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#affordable kitchen towels
viciousewe · 2 years
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:D
My first project is on the loom!
(First REAL project I mean! I did do a sample warp as as a “make sure everything is working/ yarns play nice together/ I was scared” kind of thing)
I am impressed that I pretty much completely remembered how to warp a loom but also some what dismayed at the minor tension issues. But I do think it’s because I’m using a silk scarf as a warp separator and not butcher paper like I “grew up with” at least on the sides. But also…..I’ve been watching a couple of warping vids and uhhhhhh y’all put so much effort in. Like with raddles and stuff I never learned with all that. Which has been somewhat detrimental to me because I feel like nicely spaced warp is better with the soft heddles but also I’ve never used soft heddles and also fully warping the loom and then running all onto the cloth beam and then back again has been working ok in terms of spacing, tho it may be contributing to my tension issues.
Also do y’all like my shuttle? It’s the pickup stick for my tapestry loom that I kinda wanna use but the pickup stick is the perfect length to weave with on this loom imo and the small business I wanna get a decently sized shuttle from is closed for the tax season so I gotta make do ❤️
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vaahomedecor · 4 months
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https://vaahomedecor.com/bath-linen/hand-towel/
Buy Best Cotton Hand Towel Online At Affordable Prices
Elevate your bathroom with our soft and stylish hand towels. Buy the best cotton hand towel online at affordable prices, adding luxuries to your daily routine.
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I Write In Planners and Make Lists and Still Have No Idea What's Going On Funny Kitchen Towel
I write in Planners and make lists and still have No Idea what's going on funny Flour Sack white kitchen towel is a perfect unique gift for your favorite person that makes lists. This towel also makes a great housewarming gift, birthday gift or just because! The writing color will vary, as the kitchen towels are already packaged, if there is a certain writing color that you would like to request, please add in comments and we will do our best to try to honor your request.
Flour sack dish towels are called “flour sack” because they are modeled after the thin cotton bags that flour and grain used to be packed in, which were re-used as towels. The thin cotton yarn and the looser weave make for a towel that’s extra absorbent. You can even air dry your salad greens; the super absorbent nature of flour sack towels makes them great for drying delicate greens. Also, flour sack towels are lint free! Which means no more fuzzies on your wine glasses when you wipe them dry!
Flour sack towels are also softer and significantly larger than a standard kitchen towel….and more towel is always a good thing! You can use these towels for drying, wiping, cleaning, or dusting and they can be used for fun decorations.
Each flour sack kitchen towel measures 28 in. x 29 inches (Product dimensions L x W x H – 28 x 29 x 29 inches). They are 100% cotton, durable and absorbent. These are flat woven towels; they are perfect for cooking or baking and can safely be used around food such as covering dough for rising or as a food strainer. These towels also double as a kind of strainer or cheese cloth; the fine weave means you can strain sauces and broths through a flour sack towel to clarify them. Flour sack kitchen towels are sturdy, highly absorbent, dry quickly, and are designed to stand up to most any cleaning job. The towels easily withstand frequent washings and are made for repeated daily use.
The flour sack kitchen towel is a quality item with versatility and utility, we offer everyday designs and special occasion designs. Our flour sack towels are a great gift idea and very inexpensive!
Care instructions: Machine wash cold, no bleach, no softener. Do not dry clean. Do not iron. Tumble dry low.
Due to different light settings the actual color might vary a bit from the pictures.
Current Turnaround Time due to upcoming Holidays - 1-5 Business Days. While we always use priority shipping options, once shipped we cannot guarantee delivery due to the backlog current being experienced USPS/UPS/FedEx. If you have a strict deadline, please message me when ordering so that I can note any rush requests. Ownership of packages turned over to USPS transfers to the Buyer. We are not responsible for lost, held, damaged packages or delayed packages, once your package(s) leaves our Shop it is completely out of our control. Thank you for understanding!
Thank you for visiting Granny & Grandpa's Custom Creations, we truly appreciate your support of small businesses. We also personalize our products, please reach out to us with any personalizing any of our products, additional fee's may apply.
Please visit www.grannygrandpascustomcreations.com to view more products.
LET’S GET SOCIAL & BE FRIENDS! Like, Tag & Follow us for Our new Creations, Inspiration & Giveaways!
website/ www.grannygrandpascustomcreations.com/shop
facebook.com/ https://www.facebook.com/GrandpaHandmadecreations/
instagram.com/ https://www.instagram.com/grannyandgrandpacustomcreation/
#grannygrandpascustomcreations
I write in Planners and make lists and still have No Idea what's going on funny Flour Sack white kitchen towel is a perfect unique gift for your favorite person that makes lists. This towel also makes a great housewarming gift, birthday gift or just because! The writing color will vary, as the kitchen towels are already packaged, if there is a certain writing color that you would like to request, please add in comments and we will do our best to try to honor your request.
Flour sack dish towels are called “flour sack” because they are modeled after the thin cotton bags that flour and grain used to be packed in, which were re-used as towels. The thin cotton yarn and the looser weave make for a towel that’s extra absorbent. You can even air dry your salad greens; the super absorbent nature of flour sack towels makes them great for drying delicate greens. Also, flour sack towels are lint free! Which means no more fuzzies on your wine glasses when you wipe them dry!
Flour sack towels are also softer and significantly larger than a standard kitchen towel….and more towel is always a good thing! You can use these towels for drying, wiping, cleaning, or dusting and they can be used for fun decorations.
Each flour sack kitchen towel measures 28 in. x 29 inches (Product dimensions L x W x H – 28 x 29 x 29 inches). They are 100% cotton, durable and absorbent. These are flat woven towels; they are perfect for cooking or baking and can safely be used around food such as covering dough for rising or as a food strainer. These towels also double as a kind of strainer or cheese cloth; the fine weave means you can strain sauces and broths through a flour sack towel to clarify them. Flour sack kitchen towels are sturdy, highly absorbent, dry quickly, and are designed to stand up to most any cleaning job. The towels easily withstand frequent washings and are made for repeated daily use.
The flour sack kitchen towel is a quality item with versatility and utility, we offer everyday designs and special occasion designs. Our flour sack towels are a great gift idea and very inexpensive!
Care instructions: Machine wash cold, no bleach, no softener. Do not dry clean. Do not iron. Tumble dry low.
Due to different light settings the actual color might vary a bit from the pictures.
Current Turnaround Time due to upcoming Holidays - 1-5 Business Days. While we always use priority shipping options, once shipped we cannot guarantee delivery due to the backlog current being experienced USPS/UPS/FedEx. If you have a strict deadline, please message me when ordering so that I can note any rush requests. Ownership of packages turned over to USPS transfers to the Buyer. We are not responsible for lost, held, damaged packages or delayed packages, once your package(s) leaves our Shop it is completely out of our control. Thank you for understanding!
Thank you for visiting Granny & Grandpa's Custom Creations, we truly appreciate your support of small businesses. We also personalize our products, please reach out to us with any personalizing any of our products, additional fee's may apply.
Please visit www.grannygrandpascustomcreations.com to view more products.
LET’S GET SOCIAL & BE FRIENDS! Like, Tag & Follow us for Our new Creations, Inspiration & Giveaways!
website/ www.grannygrandpascustomcreations.com/shop
facebook.com/ https://www.facebook.com/GrandpaHandmadecreations/
instagram.com/ https://www.instagram.com/grannyandgrandpacustomcreation/
#grannygrandpascustomcreations
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mooishbeam · 3 months
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『♡』 Brittle is Devotion
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♡ featuring: ex-husband!toji x f!reader
♡ summary: it's been a while since you've seen your ex-husband, and on a drunken night, buried feelings emerge. wc: 12.2k+ (bruhhh)
♡ cw/tw: mentions of violence/blood, angst/comfort, rekindled feelings, rough sex, missionary, prone bone, full-nelson, overstimulation, cervix fucking, creampie, m/f receiving, throat fucking, sadism/masochism, dom/sub dynamics, squirting, fingering, praise/degredation kink, dumbification, edging, breeding kink, feral toji mmm, pet names (angel, sweetie, baby)
notes: good morning!! hope everyone is having a lovely day, i am so so so so sorry i haven't posted in so long i didnt abandon the account!! i've just been getting it together before the semester starts, and i didnt expect for it to be this long :(( im very tired but ill try to get some stuff out in the next couple of weeks, most likely long fics too. ty so much, and srry for any spelling mistakes. art by ilameys_ on ig! <;3 comments and reblogs are appreciated!
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Picking up the pieces after Toji is rough. The divorce was bad enough, and you currently have an aching pain stilling in your chest that makes it hard to take the shallowest breaths. It hammers in the tight confines of your ribcage, and as you sob into your pillow the only relief you desire is sleep, so that you may have temporary solace from the grief wrecking your brain. Your new apartment feels entirely too shallow. There’s no crumby television to use because you were too broke to afford the higher-end appliances, or that creaking mattress you both squeezed into until you could thrift a reasonable headboard. You missed the 60s style tiles painted a horrific green in your kitchen, and the shower that ran out of hot water every other day. It was terrible, downright unlivable for most, but you had each other.  
It hurts more because you love him. So much. Unbearably, to the point where you screamed at the top of your lungs until your throat scratched through angry hot tears, begging him to care for a moment, to give you a reason to stay. Countless times, threatening to walk out if he didn’t endeavor to change. But he never believed you. He thought you’d never leave, because all you had was him.  
And it was true, for years it was. Toji was your dream man; funny and thoughtful. It wasn’t conventional kindness, but it was his. Money didn’t matter—even as you enjoyed a frozen meal on the floor of your empty apartment in the first couple months of moving in with him, you had a smile on your face. Even when your friends and family begged you not to marry him, because they couldn’t stand the sight of him and his arrogant, sometimes aggressive candor, you went on with it anyway. You knew who he really was at heart.  
He was your first everything, you felt if he left, you’d melt to nothing and become a shell of who you once were, because Toji had become an extension of you. You waited for him to get home, had dinner, and slept through the outside commotion of cars and bar fights; his securing arm locked around you, hand cradling your head and legs intertwined. There was no one like him.  
He knew that and got greedy.  
To you, the change was fast, but it’d been spreading like a nasty mold for years. You’d sunk so deep you hadn’t noticed the drought until you reached the bottom. He taught you love, then pulled away; separated himself with additional shifts and pathetic excuses. In turn you punished yourself, showered him with heavier instances of love and endearment, and convinced yourself you needed to try harder. If the sex wasn’t daily, you gave him more. If he didn’t like the food, you learned how to be a better chef. If the house wasn’t clean, you scrubbed top to bottom. Wringing a tired towel, dry of sacrifice. Chasing after him until the soles of your feet blistered. Still, not a smidge of praise or approval came to fruition. When he did—which was rare—those peppered spaces ignited a lasting burn in your heart, keeping withering fire alive.  
Soon, those fleeting kisses and distant pauses weren’t enough, and he didn’t care enough to change. You’d plead and cry at his feet, and he’d scoff and walk past you.  
“We’ll talk about it later”, he’d say more often than not. You didn’t have the confidence to leave, and he consumed himself with whatever underground work he participated in, while you decayed in a declining marriage.  
A grimace on his face, laid back on the couch and looking at you expectingly, as if you would drop to your knees and service him in a heartbeat—but you did exactly that. And you were tired, utterly tired of pulling the emotional and mental leaden baggage on your own. It was heavy, and you were crushing yourself underneath it. You still loved him with every inch of your being, and you’d do it all for him, but it couldn’t be just you anymore. He came home one fateful night to you sitting at the dining table, spotlighted under the stark glass pendant lamp in your dark apartment, dejection that foreshadowed the unfortunate end.  
“Do you love me?” He gazed at your solemn face and scratched his head.  
“Mhm.”  
“Will you change?”  
“No.”  
That’s what you needed to hear. The next week, while he was at work, you gathered your clothes and measly possessions to leave. You sobbed the entire way through, shaking with uncertainty and fear of the unknown—unsure about a future without him. As you slid the dissolution of your marriage on the counter, the sudden reality made you unable to control your knees as you dropped to the floor, and tears spilled down your cheeks and freckled the papers. Luckily, Shoko was there to comfort you and help pack your things. The corners of that confinement spared a gentle, loving memory, and vitriol was left in its wake. Turning back to its hollowness for the last time, you imagined Toji, plopping onto the couch as he’d usually do to watch some late-night television show or going to bed. Like you weren’t there.  
Maybe you never mattered in the first place. 
It’s been a year since, and things are looking up for you. An opportunity surfaced in a field you were interested in applying for, and you miraculously got the job. Moving over a city helped you adjust to your new life—that, and a bottle of dark burning liquor. No matter how much you mindlessly typed at your computer or partied with coworkers, you couldn’t stomach the pit gorging through you, a hole that surfaced everything you’d been burying. 
You’re not prepared to face the forlorn mock of your bleached walls today. As you pry your eyes open, the flickering shimmers through your sheer curtain cast across unattended sheets, soothed by stuffed animals strung along the comforter. You reach for something that isn’t there in your groggy state—a gentle reminder that your morning would be just as empty as yesterday. 
Today isn’t any other; it’s what would’ve been your five-year anniversary. One year, of new beginnings and new friends. A year of solitude.  
You don’t bother slinking out of bed. The accumulation of tasks awaiting you is more daunting than the actual execution. In an attempt to regain control of your life, you established a healthy routine. It entails waking up at early hours to exercise and work on projects and meal prep, and ending your night early with extra exercise and skincare. It was amazing at first and quelled your sadness. What they didn’t inform you of, was the spectacle; the appearance and perception of perfection, and not the struggles or gradual burnout of maintaining that lifestyle. When the distraction died down, and work and social activities became a congealed, monstrous chore, you quickly resented those limp salads and vomit-inducing runs. 
You expel a loaded sigh and pull the covers over. 
The vibration of the phone buzzing on your stomach peels your eyes awake. You allow it to pass, but it rings again. From a frustrated exhale, your languid hands muster the strength to flip to its notification; Shoko’s calling.  
“Hello?” you mutter, fatigue caught in your throat. 
“Fuck, you sound like hell!” she replies. The repetitive clack of office keyboards and analog phones being slammed by stressed out coworkers distorts the background. Thank God I used my paid time off. 
“I love you too, Shoko.” 
“Sorry, didn’t mean it like that…you ok?” It’s much sweeter. Shoko has always been a supportive friend, perhaps bordering on too supportive. You cherish her motherly concern, and rather vulgar honesty. 
“Mm, I’ll manage.” 
“I can come over after work.” You flip onto your back, soaking in the mild sunlight. 
“S’alright, I’m sure you’re busy, and I might sleep in. Wallow in sorrow for a few hours.” Shoko drawls a dramatic groan and creaks back in her chair. 
“Nothing good comes out of feeling sorry for yourself. Go to the club or somethin’.” 
“‘N how’s that gonna help?” 
“Better than whining at home. Wear something sexy, look pretty and get laid. That’s how I get over shit.” 
“Mm, right. I don’t know if that’s gonna work” you giggle, toying with one of the ears on your stuffed bunny. 
“Oh yeah, forgot you’re the born-again Virgin Mary now. You know… if you want to get over ‘him’, you have to take the first step.” You can envision her air quotations. She treats his name as forbidden speech, and regularly refers to it in conversation as “he who shall not be named.” 
“Ugh, mother Shoko’s speaking.” 
“Listen, it may or may not work. Don’t knock it ‘till you try it is all I’m saying.” 
“Yea? Well, if he has a tiny dick, I’m blaming you.” 
“Nothing wrong with shellfish.” 
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The last curl falls in place, and you follow it up with copious amounts of hairspray. Fanning your bathroom after a drawn out coughing fit, you get a good look at your figure in the mirror. The backless lacy black dress you’re wearing hugs you in all the right places and guides the detail sitting tight under your butt. It’s undoubtedly revealing, coupled with strappy heels and a dark cat eye.  
You walk past your vanity and pause at the messy jewelry box, riddled with remnants of Toji’s adoration. Sparkling varieties of heavy necklaces and rings and precious diamonds; ninety percent of your jewels were because of him. You’d asked if he stole the items he gifted you, and he’d come up with an elaborate sarcastic story about a jewelry heist he carried out, and how appreciative you should be. Buried underneath rested your engagement ring, a sparkling cut that crowded your entire finger. You couldn’t bring yourself to pawn it, opting to occasionally revel in its beauty before shoving it in a far corner with your feelings. 
Shoko wasn’t lying about how sexy you’d feel dolled up, and it shows in your confidence as you modeled around your bedroom, striking poses to no one. Your plushies weren’t very appreciative of the full-blown fashion show, but you hadn’t felt like this for a long while. Maybe it was about time you entered the dating scene. 
The entrance to Infinity appears as a run-down tacky club from an outdated era, and it’s easy to miss the multicolored flashes dotting the black tinted glass on each side. A few steps past the black and white checkered vestibule, and you get to experience the scale of a roaring, clashing club. It’s not half as lively on the outside; sweat dripping under twinkling lights of multicolor, bodies colliding and moving to the melodic sway of erratic music vibrating through the floor, freely drowning and expelling their insecurities, deepest struggles. It’s both welcoming and hopeless.  
A woman balances her shot glass as she gyrates against a stranger while another stumbles off the dance floor in a drunken stupor. The heat and screams are overstimulating, circulating around you. You consider withdrawing, especially since you held some reservations about partying solo. However, this is what you need, to get comfortable with doing things by yourself. 
So you down shots, two, three, burning of different varieties that heighten your body temperature and nerve. You throw back a mix of dark and white liquor, a dangerous combo that dizzies your vision and runs up an unfathomable tab you can't afford. The strangers accompanying you at the counter encourage you. No rational thoughts, let alone decision making, register in your alcohol-sodden mind. Like strings being fielded by a puppeteer, your legs move on their own to the dance floor.  
