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gurugirl · 1 year ago

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The Séance Experience

ghost!harry | ghost!reader | horror | dark

Summary: A pair of spiritual mediums decide to host an underground seance on Halloween morning at the old abandoned Styles’ house, well know for being haunted. Things go awry. Not everyone escapes.

A/n: I'll have warnings listed below but just know this isn't for everyone! Read at your own discretion! This is dark and horror based. If you'd like some background on the story read the original one shot - On Halloween Morning but this can be read as a standalone.

Word Count: 9224

Warning: 18+ only, smut, dubcon, death, violence, murder, ghosts, evil spirits, use of Ouija board, horror, dark content

Cooper had been planning this for nearly a year. It had meant a lot to her. It wasn’t just a gimmick to make a quick buck and trick gullible souls like one would think. No, she was a real spiritual medium. Sensitive to energy from the presence of the dead among the living, as well as entities of the evil kind. And every time she passed the old Styles house she felt it call to her. It truly was a cursed graveyard, now home to dead souls and dark spirits alike.

Almost everyone had heard of what happened in that house on Halloween morning in 1968. An entire family was slaughtered. At first, the police didn’t know who did it but eventually determined it was the 20-year-old son, Harry Styles, who had killed himself after killing his entire family in their beds.

But it didn’t end there. Over the years people would sneak into the house and many would never be heard from again. And there was never any evidence of anyone being in the house. A missing person without a body is hard to investigate. Police had gone in numerous times to check out calls when neighbors heard screams or family members were concerned when a loved one never returned. Nothing was ever found except usually a few loose boards and pried-open windows or doors but they always chalked that up to squatters coming and going or the occasional thrill seeker.

All those missing people who’d gone in and never come back out led Cooper to believe the house was inhabited by a dark force. Not just ghosts of the dead. It could be common for a home to turn into a cemetery of sorts when people had died on the premises. But it wasn’t common for a home to harbor the darkness of evil and to lure and then collect the souls of the living.

But she still needed to go in there and make contact somehow. There was an intense pull. Something drew her in, called to her, and it only got stronger as time went on. She became obsessed with the house. Read every news article she could find, all the missing people connected to Styles house, police reports, and supposed first-hand accounts of those who had escaped (she knew to take most of those stories with a grain of salt).

She found out as much as she could about the original family members, especially Harry Styles, who she was sure was the cause of all the chaos that had surrounded the house for over half a century. Even in death, he was something to be reckoned with. There was some talk, accounts of old friends of the Styles boy before his violent passing, that he was evil. That he had a violent temper, and that he was into the worship of a malevolent spirit called Angra.

Then, after learning all she could, she put out a small ad in the paper, just to get some interest from other psychics and seers like herself. Anyone who would take seriously the idea that the Styles house was haunted and in need of someone to go in and communicate to the dead or to whatever kind of spirit it was that held domain over the premises. Perhaps they could do some good.

A few calls and texts came in. Most of them were just curious and nosy. Finally, one was like her. A spiritual empath and guide. He was interested in joining her in reaching out to the home and the spirits within. But he also had contacts with others who would consider themselves psychic or clairvoyant. He was in the business of healing and reading for a living. Cooper was hesitant at first but the least she could do was meet up with the man and get a feel for him in person.

When Bran arrived (she imagined Bran was short for Brandon but never bothered to ask) and sat down across from her at the diner off Spring Street in Chinatown, she looked up from her phone and smiled at the man, “Hi. Thank you for coming,” she reached her hand out to shake his and immediately she felt it. He was deeply intuitive and came with a wealth of psychic energy. But she still needed to be sure of his intentions because she was picking up something a little off with him.

They discussed the things they’d seen and felt over the years and shared stories amongst themselves that most would scoff at. Bran told her about his small business. He knew a lot of people who would be interested in doing a séance at the old Styles house.

“I need them to all be sensitive to what could happen. To be aware. I don’t want just anyone coming. I don’t want this to be a free-for-all and have disrespectful people who just want to have a thrill for fun. It needs to be people vetted and serious.”

Bran nodded with a somber expression on his face, “Of course. I can get the word out to the right people and to my group of contacts. I can already think of a handful who would be interested in joining and would take this very seriously.”

She nodded, “That’s great. Because the more of us the better. This house is seriously dangerous. That’s another thing I want everyone to know. That people who visit the house don’t always come out.”

He took a bite of his tuna fish sandwich, “Well I don’t want to scare anyone off but I’ll tell them if you think it's necessary.”

Bran was a tall ghostly pale man. His eyes were sunken and dark, his nose long and pointy and his skin was smooth and free of any inkling that he could grow facial hair. In all honesty, he looked underfed. He was only a few years older than Cooper herself yet despite his smooth skin, he appeared to be 20 years her senior. He wore a brown corduroy, long-sleeved button-down shirt with loose-fitting, navy-blue athletic pants that dragged the ground. And Birkenstocks. He was balding at the front and his hair was already going white.

She reached out to some others, in hopes that she’d find someone she could truly trust. There was just something about Bran that didn’t sit right with her. She knew to listen to her intuition. She knew not to ignore the little warnings going off in her head, but there weren’t that many people like her. And even if he was a bit sketchy, he was truly like her and she knew it deep down.

So, the séance would move forward with Bran and whoever he could find along the way. She would keep her eye on him and make sure he stayed in line, but he was her best option, unfortunately.

She did not have a good feeling about what was to come.

30 minutes before Halloween

Harry and Y/n were preparing for their yearly Halloween ritual when they were disturbed by boards being ripped from the back door of their house, “They’re early.” Harry said.

“Well, early is good, right?”

“We can just have some fun. Fuck with ‘em a bit,” Harry grinned and thread his fingers into hers.

“But we can keep them, though?”

“Of course my love.”

Often when humans came into their home, Harry and Y/n’s favorite game was to lure the unsuspecting souls toward them with the delicious sound of sex. Make them think they’d caught someone fucking when in reality, they’d just fallen into their trap.

Peeping Toms would peek into the bedroom door and see two lovely beings going at it, bed rocking, skin slapping, moaning… the whole nine.

Sometimes Y/n would seduce whoever it was, or maybe Harry would do the seducing, depending on the preference of their new victim. And people were dumb. They had no idea that they were being groped and kissed and fucked by a ghost. Worse than a ghost. Something dark and sinister. Something that was about to claim their soul and their life.

“Fuck, Harry…” Y/n was on top this time. Rolling her hips over him, one hand pressed into his chest, her other yanking at his long hair to keep his head down. He kept trying to flip her over but Y/n wanted the top this time.

“There we go… Good boy… just stay down. Let me ride you,” she moaned and worked her wet pussy back and forth.

“What’s that sound?”

“Fuck. I don’t know.”

Rick and Jacob began to unload their suitcases to start setting up for the séance. Just a few things were really needed. Signage was taped to the side of the house so the rest of the group knew where to enter. A table was set up outside the door (after the boards were pried off and the doorknob smashed in with a hammer). Candles would light the pathway to the basement, which is where their friend Bran told them they’d be holding the séance.

“There it is again. Hold on…” Jacob held a hand up as he stood from his position over his suitcase.

“Shit. This isn’t good. I’m getting a vibe man…” Rick whispered.

Both men stood silently and listened to what sounded like…

“Someone’s having sex?”

“Holy shit… I don’t think it’s human because I’m picking something up, but shit…”

“It’s a trap.”

The rhythmic clank of the bed and Y/n’s moans of pleasure grew louder. And both men knew it was a trap. Knew it was dangerous to go further but it was like they were in a trance. Without another word, the pair began to follow the sound up the hallway until they could hear the mattress bouncing.

And as expected, the door was pushed open just enough so both men could take a peek inside and feast their eyes on what was happening before them.

“You’re gonna regret this,” Harry smacked her bottom but it only made Y/n laugh as she ground over him harder.

“I never regret fucking your brains out, Harry,” her tits swayed as if made of real, warm human flesh.

Harry lifted his thigh and put his feet flat onto the mattress in another attempt to roll them over so he could get on top but before he got any momentum the two onlookers watched as the female slapped the face of the man under her.

She took her hand out of his hair and wrapped her palm around the front of his neck, pushing him down further, “Fucking said stay still.”

Harry loved it. Loved having someone to play with. He’d really gotten the answer to his prayer to Angra with her when she was led to him the year prior. From the beginning she was perfect. A little more spicy than he imagined but he liked her this way. She was always mad at him, which led to lots of fighting but then of course lots of sex as well. He never adored anyone when he was among the living. But Y/n? He adored. She was his gift. His eternal mate. They were bonded and even when she was smacking him around he couldn’t get enough.

Y/n squeezed tighter around his neck and Harry grinned at her, his eyes going wide at the sensation. He would have spoken back but he was busy feeling the euphoria he only got from his mate.

Rick nudged Jacob and jerked his head in a motion for them to leave but Jacob put his finger up and continued looking in.

“Like what you see?” Y/n sang out as she raised her hips just enough so the men could have a nice view of her pussy riding up and down Harry’s big, evil cock. She turned back to look at the door and made eye contact with both of them as she kept rocking over Harry and held him down with her hand on his throat.

“Fuck! Shit!” Both Jacob and Rick stood to run but before they could even make it to the kitchen Y/n was standing before them naked, holding her hands out, “Where are you going? I can’t believe you just left in the middle of the show we were putting on for you two. You didn’t like it?”

“I think these two have a special gift. That’s why they didn’t just come in and join us,” Harry spoke behind the pair causing them to startle and turn to see Harry right behind them. Also naked.

“You know? You’re right. That explains it doesn’t it?” She stepped in toward Jacob who looked like he was about to piss his pants. She drew her long finger over his collarbone and walked around his frame slowly. Inspecting. “You’re special aren’t you?”

She looked up at Jacob as she stood back in front of him.

He shook his head and looked at Rick, who was in the same state as Jacob.

Y/n’s finger pressed into Jacob’s chin and she pushed his head back so he was facing her, “Keep your eyes on me. Don’t you like this? Look…” she gestured with her free hand along her body. “You don’t want any?”

Jacob quickly shook his head again and Harry leaned in to speak to the man who’d just rejected his mate, “I’d say yes if I were you. Because this will be the last time you ever get to touch her in this way again. And you’re going to want to touch her once you belong to the house, belong to us. So yes is the answer. Not no.”

Harry stood up and placed his hands at Rick’s shoulders and squeezed, giving him a bit of a neck massage, “And you. You can have me. I can just feel the gay energy rising off your prick right now,” Harry whispered into Rick’s ear. He was trembling. Absolutely terrified. Both men were.

“See? This is all just about a proper introduction and welcome to our home. Come…” Y/n grabbed Jacob's hand and led him toward the bedroom where she and Harry had just been.

“I really like a man who lets me do all the work. Just lie there and enjoy. Okay?” She pointed at the bed but Jacob didn’t move. All of his senses were firing off. Run, hide, fight, give in… This was unlike anything he’d ever experienced and he’d considered himself someone very sensitive to spirits. But these two. They were different. He could feel the power coming from the male and the female ghost. He knew he was no match. In fact, he was sure none of the others, who would be joining him and Rick in the next twenty minutes or so, were also no match.

“What are you?” He finally found his voice.

“I’m Y/n. This house is our domain. We feed it and we take care of it. We’ll all get to know one another a little better once everything is said and done. Then you’ll understand more.”

She didn’t want to waste any more time as she saw Harry behind her with his prey. Harry was already sucking at the man’s neck, making his move.

“Come sit with me… what’s your name?”

She took his hand and led him to the bed, “Uh… Jacob.”

“Jacob,” she spoke his name like she was already having sex with him, “A nice Christian name. I hope you know God can’t save you here. You’re mine. So you might as well enjoy this.”

Harry kept his eyes on Y/n and Jacob as he cupped Rick’s crotch, “Oh? Does being scared turn you on?”

It did in fact. Rick’s connection to the dead was more than just a spiritual guiding. It was physical. He got turned on anytime he used his gifts to contact the unliving.

Y/n had slid her hand up Jacob’s thigh and made sure he kept his eyes on hers, “Just keep looking at me. You’re doing so good for me.”

Jacob’s chest began to rise and fall heavily as the hot naked woman got nearer and nearer to his crotch. He tried not to let the way she looked human and so supple get to him. It was a façade. Yet her breasts were soft and round, her nipples hard, and her tummy looked like he could nuzzle into it. Her thighs and legs were long and silky. She was breathtaking. She looked more like an angel than the evil thing she really was which had him confused.

“It’s okay to be confused, Jacob. Just let me take care of you. Let me show you why you came here tonight. The real purpose of your life. It’s all led up to this very moment. You and me, Jacob.”

His gaze dropped to her plush lips and that was her cue, “Do you want to try a kiss? See how real and warm and wet it is?”

She licked her lips as his eyes plunged to her mouth and then her pretty tits. But before he could nod she already had her mouth covering his. And that’s all it took for Jacob to surrender. She tasted real. She felt real. He put her hands up to her breasts and gently squeezed as she laughed into his mouth, “That’s right. Feel me. Enjoy me.”

Harry moaned as he pressed Rick’s lips down over his cock. Rick was much easier to convince. All it took was Harry’s dirty words in his ear and his lips on his neck and he was a goner. Rick had been turned on before he’d even stepped foot into the house.

He had one hand at the footboard keeping himself steady as he used his free hand to guide Rick over his cock. But he kept his eyes on Y/n as she kissed the other man and he groped her luscious tits. Harry tended to get jealous a bit. Sometimes more than others but he never enjoyed being a cuck. Because Y/n was his. But he could admit, it was awfully fun playing with their captives.

She backed away from the kiss and grinned, “See? So nice,” she thumbed at his bottom lip and then pulled at it, “I know it feels real. And it is real in a way. I’ll feel just like a human and for me, I’ll get pleasure if you’re good. I know you’re thinking a ghost won’t feel this since we’re technically, dead,” she laughed, “But I always feel it. Harry and I fuck every day and it’s just as good as when I was alive.”

Jacob didn’t move an inch, “Don’t you want to make a woman feel good, Jacob?” Harry grunted, “She’s offering you something special and you’re just sitting there like a dope.”

Y/n shushed Harry, “He’s just nervous my love. Either way, we’ll get him naked,” she turned to look at Jacob, “I want you to take all your clothes for me. Can you do that for me, Jacob?”

The man nodded and with shaky hands began to take his clothes off.

Y/n smirked at Harry who had his mouth dropped open. Rick was pretty good with his mouth, he had to be honest, “Don’t forget the balls there Ricky poo,” Harry pulled Rick by the back of his hair to drag him off his dick before pushing his head lower to which the man quickly began to kiss and lick.

Jacob pulled his shoes off and then his pants down his legs before looking at Y/n.

“Take your underwear off. Can’t very well fuck you if you keep yourself tucked away,” she pointed at his black briefs.

Jacob looked toward Rick and Harry and then to Y/n, “I’d… uh… like some privacy maybe. Feels weird having them in here with us.”

Harry pushed Rick’s forehead, causing him to fall back onto the floor with a thud, “You want privacy with my girl? I should rip your throat out for even thinking you’d be allowed that kind of indulgence.” Harry rounded the bed and walked up behind Y/n, putting his lips on her neck with his eyes on the intruder. “No. You get no privacy in this house. Everything that happens here happens under my watch,” he spoke as he dotted kisses along her skin and up to her jaw.

Y/n laughed and turned in Harry’s arms, “He doesn’t know any better, Harry. Just… go back to your toy and I’ll go back to mine. Ignore the ignorant comment he made,” she stroked her nails down his chest. But she knew the look in Harry’s eyes. He wasn’t going to let this go that easily. He was in a mood, which shouldn’t be a surprise. Because soon, it would be Halloween morning and they’d be quite busy.

Harry walked away from Y/n, back to where Rick was still on his knees on the floor. He dragged Rick up to stand, “Remove your clothes as well. Let’s see what we’re working with.”

With both men naked and looking as if they were about to be devoured by a bear, Y/n hummed and circled around Jacob, “Lie on the bed for me. You’re free to jack off if you want. I’d actually prefer it if you did,” she gestured toward to the bed and the man hesitantly climbed up and laid himself flat as he was told. “See, I need you to stay hard for me, and sometimes when a man gets really scared he can tend to go limp. So I just need you to let go of all your thoughts and stroke your cock and just be in the moment with me. Can you do that, Jacob?”

He swallowed loudly and blinked his eyes as he kept them on Y/n who knelt next to him on the bed, waiting for him to answer, “I… I don’t know…”

She ran her cool hand up his sinewy thigh and brushed her fingers over his cock, “I know you can do it. You’re halfway there. Just submit to me, Jacob. Do as I say and this will be a lot less painful for you. In fact, you might even enjoy it if you let all those rational thoughts in your head disappear into nothingness. I need you as dumb for me as possible. Let me do all the thinking.” She squeezed his cock before straddling his thighs and grabbed his hand, pulling it down to his prick, “Here you are. Here’s your penis. Keep it in your hand and jerk yourself slowly. I know it’s a hard task but I believe in you, Jacob,” she spoke darkly. The insult was missed by no one in the room.

Harry had Rick bent over the footboard, his ass bare and open for him as he kept his eyes on his mate while she sat over Jacob’s face and placed her hands on his chest. She kept her own eyes on Harry’s as she began to rub her pussy over the stranger.

“Not bad…” she laughed, “But I want more tongue.”

Harry groaned as he pushed himself into Rick. The man cried out in pain at the sudden intrusion. And Harry had gone in dry so it was quite unpleasant. But Harry didn’t care about Rick’s pleasure. He was too busy watching Y/n. He didn’t like it when she enjoyed herself too much with anyone but him.

“No. No, no, no, Jacob. No good. You’re really not good at this are you?” She lifted herself and peered down at the man. “I feel bad for all the girls you attempted this with. Let’s try something else.” She climbed off of him and stood next to the bed pointing at Harry, “Can you be done with him already? I need your assistance over here.”

Harry grinned as he rammed himself into Rick one more time, causing a howl to fall from the man’s chest and he gripped the footboard with white knuckles.

“Ricky poo, it was a pleasure. Truly. It’s time for you to meet the rest of the house, now,” he spoke darkly to the man as he brought his slender fingers up to Rick’s neck and began to squeeze. Rick’s face grew red as he began to shake and struggle to get free from Harry’s grasp. But Harry had him pinned and he was far stronger than Rick.

Jacob lifted his head to watch in horror as the evil spirit began to choke his friend but Y/n sat on his chest and blocked his view, “Best not to look, Jacob. Focus on me and keep stroking your cock. I see you’ve been slacking off a little.”

Rick’s face turned from bright red to purple as the air was blocked from his lungs. Harry tightened his grip even more until the man was slumped and his neck was crushed.

Harry grunted as he dropped the man to the floor and then looked to Y/n, “Done.”

She gestured with her finger, a come hither motion as she opened her legs up, still sitting on Jacob’s chest, her back to his face, “Let’s show poor Jacob how it’s done,” she spoke teasingly.

Y/n climbed off Jacob’s chest and turned to look at the sad man, “Sit up, back against the wood. I want you to watch this. And even though you’ll never be able to use these newly learned techniques I think it’ll be enlightening for you nonetheless.”

Harry grasped Y/n’s hips as he dropped to his knees and pulled her to the edge of the bed so her ass was hanging off, “Got a good view, Jacob?” He eyed the man teasingly before dipping into lick over her cunt and moaning at the taste.

