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#and that nightmare is now your life to do with as you please... define as you will... structure as you want...

divinehedons · 11 months

Text

you're losing me.

navigation: how reader broke her ankle

pairing: joel miller x fem!reader

word count: ~4.2k words

summary: at one point, you think you've found something with joel. a moment of peace, a fragment of joy. now, you're not so sure.

warnings: this is an explicit fic, minors DO NOT INTERACT! hurt/comfort fic, LOTS of angst i'msosorry, implied age gap (somewhat mentioned here and there), a play on the miscommunication trope with an uncommunicative joel, angsty make up sex, explicit p-in-v sex, oral sex (f receiving), anal sex, aftercare, occurs somewhere after the events of season 1.

a/n: i'm incredibly thankful for all the love this fledgeling little hedonist got from such a community. thank you so so much for reading!

likes, comments, and reblogs much appreciated! please let me know if you have any requests, just shoot an ask and i'm certain to see it!

Life, as you imagined it in the days that came after, was much simpler before you and Joel arrived in Jackson. It was a description you settled on, long after you’ve combed through your mind’s vocabulary, through the haze and vertigo of heartbreak. Easier was simply a lie. Nothing was nice nor easy in those autocracies from the QZs. When you look back to those days, painted only in broad strokes of inhumane bloodshed and secret dealings in the dark, he remains, nevertheless, at the center of the shell of empires you had once deemed eternal. Your gruff, quiet Joel, with bloodstained fists and sharp eyes, always strong to rage battle with the days and emerge victorious.

Perhaps life was easier pre-Jackson because you and Joel never truly defined what you had back then. You lived next door to him. You suggested he hid his contraband with you because, God, why would they ever search there? You still try and figure out when the fucking started. When you stopped sleeping in your bed and started waking up in his. Whenever it was, shortly thereafter, you followed him in his dealings, tried to look for some damn car battery that seemed to excite him so much.

You remember waking up at dawn one morning, drenched in sweat as the shadows receded in your mind, his hand on your shoulder as his eyes searched yours. You don’t remember the nightmare, you remember the panic in his eyes. “You good, darlin’?” You’d nod and watch him open a window. It was autumn, you remembered, and the breeze cooled your burning skin.

“Who’s the guy I’m meeting today?” you tried to ask, sitting up in his bed and watching the way his eyes seemed to look at anywhere but you. You tried to ignore the subtle way his brows furrowed, the grinding of his jaw. “Talk me over the plan again.” When he returned to you, his hands pull you down by your legs, spreading you wide open as his mouth kisses the questions out of your mouth.

“We’re not talkin’ ‘bout business when I can still have you for a few hours, sweetheart.”

So he’d take you, with your neck stinging from razor burn, legs thrown over his shoulders, his shirt which you wore pushed up while he bites your nipples as his hard cock dives into you in one languid thrust, moans reverberating from the both of you at the feeling.

When Joel fucks, he does so with the candour of a greedy child in a candy shoppe. He takes whatever he can get. You still remember the aftermath of when he first fucked you, one that broke a few years of celibacy, according to the man himself. You remembered the teeth marks, the broken skin, burst capillaries, and fingerprints imprinted wherever he felt the need to. He had been bashful, then, muttering about how he didn’t mean to be so rough. You remembered laughing and pressing his fingers to your aching cunt, smiling at him. You were still wet. He hardens there and then.

Even when you were neck deep in each other’s affections, he never quite lost that eagerness. You remembered that morning because you remember gushing against his cock. You remembered it because it was the morning you realised it was never like this with anyone else. Actually, you realised as his hips stutter and the familiar warmth of his spend fills you, since Joel, there had never been anyone else.

Perhaps everything was simpler then, when you look back at it. You’d fuck, wash up, go do your jobs for some rations. Sometimes he’d nod at you from across the street, and you wouldn’t see him again until he knocks on your door at night, taking you by the hand and pulling you into the night. You always stood in his corner, kicking and punching with so much vigor that he’d chuckle and mutter something about the “youth, nowadays”. He’d wash the blood from your hands, wrap you up in bandages, and tell you to not be so reckless next time. You never really listened.

Sometimes, when an exchange ends early, he’ll take you to some empty building, tell you about some renovation of one decade or another. You’d laugh and climb over him, chasing to get a taste of his cock in your mouth. You never addressed the elephant in the room, never asked what you meant to him.

It was the unspoken rule, however, that there was never going to be anything that came between the two of you. By hell or high water. He walked you home every night you did your business, even if he still had things to do. He never forgot to hand you a share of meat whenever it came his way, sometimes finding you wherever you were stationed that day just to slip it in your hands without speaking.

It was the same rule that prevailed when he woke you one night, telling you he’s leaving. You packed a bag, shook hands with the kid he was with, and followed.

No questions asked. Through hell and high water.

–

Somewhere between those days and arriving in Jackson, he does start talking more. You learn about Sarah, the worries he tries not to tell anyone, the pain in his bones.

In easy silences while the kid slept and vulnerability left you both awake, isolation made you complacent, vulnerable. It made you believe something good still existed in this world. It made you believe you and Joel could survive unscathed from the same love that had burnt others.

“Stay with me,” he whispers in the cradle of darkness, hand on the trigger as he watches you pace back and forth, trying to tire yourself enough. You look at him, blinking momentarily as you try to comprehend as to whether or not you imagined the words from his mouth. “When we get out of here–if we get out of here–promise me you’ll stay with me.”

Of course you will. That was how you ended up in Jackson, too.

Looking back, when you try and trace everything back to a singular point in space and time when the end of all things began, it began when you stand in stunned silence, watching what seemed to be a sanctuary in the midst of mortal damnation. Laughing children, playing, men lifting, hammering, building. People chattering in the street. The tipping point, however, was none of that. The tipping point was Joel recognising his brother from the crowd and embracing him with a smile you had never seen on your face before.

For a moment, you feel guilt— you knew how long Joel had wanted to see Tommy. You knew, too, that this had been everything he had worked towards for. It warms you, to finally know Joel was still human, after all. At least for a moment. Then the uncomfortable thoughts trickle in.

Perhaps, you thought once in a microsecond, perhaps you just weren't enough for him to be that open with you.

Just like that, the isolated bubble from which you had adored, and perhaps (definitely) even loved Joel, dissolves, leaving you exposed, vulnerable, and somewhat alone in a sea of people. You supposed Ellie felt it too, from the way she held on to your arm, worrying you’ll disappear too.

“I’m here, kid,” you murmur as you pretend not to see. “You’re all good.”

Even when your little group left and came back from the Fireflies, even when Joel pulls you out of a burning building and kills men for you, you can’t shake off the feeling. Can’t shake the knowledge that you weren’t as important to him. Not even a little, not even at all. You swallow it whenever he pushes aside your underwear and lets you take his fingers. You ignore that itching feeling when you take him for yourself, seating yourself on his lap and fucking him needingly, kissing him as if his lips were everything you needed, chasing your orgasms with the same greed you had in those early days.

Sometimes, you couldn’t stop it.

“Tell me you want me, Joel,” you whisper, fingers tangled in his hair, tugging, pulling, teeth gnashing.

“‘Course I fuckin’ want you, peach. This fuckin’ cunt is all mine.” He’d flip you over, lay you on your stomach, fucking up into you as your back arches and your eyes roll back in the sweet symphony of skin on skin on skin. “No one else knows how to even make you feel as good as I do.” His fingers would reach down. Thumb and forefinger. Pinching your clit until a squeal escapes you.

“Yours, Joel.” Your gasps, his grunts, the fleeting ache in your chest as these moments become less frequent, turning few and far in between. “Yours, yours, yours.”

–

It all comes to a head one evening, over some stupid argument. Even now, when all is said and done, you can’t seem to remember the trigger that set things off. When you think of that night, only a fragment of the conversation comes to mind.

“The truth is, Joel, I just don’t know what we are,” you had been saying, separating from him like shrapnel. “I used to stupidly think that maybe you wanted me to stay because you were working up some fucking courage to do something about us.” He looks at you wide-eyed, pupils blown. You could hear his thoughts from that distance. Where was all this coming from?

“It never mattered t’you before,” he muttered, leaning against the wooden table as his eyes bore down on you. A beat drops, and he is striding towards you, taking your shoulders in his gruff hands as his tired gaze met yours. ”I don’t understand, why the fuck are you tellin’ me this now?”

I know you don’t. I never asked you to.

For a moment, you struggled in his arms. The feeling of his fingers against your skin was too much. It felt too close, too intimate, too little, and nothing all at once. You whine, trying to avoid his gaze and control your tongue before it is you who eventually did ruin things.

Just tell me. What’s in that head of yours?

“Because you never touch me anymore!” Your small fists, his broad chest, hitting what you could as you finally sob and tear yourself away from me. “I’m glad for you, I really am. But you barely even look at me anymore!” When you did free yourself, your feet take you backwards by a few steps, just enough to see the quirk of his lips at your confession. “But God, it makes me feel so fucking small- like I’ve turned into some nagging bitch, the shrew at home.” You hiccup once, twice. You see him about to speak and you jump in again. “It’s like you found your life and I never had a place in it, so you forgot me.”

The last confession lay on your lips, escaping before you could stop it. “Like I was never enough for you, Joel.”

Your back hits the wall as you look him in the eye, eyes blurred from the onslaught of tears that finally stop you. “I have always stood by your side, I’ve followed you blindly across this fucking wasteland. I never asked for anything, never wanted anything but you, and yet…” You wait for Joel. As you always have. You wait for him to say something. Anything that might finally end your misery. When he doesn’t, you wait for him to do something.

You sigh. “I… I lo-”

“I’ve had enough of this,” he finally says, catching you off-guard as he moves away, grabbing his coat as he shakes his head. “Tommy’s waiting for me.” With that, he leaves. The pit in your stomach swallows you whole, remaining there, in the strange hallways of your memory, as the moment you finally understood the misery that walked hand in hand with love.

–

That was how you ended up with the singular backpack of your things, moving across all of Jackson and putting the entire commune between the two of you, and moving into the small apartment near the shops. You know the jobs he works, asked (almost begged, actually) for Maria to keep her as far away from him as remotely possible. And you did so before he returned from patrolling– some two day affair beyond the gates.

The first night proved impossible. In the darkness, you heard the arms of your watch ticking by as time moves ever so slowly. Without noticing it, you counted the minutes before he and Tommy should be back. You tried not to wonder if he ever thought of you on jobs like this. When all there is to kill is time. Did he ever touch himself in the darkness? Did he ever think of you touching yourself wherever you lay, too?

Then you remember his dining room. “I’ve had enough of this.” No. You know he wasn’t thinking of you.

You fuck yourself with your fingers until your wrist aches from the effort; and still yet, nothing. You cannot reach the places he does. Your hands too soft to mimic the sensation of his calloused fingers forcing orgasm after orgasm out of you. The sleep that comes, therefore, is uneasy,

You dream of him, lying beside you in the bed you shared back in the QZ, his gruff hum signalling he was awake. “You’re not happy, are you?” he whispers, and you look to him, hands reaching in the darkness.

“Of course not,” you whisper. "I’m in love with you and you don’t even want to see me.”

–

Joel sees the empty house first before he heard the news. It is only in your absence that he finally understood how empty his home was without you.

Without the books on the coffee table. Without the flowers you picked yourself. The bathroom felt barren without your little luxuries– the lotion you had found back on the road, the smell of your shampoo long evaporated from the room. His bed, most of all, felt inhuman without the shape of your frame imprinted on it.

Ellie rushed in when he stood in the living room, looking over in silence. “What the fuck happened, man? I tried to stop her but she was crying, all over the place. I don’t even fucking know how she left the place so pristine the way she was running around-”

“Where is she, kid?”

–

When he finally does see you, you look far worse off than he is. The apartment Maria pointed him to is nice, it’s warm. Bright, even. As if anywhere you go turns into a sanctuary. You’re reading when he sees you. With your back turned to him, you roll your shoulders in a way that tells him you slept wrong. If you even slept at all. The slight tilt in your gait tells him you overworked yourself and your ankle is giving you hell for it.

He leans against the doorway until eventually, he finds the strength to speak. “So you don’t even say goodbye? Some people would think it’s just good manners.” You turn around just enough for him to see the swooping shades of exhaustion beneath your eyes, tinged by the reddening of your nose, your sore eyes. You had just been crying. He could tell, even when no traces of tears are left on your skin.

Now, he waits for you. Attempts to weed out the silence as if it could tell him something.

“Ellie said you cleaned up. Thanks for that, darlin’.” He sighs, moving closer in an attempt to bridge the gap between the two of you. He doesn’t notice the way you tense, the way you prepare yourself to flee. “I found somethin’ for you, It’s out-”

“Just stop it, Joel.” He looks to you, sees the way the tears bead in your eyes before you look away, rising from your seat as you allow a shaky breath. “You said you had enough and I’m- I wanted to respect that.” He tries to hold you and your arms fly out, pushing him away before he gets too close, shaking your head. “But I can’t do it when you’re always around.”

He calls your name, and it stops you in your tracks. He says it again, and you realize why. He says your name with so much emotion, the teeth-gritting ferocity of the riptide. “It was never you that I had enough of. I can never have enough of you-” When you look at him, his brows furrow, eyes soften, reaching for you, hands on your wrists as he slowly brings you toward him. He calls your name, and for a moment, you feel as you did back in the old days of the small rooms in the QZ. You remember the whistling of the wind between the window shutters, white noise that soothed you to sleep.

His confession comes spilling forth in an uncontrollable gush. “I never wanted to make you go, peach,’ he murmurs, almost incomprehensible, rough hands pulling you against his chest as he finally breathes in that familiar scent of your hair. He smells of snow and pine–the same smell of the soap you bought for him last week. “I don’t know how to do this… to feel–” His thumbs cup your cheek as your gaze returns to his own tear-filled face. “Losing you is like cutting my fingers off, sweetheart, I can’t bear it.”