It’s hot. The blurring iridescence bends to produce shapes that make your fuzzy brain giggle for some odd reason. You’re moving in slow motion, and the world’s continuing at max speed. You don’t care either way. You’re light on your feet, and the music goads you to dance. Spinning, hands tangled between your locks traveling down the curve of your thighs, hearing the lyrics inside and out as if no one is watching. 
You dance with women and men alike, anyone willing to help you overlook your heartache. It’s floaty, an airiness that spills sober thoughts from cotton mouth and makes every touch electrifying. It’s in your legs and arms, your restless feet and fingers. You laugh hysterically, incomprehensibly, and switch to sadness in a heartbeat. These aimless bodies, just as lost as you, drinking to your despair. Was it worth the abyss tomorrow held, or the agonizing headache as a result? 
After those dances, mainly flailing efforts at rhythm, your head is barreling. You’re suffering from a heavy case of vertigo at the slightest turn, and your stomach’s riddled with knots. It hits you like a car crash, and you strive to stabilize yourself as bile fills your throat, cringing when you reluctantly swallow. A disorienting slurry of words and faces ask you things you cannot hear or see, and it suddenly becomes too real. 
In few sparse moments, your life plays before you in stop motion. From heaving over the toilet while a lady with long nails held your hair back, to knocking the drink out of someone’s hand on your way out. Now you’re walking on one heel and holding the other. You might’ve popped a nail if not for security holding the door open. They attempt to flag you, but you reply with a curt slurred “‘M fine.”  
You push your knees together, sitting on the corner of a curb. This isn’t how you expected the night to end. It’s pitch black beside street lamps, and awfully quiet in contrast to inside. Shivers ripple through you despite the persistent warmth pooling in your ears. You lean on a street lamp in the calm cold as people leave, probably running to participate in intimate affairs with their acquaintances. The gentle hand on a waist or shoulder forms a subconscious smile; young, passionate love blooming on a random night. 
And you burst into tears.  
Ugly tears streaming down your face in blobs that don’t stop no matter how much you wipe them, followed by deep sniffles. They smear across your phone while you search for a taxi app, and your cloudy eyes deceive you. 
You jolt when a hand brushes against your arm and turn to meet the foggy face of a man with stubble. You wipe your wet cheeks and lean further from him.  
“Hey baby, you alright?” The pet-name makes you shudder. You definitely don’t know him, and at this point there’s no one outside. 
“Wh’re you?” you garble. 
“Kusakabe. Where ya off to?” 
“Waitin’ for uh frien’” Your eyelids waver, failing to stay alert under the frightening stare burning holes through your skull.  
“A friend, huh…you gotta man?” he asks, stepping closer to you. You back away to the side of the light. 
“Go away.” You’re definitive, but he laughs as if it were the ridiculous request of a child. 
“I like that dress. You look hot.” His hand drags along the strap of your dress, but you nudge his hand.  
“Mm’get off me. N’don’ need your help.” He scoffs with offense, and as you go to leave, he grabs your wrist firm. 
“Relax. Tryna go home with someone tonight?” You’re trembling, tugging with as much force as you can muster in your punch-drunk state, but he doesn’t budge. 
“L’ve me alone” 
“Don’t be like that, baby. I’ll call a cab-” 
Whack! Your wrist goes limp, and the crunch and crack of flesh hitting concrete echoes. You sluggishly pan to him, knocked out cold beyond the spotlight. The influence takes you, however, and you nearly find yourself joining him on the sidewalk. Before you can fall, a broad, rough hand supports your lower back. Their deep gritty tone is inches away from you. 
“C’mon, sweetheart.” 
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You rise from an unusually sweet slumber. The light shines through your eyelids, unavoidable even when you maneuver the velvety warm blanket for shade. Your eyeballs shift across thin skin being prodded by intrusive sun, and as they crack open, you catch a glimpse of the glass coffee table in front of you, arranged with perfection resembling a furniture showroom. You smile to yourself half-asleep, wondering when you bought such an expensive item, and how an abundance of sunlight made its way through your average window. You’re drifting off anew. 
Then, you shoot up. 
You start to really take in the surroundings, and when you do, a pit drops in your stomach. An ultra-wide flat screen television faces you, decorated with plants on either side. Craning your neck, the long windows of this penthouse line the adjacent wall up to the ceiling, which hangs a glass geometric chandelier. This isn’t your bedroom, nor your apartment.  
 Instantly you switch to sitting, and recoil just as fast. Pain envelops the wrinkles of your brain, and you wince from abrupt tension. You palm the bridge of your nose. 
“Fuck” you whisper. Last night replays in your head through staccato bursts, though you couldn’t remember the minutes before you passed out. Embarrassment creeps onto your ears at the freak show you performed hours ago. You’d made a fool of yourself, puked and tripped like a sloppy drunk college girl. You can’t be more ashamed, and to top it off, you’re in the house of a stranger you possibly slept with. You look down from the smooth sectional sofa, and notice your heels arranged neatly beneath you with your phone and bag. At the very least, the man you engaged with seems to be accommodating.  
You scurry to put your heels on, and hopefully sneak out in silence before you face further humiliation. Something about this blanket smells familiar; musk and oakmoss and man, grazing across your nose like the aroma in an intimate embrace, the earthy dew of calm before a storm, a trace only you can understand. 
“Finally up?”  
It’s that gravelly smoky voice you lived in for five years, and some before that. The voice you fell asleep to, mumbling nonsense in your ear through boorish snores. The voice you fell in love with, easily saying “I do” when you wedded at the courthouse. The voice you resent, saying nothing at all when you cried. 
You look behind you, and there he is, walking down the staircase. He’s wearing boxers, settled under the tufts of hair running down his belly button. His rugged muscles peek out from the untied black robe dangling to his strong calves. His hair grew out a bit since you’ve last seen him, shaggy bedhead running across his eyes and covering his ears. 
He smirks the same, though, sweet and soft for such a dour man, like nothing ever happened, approaching you while you sneer at the cruel joke bestowed upon you. 
“Toji.” You haven’t said it in forever. It’s abashing how quickly your regularly tense shoulders relax in his proximity.  
“How ya feelin’? Hope the couch was comfortable enough, figured you wouldn’t wanna sleep in my bed” he says, rubbing the back of his neck as he stretched his sturdy back.  
“It was fine.”  
There's an awkward quiet afterwards. The air’s thick, glass straining under pressure, threatening to give way at the smallest disturbance. 
Toji clears his throat. “So, um...you need somethin’? Water?” 
“No” you bark, folding your arms across your chest. You can’t look at him, not without feeling enraged. You’re the afterthought, the chaser, rushing after a man who wouldn’t dare look twice. “How’d you even know I was there?” 
“Coincidence” he replies, and you scoff. He couldn’t get away with lying to you; playing games with moves you’ve lost to countless times. 
“Like hell it was a coincidence. I’m in a completely different city now, what were you doing there?” You have to physically bite back the words begging to spill from your mouth as his head wanders in thought, possibly concocting another fabrication. 
“Had business” 
“Oh, I’m supposed to believe the man who hates keeping a job had ‘business’. Okay.” You don’t acknowledge the extravagance of the apartment he must be paying for monthly. That, or a chain of illegal activities—whatever assumption suited your irritation in the moment. 
“Well, ya wouldn’t believe me no matter what I said, anyway” he chides. You’re a shaken bottle ready to explode, and his nonchalant demeanor only eggs you on. Toji’s perpetually dismissive, looking down on you like a pitiful puppy. 
“Because you’re always full of shit” you snap. He exerts a loaded sigh and pinches the bridge of his nose, as if he had any right to be tired of the situation. 
“’M not lyin’.” 
“Right.” You observe your surroundings more. It’s too opulent, pricey vases you wouldn’t expect from the ex-husband that once thought hanging jackets in the doorway was “decoration.” Definitely not fit for a single guy. You’re separated, and you know it's not your responsibility to keep tabs on his sex life, but that caviling thought won’t stop taunting you. How could he get over it so soon?  
“If you were just gonna bring me back to your fuck pad, I should’ve slept on the curb. Who knows how many girls you’ve had here.” 
He gets eye-level, sitting on the coffee table with his elbows resting on his knees and his hands clasped together like a drained salaryman, “What the fuck is wrong with you?” 
“What’s wrong with me? You can’t be serious. Like you never do anything wrong, like everything that’s happened until now is somehow my fault and you did nothing, nothing, to contribute to the bullshit. Stop acting like a fucking victim.” 
“Little lady, you got shitfaced, and some guy was tryna take your drunk ass home. You’re lucky you went home with me instead.” 
“I could’ve handled it; I don’t need you for anything-” 
“You could barely keep your eyes op-” 
“I would’ve handled it! Just like I handle everything else. Alone. Every time. It gets done, I’m not incompetent, Toji!” 
You could hear a pin drop in the stillness. Those forested eyes are gazing into your soul. It’s said and done, and you’ve got it off your chest, yet it hurts like a freshly sliced gash. The arguing doesn’t change, married or not. It sucks when you shout, uncontrollable like a blazing fire, only to be snubbed out by his calm, condescending tone. 
“...I know.”  
You can’t take it, it’s stifling being near him. Wounds loosely covered by band aids seem to peel at his presence, and you’re stuck at his mercy again. You can’t give him the satisfaction of crying in addition to the drunk, poor decisions you made, hardening your expression as you fumble for your phone. 
“Take me home” you demand. Toji stands with an exaggerated stretch on both arms, painfully slow. Before you can hurl your phone at him from the dramatics, he looks down on you with that intoxicating gaze. 
“Are ya hungry?” 
You furrow your brows, and hastily put on the other shoe. Turning on your heels, you go to leave, and are immediately stopped by Toji's calloused hand holding your wrist. You don’t watch, but his palm is gentle. You could smoothly slip out and exit his apartment, forget this engagement and continue a peaceful, isolated life. You’d move on eventually—perhaps to bigger, happier jobs and romances. 
 Despite that hopeful outcome, you remain.  
“I don’t wanna eat. If you don’t take me home, I'll call a cab.” 
“I’ll take ya home, just...look, I know you’re hungry, and I’m down to eat at a diner down the block. Don’t worry about a thing, I’ll pay for it.” Toji isn’t known for being docile, but with his curved posture almost leaning into you and dejection in his eyes, you swear he’s searching for pity. 
“I said I’m not-,” The untimely arrival of your dinning, rumbling stomach cuts off any excuse. A corner of his mouth upturns, and your face contorts to scorned pride. 
“...Fine. Let’s make it quick.” 
“Great. Can’t have ya walkin’ around like that, though.” He pans to your chest. You haven’t thought to give your outfit a glance, but when you do, your eyes grow wide. The entirety of your conversation with Toji, your chest was spilling out the dress, and now part of your areolas is exposed. You cover up the top, but he stares with an x-ray's invasiveness. You reprimand him, swatting his chest; 
“Pervert!” 
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There was an added benefit to being around Toji; the way people cleared a path for him and treated him with frightened kindness, afraid that pissing off the physically intimidating man would land them a one-way ticket to the nearest hospital.  
They weren’t exactly wrong, and you have a satisfied pep in your step as people scoot aside. He strides in front of you to get the door, and you mutter a small “thank you.”  
Sweet fluffy pancakes and charred grills mingle with faint notes of bleach. At least he knew better than to take you to a fancy establishment, especially since you were wearing a baggy t-shirt from him, and basketball shorts you had to tie around the waistband. His massive slides had you flopping across the dining aisle as you got to your booth. He’s not particularly dressed either, wearing matching shorts and a compression top. 
It’s hard not to perceive the way women ogle him, drooling at the way his biceps flex when he raises the menu, and his chiseled jaw tensing while he ponders the food options. It was a notable problem when you were married. They’d glare at you, shower him with compliments in front of you, and you’d shrink yourself. Occasionally the waiter would pretend you don’t exist as she swayed her hips at every little thing Toji said. If they want him, they can have him. It’s not your business, right? It’s no different with this waiter, twirling the curl of her hair as Toji reiterates his order, shifting from one leg to the other to highlight her curves.  
Not my business. You're nauseous.  
Not my business. Your fists clench underneath the table. 
Your head’s swimming in thoughts, uncertainty crashing down like a wave upon your increasingly loud intrusions. You drown within yourself, until you’re pulled out by a thumb travelling up your hand, and other fingers clasping around it. 
“Watcha wanna order, angel?” You regain composure, and when you blink, Toji is waiting for you. The waiter side-eyes you and the joining of your hands.  
“You lost? Take her order” he spat. 
The food's steaming hot and fresh, and you salivate at the plate in front of you. Toji snatches your bacon before you can, and you begrudgingly watch as he breaks the strips into two pieces, the way you like it. He winks, and you groan. You coat your strawberry pancakes with maple syrup, trespassing territory around the scrambled eggs and bacon, and he laughs across from you. 
“What’s funny?” 
“Never stopped drowning your breakfast in syrup” he ribs. You pout and swirl your bacon, “It makes it taste better.” 
Soon, food in your belly aided your dialogue, and the old banter returned; an easygoing flow, similar to a lifelong friend you hadn’t spoken to in decades. You giggle between bites and gossip about mutual rumors. 
"What you been doin’ since..." Toji trails off, falling short of “divorce”—a word he never wants to say. 
"Shoko recommended me to her boss, so I'm working uptown now. Pay's okay, nothing to write home about."  
"S'good. Livin comfortable?"  
"As comfortable as I can be"  
"Real humble. Guessin’ it's better than before" he jokes, though you sense a displace in his bearing at the nervous grin he flashes. You reach onto to his side and grab one of the grapes off his plate. You pop one in your mouth, "So, what drug ring got you that house?"  
"The cartel. Good vacation time, too" he jests. 
"Nice. at least it's not that shitty garbage gig you had for a while."  
"It did pay well."  
"Yeah? Couldn't get rid of the rotten milk and vomit smell for weeks after. Remember I made you shower at Geto’s apartment?" 
“Heh, yeah, he was fuckin’ pissed” he laughs, stealing a piece of sugary bacon from the syrup pool. "I'm a CEO, run a company downtown."  
"Ooo, look at you. Can't be little if it did this much for you" you say as you gesture at the empty dishes on the table. Restaurants were a luxury in your household. 
"I guess. I had a vision, and some people believed in me”, he pokes at the leftover blueberries, “I finally made it happen, that counts for something, right?"  
You pick another off his plate, smile stretching, "You're a natural born leader. People will follow you regardless, even if it's not the right choice."  
His eyebrows raised in surprise, "That's the first good thing you said about me today."  
"Don't get used to it." 
You wait for Toji to retrieve his car after walking back to his apartment. You’re awestruck in many ways; he paid for the whole meal with a black card and showed undying manners. He bowed to your requests. You’re smarter than this, though. This is his opportunity to get on your good side, and he’s showing the best version of himself. However, it fills your heart with want—like the initial dating phase, those butterfly stricken, heart-numbing, sappy gestures that made you melt.  
He wraps around the car to open your door, and you plant yourself in the sleek beige interior. Your eyes flick to the veins in his forearm straining as he steers, his deadpan focused expression and the composed R&B music low in the background. It starts to drizzle, and raindrops plink the car roof. 
You feel complete; And that alone is a dreadful reality. 
The scar on his lip twists to a smile, “Did’ya like the food?”  
You turn your nose up, “it was satisfactory.” He snickers, and navigates to the street your apartment is on. “Shit, I gotta give you your clothes back.” 
“Forget it, bring it when you get the chance.” Chance. He expected to see you again. You hang your head as he approaches the complex. You didn’t want today to end, but this is it. You’ll leave this car and go your separate ways. This is how it should be.  
You place an earnest hand on his shoulder and cast a smile. The corners quiver and your first syllable wobbles, but you finally speak, “I’m proud of you, Toji. I mean it. You’re going to do great things, and I’m always rooting for you.”  
He swallows stiff, and suddenly he’s sickly pale. Something within you is pleased at that reaction; if he wants redemption, he should beg and drop to his knees and crawl for forgiveness, he should lock himself up for your eyes only and cut off everyone else in his life. You’re walking away a second time, rightfully so, but you struggle to decipher what you want in this moment. He palms your hand, staring at you, “I’m all for praise, but tell me when we meet again” 
“Toji, there can’t be a next- “ 
“Give me your phone.” 
“Huh?” His urgency throws you off guard, “Don’t think, just give me your phone.” It’s impossible to kill the complicated slurry that is your mind, and a new bundle of thoughts emerges from his request, but for a heartbeat, you allow yourself to wander. Pitter patter and muted music, heated seats, the cologne radiating from Toji—all that exists. 
 You moved on instinct, and now your phone is in Toji’s hands. He's adding his contact information. He hands it back to you, fingers brushing against your soft skin.  
“I won’t text or call you. ’S there whenever you need me. Move at your own pace and call me when you’re ready.” With that, you exit his car. No hug or gratitude, skipping goodbyes as you rush out the car. It’s bittersweet when he pulls off, and you’re left with the ghost of him.  
The familiar click of your convoluted keys in the apartment door could bring you to tears. You’ve officially reverted to your mundane, boring lifestyle. The walls look duller today. 
You curiously click on his contact, and giggle at the name he assigned himself: 
dumbass ex 
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tick, tock, tick, tock 
The blue light beaming through your office computer is an eyesore, but you have little say in the matter. There's an upcoming deadline for these reports, you can’t waste precious skill complaining about circumstances out of your control. It’s tiresome, and you rove to the cobweb missing a string in the corner of the room, or the single drop of water roaming outside those wide sterile windows. The balls of your feet carry your flats as you absentmindedly push a pen against your lip. 
