the way he's tugging on a lock of hair and looking at the hall around them. "You doing okay?" Steve whispers, leaning in closer.

Eddie glances at him, is silent for a few minutes, and then says, "It's a lot to take in."

"Service will be easier. Lots of music. You'll like it," Steve promises, smiling reassuringly at Eddie. He hesitates before adding, "And if you want to leave, just let me know. The important part was making sure people saw I wasn't dead."

That's not entirely true. Steve doesn't want to leave the Shabbat service. He misses the routine of it and the feeling of togetherness as everyone sings. But Eddie's comfort is taking precedence here; he's already given Steve a ride and has begun subjecting himself to Steve's nosy congregation. Leaving early if he gets overwhelmed is the least Steve can do, really.

The teen in the Metallica shirt, Sam, holds out two prayer books when Rabbi Sara leads them to the sanctuary doors. His gaze lingers on Eddie for a few seconds more before asking, "Dude, do I know you?"

Eddie blinks and raises an eyebrow. "I don't know. Do you?"

Their gazes hold for nearly a minute before Sam's eyes widen and light with recognition. Steve is bracing himself for the worst (you know, devil worshipper, accused murderer, wannabe criminal, take your pick). Instead, Sam grins and says, "Yeah, I totally do! You're in that band, yeah? The one that plays at Hideout sometimes? Corroded Coffin. Your music is metal, man."

Eddie returns Sam's grin, throwing an arm over his shoulders and leaning in close. "You know, you're alright. Always happy to meet a fan. What's your favorite song?"

"You played that new one last Saturday. Bats, I think. It spoke to me, man."

Steve stares at Eddie, wondering how he missed the fact that Corroded Coffin started playing gigs again. A curl of something like regret or maybe hurt begins to build in his stomach, and he's almost overtaken by it when Eddie nods and says, "Oh, yeah, that one's about Stevie."

"Oohh, dude, that makes so much sense now."

"You wrote a song about me?" Steve asks, successfully regaining Eddie's attention.

Apparently, Eddie sort of forgot he was there. His relaxed posture becomes a little awkward, and he removes his arm from Sam's shoulder. He clears his throat, tugging a lock of hair in front of his mouth as he says, "Yeah. Is, uh, is that a problem?"

"No," Steve says, feeling a reassuring smile tug at his lips, "but you should play it for me sometime."

"This is all very touching," a voice says behind them, "but can you take the flirting inside the sanctuary? We still need our prayer books."

Steve jolts and looks behind them, laughing awkwardly when he sees Rivkah, a woman in her early 30s, and her partner, Tamar. "Sorry," he says, grabbing Eddie's arm and dragging him through the doors.

"Hey, Harrington," Eddie whispers, allowing himself to be pulled over to some chairs near the left corner of the sanctuary, "is everything okay? Like...are we...safe?"

It takes a moment for Steve to understand what Eddie means. Like, of course, he can't guarantee their safety. It's a synagogue. Every person here old enough to understand the world knows the risk, the potential for one person to show up and wreak utter destruction. Steve is about to say as much (and explain the temple's "worst case scenario" game plan) when he notices Eddie glancing at Rivkah and Tamar.

A light bulb practically clicks on above him, and he almost laughs at himself. He sits down and tugs Eddie into the seat next to him. "Yeah, we're safe, Eds," he promises, smiling softly when Eddie looks at him. "Rivkah and Tamar are married. I attended the ceremony. It was very nice. Tamar broke the glass."

Eddie's eyes widen slightly, and he looks around the sanctuary with renewed interest. His gaze especially lingers on the people that file in, taking in the couples and families and groups that wouldn't make much sense outside the temple's doors. Steve is content to let him look, allowing himself to relax back into the seat and wait.

After almost 15 minutes, Rabbi Sara approaches the bema and smiles at everyone. "Good evening, and Shabbat Shalom," she says, nodding along as her greeting is returned. "I'm glad to see so many familiar faces tonight. And some new ones. The week has been long for some of us, but it's now come to an end, and we have gathered to celebrate its end, another week's beginning, and being together. Now, please open your books to page 47 for the L'cha Dodi."

Steve flips open his book as Anna, the cantor and the same girl who tried to flirt with Eddie, starts playing the guitar next to Rabbi Sara. "Uh, the book is backward," Eddie whispers, leaning close to Steve.