Y/n stuck her fingers into Harry’s hair and looked at Jacob, “See where his tongue is going? That feels so good. That’s the hood of my clit. That’s a spot a lot of terrible lovers don’t ever think about. I bet you’re one of them aren’t you, Jacob? No idea where the clit was before now?”

Jacob shook his head, “I know what the clitoris is! Please this is… I won’t tell anyone. Please let me go…” he sat up further and pressed his hands into the mattress as if he were about to push himself off the bed.

“Stop!” Y/n’s loud growl along with her grip on his cock had him immediately stopping. He hadn’t expected her to reach out for it like that, “Sit the fuck back and watch my pussy get licked by a pro. Unless you want me to tear your dick off? I will if you’d like. Just try that again and find out what happens.”

Jacob put his hands up and leaned his back into the board behind his head and looked to the floor at Rick lying lifeless. He was trembling and his heart was pounding in terror.

“And why do you keep defying my rules? Stroke. Your. Fucking. Cock. I need you hard for what I’m about to do. So chop chop!” She laughed and then looked back down to Harry sliding his tongue against her. His eyes were on her. She loved when he’d get on his knees for her. He did it often.

“Fuck… I don’t want to come yet,” she moaned as she pushed at his head, “You’re too good at that she smiled. “I want to come on Jacob’s cock. Really give him a special going away before the house takes him.”

Harry sat back onto his haunches and scowled at Jacob who was slowly pulling at his cock.

“What is it, darling?” Y/n placed a finger under Harry’s chin to turn his attention back to her. She knew what it was. Knew how jealous Harry would get when she’d play with other people. Cooing at him she leaned down to kiss him and reached a hand out for Jacob’s leg, “Aww… don’t be jealous. You know your cock is my favorite. Your lips and your hands… Baby, this is just for fun. You are forever.”

Harry clenched his jaw and shook his head at her condescending words, “Can I be inside of you too?”

Y/n laughed as she straddled Jacob once again, “Sure. You wanna share a hole with him or have your own?”

Harry got behind her with Jacob lying flat as he put himself between the man’s legs and reached his arms around to pinch Y/n’s nipples, “I’ll fuck your ass while you fuck his skinny prick with your cunt. Give you something to feel in one of your holes at least,” he laughed sinisterly.

Y/n laughed with him as she looked down at Jacob, “Is that okay, Jacob? Mind if I have two cocks inside of me? I will need a little something more because you really are a bit underwhelming,” she flicked at his shaft. Her words were filthy and rude.

“I umm… Please, I…” Jacob wined as Y/n took his hands and held him down by his wrists.

“Oh? Begging already? Well, that’s certainly a good sign,” she laughed dryly before lifting her hips to allow Harry inside of her first.

He gripped her hips harshly and began to slowly push in, her anus stretching out before him and she moaned. Jacob was lying still under the pair as they began to move together, his hands pinned down.

“Fuck me… Harry your cock is the best. Oh shit!” She turned to look over her shoulder and nearly forgot all about the man under her. The man she was supposed to be playing with.

Harry began to fuck into Y/n as his thrusts had her rocking back and forth. She moaned and clenched and hissed at the feel of Harry poking into her.

“Oh fuck!” She panted as she leaned in down to give Harry more access, her face only inches above Jacobs. She looked down at the man and grinned, “You never got this kind of response from anyone, did you? Can’t use your tongue or your prick properly. Poor man. We’re doing you a favor here. And all the women you might have tried to get into bed in the future as well. No more disappointing sex from you I’m afraid.”

Harry was pleased that she hadn’t put Jacob inside of her. He pounded himself into her harshly and made it so that she wouldn’t be able to angle herself enough to get the human’s prick anywhere near her pussy.

“Goddamn! I might not even want your prick anymore, Jacob. Ahhh!” She let out a guttural moan, “It’s too little for me anyhow. No fun in that…” Her words came out in punched breaths as Harry rocked into her.

Harry laughed as he heard her give him insult after insult. The bed was squeaking and the candles along the edge of the room flickered.

Y/n looked at the shadows on the wall and gasped when she saw the spirits arrive.

“It’s midnight. Let’s get this over with…” she said as she released one of Jacob’s hands and pressed her palm down over his throat.

Harry leaned in and placed his fingers over her clit and thrusted in harder and faster.

“Oh fuck! Yess… Make me come, Harry. I want all the spirits to see this.”

Suddenly Jacob gasped and his muscles tightened in his release. He hadn’t even meant to but the restriction of his airflow and some strange involuntary physical arousal had taken over. He poured out over his tummy as Y/n reared back into Harry’s cock with a gasp.

“Oh, he’s coming, my love!” Y/n laughed before groaning at Harry’s stiff cock slipping out of her.

Harry pulled her off of Jacob and angled her hips up as he sat back onto his haunches, “This is my fucking girl! Her body is mine!” His chillingly sinister voice sobered Jacob right up as Y/n’s hand loosened its grip with the new angle she was in.

Harry began to fuck into her pussy rapidly. His groans grew louder as he railed her deep.

Y/n coughed out a moan, “The best cock I’ve ever had, Harry. Right there. You’re gonna make me fucking come. Don’t stop!”

Harry pushed his thumb into her ass as he plunged into her pussy repeatedly. Jacob was caught in fright, unable to move to speak as his own throbbing cock splashed his come all over his tummy so he was a wet sticky mess as he watched the pretty ghosts fucking between his legs.

“Shit!” Y/n reared back into Harry and gripped her hands over Jacob’s thigh, her nails digging into his skin.

The scene of Jacob lying untouched with come on his tummy and Y/n and Harry orgasming together was watched by the ghosts of the house as midnight meant it was Halloween morning.

When the pair had finished and were slowly moving together in their come down Y/n looked at Jacob with a pout, “Sorry, Jacob. You didn’t get the chance to feel my pussy around your tiny cock. My lover here kind of took over and you’re a bit of a bore.” She laughed as the dark shadows grew near to the bed.

Jacob turned his head as he saw the obscure silhouettes moving in and began to croak out in distress but his neck was sore and his voice was caught in his throat.

Harry pulled Y/n with him off the bed as the spirits descended over Jacob until there was no body left and Jacob’s fate was sealed into the house.

Y/n turned to Harry with a smile, “The morning has arrived. I can already hear the rest of them. They’ve come. Let’s go play.”

“Where are Rick and Jacob?” Cooper could see two suitcases opened but nothing was done. Candles were still wrapped in paper, the planchette was still inside, and nothing had been set up. “This house hasn’t been cleansed either. I’m going to need to prep it and set intentions here.”

Bran looked around the space and cupped his hands over his mouth, “Jacob! Rick! You guys here?”

Cooper quickly stood up and grasped Bran’s forearm, “Shhh! This isn’t your home. You cannot come in and act that way. You need to be respectful of those at rest.”

“No one’s at rest in this house. Can’t you feel it? Today is their holiday. They’re preparing for a party. A feast. They knew we were coming.”

Cooper sighed and turned to look behind her as Marin, one of Bran’s acquaintances, bent down to start pulling items out of one of the suitcases, “Well, either way, we need to get set. Russ is coming in with the table and I’ll bring the chairs down to the basement. We’ll have people coming soon.”

When Cooper saw the table leaning up against the outside of the house with the chairs next to it she knew right away something bad had happened. Rick and Jacob were meant to come and set up everything. Cleanse the house, set intentions, light candles, and have the table and chairs set and ready to go. It shouldn’t have taken long. Yet nothing had been done.

The last two invitees arrived as Cooper went from room to room with a candle and spoke a protective prayer, asking the spirits for their permission and to safeguard them from the evil that lurked.

She could feel the house as if it were alive. Every room had a story, a haunted retelling of the horrors that had happened over the years.

“I invoke light and pure intention. I am a clear and kind channel. Light is my guide. I will not harm and my request is for knowledge and safe passage.”

Cooper repeated her words as she descended the stairs to the main floor, already feeling the way the spirits in the home were at odds within. Some were receptive, some were not. She knew this could lead to trouble if everyone inside wasn’t on the same page. If they weren’t sensitive and receptive.

She lit candles to guide everyone into the basement of the home. The rest of the people who had been invited to join would be arriving shortly for the séance.

Bran, Marin, and Russ had set up the table and chairs, put the black cloth onto the table with candles in the corner, and Cooper’s old Ouija board and planchette atop.

She took a deep breath to center herself and felt the chill of the spirits all around.

“Bran?” She held her candle close to her heart as she stepped down into the basement and looked at the tall man.

Without responding to her verbally he turned to look at her. The shadows that cast over his face made it hard to see his expression.

“Jacob and Rick are still here. I can feel them. Maybe we can draw them out. I can’t tell if they’re alive or not.”

Bran nodded, “I can also feel them. I don’t know what happened but this house is full of darkness and despair. Are you open?”

Cooper nodded, “Yes. I feel the guiding of the good spirits here. I’m protected. You?”

Bran looked at a dark corner of the basement and back to Cooper, “I don’t know. I keep lighting that candle and it keeps getting blown out. Something here is trying to warn us.”

Marin suddenly ran into a chair and gasped, “What the fuck!”

“Are you okay?” Cooper rushed toward the young woman who shook her head in disbelief.

“Something just pulled me into that chair and whispered but I couldn’t understand. I… I’m okay. I think.”

Cooper looked down at the chair and back to Marin, “Have you spoken your intentions to the house? Are you protected?”

The young woman looked at Bran and then back to Cooper, “Protected from what?”

Cooper set her candle at the edge of the table and gazed toward Bran, “You told everyone about this house, correct? About its past? What to expect?”

Bran cleared his throat as three young men suddenly descended into the basement, laughing and speaking loudly.

Cooper pointed as she kept her eyes on Bran, “Who are they?”

Bran took Cooper’s arm and pulled her away from Marin, “Observers. I found a group who were interested in coming to watch.”

Cooper yanked her arm from Bran and walked toward the three men, “Excuse me, you three will need to leave. It’s not safe for you here. I’m sorry that you were misled–“

“Who are you?” One of the men laughed as he took in Cooper’s appearance wearing a shawl and hood as if she were some old witch.

Bran interrupted, “They’ve paid to be here. They’re not going anywhere, Cooper.”

“Paid? Why would you charge anyone? What are you trying to do here? This isn’t some game!”

“Calm down. Nothing will happen to them. I’ll see to it.”

Cooper scoffed and rubbed her hands over her face, “How many outsiders have you invited?”

“Just four.”

“Four outsiders? Bran, they can’t be here. Two of our own are already gone. Maybe dead.” Cooper began to raise her voice. She knew it was a bad idea to get Bran involved. She felt it from the beginning that he was up to no good. There were only meant to be eight people in total for the séance.

The fourth outsider made her way down as well as Russ and two of the others Cooper already knew.

“We can’t do this. Not like this.” Cooper rushed out her words and grabbed for her board at the center of the table but Bran stopped her, putting his hand over hers.

“We will. The show must go on. I can already feel them. They want to be heard.”

Cooper shoved Bran away, “You’re making a big mistake. I’m out. This is reckless.”

She wanted her board and her planchette but she could already tell the evil that resided in the house had already gotten Bran. He was channeling the dark and she needed to leave before it was too late.

As she took the stairs up to the main floor the basement door slammed closed and everyone in the basement had their attention on Cooper.

“No one leaves this home, Cooper. Don’t you understand? The spirits are already among us,” Bran’s voice crawled through the chilled air of the damp, dark basement and one of the outsiders laughed.

“Fuck. This is creepy as shit. Worth every penny.”

“My cellphone doesn’t work at all down here. Not even the camera. Dude! What kind of show is this?”

“It’s not a game! It’s not a show!” Cooper’s voice wavered as she held onto the banister and made her way back down the stairs to join the other 9. She already knew the house was locking them into the basement. She wouldn’t be getting out by turning the knob. It would be useless for her to attempt it.

Harry and Y/n watched from their shadowed corner with pleased smiles. Bran was right. No one would be leaving unscathed, if at all. The ten living souls trapped in the basement were now theirs.

“This is going to be fun,” Y/n whispered as they watched the humans gather around the table and another candle blew out.

“Shall we begin?” Bran spoke loudly. An old fixture above the table flickered on, casting light down over the board, making the edges of the room appear darker.

Evil had arrived. Cooper knew it and she knew some of the others could feel it as well.

“Everyone, welcome. Tonight, we are in the presence of greatness!” Bran’s voice boomed as he stood at the table and lifted his arms upward, the features on his face morphing as if he were a decrepit old man, “You will be witness to the experience of a real séance tonight. You may see or hear things that frighten you but if you stay connected with us and keep your mind open you are bound to enjoy yourself.“

“Stop!” Cooper shouted, “There is something evil here and the four outsiders are acting as skeptics,” she looked toward them and continued, “It’s breaking the bond we might have together and this is dangerous. I need to…” She lifted her candle blowing out the flame, “I bind you evil!” She sat her candle down and tore her shawl, ripping a long section off. With the candle in her hand, she began to wrap it with the torn material, “Evil spirits, trouble us no more. I bind you from doing harm to others or to yourself. Your actions will only be for the highest good.”

She repeated the chant as she wrapped the candle and one of the outsiders laughed quietly.

Bran slowly moved behind Cooper and placed a hand on her shoulder as she continued her binding spell, “Useless. The spirit is already here. You cannot stop it, Cooper.”

She could feel it was useless but she needed to try. Sitting the half-wrapped candle down she looked at everyone in the room, “Everyone! Take your candle and repeat after me,” she tilted her candle toward the one next to hers and relit the flame, “Repeat!”

“Elements of the sun, elements of the day, please come this way,” she looked around the room, and only a few repeated, “Please everyone. I need you to all repeat. This is a protection spell. You may find this funny but in just moments things will be getting very serious and this is the only thing I can do for you now. Please…”

Repeating the first part of the spell she noted that still only a few repeated, but she continued, “Powers of the night and day, I summon thee. I call upon thee to protect me!”

The three men who were last-minute invitees chuckled and whispered amongst themselves. The fourth outsider, a middle-aged woman, seemed to take Cooper’s instructions more seriously.

“Hold your candles up,” Cooper demonstrated and she heard Bran sigh as he walked around the group slowly, “I infuse the power of the flame so that it may burn away all negative energy. We pass through the smoke so that it may protect and shield this home.”

The sound of Bran clapping slowly drew attention back to him, “Are you quite done? It’s time to give the people what they’ve come for.”

Cooper knew her bindings weren’t going to work on everyone, if at all, but she had to try. She didn’t have the proper equipment in reach and now that four of the people in the room were skeptics it damaged the circle of empathy and the channel of openness.

“Come. Everyone, have a seat at the table. Let’s begin.”

All but the three young men seemed hesitant. Pulling up chairs and looking around the table Cooper knew this wasn’t going to go down how it had been planned. Cooper was meant to kick off the séance. She was supposed to be the medium, the vehicle for communication but it was clear that Bran was going to be doing it now.

“The spirits are already here trying to make contact. I want everyone in our circle to place a finger on the planchette,” Bran spoke as he touched the wooden stylus.

Everyone reached across the table, chairs dragging over the cement flooring closer to the table and fingers were placed on the planchette at Bran’s direction.

“Spirits, we are here. We are listening. I feel your energy all around. Give us guidance. Show yourself!”

Cooper closed her eyes and felt the chill of something along her back and breeze along her neck. Slowly, everyone in the circle began to gasp or mumble something under their breath about having felt the wind.

“Shit!” One of the guys laughed in surprise and turned in his chair to look behind himself.

“You,” Bran pointed at the man who had just laughed, “What is your name?”

Cooper could see the shadow behind him. Something, someone, was already there and it had already selected its first victim. It wasn’t a surprise that it would be a skeptic. A person who would not know they were being hunted. Ignorance is not always bliss.

“Fred,” he answered. The light above the table flickered softly and Cooper was surprised none of the outsiders found it odd that an old, abandoned house with no electricity had a light working. Marin’s face told Cooper she was absolutely terrified.

“He’s chosen you first,” Bran spoke darkly.

“What?” Fred laughed again and let go of the planchette.

“Do not let go from the circle!” Cooper shouted but it was too late. Suddenly Fred was pulled away from the table, his chair dragged into the dark shadow of the edge of the room and his cries for help were quieted nearly as soon as he had begun to scream.

The woman who had been sitting near the men started to panic, letting go of the circle and standing, “What is happening?”

“Don’t break from this circle! Keep your hands on this planchette. It’s the only thing we can do to protect you,” Cooper rushed out her warning.

One of the men got up from his chair and turned toward where Fred had been dragged, “Fred?”

“Please sit! Come back to the table!”

A candle that had been placed on the floor was suddenly illuminated and there were sharp inhales of breath and gasps as everyone in the room witnessed Fred’s limp body hanging from the ceiling.

“No! What the fuck?” The man turned to look at everyone at the table and pointed toward his lifeless friend, “What is this?”

The woman who was standing began to grasp her neck and struggle when a dark figure appeared behind her. She was being choked and pulled into the corner where Fred was hanging.

The third man stood and looked at Cooper, “This isn’t funny anymore.”

The overhead light flickered and illuminated everything behind the man and by the time everyone at the table could warn him, it was too late. The light fizzled out and then the room was left only lit by candles. The glimmer of the fire danced finickily on each of the wicks and cast an unstable glow over four outsiders who were hung in a row in the corner of the dark basement.

Gone.

There were only 6 left.

“Now that they’ve been taken out of the equation,” a strangely upbeat-sounding voice spoke. Raspy, dark, unmistakably male, “We can get down to business tonight.”

From the shadows appeared a tall young man with dark curls and nearly clear, jeweled eyes, and a young woman next to his side. Harry was pleased to be taking over this get-together.

Bran stood up and just as he was opening his mouth to speak Harry took the floor once again, “No need to speak. This won’t take too long. And the Ouija board’s not necessary. Contact is made. I am the spirit that dwells in this house. This is my domain and you all have trespassed.”

Everyone was stuck in silence as they watched the haunted pair near the table. They looked just as alive as everyone else there if you didn’t pay close attention. If you didn’t know better. But if you were someone like Cooper you could surmise that they were sinister beings. Not quite dead but certainly not alive.

“I apologize for trespassing,” Cooper spoke softly, “I tried clearing the energy and making my presence known in the most gentle–“

“You’re cute,” Y/n spoke with an eerie smile, “Nothing that happens in this house is nice or gentle. You’ll see soon.”

“You haven’t met spirits like us before, Cooper,” Harry stated, “But we’re so glad you couldn’t shake the call of the house. We knew you’d bring us some company. You did very well to listen.”

Cooper shook her head trying to wrap her thoughts around what they were telling her.

“We didn’t need the four extras,” Y/n commented, “But the house will make use of them.”

“What are you going to do with us?” Bran spoke finally, still standing in his spot as he looked at Harry.

Instead of responding Harry just smiled toward Bran as a shadow covered his face from above. The room was already dark but soon Bran’s figure was completely shrouded in darkness. His mouth opened wide to shout but no sound could be heard.

“That… that is what we are going to do with most of you.” Harry watched on as Bran’s face contorted and the darkness slowly pulled him from the table in silence. As if he was disintegrating into smoke.

“But why?!” Russ stood up and his metal chair fell back into the cement floor.

“Because it’s part of the deal,” Harry’s voice was dark as he began to pace slowly behind everyone at the table, “Angra requires sacrifice. The house needs life. We take care of the house and feed it with the souls of the living.”