Your concentration has been out of commission since meeting Toji. He kept his word and hadn’t called you whatsoever. A month passed, and still nothing. Be glad, you told yourself, get your goals back on track. Your exercises get vicious, from jogging to a full sprint, hoping that those buckets of sweat will shed off the extra weight of Toji’s abidance. The fruit bowl on your break offends you with mocking displays of strawberries and grapes. You’ve pondered deleting the contact entirely to repel enticement, but you can’t do it. It’s painfully clear that you miss him. 
He’s horrible, callous and selfish. Of course, Toji had a way of showing up at your lowest to fill your head with empty promises and gestures of affection, that charming grin shooting daggers at your weakness. In his gaze, you’re defenseless, and in his arms, you’re exposed.  
Albeit late, a pestering thought carves into you, unfortunate and disgraceful to the healing you strive to accomplish; message Toji. 
A set of wheels rolls above the carpet, and you see Shoko, lifeless arms hanging beyond the armrests. The bags under her eyes signify stress from finalizing late papers.  
“Unnghhhh, (Y/N), I can’t do it” she laments, drooping her head to the side. You pat the top of her hair, “I believe in you.” 
“What are you working on?” She quirks a brow, and you stare at the screen with her. You’ve typed an entire page of straight gibberish. “I’m getting distracted too...” 
“Let’s quit and tell her to shove it.” 
“You know I can’t do that” you fuss as you backspace the document. “Mm, me neither. What’s got you zoned out?” 
“Nothing in particular.” You’re afraid to tell Shoko of your rendezvous, she might become volcanic and fire magma at the sound of any “-oji”. 
“I know it’s not nothing. New boyfriend, hm?” 
“S-something like that” you chuckle. She shapes an ‘O’ with her mouth, and wheels closer. Her bangs touch your eyebrows, and she rests her chin on her hand. Her usual dead eyes have a malicious twinkle in them. 
“What’s he like? Is he tall or short?” she gasps, “did you meet him at the club? I told you it was a good idea; I really am the best advisor.” 
You sigh, “It’s no one new.” 
“Ooo, an old flame. Spicy. What’s his name?” You turn slowly, a nervous bite on your lips. She studies your face, and slowly hers drops. 
“Do not fucking say it.” 
“Shokoooo” you whine, searching for sympathy from her. Instead of that, your body is shaken violently as she whisper-yells, “Are you kidding? Get a grip! What’s gotten into you, you were fine!” 
“But I wasn’t. It sucks, I feel lonely all the time.” 
“You felt lonelier with him than without him!” 
“I know, but...” You ball your lips in with furrowed brows, and she holds her breath. 
“I wanna go see him” you squeak. Instantly, she squishes your cheeks with both hands to hold you in place. 
“Absolutely. Fucking. Not.” 
At home, you pace back and forth in front of the phone resting on your bed. Toji’s contact is open, and nausea is brewing in your stomach. You’re giddy and ill, working up the courage to press “call”. You really should be practicing Shoko’s advice, but you’ve long surpassed common sense. You leave and come back, spying on it from a distance. Eventually, you forgo the theatrics and grab the phone to hit the messenger app. 
Three dots vanish and resurface. You can’t get it right:
'Hey stranger I got custody of ur clothes rn' 
'Hey haha I missed u can I come over?' 
'Yo what’s up? Still have ur clothes do u want them?' 
'I’m coming to give u ur stinky clothes' 
This shouldn’t be complicated, and you don’t usually perform the process of elimination for simple responses, but it’s Toji. You’re scrambling and overanalyzing, reiterating your choice of slang only to delete it all over again. You settle for a simple message. “Hey Toji, I wanted to return your clothes. Let me know when you’re available. Thanks”  
Once you hit send, you run a marathon around your bedroom, tippy tapping to expel your anticipation. The churning grows as seconds pass, and so does your doubt. You tiptoe to the phone as if a displaced floorboard would activate the alarm. You’re about to tap the screen, and then your ringtone plays.   
Oh god. 
You take a deep breath and swipe right on the faceless profile picture labeled “dumbass ex”.  
“…Hello?” 
“Hey, angel.” You avoid a dull pound in your chest at the memorable pet name. “So, um-“  
“I wanna see you. I’m available now, and I’ll be home by the time you get here” he states, direct and confident. His conviction validates yours, you bend to his direction. 
“Okay then. I’ll start getting ready.” 
“I’ll send a cab to your address. See you soon.” When he hangs up, you dive into the pile of plushies. Squeezing them for emotional support, kicking your feet in the air as you scream into your ruffled pillows like a girl’s first crush. You have a long night ahead of you. 
You access Toji’s building. He must’ve notified them you were coming, as the doors were open upon arrival, and a bellhop was sent to guide you to his floor. You’re standing outside of it, clothes and a bottle of champagne in hand. Your stretchy maxi dress clings to your figure, complimenting the juicy shade of lip gloss you’re wearing—the shade he loved most on you during your marriage. You ring the bell, and it doesn’t take long before he opens the door. The scene you’re exposed to swells heat between your legs. 
Toji has nothing but a towel shimmied low on his hips, v-line adorned with veins and biceps corded with muscle. He’s trimmed his hair since your last encounter, and it’s dripping wet along with the rest of his soaked body. You’ve interrupted his shower apparently, but he didn’t hesitate to rush to the door, water cascading from the raven veil, sluicing down his sculpted chest. He had to have done this on purpose, but you weren’t complaining at this point; he looked damn good doing it. You can’t disengage from the beads branching amid his pecs and through his happy trail. God, you wish you were water personified right no- 
“You’re staring, dollface” he teases with a smirk. Your eyes snap to his, and you remember to breathe. You clumsily hold up the liquid peace offering, “Brought a little something.” 
“Thanks. Make yourself comfortable, I’m gonna get dressed.” You nod, and he marches upstairs. You don’t need comfortability; you need to be in and out of here before you do something you’ll regret.  
But...is that cedarwood and vanilla? The interior gives off romantic energy at night, attractive dim lighting throughout and dull flickering pops of his fireplace in the living room. You find the source of that heavenly scent sitting on his kitchen island, and awkwardly place the bottle down. You don’t know what to do with yourself, more so you don’t know what to say. It’s hard to recite a script when things aren’t going according to plan. Did you want to apologize, or force him to apologize? Maybe you should’ve cursed him out, rehashed his asshole behavior from the past until he drowned in guilt. You want to kiss and slap him, cry in his arms until your voice gives out and disappear all at once.  
There’s a beautiful clear vase in the center, crammed with your favorite flowers, and your fingers dance across the petals. “You like ‘em?” he asks stepping into the kitchen. His hair’s still saturated, but he’s sporting grey sweatpants and a black ribbed tank top. “They’re very pretty.” 
“They’re for you.” 
You switch between his playful expression and the burst of colors, “You don’t have to do that.” The bouquet evokes recollections of heated arguments—anytime he’d angered you to tears, and you slammed that bedroom door in his face, you always woke up to similar flowers on the floor. They were cheap, but it meant more than money; because despite the fights and disagreements, it let you know that he’d love you regardless. 
“I wanted to. As thanks for bringing my clothes.” He’s pacing towards you, and you’re bound to the floor like melting wax. His gaze is captivating, and you’re entranced by the verdurous ardor that won’t deter from you. 
“Thank you”, you say as he looms above you and inspects the scripture on the pale bottle. His large thumb blocks the intricate lettering he’s trying to read, “I should be thanking you. Didn’t think you’d ever message me.” 
You can feel the body heat radiating off him, the airy words as he mouths the contents. His eyebrows furrow to follow his focus, while you lose yours.   
“I-I should probably get going-” Without delay, Toji blocks your side with an iron grip on the island, trapping you in the confines of his broad wingspan. 
“Leaving so soon? You got plans tonight?” Saying and doing are completely different stories, and from the way your feet haven’t moved, you aren’t in a rush to go anywhere. 
“Not really, but I worked today and I’m kinda tired-”  
“Then what better way to unwind than with a bottle? I can’t drink this by myself, might as well keep me company” he suggests, persuasion to a greater extent when your lower back hits the bar. A drink or two couldn’t hurt, right? 
“I guess I can stay for a few minutes.” Toji flashes a victorious toothy grin and retrieves cups from the sink cupboard. He gives you a rounded glass, and his muscles flex below candlelight as he maneuvers the cork at an angle. 
“Let’s crack this open” he says, popping the cap off and pouring a substantial amount of golden fizz into both cups. 
Toji raises his glass, “A toast.” 
You tilt your head but raise yours as well. “To what?” 
“Us.”  
Us is a funny thing—with enough effort, it becomes you and I just as quickly as it formed. You don’t know if you’re willing to accept the responsibility of eternity. The devastation of commitment could damage you forever. There’s no us, but there’s you and him. So, you clink your glass, “To us,” and his eyes never leave yours as he takes a swig. It lasts a lifetime among longing breaths and unsaid words. 
He brings the champagne to the living room, “I’ll turn on a movie. You know that cheesy romcom shit you used to watch? They made a sequel.” You fall flat on containing your excitement. He grabs the remote and lays back with his thighs spread apart.  
Toji pats the couch, “Come sit. Don’t worry, I won’t bite.” You hardly believe that, but you remove your heels and relax upon overstuffed cushions. You opt to sit farther on the couch, and there’s an annoyed twitch on his lip at your display of boundaries. Nevertheless, he starts the movie. 
Toji’s not particularly sneaky. He announces multiple bathroom breaks, returning to a spot on the couch that’s inconspicuous, but inching closer to you. The intent becomes clear when the ghost of his shoulder knocks against you, spreading his thighs wider to brush against the softness huddled into your snug figure. You’re half paying attention to the cliché performance, and half observing Toji. It’s hard not to smile when he behaves like a disobedient dog obligated to sit.  
It’s cute that he arced himself to be eye-level with you. His tank rode up to expose his lower abdomen, and he adjusts himself in his sweats, jaw occasionally clenching. It could be the drink talking, perhaps you’ve had too many.  
The movie ends, and you exhale a sigh of relief. “I forgot how corny this shit is.” 
Toji shrugs, “I didn’t think it was too bad.” 
“No way, you actually liked it?” you gasp. He huffs out his nose, smiling, “People change.” 
“I’m shocked” you quip. Dusk creeps into a descending sunset, and you steal a glance at your phone screen. Bright as day, a notification from Shoko emerges. “NO TOJI >:(" 
You’re stumped thinking of a reply, one that doesn’t compromise your less-than-ideal situation, when Toji puts his hand over the screen. “Hope I’m not gettin’ ya in trouble.” 
“Like you care.” He chuckles and slides it to the far side of the couch. “You’re right. Let’s watch another.” 
This next movie's decent; a flat racing plot with excessive sequels. He unleashes an exaggerated yawn, extending his triceps to land behind your head. You quirk a brow at him, and he plays innocent. “You look cold” he says. You don’t care as much as you pretend. His pads trace the shell of your burning ear down to the lobe, to fine hair at the end of your neck. His rough hand massages the back of your head, and you lull to his chest. Be it the champagne or his actions, it’s too hot for comfort. Clamping your thighs shut spurs the intensity. His other hand languidly tests the limits of your skin, gossamer touches from your knee to your thigh. It's asking, and when you don’t object, he invites the entire palm to your knee, rubbing delicately. He brings it to your upper thigh, and retreats to the outside, getting dangerously close to your rear. The worst part is it’s not that bad. It’s intimate. Warm. 
Loving. 
It takes you a minute to comprehend you’re tearing up, but Toji recognizes that hushed sniffle. Airy and choked, quiet as to not be a burden. He circles a hand around your waist and pulls you impossibly close. He tilts your chin to his gaze, soft and deceptively gentle when he asks. 
“What’s wrong pretty, hm?” You say nothing through the constrains in your throat, streaking the tears that fall faster than you can wipe them. This man alone can reduce you to mush with a wave of his hand. He bares your rawest state and sculpts you back together with such purity, such devotion, that you’d plead for him to sink his clay sodden fingers into your nothing, and make you everything. 
“Tell me, and I’ll fix it.” 
You say just above a whisper, “You’re selfish, you know that?”  
“Mhm, I know” he nods, grazing his thumb across your lip. 
“This isn’t healthy for us; we can’t heal like this.” He angles your head with his half lidded gaze, polishing your damp undereyes.  
“I don’t need healing. I need you.” 
You find passage in his hair, and surrender to temptation. 
You test with a smooch. Then another. Then a series of tender, sugary kisses are pushed upon his pliant lips, and he responds in kind. You curl your fingers through his tresses as you explore the contours of his lips for what feels like the first time. Toji isn’t known for patience, but the sensation of his mildly dry lips getting smoother from your supple kisses gives him the will to savor this moment. You push and pull from each other, indulging in the messy smacks and caresses. You stop amid shared breaths to skim and nudge his yearning lips, diving into more hungry kisses. Toji abruptly lifts you over him, and you deepen its bruising passion.  
You lick his bottom lip, and he groans, parting his mouth to allow your entry. You traverse the pink mass, interlacing in a wet feverish exchange. Your mind is numb, and the heartbeat in your core strikes stronger when your tongues intertwine. Toji hikes your dress up and slinks his massive hands over the plush fat of your rear. He earns a muffled moan from you as he kneads and gropes, and you feel his smirk against your lips. He grips your ass and starts to grind your hips on the bulge in his pants, a silent beg for any amount of friction. You wind with his movements, consuming him, and you hear a whimper get lost in the back of his throat.  
You drag your teeth along his neck. You lick and suck in a few spots and decide to draw harshly on a responsive patch of skin while circling the fat of your pussy over his sensitive cock, taut in his boxers. His breath hitches, and he slaps your ass. “Fuck, baby please.” It’s rare to witness him begging like this, and you’re drinking it in. You lick up his Adam’s apple and pepper his jaw with kisses. “You like it?” 
“Need more.” You bite his bottom lip for what seems like an exchange, but break away once he leans in. “Mm, be patient Toji.”  
Your hands traverse the rugged muscle under his tank top. He aids in taking it off, and you rake over his breathless torso. You kiss along his pecs and lick the groove of his abs, delighting in the parts you missed during your separation. Toji has a tinge of red soaking his chest and ears, shifting uncomfortably from his throbbing cock when you bat your eyes as you slope to the floor. You slip a finger under his waistband, playfully running over its span, and snapping it from a peak. He hisses. You palm his erection, and he grinds into it.  
“Wait” he husks. He reaches for a pillow and shuffles it under your knees. “Oh, thank you” you say, but it doesn’t look like he hears you in the chaos of tugging his sweatpants down to expose his boxers. The anticipation’s killing you, so you free his dick from its confinement. 
You can’t forget the mouthwatering size. His girth meets his length with equal satisfaction. The base is tan, fading to a rosy tip and a faint curve. You committed his veins to memory, small ones embossing the sides and a prominent one meandering to his tip. 
You maintain eye contact with him, hand steady on the base as you deliver taunting little licks to his frenulum. You precisely ring around his urethra and trace the veins, pulsating from the flick of your wrist. Toji hisses shaky curses and bucks, beefy thighs stiffening when you roll a flat strip to his leaking head and pump the base of his cock. He didn’t want to push you, but his whole body twitched in desire. “Your mouth” he groans. You react a coy ‘huh?’, tapping the head on your tongue and slathering it in saliva with cutesy doe eyes. He’s homed in on the strings of saliva connecting him to your tongue. 
An undertone of desperation in his gravelly voice, “Whole thing. In your mouth,” he expends another shaky breath, “please.” 
He bites his lip and stifles a moan, watching you engulf the cockhead in your mouth. You hollow out your cheeks while the underside of your tongue holds firm, and cautiously accommodate his size. It’s too big for comfort and it stretches the capacity of your plump spit-covered lips, but you work through the daunting pressure poking your reflex. You gradually relax, periodically gagging from an unprepared increase, and he twitches at your tightening throat. Your nose finally touches the hilt, flooded in his musk, and you start to suck. You bob leisurely, adjusting to the sense, and he subtly squirms in your touch.  
Toji crinkles his brows when you release a pleasant pop on his tip, purely to observe his eyes rolling back when you wreck him in a noisy suction. Noise was no longer a factor—sounds of spit and dry retching overpowered the volume of the movie regardless. He holds your hair away from you to get a better view of your face, smothered with tears and mascara, drool ceaseless down your chin. “F-fuck, you’re so good, so, so good to me” he groans. 
Your tongue swirls around him as you’re bobbing, and you accompany it with a tender massage to his balls. You cup and fondle them, using the lubrication from your spit to glide your fingers across. He sighs and grabs a handful of your hair. “Need to come. Keep that pretty throat open for me, yeah?” 
He rapidly shoves you down to the hilt, and you wince before he continues at a relentless pace. You anchor his thigh for stability, and he throws his head back, fucking your throat raw. There's a sheen of sweat where his bangs stick to his forehead, and he emits an endless measure of moans the closer he gets. Rambling about nonsense, yes’s and curses as he stiffens. He treats your mouth like a flesh light, evident by the throat bulge disappearing and reappearing. You happily accept the searing jaw, swaying your ass from thrumming in your saturated panties damp to your inner thighs.  
You can tell he’s about to climax because he goes completely quiet minus the panting, open mouthed with his head back. You resume massaging his balls, and he shoves you to the base, “C-coming” he moans. You grab onto him, and a squeak dies in your throat when he paints it white. He shakes, groans for each spurt coating your mouth, pumping the last of his semen as you swallow. 