"Hebrew is written right to left," Steve explains, taking Eddie's book and opening it to the right page. "Also, don't worry about singing along. Just try to follow. If you don't know where we are, just nudge me. I'll point you to the right spot."

Eddie nods, looking almost overwhelmed, but Rabbi Sara starts singing before Steve can reassure him verbally. Instead, he just shifts so their shoulders are pressed together, flashing a tiny smile when Eddie looks at him before joining the rest of the congregation in singing.

Steve has to point Eddie at the right line a few times, but he doesn't mind. He's memorized the prayer by now, and the book is really just for show. He pulls Eddie up with the rest of the congregation during the L'cha Dodi, turns him to the sanctuary doors, and places a hand on his back to gently nudge him into a bow. Eddie blinks through it, following along but seeming overwhelmed by the entire process. When the prayer is finished and Rabbi Sara invites them to greet each other, Steve looks at Eddie with a smile (one of the most genuine smiles he's had in weeks), holds out his hand, and says, "Shabbat Shalom, Eddie."

Eddie doesn't hesitate to take his hand, leaning in close and returning the smile. "Shabbat Shalom?" he asks, speaking slowly to test the words and let Steve approve of the pronunciation. When Steve nods, Eddie's smile grows wider, and he whispers, "Shabbat Shalom, sweetheart."

That...that's a new nickname. And Steve doesn't know what to do with it. Maybe Eddie just wanted the pseudo-alliteration, but his smile says otherwise, and Steve feels like he's frozen in place.

And then a few of the kids dash over to him, shouting, "Shabbat Shalom!" at the top of their lungs and practically fighting to shake his hand first. Steve would feel honored if he didn't know they raced to beat each other to every adult.

After greeting, they light the candles. After lighting the candles, Rabbi Sara leads them into the next prayer, the rest of the service flowing smoothly with her as their guide.

The service is (beautifully, wonderfully, incredibly, thankfully) the same as always. Prayers are sung, and Steve can practically feel them in his bones. He's never been particularly religious (his mother would say they're more culturally Jewish than anything else), but he can't deny that the sound of over 50 people, young and old and in-between, singing together is an otherworldly experience.

They are singing a language that only a few of them actually know how to speak. Steve is reading a language that he wouldn't recognize outside of the prayer book. It's disconcerting as always, but also special, because he shares in the ignorance and devotion wrapped into singing words he wouldn't understand without the book's translation on the opposite page.

The Mi Shebeirach and the Mourner's Kiddish are Steve's sign that service is almost over. And for the first time in forever, Steve doesn't speak any names when Rabbi Sara calls for them. He sinks back into his seat, an unfamiliar relief easing tension he didn't even know he had anymore. But it's true. Everyone is fine, and they've all healed, and Steve no longer has to say Max's name or Will's or Hopper's or Eddie's. He no longer has to dodge questions or call up the Rabbi and ask her to include an extra name in the service.

And this realization, the sheer relief he feels at the simple act of staying quiet when Rabbi Sara's gaze sweeps past him, is almost enough to bring him to tears. His throat gets tight, his eyes burn, and his voice almost cracks when he joins the rest of the congregation in singing for those in need of healing and those who have passed.

Eddie nudges him gently, and Steve glances at him and then at their shared armrest. Eddie's hand is lying palm-up, a silent invitation, and Steve doesn't hesitate to accept. He slips his hand into Eddie's, interlocking their fingers, and feels infinitely better when Eddie squeezes his hand gently.

----

"So," Steve says, refraining from getting up as others file out of the sanctuary, practically tripping over kids racing to reach the oneg brownies first, "did you...like it?"

Eddie is silent for a few minutes, staring down at their hands. Steve almost pulls away, an apology ready on his tongue, when Eddie squeezes his hand tighter. "Yeah. It was...different. But good. I...there was more singing than I expected."

Steve grins, glancing up to see the sanctuary has mostly cleared, and stands. He pulls Eddie up with him. "Yeah, we sing most of our prayers. It's nice."

"It is," Eddie agrees, still looking a little lost for words.

Steve doesn't push. Instead, he pulls, leading Eddie out of the sanctuary. He gives their prayer books to Sam, grabs two tiny, sample-sized cups of Manischewitz wine, and gives one to Eddie. "Don't drink it yet," he says, nodding to where Rabbi Sara has her own cup and is waiting for the rest to be passed around.