He kisses you, and you feel the desperation of a man starved. He doesn’t stop, does not want to stop. If this was a dream, he thinks, he’d rather consume you than wake up somewhere without the warmth of your skin on his. You kiss him, too, and it’s nothing like what you had before. When you kiss him in that quiet little apartment, it’s wanton, messy, your tears melting into his own, your whines swallowed and consumed before you can even actuate them. You only break apart when you feel his lips move to your cheek, his beard rubbing against you as you sniffle and tug him closer by the loops of his belt.

Joel continues to speak. In disjointed whispers, murmurings you try and decode. “Always wanted you to stay, darlin’. Always dreamt of you, always-”

“I thought you dreamt of ten-month summers,” you manage to tease between tears, catching his lips as his arms lift you, pressing you to the nearest wall to wrap your legs around his waist, thrusting his clothed cock against you. You remembered that dream particularly because it had been a miserable winter, one that he confessed to have felt in his very bones. How he grumbled then, in the silences when he thought you wouldn’t hear.

“Even with that summer, without you there, I don’t fuckin’ need it, sugar.”

You both make up that afternoon, slowly, lovingly, with him begging you to stay as he pushes your bottoms off and you promising that you will. The burning stretch of his girth makes you tear up again, just as he cups your face and soothes you through it. “Doin’ so good for me, baby. Let me make it up to you…” You let him do many things. You let him take you again. You let him regain control over himself again.

Oftentimes you wonder if uncertainty struck fear into him. Perhaps it was why he had always kept himself at an arm’s distance, even when you slept in his bed and wore his shirts. Perhaps that was why he had never allowed himself to feel. Never allowed himself to name that love he had for you.

“I love you, Joel.” The whisper comes between moans as his lips mark your neck in rough kisses, taking you again as he had taken you everytime. “I’m right here, I’m not going anywhere.” He groans at the sound of your promises, a low guttural sound, just as his lips nip at the skin of your neck, making you whine and squeal against him.

“I fuckin’ love you, peach,” he finally manages to say, hips pistoning in and out of your weeping cunt as he makes you look at him. “I could never have enough of you… fuck!” He doesn’t care if the whole of Jackson hears you, sees the two of you locked in this embrace. As long as he had you, he knows, nothing else mattered. Gently, he lets you down to turn you around, manipulating your hips as your hands keep you balanced to the wall. He sinks so easily to his knees, tongue swiping from your clit, your weeping hole, your perineum, and even up to your ass, spreading your wetness and his precome with a low chuckle. “Tell me you need me, darlin’, come on.”

You do tell him. “I need you, sir, please,” you whisper, with such gentleness that he chuckles. He loved the way your begging sounded, the way you called him sir, like you did in those shy beginnings when you could barely look him in the eye. Loved the way you whine and try to reach down to touch yourself, only for him to tsk in warning, your hand immediately returning to the wall. “Please let me cum, sir, I just want you, please!”

Finally, he indulges you. His tongue fucking you, hands spreading your asscheeks, beard digging into your skin and his nose, his nose, just teasing your asshole enough to make you clench down in expectation. He does not stop, does not pause even when you buck against him, clenching your teeth as you feel his tongue reach there, that point that makes you fucking feral, bucking until he pushes you off the edge, and continues to push you over the edge, knees weakening and trembling in the aftermath of pleasure. You thank him, louder than you’ve ever thanked any deity for each day of survival. If you were honest, you didn’t care so much about religion, about believing. Not when everything you ever believed in knelt before you, asking you if you’d let him take your ass.

You nod breathlessly, pressing your cheek against the cool wallpaper. “It’s yours, sir. It’s all yours, and you know it.”

He smirks, kissing the small of your back. His perfect, willing girl.

He slowly draws you into it, knows you’ve never done anything like this. He starts with his tongue, helping you relax around him, helping you relax when you take one finger, then another. You had never felt so empty and yet so full at the same time. You feel the walls of your cunt stretched out over nothing, your fingers digging into the plaster as he finally stands, lips pressing kisses and assurances into your shoulders. And there, just there- you feel the head of his cock entering you, your body welcoming him so willingly, without much effort nor pain.

He fucks you with renewed vigor, your moans intermingling as his hands trail on separate directions. His left hand trails from your neck, to your chest, and quickly to your nipples, pinching, tugging, His right trails from your stomach to your wanton clit, rubbing concentric circles softly and gently prolonging your pleasure to match up with his stamina. Even as he batters your walls, his lips are so gently, praising you and kissing you. “Of course I fuckin’ love you, sugar. Always fuckin’ did.”

It’s the confession, you would think later on, that pushes the both of you over the edge. You beg him to let you, and he chuckles at how needy and willing you are in his hands. “Together, baby, yeah? Come on, be a good girl and come with me.” HIs fingers intensify his efforts, so do his cock, and it’s even more easier, You feel yourself gush at nothing, his hands the only thing holding you up now as he finds his high, rolling off with you, fucking his spend deep within your ass. “Fuck, yeah. Just like that, princess. Fuck!”

You cry for him and cum even harder, clenching and collapsing, saved only by his trembling frame. It is then that you feel his teeth biting down against your skin, guttural groans escaping and reverberating against your sweat-slick skin. You call for him, hand reaching back to tug against his hair, giving him the consent to sink his teeth deeper against your flesh.

You exchange words of love, you kiss slowly, gently. Joel carries you gently to the small cot you had been resting on, his gaze scolding you for putting your body through this uncomfortable surface every night. You whine when he leaves you, but he smiles. “I’m not goin’ anywhere again, sugar. Promise.”

He makes good on that promise, returning with something to wipe you clean, slowly, gently, not wanting to make it any worse for you. He praises you, nonetheless. So good f’me, baby. My perfect girl.

You fall asleep, slowly, gently, to the same words, your hand on his, his mouth on your cheek, kissing you all over. It’s the most peace you ever felt in a long time.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #the last of us hbo #the last of us fanfiction

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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

#harry styles smut #harry styles smut imagine #harry styles smut imagines #harry styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles imagines #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles writing #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst

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coral-melon · 5 months

Text

Tangled Nightmare!

Obey me! Brothers x Curly!MC (reader)

Genre: Crack/shenanigans, Fluff; slightly suggestive?

No pronouns said but probably AFAB

Hopefully isn’t too OOC ._ .🤞

Summary: Your hair is being impossible and you need help detangling your hair. This is for my hella curly hair peeps! Kinda slightly self-indulgent too.. but my other peeps are more than welcome to imagine themselves here!

You’ve been procrastinating over when you felt like washing and do your hair. Under normal circumstances, you do your hair once a week. You kinda skipped it though, saying it didn’t look bad at all — which it wasn’t, why even take the life out of it when it could last a bit longer? It’s been 3 weeks…

Today was the day you were ready to do your hair! Your take out your brushes, washing and styling products. You got everything ready to just be in a happy, productive mood. What could possibly go wrong?

-Dun dun- your hair was impossible! You wash and put plenty of conditioner but your brush just wouldn’t go through! Your arms were tired and your hands were getting cramps; you’ve been at it for a while and tried many things, but nothing! You were on the verge of giving up and going bald, but you go to your last resort, getting another pair of hands and eyes. So you summon your boyfriend!

Lucifer

This man was busy buried in his yet again endless mountains of paperwork. He was so close to just drowning himself in demonus to get by at this point..

But suddenly, he hears your call and the dreadful scene was changed when he was summoned… to the bathroom?

He then sees you, peeking through the shower curtains, bawling your eyes out. He was about to scold you for calling him at such a busy hour, but the thought was kicked right out the window at the sight of seeing your tearful eyes. He keeps his composure though; he needs to understand the situation at hand, after all.

— “My dear, what happens?” He asks as he got closer to you.

— “Lucifer, please help me! I’m on the verge of shaving it all off!” You say after taking a deep breath.

He’s a bit confused at first, but when you reveal the utter mess you had on your head, he understood what you were so frantic about; but at the same time, he was still dumbfounded. He clears throat, and asks you what you need him to do.

You wouldn’t be able to tell that he’s actively stressing on the inside, he’s graceful at everything he does even if he doesn’t have the slightest clue of what he’s doing.

He couldn’t help his mind to.. slightly wonder off. You had sat down on the bathtub with your back facing him, told him how he could pull your hair as much as he wanted.. as long as it detangled the knots, of course!

He had always been infatuated with your curls, but this experience gave him an insight of just how much effort you put into making it look how it always does.

This was also quite satisfying to him, it destressed him to the point where he almost forgot about the work that was still waiting for him at his office.. And for you, it felt like a heavenly massage.. he’ll check you every now to make sure you’re alright.

It took a while, but him being him, everything worked out in the end! Your curls finally softened and ever so defined✨

You thank him profusely, saying that you wouldn’t know what you’d do with yourself it it weren’t for him.

But he simply looked at you with a sinister gentle smile and darkened eyes..

— "I presume that you already know this means that you have a great price to pay for taking up my time, correct..? I suggest you don't keep me waiting for long."

Mammon

Your summon was literally a blessing, he was in a bit of a tight spot with some witches and you saved him in the nick of time!

— “Mammon, you gotta help me!” So I guess it’s only fair he helped you too..

You explain to him what’s going on in a frantic state, would ask you to go to a hair salon, but you starting crying about how expensive that would be. 100% understands and doesn’t question it any farther. So he tries to calm you down, saying he gots this!

— “Ha! Don’cha even worry about it! The great Mammon’s gonna handle this; no problem!✨💪🏽”

His confidence gave you reassurance and put you at ease, you were finally saved! He’d be decent at it, it’s not as unbearable at all and would be soothing to the point of falling soundly asleep.. if he wasn’t so on and off about it!

You’d eventually learn that he just couldn’t help but get distracted by your naked body. Your back facing him, fully exposed to him.. And your hair was just perfect.. ack! Nono! None of that right now! If he could, he’d worship you.

He’d be like: Lord have mercy.. We must stay focused, bothers! We must. Stay focused!

Fell in love with you over and over again every time he passed the brush through you hair. Watching intently how your hair curled so beautifully..

Every now and then, the thought of selling a bit of your hair also came to mind. But quickly gets rid of the idea; you worked how to maintain it, you’d kill him if he chopped it!

Overall, pretty nice and bonding experience. Later thinks about how he wants you to do the same for him.. But he could never admit that out loud!

Feels all high and mighty when you thank him! Of course you should be grateful to him; He took the time out of his busy schedule to help you out and everything! …Kinda forgetting the fact that he would’ve been roasted by witches if it weren’t for you.

— “Hmph, nothin’ I couldn’t handle! Though that’s gonna cost ya a hefty pri—! Oi wait wait! I’m jokin, I’m jokin!… Half joking..”

Leviathan

He was in the middle of choosing a spot to proudly display he’s latest figure collection. But that was soon interrupted when he was summoned to the bathroom.

You call for him as you peek through the shower curtain, motioning him to come closer. He freezes for a moment, until he finally realizes that his in the same room as you while you’re naked.

Proceeds to do that Finn scream*

— “Levi. Levi! Do not freak out, cuz I’m freaking out; and we can’t have two people freaking out! It just doesn’t work. You’re the only one that can help me!” You say, trying to have him not run out on you.

After some back and forth bickering and convincing, you finally managed to get him the courage he needed to help you out!

Don’t look at him though; especially not in the eyes, he’ll simply die.💀

He’s face will be completely red the whole time, you would think he’d pass out at some point… don’t get me wrong, he did — almost. You give him an idea to summon something that’ll splash him with cold water whenever he started to wobble.

In his head, there’s two voices: the one that’s been constantly screaming, and the one that is pretty much worshiping every time he strokes you hair.

Oh, Lemme give you some hope. -Ahem-🎤Don’t be fooled though! This guy does cosplay, therefore knows to do hair. Prove me otherwise!

Knows exactly how to deal with knots without ruining the hair, so at least it wasn’t painful! Your hair is far too sacred for him to mess up!

Once he finishes, there’s a short moment where he feels so proud of himself. But whatever was gripping onto the thin strand keeping his soul together breaks after you gave him a wide smile and thanked him for saving you!

— [ERROR] Levichan.exe does not compute.

Satan

He was getting mad over something, though he himself didn’t know what it was. So he was gonna go destress by flipping Lucifer off but you suddenly summonsed him.

He sensed you were frustrated before he could even see you. So it didn’t come as a surprise when you peeked through while gripping the shower curtains and heated tears in your eyes.

— “What happened, sweetheart?”

— “I’m this close to going apeshit and ripping my hair out.. Please help me!”

Doesn’t know how to handle curly hair, of course. But he’s willing to try. After all, He can’t just leave you like that! Your hair is like a work of art to him, so he wouldn’t want you shaving it off in a pit of rage! You got lucky this time, Lucifer..

Welp, he found a new coping mechanism! This was like a puzzle for him to solve, one that would also make you happy and him quite quite satisfied in the end. That was enough for him to get him going.

He was firm with how he handled you tangled hair, but in a good way. He did his best to not pull too hard and hurt you accidentally.

Keeps it respectful. But~ I do imagine his hands would go through your scalp and gently pulls on the roots of your hair in a very teasing manner. Will play dumb if you ask about it. ((Ever seen that hair pull massage video? Yeah, that))

And/Or, will play with your hair a bit like cats do when they’re massaging their paws onto something soft.

All in all, you’ll feel like you’ve ascended into a new level of lightheadedness with how at ease you head feel. Whatever headache you had a moment ago is long gone!

He comes to appreciate your hair a lot more after this; he’s a blond with short straight hair, so he didn’t fully grasp just how much work it actually is to maintain you hair.. See? A work of art!

He’s already thinking of the next time he could do this. Like I said before, this was his new coping mechanism and I don’t think you can’t do anything about it once he made up his mind.

— “You should let me do this again the next time you wash your hair, it was a very pleasing experience..”

Asmodeous

While in the middle of choosing what perfume and lipstick to where to the day, he could already sense beauty troubles before you could even think about summoning him.