Toji shudders when he pulls out, and his panting returns to a soft huff. You expected him to be spent, or at least sit in the aftershocks for a while until he calmed down. But he tightens the grip on your hair and forces you to look up. “Show me” he husks. You stick your tongue out, proof you swallowed every bit. “Now c’mere”, he guides you into a filthy French kiss, devouring you with much more dominance than before. It’s as though your nearness restored him. You can hardly stand your feeble knees and sopping core, but Toji takes care of it for you. With unnatural vigor, he lifts you over his shoulder, and marches up the stairs. “Ah, Toji, maybe you should take a sec-” 
He swats your butt harsh, and you yelp from the sting. “Don’t fuckin’ tell me what to do. You’ve been so mouthy, a damn tease, too. You’re gonna regret it.” 
You’re ferried into the rather plain bedroom lined with dim hues, and a wide ceiling length mirror opposite the bed. He tosses you on the dark gray bedding and climbs over you. Your heart’s racing with thrill. Toji yanks the dress over your head, uncovering the sheer white lacey bra, similar to your underwear.  
He stares like you’re a piece of meat, feasting on your flawlessness not yet smothered in hickeys and bruises, your nipples at attention under the fabric. “It’s all for me, huh?” he whispers, lust rolling off his tongue. You nod, because it’s always been for him, whether he was here or not. He buries himself in your cleavage and hums in satisfaction. His touch sends goosebumps to your skin and keeps your back arched when he drags a pad along your spine. Then your bra unclasps, and he removes it carefully, as if he didn’t want to spoil the surprise by unwrapping his gift too early. He gawks at them for an embarrassingly long pause, enough to make your cheeks hot, and you chide, “Stop staring.” 
“Shut up, you’re gorgeous.” Toji submerges the bud, whirling around it while he roughly squeezes both breasts. He molds the dough of your breasts with strong palms, nips and tugs your nipple before soothing it with fierce tongue kisses. Consistent teeth grazing hikes your sensitivity before he trades it for sucking. When he switches to the other, he pinches the maltreated peak, eliciting a whimper. You merely bind your thighs and embrace the disarray being caused on your spit-soaked nipples. The cold air your abused tits receive as he withdrawals from suckling is nullified by the hickeys he leaves. You quiver from constellations of splotchy purplish red, delicious pain tingling throughout your torso. “Not so much, I have to go back to work soon” you moan, not very convincing.  
“Even better; everyone’ll know who fucks you” Toji winks, and your heart skips. He dumps a nice vibrant bruise on your sternum, and advances to the dainty hem. He parts your thighs with ease, throwing them on his shoulder. Then he develops a haughty smirk.  
You’re monitoring his face, until he presses a pad against your aching clit, and the subsequent juices overflowing from a huge wet patch. He plays with the spiderweb of slick between his digits, “Mm. Y’still my girl.” You blush as he sucks on them and licks his lips afterwards. Hooking under the panties, he pulls them taut, projecting the swell of your pudgy vulva in tightening lace. It sinks past your outer lips and cages your clit—you want to writhe from friction, but it makes it worse. He ghosts against you and kisses the print, and you want to scream. “Tell me what you want, or I won’t do it.” 
“P-please...” you whine. You lock eyes, and you can hardly manage a word in the foreground of his intensity. How can he expect you to form coherent sentences when he sees through you like this? He gives a disappointed tut and puppeteers the strings, shifting them back and forth upon your neglected vulva. You cry out, and he cinches it together, isolating the part that pulses incessantly. He has an evil grin on his face, the bastard. “Details, baby.” 
“Toji...please t-touch me alre-eady so I can come, m’sorry I won’t tease you again!” you promise, willing to do whatever it takes to reduce your sentence. 
“And what else?” 
“Your mouth on m-my pussy...please lick it.” You’re humiliated at the request that tumbles from your bottommost desires, but he’s satisfied. He’s never been one to shy away from dirty talk. 
“Good girl.” Toji slithers your panties off, and you sigh from a loss of pressure just as his bangs tickle your pubic area. He interlocks your hands, a breath from eating you. 
“You don’t look at me, I’ll stop. Think you can do that f’me?”  
“Mhm!”  
He hums in agreement and submerses into you. Toji’s a messy eater, especially when he’s desperate. He ovals the outer lips and precisely stirs your clit, and your stomach turns in knots from simple motions. He frames it and carefully winds around his capable tongue, really focusing on the spots that make your back curve; really focusing on your entry, as he teasingly digs in.  
Toji cajoles a groan from his nose caressing your bud, then laps a level tongue over your wetness, truly tasting you. It isn’t long before his teasing farce began to crumble, and he obliged his ravenous appetite. He eats you starving, insatiable as he absorbs your twitching cunt and perfumed essence spilling down his chin. You clasp your hands, desire building in a trembling quake, but he doesn’t falter. He slurps your inner lips, and finally delivers proper care to your neglected clit. He hums a low vibration when he sucks, his pursed lips moving from a steady tongue to full on slobbering like some savage animal.  
You appreciate the support his steady hands give your shaky ones. “Toji, hahhh coming” you whine, a familiar sensation flipping in your core. He lets his words fan onto you, “You know better” he husks. Your hips are bucking frantically, and so you whine, “Please, can I come sir, please please please please!”  
“Hmm, I don’t know, you were ready to disobey me just now.” He says that, however the look in his eye is unrelated; it craves you, the want to make you squeal repeatedly until you’re on the verge of collapse. “’M can’t take it anymore, please let me come!” You urge your hips to his mouth, and meld into his warmth. 
“Come on my face, pretty girl” he groans, just as hankering as you. He laps at your clit, and you sooner fall apart underneath him. Your whimpered plea forms an innocent sob as you spasm from overstimulation. Toji just doesn’t stop. His head careens against you, tasting everything your body has to offer. You’re suddenly regretting how badly you wanted to come. 
“Toji- I-it’s too much” you protest, but it receives no response. Your release dribbles down his chin and he persists, ultimately unbinding when you lose a hold on his hands from the tremors. He diverges your lips and admires the way your mess clenches around air. 
“Heh, you’re shaking. Cute.” He rubs the back of your legs, reassuring you in spite of his previous cruelty. You make a sad attempt at wiggling away, but he grabs you firm. 
No running. Be good and hold your legs back.” He folds your legs to your shoulders, and you mewl, reluctantly wrapping your hands around them. ‘No’ isn’t a valid response at present.  
Toji’s thumbs spread your wrinkling opening, and you feel a draft on its expanse before he spits directly into your hole. You jerk, startled, and he shushes you. He slathers his thick digits in your glistening strip, and smoothly sinks one inside. “Pussy so slippery for me. Miss this...miss you” he sighs, starting to pump. He prepares you for the main course, scrapes your walls and curls his finger to hit a spot you can’t reach. The nasty squelching sounds you echo from a mere finger casts heat on your cheeks, and he seems to enjoy your responsiveness as he adds another finger to the commotion. He twines a ‘come hither’ motion that makes your back arch from every delightful swipe against your velvety walls. Then his pink muscle undulates along your swollen bud, and you dissolve to a puddle. Your hips stutter, and surge after surge of torturous pleasure strikes you with no end in sight. 
“Toji, f-fuck wait- hng s’feels too good” you whimper, and he gruffs a chuckle. He expands his fingers with precision, then chooses to slide a thumb in your butthole. The combination of both hands intruding your being, coiling into your soul jams your head with intoxicating dizziness and fictitious futures. Static pools in your stomach and circulates like the goading flickers of a raging inferno. He contacts your g-spot, and you moan, “Ah- can I, I’m close” 
“I know, I know. Let go for me,” he says, or at least that’s what it sounds like when he’s face-deep. Your eyes are screwed shut, white noise before you crash and shatter around his fingers. Fortunately, you’re deaf to your own lewd wailing, clutching for dear life through contractions. It gushes past his wrist. Tears reside in your lashes, croaked sob from the slap he gives your puffy pussy. “That’s it, baby, there we go.” 
Toji shows mercy and slips out. You’re still registering sultry bliss, untangling your limbs to lay slack. Empathy isn’t forever, though, because he forces your butt rearwards as he hops off the bed. Precum seeps from his tip, sheeting his shaft and heavy brimming sack. He propels your thighs to your chest, and your expression switches to fear for a second at the angry red tip sitting at your entrance. It's as if it grew since the blowjob, and you’re sure you’ll die if he stuffs that monster inside you.  
He slides up and down the entrance, seizing the sore bud, “Mmm, pretty thing making a mess all over my cock.”  
“Just go slow, okay?” you meek. 
“Of course, ‘m not tryna kill you.” Toji doesn’t disrupt the yearning gaze between you, giving your entry several threatening caresses. He groans from the sensation of your puffy lips snuggling his length. Then he plunges the bulbous tip, encased in your passion. He’s unhurried for the most part, besides the instants he stops himself from ramming into you, cock begging to feel the fervor. He’s plugging you to capacity, and you’re only halfway in. Soreness whirrs in your walls being outstretched beyond belief, yet you’re milking what remains, dragging the rest of him in. His breath hitches, a spiderweb of veins pulses in your tight embrace and he rocks his hips further. “Look at the way you’re gripping me. Fuck” he shudders. His tip presses on your cervix, and you feel the weight of his balls on your rear. 
Toji drives into you nice and slow. In this position you feel each vast stroke massaging your tumid core, squelching amidst your languid bodies. There’s almost a gloss film on his eyes as he indulges in the sweet addiction swamping his thoughts with unfiltered lust. “When you left it hurt real bad, y’know? I even cried.” You’re a bit stunned at his spur of honesty, but it’s short-lived as his thrusts get wilder and brutal. Your mouth hangs open, drool shameless out your mouth as he kisses your cervix without trying. You throb frenetically, chest heaving from the way his sack smacks against your ass and the creamy translucent ring forming at the base of his cock. His swinging strokes graze your g-spot and you sob, but he doesn’t check for your mitigation, encompassing your numb clit in the heat of his mean smacks.  
“Heh, dunno if you remember, but you left a pair of panties when you moved”, Toji regresses to the tip and bottoms out repeatedly, “I’ve jerked off in them so many times, imagining you backing up this juicy pussy on my dick.” You’re hysterical, flushed from head to toe and struggling to take breaths. Toji has you locked slamming into your cervix. It coaxes a mix of pleasure and pain burning through you, and your toes curl. “You love me?” he asks. It’s unfair to ask you now, scatter-brained and drooling like a stupefied slut. But you nod, and he plasters a cocky grin. “Good. ‘S long as I have that, I’m okay.”  
The unexpected flood of your orgasm quakes you, unable to warn Toji, or even ask for permission. How disappointed he’d be in you, as your juices sluice and soak, fluttering where you come undone. It’s a trail of fire, and it hurts to come. His hips sputter and he mutters a string of curses, flicking your nub faster to heighten the intensity of the earlier mess. You paw at his chest, back arched and fresh tears clustering in the haze. “Please, please!” you babble to an unresponsive Toji, stuck in a feral trance.  
Toji pulls out, palpitating at the precipice of his own climax. You take this opportunity to flip on your stomach and creep to a farther part of the bed. He’s in no rush. You can’t go far like that, a net of arousal at the apex of your thighs. He climbs onto the bed and grapples your hips, thighs capturing yours. He curves your back and slips into your gummy walls anew. You grip him like a vice notwithstanding the complaints. You hate to say it, but Toji’s length bullying its way to your cervix is a poison you’d drink habitually. He snares your hair and holds the underside of your chin. “Hah- c’mon baby, you can take a little more”, he groans at a savage pace, “be a good girl.” Your ass ripples against the brawny man, hoarse voice in your ear, scrotum pummeling the overworked bundle of nerves. Your knuckles turn white on the sheets. All you should do is let him use you, that’s all you need to do, right?   
Toji pans your head to the mirror, “Look how good you’re taking me, angel. You’re doing well.” His honeyed praises make you throb, attended by the bestial snap of his hips. “See that?”, he references your release slugging both legs, air heavy with sweat, “you’re such a f-fucking slut, what man could satisfy you besides me?” You sniffle and muster a pathetic babble, and he laughs. “You’re my perfect slut, though, fuck- ‘nd I’m not gonna make the same mistakes again.” There’s a tinge of regret swimming in the sea that is Toji’s confidence, and you feel it. It’s a subtle confession; please don’t go. 
Then he stops. Toji lets go, and you’re impulsively manhandled in front of him while he’s behind you. He lays back, and in doing so, ferries your knees to the sides of your face and hooks his hands to the rear of your head. You’re unveiled in the reflection of the mirror, a panel that bounces back the thin sheen of sweat on your bodies, your disheveled hair and makeup, wrinkled sheets, and the sticky lacings attaching you to Toji. You want to shy from the humiliating sight. “Don’t hide your face” he coos. You glimpse a portion of his face in the mirror, a glint in his eye, “I like this view more.”  
He bends his knees and pounds your chubby cunt with reckless abandon. He’s fucking your cervix, heedless grunts and panting groans as you swallow him up. Toji sputters, throbbing along your abused body and reverberating vicious staggering plap’s that could be heard on the lowest floor. You can’t breathe, let alone think, and the asphyxiation goes straight to your pussy. “O-oh fuck, heh, feel s’good. Gonna fill you up, yeah? Shit- have a mini me crawling around. Y-you'd like that, wouldn’t you, doll? Wanna carry my baby?” The headboard thuds against the wall, and in your fog, you call out for him, chanting his name like a mantra. The emotion is overwhelming, you claw at his bicep as shockwaves burst and fizzle out on your skin. “You’re dripping down my balls, sweetie, you close again?” Tougher, nastier strikes allure your orgasm, and you bleat a scream as a stream of liquid surges from you that drenches the sheets and Toji’s shaft. It’s a blinding white light, and you go limp through the violent spasms.  
“Ohhh shit, that’s it baby, take everything I give you” he rasps. Toji shoulders your dead weight with ease, going silent, then plummeting you to the hilt. His balls tighten, and he manages some slushy pumps before he comes. He spurts thick, hot globs that paint and crowd your walls with greed. You milk him dry as he bucks. It overflows to trickling down his length, and his muscles quiver as he comes down from his high. His staggering pants reduce to hitching, and he relaxes your exhausted limbs. 
Toji drives out and turns you around. You’re edging unconsciousness, sporadic jolts and innocent sobs carrying in your scratched throat. “I know. Breathe, baby.” He brings you flush with his chest, and you absorb his gentle puffs, the methodical beat of his heart. “You okay?” You’re unresponsive, gathering yourself in an incomplete collage of thoughts. You want to talk but it dissipates on your tongue. He rubs your back and kisses your forehead.  
Then it’s muted; solely the dwindling rate at which your heart races, and the tender smooches Toji dots on your face as you cuddle. When you open your eyes, the sheets are changed, and you’re cleaned. Clearly some time has passed. You sit, and Toji comes out the bathroom, running water in the background. “How ya feelin’?” 
You wince at the blunt thrum in your vulva, “Okay. How long was I out?” 
“Like half an hour. Up for a bath?” You don’t have the energy to move your body. Toji scoops you bridal style and leads you to the bathroom. You found it amusing how considerate he was after wrecking your brain. 
Toji spoons a generous quantity of Epson salt into the corner jet tub. He helps you in and joins once you’re stable. It’s a lavish proportion, but you decide to be next to him. Your head situates on your forearms over the tub rim while Toji sloshes water onto your back. The steam and serene jets below ship you to a luxury vacation on a tropical island, its quality comparable to spas with extensive dollar signs. You study each other. 
“I’ll let you get whatever you need from your place.” You knit your brows, “For what?” 
“You live with me.” You simper at his audacity.  
“So, you’re the decision maker now?” 
“For this, yes. Can’t risk you runnin’ off again.” 
“It’s your fault I left.” He pauses, brushing your cheek with his thumb. “I know. I’m sorry.” 
A piece of you becomes whole at his acknowledgement. There are no petty jabs to be had where lingering truths wade in the mist. “Never thought I’d hear an apology from you.”  
“It’s overdue. I was a dick, and I should’ve never treated you like that. Was tryna sort out my shit, but I didn’t have to take it out on ya.” 
The corner of your mouth quirks up. “Sorry...but not sorry enough to let me go?” 
 “No. You need nobody but me.” 
You chortle, and he cracks a smirk. “Arrogant asshole.”   
“I love you, too.” 
2K notes · View notes
kingkatsuki · 7 months
Text
— heatwave
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I’m suffering through the heatwave over here, and Bakugou is the only thing that could make it better or worse.
Warnings: 18+, not proofread, Bakugou is your roommate, sweaty sex, dirty talk, spanking, creampie.
Pairing: Bakugou Katsuki x f!reader.
Word Count: 3.8k.
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“It’s too damn hot,” Bakugou growled as he lay the back of his head against the couch. Even the soft, worn fabric was uncomfortable against his back. Retaining more heat than necessary paired with his body temperature it had sweat pooling against his skin.
Life as an up and coming Pro-Hero had been rough. With long shifts, terrible hours and little pay he was stuck in this dingy, stuffy apartment. Waiting for the day he’d add an extra figure onto his paycheck to have enough to move out. Things like air conditioning were a lavish luxury that he couldn’t afford right now, so it meant suffering through the torridness with a small ice pack he’d grabbed from the freezer.
The only bonus was having a roommate like you.
Originally Bakugou had been adverse to living under the same roof as someone, unable to trust anyone living in close quarters with him. There was an entire cacophony of issues that could arise from picking the wrong person— from being kept up all night, the mess they could leave behind to having friends or hookups in his shared space.
But you had been a godsend, understanding of his unsocial work schedule and his house rules. You could even argue that you were a better roommate than he was, with his friends delighting in showing up unannounced and causing a mess in his apartment. Something that you were always so understanding of when you’d join them for movie nights or dinner.
You were a blessing. Or now that he thought about it, perhaps it was a curse. Now forced to watch you practically saunter around in the shortest short shorts known to man in a feeble attempt to try and deal with the extreme temperatures. Your top half not much better, the stringy vest top you wore— without a bra no less— exposed your midriff and the cute stiffened peaks of your nipples. Not that he was looking, and even if he was what did you expect him to do.