Once everyone is ready, she blesses the wine, blesses the challah, and invites them all to drink and eat. Steve braces himself before knocking the wine back, the strong, warm grape flavor coating his tongue, vaguely reminiscent of cough medicine. He sees the same grimace on Eddie's face. "This is shit wine," Eddie whispers, his nose still scrunched as he tosses the cup into the trashcan like he can't get rid of it fast enough.

"Yeah. It's specifically for services," Steve says, "it's not supposed to be good."

"Right," Eddie mumbles, glancing at the oneg table, his eyes lingering on the desserts laid out. "Do you wanna stick around? You know, talk to people?"

Usually, Steve would. He likes catching up with the kids and teens, likes ganging up on them when their parents come around and playfully scold them, and he likes hearing the most recent temple gossip. But as he looks at Eddie, feels their hands still tightly holding onto each other, Steve finds he doesn't mind leaving early.

So, he leans in closer to Eddie and grins at him. "Or," he whispers, "we could steal an extra pack of brownies from the kitchen, sneak out the back, and eat them on the drive home."

Eddie returns the grin, amusement and eagerness practically dancing in his eyes, and says, "You read my mind, sweetheart."

Later, when Eddie pulls into Steve's driveway after an hour-long ride spent eating brownies, explaining different prayers, and telling him about old temple gossip, a different kind of tension will start to fester between them. Steve will delay getting out of the car, Eddie won't comment on it, and they'll slowly gravitate toward each other.

And they'll kiss. It will be awkward and taste like chocolate and end far too quickly, but it will be perfect.

Steve will pull away, a faint blush rising and his heart racing faster than it ever did with Nancy, and shyly offer to let Eddie spend the night. And Eddie will accept and spend the night and ask to attend Shabbat with Steve again and...

And so much more.

But for now, while he has no clue of the future that's about to start after an hour's drive, Steve glances around the crowded hall and pulls Eddie toward the kitchen.

After all, they've got brownies to steal.

#steddie #steddie fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #jewish steve harrington #stranger things #stranger things fic #my writing #this is so fucking self indulgent guys

[pipartuuli]

Toki deserved some time to recuperate after his rescue between DSR and AOTD, and Skwisgaar has a nice big bed.

I've been in a real 'Toki needs more TLC mood" lately; this is in the same vein as the fic I posted recently.

#my art #tuulidraws #metalocalypse #mtl #toki wartooth #skwisgaar skwigelf #skwistok #injury #wounds #feels weird to draw skwis as the stockier of the two

[sordidmusings]

Tender Love and Care - Hair Care (Buggy x amab!Reader

Art by ijessbest on Twitter (refusing new name still) I believe they also have a tumblr by the same name!

A/N: Sorry I took so long to post this and thank you for your patience! I had thought I put it up earlier but noticed that wasn't true while doing some organizing. The differences are pretty subtle but I hope they are meaningful for your immersion and help you feel seen! If there's something I can do better (I am cis fem so I'm sure there's much my experience has me missing about yours) please let me know! I'd like to help y'all get your escapism too 🤍

From the original a/n - "Ah yes, another 'taking care of Buggy's head' fic to take up space on the internet. Just gotta indulge in giving this man some tlc. Did I write four thousand words of simping for the cringefail pirate clown's hair? Yes. And I'd do it again >:p"

Word Count: ~4k

Warnings: masculine leaning amab!reader (no pronouns or gendered titles), Lots of Feelings, yearning, possibly angst?, probably hurt/comfort?, waxing very poetic, Buggy being a prickly bitch who doesn't know how to receive affection, Buggy also being a delusional bitch who immediately latches on to that affection

afab!Version

~ ~ ~ ••• ✦✦✦ ••• ~ ~ ~

“Touch the makeup and I’ll bite your fingers off!”

“I’m quaking.”

“...I’ll spit in your face.” His eyes narrowed while you blanched. “I’ve got damn good aim too so you better watch those big ol’ eyes.” Almost a compliment? Progress.

“To save us both from catastrophe, I’ll let you keep your grease-face,” you promised. After a few more seconds of giving you the stink eye (really, you should be taking notes because his form is exemplary), Buggy finally settled back into your hold. His stubble scratched lightly at your palms and you allowed your thumbs a scant few passes from his cheek bones to the back of his jaw. That was easy enough to play off as mindless movements while you examined him for the coming wash. Hopefully.  You were at least putting in the effort to keep the affection in your chest from blooming into a wide smile on your face, lest he begin spitting like a wet cat again.