“Angra,” Cooper spoke the name quietly to herself. She knew of Angra. Angra was a high deity of destruction. A demonic force of greed, wrath, sexual deviancy, and envy. And he was there in that home, and it was clear he was orchestrating everything from the handsome ghost, Harry.

“That’s right, Cooper,” Y/n smiled, “This is his playground, and Harry and I get to keep it all running like a well-oiled machine. It’s fun for all of us, really.”

Y/n pulled at Cooper’s hand suddenly, “Stand back,” she whispered as Cooper was moved away from the table.

The moment Cooper was out of the circle she felt a cottony soft cocoon surround her. Her arms were pressed down to her sides, her legs melded together, unable to bend or part, her mouth sealed closed, but her eyes and ears opened as she watched and heard every one of the people at the table struggle and scream when they were being dragged away by dark shadows until they disappeared.

Harry and Y/n only stood and watched with scary grins and hands intertwined. The flickering of the candles intensified and a howling wind blew through the basement and brushed over Cooper’s face before there was nothing but blackness and the smell of damp cement and smoke from blown-out wicks.

“You need to understand what’s going to happen now, Cooper,” Harry’s voice could be heard but he could not be seen. “You are bound to this house and you will not be able to deny your desire to return here every year.”

Finally, one candle was lit, and then a second one. Harry and Y/n each held a candle in their hands as they stood before Cooper.

“It’s going to follow you. It might take a week. Or maybe just a day or so, but you’ll recognize the scent, the draw, the torment,” Harry's disturbing words crawled over Cooper’s body. She was still unable to speak or move. “But you’ll get used to it and soon you’ll enjoy coming to visit us.”

“Oh, and maybe you can bring some really attractive people for us. Yeah? Because… Jacob and Rick? I mean…” Y/n laughed and her flame jumped as if her breaths were real, “We make due, but sometimes it’s nice to really enjoy the body before we give them over to the house.”

It didn’t make sense to Cooper, what the ghosts were telling her. She was frightened and desperate to escape but she was stuck.

“Are you ready to be released, Cooper? Are you ready to finally begin living, to finally be free of the mundane?” Harry grinned and suddenly the basement door at the top of the steps was shoved open and Cooper found herself dropped to the cold floor. There were no lights. No candles, no table or chairs. It was as if nothing had ever happened in the basement.

With shaky hands and limbs, she gathered herself and began to ascend the stairs, gripping the railing as tight as she could and looking behind her in search of the spirits or the bodies or anything that was after her.

But the moment her feet hit the wood floor beyond the basement door she ran toward the exit. The door was open and she rounded the corner and dashed to the front in a panic as she reached for her cell phone to call the police. Inside the house, her cell phone had been dead. But the moment she stepped out it functioned normally again.

The house looked so unassuming in the daylight. So old and in disrepair, but it didn’t appear anything like what it really was. And the daylight was surprising. Y/n was expecting it to only be around 1 in the morning but according to her cell phone, it was already 9:30. She must have passed out in the basement for hours before finally getting out of the house.

As she was questioned by the first cop on the scene she couldn’t shake the feeling of needing to stare at the house. She recalled the warning from Harry. That something would follow her. Something would continue to draw her to it.

She didn’t know why she was chosen but her fate was sealed. She was just glad she was still alive. Harry and Y/n were also glad she was still alive. They would be waiting.

The Halloween Call (can be read as a short follow up to this one shot)

Cop!Harry takes a call to check out the scene of crime at an old abandoned house, well known as the Slaughter House with a grim history.

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dadvans · 2 months ago

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9-1-1 S8x04 Liveblog Notes

This episode starts and ends with Bobby being underestimated by Gerrard in completely unique ways. Amazing.

Underrated line: "So they took my house from me. Yes, it was humiliating. Well, I'm sorry, sweetheart, but I'm back." I really don't think Gerrard is fully gone. We know there will be more Hotshots + Brad this season. Gerrard is a man who survives out of spite, and there are depths of his hatred we don't even know.

I'm so curious about how Gerrard has, if I remember correctly, said mooks twice. Gerrard/Sal OTP.

As long as we're going to talk about Gerrard, I'm adding this here much, much later: awful, terrible people have good sides to them. This will always be true, especially for powerful people. I've seen a few different interpretations of "Tight End," but I'm going to be real with you all from someone who grew up in male spaces? This is affection. This is Old Guard shit. It is not good. It is the kind of preferential affection that tells you that you're on thin ice but you're special enough or good enough if you work hard, and you've been noticed. Your name will always be your strongest weakness. Someone has their eye on you. You can be called out by the leader something awful, but at least you have a name. (My coach's name for me was "Bruiser.")

Buck is terrible at golf. I feel like there was a lot of spec this episode about his outfit: that's just a golf outfit. Buck strikes me as the kind of guy who knows how to socially fake appearances, and Gerrard isn't calling him on his terrible performance here. NOTABLY: in terms of performance, Oliver Stark can act his way through terrible drives down the line with the addition of SFX and flailing with the net, but I'm still frustrated at how capable he was in the basketball montage in s7 after Buck is supposed to hate/suck at basketball.

Yes, you can be good at a sport and hate it. That's me with golf. That's Buck with basketball.

Someday, if anyone ever wants, I would love to nerd out about how they blocked and choreographed the basketball scene, because it DOES make me a little crazy.

Did they actually play a full 18 after this? And Buck survived?

The apartment Bobby and Athena are looking at is at least $2mil. It actually looks like several listings where I was trying to gauge new build in surrounding neighborhoods when I was writing "An Outlier."

Michael... plans. I find it a little weird that Athena would do it, a lot weird she would do it without Bobby. Bobby and Michael had a good relationship! But then Athena was excited! It's a weird way to navigate how Michael can't physically appear in the show anymore. It almost feels like a regression, because Bobby and Michael were so close. Michael would probably have reached out to Bobby if Athena reached out to him. I miss their made, intentional, yet triumphant family so much (including May and Harry).

I was SO into Chimney pointing out the obvious about the blueprints until he made it about the 118-- although his Gerrard impression was the unsettling kind of impressive.

The tiger would have simply become friends with me and I would have called 9-1-1 while we were chilling on the couch together. But I would have told them it was okay and to never come because I found my best friend forever.

Crazy that they had to use a tranq dart. I simply would have entered the apartment and said hello and the tiger would have recognized me as a friend and we would have left together laughing over shared interests.

I totally think Eddie violated HIPAA contacting an underage patient's parent without his OR his guardian's permission. Eddie also showed said parent photos of his son's injury that Eddie had taken without permission. The mother even clarified that she would not notify the father. For me, the biggest implication here is that Eddie's on-the-job performance (despite being impeccable during the emergency itself) could begin to suffer, or his ability to remain impartial in situations will continue to take hits before it gets better without Christopher.

People are BIG MAD about the above opinion on Reddit. Why are you booing me, I'm right.

I had an HR post script about how Bobby financially runs his department here and how he underhires with overperformers to navigate attrition, but it is lost to time. I guess we will never know how my sexy HR brain works in a situation that it has never been in, but I'm sure I was right, because I always am.

#911 abc #911 speculation #911 spoilers

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lunarw0rks · 1 year ago

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Old Bones | Chapter Eleven

Summary: After fleeing a toxic relationship, you fear for your safety and hire a bodyguard. He's masked, impassible, and damn good at what he does.

Warning(s): PTSD/abuse themes, explicit content (18+), strong language, depictions of nightmares/panic attacks, hurt/comfort, smut, p in v sex, unprotected s*x, hehe

Word Count: 6.2k

A/N: Watch by Billie Eilish + Fine Line by Harry Styles inspired this chapter. Not proofread entirely, so don't mind mistakes. Enjoy!

꒦꒷ MAIN MASTERLIST ꒷꒦ GHOST MASTERLIST // have a request? ⋆ ⚘ 🕊 ˚✧ ₊˚ʚ prev. chapter | next chapter | ao3 ver. | playlist ꒦꒷ O.B MASTERLIST

Watch Me Burn

“Think this is the last of it.” Simon huffs, setting down the last box.

You were finally back there, standing in the middle of the home Cal and you once shared. Selling it was too much of a hassle, and it was decently sized. Perhaps it was a calm before a storm; how tranquil you felt standing in the middle of the entrance hall. Or the kitchen, the dining room, worst of all—the bedroom.

But you were here now, and he was soon to be cremated. There was no room for dwelling, at least that’s what you’ve been telling yourself. And Simon? His awkwardness has been well disguised if there is any left by now.

The drunken kiss—it was just that; a drunken kiss.

With the horrible shit you two had been through to land you here, unresolved tension became the new way of communicating. You began to think you both fed on the chaos like if things were too calm, the world would implode.

“Thank you.” You say, playing with the new house keys. Internally, you were showing gratitude for more than just him moving a few boxes, it was how resilient he had been, despite all your baggage and unpredictability.

He merely nods, reaching into his pocket for his carton of cigarettes. He was going to leave you to do… whatever it was you needed to do in order to be comfortable here. Simon hadn’t expected you to ever want to be back here, to want to spend your new riches on travel.

However, if Simon learned anything about you during these months; life on the road didn’t suit you, especially not with him. And in truth, he had no plans once you got settled here. At first, he was going to move straight to his next op, forget about this one.

It was abundantly clear he was well past self-control, though. That’s what frightened him the most.

You turned yourself in a circle a few times, admiring the high ceilings and decor still left behind. It was the same as Christmas Eve, only the evidence of Cal’s tantrum had been long cleaned up. He really wasn’t here when he was hunting you—he had sent a housesitter, most likely, given the fact that there wasn’t a speck of dust in the main living area.

There were only small reminders; the scuffs on the hardwood, the dents by the china cabinet, and a nasty scratch in the dining table from the night you left. You’d be lying if looking at the damages didn’t paint a vivid image of each blow that causes them.

When you gazed at the scuffed hardwood, you remembered the way he flipped the table the first time you fought. Then, the china cabinet—merely a cabinet of things for him to hurl in your direction. Worst of all, the dining table with a scratch from the knife you grabbed, scraping across the oak when he dragged you across it.

In each small area, you were rewatching the moment as a numb spectator, as if you had a third-person viewing of your fight for your life.

You hadn’t realized, but you had been literally walking down memory lane, physically tracing your fingertips along each reminder. “Found this in the truck, must’ve fallen out of your bag.” His sudden presence startled you, but it was a blessing. Any longer, and you would’ve probably ripped up the real estate papers and kept moving.

He was outstretching one of your necklaces, one you definitely didn’t want to be left behind. “Thank you,” you said it again, a double entendre barely concealed with your wavering voice. His poker face made it hard to decipher his awareness—for all you knew he could be feeling nothing towards you.

Simon’s eyes found the dent in the wall, recalling just how long your fingertips skimmed it, the nauseous look on your face. He debated on this next move, but his feet found a position behind you anyway since you didn’t take the jewelry from him yet.

“I hate the carpet. And everything in the dining room.” His subtle breath was the only thing alerting you of his close proximity, or you probably wouldn’t have even noticed. Two hands came in front of you, opening the necklace and slowly wrapping it around the base of your neck. If you hadn’t just been morbidly reminiscing, perhaps your breathing would’ve changed a bit.

He clicked the necklace in place, his gruff voice gentle and appreciative, “so get rid of it all.” It was almost a whisper like he was giving you the permission you didn’t need but were so obviously asking him for. It was your home to renovate, not his.

Simon’s breath smelled of fresh cigarette smoke, lingering in a cloud around you even after his simple words concluded. A hand lingered on your shoulder, giving it a small pat, before he retreated out to the untouched living room.

There was no sense in keeping the reminders, and none of it was to your taste. It was time to get to work if you had any shot of moving on from Cal.

Once you got started, you found it hard to stop.

Tearing out furniture and ripping up the carpet was surprisingly therapeutic, even with the emotional baggage the material things carried. The place was empty, but not understimulating. To you, it was a pleasing blank canvas you had full power to refurbish and leave the old behind. Cleaning up the mess was just an afterthought, but soothing to your soreness from all the handy work.

Of course, Simon would carry heavy things out, or assist in moving something for you. But when you were aggressively hammering a nail and grunting? He… found it beneficial to stay out of your way, with no clue whose face you might’ve been picturing while doing it.

The kitchen was shockingly tidy; the fridge was empty, as were the cabinets. You tackled that room last, disinfecting and placing the few food items you brought with you. Of course, it was a depressing sight; all those cabinets with only a few canned items and some granola bars. On the bright side, you’d only ever seen Simon eat once, so he wasn’t your worry.

Groceries would be a task for tomorrow. For now, you need to rest your legs and feet.

Simon claimed the spare room, which once was Cal’s office. You peered inside of it when you strolled down the hall—he had already laid out a blanket and pillow on the daybed. It was nice enough, for someone like him, at least.

You were taking advantage of the king-sized bed, though. Not one night in your marriage, did you ever get it to yourself. Sometimes you would snuggle in it, hopeful that this would be the night Cal didn’t come up the stairs and join you—or more commonly, that he would be too drunk to drive home.

He never was, of course; a natural buzzkill and energy vampire.

But it was yours now, the whole master bedroom. It had the nicest view of all the rooms; two large windows above the nightstand that overlooked the street, the bed in between them, and a fireplace seating area in the corner. Not that you ever needed this much room, or could even fill the space with all your belongings, but you had earned the right to spoil yourself. It was your home as much as it was his, even though it didn’t feel that way with Cal.

You practically expelled all the air in your lungs, the second your back hit the plush mattress. You sprawled out, almost in a starfish position as you looked around at your new room. The walls had always been kept white, as did the sheets—allowing you to picture it entirely renovated, to your design taste.

Though, if you had another minute of thinking about renovation, you would’ve lost your mind. You hadn’t even taken off your shoes, and your eyes were fluttering shut. In all honesty, you were too worn out to care about the position you were in, or the shoes still on your feet.

—

You sat up in the bed, feeling yourself in the exact position you had snoozed. You looked at the alarm clock to your right, red numbers being one of the only sources of light.

12:32 AM

Clearly, you needed it, because you hadn’t even moved in your sleep, or pulled the covers up. You reached up a hand, rubbing your tired eyes. Of course, you were now wide awake at midnight. Just your luck.

You propped yourself up on your elbows, embraced by the softness of the bed beneath you. A warm tingle was overtaking you like you were taking a soothing shower or bath. It was perfect… Too good to be true, right?

The bedroom was the same, nothing disturbed. But, as comforting as it was, something was off balance. There was no faint sound of the TV downstairs or the occasional clearing of his throat, only the white noise of the AC.

Now that you’ve moved and gathered your bearings—it was icy cold, more than what could be blowing from the vents. And… there was a mumble growing louder; a man’s voice you couldn’t decipher from your room.

Your legs swung off the edge of the bed, taking an instinctual look over your shoulder as if searching for the source of this ill feeling. There was no monster in the shadows, or a hand from under the bed grasping at your ankle. Not even the feeling of a presence—but you knew there was one. Who was talking, at this hour? The confusion made your brows knit, and your mouth hang open slightly.

Normally, you would’ve just got up and investigated the sound. But, getting to your feet was taking some courage right now, and you were moving about half the speed you would any other time. When you turned your head toward the bathroom, the door was still open—the washroom was nothing but a pitch-black abyss right now.

And the closet? You were too shaky to go in that direction, shaking your head at the idea immediately. That left the door in and out of the bedroom, where the muffle was coming from somewhere in the home.

You fingered the brumal knob, feeling it sting against your steaming flesh. The air was cold, causing goosebumps, but you were simultaneously burning up from a feeling of impending doom. The hinges cracked, almost sounding similar to the low-octave male voice still audible.

The door opened and it was… the hallway. The same way it was when you went to sleep, only illuminated by one of the sconces. Still, the sound was coming from the spare room. When you looked, there was a near-blinding light coming from under the door.

A hushed, growly whisper went past you—no, through you, like a stranger passing you on the street while speaking. You shivered again, eyes darting down each side of the hall. Down the steps, it was like the master bath, a dark abyss you didn’t want to trek through.

That left the spare room in all its blinding glory, and whoever, whatever was behind the door. This time, you pushed forward with all the speed you could muster. Not even a light jog, as if you had the weight of the Earth constricting your joints.

The muffle got louder, even overbearing when you opened the door to the spare room. It wasn’t the empty room with stray boxes and tools—it wasn’t your house at all. You squinted and held up your forearm to shield the light, taking several seconds for your eyes to adjust. It was the large windows—those large windows from the office building. And now, you could hear the voice clearer now.

You turned the corner and saw yourself. The moment Cal was creeping up on you, touching your waist. Though you were watching it from a different angle, seemingly watching it play out the same way it happened—it wasn’t. The woman you were watching, she wasn’t moving, not budging against his hands. She was… just standing there, white-knuckling the glass of whiskey her husband poured for her. He leaned closer, and as he tightened the grip on her waist, you felt two hands on yours, two that felt very lucid. So tight you felt like the assailant had sharp claws.

You could smell him; the stench of whiskey and cruelty warm on your neck. But you couldn’t speak, not scream, or resist. Just like the replay of the day he died, you were standing there like her, the guilt of being weak-kneed made you sick.

He could’ve clawed you in half, how harshly he was holding you in place. It was like a mockery of watching what would’ve happened if you didn’t break the glass over his head—and he was making you watch. Every second, every struggle, every cruel thing Cal would’ve said if you let him touch you.

This wasn’t you. You wanted to bellow at her to fight him, and more so at yourself for not making a run for it. Why couldn’t you move? Despite his hands feeling like they were going to tear you in half? It was pure humiliation—the woman in front of you that once got off the kitchen floor on Christmas Eve, now a face of blood and bone.

You turned around slowly, feeling salty tears go from your face all the way down to your lips.

His sneer would’ve been seen for miles—the sadism written on Cal’s face as if he was still feeding on your tears, even in death, even in your dreams. It wasn’t just his mortal face, it was the one he was left with in death—a spewing bullet wound through the forehead soaking you in his blood.

You could taste it after a few seconds, the metallic taste coating your face and body the closer he leaned in. His lips brushed against yours, just like the day they did in the office. The crimson was filling your mouth, causing you to hack and reach for your throat.

Your shoes squeaked against the marble floor of the office, looking down and seeing gallons of the stuff pooling. You could feel his blood trickle and seep into the fabric of your clothes, in the whites of your eyes with an excruciating burn.

As badly as you wanted to call out his name, your mouth was too coated to get the words out. It was hot, so hot it made you stumble. Your vision was gone—replaced by the blood that flooded your irises. You felt yourself nearly fall, as you ripped yourself from his grip.

You were palming through the ruby of your vision, arms outstretched. Though you couldn’t see, you could still feel him looming over you, watching in amusement as the pools of blood squelched under your feet.

Then, you felt your hands grip something, or someone. You hung on for dear life, blinking away the currant that washed your vision. It still seared, still coated your throat and face, but you could finally make out the figure; Simon.

You blinked rapidly, a chest cough followed by more blood as you watched him. He was staring straight ahead at first, until he felt you beating on his chest, yanking on the fabric of his clothes, just like you had done when strangled. The lifeless version of Cal, he had fizzled out the second Simon approached, nowhere to be seen in the shadows of the office anymore. As well as the alternate version of Cal and you—they were gone too.