Rubbing sweat from his upper lip as he spreads his legs wide on the couch as you made your way into the kitchen, his crimson eyes roaming your figure as the shorts hugged the swell of your ass perfectly. Dipping in between the cheeks as he imagined pulling them apart to see what was hidden between them, the material dangerously close to revealing it to him anyway—
You were doing absolutely nothing to help quell the heat oozing through his body. In fact, Bakugou was certain you were making it worse. His cock jumping at the sight of you, pulsing beneath his shorts as his Adam’s apple bobbed. Praying that this sudden heatwave would cease and he could stop being tortured by the sight of you like this every damn day, it was bad enough when he’d catch peeks of you in a towel coming from the bathroom towards your bedroom, or forgotten panties left strewn around. But this? This was unbearable.
“I can’t deal with this heat,” The whiny tone to your voice had Bakugou silencing a growl deep in his chest, watching you hold the back of your hand to your forehead dramatically, “I wanna sit in the freezer.”
“Don’t you dare.” Bakugou knew from experience the heat alone would be enough to shut down the entire machine, and you both definitely didn’t have enough money to replace it if it did.
And that freezer was the only thing satiating the heat so far. Shoving his melting ice pack against his chest, the contents quickly changing form to liquid as he tried to make the most of it before it would have to go back inside the freezer.
“Let me feel,” You came around the couch to stand in front of him, his eyes set in a heavy glare as he tried to weigh up whether it was worth letting you feel how cold the pack was.
It was bad enough having you so scantily clad in such short proximity to him right now, certain he could now smell the saccharine of your perfume as you pulled the top of your vest down, exposing the swell of your breasts as you presented your sternum to him.
Bakugou pushes the pack to your chest and immediately regrets it when the sound you let out is downright sinful. You have to know what you’re doing to him, the way your lips curl into a delicious looking pout and your eyes roll to the back of your skull.
“Oh god, that feels so fucking good.” You moaned, eyes clenched shut to focus on the cool chill that slowly washed over your chest.
His cock jumps in his shorts as he tries to shift his hips to avoid you from noticing the now very evident bulge, the throb pounding through his veins as he feels a different kind of heat beginning to take over.
He should stop here, take his ice pack back and tell you to go and sit in front of your mini desk fan again. Get you out of the room and as far away as possible and save this for another day, a day when you’re both not delirious from the intense heat.
But his depraved thoughts have already consumed him, the thought of your plush body pressed against his while he slides his throbbing cock inside you now at the forefront of his mind as he presses the pack lower. Watching as you arch your back towards it, welcoming the cool chill as you lean forward to splay your sweaty palms against his thick thighs.
And whether he’s delirious from the heat, or it’s the desperate look in your eyes he doesn’t know. All he knows is he’s kissing you fiercely, the ice pack drops forgotten between your bodies in favour of grabbing your hips.
“Fuck,” You kiss him back, words swallowed by his chapped lips as you feel the bulge between his thighs press snug against your crotch.
Your hands reach up to card through messy blond spikes as your nails graze his damp scalp, your tongue swiped against his as he palms your ass. Calloused fingertips disappear beneath the flimsy fabric as he squeezes the fat of it, tugging you down against his hardness as he pulls more sultry sounds from your throat.
“It’s too hot for this, Katsuki.” You whine, breaking the kiss as you gasp for air in the humid room.
At this chance Bakugou’s lips venture lower, peppering kisses along your jawline towards your collarbones until he reaches the hem of your vest. Tugging the fabric down to reveal your round breasts, his tongue pokes out to wet his lips at the marvellous sight.
His nighttime fantasies can’t compare to the sight in front of him, crimson eyes shamelessly ogle your skin to commit the sight to memory as he leans forward.
“Shut up,” He rasps back gruffly while mouthing your breast.
You’re right, it’s entirely too hot for any kind of strenuous activity, especially when he’s sweating so much it already feels like he’s run a marathon. But the way your soft body feels pressed against his is too much to pass up. Especially when this is what he’s been dreaming about ever since he moved in with you, fisting his cock too. It’s too much to leave it to chance that he may get this opportunity again later. Bakugou’s always been a greedy man, and he wants to have you now.
“Fuck,” You cry out when his teeth graze your nipple, pushing your crotch against his with more urgency.
Certain you’ve leaked through the flimsy fabric, desire surges through you dense and fast. A stark contrast to your lethargic movements as you grind yourself down on his lap pathetically.
“Katsuki,” You whine.
His strong hands are doing all the work as he moves you how he pleases. Strong palms pick you up by the meat of your ass to drop you back down on his length. Grinding your puffy clit against his pelvis with each motion as he has you crying out in pleasure.
“Fuck, Katsu. S’too hot—”
You weren’t sure whether it was the humid air permeating the room or the way that Bakugou was looking at you with smouldering eyes that had your body aflame. Muggy, vapid air filling your lungs as clammy hands stroked along his bare torso. Mapping out a course of newly discovered territory as you let your thumbs brush against his pebbled nipples, his chest vibrating against your touch with more sultry groans.
“I know you are, sweetheart.” He hummed, his fingers brushing the crotch of your shorts, “Let me make you feel good.”
“Oh,” You gasped when you felt the calloused pads stroke your labia, involuntarily leaning forward to give him more space as Bakugou began to spread you apart for him. Fingers gliding through your messy folds, dragging your essence along your slit until he found your puffy clit.
The contact had you jolting forward, nails grazing his chest as he focused his attention on it. Circling it tentatively with the pad of his finger as you began to rock your hips back against him, uncaring about how debauched you looked as you began to seek your own pleasure.
“Yeah?” He rasped, and the gravelly husk did nothing but increase the desperation inside you, “You like that?”
“Fuck, please—“ You buried your head in the curve of his neck, your lips pressed against the slick skin as you tasted the saltiness of his sweat on your tongue.
“Please what, sweetheart,” He cooed.
“Please—“ You gasped when you felt his thumb press against your empty hole. He knew exactly what you wanted, he was toying with you.
“Tell me what you want.”
“Your fingers.” You were shameless, your hips grinding back against him as Bakugou finally took mercy on you and pushed his thumb into your sloppy entrance. The slightest penetration enough to drag a deep moan from your throat as he kept his focus against your clit, leaning his head back against the couch to try and see the blissful expression on your face as he worked you with precision.
“Got no damn idea how long I’ve been waiting to do this,” He husked against your ear, lips soft against the shell as you clenched around him in response, “Always walkin’ round in those fuckin’ short shorts got me wanting to bend you over every surface in this house.”
“Oh fuck,” You mewled, already feeling yourself teetering on the edge of your climax as he kept his pace constant against your clit, his thumb positioned to press against your spongy wall as his other hand tightened its grip on your ass. Spreading you open, as you found your bliss, “Katsuki.”
“That’s it, good girl.” He hummed, feeling your walls pulse around his digit as he kept his pace. Working you through your release as he pressed sloppy, wet kisses to your temple.
You’d lost count of the amount of times you’d wished the same, coming into the kitchen to see him still in full hero gear after work. Dirt and grime covering his body as his mask was pulled up over his forehead to show his blackened eyes, bending over to grab the carton of juice from the fridge as he held it up to his lips to chug it. Watching his Adam’s apple bob as the liquid flowed, giving you the perfect view of him as you tried to busy yourself to hide the fact you were blatantly staring.
Or the moments where he’d come out of the bathroom with a towel slung low on his hips to shout at you for using the taps in the kitchen while he was showering. The cheap apartment had one flow of hot water and it shut off that luxury whenever it was used elsewhere. The cold water catching him off guard as he glared at you, water droplets drooling down his perfect skin and making him look more like an ancient god or deity than your roommate.
“So why didn’t you?” You asked when you’d come down from your high.
“Huh?” Bakugou’s brows furrowed in confusion.
“Why didn’t you tell me how you felt before.”
“I like livin’ with you,” He shrugged, “Didn’t wanna jeopardise that.”
“You wouldn’t have,” You smiled, pulling yourself back from his neck to meet his gaze, “I like you too.”
“That mean I can finally eat this pretty little pussy?” He groaned, shuffling his hips, “Been thinkin’ about it since the day I met you.”
“Later, please—” You pawed at the hard bulge between his thigh, his pre staining the fabric as you pressed against the tip.
“Fuck,” He grunted, shamelessly bringing his fingers to his lips to get a taste of you. His tongue sweeping against his digits to clean them of your slick, “Gonna take you over every damn surface in this house, princess.”
Your fingers curled into the hem of his shorts, Bakugou lifting his hips off the couch to help you drag them down just enough to free his heady cock— the sight of it better than you’d ever imagined in those nightly fantasies.
He was thick and long, bulging veins that forked along the length of him only made him seem that much more intimidating as his balls sat heavy at the base. Neatly trimmed blond hairs decorated his pelvis as they created a pretty trail along his abdomen, unable to resist running your hand along it as his stomach folded at the touch. A sharp hiss sucked sharp through his teeth as you wrapped your hand around him at the base, holding him steady so you could see the tip. The head a swollen pink as pre continued to bead at the slit, drooling down towards his frenulum as you moved to settle between his thighs. Wanting a taste of him yourself as you swiped your thumb over the leaky tip of his cock.
“Oi, I thought you said later,” He teased, rough hands steady on your hips to stop you from moving.
“Please,” You whined pathetically, “Wanna taste you.”
You brought your thumb to your lips as your tongue swiped at the surface, tasting him on your tongue as your lashes fluttered. Crimson eyes focused on your movements as his cock twitched in appreciation, tempted to let you do whatever you pleased. But he’d been waiting far too long for this moment, and there was no way he could wait any longer.
“You little minx,” He groaned as you sucked your thumb, “I promise later.” He groaned, tugging at your shorts, “Do you like these?”
“Yeah, they’re— what the fuck, Katsuki?”
You gasped when you heard the sharp sound of ripping fabric, “I said I liked them.”
“Sorry,” You could tell from the smug grin on his face that he was anything but as he positioned you above his leaky cock, “I gotta have you now.”
You held onto his shoulders as he wrapped a large fist around his cock, dragging the tip through your slick as he felt it catch against your tight entrance. His other hand on your hip slowly dropping you down onto his length as you felt the pleasurable ache of him stretching you open ebb through your pelvis.
“I got you, sweetheart,” He groaned, watching his cock slowly disappear inside you as he felt your warm walls wrap snugly around him, “Gonna take such good care of you.”
You felt hot, the heat radiating from your sex sweltering and yet you didn’t want to let go. The thick girth of his cock filled you perfectly as you felt him pressed against every ridge and groove of your cunt like he was made for you.
Your lips move together languidly, tasting the saltiness from his upper lip as you move together in tandem. Wet and sloppy while his tongue strokes yours, desperation evident by the way you try to deepen the kiss. As though you’re trying to melt into him, to feel him devour you whole.
“Oh, shit.” You choke back a cry when you feel the tip of his cock hit a spot deep inside you, certain you’ve never had something quite so big before.
You struggle to lift yourself up with your legs spread wide over his thick thighs as you grind yourself against his lap. Your clit catching against the trimmed hairs at his base as you roll your hips with desire, your chest pressed taut to his as you start a lazy pace. The scorching heat inside the apartment makes it difficult to breathe as you writhe in his lap, his warm breath fans against your skin almost feels cooler than the thick air clouding the room.
“Kats. It’s too hot.” You whine pathetically, your pace clumsy and sluggish as the desire inside you burns hot and heavy.
“You started this.” He retorts cockily with a smug smirk on his face.
“I did not.” You pout, “This is your fault.”
“Stop whinin’” He reaches back to bring his palm down on your ass in a rough smack, the sweatiness of his quirk has his skin tacking to you as it increases the sensation, clinging to your skin as you gasp in surprise. A painful pleasure courses through your veins as the skin prickles beneath his touch, your pliant walls clamping down around his girth in retaliation.
Without hesitating he reaches his large palms back to cup a cheek in each hand, lifting you up languidly as he marvels the glossy sheen your slick leaves on his cock.
“You just sit there and look pretty, let me do the work.” He spread is thighs wider, giving himself more air as he shifted your weight. Picking you up and dropping you down on his length as he listened to the pretty sounds that spilled from you like a siren, drawing him in and capturing his heart as you pulsed around him.
“Why couldn’t you have got an ice quirk?”
Clammy hands paw at his shoulders as Bakugou repeats the motion, skin tacking to skin as he bounces you on his cock. The kinetic energy builds heat swiftly and harsh as you feel the stickiness against your skin. Your wetness seeps out against his pelvis and matts the hair at his base, catching your clit with each drop of your hips.
“Shut the fuck up,” He scoffed, “You won’t be sayin’ that come winter.”
The thought of having his warm body to warm you during those cold winter months, still being with him then— had you clenching around him.
“Oh yeah? You like the sound of that?” He grinned, “Can feel this pussy clenchin’ around me.”
“Fuck, Katsuki.” The heat was becoming unbearable, radiating from your core as it burned molten lava. The coil inside you dangerously close to snapping as you danced on the crux of your release, gasping for air as he changed tact. Holding your hips tight under sweaty palms as he planted his feet flat on the ground, pistoning his hips up into your pliant sex, “There— oh, god. Right there—”
“That’s it,” He rasped, watching your tits bounce with each rapid thrust, “Fuckin’ beautiful.”
“‘m gonna cum,” You choked out between moans, feeling the curved tip of his cock drag against the spongy spot inside you with each thrust, “Oh shit—”
“Cum for me,” He growled, “Cum all over my cock.”
The tips of Bakugou’s thumbs pressed against your pelvis, tightening his grip as it only increased the pressure. Sweat trickling down your temples as he sent you vaulting over the edge into euphoria.
“Good girl,” He grunted, feeling your walls clamp down around his cock as you willed him to come with you, trying to milk him of his seed.
The pleasure was unlike anything you’d felt before, mind-numbingly intense as you cried out a jumbled mess of his name. Your nails digging crescent moons into his skin as he hissed beneath you, shamelessly searching for his own end as the heat radiated from your body. Sliding against each other from the sweat that now trickled down your skin, leaving a glossy sheen against you both as he used you for his own pleasure.
“I’m gonna cum,” Bakugou grunted, moving to lift you off his cock before you wrapped your arms around his broad shoulders, unbothered about the stifling heat in the room as you kept him tight against you.
“Cum inside me, Katsuki.” You gasped a he choked back a grunt, your words all it took to meet his own end.
His guttural moans are sinful, erotic as you cling to him with fervour. Committing the sensation to memory as though it’s the last time you’ll have him like this, as if the heat has him in this delirious state. And maybe it does—
You never thought Bakugou could look so pretty like this, completely vulnerable as he exposes his most intimate self to you. Thick, white spurts of cum spurt from his tip as he empties his balls inside you.
“Fuck, baby.” He breathes hot and heavy as you feel his chest rise and fall against yours.
Bodies slumped together on the couch as you feel the dampness of skin against skin, your vest that now sits useless around your waist is soaked and warm as the fabric clings to your body.
“I’m so sticky,” You whine childishly, making no attempt to move as Bakugou’s fingers trace absent-minded patterns along your exposed back.
“How the fuck dya think I feel?” He rasps, “My ass is stuck to the couch.”
“Eww,” You tease, running your nose along his collarbone as you take in the musky scent of him, “We’ll have to get another couch.”
He catches you by surprise as he presses the forgotten ice pack to the back of your neck, although it’s mostly melted it’s a stark contrast to your sweltering body as you flinch in surprise. Your cunt clenches around him at the sensation as Bakugou grunts from the attention.
“Oh shit, don’t do that sweetheart—“ He hisses, wrapping an arm around your back to hold you tight against him, “You’ll make me hard again.”
Something that you’re not sure you’d mind, even though your body is screaming out for a different kind of relief now. Desperate to cool your temperature down as you scrunch your nose in irritation.
“I feel so gross.” You complain as he gives your ass another playful spank as you barely move from the impact, your bodies stuck together with a mixture of heat and sweat.
“Got no one to blame but yourself, princess,” He groans, “I was just mindin’ my business until you came over in those little shorts.”
“You weren’t complaining when you were balls deep.” You moved your head back to glare at him.
“My balls feel like they’re on fire now,” He scoffs, leaning forward to peck your pouty lips, “Cold shower?” He asks, although he’s already decided he’s showering with you— he’s taking every moment he can with you now.
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DP x DC prompt:
Daniel was seething. It's been a year since he left the league and they've already found him. Well, it was his mother who found him. Not that that was any better but at least it wasn't Grandfather.
It also shouldn't have taken him so long to dispose of those soldiers. They weren't even that capable. Far below his level and yet he struggled. He needed to resume his training soon or else he would become rusty.
He cursed himself for getting too comfortable with civilian life. Not that his life was comfortable, far from actually.
He had been adopted by a pair of mad scientist with no concept of lab safety; and for all the intelligence they had, they couldn't fathom how to properly take care of a child, leaving their daughter to take care of herself and now her newly adopted sibling!
He sighed. He was starting to get angry. He couldn't afford to get angry. Especially not at Jazz. She was only two years older than him and was doing her best. She's also the only good thing in his life right now meaning that he had to cherish her, not break her. (He wouldn't be like his brother)
His mind stayed on Jazz for a while before immediately increasing his speed. He really needed to resume his training. How could he be so slack to forget such a possibility! Daniel desperately hoped that his sister Jazz was okay and that they wouldn't dare.
Entering through his bedroom window he rushed straight to Jazz's bedroom. It was open. She wasn't there.
Daniel started to panic when he heard a muffed scream coming from downstairs. Adrenaline coursed through his veins as he rushed down the stairs and into the kitchen.
