#I have this one hung up on my wall as a poster :3

[s0ul-s1lver]

Deoxys and Rayquaza | Clash of the Blue Sky 蒼空の激突 (2004) illustration by Shin-ichi Yoshikawa

[bimbo-baggins17]

Nerd!anakin having his first time with us and his little glasses are all foggy, his curls stick to his forehead, he's in his star wars socks and he's moaning, barely forming proper sentences. Especially he has to hold everything in him together to not come undone when we praise him..

- 🐇

Caving and writing for nerd!ani just for you my darling. Hope you enjoy bunny <3

☆…━━━━━·:*☆…━━━━━·:*☆…━━━━━·:*☆

“Oh..oh my god...” He practically whines into the crook of your neck, hot breath fanning across your skin. Slowly thrusting into you, feeling each and every groove of your pussy walls. His body trembles, almost like he was a prepubescent boy again seeing boobs for the first time.

“Ani..” You softly moan, hands roaming the expanse of his back, eyes fluttering open a little and locking onto the Spiderman poster hung on the ceiling over his bed.

“..taking..mmnggh..taking me so well..” He picks up speed but only a little, knowing he’d bust quickly if he went too fast. He sits back onto his haunches to watch how your body reacts to him, his glasses fogged up a little. Curls are stuck to his already sweaty forehead, his brows scrunched up in concentration, sweat beading up on his top lip. He watches as your breasts bounce with each thrust.

His bed squeaks under the weight of you both despite his movements being gentle. His slightly curved cock hits all the right spots in you even if he’s holding back.

“Fuck, Ani…feels so good..”

He sucks in a sharp breath, his hips stuttering for a second hearing your praise. His cock twitching in your cunt. “I-..I do..? It does..?” He’s not a virgin but he definitely isn’t well versed in women.

You nod your head, despite the fact that there are countless action figures on shelves and super hero posters staring at you, or the way he kept his R2-D2 socks on, his formidable cock was making you see stars. “Yes..please..need more..faster..”

He lets out a grunt, having to steel himself, eyes squeezing shut tightly. He nods his head, one hand reaching up to hold onto his headboard to ground himself in some way. Anakin picks up the pace of his hips, thrusting into you a little faster.

“Oh god..just like that, Ani..don’t stop.”

His dick twitches as you continue to praise him, making his movements less rhythmic.

“So good…feels so good..love how your dick feels.”

He whimpers hearing that, biting down on his bottom lip more harshly. “..’m gonna…’m gonna cum..i-if you…fuck..keep talking like that..” He tries to pull back but you hook your legs around him, preventing him from doing so. “Baby..baby I-..I don’t wanna..mmph..can’t cum yet..”

“Please..give it to me Ani. Please.”

When you ask like that and look so pretty, flushed beneath him on his admittedly immature pokemon sheets, how could he say no?

His hips thrust into you erratically before he’s cumming into your pussy that grips him so tightly, pathetically fast. He whines as he dumps his load into you. “Thank you…oh god..thank you, thank you.” He babbles as his dick continues to spurt his seed into you.

He keeps himself inside of you as he lays back down ontop of you, tired now. His body trembles, his breathing heavy. “..thank you..” he whispers again into your skin.

You let out a breathless chuckle, carding your fingers through his sweaty curls. “Don’t thank me. That was still good for me.”

He lifts his head up, adjusting his crooked glasses. “Really?”

You nod your head, “Yeah. Of course. I’m not gonna fake it just for your ego.”

His cheeks flush instantly, “Oh..good..glad it wasn’t a total let down.” He lets out a shaky exhale. “Can I..try again?”

Your pussy walls flutter around his dick still in you over his question. So timid, so nervous but still wanted to make you feel good.

You nod your head rapidly, “Yes, yes please.”

He’ll make it better this time.

[ccoconutmall]

THIS WAS A SET UP??!

⪼ home

smiling, toge gently set yuta’s phone back on the table it laid on previously. you’d actually believed he was yuta, honestly, toge’s shocked how well he managed to sound like him. “i’m out, yuta! i gotta study for this test tomorrow!” toge called out to yuta who was still in the bathroom taking his shower. “mkay! just close the door on the way out!” he screamed back from behind the bathroom door. the click of the front door could barely be heard from the rushing water. you had gotten yuta’s location after ‘he’ had asked you to come over. for someone you thought was so shy, he sure was pretty forward in that moment. you thought it’d take another 3 years before yuta adjusted to you even being in his life, let alone inviting you over to stay at his dorm. 