Left in the room, it was you and Simon. One soaked with blood, gasping for breath. The other was tattered and seething at the sight.

Simon’s eyes widened as if he had just now noticed you. His hulking, veiny hands are outstretched, cupping each side of your saturated face, taking a step closer to you. Under the mask, you could see the fabric move, like he was speaking to you—but your sound was muffled again.

You plummet from a great height. Adrenaline-fueled rush courses through your veins, instantly jolting your senses awake. The wind roars past your ears with an ear-piercing howl. Your stomach clenches and churns, a sensation that feels like a roller coaster taking a wild descent. The feeling of weightlessness washes over you as if gravity has momentarily lost its grip, leaving you suspended in a free-falling void.

The pit of your stomach seems to drop with each passing moment as if trying to catch up to the plummeting rest of your body.

The blackness seizes hastily—your view is of widened amber eyes, and you can feel the same hands cupping your cheeks, just like the nightmare. The burn in your throat wasn’t from blood, it was from your screaming. The searing in your eyes, it was stemming from the tears streaming down your cheeks.

For the first few seconds, you were still half-in, half-out, pounding on his chest with all the shaky strength you could muster.

“Look at me, look at me.” Simon kept repeating it, only gripping the sides of your face faster. If he wasn’t restricting you, you were surely going to hurt yourself or him, so he had to. You were hyperventilating, still stuck in that dream-like state of terror and the threat of him attacking you. His pressing weight was caging you in place, no matter how much you yelped and thrashed to get running.

In a swift movement, Simon tugged at the edge of his mask, pulling it entirely off his head. “It’s me, it’s me!” He raised his voice, his identity now in your full sight. When he was wearing the mask, he probably appeared more like a masked intruder than a comforting soul—he had to snap you out of this, even if it meant breaking his own rules.

You could see him now; a chiseled jaw and protruding eyes cloaked by years of dark circles, a faint stubble across his chin, and that scar you had touched a few nights ago. It wasn’t an assailant or Cal, it was Simon.

Your hollers halted, now only quiet sobs against his chest. Everything in the dream felt so vivid, so real, lucid enough you were controlling your every movement, but not enough to rid yourself of the threat. The adrenaline you felt during the night terror left you unable to shut your eyes or stop wailing as if you were being actively hunted for sport.

“I’m sorry. It felt too real, Simon.” You whispered against his chest, one hand digging your nails deep into his bicep. His knees were on either side of your waist, anchoring you up enough to use him as a pillow. It seemed the only way he could successfully wake you was to straddle your frame, to cup your cheeks.

What he had done in the present, injected its way into the night terror—perhaps the reason it all felt too real.

“I know.” A calloused thumb stroked your cheek, his head resting against the crook of your neck. He didn’t need to ask the source of the nightmare, and he wasn’t going to. It was a natural reaction, being in this house all day reminded of your worst memories. You tried to hide it throughout the day, but Simon was too observant for his own good.

When he heard your shrieks in the next room, half-asleep on the daybed, he knew. This would’ve happened eventually. Just because Cal was dead, didn’t mean he was dead to you. His ghost still loomed in every room of that place, a constricting weight on your shoulders.

He had witnessed his fair share of adrenaline highs and experienced plenty on his own too. Only then, he didn’t have the luxury of a shoulder to cry on. There was no way in hell he would damn you to that same loneliness he had, no matter how much his inner voice bellowed at him to put the mask back on.

“Sit up, you won’t be so shaky.” Once hovering over you, he eased up, a gentle tug on your wrist to get you sitting up. Eyes still wide, tear stains on yourself and the fabrics of the bed. He looked behind him, seeing the armchair by the fireplace. Simon guided you to it, allowing you to sit down somewhere other than the bed occupied with memories.

He dropped to his knees in front of you slowly, a fist finding your ankle. You flashed a look of confusion, but you weren’t in any position to protest. It felt safe, despite the outward appearance Simon had—broody and dripping with masculinity.

His fingers found the tongue of the shoes you fell asleep wearing, pulling them off slowly.

“Better?” He asks, figuring out the answer quite quickly based on your silence. You nodded in response, wiping your cheeks with your sleeve. It felt the same as it did when you were younger; embarrassed for being afraid of a nightmare. It was just that—a nightmare, but that didn’t mean you didn’t feel every bit of it.

The light from the hallway was the only thing allowing you to see his face; washed out by the golden tint of the light bulb, but pleasing to look at. “Thank you, Simon.” God, how many times you said it that day, probably too many times. He would never accept it, not since the beginning of this road, and especially not after what happened at the apartment.

But, without his mask, he didn’t have his usual safety net of anonymity. His face was as blank as you expected it would be, aside from the slight scowl on his lips. “Stop sayin’ that.” He wanted to get up, but his palm remained wrapped around your calf, gazing at you with confliction.

You tilted your head to the side, leaning against the backrest of the armchair, “yeah, but I meant it.”

“I know you did,” he replied, his speech still a mumble even without the mask, “that’s why I said not to.” Simon didn’t deserve the gratitude, as far as he was concerned. Especially not from you. The last thing on your mind should be thanking him, being kind to him, and even looking him in the eye. But you did—every single day.

“You know you don’t have to stay, right?” You asked, the flicker of the hall light still concealing his pout slightly. You didn’t mean here, you meant in general; he didn’t have to, but he always did. You inhaled sharply, feeling his thumb still caressing your calf soothingly. “And… I’m not upset with you. You have to know that, at least.”

Perhaps it was the fog in your mind or the nerves still working overdrive, but his silence was too still for your liking. It wasn’t distaste, it was his old habits keeping him from indulging.

The hand was removed quickly and placed back on his own knee. You heard the shuffle of his pant fabric like he was going to stand up and leave the bedroom. But he didn’t—his head dropped in the direction of the floor.

“Simon?” Your tone was hushed, eyes squinted with unsettle.

“Stop it.” He grumbled, the whites of his eyes still glowing within the dim lighting. Simon blinked slowly when he met your gaze again, unable to accept the perturb. There was so much he wanted to say, but he didn’t. That much was obvious.

He heard you stammer, a sentence cut short when he spoke so firmly. “Stop being so fuckin’ nice to me.” Though the words themselves were harsh, it was nothing more than a defeated whisper—a plea to halt your tenderness before he lost all self-control.

What he desired was to find the mask he flung only minutes ago, slip it on, and slam the door behind him. His presence remained; a commanding voice, despite being the one kneeling in front of you. And you? Ever persistent, and he despised it with every fiber of his being.

You scoffed, but it was coming from a place of intense empathy. “Am I supposed to scream at you? Beat you bloody?” The question hung in the air for a few seconds, followed by a snappy retort. He would never let himself relax, even feel, could he?

“No, you need to stop treating me like someone you deserve. You’re not that stupid.” Simon hissed with a slight roll of his eye. You clutched each armrest tightly, mouth slightly hung open from his self-pity.

His shell was breaking—the umbrage was just the last futile attempt at restricting you before it shattered completely. When that happened—and it would—he had but a clue about his next step. Why had he remained in this spot for so long, kneeling so closely to you?

“Why did you stay then? The night at the cabin, after Cal?” It surely wasn’t because he had to. You were onto him, and you weren’t going to let him go now, not unless he packed up and left right this second.

His stammer said enough, the tightened grip on his own appendage as if he was squeezing the reply from his own body. If he said what he wanted to, it wouldn’t be something cruel. He couldn’t be cold to you. That’s what frightened him the most.

You hunched forward slightly, a hovering hand on his shoulder. Simon tensed out of reflex, but didn’t physically stop you—he couldn’t anymore. Tonight was a breaking point, and his face had been in your sights for several minutes now.

“Don’t do this.” Finally, he gathered his bearings and clamped a hand around your wrist, the sheer size of his hand swallowing yours entirely. He let out a heavy breath, his glowing eyes burning holes into yours.

Your reply was as simple as blunt as you could muster; a one-worded question you’ve had for a long time. “Why?”

His fingers clenched a little tighter, expecting you to squirm. But you didn’t. “Because I won’t be able to stop myself,” he blinked slowly, eyes drooping with the small sliver of weakness he was showing you right now. Who said you wanted him to stop? In fact, nothing about you did. Not even your reddened eyes, or the tension you carried. It was a simple concept to grasp, but someone as stubborn as himself hadn’t. Yet.

This time, it was you who initiated the intimacy. It wasn’t sensuality; it was reassurance—something Simon needed desperately. You pressed your forehead against his, fingers finding the stubble you could finally touch.

He breathed heavily into the kiss, an instinctual hand protecting the back of your head when he pushed your weight back into the armchair. Somewhere in it, he had stood up again, able to deepen the lip contact by hovering over you. Simon should’ve fought it, but he didn’t. He wanted you to pull away and realize how ridiculous he felt against you, but you did not.

His lips pulled away with a moist squelch, still a hand on the back of your head. The drunken kiss was messy and heated. This was stone-cold sober—much needed and full of feelings. Simon seemed to be searching for hesitance, any excuse to halt his desires. You only breathed heavily from the loss of air, unblinking and desperate for more.

You nodded slightly, an unspoken plea for that part of him that couldn’t stop himself. Though it seemed like you were leading things, you didn’t have a clue what the hell you were doing either. It just felt right at the moment. After the nod, his free hand clasped the collar of your shirt, pulling you to your feet. He scanned the room around him, though he already memorized the layout the first time he walked in. It was as if he was searching for prying eyes that weren’t there—an instinct when his face was visible.

Instead of the sides of your head, his fingers found your waist, digging into them as he backed you against the dresser. Without a struggle on his end, he lifted you on top of it so he could stand between your parted thighs.

It couldn’t be the bed; it was too domestic for the both of you. He needed somewhere you could easily pull away from him and walk away, as he’d convinced himself you were going to. There was no way this act would carry out completely, right? The rational portion of you had to be buried deep in your lust.

Simon’s fingers gave your waistband a tug, pulling your bottoms off entirely. His eyes remained trained on yours the entire time, expecting some sort of resistance. Hell, he was expecting a slap on his cheek that never came. You wanted this; you wanted him.

The pad of his finger found your swollen clit, rubbing paced circles on the nerves. You felt your breath hitch at the sensation, a clench around the wooden edge of the dresser. Despite how much you wanted this, it was like an out-of-character blur. Simon, being the face to match the lustful hands? You never thought of that as a sight you’d see, never in a million years.

His heavy breathing was just as arousing, how lustfully he was watching despite not being the one being touched. Words weren’t coming out, but the language of stares was all the two of you needed right now. Simon could keep searching for refusal, but he wasn’t going to find it. Not while he was massaging your clit so intimately.

The pleasure built rather quickly, as did the pace of your hips rocking against his hands. It had been so long since you touched yourself, let alone a sexual partner doing it for you. When his finger ceased, you let out a small mewl from the emptiness.

From the moonlight illuminating his features, your eyes wandered at the sound of his belt unbuckling. He did it with such haste, such experience. He unzipped his jeans next, pulling them down to his knees to allow access.

Instinctively, you outstretched a hand to palm him through his boxers. It was what you were used to: I do something for you, you have to do the same for me.

“No.” Simon hissed, placing your hands back at your sides. It wasn’t because he didn’t want you to stroke him—he didn’t want the focus on him. You seeing his face was all the focus he could handle right now.

You kept your hands on either side of you, respecting the boundary he had put up, though you didn’t understand its purpose. He pulled down on the waistband of his black boxers, stroking himself for a few seconds, followed by another hiss. Simon stepped back to his original position between your thighs again, only he pulled them further apart—enough for his wide frame to fit comfortably.

You felt his length pressing against your folds, the knuckle of his hand on your inner thigh as he guided it into position. Before he did, he searched for a nod again, or anything, really. You obliged, bracing yourself by clamping down on his shoulder. It had been a long time since you had sex, so it wasn’t going to be particularly comfortable at first. A man of Simon’s stature, no matter the amount of arousal that pooled—you would have to be eased into it.

He guided the tip in first, eyes darting up and down as he slowly pushed his hips forward, his length coated in the lubricating slick caused by his fingers. You let out a pleasured gasp, not yet feeling the stretch that was coming.

When he was sure of the next phase, he placed his lips against your gasping ones, silencing the inevitable whine of discomfort. Still at a snail's pace, he entered even deeper, enough that you needed to sit with him like that for a moment. It was just that; discomfort, not pain. Yet another factor of intimacy you weren’t accustomed to as of late. “Is that… good?” He whispered against your mouth, still only thrusting a portion of himself out—and slowly.

Since he’d given you time to adjust, the discomfort did fizzle away. “More,” you replied, a slight nod of your head. Now, you were arguably enjoying the sensation more than he was.

This time, he didn’t wait for a refusal.

With an abrupter thrust, he bottomed out inside you. It wasn’t roughness, not yet—just his way of ripping off the bandaid. His lips found yours again, allowing you to bite down on his lower lip at the sudden stretch. The angle he was at; you sitting on top of the dresser with your hips slightly raised, and him standing, it felt euphoric, not agonizing.

“Shit…” A guttural groan fell from his lips as his movements began, methodical and pleasuring for both of you. Every sound you made, every little reaction; it made him twitch deep inside you. This is what he wanted when you two finally gave in—you, writhing in front of him and forced to do nothing but enjoy it.

His tip kissed your cervix with each pump, just enough to make your eyes roll slightly. What the hell you two were doing, the consequences tomorrow, none of it mattered. Lust truly did cloud the two of you this moment, and he wasn’t going to stop unless you asked him.

You felt tears prick at your eyes, but it wasn’t from pain or repulsion. It was from how long you had gone without this shared feeling of desire, the closeness of two people. Simon slowed his movements, wiping away the tear with his thumb. He could tell, it wasn’t a fear of him or the past that haunted you—it was pure satisfaction.

You needed this, no, deserved this from someone who truly deserved you.

His experienced hands found your hips, tugging you closer so your chests were touching. You let out another sharp gasp, holding onto him just as tightly. The tug allowed him to hit a deeper spot inside your walls if that was even possible.

The change in position allowed you to raise your knees higher against him, so much you probably could’ve placed your feet up on the dresser. Simon grunted and increased his speed, one hand on your thigh, and the other a flat palm against the wall in front of him. The furniture piece hit the wall with each relentless thrust, the thumb masked by your shared moans of delight. And they were becoming desperate ones, plain desperate.

Your stomach was doing flips, tightening and churning the longer he went at it like this. And Simon, his head leaned back ever so slightly, he was close too. There was no turning back now, too deep in the sensations. But still, you iron gripped him—as if pleading for him not to pull away—something he had no intention of doing.

“Let it out, love.” He rasped in your ear, his hips still going an uninterrupted pound. Love. The unexpected pet name made your already shaking knees turn to putty. You truly would only last seconds at best, especially with that accent smothering you.

What once was a moan with each thrust, now became a growing holler. That breaking point that had been bubbling, the one he gave you permission to, finally struck you—destructively. Each muscle in your abdomen constricted, your head thrown back against the wall at the feeling of euphoria hitting an all-time high. Simon’s hand, once gripping your thigh, was now protecting the back of your head as it thrashed against the wall. His tongue traced along your jaw and chin, the combination of sensations only prolonging the interval.

His fist balled in your hair, just enough to only cause an enjoyable sting. He leaned back slightly to have a better view of his length going in and out of you. The sounds of your high delighted him, the final permission for him to enjoy his own climax.

When he felt a more violent twitch, he pulled himself out, using his hand to finish the rest. Still, he wouldn’t allow you to touch him, you were sure of that. You panted heavily, mouth still agape in awe of the attraction you felt towards this. Your fingers clenched the sides of the dresser once pulled away, feeling the spew of his cum land on your folds.

Simon trembled slightly, giving one of your clothed breasts a yearning squeeze as he drained himself of his seed.

Then, clarity hit him as quickly as his climax did. “You wanted that, right?” He whispered, eyes now full of searching rather than lust. God, his cluelessness would be the death of him before any enemy. You quickly nodded, now slightly more slumped than before. You thought it was obvious, but he did always have a way of shocking you—in more ways than one, now.

Inside, you were shaking your head and smacking sense into him for his own stubbornness.

“Simon,” you panted, tightening your thighs around his waist, “just shut up. Please.” You pushed your head against into chest, using it as a surface to catch your breath on. The sensations you felt replayed already, leaving you sensitive and breathless, but heinously calm in spite of what you two had just done.

It happened so quickly, but it wasn’t regretful or dissatisfying. It was the exact opposite.

TAGLIST: @random-thot-generator @littleobsessionsandlifeslessons @illyanam1011 @stunkbiggu @bi-witch-bxtch @warm-milk-with-honey @xheera @kiamewrites @01trickster10 @m0chac0ffee @tizylish @midwesternwitchery @ramadiiiisme

#mw2 #mw2 fanfic #call of duty #simon riley #task force 141 #simon riley x reader #ghost mw2 #task force 141 x reader #simon riley smut #simon riley fluff #simon riley angst #ghost x reader #ghost x you #ghost x y/n

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slutforsnow · 11 months ago

Text

Reliving Hell

Chapter 6 :3

Summary: Someone's getting suspicious of "Easton's" identity and decides to see who he really is by seeing if he can scream

CW/TW: SA/groping, trauma response, violence, hungover

The next morning, Violent was stretching as she walked down the stairs. She had been too drunk to find Alias, so Courtney had brought her home, so nothing bad happened to her. She yawned as she pulled her hair up into some kind of style to make sure no one figured out she was a she.

"Ah, morning Vi," Courtney greeted as Violet threw on a coat just to be safe. She could never be to safe.

"Morning, Courtney," She greeted, looking around the kitchen for her boots.

"So, what you got plans for?" Court asked, setting a plate of breakfast on the table. She knew Vi had a tendency to skip breakfast when she was on a mission, but she at least wanted her best friend to eat something.

"Goin' to that ranchers place—Harry Hooker. He hired Billy, Alias, and I. Well, technically, he hired William H. Bonney, Alias, and Easton Vargough," She answered, correcting herself. Vi leaned against the tablet, using a fork to eat some of the egg and bacon on her plate. She grabbed her boots from the threshold leading into the living room, slipping them on and fixing her trousers to be over her boots.

"I should get goin'—should find Billy and group up with Alias," Vi added, grabbing her bandanna from her back pocket. She tied it around her face, securing it tightly.

"Alright, be safe Vi!!" Courtney told her as Violet left.

When Vi finally found Billy, he looked rough—like a kind of 'I'm so tired cause I had intense sex' rough.

"Hell happened to you?" Vi asked, laughing softly, grabbing his hat and fixing his hair somewhat.

"A girl; real pretty girl too from the saloon last night. Her name's Alice," Billy replied, grinning a bit before Violet put his hat back on his head.

"Oh."

Violet fought back the urge to scream; Alice slept with Billy!? Of all the people he could've slept with, he slept with her?! She shook it off, not wanting to keep the conversation on Alice going; the cunt was an all-too horrible memory for Vi to handle—especially with a hangover.

"You ready to head to the ranch?" She asked, diffusing any questions Billy was starting to ask about why Violent had an angry look in her eyes.

"Yeah, and are you okay? You've got this... firey look in your eyes, and it's kinda scary," Billy questioned. Vi simply laughed it off, dismissing his question.

"I'm fine, knucklehead," She reassured, punching him in the arm. "Now let's go."

When the duo found Alias, the three of them made way for Harry Hooker's ranch.