After placing him down on your clothes chest, you began gathering together the things you’d need to clean him up. You had already prepared a large basin of steaming water before you had grabbed Buggy from Zoro for your night shift with him. If he had truly protested against you then you’d just have extra water to spoil yourself with for your nightly routine. What a loss. While you flitted around grabbing a cup, a pile of towels, and care products, Buggy took to commenting about whatever his eyes fell on around your room. Your half-assed replies did nothing to discourage his gentle roast of your safe space. He only shut up when you picked him back up and brought him over to the basin.

You were taken by surprise when you took off his bandana.  You had guessed that his hair was thick from the pieces that framed his face, but you hadn’t expected long locks to be wrapped up in there. They slipped and fell down like silk despite being in clear need of a wash, and you started to become a bit excited to see how they would come to shine under your care.

“What’s wrong with you? Never seen hair before?” There was a bit more bite to him all of a sudden and it hit you that he may be self-conscious from your staring.

“Never seen yours before, duh,” you teased. “You should wear your hair out as a power move against all the scrangly ass men in these waters.”

Buggy took a blank-faced moment to process your words. Probably weighing your sincerity against the backlog of insults he’s heard in his life. Unfortunately, one joking compliment never stood a chance.

“Whatever, just do your job.” His bitter tone made you keep your mouth shut and drop the topic. For now.

Seeing how he had a lot more hair than anticipated, you got up again to grab yet another towel so that you could use it as a cushion. Finally settled, you grabbed Buggy in one hand, the cup in the other, and got to work. You had laid a small board across the basin so you could rest Buggy on it instead of having to hold him up the whole time. You may have gotten strong in this life, but you were not masochistic enough to try holding him up throughout this process. You made sure to be extra gentle when you put him to rest on the back of his head, mindful that the hard plank wasn’t the most comfortable.

Wetting his hairline was taking longer than you thought. The soft noises from the pouring water hitting his scalp and trickling through his hair into the basin below felt loud in the stillness of the room. Everything had a languid air like you could breathe freely without thought or time to measure the passing of each exhale. Wanting to check in, you looked down from your task and into Buggy’s face. Despite all his past showboating, Buggy was having difficulty keeping his gaze anywhere near your face.  You decided to take pity on him in his discomfort but not too much. “So how’d you get your damn good aim?”

Silence.

You’re beginning to think that him looking at you like you’re stupid is his comfort zone.

“You know, that ‘damn good aim’ that makes my ‘big ol’ eyes’ easy targets?” you supplied.  At first, you thought he would roll his eyes and make more digs at you, but he finally caught you off guard.

“It’s a trade secret,” he said with a growing smile and a glint in his eyes. His face grew even more pleased when you smiled mischievously back at him.

“Clown trade?”

He hummed out an affirmative. You saturated the last of his hair at the front and sides and now needed to dunk the rest in the basin. The sheer amount of long blue locks that this pretty, pretty man had may cause it to overflow, but you supposed that’s just a workplace hazard when becoming a glamor clown’s hairdresser. You paused in lowering him to look around quite dramatically (squinty eyes, pursed lips, and all) before leaning slightly closer to stage whisper, “You can tell me; I ain’t no snitch.”

You barely caught the laugh that he choked short in order to keep up his serious facade. He let his eyes wander the room to double check your surveying and pretended to be in thought. He let out a heaving sigh and said, “Okay, okay, but you have to lean in close. Can’t have this getting out.”

Ever obliging, you turned your head and leaned until you felt his warm breath on your skin and the roundness of his nose tickling to top of your ear. You were thankful he couldn’t see the little shiver down your spine or the goosebumps spreading down your neck. He was thankful you couldn’t see him close his eyes to savor the scent of your aftershave. All was still for a few breaths too long.

“The secret?” you prompted, thinking he was waiting for your urging or that he was just trying to make you squirm. You didn’t see his eyes flutter open while he forced thoughts other than your closeness back into that head of his. Okay, he really needed to do something to reel himself back in and get some control of the situation.  Easier said than done when he’s only a head.

You felt as much as you heard him take a deliberate inhale… only for a loud raspberry to be blown right next to your ear.