In all honesty Daniel expected the worse. To see his sister Jazz dead on the floor, thick red gushing from her neck, the scent of blood in the air. And there was blood, it just wasn't her's.
Daniel always prided himself on having a vivid imagination. It was a great way to escape after an especially hard training session with his brother. But he would have never imagined this.
In the small, laughably suburban kitchen of the Fenton household was a sight to behold. In the air were two mangled bodies, unidentifiable if not for the league's emblem still visible on one of them. And on the wall was a splatter, a rather big one. It wasn't blood. It was too dark to be. But whatever it was was very unlucky.
In the center of the kitchen was Jazz. Her arms were outstretched, burning sigils rotating at the end of each palm. Her eyes glowed a bright icy blue.
Upon noticing him everything stopped. She looked fearful. Tears threatening to come forth.
"Wait I can explain, just don't tell mom or dad! Please!"
Daniel, still a bit shocked but not as much, simply walked into the kitchen towards the cupboard. Taking out a clean towel he unsheathed he sword and began to clean it.
He looked over his shoulder towards Jazz. She didn't look as scared but her eyes still held some fear. So he spoke, making sure the still bloody sword was in veiw.
"I won't tell if you don't." He flashed a grin his tiny fangs peaking out.
Jazz sighed as in the weight of the world was lifted off of her. She looked at him and smiled.
"Mom and Dad aren't going to be back for a while. Wanna help me clean up?"
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guinevereslancelot · 2 years
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was making so much progress making my kitchen nice today and then the sink started leaking everywhere :(
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chaos-coming · 2 years
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A little pissed that my roommates came home from 5 days away and i had cilantro and spring onions drying out on the table, and instead of asking me to move it to use the table, since i was home all day, they just rolled the towels with the greens together and stuck it on the bench, so now my cilantro smells (and probably tastes) like onion AND none of them are drying properly bc of the night spent rolled in a ball in the humid apartment.
Like its not hard to knock on my door and ask me, god knows they do it all the time when im in important meetings, but theyd rather just ruin tons of food
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hotchsstuff · 1 year
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clumsy - rafe cameron
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summary: you're clumsy and you're scared rafe will snap at you.
warning: mention of blood, small cut
you were freaking out.
you were spending the night at rafe's house for the first time since you started dating and you've just knocked over a set of porcelain plates in an attempt to reach a mug that was placed on the top shelf.
you immediately kneeled down to pickup the broken pieces. that costed more than what you could afford. you were so doomed.
immersed in your thoughts you didn't hear rafe's steps approaching the kitchen.
"ouch." your small groan of pain caught rafe's attention.
"i'll call you back." he hung up the call and as he got closer to you he bended down to see what got you so flustered.
when you felt his presence above you, you jumped and hide your bleeding hand behind your back.
"rafey, don't be mad at me please." you pleaded him, scared that he would get upset at the mess you made.
"did you hurt yourself?" he asked you instead "let me see."
you hesitantly pulled out your hidden hand and grimaced at the blood dripping down your fingers.
"i am so sorry" your apology only seemed to confuse rafe.
"what are you sorry for, sweet girl" he said as he started to clean your cut with a wet towel.
"your plates.. i didn't mean to break them" you whispered, tears falling down your cheeks, scared that rafe would snap at you at any moment.
rafe raised his head and in an hushed tone he said "hey, there's nothing to cry about, i'm not mad at you, silly girl"
why would he get mad at you over some stupid plates that he didn't even like. if you wanted, you could have destroyed his whole house. he'd just buy another one.
"you're not?" you sniffed, trying to wipe your tears away but with rafe's hands on your face, it was hard.
"of course not, honey" you completely forgot about your injured hand until when rafe pressed the towel deeply in your cut, making you groan slightly "now let me take care of this bad bad cut mmh? my clumsy girl."
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carlyraejepsans · 4 months
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Technically speaking, he was a light sleeper.
Which was just hilarious for two different reasons. One, he topped at twenty pounds soaking wet—and that was after he'd reached for the towel. The joke basically wrote itself. The other reason was, of course, that nobody believed him. Honestly, he could kinda get it. It's pretty hard for irony to escape him, even on a bad day. The way he saw it, though, maybe he wouldn't take as many naps as he did, if he just managed to get one to stick.
...heh, nah. Probably not. Late to rise, early to bed, makes a man lazy or clinically dead, or however the saying went. Still.
The kid stiffened against his ribcage and that was all it took for his eyes to fly open.
The popcorn ceiling of the living room stared back at him through the darkness in all its tacky glory. Now that's another joke that writes itself. It wasn't a movie night at Tori's without some comment about her taste in decor. That always earned him a round of groans. Or a halfhearted pillow to the head. It was one of his favorite moodsetters.
His hand dangled in the air at his side. Not on the floor. Just a few months earlier, that alone would've told him he wasn't in his room, but oh boy, had things changed. He had a bedframe now, not to mention enough self respect for one. AND fitted sheets—that was a lifetime first. You had to be careful not to fall off, but all things considered, it was the fanciest bed he'd slept on since he'd tried using his worker bonus at MTT's. If he risked falling off the bed now, he'd risked never finding his way out then. Not to mention the guy in the other room calling for room service the entire night. He almost retired the midnight snacks bit on Undyne out of sympathy the next time she came over.
Almost.
The kid's head twitched.
Right. Popcorn. Living room. Springy mattress. He didn't need to smoke a pipe to realize he'd fallen asleep on the sofa. Didn't need a goofy hat either to see that someone must've thought he'd make a good pillow. Go figure. He'd gotten real good at making himself look softer under his clothes, but still, it wasn't exactly the kind of magic a guy could keep up with his eyes closed and a pillow behind his head. He just hoped they weren't too uncomfortable.
He must've dozed off sometime after Papyrus left the house and Toriel turned in for the night, 'cause nobody had stopped by to throw a blanket over him. Most nights that would've been fine. Nice thought aside, skeletons didn't really feel cold "to their bones", on account of lacking all the soft and fleshy stuff on top of 'em.
Yeah, well. Most nights. Most nights he didn't have a human kid sleeping on top of him, either.
Sans looked down. He resisted the urge to blow a strand of hair out of their face.
Most nights, skeletons didn't have hearts beating against their ribs.
Ba-dum—ba-dum—ba-dum.
He would've asked them if it felt any different, having it beat on the other side of their ribcage, if they hadn't already crawled their way inside his months before.
Heh. Not like they hadn't done the same with everyone else. Or ever asked for permission, the little freeloader. But he supposed that part came free with being monsters. The whole HOPE and compassion and everything nice kinda shtick. As a rule, they were, uh, very prone to attachment. It was hardwired into their SOULs or something. Of course, he knew better than anyone that compassion had its cost, and he'd ran low on HOPE for a long, long while, but...
There was a ray of light coming through the kitchen at night like he hadn't seen in an even longer time. The kind with a moon and stars hung at the other end of it.
Yeah. Maybe he could afford something nice for once.
Frisk stirred again. He kept as still as possible as they wriggled around, pushing themself off of him—trying, he assumed, not to shove their boney little knees somewhere unpleasant.
Then they flopped to their side and fell to the floor with a thud.
See, THAT'S the kinda issue you don't have when you have no self respect.
Slowly, the kid got to their feet again. They stood perfectly straight for a moment, then took an unsteady step forward. Then another.
To call it "walking" would've been an act of mercy. It was more of an ambling. Maybe a shambling. Sans watched their journey towards the kitchen mentally listing of adverbs. Stumbling. Fumbling. Trailing. That one didn't have a mbl in it, points for originality.
Mostly, he was ecstatic. Nothing made for fun breakfast stories quite like sleepwalking. And well, he hadn't had one of those since Papyrus turned fifteen and stopped sleeping entirely.
When the kid finally reached the fridge, they all but shoved their head inside it. He heard them do... something in there. There were definitely teeth involved. He was about to ask them to bring some goods back to homebase.
The door of the fridge clicked closed.
He didn't.
Then, he almost made a joke about forgetting their headlights on, but thought otherwise. He was glad he'd left his own off.
Besides, it was the taillights that were supposed to glow red.
Eyesockets dark and still pretending to sleep, he kept watch as the kid turned around and retraced their shambling steps to the living room like a miniature zombie.
Halfway to the sofa, they stopped, making a small sound like a grumbling of annoyance. For a second their eyes grew even more unfocused.
"Sleep," they rasped out in a low, halting whisper, "I saved you a crick in the neck."
It took him a second to register that the kid wasn't talking to him. Mostly 'cause Frisk didn't speak. To him. Or ever.
By the time they reached their starting point again, his excitement had died off into quiet confusion and quickly curdled into caution. They stopped at the edge of the sofa and fixed him with a stare, looking at where they'd been sleeping before. Sans waited.
"I am not doing that," they rasped to themself again.
Then they climbed onto the other end of the sofa and curled around themself as small as possible. So tightly it looked like they wanted to tuck their tiny body into a ball.
When they stopped moving, they didn't move again.
Sans didn't lift a finger. His brain whirred in his skull, ready to chalk up the past few minutes to the sleepwalking and forget they ever happened. Staring up at the popcorn ceiling again, though, he couldn't shake off a wave of uneasiness; like he'd seen something he wasn't quite supposed to put together.
Any man would've spent the night awake.
He cast a glance at the kid, huddled in their corner. There was no heartbeat against his ribs now: something about the silence felt foreboding.
Sans closed his eyes.
Ten minutes later, of course, he was out like a light.
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The Farmer's Daughter 3
Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.
My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.
Characters: Walter Marshall
Summary: You notice a peculiar change in a family friend. (short!reader, sorry size kink is out)
Part of the Backwoods AU
As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.
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"We can't thank you enough," your mother clasps her hands together, "are you sure you don't want to stay for dinner?"
"I gotta get back," Walter huffs, hooking his thumbs in his jeans pockets, "but I'll be back in the morning."
"You will?" You mom bats her lashes in surprise as you glance over from peeling potatoes.
"Yep," he nods as he looks around, meeting your gaze briefly before turning his attention back to your mother, "gonna help the kid with planting."
"What? You can't-- Walter, we... we could never pay you back," she fans herself.
"I'm not asking for anything," he shrugs, "I kinda owe Pat. He's always been good to me."
"Oh my gosh, and he will appreciate it so much," she touches her cheeks as her voice cracks, "we really can't afford to turn away help but you will be stayin' for dinner. It's the least we can do."
"Yes, ma'am," he answers, "but you don't work yourself too hard. You gotta make sure to get Pat back on his feet before you worry about me."
"Oh," she sniffles and dabs her nose with her knuckle, "I'm so sorry, it's been such a difficult week."
"Ma," you come around and offer her a paper towel from the role, your own eyes stinging.
"Anyways, I...I'll go now," Walter says stringently.
"Thank you," you eke out as you hug your mother and she buries her face in your shoulder.
He nods at you as he passes, continuing into the hallway. You rock your mother and crane to watch him go, his broad shoulders stretching the cotton henley. He peeks into the front room as he stops to get his boots on, staring in at your dad, still blank in his recliner.
You tear your eyes away as your mom pulls back and wipes her cheeks, "uh, I'm a mess."
"It's alright, ma," you assure.
"I hope so," she murmurs as her throat tightens, "I really do."
🌾
As promised, Walter returns early the next morning. You're in the kitchen putting on a pot of coffee as you hear his truck. You leave the percolator to boil as you sweep down the hall, yawning into the crook of your elbow as you near the front door.
You open in and stand inside the screen, watching his headlights fade as he shuts off the engine. He steps out, grabbing a beaten metal lunch pail out behind him. It hangs from a thick leather strap; you wonder if he takes it down to the mill for his shifts.
"Morning," he comes up the steps, "Timothy up?"
"He's getting there," you say evasively, "you want some coffee?"
"Brought my own," he shows the thermos strapped to the top of the lunch pail.
"Hm, well, why don't you come in while you wait? Tim will be up soon, I'm sure."
"I don't mind," he says.
"I hate to leave you out here," you insist, "ma's upstairs with dad," you explain, "pretty quiet in here. Not used to that."
"Mm," he grumbles and bows his head. He grabs the screen door as he steps forward, catching it as you retreat ahead of him.
He enters and you scurry back to the kitchen as you hear the percolator thrumming, the lid shaking noisily. You take out a cup for yourself and one for Timothy. Walter enters and you turn to him as he looks around placidly.
"You're right. It's quiet," he agrees.
You give a shaky smile and go to the fridge. You take out the packet of bacon wrapped in brown paper and put it on the counter.
"I'm making breakfast. Ma and dad will be hungry. You like bacon or sausage?" You ask.
He considers you. You face him, awaiting his answer. He watches you, his expression hard to read.
"You don't have to worry about me," he states.
"I'm not worried, I'm just... offering," you placate.
His blue eyes make you nervous as they bore into you. Like everything else he does, he watches you with intent. What it is, you don't know.
He hums and nods, as if agreeing with something you said. You arch a brow curiously as he tilts his head and drops his eyes to the counter. He steps up to the island and puts his pail down.
"I'll do the eggs," he says.
"Oh, please, sir--"
"Walt," he intones.
"Walt, sorry," you squirm. There's something different about him. He's just as steely as ever but much more... there. You always felt like he didn't see you before.
"No sorries," he waves you off and goes to the fridge, opening the door and searching until he sees the eggs. "You seem like the sunny side up type."
"I do?" You wonder as he plucks out eggs one at a time.
"I think so," he says softly, a grit in his throat.
"Hm," you scrunch your lips up, "I don't mind it. I usually have french toast. That's how I liked my eggs."
"Not really eggs..."
"There's eggs on the bread," you argue, "and cinnamon, and a little icing sugar."
He scoffs and his cheek dimples. It's as close to a smile as you've ever seen from him. He places the eggs on the counter before he goes back for more.
"What about you? How do you like your eggs?" You ask before the tension can grow stifling.
"I take two hard-boiled eggs to work. A slice of rye, carrots, cashews, and dried berries. For lunch, I have ham and cheese. Most days, I miss lunch. Too busy."
He speaks matter-of-factly. He does seem like a man of routine. You never thought very much about what he did beyond his visits, but it makes sense.
"I usually forget lunch too," you grin, "but I make up for it at dinner."
He snorts again, setting down another handful of eggs. "I'll do some scrambled," he rolls one aside on its own, "and some french toast for you."
"Oh, M-Walt," you stammer, "that's--"
"I like to keep busy. Keeps me focused," he says sternly.
"Oh, uh, okay," you relent, "I'll... go get Timothy," you look at the clock, "he said he'd be up ten minutes ago."
"His own fault if he doesn't have time to eat," Walter tuts. "Grown man."
"Sure is," you agree as you breeze around the counter, "be right back."
You get to the door before he responds, "I'll be here, sweetheart."
You're in the hall before you register what he said. You falter and stop at the bottom step before you can ascend the stairs. You look back to the kitchen, staring at Walter's shoulders as he cracks eggs into a bowl.
Sweetheart... you don't think you've ever heard a morsel of affection from the man. He didn't even laugh at your father's jokes. Well, there is a lot going on. He's just being nice because your dad's sick.
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najia-cooks · 4 months
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[ID: One puffy circle of bread, and three which have been halved to show an internal pocket, on a striped blue and white kitchen towel. End ID]
خبز الكماج / Khubiz al-kmaj (Palestinian flatbread)
Khubiz al-kmaj is a thin flatbread with an internal pocket. It is commonly eaten with breakfast to scoop up dips such as hummus, used to eat stews, served alongside main dishes, and used to make sandwiches and to wrap falafel. "خُبْز," pronounced "khubz" or (in Levantine varieties of Arabic) "khubiz," comes from the root خ ب ز (kh-b-z), which also produces the word "خَبَزَ" "khabaza" (Levantine: "خَبَز" "khabaz"), "to bake."‎
This bread is eaten across the Levant and in Greece, with slight differences in terminology and style. It is variously called "خُبْز العَرَبِيّ" (khubz al-'arabiyy; Arabian bread), "خُبْز "البَلَدِيّ (khubz al-baladiyy; bread from my country), or (occasionally) "خُبْز البيتة" or "البيتا" (khubz al-bita), a borrowing from "pita." ("Pita" itself is perhaps from Greek "πίτα" "pita," or the modern Hebrew "פיתה.") The bread is referred to as "khubiz al-kmaj" in Palestine, from the Turkic "kömeç" / كُمَجْ‎ ("bread baked in ashes"). The collective term for the bread in general is كماج (kmāj); each individual piece of bread is referred to with the singulative "كماجة‎" (kmāja).
Today, kmaj is frequently made with white flour; some people add olive oil or milk powder to ensure a very soft dough. Leila el-Haddad writes that a more traditional method omits milk and uses whole white spring wheat, a whiteish wheat grain harvested in late spring and ground without removing the bran.
Since the late 20th century, many Palestinian households have used an electric cooker (طنجرة الكهرباء; ṭanjara al-kahrabā') to cook kmaj, placing one kmaja inside of the chamber and one on top and allowing both to bake at the same time. These aluminum and tin cookers, which were invented in Gaza and became popular there during the first intifada in the late 1980s, are designed to route electricity through a metal pipe or spiral wire on the underside of their lids, heating both the top and the inside of the cooker simultaneously.
The cookers' popularity can be attributed in part to a curfew that Israel imposed on Gazan refugee camps during the intifada, supposedly in an attempt to restrict the movements of resistance fighters. Refugees in the Jabalia camp in the north, for example, unable to afford home stoves, and without the necessary outdoor space to make familial clay ovens, would have to wait in line for hours every day to get bread from shared ovens, risking curfew violations; household electric cookers were far more convenient. The success of local industry and innovation in the form of Gazan-manufactured technology was also symbolically and strategically important during the first intifada, in which Palestinians employed strikes and boycotts (largely organized by women) of Israeli companies and goods as a strategy of resistance to occupation.