Later, around maybe 3 hours after regrouping with Alias and making their way to the ranch, Violet was beginning to regret wearing 2 shirts. Did they conceal her female anatomy? Yes. Were they killing her and making her sweat to death? Yes. Was she going to suffer anyway to make sure no one found out "he" was actually a she? Very much so.

But to help her not focus on the sweltering heat, she was silently cursing out Alice. Alice was known for stealing boys back in her boarding school days—specifically boys Violet showed interest in. She never knew why Alice did it; if Violet had ever so much as said hi to another boy that wasn't Jesse, Alice or some other girl would yank them far from her. She hated it—all boys would eventually drop her as a friend and avoid her like the plague.

Eventually, it made her snap, and she started to act out, doing whatever she could to raise hell for everyone, and she thrived in it. She loved the attention and fear her other classmates had, seeing Vi cause destruction until she was expelled.

Shakin' her head, Violet squeezed her eyes shut and disrupted any memories of her boarding school days. Her chaos had been short-lived and not enough to undo the hell hole before she snapped. Sighing, she stretched, deciding to take a mild break from workin'. Sliding her smaller frame off of North, she made her way to grab some water.

She hummed to herself, grabbing a mug and lightly dunking it into the tub of water before beginning to down it after pulling her bandanna down enough to let her drink the heavenly liquid that trickled its way down her throat.

Meanwhile, Billy was helpin', the other cowboys bring the cattle back and lock them in their pen. He was thinkin' back to last night about Alice and how nice she felt against him. He was hopin' to see her again, wanting to introduce her to Violet. Then he heard it.

The blood-curtling horrified womanly scream that no pre-pubescent boy could ever imitate. He snapped his head towards the direction he heard it and snapped the reigns, urging his horse to the origin of Violet's scream of absolute terror.

When he came back to her, he practically jumped off his horse and kneeled down to her. She was hyperventilating with tears rolling down her cheeks and crying, holding onto Billy, feeling his calming and reassuring grip.

"Vi, it's okay, it's okay, it's just me, it's just me," He told her, pulling her into his arms and his hand on the back of her head. "Shh, shh, it's okay I've got you."

The other cowboys were talking amongst themselves about how "Easton" wasn't a he and instead was a girl. Billy took notice that one of the other cowboys had Violets hat in his hand and frowned, putting the pieces together and realizing what must've happened.

He stood up, holding Violet close in bridal style, and set her on his horse. He put his hat on her head, which ensured that no one else would touch her as Alias joined the two.

"Vi, I'm gonna go get your hat, OK? Alias is gonna stay with you," He told her, holding her free hand. Her other hand was holding the buttons of her shirt together, so they didn't expose her chest more.

She simply nodded, not meeting his gaze. Billy squeezed her hand before going off, grabbing her hat and cursing out the other cowboys for what they did to her.

After the three got to a quieter place, Violet finally took Billy's hat off and dropped it onto his head and putting hers back onto her head.

"Hey," Billy greeted, looking up at her with a reassuring smile as he led his and her horses in tow to Alias and his horse.

"Hi," She replied, her voice thick from crying.

"I took care of 'em," He told her, averting his gaze as she fixed her shirts. "Mr. Hooker's gonna fire 'em hopefully and you'll get to keep your job."

"I don't wanna," She mumbled, taking the reigns of Billy's horse weaving the leathers through her fingers. "Wanna find a different job."

"Are you sure? Alias got us this job-" Billy asked, confused but understanding. After what happened, he didn't blame her one bit, and if he was in her shoes, he'd do the exact same.

"I'm sure." Billy nodded, leaving it at that. He wasn't one to judge and wasn't going to start now.

Tags: @etfrin @hearts4court @snows-wife @delusionalbunni @kiraflowersworld @victory-scream0462 @curled-hair-red-lips @morallygrayboys @phoward89 @xoxo-eyeballs @thereeallink @graciouslyc @acidaciruela @wanda-maximoff-enthusiast @firstworldproblemthings @nowitsmissing

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jolieblack · 6 months ago

Text

Jolie’s thoughts on

Shoscombe Old Place (Sherlock & Co. podcast)

Good call shifting the environment away from the way too similar horse racing scenario of Silver Blaze.

Thank you also, Joel, for letting our boys go on a holiday. It’s not what I imagined when I said I wanted Consequences after Dancing Men, but it works! And I find it telling that Sherlock especially seems to have offered no resistance to the plan. Seriously, S & J camping by the river (and Sherlock going fishing, because of course he would!) for real and not just as a blind (like in ACD’s story) filled me with happiness and serenity.

I was not prepared at all to learn so much about John's childhood and family circumstances. "Made and then broken in the Army and subsequently fixed at 221B Baker Street", yes, that is the John Watson that we know and love in any universe. 😭

I'm so glad he still has a refuge in his old town now, and I love that Sherlock gets invited totally as a matter of course. I so heard him on the "weird feeling when a place you used to call home doesn’t feel like home anymore", too.

I'm also left wondering a LOT whether John’s canonical unhappy alcoholic brother (also Henry/Harry, like the father?) from Sign of Four exists in this universe. If yes, there should be traces of him in the old family home for Sherlock to deduce… Unless of course he’s a half brother or something who never lived there (from John's dad's earlier marriage or relationship, possibly?). Or maybe the traces are there and Sherlock just never said a thing, and only will later…

I also wasn't expecting John to run into his famous so-far-nameless ex! I found myself hoping that they wouldn’t go down the tropey route of the Crazy Evil Ex. When John called Carrie "evil" when they were trapped in the crypt, that really didn’t seem accurate. But John was being so realistically cranky about everything to do with Carrie, I really felt for him.

Sherlock was being such a sweetie throughout, especially at the start. Doing small talk with the neighbour, NOT pointing out that John rambles exactly as bad as his mum sometimes, not wanting him to have to call his ex in person, repeating over and over that they’re in a beautiful place with good beer and he’s really enjoying himself… Calling John invaluable… Feeling a little bad about recklessly leading them both into danger in Dancing Men, perhaps (not that John didn’t follow willingly and without question)? Or just being happy that he and John are still alive and still around and evidently didn’t fall out over the Dancing Men business, either?

"I'm a big boy. I can do it." - "Would you like me to call her?" - "Yes, please." - "What’s wrong?" - "Poor signal in this village." - "I’m blocked, aren’t I." My heart 🥹 How I love a protective Sherlock.

And our boys getting philosophical in ancient sacred buildings at night is almost a tradition by now. I love it when they do that. The River Thames analogy was so intriguing, too. Who would have thought that Sherlock could be such a poet?

"A sea? A lake? A waterfall?" [10 seconds later] "Shoutout to Professor James Moriarty, who is listening intently to every word." AAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!!!! 😱😱😱 That was the creepiest moment ever and John was so right to lose his shit.

How close are we to Reichenbach? We might be there by August. Or Joel might be pulling all our legs.

Whatever it may be, don’t deny yourself the pleasure of looking at this absolutely beautiful art by @paperleef !

Oh and then of course there was a case as well, but it hardly seemed to matter for most of the story. No surprises there for the connoisseurs of ACD’s original stories, either.

I’m glad that they did not go down the Crazy Evil Ex route with Carrie after all. I was a little narratively underwhelmed by how John’s dynamic with Carrie and its potential for conflict just fizzled out. But thumbs up for realism there. They’ve both moved on and that’s it. Like so often in RL. And didn’t we all love the fact that John now considers Baker Street his home, Sherlock & Mariana his family and the Sh & Co project his future.

I also didn’t expect Part 3 to turn into an anti-classism manifesto, but it does make sense, especially seeing how the matter bugs John all the time, too. Check out this great meta by @comicgeekery on the matter!

I would also like to contest Mr Emory’s ideas about the founding date of the Adidas shoe brand, but that’s just a tiny detail.

Sherlock: "John Hamish Watson!" - John: "Don’t Hamish me!" 😂 - Wasn’t aware that’s a verb, but apparently it is!

The car chase scene/river rescue scene was so good I literally forgot this was just audio. Also, Sherlock and John diving in a lake together to get Robert out was just… so touching. And so cool. (I think I’m mostly in love with how Sherlock switched immediately from "Watson, get out of there" to "OK, I’m going right in there with you".) And did you all notice we got another "John"? It’s still being saved for special moments. 🥰

Dear Joe, nobody who dies on duty on a peacekeeping mission gets a cheap place in heaven in my opinion. But then, if Harry Watson was anywhere as modest and laid-back as his son is, and something tells me that he must have been, he probably took a cheap place on purpose, not to be a pain, and when an angel came up and wanted to guide him closer to the hero places, he was just, "nah, mate, I'm good here".

Also, Sherlock packing their things before the case was even wrapped up, to make sure John would find it easier to go back home to London, rather than lingering and questioning his life choices, was so sweet again.

"You’re stressed, any you’re lashing out at those you love (!). You’re losing your mind. You spoke to a river!" - "And you put a dog in a bag!" - Possibly one of my favourite ever closing scenes of this show. (Treat yourselves to this lovely observation by @itsnobodysproblem , please!)

#sherlock & co #sherlock & co podcast #podlock #sherlock and co #shoscombe old place #episode notes #sherlock & co meta

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vidreview · 4 months ago

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VIDREV: "Plagiarism and You(Tube)" by Hbomberguy.

[originally posted december 7th 2023]

youtube

i didn't initially plan to do a full VIDREV for this one. it's a long video that speaks plenty for itself, revealing a veritable cottage industry of video essayists who've found great success in brazenly stealing the works of marginalized creators. it's an infuriating watch, especially as someone who has put a lot of work over a lot of years into getting better as an essayist. at a moment when the gormless profit-chasing business degree havers of the world are pretty unambiguously winning in every avenue imaginable, it's gratifying to see someone like Hbomberguy use his significant platform to at least make a dent in that trend. i had a few gripes, sure, but i didn't figure they were worth the trouble. of course now it's been out for a few days, the video already has over 6.8 million views, and people are still talking about it on every single social media website of note. watching that discourse evolve from afar has sharpened some of the round edges on my aforementioned gripes, and given me reason to think that maybe weighing in isn't a totally fruitless endeavor. and besides, what's the point of having a video essay review blog if you're not gonna review what is arguably the video essay of the moment? ahhh, there's a Faustian bargain if ever i heard one.

in this post, i'm going to be critical of Hbomberguy's "Plagiarism and You(Tube)" on a few fronts of debatable importance. but first, i want to make it clear that i am genuinely grateful to Hbomb for putting so much time and effort into this investigation. plagiarism is a serious accusation that requires commensurate evidence, and Harris's got that covered in spades. the case is made so much harder to deny by the frequent juxtaposition of a plagiarist's voice-over with the original plagiarized text on screen reacting to minor trail-covering alterations. these sections occupy the bulk of this video's near 4 hour runtime, and while i have some issues with that length, i understand that the deluge of evidence is precisely to make sure that none of the plagiarists in question can continue dodging accusations the way they have done previously. in this process, Hbomb lays out a consistent playbook utilized by all manner of plagiarists, and (hypothetically) gives viewers the tools and awareness they need to better spot plagiarism in the future. this matters because, as he rightly points out, youtube isn't a fun little hobby site for posting silly cat videos anymore, there's real money to be made on the platform and virtually no oversight to protect creators with ethics and integrity (i wanted to pull a direct quote here but alas, you can't ctrl+f a video). it's an open question as to how or whether we can fix this problem, but we don't get to that conversation until we acknowledge that plagiarism is a legitimate, widespread, materially harmful phenomenon online. none of what i have to say in this review is meant to minimize its broad success in calling attention to a very real problem!

that said…

in the days since its release, i've seen a lot of back and forth over what this video is about. on one side you have folks calling for the blood of James Somerton and others mentioned in the essay, saying "fuck these people specifically." yet on another side, many insist that you're missing the point if all you see is more drama for the drama mill. "this is a systemic problem" they say, "that's what the video is about." i'm inclined to agree more with the latter than the former, as Hbomb does consistently circle back to talking about the unpaid victims of plagiarism, ending the video by explicitly highlighting underrated queer creators and even saying outright that he doesn't want the end result to be limited in scope to just retribution against these specific plagiarists.

and yet, when i see a meme like this one:

i can't help but think… is that what the video is about? is someone who just sees the drama missing the point? yes, certainly, Hbomb says as much, but how much does he actually say it compared to everything else? what's the proportion of (to be overly reductive) "drama content" to "systemic criticism"? because it seems to me that anyone who only/mostly gets "wow fuck these people in particular" out of this video has done nothing less than take the video in aggregate. the bulk of its runtime is spent detailing very specific acts of plagiarism, and while yes, as i said above, this abundance serves a very real purpose, it shouldn't go unacknowledged that the tone of these sections is often one of ridicule and mockery. i don't mean that as a criticism in and of itself, to be clear. you can draw a line from here directly backwards through all his "Measured Response" videos, dude cut his teeth on knocking overconfident hacks down a peg, a bit of ridicule and mockery is to be expected. but that does ultimately mean that Hbomb spends most of the video saying "fuck these people in particular," in a tone of voice he honed through many other videos devoted to saying "fuck this guy in particular", only occasionally stopping to add that "plagiarism is popular and insidious and even creators you trust might be doing it" before moving onto the next scornworthy particular guy. so it kind of doesn't matter that one is "the point" and the other is "missing the point" because he's genuinely saying both things, and he's saying one of them significantly more often than the other. you can't tell me the dunks aren't at least part of the point, and if they're part of it then they can and will be misconstrued by some as the whole point. the entertainment and spectacle of knocking these plagiarists down a peg is an indulgence that, while certainly earned, does exist in concrete tension with the systemic arguments that are meant to take priority. now, some of this does come down to how internet culture has shifted in the last decade to facilitate a much more aggressive style of engagement overall, which Harris cannot control no matter how often he says "don't harass the plagiarists." there isn't really a perfectly right way to go about this, and under the circumstances i do think he did far better than others might have done in his stead.

but even still, i think this misapprehension is made worse by the essay's conclusion, which in my opinion largely fails to tie the whole thing together into the systemic argument that supposedly is "the point" some viewers are missing. Harris commendably points out how the so-called AI revolution is at its core an act of automated civilization-scale plagiarism, and that future instances of plagiarism may be harder to catch precisely because of this technology. frankly i wish that perspective had taken up a solid 10% of the runtime rather than a couple paragraphs at the very end, seeing as on balance it's the far bigger and more likely threat to the livelihoods of people watching than old-school direct plagiarism, but that's me. what really bugged me was the brevity with which he discussed possible solutions to the problem. he rightly points out that youtube implementing a plagiarism reporting system would just be another tool for bad faith actors to silence marginalized creators on the platform, and then… he kinda gives up? he shrugs his shoulders and says, well, for now, just talking about plagiarism and spreading awareness of it is enough. for as well-intentioned and, generally speaking, true as that is, it bugs me as an essayist because i believe that a big part of the job is or ought to be expanding the audience's ability to imagine what's possible even if you aren't 100% sure about the answers yourself.

these are all very much "how i would have written it differently" criticisms, so they aren't particularly worth much, but i do feel it's odd that he doesn't even broach the subject of federal regulation, platform control, unionization efforts, or even just good old-fashioned consumer activism. virtually every website that the creative economy hangs on is a venture-capital backed corporate venture, and their ad-driven models for profiteering at a moment when wages are stagnant and layoffs are happening everywhere is, like, the reason this is such a problem. to address plagiarism as a systemic issue, we need to understand the systemic enablers of it as a behavior. if creators weren't getting such a small slice of the revenue pie, if we had more control over the platform and what rises to the top, if the companies that owned these platforms were beholden to federal regulations, if the government increased arts funding and gave out grants to independent creators that involved third-party quality checks, if online video creators had any manner of collective labor power, if the cost of living was lower by way of public healthcare, free education, mass public transit, and affordable housing, then this would be a drastically different conversation. these are not non-sequitors! this is as much an economic problem as it is a cultural one, so any proposed solution that stops at changing the culture is necessarily incomplete and doomed to fail.

look, i don't expect Hbomb to have the answers. nobody has the answers. but i think it's a bit short-sighted to leave so many possibilities unsaid when the one concrete possibility discussed is immediately (correctly) written off as a bad idea. it leads to a conclusion that feels iffy, a bit defeated, lost at sea, and that's an infectious mood. if the first step to solving plagiarism as a systemic problem is to encourage talking about it openly, i think it's equally important to at the very least gesture in the direction of the many possible avenues for a systemic solution, no matter how impossible or ridiculous they might seem in the current political climate. in point of fact, i think it's of utmost importance to include these possibilities precisely because they seem impossible, otherwise we will forever be trapped in a world of insufficient half measures, meekly reifying the conservative austerity of the liberal order because it's easier and safer than taking a wild shot in the dark.

again, i want to stress that this is a deeply subjective criticism. i'm an ornery Marxist, of course i have these kinds of gripes. and it's easy to get lost in criticizing what isn't there, which as an exercise generally tells you more about the critic than the object being criticized. so, to close out, i'm gonna shake my fist a little at something that is there.

there's a moment at about one hour thirty-five minutes in where Harris turns on some colored lights to get that patented blue-purple Bisexual Lighting, and then he says this:

This is a whole style of video now, and by "style" I mean one person did it first and then a bunch of boring people ripped her off. Stealing from lots of places is inspiration, but stealing from one place is plagiarism… unless you call it The BreadTube Style, and then it's fine. I don't even know what a BreadTube is, I just woke up one day and was told that I was in it, and that people hated me for being in it. I don't even know what it is!

i understand where this jab is coming from-- the whole BreadTube scene was a melodramatic nightmare, on account of being an audience-invented genre which that audience (and later creators who emerged from that audience) often inaccurately treated as a coherent movement. i understand the frustration expressed by a lot of creators in that first generation of left-ish essayists (Hbomb, Lindsay Ellis, Dan Olson, Contrapoints etc) with the atmosphere of that moment, and certainly don't begrudge them a desire to distance themselves from it and ridicule its shortcomings.

but this brief little jokey aside left a bad taste in my mouth. the creator he's talking about being "ripped off" here is obviously Contrapoints, who brought a colorful theatricality to her early work that elevated it above being something she shot for cheap in her apartment. this went hand in hand with her Socratic style of essaying, giving her characters a strange and vibrant world to occupy. i don't want to say she "did it first" because, let's be real, Natalie Wynn did not invent the idea of using dramatic lighting on the internet. but she was certainly the first person i saw on youtube doing it in video essays, and yeah, a lot of people followed her example including me!

but that's not the same thing as plagiarism, is it? this whole video is an extensive exploration of what genuinely counts as plagiarism: taking someone else's words and pretending that they're yours. style is almost never part of that conversation across the whole 4 hours, except where it involves use of prepackaged assets like transitions and stock footage, which Hbomb deliberately notes is fine and normal except when people act like they're the ones who invented it (this particularly comes up in the Legal Eagle section). by the terms of this joke, Abby Thorne of PhilosophyTube falls under the category of "boring people" who were "ripping off" Contrapoints even moreso than those who just lit videos like her, because she even does the Socratic-style dialogues! but somehow i don't think Harris would call that plagiarism. if the concern re: bisexual lighting in BreadTube is attribution, all i can say is that Natalie Wynn is one of the single most discussed and cited creators in the whole field. virtually everyone i can think of who "ripped her off" back in the day openly acknowledged being inspired by her at every possible opportunity. of course that's just my own biased recollection of the history, so who knows, maybe there are people out there acting like they did it first. but unlike most of the other victims of plagiarism provided in this video, Natalie Wynn is not wallowing in obscurity. her work is IMMENSELY successful, to the point where she's arguably the closest thing to a household name you can get from this space.