When your call beckons him to come, he is ready. You peek through the curtains with tearful eyes, too embarrassed to really want to show him the mess that happened but not really having a choice at this point.

— “Love, Don’t even say a word! Asmo’s here to help~♡”

Gets immediately to work! He already had his hair products ready. You would think it’s kinda unnecessary to have as many products as he had on hand, but why even question it?

And ooh, how flawless he was.. You felt like you were at a spa with how at ease you felt. You could hear him cry out every now and then, saying how awfully tangled your hair was. But not once did you feel any pain.

But when he isn’t crying, he talks to you like hairstylists do at a hair salon. He tells you about some gossip he heard at Majolish and some products he’s planning on sharing with you. He asks you some questions and all in all, have a good time together. It’s honestly very fun!

By the end of it all, you’ve never felt more replenished. Your curls look the liveliest they’ve ever been, and you hadn’t even added your hair products or defused it!

He finished way quicker than what you would’ve taken. You probably still would’ve been only have way after all this time.

He’ll be fawning over you and saying how obsessed he is about your curls. ..but might start getting touchy since he hadn’t during that whole time. Which is kinda surprising he lasted this long.

— “Why don’t we go straight to my room? I’d love to try some hairstyles and new products on you!… Oh, no need to put clothes on, hon~ ;)”

Beelzebub

He was in the middle of doing some warmups before starting his regular workout routines. So imagine his surprise when he suddenly ends up in the bathroom.

But what surprised him even more was you peeking through the shower curtain, barely being able to hold your tears of frustration. Though you can’t stay feeling that way for long when you have a big fella worrying and asking you what’s wrong.

— “I need another pair of hands and eyes.. Could you help me out?” You say and laugh sheepishly.

— “Y-Yeah, sure! Just tell me what do to..”

The last thing he expected was to do your hair and has no experience whatsoever. But he’s washed and bushed Belphie’s hair before, so how hard can it be?

You two really need to stop underestimating the situation.💀👍

Has no idea what he’s doing but he will be so gentle! He also apologizes softly every time he pulls and brushes your hair, which is quite often.

His hands went through your hair so nicely, massaging your scalp and often playing with your hair. Your hair is so pretty..! So pretty.. it looks good… very good..

— “Beel, do not eat my hair!”

— “Oh, right. Sorry..”

But, I mean come on! Based on his logic, Your hair looks and feels so good.. it even smells amazing! So why wouldn’t it taste good too? It’s very tempting👀✨ if you want a speedy haircut, he’s your guy!

Very good at following directions, and appreciates that you tell him to divide your hair into sections to that it’s easier for him to detangle the knots. He makes sure to ask if it hurts or if you’re doing alright.

Also very respectful! Keeps his eyes where he should be putting them, doesn’t touch you where he shouldn’t and doesn’t make the situation weird; he would never want to make you feel uncomfortable. Though you can see that there’s a soft hint of blush decorating his cheeks..

This ends up being the most unique workout for him, one that required a hella amount of delicacy and patience. And self control.

You thank him for helping you out, joking about how you would’ve just shaved it all off if you couldn’t do it. He’s just happy that your happy.

*Growl..* “Oh, I’m starving now. I’ll head toward the kitchen so come join me when you’re done, okay?”

Belphegor

Obviously sleeping in some who knows where corner in the most uncomfortable position imaginable. Your summon kinda saves him from that.

This guy was dumbfounded when you asked him to help you with your hair. Like, don’t you know him?? He hasn’t even brushed his own hair this week, you think he can handle your hair?!

— “Belphie, Please! I can’t just ask someone else!”

— “Go to the hair salon or something!”

— “Don’t you know how expensive that is?? They’ll charge me a shit ton!”

He can’t refuse you when you’re this distressed about what’s going on. So he’ll reluctantly agree to help you, but doesn’t promise to do a good job. Will ask again if you’re sure you want him to help you; ..oh well, your decision.

Decides that the best course of action..! Is to look it up in DevilTube. Ain’t no way this mans knows what he’s doing.

There’s a 75% chance you’ll end up worse than when how you started. His movements are so stiff, and awkward, way too rough for your scalp, and all in all, just ass.

Will sarcastically tell you to just leave it like that, it’ll work fine as a pillow. That, of course, is not an option.

He’ll also play with your hair, making a bubble tower; and if possible? Make shapes with your hair. I’m telling you, your hair will get a lot worse with him ;—;

But lo and behold, if a miracle happens and somehow managed to detangle it? You’ll never skip a week of your hair routine. This horrible learning experience taught you that routines are very important or else all hell will break lose.

He never exercise, so imagine how how numb and exhausted his arms will feel after this?? Got to learn where you get most of your strength from even if you don’t look strong.. will want to make you just as exhausted as he feel. Do with that information what you will.

Moral of the story, don’t ask Belphie to help you. You’re better off doing it yourself!👍

— *huff, huff* “Your hair must be one of hell’s miserable wonders.. *Pant* You owe me a long cuddle session after this..!”

End

My magic wouldn’t work on Belphie’s dialogue.. ;-;

But Oh god, I had so much fun with this! I could stop laughing at some of them when I kept imagining them in my head. So I hope you too also had a good laugh when reading this! ^^⸝⸝

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me headcanons #obey me shenanigans #obey me crack #obey me x reader #obey me x mc #obey me oneshot #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me scenarios

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ch3rryfunk · 1 year

Note

Can we pls get a comforting re4r leon after he has a depressive episode because of his trauma? 🙏 please i need him to feel loved

OMG YES. He deserves all the love in the world. Man’s been thru enough :•(

i know you asked for re4 remake leon, but i would also like to imagine this with vendetta or re6 leon 💔

anyway sorry it’s a bit short, sad and not that good 😭

☆*:.｡.

Leon wasn’t doing well, you caught on quickly. He slept late or barely even slept at all and drowned himself in his thoughts for hours.

When you found him sitting on your bed lost in thought holding his cop badge tightly, so tight his knuckles turned white, you knew you had to talk to him.

“Leon.” You softly called out as you sat next to him. He sighed, finally putting his badge down. “What’s on your mind?”

It took him a few seconds to answer, it seemed like he was trying to find the right words. He shook his head.

“Just a rookie cop. That’s all I was. I had so much hope.”

You knew how rough his life had been, from his childhood to his adolescence and even now. His whole life revolved around his job, he didn’t have much of an option.

“Sorry, I’m not making sen-”

“Don’t apologize.”

He rarely mentioned his missions and his trauma, not that he didn’t want to open up, but he wanted to keep you far, far away from his professional life. He had made it clear and you respected his decision, but it was starting to torment him emotionally and you couldn’t bear to see him suffer.

“Every night I have the same nightmare.” He looked at you, “about all the shit I’ve been through.”

The look in his eyes instantly broke your heart. So much void filled with pain.

“If I could just forget about it, about everything. I’d do anything. I remember people, and children… screaming, crying, and dying. I couldn’t save them. It was terrifying.”

You reached for his hand and held it tightly, he gave you a small smile in return. “I had come to the conclusion that everyone I cared about would either leave or die. I don’t want that, I don’t want you to go.”

“I’m not going anywhere, Leon.”

He was in such a vulnerable position right now you could barely even think straight, your heart ached more and more with each word he said. They carried so much pain and regret. You only wanted to make him feel better.

“I know it’s better said than done, but you can’t let this defeat you, you have to keep moving forward. I know you will, Leon. I know you can. The things you’ve seen and the things you were forced to do don’t define you, you’re more than that, more than just your job. You will get through this.”

He stared at you for a few seconds taking your words in. He was grateful, so grateful you came into his life at the right time. He never had time for anything else other than his job, so meeting you made a great impact on him. He felt loved, genuinely loved for once. Just the thought of something happening to you haunted him, he didn’t want to admit how scared he was. He had lost way too many people already.

You wrapped your arms around him, embracing his tense body. Committed to helping him calm down. You knew he needed a hug, or many. He just needed someone to hold him.

“And I’ll be here with you, always.” You finished.

He never wanted to let go of you.

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del-thetiredwriter · 1 year

Text

Do you love me

Afterwards:say you love me , part 3 or something like that ?

Warning: Disturbing themes,Depression, miscarriage, character death,bad writing…

English is my second language

GIF NOT MINE. If it's yours, please come claim credit or let me know if you want me to remove it

Notes: Just me enjoying Aegons suffer. Really I like tragedy.

The only daughter of her mother Rhaenyra, the apple of the eye of the house Velaryon , the realms beauty , the pure , perfect , loved by all and more these were the adjectives that defines y/n Velaryon.

For Aegon, she was his sun. With Her warm smile and her gentle behavior that warms his heart, his hope light.

He shouldn't have loved someone as ugly as himself and a pure beauty like you, but his greed was getting in the way. He liked the way you warn them when he and your brothers when bully Aemond because that was the only way he could talk to you. He was jealous of the attention you gave your siblings,Aemond and Helaena. He just wanted you to look at him, talk to him, dedicate yourself to him.

Then something happened that he couldn't believe. The gods he doesn't believe in must have taken pity on him because his father, Visersy, proposed a marriage proposal between you and him to prevent tensions between blacks and greens. Aegon agreed without hesitation, and you accepted for your family. He confessed to you on your wedding night.

“I love you”

He looked at you to see your reaction. He saw your gentle smile warm eyes. Then you spoke

“Me too. I love you “

Your marriage wasn't so bad after all. Although you didn't see your family very often, you were not alone and your beloved husband, Aegon, would not have left you alone for a moment. Although Aegon was the happiest in marriage, Alicent was as happy with it as her son. You took such good care of her son. Her son had changed his drinking habits a little bit, he wasn't drinking as much as he used to, he was cleaner thanks to your efforts. He hasn't been interested in prostitutes at all since you got married.

Aegon was happy. Everything was going perfectly. He loved you, you loved him, and you were pregnant. Sometimes Aegon thought he was dreaming of a perfect life that couldn't be real...

Then you got the news that ended your perfect life.

“Lucersy Velaryon is dead. At Storm's End-"

When you heard the news, your head started to spin. ‘Is my brother Lucersy dead? No it can't be' then your eyes went black and you passed out.

Nothing has been the same since that damn night. You were unhappy. You didn't want to do your daily activities such as eating or walking. The only thing keeping you alive was the child in your womb. This did not go unnoticed by Aegon.

You were getting ready for bed. You were combing your hair in front of the mirror. Then you saw a familiar silhouette behind you and your husband hugged you from behind.

"What's the problem?" ' Aegon asked, his voice a little twisted.

"What are you trying to say" you didn't look at him.

“Then why are you in this situation!”

Aegon turned your face to him. He saw your eyes, those eyes that were once filled with happiness were now filled with sorrow.

“I love you, you know that… do you love me?” ' asked Aegon.

“I love you, but my love for you is not strong enough to cover my brother's death, this war, this grief.”

Aegon hugged you. This is how the night ended.

Aegon thought it couldn't get any worse, but after the miscarriage, you seemed completely dead. Just thinking about that moment was enough to have a nightmare. You screamed desperately in tears on the bloody sheets on the bed… Aegon felt awful. His sun, his only lover, was fading . Your eyes had lost the light of life, you weren’t eating or drinking. And he couldn't do anything as your husband.

One night Aegon did something he shouldn't have done, drank more than usual and said things he shouldn't have said while drunk.

“I'm sick of this mourning! You are my wife! Take care of your husband! After all that hard work for you, this is the reward! I wish you were dead so you wouldn't bother me so much"

“…”

When Aegon looked at you, he instantly regretted his words.

"I am sorry. My tongue slipped. I love you I'm just a little tired so-"

He desperately hugged and kissed you.

"You love me don't you?"

“…”

This time you didn't answer, only your silence spoke. The night passed as quiet as the pre-death silence, save for Aegon's sobs and tears.

In the morning the whole court was awakened by Aegon's screams . When Queen Alicent entered the room, she found her son hugging tightly his wife with bloody hands. Aegon's only wife had committed suicide.

“Please open your eyes Y/n! I didn't mean it like that. I was drunk. Please do not leave me!"

Alicent was heartbroken at the sight of her son's desperate begs over his wife's body.

“Aegon she is dead” Alicent held out her hand to his son but Aegon slapped it harshly.

"No!" He said, hugging his dead wife's body tighter.

“Get out! Get out, I don't want anyone! Get out!”

No funeral was held Aegon was adamant not to give his lover's body. For the first two days, Aegon did not leave his chamber and did not let anyone into . On the third day, he was allowed to enter the chamber and was smiling. Alicent was horrified to see her son in this state.

“Aegon you-this-” she pointed to the dead woman.

“Oh mom it's okay my wife is just a little tired. She needs a rest.”

“Rest?! Aegon, this girl is dead!”

Aegon's smile dropped. He approached his mother.

“I think you misunderstood . She just needs a rest. Do you understand mom. Now cancel the funeral preparations, they are really getting on my nerves"

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lvlyhao · 1 year

Text

PAC: what are your dreams telling you?

Hello, lovely people! Wow, this was SUCH a positive reading for all piles, I was honestly shocked, but good for y’all haha Also, I’ve been in an Ateez mood lately, so enjoy these beautiful men

♡ Please follow, like and reblog if this resonated with you so I can do more fun readings like this in the future. My paid comissions are open! ♡

How do I choose a pile?

Take a deep breath or two, close your eyes, and focus on the question we’re asking the cards today. Then, take a look at the images above. Which one of them calls your name?

───⋆☆───────────────

If you chose San, welcome to pile 1!

Song: treasure (ATEEZ)

Card: 10 of cups

Wow, ok. This is a very direct message here with both the song and the 10 of cups coming up. It looks like you may have been dreaming about your future with a certain someone lately. It does feel like someone you’ve known for a while, but it doesn’t necessarily mean you’re in union right now. I feel like they might be physically away from you too. It could be the case that they’re travelling or you just haven’t been spending time together. You could also be childhood friends, or maybe you know them from school. It’s like you’re spending your awake time wondering about all the “what if’s” that could come into your life if your relationship went into the next level, and this is actually an amazingly positive prospect. There is no greater emotional fulfillment than this card, my darlings. I’m honestly excited for you!