An electric cooker is still today considered a very important tool, as it spares families the need to purchase kmaj (the price of which was soaring compared to the cost of flour in the 2010s, and which was often of inferior quality compared to what could be made at home). They are frequently given as wedding or housewarming presents. Lack of access to electricity, though, imposes a limiting condition on the usage of these cookers, as Israel has for over a decade strangled the flow of power to Gaza: Abier Almasri wrote in 2017 that tasks such as cooking and laundry had to be rushed during the four or so hours a day when electricity was available. In this environment, electric cookers are useful in that they can prepare a lot of bread in a short period of time. Fathia Radwan said in 2022 that she would wake up early, after the nightly power outage, to prepare more than 100 loaves of bread at a time for her family of nine.
Today, the taxes that Israel levies on imports of raw materials into Gaza makes the cost of new electric cookers, which sometimes exceeds 120 shekels (37 USD), too expensive for some families to afford. The difficulty and expense of importing materials, and the impossibility of exporting goods to foreign markets with the advent of the 2007 siege, also limit the number of factories in Gaza that are able to manufacture these cooking pots. The aluminum industry, introduced to Gaza in the 1960s and once the basis of a manufacturing and economic renaissance in the region, deteriorated as a result of the siege, as factories were no longer able to export goods to the West Bank and were newly reliant on imports of raw materials from Egypt. Even parts to repair electric cookers are expensive, due to a tax levied on items judged by Israel to have a "dual," i.e. a possible civilian and military, use.
Still, repairman Iyad Faraj estimates that over half the homes in Gaza have and use an electric cooker, as maintaining, repairing, and operating one is cheaper than having a gas pipe installed (at 68 shekels, 20 USD) and purchasing gas. Electric pots thus stand in many homes as both a utilitarian item, and a symbol of Palestinian ingenuity and resistance to Israel's attempts at impoverishment and starvation.
Support Palestinian resistance by contributing to Palestine Action’s bail fund or to Palestine Legal’s defence fund, by attending court or making a sign to support the Elbit Eight, or by buying an e-sim for distribution in Gaza.
Ingredients:
500g (4 cups + 3 Tbsp) white whole wheat (spring) flour
1/2 Tbsp (5g) active dry yeast
1/2 Tbsp (6.25g) vegetarian granulated sugar
1/2 Tbsp (7.25g) kosher salt
About 2 1/4 cups (530mL) room-temperature water, divided
Olive oil
White whole wheat flour is flour that has a white color once ground, despite the fact that it includes both the bran and the germ of the wheatberry. It is milled from white spring wheat (so named because it is harvested in late spring).
You may instead mix white all-purpose flour and brown whole wheat flour in your desired proportion. Keep in mind that whole wheat flour will need more water and more kneading than white flour. If you’re using all white flour, you will need about 1 1/4 cup (300mL) water.
Instructions:
1. Mix flour, yeast, sugar, and salt in a large mixing bowl. Add water gradually until dry ingredients come together into a sticky dough.
2. Knead the dough on the countertop or in a wide, shallow bowl until smooth, about 5 minutes. (If using whole wheat or white whole wheat flour) continue incorporating water into the dough as you knead to maintain a tacky texture.
3. Fold the dough into a ball and return to the bowl, seam-side down. Pat the top of the dough with some olive oil, cover the bowl, and let rise for an hour.
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4. Pinch the dough into about 8 balls of equal size (about 110g each). Cover and let rest for 10 minutes.
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5. On a lightly floured surface, roll out each ball of dough into a circle about 1/4" (1/2cm) in thickness. Set dough circles on a surface prepared with parchment paper and cover closely with a kitchen towel or plastic wrap. Let rest and ferment for at least 1 and up to 10 hours.
An overnight rest is traditional in Palestine and will create a more complex flavor in the bread (see note below).
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6. Remove each circle of dough from its resting place with a metal spatula and roll it out to a 1/4” thickness again. Preheat a baking stone or sheet in the top third of an oven at 500 °F (260 °C), and then cook breads in the oven for three minutes, until large bubbles have begun to form.
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7. Flip bread over and cook for another 3 minutes on the other side, until golden brown and puffed up completely.
8. Wrap breads in a kitchen towel or tea towel and allow to steam for a few minutes while the others cook.
Notes
The climate where I live is dry enough that I have discovered a risk of my breads becoming crackers if I leave them out overnight. The dried-out flatbread does puff up in the oven, but the resulting product is not as nice and fluffy as it should be.
Through experimentation, I have found the best method of both preventing drying out and guaranteeing that the flatbreads will puff up during cooking the next day is:
1. Roll out the dough and place dough circles on a lightly oiled surface. Cover them closely with lightly oiled plastic wrap.
2. The next day, fold dough circles back into balls. Place seam-side down and roll out again on a lightly floured surface.
3. Bake as described above.
If you live in a humid environment, the first instructions given in the recipe above should work for you.
421 notes · View notes
harrygoeswest · 1 year
Text
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
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ms-demeanor · 2 years
Text
So a bathroom at my dad's house had some superficial damage to the walls and door, and I can't really afford to fix it right now but I don't want to look at the holes and such. So I looked up "DIY Spackle" and patched the smaller holes with what is, essentially, play-doh. That took care of some of the problem, but then I looked at how much doors cost and I was like 'fuck that' and looked up how much wallpaper costs, because I figure we'll replace it eventually but in the mean time I can at least literally paper over the problem.
So I was looking through various peel-and-stick wallpaper options and found a few patterns I liked but wallpaper is actually kind of expensive too. I settled on a few fairly affordable options, then asked Large Bastard to help me pick out a pattern. I was pleasantly surprised when he immediately decided he liked the cheapest pattern, so I ordered it.
Well, Large Bastard had to go out of town for a week so I was at the house by myself and I started putting up the wallpaper. Putting up peel-and-stick wallpaper appears to kind of be a two-person job, so I didn't do a great job of it, especially because the walls I was putting it on were kind of wonky shapes, so the pattern isn't perfectly matched and in some places I had to cut out 'stickers' of wallpaper to cover places where there was a bad overlap. It took a few hours, but I basically got the job done, and then I realized I had a bunch of leftover wallpaper and a wall that still had some big, obviously-crudely-spackled holes, but they were clustered together so I went to the thrift store and found a big frame with a mat and framed a chunk of the wallpaper and hung it up to cover the holes, because I figured that would be kind of a funny way to take care of that problem. Then I went a little overboard, and wrapped some of the wallpaper around the trash can because fuck it, why not, it was just a plain black trash can. I also swapped out the bath mats for one I had originally gotten for the master bath because it matched this bathroom better (you have no idea how much shit I own that is blue and teal; I love teal so much and I own way too much teal and if I'm attempting to be a toned-down, normal-ish person I'll go with a more sedate blue, so we have a lot of blue blankets and sheets and towels and kitchen towels and pillows, etc., but I haven't done anything to the master bath so it's still painted like my dad had it).
So Large Bastard gets home last night and I'm like "hey I finished the bathroom, you should check it out." And he walks into the bathroom and he starts fucking *cackling* and then he sees the framed wallpaper and he starts laughing harder and then he sees the trash can and the bath mat and keeps going and I'm like???????????
And he's like "this is fucking perfect, it looks like a Wolfenstein level, I love it, I had no idea it would look this funny."
Because the wallpaper pattern that I was a bit hesitant to add to my list of options, but was cheap and was in a color that I like, was blue bricks.
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Which he picked specifically because "wouldn't it be funny if our bathroom referenced a video game?"
And the answer is "yes" but also goddamnit.
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elixirfromthestars · 4 months
Text
Here For You
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Pairing: Steve Rogers x Avenger!Reader
Summary:  After being injured on a mission, you try your best to hide it from the team to continue fighting alongside them. However, one very perceptive super soldier makes hiding your injury an impossibility.
Word Count: 3.9k
Warning(s):  mentions + description of injuries / a bit of hurt—comfort / does not follow the canon timeline in the mcu / mentions of near-death encounters (from civilians) 
requested by @marigoldreamer
a/n: hello everyone! i started off on here as solely a Bucky writer, but it seems like i cannot get enough of Steve when I write about him ✨ this originally was much shorter and then I got carried away lol (which is one of the reasons why it took so long to get out, sorry 🥲) thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed it! ❤️❤️ feedback is much appreciated! ❤️❤️
birthday bingo masterlist 💙 // main masterlist 💙
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“Oh, that does not look good,” you muttered under your breath, grimacing at the sight of your swollen skin. You were standing in front of your bedroom mirror, your shirt lifted, exposing the bruise coloring the area around your ribcage. You knew you had injured yourself on yesterday's mission, but you avoided visiting the infirmary, not wanting Friday to alert the team of the extent of your injuries. 
You knew it was bad—the persistent discomfort you felt with every breath you took told you so. However, the team was already spread scarce with multiple threats around the world, so they needed everyone available. 
The team couldn’t afford you not being available right now.
So although your body was telling you desperately it needed attention, you decided to push through the pain and help out as best as you could. You had a meeting with your team in about half an hour, so you had until then to figure out how to lessen the after-effects of your injury—and how to hide it for the time being. 
You went into your closet and scanned the rows of clothing searching for the perfect item. You ended up choosing an evergreen knitted sweater. It was big enough to hide something underneath it without raising suspicion—which is exactly what you needed right now. 
Lifting the sweater over your shoulders and through your arms caused an excruciating raw ache to reverberate within your chest with every movement. You mitigated your motion to lessen the toll this simple task was taking on your body. 
You didn’t want to think of how your condition could worsen within the field. 
You pushed those thoughts into the back of your mind and with your sweater on, you made your way over to the kitchen in the Avenger’s compound. Thankfully, no one was there to question why you were taking out a small bag of frozen peas from the freezer, wrapping it in a hand towel, and placing it under your sweater. 
You flinched at the sudden change of temperature, but quickly eased into it as it numbed your injury. This would have to do until you could sneak into the infirmary later and get your hands on painkillers. Then you could properly rest from the nagging discomfort in your lower chest. 
You interlocked your hands and lightly hugged them to the injured area to keep the frozen peas in place. Rarely did anyone ever show up to the team meetings early, so your next step was to get in there before everyone else and then ultimately leave after everyone else with no one noticing a thing.
A simple task of course. 
You made your way down the hallways of the compound slower than usual. You avoided making brisk or swift movements as it caused your chest to constrict more than it was capable of, causing a shooting jolt to go through you. Every time it did that you had to suppress a string of coughs that only added to your pain. 
At this point, your mind ruminated on the thought of you potentially not being able to make it through the meeting. It was a doubt that was now weighing heavy on your shoulders.
When you finally made it to the conference room, the beeping of a screen caught your attention. Taking a quick peek inside, you notice Steve is already there. He was tapping away at the large presentation screen, getting mission reports together for the meeting. 
Well, this just got a bit complicated.
Steve is a super soldier—a highly perceptive super soldier. He was going to notice your presence sooner or later, so you needed to get into the farthest seat from him before he noticed. This would be the seat at the other end of the table from where Steve was standing. Thankfully, this seat was a quick dash away. 
A quick painful dash away. 
Steve opened up a file on the screen and a video of a building falling to ruins began playing. The audio of the destruction echoed in the room and you took this chance to scurry over to the seat. You plopped yourself down just as the video finished, almost rolling away with the wheels of the black office chair. Your hands scurried to keep the frozen peas hidden beneath your shirt. 
Due to your injury, your movements across the room weren’t gracious. You had fumbled as you plopped down onto the seat causing your chest to contract and tighten more than it should have. This ignited a burning sensation to burst within your chest. You inhaled sharply before biting the inside of your lip as hard as you could to stop yourself from making any further noise. 
Steve’s head shot back to look at you in confusion.
“ Y/n? Everything okay?” Steve’s brows were furrowed, as he slowly turned his body around to face you. You cleared your throat before answering, “ Yeah, everything’s fine. I was just shocked at the destruction of that building. What happened to it?” You changed the subject of the conversation to something that wasn’t you. 
Steve’s eyes stared into yours for a few seconds before answering,“ I’m not sure yet. We received this video from the CIA and we’re being sent there to investigate. They think it was an attack by one of the terrorist organizations that worked closely with Hydra.” He finished explaining, his brows relaxing from their furrowed state. 
Steve handed you one of the mission reports before placing the rest in the middle. You opened the file and pretended to look through it. In reality, you were adjusting with one hand—as quietly as you could—the frozen peas beneath your shirt in a better position since the bag had slipped away from the injured spot when you sat down. It was now chilling your stomach, leaving your injured spot unattended to. 
“ Y/n, are you sure everything’s okay?” Steve was looking at you with a puzzled, yet concerned gaze. He was standing only a chair or two away—a little too close for comfort.
You locked eyes and paused for a moment to think of what to say. Steve was your team’s captain and your close friend. You knew, without a shadow of a doubt, you could trust him. However, trust in this case meant him taking you out of the field at a time when the team needed you most.
As you were contemplating on what to tell him, Sam, Bucky, and Natasha walked into the room bickering over what to order for lunch. Their entrance saving you from having to answer Steve. He shot you a quick look letting you know this conversation wasn’t over. 
Now you would also have to find a way to evade any future conversation about your well-being.
“ So, Bucky and I are craving some Japanese food right now, but Nat wants Greek food. What’ll it be guys?” Sam explained their current predicament as they all approached the table. The three of them stared back at you two in anticipation. 
“ Greek sounds nice,” Steve replied, sauntering over to the front end of the table. Natasha smiled in amusement as the voting was now at a tie. She sat closest to Steve while Sam and Bucky sat across from each other in the chairs directly to your left and right. Their proximity consequently causing your nerves to spike up. 
“ It’s up to you to break the tie. Don’t let me down, Y/n.” Sam pleaded in a lighthearted manner. If you were completely honest, appeasing your appetite was the least of your worries. However, your body was begging for some warmth as the frozen bag continued its icy attack on your skin. You thought maybe eating something right now wasn’t such a bad idea. 
“ Sorry, Nat. Sorry, Steve. Some miso soup sounds really good right now,” you smiled at Sam who basked in this small victory. Bucky was beaming beside you as well. Natasha playfully scoffed and shrugged at the loss while Steve put his hands up in a playful surrender. 
“ I knew we could count on you,” Sam turned to you and gave you a friendly pat on your shoulder. This caused a stinging prick to shoot through the left side of your chest. You winced, a small yelp escaping your lips.  
Everyone froze and stared at you worriedly. “ Are you okay? I didn’t pat you that hard did I?” Sam asked guilty, taken aback by your reaction. You shook your head profusely, “ No, Sam, it’s okay—I’m okay. It’s just I got a sunburn on one of our last missions and it still hasn’t healed fully.” You lied through your teeth, giving everyone in the room a reassuring smile. 
Everyone looked relieved—except for Steve whose suspicion you assumed was getting stronger by the second. 
“ Sorry about that, I didn’t know. My Titi always swore that soaking in a cool bath of baking soda and oats would soothe any degree of sunburn. You should try it,” Sam suggested. His thoughtfulness warmed your heart, “ You’re fine, Sam—really. I’ll have to try that out and let you know how it works out.” You send him another reassuring smile. You mentally cursed yourself for your outburst. Another slip-up like that and anyone on the team was sure to find out about your injury.
In no time, Sam was ordering everyone food and Steve began debriefing you all on the next mission that you all had to leave for in a couple of hours. You weren’t paying attention as the stinging in your chest worsened. The frozen peas beneath your shirt had melted and were adding to your discomfort instead of aiding it. By the time the meeting ended, and Sam told everyone to meet up in the kitchen for lunch, lifting yourself off of your chair felt like an impossible task. 
Everyone had gone off to eat except for Steve and you. Throughout the whole meeting, you felt his eyes watching you. You avoided looking in his direction and focused solely on the files and the screen behind him the entire time. You felt if you had looked into his pretty blues at any point during the meeting, your resolve would have crumbled. 
“ This time I’m not going to ask. I know you’re not okay and I know it has to do with yesterday. We need to talk about what happened last night,” Steve’s voice was gentle, yet serious as he approached you. The exhaustion of suppressing your pain was getting to you and his presence brought you much-needed comfort. Your determination to act like nothing was wrong was slipping away from you with every passing second.
“ What—do you mean?” your voice broke, swallowing hard to find the courage within you to admit you needed assistance. Steve took the seat next to you, “ Last night when we were rescuing civilians from the burning rubble, you went into the collapsing building against orders,” he reminded you. 
“ And saved the three people who were trapped inside,” you added. He sighed, his lips forming a tight line, “ Against orders. The instructions were that I was supposed to be the one to get the trapped civilians inside—not you,” his tone was heavy with frustration. 
You shook your head, “ You weren’t going to make it in time. I was the closest one. As soon as you arrived the building collapsed completely. If I hadn’t gone in they would have died. I might not be a super soldier, but I can do my job pretty damn well, Steve. ” You were getting defensive, feeling as though your abilities as an Avenger were being questioned. 
While your actions may have been defiant, they resulted in three lives saved. That had to count for something.
“ I’m not doubting your stance as an Avenger. You are amazing at what you do and we need you here. But that gets put into jeopardy when you jump into dangerous situations without thinking and get yourself hurt,” he further explained, your eyebrows shooting up at his words. “ All of the situations we jump into are dangerous,” you pointed out.  
His eyes narrowed, his exasperation at your stubbornness growing, “ We don’t bargain our lives out in the field, Y/n.” His tone was disapproving, making you feel like a scolded child. Irritation crawled its way up your spine. This coming from Steve of all people made it even worse.