now, i'm sensitive to a joke like this because i always felt like if anything Natalie got too much credit for "inventing" the so-called "BreadTube style". her use of colored lights was striking and unique, yes, but it was also rudimentary and not particularly complicated. i worked in film lighting for enough years to see this "style" as equivalent to late 1910's era silent films blindly grasping at the bare fundamentals of montage that have become the backbone of all cinema. it's good, but it ain't Citizen Kane. i really hoped people would take Natalie's baseline not as a concrete template, but as a challenge to get even more ambitious and filmic with their lighting setups! instead things have stagnated, and we've kinda circled back around to a very slightly more colorful version of the standard pre-Contrapoints look. this is by no means to play down the work that Natalie did, because i know from my own years making video essays that it is NOT easy or simple to set up even rudimentary lighting that looks good. but come on man, have some perspective. she's a philosopher, not an electrician!

what's worse is that later on in the video, Hbomb talks about how many creators were inspired by AVGN to do twists on his formula, and why this was a good thing. near the end, when he's very rightly shouting out many underrated queer essayists, he spends a good chunk of time celebrating the spirit of remix that is so unique to the internet, insisting that there's a real tangible difference between plagiarism and inspiration. this is good! i agree with him! which is why it's so bizarre that there's this one aside that equates using bisexual lighting to plagiarism! it's a disarmingly hypocritical moment in an otherwise relatively on-point video, and its presence kind of weakens the rest of the essay for me (especially if you're sensitive to how near this comes to being all-out drama youtube, as clearly even Hbomb is by his own admission in the video).

the last i'll say is that i find it frustrating when a creator in Hbomb's position tries to act like BreadTube wasn't A Thing. no, it wasn't A Thing the way quite a lot of people thought it was (including many who called themselves BreadTubers). but these creators were often collaborating with each other to make guest appearances, read quotes, etc. certainly they mentioned each other often enough, which couldn't help solidifying in the audience's mind that there was indeed A Thing happening that involved multiple people with similar creative & political goals, regardless of whether or not that was the creators' intent. it wasn't formal, and it certainly wasn't A Movement (the lack of an articulated ideological spine is a BIG part of why things went sour the way they did), but they were happy enough to play along before Drama blew the whole endeavor to smithereens. and notably, successive generations of creators (like Sophie From Mars, Jack Saint, Lily Alexandre, CJ the X, and yes, also me again) saw the BreadTube genre as a place where interesting things were happening, where the kinds of things they/we wanted to create were encouraged and supported vociferously. it's no coincidence that a LOT of up-and-coming trans creators doing very BreadTube-y things got a huge boost from guesting on Hbomb's DK64 Nightmare Stream in 2019 (including me again, haha, oops), because there was A Thing happening even if most people were wrong about what, exactly, it was. none of this is to say that Hbomb should call himself a BreadTuber-- god no, i hope no one does that ever again, i'm embarrassed that i did back in the day! but this history does exist. mostly i just think this joke would've been better left on the cutting room floor.

okay, i think that's enough criticism for one day. one thought i had coming out of this is that i wish more video essays would publish concurrently with a written version on a dedicated website. not just a transcript but an article-format version. i wonder sometimes about the difficulty of indexing video essays, of getting their contents into a historical record that can be printed out and put into a library. but anyway, all my gripes aside, it's a good video and you should go watch it! preferably in chunks over a day or two!

#vidrev #video essay #video essay review #video recommendation #hbomberguy #plagiarism #youtube #breadtube #Youtube

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babybabymerrychristmas · 4 months ago

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i really feel like something people don't get about this election is..... it's already horrific. it's about not making it WORSE.

i remember seeing somebody be like "they keep talking about project 2025 but they never say what's in it" GOOGLE IS FREE

oh yeah uh-huh we for sure need Trump and MAGA in office right about now.

I really appreciate this, anon, because you're extremely correct about this.

The thing about voting is that it is harm reduction. Especially in the presidential election aspect of it all because the president is a political figurehead.

To be clear, trump has agenda 47 on his website which makes it clear he wants to "deport" "pro hamas radicals" so like i genuinely do not understand what people think is going to happen when they allow trump to take office. So, it's not even about googling project 2025 to educate yourself on the heritage foundation and how dangerous they are to the american people or find out that trump carried out 60% of their project 2017. these people are too fucking lazy to visit trump's website and see what his fucking plan is to "stop hamas" himself.

I'm not surprised when this is what non-voters self-report when asked if they closely seek out political news regularly. Voters are almost 2x as likely to follow the news regularly compared to non-voters according to this 2020 survery i found.

by all accounts, this election is not nearly as "horrific" as people online are pretending it is beyond the very real threat of a trump dictatorship. Kamala Harris has shown a clear and RAPID response to the criticism of her on social media and that makes this election probably one of the easiest ones ever for the active democratic base. The people who actively follow political news regularly are the ones who see Kamala's frankly incredible political campaign run and it will go a long way to activating her democratic base.

Trump will never be the answer to America's problems and anyone who thinks good can come out of a trump dictatorship is either being fooled by his russian bot campaign or are too angry to think logically about the facts of our reality (this kind of makes them exactly the same as trump supporters imo cause this is literally what trump runs on).

anyhoo, vote for kamala harris if you want to keep protesting and being a "pro-hamas radical" according to trump. don't vote if you don't give a fuck what will happen to anyone who isn't you next year.

#personal #us politics #anon love #ask and you shall receive #voting education

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yanyyogurt · 1 year ago

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Brainrotting how to write the Voldemort Wins AU for Dramione month, when this plot bunny came in.

What if Draco and Hermione were cellmates? And they learn about each other in prison, and they plot their escape!

The question now is - how does this happen LOL. Lord of Plot Bunnies possess me please.

Snippet --

She was struggling real hard from the man’s grip on her shoulders. There were so many of them now that Hermione didn’t know the name of the wizard that had caught her. The Dark Lord’s supporters were like mice that bided their time until Voldemort was restored, and despite their numbers, they knew most of those who were on the side of the good, Harry’s side. They’ve rounded up everyone involved actively in the war, as far as Hermione knew, and now, anyone who wasn’t pureblood was fair game for them as well. “Oy, gotcha this lil lady running away when I caught her by Diagon Alley,” the nameless wizard spoke, his voice low and raspy as he talked to the idle guard positioned by the entrance of the cell. She was blindfolded and held by a stunning spell as they Apparated to the prison, which seemed like a regular-looking one, the one you’d see on Muggle television. Not that Hermione’s ever been to any wizard prisons, but she knew the place, while ordinary, was surely bewitched to prevent escape. It wasn’t no Azkaban though. Not yet, Hermione thought. It would only be a matter of time before she would join Ron, Ginny, Neville, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, the rest of the Order in Azkaban where they were kept. Those active participants in the war, especially someone like her, would definitely be kept in such maximum security. But for now, she was Abigail Una, a random Muggleborn, graduate of Hogwarts under House Hufflepuff and worked in Diagon Alley as a shopkeeper selling second-hand books and parchment. She knew someone was following her when she was about to escape Diagon Alley. The Dark Lord and his minions had marked the place and made Disapparating out of the town impossible, still she was there trying to scavenge what remained of the shops for some last resources she could muster before going into hiding, maybe planning a rescue and resistance if she were to find any more like her who would have escaped. Her deft reflexes were able to warn her to take a swig of the Polyjuice Potion she had brewed and always kept when out and about, hidden by her sock. She was glad that the wizard who caught her was stupid enough to only get her small bag and not check her with a spell that would reveal what she had in her person. So that was the only thing Hermione was able to bring into prison, aside from the clothes on her back. And that was already a great deal, as there’s been a manhunt out for her. “What’s her name?” The guard conjured up a list to check. He didn’t seem too old, Hermione thought. He looked a bit like Stan Shunpike in age and hair, but when he drawled and yawned, she saw the traces of gunk and yellow in his teeth, indicating he might be older than he looked. “Dunno, she won’t speak.” The guard waved his wand as the list vanished and said, “Don’t matter, this ain’t her. That girl that was with Potter’s still at large.” “Then what do we do with this?” The other man roughly yanked her by the sleeve of her blouse. “Stick her in that cell there, that last one, everything else’s full,” the guard pointed to the farthest one. There were only three cells in this block, and she shuddered to think why it was so quiet when it was supposedly full. She ain’t on the list, and she ain’t one of ours, so just dump her there. We’ll know what to do with her later on.” And so that’s where Hermione found herself in a random Muggle-like prison, deemed unimportant but criminal enough to be held captive. Which begged the question as to why Draco Malfoy was sitting across from her in the cell, when in Voldemort’s world, he would be neither.

#dramione #dramione month #prison au #voldemort wins au #dhrmonth #dhr fanfiction #dhr fandom

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purplekiwis · 3 years ago

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The Bikini Problem (Part 3 of CEO Harry having a v big crush on adorable and chubby Y/N)

You can read PART 1 here.

You can read PART 2 here.

So... I've been a bit obcessed with Harry's hands today, and somehow this happened. I would like to say sorry in advance for my whore-like behaviour 😌

Harry has got a problem.

A very big problem.

He was bored at home during the weekend, having nothing to entertain himself with besides the episode of House of Cards playing on his Smart TV and that evening’s dirty dishes piled up on the sink for him to wash. He hadn’t felt like doing them straight away, so he’d kicked back on the couch for a bit instead, still wearing nothing but a pair of black briefs and his cinnamon colored bath robe – having taken a shower earlier and not bothered to put on any clothes, since he had no plans for after dinner that night.

He usually never did these days… other than the occasional whisky drink shared between mates at their preferred pub downtown. But uprightly, even those kinds of invitations had been getting turned down by him lately...

Harry feels lonely.

Not due to lack of friends or people to hang out with, but simply because he has finally come to the bitter understandment that whenever he goes to hang out with “his” people, no conversation he ever has with them fills the void in his soul he wants to have suffused so badly. The endless empty conversations bore him, and constantly have him driving back home questioning himself over what he could have ever possibly found interesting in these people he calls his friends - as stereotypical as it sounds, all they ever want to do is talk about sports and riches… oh, and lust after young women who aren't their wives or girlfriends, of course.

Harry is sick of it.

He just wants to experience something authentic. A real connection with someone that will lift that constant cold and lonesome weight on his chest. A beautiful person he could take on nice dates on the weekends and cuddle before bed. Someone that’s bright… and soft… and interesting… whose face and body he could touch lovingly in the mornings, and kiss passionately in the nights… someone like Y/N.

Harry mindlessly nips at his thumb. His eyes fixed on the big TV screen as his mind spawns lovely scenes upon scenes of him and her together. He pictures them walking hand in hand on the sidewalk of one of their city’s main streets at night (the one with the big theater, whose architecture Harry likes a lot), the street feels alive due to the ceaseless chatter happening on the terraces of the small restaurants around them, and there’s also a few people walking alongside them, but not enough to make things any less intimate and comfortable for them.

The wind blows on Y/N’s hair, and Harry is presented with a breath of her delicate perfume, tormenting his fiery side with a deep desire to kiss her until he can no longer distinguish her body scent from his. They’re talking about nothing and everything. He smiles to himself at the thought of them doing something he hasn’t done in a long time – laughing so loud and genuinely that their bodies crook forward and their bellies start to hurt.

Christ! He misses seeing her already, and it's only been what- 33 hours since he's seen her last...?

He wonders if she's having fun for her birthday on her weekend holiday... He hopes she is... or well, not too much fun. Especially not any kind of fun involving clothes coming off and someone else loving on her perfect curves. The possibility alone leaves him antsy and makes his stomach feel queasy. He doesn't want anyone else touching her like that. No. Fuck no. Absolutely not. She's only for him to touch... once he stops being a pussy and musters the courage to ask her out, that is.

The thoughts that she might be doing exactly what Harry is hoping she isn't still haunt him though...

And that's how Harry ended up deciding to go snoop her Instagram account. Regardless of the way his heart was beating anxiously in his chest - terrified he would somehow out himself for liking one of her most personal pictures on accident. Harry wasn't too keen on using Instagram... he just had one for the sake of having one, honestly. And his profile was strictly professional... the only pictures in it being one highly polished portrait of himself and two other group photos taken at a business convention.

Which would only make things much more weird if he put a like on a random picture of his employee.

And it wasn’t like he was from fact stalking in a creepy sort of way or anything... he was just curious to know what kinds of things she liked to post about, and maybe pick out some essential bits and pieces of her personality... besides, her account wasn't even that hard to find, since she’d just freshly followed the company's Instagram page. Out of sympathy, Harry's guessing... since it’s a shit page, with nothing interesting to see in it, really… being truthful, visiting it always leaves Harry a bit annoyed that the modern world has managed to compel him into hiring someone to care of his company's online stuff, only for them to reproduce the same uninteresting posts everyone else in their business field is already doing. He’s surprised to find that so many people follow them... and yet, maybe he's just a hard bloke to please when it comes to the content he consumes.

Once he finally opens her profile, his heart jolts in his chest - mouth going wide from wonder and surprise.

The last picture she had posted was on that day's morning. Her accompanied by two girl friends. Posing all around a sunbed and smiling bright smiles into the camera… in their bikinis.

She's set on killing him.

And he's starting to fear that she might.

Harry can't help but to groan out loud at the sight of her. Fuck... that's a work of art if he's even seen one. His eyes scan every detail of her body that there is to see… She’s wearing one of those bikinis where the panty straps go up above her hipline, leaving her love handles and belly fully on display. God. Harry wants to bite them. He wants to bite and kiss her all over. Her flimsy top has little support for her breasts - showcasing the natural curve of them and allowing him to more or less make out where her nipples are. And yet, surprisingly... the piece still leaves quite a bit to the imagination, but Harry likes that it does… he couldn’t stand the thought of other perverts getting to see any more of her than they already did.

His fist unconsciously drops to his crotch, smooth, veiny hand stroking at the bloated up cock hidden beneath his bathrobe."Dirty girl, look what you're doing to me..." He mumbles in between gritted teeth. Bloody minx... It feels almost supernatural at times, the power she holds over his body. "Are you going to be Daddy's good girl and take care of this big mess you made now? Of course you are... always so good to me." He mutters to himself, once his fingers wrap firmly around the thick lenght compressed under his boxers, giving it a testy tug upwards.

He pauses his actions abruptly.

God! What was he doing? Was he really about to tug one out at the expense of his employee's bikini picture? No no no no... he couldn't. He can't. That would be taking things way too far - Harry might be a dirty bastard, yes... but he's not the kind to touch himself staring at people's pictures without their consent. He's not a creep.

So he does the second most ethical thing one could do in that situation (the first being not touching himself at all and letting it go down on its own, but he's far too worked up not to do anything), he goes on Pornhub and types something on the search bar he won't ever admit to anyone but himself - basically a quick description of Y/N's main features to see if he can find someone that looks like what his cock needs them to look like for the premium wanking experience.

Harry scoffs at the disappointing results he gets. Is this what society is considering as curvy nowadays? He is disappointed to say the least. Even more so when he keeps scrolling and clicking next on the pages, only to come to face the sad reality that none of these girls looks even a bit like Y/N. He puffs his cheeks, settling for a POV style video where a girl is laying down on her stomach. She’s got a nice round arse and what he's sure will be a pretty pussy… but ultimately, what makes him press the play button is the fact that her panties are about the same color of Y/N’s cute bikini. He spits thickly onto his palm, lowering it down to cup his cock under his undies. Admittedly a little cranky that it’s not actually her that he's watching... but he guesses this is just going to have to do… for now.

tag list: @tenaciousperfectionunknown @kissyh94

PART 4 📝

#i love being evil. its my favorite hobby #harry styles imagine #harry styles blurb #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fic #harry styles x reader #fanfiction #harry styles writing #harry fanfic #ceo!harry #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fan fiction

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letarasstuff · 3 years ago

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Unbreakable Bond

(A/N): This is based on this post and this tiktok

Summary: A big age gap between Aaron's children doesn't have to mean that they are unable to form a strong bond

Warnings: Mentions of Haley's death and failed relationships

Wordcount: 1.8k

✨Masterlist✨

_________________________________

His life took turns Aaron never expected. It’s not the “Oh, mh, well that was unexpected”-type of turns, I talk about the “God played Cards Against Humanity with angels and decided to make it happen for someone”-type. But looking back he would not want to change a thing.

After Haley and Beth he was convinced that God, the Universe, something out there shared the opinion that romantic love isn’t the right thing for him and Aaron accepted that fact. Even more when he and Jack went into witness protection. I mean, when you are worried about the life of your family being in danger because of a stalker, you don’t think about the beautiful neighbor, who lives next door, right? Right?

Well, without going into too much detail, Hotch did think about her and she about him and vice versa. Everything went good until Aaron received the message that the team found the stalker and that it was safe to come back. He decided to come clean to his girlfriend. They talked about the possibility of moving back to Quantico.

In the end they decided in favor of the move, the final argument was the surprising announcement of her being pregnant. Hotch wants to raise their youngest where his and Jack’s roots are located. But he decides against taking a position at the BAU, instead taking a desk job in order to be more at home. He also has the opportunity to work from home after little (Y/N) was born and continues to do so until she is old enough to go to Kindergarten. Even then he takes two days the week where he stays home. Aaron learned from his decisions and mistakes he made in the past and wants to live up to them and be a better father and husband than before.

And Hotch keeps it to this day, six years later. It’s (Y/N)’s first day of school, while Jack just graduated high school and goes off to college in a few weeks. Even though they have an age gap from twelve and a half years, their parents are sure there are no other siblings with such a strong bond.

Ever since his baby sister’s birth Jack is her biggest supporter, protector and friend. Her first word was his name, though it was more of a “ACK!”, but that’s the best nickname he ever got. As soon as (Y/N) was old enough to comprehend the concept of movies, he introduced her to Star Wars. Since then lightsaber wars out of cardboard pipes are not uncommon. Last Halloween they even dressed up as Chewbakka and Han Solo. You get three guesses on who was who.

“JACK!” (Y/N) runs into her big brother’s room with an excited expression on her face. “Daddy promised to buy me a real lightsaber after I read ten books! With lights and sounds and all! Isn’t that cool?” Jack smiles. Aaron did a similar thing with him. For a certain amount of books he got a reward they discussed beforehand. This way he felt motivated to read and improved writing and reading skills.

“This is awesome. I think that means we have to go book shopping together, what do you think?” (Y/N) is not only the cool kid that has an older brother, she is also the cool kid, whose older brother has a drivers license, a car and a part time job. She nods with big eyes, speechless, because the offer sounds like heaven to her. Getting books and one on one time with Jack after he was really busy with school for weeks? This has to be heaven.

“Ok, then you put your outside clothes on and I’ll tell Dad about our plan.” At that the little girl rushes to her room, not wanting to waste any more time. Jack makes his way down to the kitchen, where Aaron wipes the table from lunch down.

“Dad, I take (Y/N) to this bookstore in DC and we’ll probably go eat ice cream after that. Is that alright?” Hotch looks up at his son. It still feels like yesterday as he told Haley that Gideon is a big no as a baby name. Now he is all grown up and just a few weeks away from the next big chapter in his life.