If you’ve been wondering whether to make a move or not, your dreams are straight up giving you the green light. Go for it! This is about an absolutely fantastic person, who is going to treasure you beyond what you could have ever imagined. They know your value and so do you, so the future you see for the two of you could very well happen in real life. If you know who Spirit is talking about here, I beg you to NOT be afraid of commitments with them. Now, if you’re not sure, it could be that your dreams about them haven’t happened just yet, but they will. Trust yourself and your heart at this moment.

If you chose Wooyoung, welcome to pile 2!

Song: i’m the one (ATEEZ)

Card: queen of cups

The Queen of cups came right out for you, pile 2, and I’m hearing a very clear message about the next few months. It could be that you haven’t been satisfied with where you are right now in life. This could be regarding your personal relationships, your work, studies, anything, really. You just feel stuck and like you can’t seem to feel good about yourself, and that’s fine. What this card is telling me, however, is that the time has come for you to show some compassion and love for yourself. In this case, that means getting your life together and cleaning up your act. The Queen beckons you to create your favorite version of yourself, and to not let past experiences define you anymore.

The past is the past. It’s quite literally water under the bridge, and what went away will not come back. Starting soon (when you feel ready) and from then on, you gotta treat yourself like the main character. You are the one!! You can be the person you’ve always wanted to be. That you already exists somewhere within. So hold your head high and decide where to start. If you’re looking for a physical glow up, this could mean working out and implementing more things to your diet, like fruits or vegetables. If you’re looking for a mental glow up, She advises tons of meditation and spending time outside to connect with the world around you. You are entering the best era of your life.

If you chose Hongjoong, welcome to pile 3!

Song: illusion (ATEEZ)

Card: temperance

My dears, it seems that you might be having quite a mixed bag of dreams and nightmares lately. Either that or you haven’t been feeling well-rested. The Temperance tells me you’re trying to balance out having fun and taking good care of your body and soul, but it’s been difficult. I get it. It’s easy to fall back into old habits while trying to build new ones, but don’t let that get you down.

What this card tells me is that you’re on the right path, and you’re doing the right thing. There’s no need to doubt that. What you do need, however, is to be more patient with yourself. Taking one or two steps back sometimes doesn’t mean you haven’t made any progress. The progress is still there, and it will start to show soon if you just persist. This could also be about manifesting, if you’re into that. Maybe you’ve been going back and forth between thinking ‘I got this’ and then spiraling, wondering why you don’t see any movement. I’m telling you right now: there IS movement. Don’t fall for the illusion that you’re doing it wrong! Getting out of your own head could also be good for you now. All this self-reflection sometimes makes us look inwards a bit too much, so spend some time with your friends, family, and/or pets.

#pick a card #pick a picture #pick a pile #tarot reading #dream reading #tarotcommunity #tarotblr #kpop tarot #ateez tarot #ateez #daily tarot #astrology #divination #pac reading #free tarot #witchblr #pick a card reading

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forpiratereasons · 11 months

Text

meeting stede bonnet

a slow meandering through June. third prompt: discover!

day 1 | day 2 | day 3 | day 4 | day 5 | day 6 | day 7 | day 8 | day 9 | day 10

Obviously, Stede found men attractive.

This was the gay part of the thought, I’m gay. Perhaps even the defining feature of it. Despite having only allowed himself that thought several days prior, Stede was not exactly surprised to discover that attraction to men was part and parcel.

Hugh Grant was attractive, for example. Richard Armitage was attractive. That bloke on the telly at six on Sundays doing the weather was attractive.

Not a problem, Stede had thought. Men! Hands and shoulders, body hair and the napes of necks. Fantastic.

The thing was, though: Stede was not in any danger of meeting Hugh Grant.

Stede was very much in danger, at this moment, of meeting the man in leather trousers and a cropped shirt queuing in front of him at the hot dog stand.

His heart hammered in his chest. His palms were sweaty. Was there some—some protocol he didn’t know? To finding men attractive in real life?

Not that he intended to act on it, not here and now in the hot dog line, but just looking, at the hands and the long beautiful neck and skin full of tattoos and not instantly turning away—it was breath-taking, it was chest-crushing, it was—it was—

“Next!”

It was Stede’s turn.

“Er,” he said intelligently, trying not to watch Leather Trousers saunter down to the end of the stand for condiments. “Two, please.”

The kid behind the stand took his card. Stede didn’t watch as Trousers struggled to balance two hot dogs, a mobile phone, and a bottle of mustard. Definitely not. Nope.

“Let me hold that for you,” someone said.

Trousers looked up. Right at Stede. Because Stede said it. Did he? Must have done, because Trousers was looking at him.

Trousers had warm, dark eyes that crinkled at the edges. Stede’s heart, for its part, had an arrhythmia.

“Cheers, mate,” Trousers said, handing Stede his mobile. “Pockets in the leather are a nightmare.”

“I imagine so,” Stede managed. Was he blushing? He felt like he might be blushing. The kid behind the stand also looked like Stede was blushing: incredibly smug in the way only teenagers can be. “Must be terribly hard to get out of them.”

The mustard blurted inelegantly onto one end of Trouser’s hot dog, like it had been squeezed too hard. He looked at Stede, sharp-ish grin forming along the corners of his mouth, and dragged his gaze all the way down to Stede’s shoes and back up again, focusing briefly on the progress pride flag pinned to his chest.

“Why? You offering to help with those too?”

Stede blinked, realised what he’d said. Blushed further, yes, he was definitely an unhealthy red now, wasn’t he?

“Oh, shit,” he said, flustered. “I’m so—that wasn’t what I meant, I wasn’t—”

“Think you were, a little bit,” Trousers said, still grinning. “You could tell me your name first, probably. Only polite.”

Absolutely positively humiliating, and yet. And yet.

Stede was smiling. Couldn’t stop smiling, actually, good lord, he was almost giggling.

So this was it, then. This is what it was like.

Seeing someone, liking the look of someone—what people meant when they said, our eyes just met, and I knew. Flirting. Being flirted with.

Stede hadn’t—he couldn’t have done, before. Trousers was the sort of man he might have caught sight of, but he’d have looked away. Turned aside. Shoved down the inclination.

To catch sight of this man now, to let himself linger on the carved angles of his wrists, the brown skin and black ink, the silvered hair, the dark eyes—to look, and find those eyes looking back—to breathe through the jolt in his stomach until it spread wings from fear and into possibility—

It felt like discovery. Like finding something he’d been looking for.

Like finding something he thought he’d lost.

“Stede,” he managed. “Stede Bonnet.”

Trousers smiled. Took Stede’s hand in his, when Stede reached to give him back his mobile, and held him a moment; his skin was sun-warm, rough. “I’m Ed.”

I’m going to remember you, Ed, Stede thought. I’m going to remember this.

Ed’s smile turned soft, like he heard. Like he agreed. “Do you want to grab a bench? Eat some lunch?” He gestured toward the waterline.

“You know,” Stede said, smiling back, “I think I do.”

#ofmd #gentlebeard #pride prompts #darcy writes pirates

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moonbeamwritings · 2 years

Text

“This can’t be real.” You whine, your face suddenly feeling hot, the collar of your costume tightening around your throat. Had the elastic strap of your stupid squirt bottle cap hat always been this uncomfortable under your chin? “This is a nightmare. Pinch me. Please, put me out of my misery.”

“A nightmare!?” Your friend whispers incredulously. “This is a dream. Look at him! His friends look hot, too.”

You take a big gulp of your tequila. “I can’t talk to him like this. It’s humiliating.” You gesture to the cheap, ill-fitting ketchup bottle costume you’d adorned for this night out, your life choices coming into sharp, dizzying focus. Why couldn’t you have just worn a revealing costume like a normal person? It’s times like these where committing to the bit isn’t always a good thing.

“Hey,” she scolds, clicking her tongue at you, “ketchup can be beautiful!”

“Not enough to talk to- to that!”

Across the room, in all his beefy, athletic glory is Bokuto Koutarou — your calculus deskmate and occasional study buddy. Someone you’ve had a crush on all semester. Your eyes scan his figure and you realize that no amount of tequila or cheap beer could give you the confidence to go say hi to him. Not like this.

He’s wearing a baby blue crop top, one that’s a size too small and tugs across the broad expanse of his chest and shoulders, squeezing at his massive biceps. Drawstring shorts in the same color expose the meat of his thick thighs and for a moment, the breath catches in your throat. What the fuck is in the water for these volleyball guys?

His two friends are in much the same state, red and green get-ups matching Bokuto’s own. The Powerpuff Girls. Bubbles has never looked so intimidating.

“I’m gonna die. I’m gonna die in front of the hottest guy I’ve ever seen, and I’m wearing a fucking ketchup costume.” Tequila angrily sloshes in your cup, threatening to spill.

Your mustard counterpart rests a comforting hand on your shoulder. “I’ll drag you into the yard. Give you a little dignity.”

You nod solemnly. “Thank you.”

Unbeknownst to you, your costume hasn’t escaped the ever vigilant gaze of the famous superpowered trio. In the opposite corner, Bokuto bounces on the balls of his feet.

“That’s them! The one from my calc class!”

Kuroo’s (Buttercup’s) head whips around to follow Bokuto’s gaze. “The witch?”

“No,” Bokuto responds, mildly offended. “The ketchup.”

“Ohh, right. Should’ve guessed.” Kuroo’s eyes roll.

Akaashi (Blossom) chimes in to add, “They were looking over here earlier.”

“They were?”

“I mean, it’s kinda hard not to notice,” Kuroo gestures to the three of them and their lack of clothes, “all of this.”

Bokuto downs the rest of his beer in one, resolute chug, confidence emanating from his very being. “I’m going over there.”

You’re in the middle of lamenting about how ridiculous you look when your friend reaches out to grip your elbow. “He’s coming over here.”

Your face drops, anxiety thrumming through your veins as your heart pounds. “No. No, don’t say that.”

“Oh, look!” She calls, glancing anywhere but at you. “It’s...... that girl that I know! I’ll uh... I’ll see you later!”

You open your mouth to tell her to get the fuck back here, that this is truly an ultimate and bitter betrayal, but the words die in your throat as Bokuto approaches. He beams as he comes to a stop in front of you, like you’re making his night by simply... existing. The sight brings heat to the apples of your cheeks.

Bokuto has to bend a bit to be heard over the music, and you can feel his breath ghosting over your ear as he says, “Hey! How’s it going!?”

“Good! How are you?”

With how close he’s standing now, not only do you get an even closer look at his defined pecs (which seem even bigger up close), but you also notice, much to your amusement, that his spiky hair has been pulled into two pigtails, wrapped together with little blue bows. How someone can manage to be cute and hot at the same time is equal parts infuriating and fascinating.

He smiles like he knows something you don’t, a hint of mischief sitting in the corner of his upturned lips. “I’m good! It’s not every day you get to talk to your favorite condiment.”

You put a hand to your heart as a surprised, teasing grin over takes your face. “Who? Lil’ ol’ me? You’re flattering me!”

“I’m only speaking the truth!”

“Well,” you start, any anxiety you felt before melting away the longer you spend in his presence (and the more the tequila settles in your stomach), “if you must know, Bubbles was always my favorite Powerpuff Girl.”

Bokuto seems thrilled at this, shifting a little to bump his arm into yours. “You’ve got good taste.”

Conversation flows easily after that. You talk about class – he hasn’t done the homework yet and he’s not ready for the test, don’t ask. He asks what your drink of choice is (it’s tequila) and how you landed on ketchup for a costume of all things (it was a joke that felt funnier at the time than it is now). It’s comfortable and breezy, and you regret not coming to these stupid house parties sooner.

You open your mouth to ask if he’d want to study together, and maybe the alcohol had loosened your tongue enough to ask if he’d want to grab coffee too, but you’re interrupted by Buttercup.

Buttercup eyes you for a moment, his eyes flickering between you and his “sister” before a smirk pulls at his mouth. An expression crosses Bokuto’s face, one you can’t read, and you shift your weight from one foot to the other.

“I hate to interrupt,” he interjects, “but it seems we have a situation in the upstairs bathroom. Mind giving me a hand?”

Bokuto sighs, his gaze shifting to yours apologetically. “Sorry, duty calls.”

You smile, a half-hearted thing that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. It doesn’t go unnoticed by Bokuto. “Go save the city, ladies.”

“I’ll uh-” he pauses as if he’s really considering his next words before a little twinkle alights in his golden eyes, “I’ll ketchup with you later.”

As he turns to leave, you swear you hear his friend shout over the music, “Dude, that was terrible.”

Having lost your condiment companion and your superhero crush, and with no one else to talk to, you decide to venture outside, hoping that the cool October air will help to ease the flush on your cheeks.

You can still hear the music from out here, can listen in on the gossip offered up among friends sharing a smoke at the table in the yard, but now that you’re separate from the party, looking out into the backyard, you can’t help the doubt that creeps into the back of your mind. It’s a blink of a thought, a wisp of smoke in the wind, and you suspect it’s only because you like him so much, but you wonder, idly, if someone like Bokuto could ever be into someone like you. You deflate, dropping your cup on the deck railing and pulling the stupid bottle cap hat off your head. Sighing, you feel stupid all over again.

You spend another few minutes in relative silence before the back door slides open and an excited “I found you!” sounds from behind you.

A hand presses into the small of your back. “I was looking all over for you! I came back downstairs and couldn’t find your little hat in the crowd anywhere.” The thought of him seeking you out again makes your head spin. “I brought you another drink, if you want it.”

Bokuto offers you the cup with a cute, almost sheepish quirk of his lips, and you take it gingerly. A smile forming to mirror his own. You take a sip and it’s the exact drink you had before, mixed to perfection and made all the tastier knowing Bokuto brought it for you. “It’s perfect! Thank you.”