you played your music quietly in your headphones as you searched for his dorm. purposely walking just a little bit slower so you could enjoy your music a little more. when you saw the dorm number, you double checked to make sure you weren’t at some other guy’s dorm at almost 10 pm. after knocking on his door, you heard the quiet taps of footsteps and shuffles come to the door, and when he opened it… 

all your eyes could focus on was the fact he was shirtless, drying his damp hair with a small white towel. “hm?” your mouth felt dry, and he didn’t even notice it was you until he opened his eyes and saw you staring at him. his face turning a bright shade of red when he noticed that he was partially naked, in front of the person he actually really fucking likes. ‘y-yn?!” he couldn’t help his stutter. he didn’t even know you were coming, or how you got his dorm number, but in all honesty, he didn’t mind one bit. 

“is this a bad time..? i can go back.. but i you called me over this late and…” you rambled a little and yuta was trying to hide his goofy little grin before the realization hit him. “wait… i invited you? i’ve been in the shower for the past… toge.” he mumbled the last bit before he let you into his dorm. everything was so yuta. from the dirty white converse that lay messily by the front door, to the taped posters on his walls. his small kitchenette was in an organized mess and pictures hung neatly against his black fridge. 

when you walked into the kitchen, you noticed one of the pictures. a small 4 picture strip the two of you guys took at the fair. your smile grew, as you looked back at him. his toned muscles were the first thing in your view as he had his back faced away from you so he could talk to toge. all the other pictures were of him on various trips, his friends and what looked like him and a little girl next to each other, dated in 2007. he clicked off his phone and walked up to you. 

‘yeah toge invited you to stay… if you’re not comfortable then you don’t have to stay if you don’t want..” he sounded serious, but you couldn’t help but look down “yu… are you wearing minecraft boxers?” he quickly looked down and went behind the counter to cover his lower body. “oh my god… i forgot i was like… completely naked! let me get dressed!” he went to run to his room but you held his wrist gently and laughed “they’re cute! i didn’t think you’d have something like that!” he looked at you. why wasn’t he as embarrassed as he should be? all he could think about was you, your smile and the way your eyes closed when you smiled widely. 

clearing his throat, he looked at you, trying to change the topic and skew it away from his boxers. “i saw that you were looking at the pictures on the fridge…” you were reminded of the pictures. specifically the one of you two that resided directly in the middle, like he’d saved that space just for you. “yeah! i see you put our picture up!” he smiled and recalled the memory. 

“c'mon yuta! let’s take a picture!” you pulled him into the photo booth. after all the riding around you guys did, it was nice to get a small break in between. you grabbed a $5 out of your purse and put into into the slot. he thought the flashing light just made your face 10 times more radiant than normal. “do a silly face!” you grabbed him and pulled him close. his heart practically jumped out of his chest when he felt the warmth of your hand grip his arm. he copied your face before you directed him to make more faces. but the last one was different, you had blown a kiss towards the camera and he just couldn’t stop staring at you. your lipgloss made your lips plump and shiny, and that was all he could think about. when the photos were finished, you left the booth to look at the two strips of pictures with a smile. 

“ugh! i love these so much!” you exclaimed before gently setting them into your purse, and him, his pocket before going off to the next ride. 

“yeah. i really like those ones.” he looked at them longingly before you pointed at the other picture you were looking at. “who’s this?” your finger leading up to the dated picture, you looked over at him as he bent down to look at where your finger was pointed. “that’s me and my little sister, i was 6 and she was 5, so we were probably on our way to school then.” he laughed and looked over. “you’d like her alot, she’s really sweet. i think you two would have a lot in common.” 

the two of you were up for a while, just talking. before you felt your eyelids grow heavy. you laid on his couch and closed your eyes. he hadn’t even noticed you fell asleep until he looked over and noticed how slow your breathing got. you looked at peace. he went over to you before gently picking you up off the couch and to his bedroom. he laid you on his bed and covered you in his blanket, the smell of him filling your nose. he pushed your hair back slightly and kissed your forehead before making his way back to the living room with a blanket to sleep on his couch, while you laid comfortable in his room.

© property of ccoconutmall ‘24. please do not repost, copy, modify, or translate.

taglist;

@sunflowertingzzzz, @k0z3me, @mollzaj, @mixzimi, @chiefinvestigatoremma, @dearneverland , @sad-darksoul , @luvvmae , @demiitria , @morideadcat , @puppyminnnie , @luv-cinnamon , @conitagray, @princess-peachys , @theclassbookworm , @iiwaijime , @digitaltrippers , @1ndee , @satoryaa , @kaedeyo , @dmoonrrr , @lucislovebug

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[zombholic]

I needddd more modern Abby relationship au

[your wish is my command, kinda like twisted it up so like … 😔🙌🏽]

MODERN AU — abby anderson

— 🎧　　 ◦ ✺ 　 📽　 ⟢ —

• she would definitely really be into gaming when she has free time, a couple of posters and figurines of her favorite video game characters.