“Of course, just let me get my wall-” Jack cuts him off. “No need, I want to use this as a kind of goodbye thing. At least until Thanksgiving.” Aaron knows what he means. It’s his last day before he goes off to college and just a couple more until the first classes begin. The family still hasn’t told their youngest exactly what’s going on. Else she would refuse to go to school and go on with her day, insisting on using all the time they have until Jack drives off.

Two hours later the siblings leave the bookstore, both of them having a bag in their hands. Of course Jack's heavier, but both he and the cashier assured (Y/N) that they lift the same amount of weight.

“Uncle Spence will be excited when I tell him that I read Harry Potter, he told me so many good things about it”, the girl gushes. Jack nods, indicating that he is listening. Of course they also picked books that are not that advanced. Still, no sister of his shall grow up without knowing the beauty of the wizarding world. Also, secretly he is hoping for her to turn out as nerdy as he is so they get more things to talk about. His next step is superheroes, especially the Marvel ones.

They converse until they get to an ice cream parlor and order both their usuals. “Do you think you are ready for me to tell you something important?” The older one asks after they sit down at a table. (Y/N) nods, confusion taking over her face.

“Uhm, you know how I graduated from high school? I’m done with school, but I want to get a degree, but for that I have to go to college. It’s pretty far away so I can’t come home for a few months. But I’m back home when Thanksgiving is and also for Christmas.” It doesn’t matter what Jack says, a sad frown has formed on the little one’s face. “Oh. And after Christmas, will you leave again?” He nods and explains when he is off from college and when not.

“We can always skype and write letters. How does that sound? And when you get your first phone, we can even text.” That (Y/N) lights up a bit. For her first year of school she got a stationary set and is eager to use it to this day.

“I’m going to miss you so much”, she says hugging her big brother. Jack pats her back. “I’ll miss you, too.”

The goodbye the next day is a heartfelt matter. Everybody cries, especially (Y/N). She can’t fathom a scenario where her brother isn’t there for her all the time.

The following weeks are also hard for the family. The youngest refuses to sleep alone for the first three days after Jack’s leave. She is more closed off and mainly just does her school work or reads the books he bought for her. By the time Thanksgiving is only away for another two weeks, (Y/N) has read through all of them at least two times.

Her father already ordered the lightsaber he promised her. Unfortunately shipping takes several months, so the little girl still has to wait patiently for her reward to arrive. In the meantime she works on getting the next and she is already pretty close to the comic book collection she wants.

“Sweetheart, can you set the table, please? Your Mom will be here soon from grocery shopping and she will need help getting them from the car into the house”, Hotch calls for his daughter while stirring in a pot.

The little girl nods, putting her stationary set and pens aside to do as her father asked. She is in the middle of answering her brother’s last letter, telling him that she is now the one that usually has to read aloud for the class because of her advanced skill for a first grader.

Just as she sets the last piece of silverware down the doorbell rings. “Sweetie, can you please open it? This should be your mother.” Happily (Y/N) runs up and turns the door knob. Over the last few months she hit a small growing spurt and is finally tall enough to reach it without standing on her tippy toes.

“Mo-” She nearly chokes on her own saliva. The one at the door is definitely not her mother. “JACK!” (Y/N) runs up to him and jumps onto his leg. “Hey Princess. I thought now that you read your books, we need to hold the most amazing lightsaber fight in history.” With a mischievous smile he pulls two from his back, giving one to his baby sister.

It is the most epic fight in history between an elementary schooler and a college boy. They can only be stopped by their parents announcing that it is a tie between both of them and that they have to sit down, else the food gets cold.

The following weeks mostly consist of (Y/N)’s joyous laughs and cuddling with her big brother. She even insists on him sleeping with her in her much smaller bed. On his last night before going back to college, the little girl turns to him in the middle of watching her favorite movie in the living room.

“Do you promise not to forget me when you are away? Because I alway think about you and tell my friends so much about you. I told them you are a hero, my hero, just like Daddy. They wanna meet you because of that.” Jack has to hold back tears at her statement.

“I also think of you so much. All of my friends at college are pretty jealous of me having such a sweet baby sister. Maybe one time you can visit me and I can introduce you to them.” The thought of that makes (Y/N) smile and is a little consolation to the thought of her brother leaving again.

Aaron watches the interaction going down, happy to see the strong bond between his children, despite their age gap. This is nothing like he and Sean were and that is a relief for him and the worries he had in the beginning. It is a sign that he did do some things right as a father.

Taglist:

All works:

@dindjarinsspouse @big-galaxy-chaos @jswessie187

Criminal Minds:

@averyhotchner @mggsprettygirl @herecomesthewriterwitch @ash19871962 @ellyhotchner

#aaron hotch x child!reader #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotch x daughter!reader #aaron hotchner x daughter!reader #aaron hotchner x child!reader #jack hotchner #jack hotchner x sister!reader #jack hotchner x reader #x daughter!reader #x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #aaron hotch #x child!reader

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theonewiththefanfics · 4 years ago

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Best Friends My Ass (one-shot)

Synopsis: Being in love with your best friend whom you’ve had since childhood can be tough. Being in love and being dumb can make it tougher. Meet the Reader and Harry. They’re the latter. And everyone’s fed up.

Pairing: Harry Styles x fem!Reader

Genre: fluff, maybe little bit of angst, tiny bit smutty, but not a lot

Warnings: swearing, two idiots pining for one another

Word count: 7524

Even when Harry was little, he’d known he’d have an odd path in life. Just because it was odd, didn’t mean it’d be bad, but it would make him absolutely stand out in the crowd. When Y/N was young she didn’t see herself having any extraordinary adventures. Sure, she’d travel and explore the world with its secrets, but she didn’t have any plans to draw the attention of the masses. That was until Harry’d come into her life. They were both young, still kids in that tender age where childhood crossed into teenage years, when they met. For Harry, it was like one of those scenes in the movies where the pretty girl walks into a room and a billion fans make her hair look like the wind is sweeping through it, and her eyes glisten like gemstones. Also known as the 'love at first sight' scene. For Y/N, it was hard to keep her breakfast down as she walked inside the classroom, twenty pairs of scrutinous eyes on her, trying to figure out if the new girl was a predator or prey. Luckily for Y/N, the biology teacher wasn’t a total witch and didn’t make her present herself to the class, and just pointed to the free seat next to a curly-haired boy. Luckily for Harry, that free seat was right next to him. With a sigh, she dropped her heavy backpack beside the chair, giving the boy a shy glance, and was surprised to see a genuine and large grin right back at her. It wasn’t the kind people gave when they had bad thoughts. It was the kind people gave when they were truly excited and wanted to give a good impression. Y/N’s chest grew warm at the thought she might actually make a friend that day. And she did. “I’m Harry.” He extended his hand for her to take, the grin never leaving his face. She gave him a big, relieved smile. “I’m Y/N.” Ever since then they were not only lab partners in classes they shared (which was biology, physics and math), but also in mischief. Together they managed to enrage Anne, annoy Gemma and absolutely horrify Y/M/N, and whenever one went down, the other made sure to go down as well. So when a few years down the line, Harry had told Y/N about his idea to audition for X-factor she wasn’t surprised one bit. “I mean, as long as you don’t trip and break your nose on stage, you’ll be fine.” For that, she received a slap on her arm from him. “I’m just saying!” Y/N defended herself. “You’re great at singing, Mrs Aberdeen certainly thinks so, you don’t have two complete left feet, and you’re alright to look at.” That for the first time since the decision and application had been submitted, made Harry smile. He loved how easily Y/N was able to lighten the mood, to take his thoughts away from the bad, and just erase them with her wit and smile.