He’s all too pleased by the praise. “I’m glad! I practically had to wrestle the last of the Sprite from some drunk dude in the kitchen.”

His expression and the hand resting on your back make your legs feel like jelly. “My hero.”

“I do what I can for my people! You wanna sit?” He gestures vaguely to the stairs leading to the yard and you nod. Before you can sit, you try, and fail, to pull your costume over your head. It isn’t exactly the most forgiving fabric for anything but standing, and you huff when you can’t bend your arm enough to pull it up and over your head.

“I hate this.” You grumble, dropping your new cup onto the railing right next to your old one. “What the fuck?” You try again and when it doesn’t budge, the annoyance only seems to mount. “This costume is cursed, I swear.”

You bring your hand up to angrily pull at the offending fabric, but Bokuto stops you from tugging again by placing his hand over yours. “Want some help?”

“Please.”

Bokuto needs all of about five seconds to get it over your head, and in that time, the costume drags the fabric of your undershirt up, exposing a sliver of your stomach. His eyes widen and he feels like those memes about Victorian men getting a glimpse at a woman’s ankle.

He’s pulled from his thoughts when you breathe a sigh of relief, plopping the costume onto the ground behind you. “Thank you. God, that was so much easier to get on.”

You collapse onto the deck stairs and pull your cup back into your grasp. Bokuto follows your lead, and when he puts his free hand behind him to rest against the wood, it ends up on top of your own. You don’t move a muscle and neither does he. The moon hangs bright and brilliantly yellow in the sky, painting Bokuto’s face in shadows that bring out his eyes and accent the high points of his face. For the umpteenth time, you think about how pretty he is and the chaos it’s causing in your heart.

You’re broken from your revelry when his eyes meet yours and, unable to hold his curious gaze, the tree in the distance suddenly becomes far more interesting than his side profile. When you’re not looking, Bokuto’s expression is struck by unabashed lovesickness. God, if Kuroo could see him now he knows he’d never hear the end of it.

In the comfortable silence that follows, and free from the confines of your condiment prison, your unasked question from earlier sits on the tip of your tongue. Do you wanna get coffee with me? The question plays over and over again as you rehearse the words and imagine them leaving your mouth. It can’t be that hard, right? People in cheesy rom-coms make this part seem so easy.

As if sensing your hesitation, you feel Bokuto’s hand curl a little tighter over yours. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, yeah.” You’re convincing yourself more than you are him, and it shows. His brows furrow and he seems to lean a little closer to you, awaiting an explanation. “I was just...” You sigh, collecting your nerves. “I was wondering if you wanted to get coffee with me this week? I could help you with the homework, too, if you want?”

Bokuto’s head tilts to one side, and before he can think to stop himself, he asks, “Like a date?”

He watches as your eyes widen. “I mean- I-...” You flounder, your face hot under his gaze. “If you want!”

The grin that overtakes Bokuto’s face is downright blinding, and you’re certain it’s the prettiest smile you’ve ever seen. And, for the first time, you catch a glimpse of his dimples. It should be illegal for one man to be this handsome.

“I’d like that. I don’t have practice on Tuesday. Wanna go at 11? I can pick you up from your dorm and we could go to that place down the street. Get off campus for a while before hitting the books?”

Your nod only spurs his smile to widen, his dimples to deepen. You have to fight the urge to reach out and pinch his cheek. “Sounds good to me.”

“Now,” Bokuto says suddenly, plucking your hat off the ground and fixing it over his pigtails as he moves to stand, “I’m freezing my ass off out here. Get that costume on and let’s go dance!”

With his free hand, he pulls you up. His hand only leaves yours for the second it takes you to pull your costume back on before his fingers are intertwining with yours again. And as the colorful lights of the living room bounce off his face, his laugh ringing out over the music as he pulls you close on the makeshift dance floor, you can’t wait for Tuesday.

#bokuto x reader #bokuto koutarou x reader #koutarou bokuto x reader #bokuto imagine #bokuto koutarou imagine #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu imagine #hq x reader #hq imagine #if this flops im gonna scream

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curekibouka-writing · 2 years

Note

Howdy do~! I’ve got a fluff/angst headcanon in mind: The dorm leaders’ (including Jamil’s) fem! s/o suddenly wakes up screaming in the middle of the night because of a traumatic nightmare of them Overblotting. As she wakes up, she tearfully tells them she’s scared of losing them a second time. How do they comfort her? Please and thanks!

A/N: This was a request sent to me more than a few months ago, and considering my upper limit being 4 characters per headcanon, I assume this request wants me to write Riddle, Leona, Azul and Jamil?

For Raven's TwstOBer day 5: Dream

Riddle Rosehearts:

Riddle is quick to brew you a cup of herbal tea to help ease your mind and hold your hand as he asks you what’s wrong.

You tell him you were dreaming of his overblot, the way he lost control and demanded obedience, the way his choker bled onto his pale neck as if it’d cut through. You tell him you fear it happening again, that you’d lose him to the monster raised by the same mother.

Riddle sits next to you and looks into your eyes very seriously, he reassures you with great certainty, “It won’t happen again. I’ve changed, well, I am trying my best to change.”

The world he thought to be absolute was only so because he knew nothing of the outside. The world he thought was wrong has expanded into so many colours, so many experiences, so many people, and so many hours beyond that small window. Every day, he’s learning something new. Every day, you’re teaching him something new. He could never return to being a thoughtless doll now that you are in his world. Likewise, he could never return to treating the world like a doll house, thinking that everything can be defined by absolute and ironclad standards.

“I think with my own head now,” he promises you, “I am here by your side on my own accord, just to raise an example. Regardless of whether it is ‘right’ or ‘wrong’, I will stay here. That is how I know now that no one is or needs to be absolutely correct, not me, not mother.”

Leona Kingscholar:

Leona doesn’t want to give anything a damn in the middle of the night but he will sit straight and listen to you until he knows you’re fine, so you’d better start talking so he can get back to sleep.

You tell him you were dreaming of that magift tournament, that time when his laughs cut deeper than his claws, that time when he gave up on everything, everyone, and himself, once again. You recall the despair that made up his roar reverberating in your veins, you recall the sand and dryness that evokes a sense of helplessness, you recall the crimes he almost committed. You tell him you don’t want to lose him to the monster that everyone makes him out to be.

“Tch. And what can we do? What can you do? Can you crown me king? Can you change what my own people say about me?” Leona almost scoffs in his reply, cynical as always, though you shouldn’t be surprised, “Fact is, life’s not fair. There are things I can’t change no matter what I do, let alone you, herbivore.”

He doesn’t sound especially comforting with a frustrated hand at his temple, but you’ll have to understand his reassurance in his language, “But there are still battles I’ll have to take head on, and when I do, I want all the chess pieces at my disposal,” he gestures at himself, “be it a king,” while his tail points to you, “or a pawn.”

He was born to lead, it was just never made known to him. If you choose to be his kingdom, this time he won’t abandon his people that easily.

Azul Ashengrotto:

Azul pulls up a chair and sits in front of you looking the best he could in the middle of the night. He begins to calmly and soothingly ask you questions that would guide you to tell him what’s wrong.

You tell him you were dreaming of breathing in the sea, losing your breath over seeing his true form, in awe, in fear. He was not like himself, all his grievances bursting out as spilling ink, dark and spreading. You stared into his constricted pupils, crazed and furious and blue like the ocean, blue like ice, blue like tears. You tell him you fear the monster he always hid inside him, you fear that anger, that vengeance would take over him again.

Azul grimaces briefly. The implication that he would stoop to something which he so meticulously hid isn’t pleasant for him, he values his benevolent and sophisticated image after all. However, since it has happened once back then, and he certainly has not forgiven or forgotten how he had been wronged, so he at least acknowledges that your fear is well-justified.

“How rude of you, to accuse that I’d revert to being who I used to be?” he puts on his fake sad face which quickly transforms to all the confidence and charisma he has when roping someone into a contract. “I’ll have you know I am a changed man. Have you not seen the Mostro Lounge’s profit this month? Have you not seen my performance in the previous practical alchemy exam? No one here can make light of me.”

You silently note that he is still using achievements to “measure” his worth. But you sigh and relent, this will take time. And if anything happens while he’s still fragile, well, at least this time he won’t be alone.

Jamil Viper:

Jamil rushes in, alerted and concerned, but he runs a hand though his hair in relief when he finds you in one piece. He was about to excuse himself if you were fine, but he does notice the cold sweat running down your forehead.

In response to his worried questions, you answer that you were dreaming of the winter holiday, of being blasted to the ends of the dimension and your heart pounding with every icy breath you take because every second you waste on getting back was one step he edges closer to death. You were dreaming of his maniacal laughter, of all the things that were so raw, so violent, and yet so true. Not that you want to hold him back but… you’re afraid of losing him to the monster he’s capable of being.

For freedom, Jamil would give quite literally anything, and that hasn’t changed. He knew there would be prices to pay, sacrifices to make, he always knew, but the weight of those prices sank in for the first time after his overblot. He had a narrow vision, thinking that if he’d lose them anyway, what good is there in searching for treasures?

But after almost losing everything, it’s different. If he’s gonna be stuck here anyway, laying the groundwork for a better, smarter scheme, then why not take what he can to make this cage a little less miserable? The path he has to take before arriving at a destination can surely be paved into valuable memories too.

He places a hand on yours, “There… are things that I don’t want to risk in the life I’m living now, I can’t afford to be desperate like last time. But I will find a way. I will obtain everything I want. One day I’ll be free, not as a monster, but as me.”

#twisted wonderland #twstober #twst writing #twisted wonderland x reader #riddle rosehearts #riddle rosehearts x reader #leona kingscholar #leona kingscholar x reader #azul ashengrotto #azul ashengrotto x reader #jamil viper x reader #jamil viper #twisted wonderland writing #twisted wonderland headcanons #twst headcanons #twst requests #twst x reader #twst angst

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florencetypemaniacs · 1 year

Text

Links:

{[DEMO]} | Chapters 1-3

{[MOODBOARDS]}

{CHARATER PORTRAITS: ["Book Club"], [Part 1]}

{SHORT/SIDE STORIES: [Marcel's Past], [Trick or Treat], [Suprise Party]}

{SPICY SHORT STORIES: [Nurse Owen]}

My Inner Sins is an interactive fiction game series being made with SugarCube (previously Harlow) on Twine. It has an urban supernatural theme where you will discover things about yourself, your family, and maybe even the hidden truth about your town. In this tale, you will meet new people, but beware; you don't know who you can trust or who has a knife to your back.

Content Warning: My Inner Sins is an interactive fiction game for players 16 and older that focuses mostly on NPC interactions and character growth. It will feature violent scenes, sexual themes, mental illness, suicidal thoughts, and strong language and is meant for older audiences.

About the Author: Hello, I go by Florence (she/her), and this is my first interactive fiction; however, this world has been in my mind since I was thirteen and watched Twilight for the first time. I plan for this to be a three-book series; however, I am a full-time college student. If you want to support me, then please send me words of encouragement via tumblr or Itch.io. I want to make a series out of this story and these characters I created, but I want to make sure people enjoy this world and this story as much as I do.

Four new people end up coming into town, and while that might be a little strange for the small town of Lockwood, Massachusetts, they seem to be keeping a watchful eye on you. But why should that matter? You have other things to worry about, like the feeling that you are being watched....

But everyone is welcome in Lockwood.....

Simple. Those were the words that once described your life, and you would’ve nodded your head in agreement. Your day was a never-ending cycle of the same thing. Wake up, go to work downstairs at your Aunt Zinnia's tea shop, try not to fall asleep at the cash register, sneak yourself a few muffins, go to sleep, have weird nightmares, and repeat for another day. So, it would be an understatement to say that you didn’t expect your life to be turned upside down by demons.

While most normal family secrets are mediocre or maybe a bit surprising, those of your family, the Oleanders, are mind-blowing. You find out that your family is best known for being monster hunters, or were until your mom fell in love with a demon, making you not only have the most profound hunter blood through your veins but also making you a cambion, a half-human, half-demon spawn.

Now, with an ancient evil coming after you, you have demons coming back to the mortal plane once again after already dying to guard you. Will you dive headfirst into this supernatural world, or will you crumble under the pressure this new world puts on your shoulders?

Features:

Play as a male, female, or nonbinary

Customize your appearance

Pick your MC's first name

Pursue romance and/or friendship with 6 different characters.

Have wholesome moments with the characters and maybe even babysit a seer.

Discover lasting romances or friendships with the champions of the seven hells.

Define and refine relationships with a variety of characters, including friends, family, or dream demons.

Decide how you will choose a skill from stealth, knowledge, athletics, or charisma.

Play matchmaker?

Name your cat familiar, pick their breed, and personality!

Shape your MC’s future and some of their past

💙 Lust

Rosemary “Rosie” Brown | F | 5’2 | 22 years old???

Rosie is a figure of beauty, with a charming personality that could make anyone swoon and a love for all things fashion. Growing up in the "Jazz Age" has equipped her with an easygoing attitude that didn't stop after she died, taking up the position of Courtesan of Lust and later joining Hell's Campions. Now, on a mission to protect you, she starts to feel again, not just lust but love.

Description: Her skin is a rich cocoa brown, with dark brown eyes and thick eyelashes. She has short, black, and curly hair that is loosely styled. Very short in stature with a slender build.

Warning: Past Abusive Relationship, Trust Issues, Talk of Receiving Racism

Trope: Optional Friends With Benefits to Lovers, Sworn off relationships

❤️ Wraith

Owen O’Conner | M | 6’4 | 32 years old???

With titles granted to Owen by King Alexander the third, it was no secret that he was the best fighter even with his brash attitude, in the knighthood however after his honor was stripped away after losing the person that mattered the most to Owen. His loses carried with him into the after life, becoming the Warrior of Warth and later a Hell's Campion and has swore to his master to protect you (even with your Aunt Ziannia on his "Kill List") . Will you start to become more to him than just a job?