• abby met you in high school but yall never spoke because of two completely different social status’, abby was the captain on her ice hockey team and you only hung out with 3 people, you were social but just never liked anyone.

• you would definitely visit the ice skating rink while there was practice whenever it was scorching hot day, it was always cool there.

• abby would notice you from time to time but mind you she was straight in high school, she thought it was normal to imagine making out with girls.

• abby thought it was completely normal staring at you in your tight shorts that were so close to being dress coded was normal, nothing else … right?

• college rolled around and you both attended the same university, she was focused on getting her degree in civil engineering ( @atomicami ) while you were there more for the college experience always switching majors because you’re very indecisive.

• you would constantly see that girl at every party you went to, she was definitely very popular while you stayed keeping to yourself and your 3 friends.

• at one party you got a little too rowdy since it was a halloween party and the music was just feeling too good not to feel cocky for once (escapism was def playing.)

• you had your drink in one hand dancing around, finally feeling yourself for once until your turned around too quickly causing you to crash into that blonde who was built like a fucking brick wall you drink falling on the both of you.

“What the fuck!” She shouted through the loud music booming throughout the house “I’m so sorry! let me help you!” You grabbed her hand and lead her to the bathroom where the music faded in the background when the door shut.

You grabbed the hand towel that was hanging by the mirror and quickly started pat her dry “I’m so sorry dude, i’ll buy you a new costume.” She couldn’t keep her eyes off of you for some reason.

“No, it’s fine. Hey didn’t we go to high school together?” She sparked up a conversation, you nodded to her response “Yeah, it’s like I saw you all the time but we never talked.” You giggled while she had a small smile creeping on her face.

• after that day she asked for you number and you guys talked to each other 24/7 she basically became your best friend.

• you two would hangout at her apartment all the time playing Minecraft together, you would give her Minecraft flowers while she was there tryna survive.

• the relationship between you two was always so flirty and touchy, you hated when anyone would touch you or even show you affection but when it was Abby you swore you melted every time.

• whenever you two went anywhere together that had a lot of people she kept her arm wrapped around your waist securely, didn’t want your little ass running off.

• one day at her apartment it was in the middle of the night and you guys had the zoomies, running around the apartment and play fighting.

“Your punches feel like pebbles being thrown at me.” Abby teased before grabbing your wrists with one hand and twisting them behind your back.

“Abby that fucking hurts you slut!” You and Abby always have been rough with each other ever since you became friends, don’t know why though?

“Slut? Did you call me a slut you weirdo.” She hollered as she threw you over her shoulder and slapped your ass so hard you almost cried but the wetness in your panties said something else. “You slap too fucking hard can you don’t you fucking buffalo built bitch.” You returned the favor and slapped her ass back.

Abby sat you down on the kitchen counter as she stood between your legs “You’re so annoying.” She teased with a stupid cocky grin that you wanted to kiss slap off her face, you rolled your eyes at her.

“What’re you doing for Valentine’s day?” You tilted your head looking up at her through your lashes, god every time you looked at her like that her stomach twisted in so many ways. “Why? tryna ask me out?” You pushed her shoulder playfully you tried to hide the little smile that was forming on your face.

“You’re gross no, I wanted to know so we can make each other baskets.” You and Abby had started this cute tradition with each other whenever a special holiday came around rather it be halloween, birthday or valentines day or even if one of you guys were feeling yall would make comfort baskets for each other.

“I wish we could hang that day but I gotta date.” You felt your whole body tense up, sitting up straight you swallowed thickly “With who? you’re like supposed to tell me everything.” You farrowed your brows, crossing your arms over your chest.

• she went on a fucking date with nora, your felt your heart ache so painfully when you saw her insta story with her and nora kissing with the caption “prettiest first date 💟”

• lets say you started avoiding her like the plague, you basically went no contact with her, didn’t block her you just muted her on everything.

• abby was genuinely so heartbroken that her best friend was avoiding her, every since valentines day she just couldn’t seem to ever see you again. even on days where she would usually see you in your spot you weren’t there, like you vanished off the face of the earth.

• god she blowed up your phone like crazy it physically pained you to avoid her but you refused to be the best friend who has feelings while shes in a relationship, you couldn’t do that to her.