“Besides.” She nudged his shoulder with hers and then intertwined their fingers. “I, Gem and our Mums will be right there for you. Won’t even blink until the end of the performance.” With how her insides trembled in excitement and fear for her best friend, it truly seemed to Y/N she hadn’t blinked at all on that fateful day. Her breath hitched when the judges were talking. She couldn’t even remember what they said, all of it turning into white noise. And then he got through, and Y/N screamed so much she was sure she’d blown out Anne’s eardrums, and had hugged Harry so tightly she was afraid she’d broken a rib. But with his victory also came a fear, because, for the first time in Y/N’s life, she was terrified as to where she’d stand in Harry’s. Since day one it’d been secure, but now, with the newfound fame of X-factor and who knows what kind of an amazing future, she didn’t know if he’d throw her to the curb, simply forget about the mundane friend from high school or maybe use her for something. But it wasn’t like that. Not one bit. After insane hours of rehearsals, Y/N was one of the three people he always called. It was her, his Mum and Gem. Always. And he loved to listen to her speaking of what was happening at school, how the lessons were, which teacher turned out to be hooking up with which. As much as Harry knew he was made for the extraordinary, he loved the ordinary Y/N brought in his life. She was his safe harbour. But what he never agreed with were her own thoughts she was meant for a simple life, so he took it upon himself to bring a little bit of eccentricity in hers, as he explained how he’d gotten united into a band with four other boys, now going by ‘One Direction’, and it was his mission to join his newfound friends with the most important friend he'd had. “This is Y/N,” Harry introduced her to the guys after one of their late-night practices, one where they weren’t being filmed. “If you do anything that even mildly upsets her, I’ll kill you in your sleep.” The slap against his arm made him let out an ‘Ow!’ while the rest of the boys laughed and welcomed her with open arms. In a weird way, Y/N became part of the band. She didn’t sing or play any instruments, but she was always around, gave her input on songs and setlists. That kind of closeness made all of the fears and doubts about losing a place in Harry’s life disappear. She was his personal hype-man while at the same time knocked him down a few pegs whenever the fame started to get to his head. She was there for his highs and lows, for the break-ups and break-off in the band, and watched as he ventured into a solo career as much as she could with school and all, but when summer break rolled around it was like Harry couldn't get rid of her even if he tried. Not that he wanted. Sharing the success and happiness with his best friend was one of the biggest rewards he could have. And Y/N would never admit it because it’d boost Harry’s already elephant-like ego, at least that’s what she said, but she kind of liked the attention she received because of him, especially because most of it was pleasant. Had she been terrified that being known as Harry Styles best friend would make people think she was just a gold-digger, seeking fame and leeching it off from him? Yes. And there were people like that. But ninety-five percent of what people said on her social media accounts was actually nice, some even said ‘thank you’ that there was a person like her in Harry’s life to keep things real, and most importantly – cared about him through it all. Harry also saw those comments; he loved to read about how people saw just how much Y/N cared, and it kind of stirred something in him. He didn’t know when exactly, but it was around the age of twenty-four for him and twenty-three for Y/N when he started looking at his friend in a different light. And it bloody terrified him. He didn’t know if she felt the same, and the thought of putting his heart on the line like that only for the possibility of it being crushed was the scariest thing ever. He did, however, have an inclination as to what incident had prompted them to surface. The feelings that were. It was a night after a party. Y/N was on winter break from her master’s at uni, which meant he used every opportunity to spend time with her. The hangover was real, I mean it’s what you got by mixing vodka, tequila and beer into an empty Sprite bottle and chugging it. Harry stumbled over sleeping bodies on his way to the kitchen in search for some leftover pizza he was sure he and Y/N in their drunkenness had ordered, as well as to make two cups of black coffee. He knew she hated the taste, but cold junk food and bitter coffee always did the trick with her. That was when he’d found her. Although he’d woken up in Y/N’s room, she hadn’t been next to him. Instead, as it turned out, she’d gone on a food search sometime before him and had passed out on the couch, a Cookie Monster onesie on her body, but most importantly his signature pearls around her neck. And one of her hands even rested against her collarbone, as if scared someone would take them away from her. That’d been the first time his heart had flipped in his chest at the sight of her, but most definitely not the last. He did however keep this change in his emotions to himself. He wasn’t really sure what it was, so it would be unfair to dump that on Y/N and have her figure it out for him because he didn’t know where she stood on her own, let alone do the work for him. Luckily, despite the tornado of feelings, their friendship didn’t falter, and when his Vogue cover came out, he was incredibly nervous for people to see it, but especially for those who mattered the most to him, like his Mum, sister and Y/N. Especially Y/N, for her opinion had become the most important one outside his blood relatives. After all, all his thoughts went to – if we dated, would she be as proud of me as she was of me as a friend? Her support meant the most because he was away in the middle of filming; he had no way of getting physical comfort, so all of the messages, calls, social media posts and FaceTimes was the world to him, especially when Y/N sent a picture of herself with three copies of the magazine, two beside her head as she laid on her bed and one clutched to her chest, which she also posted on Instagram with the caption ‘Can’t hug you for real right now, so this will have to do. When I do get to you @harrystyles, I’ll crush your ribs with my love. And that is a threat.’ Then the comments came in from the rest, and one stood out more than the others. Bring Back Manly Men. At first, he felt odd about it. It didn’t really bother him, but at the same time, it made him sad. He knew that he was seen as somewhat of a controversial figure, as he painted nails, wore frilly blouses and now full-on dresses, which were all typically categorized as feminine things, but he never understood why a nail colour or the shape of a shirt suddenly became exclusively for just one gender. Which is why he was so grateful to have Y/N in his life. “I mean, anatomically speaking, men should be wearing dresses and women trousers. It’s you who have all the dangly bits,” she said through a bite of food. “The Scots have been onto it since the beginning.” Harry threw his head back in a laugh, shifting an arm behind his head. “So I assume your favourite pic is the one in the kilt?” “Well, it did remind me of that awful punk phase I had back in school with all those safety pins, only in a more tasteful way, but no. My favourite one is you in that brown, grey off-shoulder jacket thing.” “Why?” Y/N wiggled her brows at him. “Shows enough of your cleavage but leaves enough for imagination.” “Of fucking course.” Harry snorted, shaking his head. “Objectifying much?” “What? I’m not going to deny that my best friend is a sexy beast.” He wouldn’t say it out loud, but when she called him her friend, it made his heart clench in a painful way. Harry had been trying to be a bit flirtier around her, but given his open nature as it was, Y/N hadn’t seemed to notice it, nor had she seemed to notice how he looked at her while she was frowning at her computer screen. Harry’d had relationships with some women who could be considered the most beautiful in the world, but if he’d had to say, in his opinion, who’d receive that title, it’d be Y/N. The way she snorted when she laughed too hard, the way small crow lines had already appeared next to her eyes from how much she smiled and the way her forehead creased when she was concentrating. It enthralled him to no end. He could read her life’s story on her face, how she’d lived and thought and experienced, unlike so many people he met who couldn’t move a muscle. Though the reason she was so concentrated in that moment was because thousands of people had tagged her in a tweet of a woman, she’d heard of for the first time in her life (because Harry had been trying to keep that one off her radar), and what she saw made all the blood boil in her body more than any other hate comment had. Without hesitation, Y/N atted her and tweeted “Bring back manly men. Please! Millions of people would let him raw them WHILE WEARING THE DRESS. I mean you tried, so I’ll give you the gold star you so desperately want, but that was pathetic.” At that same moment, a notification popped up on the screen of Harry’s phone. He only had notifications on for one person, and when he saw what was written, he gasped, looking at Y/N. “You did not just do that!” “What?” Y/N shrugged biting down on the chocolate bar she’d been savouring for the last half hour of their conversation. “I just said what everyone was thinking. Besides what the fuck does ‘bring back manly men’ even mean? Go chop some wood? Fight a bear in the Siberian woods? Have your ‘friends’ stab you to death at a political meeting?” “You’re a menace.” Y/N winked popping the last bit of the chocolate in her mouth. “Only to those who dare go for the people I love.” His heart fluttered at the last word, but all he could do was mask it with a large grin and shake of his head. For another hour they spent talking, Y/N kept hyping Harry up, tried to get as many plot details of the movie he was filming, while he avoided as many spoilers as possible and attempted to steer the conversation somewhere else, but when that happened, Y/N jumped onto his music, which he had told her all about. In fact, there wasn’t a music video made without her approval, and neither would his next one be. “You’ll fly out to see me film for ‘Treat People With Kindness’, right?” Y/N sighed, giving him a sad smile. She hated disappointing Harry. “I’d love to. But you know with everything going on, I don’t think I’ll be able to.” “Phoebe Waller-Bridge will be in it.” She gasped, in real excitement. “Well, why didn’t you say so from the start?!” “So that’s what this friendship has come to. I’m just your gateway to celebrities?” “Harry you’ve always been just my gateway to the people living in LaLa Land.” But she let out a small breath much like she’d done before. “I really do want to come, Harry. You know that; I miss you like crazy. But Phoebe or no Phoebe, I don’t think I can.” Harry bit his lip nodding, but he still needed to try one more time. “Is there anything I can say or do to get you here?” “Get me a private jet and a quarantine mansion?” “Deal.” “Woah! Wait!” Y/N pretty much jumped up from her position in bed. “That was a joke! Harry Edward Styles, I swear to God, if you try an –“ But with a giant grin, he just blew Y/N a kiss and ended the call. She was quite terrified if she was being honest, that Harry would do what she’d asked. He already had once. It'd been around Christmas time while she was still in First Year at uni, and she’d seen a glistening necklace at a jewellery store display. She hadn’t said anything, hadn’t even uttered a word, but just seeing the sparkle in Y/N’s eyes, was enough for Harry to make the decision and gift it for her. When the next day, around five AM her time, she got a call from Harry’s manager Jeff, she was ready to rip both of them a new one, an e-mail with a plane ticket popping up in her inbox. “I swear I’ll poison your drinks when I see you,” she’d grumbled, but couldn’t hide the excitement as she threw everything she could in the suitcase. “And no one will find your bodies, mark my words, Azoff.” He snorted. “Yeah, tell that to the FBI agent listening in on this call.” “Fuck. Gave myself away,” she said softly, giggling right after. “You know he’s stoked beyond belief.” Jeff piped up. “He literally jumped out of the bed this morning, and during the dance rehearsals he didn’t miss a step.” That made Y/N’s heart warm. “Well, you can tell him to curb it a bit. Otherwise, I’ll just stay at the fucking mansion – which, by the way, it was a joke, Jeff! I’m pissed enough he’s spending money on me as it is, let alone such a chunk on the plane, you didn't have to get me an actual mansion.” “You know, for you, he’d give away all of it.” “Yes, well, he might need it for his funeral, if he keeps spending it on me and on shit like this.” The man shook his head but didn’t say anything else. He wasn’t the only one trying to drop hints to Y/N that Harry felt something more, but he’d leave it to the man himself. He didn’t need to possibly ruin everything, and have her decide not to come. His client was nightmare enough without her around, because Harry was like day and night when Y/N finally arrived on set for ‘Treat People With Kindness’. To say he enveloped her in a hug would be an understatement as he didn’t let go of her for ten solid minutes, having grabbed her by the underside of the thighs and sat down on the ground just so he could prolong the feeling of being with Y/N. The fact that she’d actually gone for it and hadn’t scolded Harry too much for spending that insane amount of money, for having brought a small piece of home to LA with herself where they were filming, made him now fully acknowledge the true extent of his feelings, especially as she didn’t pull away from their embrace, rather hid her face in the crook of his neck. I mean, in the end, he did have to let her go because everyone had to get back to shooting, but not before Y/N had stripped the meticulous jacket from him, and went to have a glance at herself in the large mirror, one of the costume designers playing along and adjusting the clothing on her body, as if she was going to be the one performing. Harry felt someone slide up to him and he looked over to his left, a smiling Phoebe standing there. She nudged his shoulder with hers. “You’re in love with her, aren’t you?” He nodded, looking back over to where Y/N was still looking at herself in the mirror, wearing the heavy jacket as if it was nothing like it was made for her. “I’m a cliché, I know. But I can’t help it.” “Of course, you can.” She squeezed his side. “All you gotta do is tell her.” But it wasn’t that easy. Comparatively, getting Y/N to appear in the video was easier than coming to terms with the fact, all they’d ever remain would be friends if he didn’t do anything. Yet the shoot for the video ended as quickly as it had started, and Y/N needed to fly back to the UK to defend her PhD paper, and Harry had to go back to filming ‘Don’t Worry Darling’, thousands of miles stretching between them once more. And Harry was a romantic, he couldn’t confess over FaceTime. Besides, he wanted to make it a special evening for her, plan something out, rather than risk a shitty connection cutting him off mid-word. He hated it though. It’d been almost four years since Harry had realised his feelings had developed from just friendly into romantic, and still, he hadn’t said anything. Even the people who’d never met Y/N in person like Florence Pugh saw what was going on. But unlike the cast and crew of ‘Treat People With Kindness’ who had to deal with his pining for maybe a couple of weeks, it’d been almost half a year for her at that point. Did she just want to call Y/N and tell her how Harry felt? Sure. She’d had enough of him coming into her trailer only to fall down onto her pillow and whine. But it wasn’t her place. So instead, she was going to figure out a way to get Y/N to the set and make him tell her himself. Getting Harry’s phone away from him should’ve been the inspiration to the next ‘Mission Impossible’ script though, because it took her literally a whole day to fish it out from his coat's pocket, and she only had about ten seconds to find Y/N’s number (which wasn’t that hard given how it was the number with literally hundreds of calls next to it) and put it in her own phone. Once their filming was done for the day, Florence rebutted Harry’s invitation to a movie night, saying a massive headache was coming on, so he wished her a good night and with slumped shoulders went to sulk on his own. Which is why she practically sprinted to her own trailer to finally call Y/N An unsure ‘hello?’ greeted her ears before she responded. “Hey, this is Florence… Pugh.” That stunned Y/N into silence for a few seconds before she spluttered out a greeting and said ‘hi’ as well. “Not to be rude, but how did you get my number?” “Stole it from Harry’s phone. Look, he’s miserable. Keeps moping around, and I can’t take it anymore. Last night I found him crying in his pillow with your shirt over it.” “What? Why?” “Because it didn’t smell like you anymore.” Y/N’s heart broke. “Why didn’t he tell me anything? We just talked, and he said he was fine. God, that man is so dumb sometimes.” “Is there any way you could find a way to get here?” Florence asked biting down her lip. She heard Y/N sigh at the other end of the line. “I’ll – I’ll try and figure something out. Have to know what’s going on at work, I mean it has been like two months since the video, so maybe…” She was more so talking to herself, but then remembered about Florence. “Listen, can I give you a message when I find out if my boss will let me?” “Of course!” The actress was excited about the possibility of Y/N getting here, as long as it got Harry out of his depressive mood. “Oh, and I’ll need to know what kind of restrictions are on set. I’ll figure something out with flights and quarantine, but I have zero clue as to what’s it like where you’re filming.” Florence waved her off, even though she couldn’t see the motion. “Leave that to me. Just get your ass over here before the guy cries himself dry.” It was a struggle though on all three ends – Harry was still moping, because not only had Y/N’s shirt lost its smell of her, but homesickness was hitting full force, Florence was getting more and more desperate as she attempted to take his mind off of things, but nothing seemed to work, and Y/N was trying to get on any possible flight to Harry while arranging two tests and an AirBnB she could self-isolate in for two weeks while attempting to set up her work from afar at the same time. Two days after Florence’s call, Y/N sent her a message ‘Flying in tomorrow at 4 AM. Don’t tell Harry. He’ll feel even shittier cause I have to stay alone in quarantine. First test came back negative.” She sighed in relief at the message and immediately texted back ‘i’ve got you a set pass ready, just need a picture. selfie will do. also, masks are mandatory on the lot, so bring those.’ Immediately Y/N sent a thumbs up, and a picture of herself she didn’t absolutely despise to be used on the ID card. All that was left was to pack. And spend two weeks in an attempt of not going crazy with anticipation before seeing Harry. Those two weeks turned out to be worse than the two months between the music video shoot and going to the filming lot. Because throughout then, Y/N knew her only access to him would be through FaceTime, but to be about twenty minutes away from the man without the ability to touch him was pure torture, but at least Harry seemed completely oblivious to the change in her surroundings. As they still continued on with their calls, not once did he mention her background, or how the paintings suddenly had managed to switch positions or the fact that Y/N didn’t even own paintings. She was sure she could’ve been missing an arm, and he wouldn’t have mentioned it with how tired he looked. “Have you even slept, Har?” “Not really,” he groaned, getting more comfortable in his bed. “We’ve had a bunch of early shoots and then late nights, ‘cause we need to get the continuity for the scenes, and then the day’s full of Zoom calls, and well, I can’t not call you.” Y/N scoffed, scolding him. “You know damn well I won’t be offended if we sacrifice a couple of calls for you to get some proper sleep.” “I know, but I will.” Y/N sighed, knowing in a way it was her fault. She could tell him she no longer was hours of time zones away, but rather watched the same sunset and sunrise as him, but she also knew Harry, and he would be unable to stay away from her until her quarantine was over. She was quite happy she’d sat through the fourteen mandatory days, because when she got on set, even though Harry was usually good at keeping his composure during a scene, despite the mask, he’d recognise Y/N anywhere, and all of the lines flew out of his head. “Jack?” Florence’s hand came to cup Harry’s cheek, trying to bring him back on track. “You alright?” But he didn’t even care about improvising to get out of the flub as his lips were split apart by a grin, and he dashed away, a loud ‘CUT!’ ringing throughout the set, but Harry already had Y/N in his arms, spinning the girl around. “Best friends my ass,” Florence murmured as she went to the two. Harry was speechless, Y/N’s face in between his hands as he looked her up and down. “How are you here? What? Why?” “Thank Florence.” Y/N gave an attempt at motioning to the actress with her head. She set the whole thing up.” Harry’s head whipped to his scene partner. “You knew Y/N was here for two weeks and told me nothing?” “Your brain short-circuited when you saw her! You wouldn’t be of no use on set at all if I had.” Harry scoffed, throwing an arm over Y/N’s shoulder. “Come on, let’s get away from this meanie.” But as he walked away, he looked over his shoulder and mouthed a grateful ‘thank you’ to her. All Florence could hope for was that he’d get it together and confess, but it didn’t seem like he was in any sort of a rush. Y/N was set to be there for three weeks, but the thought of the woman leaving without knowing how Harry felt, leaving him in a sea of his own heartache, made her miserable, especially after a night they’d all spent together. Harry really wanted Y/N to get to know the people he worked with so he invited the ones closest to him for a movie night, during which he himself had been the first one to actually fall asleep, of course. For most of it, as ‘Westworld’ ran on in the background, he spent curled up in Y/N’s lap, his head resting against her chest with her fingers weaving through the shortened locks. She had to get used to the length, motion automatically wanting to go on longer than it was possible to. Soon enough, the soothing motions lulled her to sleep as well, their bodies leaning into one another and perfectly fitting together. As tired as Florence was of seeing Harry, a person who’d become her friend now pine for someone so hard, it was absolutely heart-melting to watch the two interact. Everyone could see Y/N had the same feelings as Harry did for her, only she hid them a bit better. A little, but not by a lot. No friends acted the way those two did around one another. Sure, people could be touchy, but not like that, not with such intimacy behind the motions. She felt like she was being a little creepy as she pulled out her phone to take a picture, but it was too cute not to. A loud noise from somewhere outside set made Y/N shoot up straight, and Florence held her breath as she clutched onto her phone, having swiped it accidentally into video mode and filming the whole thing. “No,” Harry whined, a hand reaching up for Y/N and grabbing at her elbow. “Come back. ‘S too early.” She just nodded, grumbling something unintelligible but possibly along the lines of ‘don’t make me throw hands’ before laying down and snuggling into Harry’s chest. Florence let out a large sigh of relief and decided to get some sleep as well before their annoying four AM alarm woke them up for set. This time it was the other way around, as Y/N whined for Harry to ‘come back and keep her warm’. Florence watched as Harry slipped out of Y/N’s grasp, but not before pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead and a whispered a promise to ‘see her when the Sun’s up’. The second the trailer door was closed, she slapped his shoulder, and Harry gasped in shock. “What'dya do that for?” “Stop that! Stop that stupid dance!” She stomped her foot on the ground. “I’m sick and tired of watching you watch her with that dumb longing expression on your face. I can’t take it anymore. Why do you think I went through all that trouble to get her here?” “I told you I would!” She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Look, I know it’s not my place or anything, but she does like you. A lot.” Harry threw her an uncertain gaze. “And how do you know?” “Because that woman spent two weeks in self-isolation just to see you! She’s gone through how many of those awful Covid tests just to go and visit you! She’s dropped everything for you, has supported you through so much, and never fails to boost you up.” “That’s what friends do.” “No.” Florence shook her head. “That kind of loyalty… that’s what people in love give. I haven’t talked to my best friend in like a month. What’s the longest you’ve gone without speaking to Y/N?” And with that question, she left Harry to ponder not only his feelings but the girl’s he was in love with as well. Because if he had to be honest, the reason he’d been dragging everything out, the reason he’d stayed pining for Y/N for years on end was that he tried to write everything she did off as something a childhood best friend would do. The truth was more terrifying than anything because once that came to light, it’d change everything, and Harry didn’t know if he was ready. He wanted it, desperately so if it meant Y/N becoming someone he could love freely and openly, but not if by the end of it, she'd disappear from his life, leaving a hole the size of his heart in his chest. His thoughts were cut short as someone knocked on the ‘Hair&Make-up’ door, and an assistant let in a pouting Y/N. Well, he couldn’t’ see the pout behind the mask, but he definitely knew it was there, making a smile come on his own face. She plopped down in an empty sofa and crossed her arms. “I was cold.” Harry snorted, wanting to shake his head, but didn't as to not ruin the hair stylist’s work. “You’re always cold.” “And you’re a living furnace.” “ ‘S that why you like cuddling? Leeching off my warmth?” The same assistant who’d let Y/N in handed her a cup of coffee, which she was ready to kiss the woman for, but opted for a ‘thank you’. “We’ve established I only use you to get to other celebs. What makes you think I wouldn’t use you for those sort of things.” For a moment, the trailer settled into silence, as Y/N enjoyed her morning coffee while the crew kept doing their own work. “It’s so weird,” Y/N piped up, eyes racking up and down Harry’s body. “Don’t even wanna really look at you like that.” He let out a mock gasp of hurt. “What d’ya mean? Am I suddenly repulsive to you?” “No!” she let out a laugh. “It’s just odd seeing you without the tattoos. They’re such a huge part of you, even the dumb ones. Can’t really imagine you any differently.” “Would you love me any differently without them?” The question was bold, even though he knew she did love him, he had to start making moves. “No,” Y/N shook her head. “I don’t think so. I believe I’d be a different person then as well, but I’d love you all the same. As long as you’d do the same with me.” Harry nodded looking down at his hands then back up at her, catching her eyes through the reflection in the mirror. “Don’t think there’s a dimension out there where I don’t love you.” “I mean that is a bold statement,” Y/N said, sipping on the remnants of her coffee. “What if I’m like a weird, cat-skinning psychopath in one dimension? Would you love me even then?” “Jesus Christ, Y/L/N, do you just normally come up with those gruesome scenarios or is it a hobby?” She wiggled her eyebrows, standing up and throwing away the paper cup. “There’s a reason I have a VPN and clean my search history. I’ll see you in your trailer?” “Yeah.” Harry nodded and smiled. “I’ll be there in thirty minutes.” The next half-hour he kept hyping himself up, about how he was actually going to do it, but Florence intercepted him right as he was turning down the way his trailer stood. “How are you gonna do it?” “I – “ Harry huffed and placed his hands on his hips. “In the beginning, I had like a whole romantic outing planned, but… I’ve dragged this on long enough, so I think I’ll just tell her.” “Okay, good.” Florence nodded and slapped his shoulder in approval. “And if I don’t hear that trailer rocking, I will throw you in a ditch.” Harry’s eyes widened at the statement, fully knowing she meant her words, but she was already half-way down the track, blond hair swishing behind her back. It was then or never. Slowly he opened his own trailer door as if it was Y/N’s place not his, but by the looks of how she’d sprawled out on his bed, she had made herself right at home. Just like she’d done it on the first day of school, but just with his heart. “Hey!” She smiled looking at him. “You ready to film?” “Yeah, but umm… I kind of wanted to talk to you beforehand.” Y/N’s brows furrowed at Harry’s serious tone, so she sat up, nodding. “Sure. Is everything alright?” “It’s nothing bad, at least I hope you won’t take it in a bad way... I’ve actually been wanting to tell you this since that winter’s break party you had while doing your masters...” He let out a small chuckle but seeing Y/N’s eyes widen in a panic he stopped. “Oh, God,” she moaned. “You have a kid! Oh my God.” “What? No!” Harry spluttered. “Why the hell is the first thing you assume that I have a kid?” “I don’t know!” She was now standing facing him completely. “We’ve never had secrets between us, especially for as long as you’ve apparently kept them, what am I supposed to think? Maybe one of the girls you hooked up with got pregnant, and you’ve been hiding the fact you’re a baby daddy because you know I wouldn’t be able to keep the fact I can be the cool drunk aunt to myself.” All of that came out as is she’d prepared it ages ago. “Well, no.” Harry shook his head stepping closer so he could be chest to chest with Y/N. “I’m not anyone’s baby daddy. At least I don’t think so, but umm... when that moment would come... when I have a kid...” He looked up at the ceiling and sighed before lifting a gentle hand to cup her cheek. I wouldn’t want you to be the drunk aunt. I um...” There goes nothing. “I’d kinda like if you were the mom.” “Of course, I’ll be the Godmother!” Both of them said at the same time, making the other’s brain stumble over the words said. “Wait, mom?” Y/N’s question was breathless. “Like donate my eggs or some shit?” “No like, I’ve been in love with you for close to four years, and I wanna try and build a future with you, where you’re more than just my best friend.” “Oh.” That was all that managed to escape her mouth as he fully opened his heart, and Harry couldn’t lie – it shattered. He didn’t know what he was expecting, but it was more than that. “That’s...” Y/N huffed sitting down on the bed. “That’s a lot to take in Harry. Like a lot.” “I know.” He sighed and sat down next to her. “Which is why I’ve been pushing this away for as long as I could, but... it was time. It wasn’t fair to you or me to keep on living like that. Look.” Harry took her palm in his. “Whatever you want us to be, we’ll be that. I - I mean I’ll be heartbroken if you say you don’t feel the same, but no matter what you tell me now, I won’t let you leave my life. I love you, and I’m in love with you. This is your choice which way you chose to go with.” Y/N shook her head, interlacing their fingers and finally looking up at him. “I don’t want you to be heartbroken. It’s the last thing, I’d ever want to see you like. And umm well, if it takes me using the pair of ovaries I have to admit I’ve been in love with you too to change that, I guess I’ll have to say it. I’m in love with you too.” Harry’s eyes glimmered with unshed tears of happiness, as he looked at Y/N like she’d hung the stars in the sky. Not that it mattered. He always looked at her like that. “You mean it?” “Yeah,” she chuckled, wiping away a few stray pearls from her own cheeks. “I guess I always thought I’d end up the drunk aunt in your life, so that’s why I thought you’d ask me to be whatever future child’s Godmother. But I love you, and I’m in love with you too.” “Can I – “ Fuck, Harry was too giddy for his own good. “Can I kiss you?” And when Y/N chuckled, nodding he swore he already was in heaven. “Yes, please.” At first, the touch of his lips was gentle, almost afraid, but the second he pressed them to Y/N’s, and she gasped at the sensation, it became full of lust as passion, years of pent-up pining and angst and just plain old stupidity surfacing and morphing itself into a steamy make-out session. In a split second, she was sprawled out on Harry’s bed, his toned body leaning over hers and teasing hands moving along her sides, making her squirm and ache for more of his touch, but she wasn’t the only one who wanted to explore a body with a new mindset of what was possible. As Y/N moaned from Harry’s tongue invading her mouth, her hand couldn’t help itself as it slid down his chest, and her finger flicked against the button of his trousers. “Can I touch you there?” Y/N whispered against his mouth, and Harry eagerly nodded. “Please. Been dreaming about this for literally years.” Smiling, she allowed him to continue and explore her mouth with his tongue, intoxicated on one another’s taste. In fact, Y/N was so far gone just from the kiss, she forgot how a fly worked and needed Harry’s help to open it. “Get back here,” she grumbled as he chuckled, having leaned up a bit to make it easier for her to get the offensive piece of clothing off. “We’ll see how you fare with a bra.” “Oh, I’m an expert.” His hands trailed to her shoulder where he snapped one of the straps against her skin, making her yelp. “You do not want to do that when my hand is an inch away from your dick.” But the threat had no merit to it, as she dipped her palm behind Harry’s boxers while his mouth went to soothe the sting and leave a little mark on her skin, which he’d get to admire later on. The second, Y/N wrapped her hand around his cock an involuntary moan escaped into the air, as she gripped him. Fuck, she couldn’t wait until he was inside her, because, and it might sound a little cliché given how they were best friends who’d fallen in love with one another, but she was one hundred percent sure, he was made exactly for her. But no matter how much she twisted her hand or how gently or roughly she rubbed the tip, he couldn’t get hard, and Harry was on the verge of tears, which Y/N saw and instantly pulled away, cupping his face. “I’m sorry,” he choked out. “Fuck, I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” “Hey!” Y/N cooed. “None of that. It’s alright. Shit happens.” Harry nodded understanding that she was right, but he still felt shitty and well, he felt insecure about it. “I just. Fuck. Usually, when I think of you, I’m hard in like a second.” And although all Y/N wanted to do was smirk and tease him about the fact that he thought of her while wanking himself off, that wasn’t the right moment. “I promise, you turn me on, you do." He sniffled. "This had never happened before.” But Y/N wasn’t offended or sad, and her laugh wasn’t mocking or trying to hurt him. “Harry you’re dead tired.” She cupped his cheek with one of her hands, and if he’d been ice cream he would’ve literally melted. “You had to wake up at four in the fucking morning and won’t go to sleep until two the next day. Let yourself rest a bit.” “But,” he whined and then huffed. “But I wanna love on you. Wanna show you just how crazy I am about you.” “And you will. You know I’ll always hold you to your word. But this won’t be fun for either of us if mid-fuck you suddenly collapse on me asleep. I don’t need to go to the A and E and explain the broken nose is because my boyfriend decided to take a nap while shagging. A nap on my face.” But Harry hadn’t really heard anything she’d said after Y/N mentioned the b-word, a dopey smile on his face. “I’m your boyfriend? You really want me like that?” “I mean I would prefer if you were Phoebe…” Harry pinched her side, making her squeal before tackling her in a hug. “Shut up!” And that’s how the two fell asleep (and were woken up twenty minutes later by an assistant in a panic given how Harry was supposed to be on set in five minutes) – wrapped up in one another’s arms, smiles on their faces, and no longer best friends, but lovers.

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A/N: I loved writing this so much :)

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