Description: A Scottish man with freckles, pale beige skin, light blue eyes, and faint scars all over his arms and chest. He has long ginger hair, usually styled in a man bun, so it is out of the way. Tall in stature with firm muscles and broad shoulders.

Warning: Past Alcohol Abuse

Trope: Emotional scars, Learning to Love again, Forbidden Love

💛 Greed

Marcellus “Marcel” De Rosa | M | 5'9 | 20 years old???

Marcel always believed the gods left him; growing up on the streets, the death of his best friend, and the sickness that was killing his brother didn't leave much room for hope. However, through all the loss, Marcel had a golden heart that showed everyone kindness even if they might have not deserved such. In the afterlife, he earned the title of Advisor of Greed and later became the leader of Hell's Campions, which were sent to keep a watchful eye over you.

Description: He has a warm, olive skin tone, light brown eyes that complement his lithe build. He has curly, dark brown hair that seems to have never been touched by a brush. There are burns on his feet.

Tropes: Widow/widower, Golden Boy

🧡 Gluttony

Marguerite “Margaret” Badeaux | F | 5'8 | 21 years old???

Growing up in a high-class society, it was no surprise that Margaret was unaware of the revolution until it was too late. Dying at the hands of people who saw her as "scum," she carried the burden of never knowing the harm her family had caused until Margaret crossed over. Burying her sadness under the aura of sunshine, she started helping as many people as she could in the afterlife, earning the title Healer of Gluttony and later joining the ranks of Hell's Campions sent to watch over you. Will you be Margaret's first love?

Description: She has a pale skin tone, dark blue eyes that complement her slender build. She has light brown, choppy hair. There is a horizontal scar on the back of her neck

Warning: Eating Disorder??

Trope: First Love, Sunshine RO

🩵 Sloth

Tai Huang | M | 5'6 | 20 years old???

Being the child of a Chinese immigrant during the industrial revolution, Tai learned to be determined and have a good work ethic. When a tragic accident left him taking his last breath, Tai used his direct and intelligent personality to earn the favor of the Princess of Sloth, giving him the title of Spy Master of Sloth. Keeping a watchful eye on you as the only doctor in Lockwood. What is he hiding behind those tired eyes?

Description: He has a pale skin tone and green eyes that complement his slender build. He has chin-length black hair. Scars all over his chest and legs.

Warning: Talk of receiving Racism

Tropes: Grumpy RO, Lover in denial, Honesty...he is a total tsundere

💚 Envy

Zane Blackburn | M | 6’1 | 25 years old

Forgotten. Alone. Anger. That's all Zane has ever felt; when everyone seemed to abandon him, Zane placed his loyalty in the being that wants you dead. Through nightmares, you are able to communicate with him. You seem to find that behind his sarcastic and crass attitude, Zane is hiding his broken past.

Description: He has a pale skin tone and gray eyes that complement his swimmer build. He has styled, platinum blonde hair that seems to have too much hair spray. There are no scars on his body.

Warning: Received emotional and physical abuse through Guardian, (Early Relationship) manipulation, suicidal tendencies

Tropes: Rivals, Forbidden Love, Enemies to Lovers

#interactive fiction #twine game #if game #visual novel #if wip #interactive novel #cyoa #choose your own adventure #myinnersins #My Inner Sins #twine if #twine interactive fiction #promo post #itchio #itch.io #twine #myinnersins-if #Upcoming IF #Upcoming Interactive Fiction

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mikrotyalm13 · 5 months

Text

finally translated information about my oc gavriil aghhrhhra most of which was done with help of an yandex translate so yeah.

"So desperate for a presence like mine, yet unable to handle it in real life."

Gavriil / The Reverend.

height: 8'2 ft (without the horns).

calls himself a "guardian angel", but he is, in fact, anything but an angel, and does not serve any gods. he himself is something of a small deity.

does NOT like any form of physical pain and violence in bed, only light spanking and biting. given his height (and ego-), his size is only appropriate. when erect is about 36 cm or 14 inches. but he can, of course, change it as he pleases. absolutely adores the scared looks from much smaller in comparison humans. even if human is not fully prepared for such an intrusion, they will not experience much pain. of course it doesn't goes all the way down to the hilt... but they will feel everything else: the stretch, the fullness. oh, they'll feel it alright.

— stalks people for sport and then seduces them. at first he appears in a person's nightmares, giving them a lil bit of time to get "used" to his presence, watching them constantly until he gets bored. and after some mind games makes himself known in reality. preferably when they're alone, in their bed, in the middle of the night; — tends to sound... manipulative and pushy, and is completely unbothered by human's struggling or fear. says things like "i'm just a friend (другъ). i would never hurt my friend :)", "just let me make you feel good", "you deserve all of this love, every attention, every pleasure - don't you?", "i know you. i know how lonely you are. i know everything that's wrong with you. but you know what? i don't hate you for that", "only i can make you feel good", "i'm only giving you what you desire", "just relax and accept it. it'll be all over soon", "let it happen". not prone to degrading humans, but it doesn't stop him from being cruel and taunting. "ah, you're already too far gone, aren't you?", "such a small, helpless little thing you are right now. a little wiggling worm", "you're mine, little dove. you never had a choice", "shame looks so good on you"; — when calm his body gives off coolness, can be almost impalpable, horny = rock hard, hot like a furnace and incredibly heavy, but can control it, so he won't break anything or squish anyone on accident; — smells like a mixture of funeral pyre, wet wood and forest air. yes, all at once; — during sex, the only noise that you will hear coming from him besides dirty talk, teasing and praising, is the most heaviest breathing. which sounds like it's coming from inside your head. which makes it a little... difficult to fully understand what's happening in the moment. he may not look like it, but always makes sure that you both are alone in the room (even if there's someone in the house), and that no one will catch you; — very graceful despite his sizes, but his presence is very heavy, even if doesn't show himself at first. body so pliant and nice to the touch and all. he's like... meaty?? not skinny at all, very soft and defined muscles. probably has the nicest ass tiddies and thighs (the true holy trinity ig); — knows perfectly well the limits of each human with whom he comes into contact (therefore, he likes to push those limits and boundaries. just a little. just a tiny bit :3); — can see through people's flesh down to their internal organs and past them. unknowingly used this power a couple of times during sex. surprisingly, felt guilty afterwards.

<з: when all attention is on him (will look at you with all of his eyes, pressing his forehead against yours, or hold your face in a way where you can't turn or look away); shameless licking (dragging his long, think tongue from your knee up to your chest, leaving you cold and breathless. absolutely knows what he's doing with his tongue); whispering unintelligible things in your ear/from the dark corners of your room when you're least expecting it (especially lewd things in a language you can understand); when in the heat of the moment humans desperately grab onto his horns/shoulders; cockwarming; breeding (humans can't get pregnant from him); overstimulation; corruption kink; fear play.

#microtya's kids

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mindyco · 11 months

Note

Hello, how are you doing? I was wondering if you could write for the demon brothers with an s/o who's blind in one eye because of a scar they got in a fight back in the human realm?

Would they seek out the other human who caused it or leave it be? Thank you! I hope you have a nice week! ^ ^)/ ☆

Thank you, babe! I hope you have an amazing week as well~ ଘ(੭ˊᵕˋ)੭ ̀ˋ I was kinda confused as to whether we already had the scar or if we had just gotten into the fight and came back with the scar- I just chose the latter, but if it's the other one then I could always make a second one! I would like to write another one about how we're blind in the one eye after the fight, but this headcannon only mentions the scar on their face. Sorry it's very long, the idea you gave me was hella good so I couldn't stop! Thank you! Artwork credit: @myt_s3

Warnings: slight gore

Scenario: The brothers' reaction to us getting a scar

Lucifer surveyed the scar on your face with a mixture of concern and anger. He believed in upholding justice, and vengeance was a means to that end.

With a calculated mind, Lucifer orchestrated a plan that would systematically dismantle the human responsible. He used his influence and power to ruin their reputation, turning their once prosperous life into a living nightmare.

He ensured that they faced the consequences of their actions at every turn, their existence reduced to a mere shadow of what it once was.

Lucifer's vengeance was subtle yet devastating, a testament to his strategic brilliance. He reveled in watching their downfall, the flicker of despair in their eyes fueling his satisfaction.

Through his unwavering pursuit of justice, he protected you and ensured that the human responsible would never again harm those under his care.

Mammon seethed with anger upon seeing the scar on your face. His protective instincts flared, and he yearned to confront the human responsible for causing you such pain.

"Nobody messes with my human and gets away with it!" Mammon growled, his voice dripping with venom.

Driven by his impulsive nature, Mammon's first instinct was to seek immediate retribution. He wanted to unleash his fury upon the one who had harmed you, to make them pay for every ounce of suffering they had inflicted. However, you understood the consequences that such actions would bring, and you gently intervened, stopping Mammon in his tracks.

Mammon's anger simmered as he looked into your eyes, his heart torn between his desire for vengeance and his love for you. Eventually, he relented, realizing that your well-being was his top priority.

He enveloped you in his strong arms, offering a comforting embrace. The scent of his familiar cologne filled your senses as he whispered words of reassurance, his voice laced with an underlying determination.

"I can't stand the thought of anyone hurting you," Mammon confessed, his grip tightening ever so slightly. "But if it's what you want, I'll put that human scum out of my mind for now. Just promise me you'll always let me protect you."

And even in the moments where you felt self-conscious of the scar, Mammon would love every fiber of your being.

"Mammon, please," you pleaded, your voice tinged with vulnerability. "I don't want you to see it. It's ugly."

His eyes softened as he took in your anxious expression. With a gentle smile, he approached you, his fingers removing your hand that blocked your scarred eye.

"Listen up, human," Mammon said, his voice filled with sincerity. "There ain't nothin' ugly about you. Not a single thing. And that scar on your face? It's a part of you, just like every other piece that makes you so special."

With tenderness in his touch, Mammon leaned in and peppered kisses all over your face, his lips brushing against your skin with each sweet contact. His actions were deliberate, as if he were mapping out a constellation of affection, reminding you that your scars didn't define your worth.

As time passed, Mammon remained steadfast by your side, his devotion unwavering. The memory of the human responsible for your scar lingered in the recesses of his mind, serving as a reminder of the pain you had endured. But he chose to focus on the love he had for you, channeling his energy into supporting and comforting you during your healing process.

Leviathan was initially at a loss for how to confront the scar on your face. His natural inclination towards virtual worlds and gaming made it difficult for him to grasp the severity of the situation, and he struggled to find an appropriate response.

Though he understood that the scar required a real-life resolution. While he wasn't one to engage in physical confrontations, his determination to protect you burned fiercely within him.

Recognizing his strengths in the digital realm, Leviathan harnessed his expertise to unveil the truth about the human who had caused you harm. With his unparalleled skills in online research and information gathering, he delved deep into the vast network of interconnected data.

Hours turned into days as Leviathan meticulously pieced together fragments of information, leaving no digital stone unturned. He uncovered the human's online presence, exploring their social media accounts, forum discussions, and digital footprints. His envy became a driving force, spurring him to expose the truth and bring justice to your doorstep.

Online, Leviathan donned the persona of an anonymous hacker, a figure who weaved through the digital labyrinth undetected. With cunning precision, he orchestrated a series of calculated moves, revealing the human's misdeeds to the public eye.

Through a carefully orchestrated online campaign, Leviathan unearthed every piece of evidence, every unsavory detail about the human's actions. He disseminated the information across various platforms, tarnishing their reputation and reducing their life to shambles.

As the virtual realm buzzed with the damning revelations, the human's world crumbled around them. Their once-innocent façade shattered, exposing the darkness that lay within. Friends turned their backs, opportunities evaporated, and their influence dwindled. It was a revenge orchestrated through the power of information, a fitting retribution for the pain they had caused you.

Meanwhile, in the real world, Leviathan stood by your side, offering unwavering support and care. He knew that revenge alone couldn't heal the wounds you carried, and his focus shifted to ensuring your well-being and providing the love and comfort you needed.

Satan, the embodiment of knowledge and wrath, gazed at the scar on your face with a mix of protectiveness and a seething anger that threatened to consume him. For decades, he had meticulously honed his control over his inner demons, striving to keep his wrath in check. However, in that moment, his restraint teetered on the precipice of collapse.

As the fury welled up inside him, Satan struggled to rein it in, his hands clenched into fists. The sight of the scar served as a catalyst, awakening a primal desire for vengeance. Every fiber of his being yearned to unleash his wrath upon the human responsible, to make them pay for the pain they had caused you.

But then, he looked into your eyes, the warmth and trust that reflected within them momentarily grounding him. He realized that succumbing to his unbridled wrath would only bring further harm, not just to the human but also to you.

With a determined yet controlled expression, Satan vowed to channel his anger into a relentless pursuit of justice. He dedicated himself to uncovering every detail about the human responsible, to ensure that they faced the consequences for their actions within the bounds of the law and without jeopardizing your safety.

Though the struggle to contain his wrath persisted, Satan channeled his energy into meticulously planning their downfall. He used his vast knowledge and cunning to expose the truth, leaving no stone unturned. In doing so, he sought to bring them to justice through legal means, ensuring that their actions were brought to light and that they faced the consequences of their deeds.

As the human's life unraveled, Satan watched with a mix of satisfaction and detached amusement. Their downfall was evidence to his meticulous planning and unwavering dedication to protecting those he cared about. He ensured that they suffered the consequences of their actions, their existence forever tainted by the knowledge that their own choices had led to their demise.

Asmodeus refused to hide the scar with layers of makeup, no matter how much you begged. Instead, he saw it as an opportunity to create something truly unique and mesmerizing.

With his deft hands and artistic eye, Asmodeus used makeup as a form of artistry, accentuating the scar in a way that made it look beautiful on your face. He embraced its presence as part of your individuality, refusing to let society's standards define your worth.

"Darling, every brushstroke on your face is a masterpiece," Asmodeus would whisper, his voice filled with genuine admiration. "The scar shows your strength and resilience. You are more beautiful with it than without."