Nearly dropping him in shock, you quickly pulled your head back and held him at arm’s length like a misbehaved puppy. Through his canting cackles, Buggy met your wide eyes with a proud grin. It didn’t even need the help of his makeup to split his face. Damn, you could stare at that forever. He had just the prettiest eyes you think you’d ever seen. The way they shifted color under the low lights and sparkled with his smile had you feeling entranced. It had the same commanding presence and addicting warmth as flames with their own swirling colors and sparking embers. You thought your poetic idioms for him would always center around the sea, especially for his blue-green eyes, but here we are.

The corner of his smile started to twitch downward under your stare until wild and cheerful laughter burst from your lips. They were the kind to shake your shoulders and scrunch your cheeks up into your eyes and he’s now certain that he has fucked right up. Buggy felt alarms blaring in his mind as he took in your joy and was certain he would make an absolute fool of himself in any and all ways possible to keep getting hits of it. Between your settling chuckles, you managed to say, “Don’t worry, I’ll bring that wisdom with me to my grave.”

Readjusting your grip, you moved forward and dunked the back of Buggy’s head fully into the water. He sighed out at the sensation, but he fully melted when one of your hands went to support the back of his skull and the other flowed through his tresses to make sure all of them were wet. You let yourself take your time, both to make sure you were thorough and to indulge yourself in the comfort of the moment. A tenderness spread through you when you saw that this was also indulging Buggy. His breath was slow and steady, and his eyes were resting closed to better focus on the sensations coming to him. You truly were a people pleaser at heart and seeing someone so bedraggled and affection-starved accept your care made your heart and head feel fuzzy.

You slowly leaned him more upright and used your other hand to wipe out some of the excess water. Buggy felt you shuffling around, and his eyes opened to see what you were up to. After you moved him to rest on the flat bottom of his neck on top of the softest towel that he’s felt in ages, he realized that you went through the trouble to try to make even that wooden board comfortable for his sake. He was starting to feel even more uncertain and out of his element.

Careful fingers carded through and spread out his hair behind him while an equally careful gaze watched over their work. After lathering your hands with a shampoo bar scented by vanilla and spices, you set to work giving him the scalp massage of a lifetime.

While focusing on doing the best job possible and maybe also the beautiful color of his hair was keeping you from thinking about anything else, Buggy had no such luxury. He had nothing to direct his nervous energy at - didn’t even have fingers to fidget with! - so he closed his eyes and tried to keep his face neutral. Everyone enjoys a good scalp massage or at least some kind of pampering so it wouldn’t have been weird for him to visibly enjoy it, but something watery and vulnerable was pressing at his throat under your tender care. His mind and body (well… head) were at odds. While his train of thought spun every which way only to be tethered back to the word ‘why’, his muscles melted until they were soft and pleasantly limp. Has his brow ever been so smooth? His jaw so loose? His lips so softly set? Oh God, you must have noticed the stubborn stiffness in his neck because your fingers abandoned his hair to firmly rub from the base of his skull to where he met the towel and that was truly his undoing.

With a rumbly hum, Buggy finally gave in to temptation and tied his mind to your movements. He let himself imagine affection there - imagine that this was special and just for him. You’ve never tended to anyone else like this. You offered because you simply had to know what his hair felt like. You just wanted to touch him. You wanted it much more than you ever wanted to touch anyone else. If he opened his eyes and looked up at yours, he would see them pouring with love, just like your hands were, and you would look sweetly down at him with your gorgeous eyes and handsome smile and say lovely things and you’d love him-

You’d love him.

Fuck.

You noticed Buggy suddenly flinch under your hands and you tensed up.

“Are you okay? Did I snag your hair?” You hadn’t felt anything tug but you supposed you could’ve missed it.

Buggy cleared his throat before stiffly responding, “No. Keep going.”

Something thick in his tone caught your attention and you looked to see his expression was tense instead of the blissed out one you had admired not too long ago. That won’t do. You went back to the tried and true pressure points on the scalp that you knew from experience eased anyone up. Checking his face again, you noticed it was more relaxed but still too guarded for your tastes. Deciding he must be getting antsy, you switched to working the shampoo down his hair after getting a touch more product on your hands. The time it took to get it properly sudsed and rinsed was calm, despite the fact that there was some undercurrent to the air that felt charged. Maybe it was just from seeing the talkative and bratty clown be so subdued. As you began spreading conditioner through his hair, you decided that it was time to engage him again.