” Okay, Mr.I-jumped-on-top-of-a-grenade-to-save-everyone,” you shot back at him. Steve would constantly make self-sacrificing calls on the field to save other people. Why was it okay for him to do it, but not you? 
“ That was different,” was all he managed to come back at you with. 
“ In what way?” you asked, curious to know the real answer. 
“ Well for starters, it was a world war. The mentality of everyone at that time was different. In the beginning, I was outcasted. No one worked as a team with me. The only person alive who cared for me was miles away on the battlefield. It was everyone for themselves,” he paused reminiscing the past with a solemn look before continuing, “ We’re a team here, Y/n. There are people here that care about you. We look out for each other and keep each other safe. That’s how it's supposed to be,” he stated with sincerity. 
You took a moment to gather your thoughts and let the weight of his words sink in. Steve had opened up about his past to you before, but the way he spoke of it now gave you a deeper perspective on things. 
“ I’ll stop if you do,” you proposed, tired of the arguing and understanding where Steve was coming from. A small smile fell on his lips,“ Okay, it’s a deal. Come on, let’s get you to the infirmary so Friday can scan the extent of your injuries.” He stood up bending down slightly offering his shoulder and arm as support. 
You reached out and let him take the brunt of the effort of getting you out of the seat. The more you leaned on his support, the less it took a toll on your own body. You kept one arm on his shoulder and the other on the now-melted bag of peas beneath your sweater as you lifted yourself off of the seat. The slight twist of your torso intensified the pain within your chest for a second before mellowing out to its usual tempo. 
Steve couldn’t hide the emotions behind his intense stare. His voice and touch were gentle, yet strong in the way they guided you out of the room. He was doing his best to keep you calm but by the look on his face, you could tell your injury had to be more serious than you previously thought.
The walk to the infirmary was easier with Steve by your side. When you arrived Steve helped you prop yourself onto one of the infirmary beds, calling out for Friday’s assistance. He then went over to one of the storage cabinets and grabbed a few white pillows to place behind you. He adjusted them so you could sit in a position that was easy on your injury. 
“ How’s that? Does that feel alright?” Steve asked as a blue robotic arm scanned your body. You nodded in appreciation,“ It’s perfect, Steve, thank you.” He sent you a small smile, his eyes still reflecting a worrisome look. You took out the melted bag of peas from your sweater and unraveled it from the hand towel. Steve let out a small chuckle of disbelief at the sight of it. 
“ What? I’ll have you know this little bag was a lifesaver,” you informed him. Steve’s eyes twinkled with amusement, his smile getting wider, “ Oh, I bet it was. You’ll have to explain to Nat why her Olivye salad will no longer have peas in it though.” 
Your eyes went wide, “ Oh no.” 
He held in a laugh, “ Oh yeah.” 
Friday’s Irish robotic voice suddenly spoke up interrupting the two of you,“ Body scan complete. Moderately bruised ribs detected. Rest is recommended for the next three to six weeks or until the injury is completely healed. Medication is on its way.” She informed you of your diagnosis causing you to let out a sigh of relief you didn’t know you were holding. For a moment there you thought you might have fractured your ribs or maybe even bruised your lungs. Those injuries were more severe and so was their treatment. However, having to rest for the next three to six weeks wasn’t ideal either. 
“ Steve, I’m so sorry. I didn’t listen and now I’m out of the field for weeks and I know the team was counting on me—” Steve interrupted your rambling by placing his hand on yours, “ There’s nothing to be sorry about. Our job is dangerous and this kind of stuff happens all the time. If anything, I should be the one that’s sorry.” You frowned not only confused at his words but also at how comforting the sensation of his hand on yours was. 
“ Sorry about what?” you tilted your head, unclear of what he meant. 
“ I'm sorry I wasn’t able to protect you,” he clarified, his voice full of regret.
Your mouth opened to form words, but nothing came out. Why would Steve be sorry about that? Did he shoulder the responsibility for everyone’s well-being because he’s the captain? Did he feel this way about everyone on the team? Your thoughts jumbled together, causing you to be unsure of what to think. 
“ Steve, please don’t put this on yourself. I made a call against your orders and while I did save a few lives, I took a hard fall, injuring myself in the process. There’s no need to worry or care beyond that. I’ll be fine,” you couldn’t take his crestfallen expression and did your best to dismiss your current situation. Steve was not happy about that.
“ Don’t say that. We all care about you—I care about you. I worry about you and I hate seeing you like this. I feel responsible for not protecting someone who means a lot to me from getting hurt,” there was a vulnerability in his voice that caused your heart rate to elevate and your features to soften. A new sensation was inching its way into your heart, and his words yielded you to see him in a different light. 
“ Steve I…” you trailed off not knowing what to say. Steve gave you a shy smile,“ You don’t have to say anything,” he removed his hand from yours and grabbed the bag of peas from beside you, “ I’ll go take this back to the kitchen and get you that miso soup you really wanted.” He left the room, giving you a chance to process what was going on. 
There was always something about Steve that was different in the way you interacted, but until a few minutes ago you had never thought of the possibility of Steve seeing you as anything more than part of the team. You were always partnered up on missions and got to know each other on a deeper level than you had with any other Avenger. Apart from a few playful exchanges here and there you had always assumed Steve only saw you as a friend. 
Not to mention he had a history with a CIA agent named Sharon, and you genuinely believed they would end up together. The thought of Steve having feelings for you was never on the table. 
Except now it was and that caused your feelings toward him to emerge from a place you didn’t know they had been hidden.  
Two red robotic arms appeared on your left, breaking you from your thoughts. One arm was holding a small cylindrical tin with a couple of pills and the other held a cup of water. You took it eagerly and consumed the medication hoping the pain would subside enough to get some sleep. You barely got any last night and the sleep deprivation was starting to get to you. 
Steve came back into the room, moments later, as the medication began to take effect—along with its side effects. 
“ Hey there…” you greeted Steve in a sluggish voice. The medication had increased your drowsiness, making it harder to stay awake. He approached your bedside, a bowl of miso soup in his hands, while Friday updated him on your current state. 
He placed the bowl on the nightstand next to the bed,“ Hey there, sleepyhead. Guess the miso soup is going to have to wait. Get some rest, the food will be here when you wake up.” You tried nodding as your eyes fought to stay open. Your mind was clouding, but what was clear to you was that you didn’t want Steve to walk away again without telling him how you felt.
“ No, don’t go, please,” you pleaded, your hand reaching out to him. He looked at you fondly, finding your actions endearing. “ I have to go soon, Y/n. I have to prepare for the mission before we leave in under an hour,” he explained to you. You yawned, your fatigued state making it harder to understand what he was saying. 
“ You can’t because I have to tell you…” your eyes were starting to close.
“Tell me what?” Steve asked you, entertaining this conversation a little longer. He couldn’t hide the affectionate grin you provoked on him.  
“ I have to tell you…” this time your voice was only but a whisper. If Steve hadn’t been a super soldier with heightened hearing he might’ve missed it. 
“ Get some sleep. We can talk later, okay?” He assured you, a softness in his tone you hadn’t heard him use with anyone ever. As much as he was enjoying this, he was adamant about you getting your rest.  
You lazily shook your head,“ No…you have to know how much you mean to me too…” you managed to coherently mumble fighting off the heaviness of your eyelids. Steve was pleasantly surprised by your response, his pulse quickening as yours had done in your previous conversation. 
This time he needed a moment to figure out what he was going to say. To know that maybe even a sliver of the feelings he felt for you were returned in any way was more than he had hoped for. He wasn’t sure how you felt about him, and while Bucky and Sam had profusely encouraged him to ask you out on a date, there was always something stopping him. The fear of ruining the friendship you two have was enough to hesitate from ever confessing anything to you. 
However, if what you said was true, then maybe he should be completely honest with you. 
He gathered his thoughts, taking a deep breath ready to speak them to you. That was until he realized you had fallen asleep. The time he took thinking was all you needed to drift off into a peaceful slumber. 
He laughed at himself, although albeit a bit relieved he would be able to have a heart-to-heart later with a more conscious you. Maybe it wasn’t the best idea to pour his feelings out to someone who might think it was all a dream when they woke up. 
“ Sweet dreams, Y/n,” he whispered into the air, planting a small kiss on your forehead. He then exited the room and that afternoon while on the mission he was more enthusiastic than usual. This caused the rest of the team to speculate on the reason why. 
Interestingly enough all the reasons why involved you.   
Unbeknownst to him, your dream that same afternoon had revolved around a handsome blonde and blue-eyed super soldier. 
It was a very sweet dream indeed.  
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dearestaussiechannie · 4 months
Text
☆ They Were Roommates ☆ — Han Jisung
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Word count: 2.1k
Paring: Jisung x afab!reader
Genre: fluff
Warnings: afab!reader, friends to lovers, , Roommate!Jisung, some cursing(Damn, hell), kissing, if I left anything out tell me, kind of proof-read
Authors Notes: Not my best work but I liked the concept and kind of like how it turned out.. if you enjoy, thank you :)
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You and Jisung had known each other for quite some time as you guys had met through mutual friends and recently the two of you had starting living together due to you not wanting to renew your lease at your old apartment complex and him wanting a new roommate so that he could afford the place he’d recently moved into.
The first few months had gone surprisingly well, never being in the other's way, keeping the place clean and sometimes you guys would have a movie night together where you would either cook dinner or you would order take out. As these events kept happening, you had developed the smallest crush on Jisung… okay maybe it wasn’t small, but were you ever gonna tell him that? No.
Today was just another normal day of you both being home, vibing in your own space when your stomach suddenly started to growl. Remembering that you had some leftovers from lunch earlier, you make your way to the kitchen while continuing the video on your phone, unaware of what was heading your way. 
Your phone is suddenly knocked out of your hand, watching it fall to the floor as you click your tongue not noticing the slight splash of water on your face. “Damn it, Jisung. Watch where you’re going.” You say, crouching down to pick up your phone as you look up at him, eyes immediately widening.
Standing in front of you was Jisung, wearing nothing but a towel hung low on his hips. You quickly cover your eyes and turn your back towards him as you hear him start to speak. “Oh, hey Y/n I didn't know you were home.” He says, voice echoing in the small space of the hallway.
“Um- Why the hell are you naked in the hallway?!” You ask him, debating if you should just run back to your room and never come back out for the rest of the day. “Oh, I’m not naked but if that's what you want, I could be.” He replies to you as he fights down a laugh. Hearing this makes your entire body burn, your face and neck turning bright red.
He leans closer to you, his breath tickling the hairs on your neck making you shiver as he whispers. “I was actually getting ready to go get dinner. Would you care to join me, my favorite tomato?” He asks you, chuckling softly to your reaction of him being so close to you in this state. He had to admit, watching you get all worked up like this does something to him but what exactly that is, he couldn’t tell.
“Ah, yeah I’d like to go with you since the only reason I came out of my room was for something to eat anyway.” You reply as you start to walk to your room before he softly grabs your arm, instinctively looking at him before your eyes shut tightly when you see his bare chest again. “What is it, Ji?” You ask, head turned up to the ceiling, if only he knew what he was doing to you right now.
“What’re you gonna wear?” He asks you, looking at your expression with a heavy gaze, does he suddenly wanna match? “I’m not sure. You’ll find out when I’m done getting ready. Now get dressed, I don't wanna stand here anymore!” You say before running to your room. Once inside, slamming the door shut you lean against it, trying to catch your breath and get your heart to stop racing.
After about 45 minutes, you both emerge from your rooms and into the living room. Jisung is wearing a plain white shirt paired with a pair of black jeans with ripped up knees, combat boots and a black jacket. It looks like he blow-dried his hair, parted in the middle but quite fluffy. You look him up and down, taking notice of the fact that you managed to match so well by accident. 
Jisung looks up from where he’s leaning against the couch and scrolling through his phone. He does the same thing you did, noticing that you’ve done your hair, put on a white knee length dress paired with your black combat boots as well, white socks barely peeking over your boots. How he wishes he could take a picture to remember how pretty you look right now.
 You shift on your feet since he’s been staring at you for quite some time now, making you feel a bit worried about how you look and as he could read your mind he quickly stands up and moves closer to you. “You look amazing, get those thoughts outta your head right now.” He says as he walks over to you, smiling as he grabs your hand softly, pulling you towards the door.
“Wait, will I need a jacket?” You ask as you look back at the shared apartment seeing if you have one laying anywhere close. “Nah, but if you get cold you can always wear mine if you want. After you.” He replies, opening the door for you with a bright smile.
Time passes quickly as the two of you hurry to the place he’d picked to eat. Once you make it, you notice that you’ve been to this side of town before but never noticed this place. You both take a deep breath through your noses, exhaling at the same time making you look at each other and laugh. You walk inside, staying closer to him without realizing it until he puts his arm around your shoulder.
You're seated quite quickly, taking mental notes of all the plants hanging from the roof and the smell, the mood lighting and the rustic looking walls. While you’re doing this, Jisung is admiring you silently. The way you have your hair pulled over your shoulders, how your skin looks so soft, the way he can smell your perfume slightly, how the light bounces through your eyes and off of your lip gloss. How’d he never notice how pretty you were? Your lips started moving but he wasn’t listening.
“Jisung? Are you listening?” You say, making him blink a few times before he slightly laughs. “Uhhh.. no. What'd you say?” He replies, rubbing the back of his neck. “I said when did you find this place? I’ve never noticed it before.” You say, looking over his expression. Was he nervous?
“Well I was walking on this side of town with Chris and he pointed it out, saying he wanted to try it but he didn’t have anyone to go with and if I tried it before him, let him know if it was good.” He said, looking over the menu for a moment. So the two of you came here to try a restaurant just so he can  let your shared friend know if it’s good? Why didn’t he just bring him? Your mind begins to race but it’s quickly cut off again when he taps your hand with his menu. How did he always know when you're lost in negative thoughts?
“Get outta that head of yours, be here with me. Not in there.” Jisung whispers, hand grazing over yours when the waiter finally comes to get your orders. You bump his boots with yours as you look down at the table, tracing the grain of the wood with your fingers.
Dinner goes smoothly while the two of you talk, sharing laughs and stories about your shared friends. Your laugh makes it hard for him not to do the same, adoring the way your eyes practically close when you're laughing a bit hard. 
Once the two of you are done with dinner, you pay your equal parts of your bill before slowly standing up and walking outside when he suddenly stops you in front of the restaurant, making you look at him confused. “Ji? What’re you doing?” You ask him, laughing slightly as he steps back, reaching into his pocket trying to find his phone. “I just wanna take your picture. Is that a crime? You look nice and what better way to remember today than a picture?” He says, getting his phone and opening the camera. 
“Fine but you owe me dessert after this.” Your words come out as a laugh, blushing slightly before you pose for him to take the picture. Jisung takes a couple in each pose, smiling at his phone at the way you look so pretty. He puts his away, reaching his hand out to you with a heart shaped smile. “Let’s go get you something sweet as you, yeah?” He says, grabbing your hand and pulling you in the direction of a sweet shop up the way.
Fast forward to after dessert and the two of you are wandering the city together, just keeping conversation and telling jokes, talking about going to the places that you pass on a later date when they’re open since it’s already gotten so late. Suddenly there’s a loud noise behind the two of you, making you jump as you move closer to him. He instantly wrapped his arm around your shoulders as he looked back, noticing that someone had dropped whatever they were carrying. 
The two of you walk like this for a moment before you realize his arm is still wrapped around you quite tightly. “Ji.. you can let go now if you want, you don’t have to keep holding onto me.” You say as you start to pull away from him only for him to hold onto you tighter. “No no, when I wrapped my arm around you I noticed that your skin felt cold so you’re gonna either stay right here or you’re gonna put my jacket on.” He replied, staying close to you. 
“I think.. um.. I’ll stay like this since I don’t want you to get cold either..” You answer, moving closer to him while putting your arm around him under his jacket. 
The walk back to your shared apartment doesn’t take long, quickly walking back in the door and looking at him. “Movie?” He asks you, stretching slightly as he watches your reaction to his question, smiling as your face lights up. How could you say no to a movie, what better way is there to wind down and relax. 
While watching the movie, the two of you were sitting quite close to each other on your small living room couch when Jisung felt the faintest pressure against his shoulder. He looks over and finds your head resting there, eyes closed and lips slightly parted. Have you always been this pretty? How did he never notice how you looked when the two of you were always together. He leaned down and gently pressed his lips to your forehead, letting out a sigh before mumbling. “How didn’t I notice your beauty until now?” He whispered before sitting up straight again, noticing your cheeks were bright red. Had you heard him?
Your eyes fluttered open when you felt JIsung leaning closer to you, feeling his lips on your head. Why was he kissing your forehead? When did you fall asleep? While your mind was racing, it's quickly cut off when he spoke. His words made your cheeks turn a bright red, eyes shutting tightly when he leaned away again. After a few minutes, your heart had stopped beating so harshly before you quickly looked up at him, kissed his cheek and put your head back down against his shoulder. “You know… you’re very handsome, Sung..” You say, fiddling with your fingers. You look up, noticing his smile, eyes going wide as his lips brushed against yours.
“You think so? Think you could look at me forever?” He whispered, eyes looking deeply into yours. You nodded your head very quickly, nose brushing his as you did until you felt his hand on your cheek, pulling you just a bit closer as he pressed his lips against yours. Your eyes closed slowly, your lips moving in motion with his. This went on for quite some time before you both pulled away, breathing heavily with his hand still against your cheek.
“Be with me.. Be mine..” Jisung whispers as he looks at you, eyes looking all over your face for any kind of discomfort. Instead, he’s met by your bright smile as you pull him in for another kiss and a tight hug. 
“Umm duh! How could I say no?” You reply, leaving you both full of smiles.
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