Despite your occasional doubts and insecurities, Asmodeus showered you with words of affirmation and adoration. He made it his mission to remind you, day after day, just how beautiful you were. His compliments were genuine and heartfelt, spoken with a fervent passion that left no room for doubt.

He reveled in the opportunity to showcase your unique beauty, to celebrate every facet of your existence. With each encounter, Asmodeus made it clear that his love for you transcended physical perfection, embracing your imperfections as part of what made you captivating and alluring.

Beelzebub, his protective instincts raging, felt a burning desire for revenge upon seeing the scar on your face. The image of the human responsible lingered in his mind, tempting him to unleash his formidable strength upon them. However, Beelzebub knew that vengeance was not what you needed in that moment.

Instead, he chose to cherish you, to provide the love and comfort that would help heal your wounds—both physical and emotional. Beelzebub cradled you in his massive arms, his touch gentle yet reassuring. His voice, deep and resonant, filled the air as he whispered words of affection and reassurance.

"You're beautiful, scar and all," Beelzebub murmured, his voice brimming with genuine sincerity. "I love you for who you are, with or without the mark. Please don't forget that."

With each tender caress, Beelzebub conveyed his unwavering devotion, offering solace and support during your time of vulnerability. He understood that revenge wouldn't erase the pain you had endured, and instead chose to channel his strength into protecting and comforting you.

Belphie was initially conflicted upon witnessing the scar on your face. His laid-back nature and tendency to prioritize rest and slumber often shielded him from the harsher realities of the world. However, as he comprehended the pain etched on your features, a surge of protectiveness awakened within him.

Belphie's typically drowsy eyes sharpened with determination as he acknowledged the injustice that had befallen you.

With his wings unfurled, casting a shadow of darkness, Belphie located the human responsible for your scar. His movements were swift and silent, as if he were a phantom navigating the human realm undetected.

Tracking down the individual who had caused you harm, Belphie confronted them with an otherworldly aura. His demon form radiated power and menace as he towered over the trembling human. The air grew heavy with the weight of impending retribution. Without a word, Belphegor lunged at the human, his grip tight around their throat.

A chilling smile curved Belphie's lips as he looked into the human's eyes, mirroring the fear and anguish they had once inflicted upon you. His bored expression remained unchanged as he watched the color drain from their face, his hold unyielding until their lifeless body crumpled to the ground.

The scene transformed into a tableau of darkness and blood, as Belphie's wrath found its release. The human's life force drained away, their body collapsing to the ground, lifeless and void of the malice they had once possessed.

With the deed done, Belphie returned to HOL, pulling you into his arms, he cradled you gently, offering solace and reassurance in the aftermath of the storm. He made sure his revenge went unnoticed by you.

As the minutes turned to hours, Belphie remained steadfast by your side, his touch bringing comfort and a sense of security. The scar on your face became a symbol not of weakness, but of resilience and survival.

In the days that followed, Belphie took on the role of your guardian, ensuring your well-being and protecting you from any lingering threats. His lethargy seemed to dissipate as he became a constant presence, offering a sense of peace and tranquility in the wake of the storm.

～𓆩ᥫ᭡𓆪

#Obey me #obey me headcanons #x reader #Belphie #Lucifer #Satan #Levi #Asmo #Beel #Mammon #Protect me too #please!!!!

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atlas-of-a-human-soul · 2 years

Text

Wildest dreams, pt. 12

Summary: In agony of what has happened, Y/N remembers Paul.

Warnings: angst, swearing, blood, mentions of death

Wildest Dreams Masterlist

————————————

"Owhhh", Y/N mumbles as her eyes flutter open despite the pulsating ache at the back of her head.

"She's waking up", Jacob grumbles, his creased forehead being the first thing she sees as her vision clears.

"What the hell happened", she grips the hair, slowly rubbing her scalp as she tries to sit up but the moment she does, the world starts spinning once again.

"She's gonna puke", Embry remarks, drawing a few glares his way, including Y/N's. Raising his arms in mock surrender, he grimaces. "I'm not cheering for it!"

"My head is killing me", she exclaims as she leans back on the grass with a pained moan passing her lips.

"Well, it's kinda bleeding", Quil adds and her eyes open wide in panic.

"IT IS?!"

"Just let me talk to her", a familiar voice insists and moments later Y/N finds another head clouding her view of the grey skies.

"OH, I definitely have a concussion because I'm sure I'm hallucinating."

Chuckling, Paul crouches beside her. "And I'm sure you are enjoying the view."

Rolling her eyes, she scowls. "It's like my worst nightmare joining forces with the worse headache of my life."

"Aww, I made it to number one on your list."

Finding himself at the other end of her chillingly cold death glare, Paul dropped his smile. "Alright, I'm sorry. I promise this was an accident."

"What exactly are you referring to?" She quirks an eyebrow, her eyes flickering to Jacob who presses his lips in a thin line.

"The basketball", Paul begins, but pauses as her eyes narrow at him. "Doesn't matter, it was an accident and I'll help you."

"OH, it matters!" She points an accusatory finger his way. "I AM SEEING DOUBLE. One Paul was bad enough, but now there are two of you and I'm supposed to believe you didn't hit me on purpose?"

Sighing, Paul furrows his brows. "I swear to you, I wouldn't hurt you."

"You did before." She pouts. "In fact, you did it more than once."

"Not on purpose", Paul defends.

"Could have fooled me", she remarks bitterly.

Without a word, he wraps his right arm around her and pulls the other below her knees only to lift her up before she has time to object.

"What are you doing", she hisses, glancing at her friends who shrug innocently. "Geez, guys, thanks for abandoning me."

"Taking you to the nurse", Paul grumbles as she instinctively wraps her left arm around his neck.

"See, he will help!" Embry exclaims and she rolls her eyes, looking up at Paul and the somber look on his face.

"You do realize you'll get in trouble?"

"Just don't tell my dad, please", he sighs as he begins walking. "He'll kill me if I get in trouble again."

"So, if I say this was an accident I'd be saving your life?" She grins, tapping the fingers of her right hand at the back of Paul's neck mischievously, sending chills down his back.

Smirking, he nods.

"Then you'd be inclined to repay that favor?" She lifts her brows, her lips forming a small smile as her vision settles and she finally sees him, truly.

His lips set in a pout as his smirk falters, his jawline remarkably defined as he clenches the muscles in his jaw. His eyelashes are long, dark and heavy on his dark brown eyes and she can't help but wonder how she never noticed his beauty before. Because he is...beautiful, so incredibly beautiful.

"I don't like where this is going", Paul glances at her, swallowing thickly as he notices her lingering gaze.

"Meh, it's going to be okay. I only saved your life, it won't be a huge favor."

That was the first time Y/N saved Paul's life. Today, she had to do the same with a lot more at stake.

Blinking fast, she furrows her eyebrows as her breath is caught at the seams of her pressed lips. Releasing it past her quivering bottom lip, she forces herself to look to Sam instead of Paul. Panic isn’t going to help either of them now, she needs to be the doctor, not a loved one.

Loved one…It’s what she is to him, is she not?

“Come”, she beckons them to follow her, pulling back a curtain in the furthest bed of the department.

Swallowing the lump forming at the back of her throat, she watches as they lay Paul’s battered body on the clean sheets that stain red on contact.

“What the hell happened?” She whisper shouts, her question directed at Sam. Paul called him an alpha – a leader. It’s his job to keep the rest of the pack safe and in her fright for Paul’s well-being, she turned her anger at Sam as she points a finger at his chest. “Aren’t you supposed to be invulnerable?!”

“For the most part”, Sam grimaces. “He’s been weakened.”

“How?!”

Jacob clears his throat and Y/N’s death glare falters as she turns to Paul, noticing his eyes are open.

Grabbing his hand, she turns to him with a meek smile. “It’s gonna be okay”, she says quietly. “I’ll make sure it’s okay.”

Trying to speak, Paul’s mouth opens, but instead of words all that comes out is a croak.

Reluctantly, she releases his hand. Waving over a trusted nurse, she does what she does best. While the nurse opened and IV line on one side, she did it on the other. Detaching herself from the nasty reality before her, she had become a machine. Taking Paul to diagnostics, she had found so many injuries that even she knew it would be unwise to officially put it in his chart. If she manages to help and Paul heals so fast, everyone would have questions.

So she did what she thought is best – she had started necessary medications, fluids and prayers that setting his bones right would help Paul’s body heal.

Sitting by his bed, she stared at his closed eyes with a crease between her eyebrows. She knows he needs to rest, but it’s not easy seeing him in a state she’d have sent most patients to the ICU for. Hell, he’d need several surgeries if he were a regular patient, but he isn’t and she’s painfully aware she must trust in what Jacob told her about the way Carlisle Cullen helped him survive similar injuries.

“What did Sam mean”, she glances at Jacob who remained with her, sitting on the other side of the bed. “He said Paul is weakened.” She presses her lips in a thin line, her eyes falling to her right hand that’s holding onto Paul’s so tightly as if letting it go would prove to be a catastrophically bad decision.

“Don’t do that”, Jacob’s stern, a vastly different tone than she expected from him. He’s always been so gentle with her, even in the way he talks to her.

“Do what?”

“Look for ways to hurt yourself.”

His answer further aggravates her. She’s not looking to hurt herself, she’s trying to understand things that clearly go over her head and she wants to help Paul but how can she do that when everyone’s so tightlipped about things that matter.

“What weakened him”, she repeats her question bitterly.

“You”, Jacob says quietly. “Being away from an imprint, the feel of rejection…It leaves a wolf haunted.”

Licking her lips, she bows her head as the crease between her eyebrows deepens. “So, I did this.”

“A vampire did”, Jacob corrects her. “But the fact he isn’t healing as well as he should may be tied to you.”

Falling silent, she inhales sharply. She only wanted space, not for Paul to be knocking on death’s door. He didn’t even warn her of the ways it would impact him. Why didn’t he tell her? Why couldn’t he have been honest?

She would scream if only she could breathe right now. Her chest is tightening, her heart waging war with her mind that’s ready to concede, to give in and fully feel the undeniable wave of anguish taking her by the storm.

“He didn’t want to influence your decision”, Jacob adds and she flinches as if she was so lost in her own battles that she forgot he’s there. “I know where your mind went, so stop. Paul clearly cares for you. The last thing he’d want is you agonizing over it.”

“He’s a dumbass”, she scowls. “I hope he gets better soon so I can kill him myself.”

Chuckling, Jacob nods. “He will.”

“I still don’t think he should be moved.” Y/N bites the inside of her bottom lip. “I don’t like the idea of him being away from doctors.”

“He’ll have you”, Embry interrupts.

Sharing a look, Y/N nods. He’s right, because there is no way in hell she’d let them take Paul and not go with them. If anything, she’ll take as many supplies as possible and create a makeshift hospital for him at home.

There is nothing and no one she’d let stop her from saving his life.

So she can yell at him.

He’ll probably laugh it off, say something stupid like he loves his girls feisty, but she’d take that over this deafening silence.

Anything is better than fighting with him in her thoughts only. She’d rather he recovers and things go back to how they were before they ever admitted to one another what they feel…before he admitted it. She simply stared at him aghast as if being loved by him is the worst thing to ever happen to her.

But it’s not.

Surely he must have known that.

“You”, Jacob told her and that is impossible to ignore. He didn’t know that she does care, so fucking much. But how could she have explained that she was scared – not of the supernatural drama, rather of the way he makes her feel – as if half of her heart has always been his.

Rolling her eyes, Y/N turns away from Paul who looked ready to dish out fresh ways of insulting her. Somehow, everything he’s ever said to her made it seem like all his free time is spent thinking of ways to humiliate her. Just the day before he had told her the pink highlights she spent a year convincing her mom to get looked awful – “like bubblegum stuck in your hair” to be precise.

Part of her wanted to roll with the punches and ignore his words, but she cried herself to sleep instead. Despite being anything but friends, Paul easily picked apart her insecurities and her hair was the only thing she truly loved about her looks. He made it impossible to look at the new hairdo and not think of his comment.

Jacob loved it, Embry said she looks cute and Quil insisted he found her new look refreshing, yet those compliments aren’t what her mind goes to anymore – it’s the fact Paul Lahote made fun of her.

Usually, she was so well versed in warfare with Paul, but this time was different. Her words would leave her and she’d get choked up every time she’d make eye contact with him to the point of running away from him just so he wouldn’t see her cry.

Until she had enough.

One day, she showed up to school on Monday without her pink highlights, her eyes dull and the look on her face grim. She kept to herself, not spending time with her friends as she used to. In fact, Jacob Black didn’t even show up to school.

It didn’t take Paul long to take notice. In fact, he caught on within a single period. Something was wrong and while most times he’d ignore it and the annoying discomfort in his chest each time he’d look at her little frown, that day he couldn’t.

Finding her alone under the bleachers, Paul couldn’t fight the smile that spread when he saw her engrossed in a book – making notes next to a paragraph. For a guy who isn’t a fan of books, he hated how badly he wanted to read the very copy she owned – the one where she left her thoughts on the pages.

“What do you want”, she grumbles as she saw him out the corner of her eye. The last thing she needed is Paul Lahote making her day worse than it is.

Raising his hands in mock surrender, he bends to keep his head from banging on the low riding bleachers. “I needed a healthy dose of hatred with my morning coffee and thought you could help.”

Scowling, she closes her book. “Find someone else to bother, Lahote.”

“But you’re my favorite”, he whines and her eyes flicker to his in an instant as if the implications of her being his favorite anything could start an apocalypse.

Sitting a few feet away from her, he sighs. “You changed your hair again”, he notes and she leans her head back, staring up at the bleachers.

“Your sight is intact, seems like you don’t need glasses.”

Her tone is monotone, void of the usual disdain she holds for him. It’s…empty. Just as her eyes seem to be and that is worse than any insult she could throw his way.

“Why’d you do it?”

“You”, she deadpans. “Among other things.”