“This bar is my favorite; nothing makes my hair softer,” you said. Already, his hair was relaxing to glide even more smoothly between your fingers. You weren’t ready to give the feeling up, so you spent the entire time that the conditioner was setting to run your fingers through his hair.

Buggy couldn’t do anything at the moment to judge your claim, but the smell alone made him understand why it was your favorite. It matched that of the shampoo bar, but the richer ingredients in the conditioner highlighted the comforting tones of the vanilla and the sensuality of warm spices and wood. He relished in it on every inhale, hoping to unravel and memorize its every undertone. Was that a touch of amber in there? A little pink peppercorn? Maybe some incense and oud at the base? Buggy suddenly felt ridiculous. He was never one to give much thought to fancy perfumes, yet here he was trying to dissect your scent like a sommelier tasting a new wine. 

You made quick work of rinsing his hair this final time and gently pushing and squeezing any excess water out. You set Buggy back on a towel, this time one that was spread on the floor. It was the one that you had just been sitting on. Buggy was embarrassed that he noticed and enjoyed the fact that he could still feel your body heat on it.

“How many of those things do you have?” Buggy scoffed as you pulled yet another towel over to dry his hair. You flicked his forehead in warning against further sass.

“You can never have too many. It’s something that you use daily and they come in handy during emergencies,” you explained.

“Oh yeah like what?”

“Well, I was thinking of situations like having to soak up a spill or blood, but the state of your hair definitely qualifies.”

The outburst was immediate.

“I KNEW YOU WERE MAKING FUN OF ME YOU DAMN LIAR! HOW DA-”

Good thing you were prepared for this and stuffed some of yet another towel into his screaming mouth. He bit down on it harshly and glared at you with all his might. Snarls and grumbles still made their way through the cloth, letting you know just how displeased he was. You were a little shocked to find that despite being gagged and despite just being a head that his glare still actually intimidated you. The time spent with the crew treating him like a harmless little pest had helped you forget that, when push came to shove, he could back up his talk with violence.

The brief glimpse of fear in your eyes gave him a twinge of satisfaction but mostly felt a lot more hollow than he’d expected. Wasn’t this what he wanted? 

When you reached back out to continue drying his hair, you were more tentative than he had ever seen you and his mood dropped even further. Even with your caution, the way that you moved the towel over his hair and gently squeezed more water out of it was filled with care. The whole thing felt very foreign to him. Buggy usually rubbed his towel through his hair chaotically like the more forceful he was the sooner he could get done with the bothersome task. You were working over him like any undue force would be an insult. Like he was something precious. That watery feeling started pressing on him again.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” you started quietly. “I just meant to poke fun, not make you actually feel insulted.” After a few more soft pats with the towel, you slowly removed his makeshift gag. He took a moment to wiggle around his jaw and get the dry feeling out of his mouth.

“Yeah, well good job, dumbass,” he bit. You winced at the hurt in his tone. “Just finish up.”

You took a moment to recenter yourself while you grabbed your comb and brush. This was not how you wanted this to go. One wrong comment had sent this whole interaction spiraling and it made you sad. Sensitivity like that was usually built up from years of feeling the same hurts over and over again, and you didn’t ever want to be someone to aggravate an already festering wound, especially not on someone who you genuinely enjoyed. Not on someone who you were increasingly craving affection from. This needed to be fixed. Steeling yourself for the resistance you were about to meet, you began combing the ends of his hair and spoke, “The blue color is pretty.”

He ignored you. As expected.

“It was one of the first things I noticed about you.” He still wouldn’t even glance up at you. “Also how it brings out the color of your eyes.”

He snorted dismissively in a way that very clearly told you he wasn’t believing a word you said. Also expected. You’re just going to have to soldier on until this eventually worked… maybe worked… hopefully worked?

Just as in the rest of the process, you were slow and thorough when combing his hair. You murmured compliments to him about how soft it is; how thick and how beautiful. By the time that you had switched to using your brush, he was showing signs of being worn down by your flattery. His face was more relaxed and he let himself look around instead of trying to burn a hole through the floor. All you could focus on, though, was how downcast and tired his eyes looked.

“Alright, I’m all finished up,” you told him. “I’m going to put you in the hammock for a minute while I get ready for bed.”

After placing him in the middle of your bedding, you disappeared behind a dressing screen. The routine of bathing  yourself with a washcloth and bowl of soapy water eased you. Since you had taken so much time tending to Buggy, the last bowl of fresh water had become lukewarm. Despite this, the final wipe down had you feeling refreshed and ready to jump into bed. It was no soak in the tub, but still left you feeling much better after a long day of helping work around the ship.

You had set about your routine briskly so that you didn’t leave Buggy waiting too long. Little did you know, he didn’t mind the time of having nothing to do besides enjoy the soft blankets you curled up in every night. He was trying to soak it in before you inevitably put him back down on the floor. If the night had taught him anything, you’d at least put him on one of those fluffy towels instead of throwing him back in the bag like the others did.

You came over to him on the hammock and he admired how you looked, now clean and fresh. His eyes poured over your shirtless chest and the thin sleep pants moving around the shape of your legs. When you picked him back up, your face and body language were as placid as he had ever seen them and he was surprised at how content that made him feel. He readied himself to be moved away, left cold and forgotten, but he was astonished when you plopped yourself in your bedding instead with him still in your hands. The shock must have shown on his face because you chuckled at him and gave him a bright smile. Even with the bumpy road that the night had been, your smile made him soft and content. He was realizing with more and more resignation that your smile and laugh would let you get away with anything when it came to him.

“So no floor? Trying to bribe me with favors?” His voice was mostly back to that sarcastic lilt you’ve come to adore.

Content that he was feeling better, you answered, “Nah, just using you so I can have a teddy bear. Haven’t had a good one in ages.”

Making good on that promise, you made sure that he was securely nestled into your neck and shoulder. You used both of your arms to cradle him there and both hands to continue your worship of his hair. It was just barely damp and the coolness felt nice on your hands, especially in contrast to the cozy heat emanating from his head. His long eyelashes tickled at your neck every time he blinked, just like the light scruff on his jaw teased at the skin on your chest. His big nose felt cozy rested on your clavicle, and you had to resist the urge to reach down and trail your fingers on it. A giddy and victorious feeling flushed through you when you felt him close his eyes a final time and sink into your embrace.

Buggy should have known that he was doomed from the start. He was having a hell of a time trying not to moan at your fingers scratching and massaging his scalp, both during the hair care and now, when he was held in your arms. The feeling of being rested on your bare chest sent his heart racing. He couldn’t stop his little movements to nestle into you and get just that much more of your warmth and touch. If he thought that he loved the smell of you before, he was absolutely intoxicated now that he knew what it was like when it floated over the two of you while wrapped in body-warmed sheets.

He wanted to ask you why you were doing all of this, but he didn’t want to know the answer. Not right now. Right now he was going to let himself go back into that place in his head where you lo- cared about him. A place where each night he would crawl into bed with you and, no matter how the day went, you would be there to empty his mind of anything but the two of you. You’d greet him with a kiss or a laugh or an embrace and you would shine with so much joy because he’s next to you again. He’d know what your love felt like, how it felt to be under your hands, how your skin felt under his lips. All these daydreams swirling in his head started to make him sick with want, and he needed to know at least one of them. He couldn’t handle all of them staying forever in his mind.

The tiniest increase of pressure from his lips brought your attention to where they rested below your collarbone. The almost kiss was so heartbreakingly shaky and hesitant that you felt your eyes burn with the threat of tears. To reassure him, you dragged your cheek across his temple before turning to leave a deliberate kiss there. Buggy relished the contact, the satisfied sigh you let out afterward, and the gentle weight of your cheek as you snuggled back into him. Your reward came in the form of a grinning cheek pushing into you.

All his humor and posturing certainly caught your attention in the best way and even his explosive temper was something you couldn’t say turned you away. This gentleness, though, this uncertain and wounded place, had you bursting with affection and you were hoping to keep experiencing it. You’d meet it each time with steady affection until it turned into something he embodied with the same surety that he had in his beloved spotlight.

Both of you slipped more sweetly into dreams, curled up together as you were, and with more peace and ease than the years before had allowed. Neither of you would let the years to come be absent of this sweet treasure, either.

#buggy x reader #buggy x you #buggy x y/n #opla buggy x reader #buggy the clown #opla buggy #one piece #amab reader #male reader #opla #one piece live action #x reader