Swallowing thickly, his eyebrows furrow. “Why me?”

“You hated it and made it very clear”, she reminds him. “Publicly.”

Licking his lips, Paul nods. “I didn’t hate it. I just…”, he sighs. “I like your hair as it is. You don’t need any peppy highlights that make you seem fake like the other girls in our school.”

“Well, I don’t feel peppy anymore and fake? You mean the girls you screw around with?”

Clearing his throat, he shrugs. “Only for a night.”

“And that’s because they’re fake according to you?”

“They all agree to a night”, Paul bites his lower lip. “None of them want more, just bragging rights. A popularity win.”

Rolling her eyes, she rests her head on the side of the bleachers. “Good thing I have no desire to be popular.”

“You weren’t kidding about not being peppy”, he chuckles nervously but seeing her close her eyes as if she’s in pain quickly stifles his laugh and erases his smile. “Now I’m worried.”

“Don’t be”, she remarks bitterly. “I don’t need your pity.”

“Why would I pity you?”

Opening her eyes, her gaze captures his. For a moment her eyes linger lower, on his lush lips she joked she’d rather die than kiss, but it’s only for a moment. She’s quick to remind herself Paul isn’t someone she should be daydreaming about as her eyes flicker back to his.

“You don’t know”, she swallows the lump at the back of her throat as her eyes flood with tears and she shakes her head before covering her face with her hands.

Moving to her side, Paul wasted no time in grabbing her in his embrace. It’s the first time ever they’ve been this close – close enough that he can smell the lilac perfume he’d usually get a whiff of in passing. He’s so close that he can feel her body shaking against his as she stifles sob after sob before finally gasping for air and after that, she couldn’t hold back any longer.

And while Paul didn’t know what had happened during the weekend he was in Montreal to have caused Y/N to fall apart in his arms, he held on tightly until she didn’t need him anymore.

Or so he thought. Because from that day on, she spent every moment needing the comfort of the hug he had provided, desperately seeking an anchor to keep her sanity.

That was the first time she truly felt like she needed Paul Lahote; the day after she buried her mother. She had often thought about him after that, hoping to find ways to bridge their differences and sometimes it seemed as if it was working…until he had disappeared from school often enough that she didn’t even see him at his graduation she attended for him and him alone - hoping for a glimpse of him. Two years later and she caught that glimpse on her own graduation, but it was a fleeting moment that she could have sworn she imagined because she wanted to see him that day - she needed to see him that day.

It never occurred to her that the day Paul needs her would come, but it had. She sat at his bedside, alternating with Sam only to use the bathroom before running to his side. Holding his hand, she could feel his fingers twitch every now and then, whispering in his ear in those moments just in case he can hear her.

And in those whispers, Y/N asked him to return to her. She asked him to come back, to give her a chance to love him the way he loves her. She pleaded with him to open his eyes, to smirk while teasing her once more.

Despite holding his warm hand, she felt colder and colder as his eyes remain closed. She didn’t want to cry, worried he’d hear her and suffer more, but she felt fractured within – ready to break.

“You need to rest”, Emily places a hand on her shoulder, her voice gentle, laced with so much kindness.

“I can’t”, Y/N whispers meekly. “I feel like I can’t breathe”, she sniffles. “It’s as if the world has caved in and holding his hand is the only way I can will my heart to keep beating.”

Closing her eyes, a tear escapes her and she can’t help but wonder when her tears will turn to blood, because she feels as if her insides are filled with it.

“His fever broke”, Emily comforts her. “It’s going just as it did with Jacob.”

“Seth said Jacob was awake”, Y/N replies sharply, harsher than she intended. “Paul hasn’t been awake in days.” She looks up at Emily and her sympathetic smile. “Why isn’t he awake?”

“Jacob experienced excruciating pain in his waking state. Perhaps Paul is spared of such fate.” Emily pats her back lightly. “Just hold on, Y/N. It won’t be long before he wakes up.”

“I hope so”, she lets out a heavy sigh, adding pressure to his hand before resting her lips at the back of it. “I hope so”, she repeats quietly, like a prayer.

Tags: @the-chaotic-cow @xxxjaexxx @captainrogers-19 @bexloxl @laehlaluvs @adaydreamaway08 @sunsetevergreen @volturiwolf @twihard08 @galacticstxrdust @sorrow-and-bliss @ireadthensuetheauthors @missxmarvelous @locokoca @unstablekay @makhaia @venusdelaroix @avadakadabra93 @tearsforhan @a-marie-a @lendeluxe @julia13123 @seagulls-corner @whatevenisthisname @jdbxws

Part 13

#twilight #paul lahote #paul lahote x reader #twilight fanfiction #twilight fandom #Twilight series #paul lahote series

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casanovawrites · 6 months

Text

random sentence prompts ━ from various tv shows, part 4

surviving is a choice. make yours.

you can’t be afraid to kill. you understand?

i’m not afraid to kill. i’m just… afraid.

i was trying to save lives. i had to try. somebody had to.

if they slaughtered everyone once, what the hell makes this any different?

this sounds like a suicide mission.

we did terrible things in its name.

my honest advice would be that if you’re that miserable, you should break up with them and be with me instead.

you are remarkably resistant. it must be exhausting.

how is it possible that this is the most scared i’ve been all day?

you don’t have to like what i did. i don’t. but just accept it.

we’ve all done the worst kinds of things just to stay alive. but we can still come back, we’re not too far gone.

this is why i like you. you just want to hold my hand.

when are you two going to make out already?

have you ever had to work for anything?

bad things happened because i was scared. they didn’t need to. i didn’t need to be afraid.

i don’t have to be tough. i can run. i’m good at that.

my mom used to say, “everything works out the way it’s supposed to.”

have you been in love with me this whole time?

you start breathing, i’ll start you a shower, and we’ll go from there.

maybe we could catch our breath here for a while.

life isn’t a race. you taught me that.

the whole world’s haunted now. there’s no getting out of that - not until we’re dead.

we’re supposed to be working together.

this year would have been painful without you.

you were so self-obsessed, you never noticed your best friend needed you.

i don’t feel challenged.

if this is where you want to be, then stay.

i need to know if you mean what i think you mean. do you still love me?

i’m with you. ’til the world explodes.

if we’re going to do this, you need to be all in.

it’s funny how you don’t even notice the time go by. horrible shit just stacks up day after day.

you are not safe, no matter how many people are around.

we’re strong enough that we can still help people.

this is the nightmare, but nightmares end.

we ain’t dead. whatever happened, happened. let’s start over.

there’s nothing left in the world that isn’t hidden.

we’re friends. we have each other’s backs, that’s it. that’s how it works.

growing up is getting used to the world.

we do what we need to do, and then we get to live.

we don’t have to be friends. it just doesn’t have to be quiet.

people always die. you know that.

you don’t know yourself. that’s the big ah-ha for me here. i get you more than you get you.

i know that i love you, and i need you, and maybe you could love me too. and that’s okay.

all you do is hurt me.

oh, please, like you haven’t been waiting for me to screw up.

you’re no sheep. you’re a wolf.

i actually thought you wanted to be my friend.

asshole, i don’t go to the gym every day.

so, you’re leaving to fight ghosts? that’s the plan?

i don’t think any one place can be someone’s everything.

all i have is pain.

there are very few people in this world that make me feel the way you do.

can we just forget this ever happened, please?

you’re doing great. i promise.

it’s you and me against the world, okay?

friendship doesn’t matter. love doesn’t matter.

i’m superhuman, right? made of steel.

people will say almost anything to save their own life.

what if i hadn’t come home in time?

they think we’re guilty, so we are.

i’m grieving the loss of what we could have made this place.

tonight, even though we are in hell, i feel like i have another chance with you.

you and me are the way out.

i won’t let anything pull us apart again. you hear me?

i should've just skipped class, partied, had sex, have fun.

you smell like shit.

we need to get the fuck out of here now.

you are not defined by what happened to you. you are what you do.

fuck it. i’m dying tonight one way or another.

maybe you’re right. maybe shit is doomed.

the reality is, i’m dying. i am dying. you have to face that.

what happened to “me and you against the world, you’re all i need”?

stop crying where everyone can see you. it’s embarrassing.

all my days are bad.

tonight’s been the first time i’ve felt like myself in months. it’s been so long. i forgot what that felt like.

you make me feel like… me.

you drive me crazy sometimes but we're in this together. you're not alone.

#ask meme #sentence prompts #prompts #rp sentence prompts #rp ask meme #ask memes #*#meme

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cacoetheswriting · 11 months

Note

I am loving Pearl so far, beautifully written, but WAIT because I have to know what the letters said 😭😭😭

thank you, anon! <3 i appreciate your sweet words 🥹 and thank you for asking, it inspired me to actually fill in this gap - hope you enjoy!

content warnings: best friends to lovers, slow burn, mutual pining, mature themes, adult language, death of a parent, topics of grief, emotional hurt / comfort, self-doubt / insecurities - unedited - if i missed anything, pls let me know!

pearl masterlist

November 19, 1984

Eddie,

Sitting back in my dorm feels almost surreal. Everyone around me is going about their lives as normal, and I know I can’t be mad because obviously to them nothing’s changed, but how am I expected to join in normality? To just pick up where I left off at the start of the month?

You know what my chem professor told me? ‘We’ve all lost someone. The trick is to not make it your whole personality.’ In a way that makes sense to me. It’s logical. I can’t let my dad’s passing define me. And he obviously would want me to move on with my life. But Eddie, my heart bleeds.

This grief… This grief is swallowing me whole. This grief has embedded itself into my core being and on most days, it’s fucking consuming me. I lost a parent, a protector, a friend. There are memories I’ll never get to make because he’s gone. I really lost a piece of myself. How come no one seems to get that?

You get that, right Eddie? I know you understand. You always understand.

I miss you. I miss my dad.

P.S. Excuse this tear stained paper. It’s a mess. I’m a mess.

P.P.S I’m sorry for running off on you the day of the funeral. It was just… a lot.

November 22, 1984

Eddie,

Nothing makes sense anymore. (Also, I know I just wrote you, but I haven’t sent that letter yet so you’ll get both together and can respond to them as one.)

I’m trying to catch up on the material I missed and the words blend together before my eyes. Well, I only have myself to blame. My mom offered for me to take the rest of the semester off and start fresh from the new year, but I thought the distraction would help. I couldn’t have been more wrong.

I’m so sad all the time. And you know what the worst part is? Aside from the nightmares and this restlessness I’ve felt since the funeral, I just can’t stop thinking about you. What is Eddie doing, who is he with, does he think about me too?

Well, do you? God, this is fucking stupid. I know you do ‘cause you fucking call me everyday and I can’t bring myself to answer or call you back… Stupid…

I also think about our last moment together often… Actually, please ignore this letter, Eddie. Don’t respond. Like I said, nothing makes sense anymore, including my thoughts.

I miss you.

November 27, 1984

Eddie,

I’m sorry I’ve been ignoring your calls. I’m sorry I’ve had my roommate make up stupid excuses for me, that’s so lame. Most of all though, I’m sorry I haven’t called you back.

You’re trying to be there for me and I’m pushing you away. That’s shitty of me and really unforgivable. But the thing is, I think I’m doing it because I know you’ll always forgive me. That’s even shittier of me. I’m awful.

You deserve a better friend, Eddie Munson. You deserve the world and I only wish I could give you that. Instead, you’re stuck with a girl who runs away from uncomfortable situations and hurts you in the process.

I wish I could go back to the day of the funeral and change

November 30, 1984

I spent the entire day listening to my mom cry over the phone — tell me, does it make me heartless for not shedding a single tear? Thinking now, this is the first time I haven’t cried since the funeral.

Anyway, I’m failing the semester. Surprise, surprise.

Also, Jonathan and Nancy came to visit. Why didn’t you come with them? God, why am I such a loser? Won’t speak with you over the phone, but gets mad when you don’t take time from school to come see me. I’m sick of myself.

P.S. Thank you for regularly doing the groceries for my mom and helping her around the house. You have no idea how much that means to her, and to me. I love— Thank you, Eddie.

December 4, 1984

It’s been a month since my dad died.

The grief hasn’t surpassed. If anything, it’s gotten stronger. My roommate has to force me to do basic human things like eat and sometimes even shower. She’s really been my rock here these last few weeks. You’d like her, I think. She couldn’t be more different than you in style, but she’s funny.

I know you probably don’t have a high opinion of her now, considering she’s helping me avoid you, but—

I should really call you back. I’m sorry.

December 10, 1984

I haven’t sent a single one of these letters. You’ll probably never read them and know how truly awful I feel for ignoring you.

Eddie, how come things have gotten so complicated? You’ve done nothing wrong. It’s all on me. I wish we could go back to that day at Lover's Lake when you played your guitar for me. That was bliss.

I miss you, my Bobby McGee.

December 14, 1984

Eddie, you didn’t call today.

I shouldn’t be surprised. Not like I’ve given you a reason to call.

I wonder if you’ll even want to see me when I come home for the holidays. Probably not. That’s okay though. That’s okay…

December 19, 1984

Eddie,

Perhaps I’m saying this a little too late, but I appreciate you. Thank you for being my best friend and the entire reason why I know I’m going to be okay.

I think I’m in love with you. No. I know I am.

And I’m going to give you all these letters. Hopefully, you’ll read them in front of me so I can see your reaction when I say:

I love you, Eddie Munson.

I’m coming home for the holidays. I’ll come see you and I’ll apologise. With any luck, you’ll forgive me for being a cold-hearted bitch. With any luck, although I probably don’t deserve it, you’ll be my person again.

I'm yours, forever.

thank you for reading <3

& tagging some cool people that expressed interest in this lil series: @cactusangie , @spenciesprincess , @capitanostella , @ashlynnkennedy , @ms1oftheboys

pearl masterlist

#these are actually a little sad #pearl (eddies version)#eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x female character #eddie munson x fem!reader #bestfriend!eddie #eddie munson x best friend reader #best friends to lovers

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