— 🎧　　 ◦ ✺ 　 📽　 ⟢ —

authors note — god forbid i make a happy fucking story 😔🙌🏽

[cmdrfupa]

Tend to me

Barkeep!Nanami x Salarywomxn!Reader

“That's what I do. I drink and I know things.”

a/n did this come from talking in a server about how post college Nanami needs a job and simping over how hot he’d be with his sleeves rolled up? You bet your ass it did. Thank you Court and Nana for your beautiful brains 🩵💜

MDNI +19

Five rejection emails, no callbacks, and his interview today turned into a scene from a novela after the receptionist barged into the boss's office, exclaiming that she was pregnant. All in the span of one week.

Kento pressed his forehead to the linoleum. table as he groaned.  

“Don't give up! It's like, 10,000 other bank jobs! You'll get one.” Haibara squeezed Kento’s shoulder as he watched his form slump into itself. 

"Yu, it seems like I’ve been turned down for 10,000 jobs. At this rate, I’ll have better luck getting a job as a cab driver.”

“But you don't have a car—”

“Shhhhhh.” Kento turned his head to the side, still keeping it on the table and looking at Yu. 

He knew Yu was trying to help, but it’d be more helpful if he didn't speak.

"Look, Ken. If nothing else comes up, I can talk to my boss to get you hired.” Yu stuffed the last of his tuna onigiri in his mouth, smiling as he attempted to cheer his roommate up. “You won't have my role as a trainer, but you could be one of the guys who clean off the sweaty machines! Pays pretty decent.” 

Clearing his throat, Kento sat up, eyes still closed before he spoke up. 

“Yu.”

“Yeah?” His big brown eyes were only filled with genuine care; Kento looked over at him and sighed.

“Thank you. I'll let you know if I need you to do that.

 Yu gave a toothy grin as he gave Kento a swift pat on the back. “It's all gonna be okay! Just breathe.”

Kento stood with a wry smile. “Thanks. I'm gonna go for a walk. Clear my mind a bit. See you tonight.”

The stroll served its purpose. It reminded Kento he wasn't a poor interviewer, nor did he lack the gusto. The job market was over-saturated and relied heavily on personal connections; Kento did not know a soul in the finance world. 

He stopped; a ‘Now hiring, Inquire within’ sign on a heavily tinted window caught his eye while Gojo watched him from the other end of the FaceTime call.

“Where does that leave you now?”

 “Well, I’ll get some experience in the meantime, become a math teacher or tutor while I look for something more sustainable.” 

"You? A teacher? Nanamin, don’t make me laugh.” Gojo propped his phone up, “You’ll have the students' brains bleeding out if you do that. Think of the children, Ken-doll.” 

Kento rolled his eyes and watched Gojo clean his desk. Literary motifs littered the wall behind Gojo. A large poster of Yevgeny Zamyatin hung in the center. “Math isn't supposed to be fun anyway. It's not teaching Dr. Seuss. It teaches objective truths and concepts.” 

Gojo feigned a yawn. “Wherever there is objective truth, there is satire.”

“That’s not how Wyndham Lewis meant it.”

“You don't know that! He's dead. It's all about interpretation.”

“I’m hanging up now. Gojo. Goodbye.”

Gojo smiled. “I can pull some strings and see if Yaga has a spot in the math department.” he nabbed his phone, seemingly prepping to leave his classroom. 

“And remember dinner this weekend! See you Nanamin!” he blew a kiss into the phone pushing Kento to immediately hang up. 

Kento looked back at the building. The 3-story building had hints of older Japanese architecture with European accents. 

"The Zenith" was carved into a wooden pillar adjacent to the entry, with a simple design. 

“I can just see what they're hiring for. No harm in that.”

The bar inside was the epitome of luxury and sophistication, designed to impress the city’s most discerning clientele. In the hotel's heart, Kento felt out of place. The floor-to-ceiling windows showed breathtaking views of the Tokyo skyline. He waited for the hiring manager to end her dumbfounded stare. 

“So no previous barkeeping history, no customer service work, and no idea how to run a till.” The dark-haired woman named Utahime looked up at Kento. “What qualifications do you have?” 

Smoothing his hair back to think of what he could say to seem qualified, he looked around the room. Older individuals who appear established. Business-minded. 

An older woman, in a meeting, smiling at the blonde-haired man. An older man was on a call. His younger companion crossed her legs and batted her lashes as Kento scanned. 

"I could boost revenue and upsell your best bottles to those who don't care about the price."

“Mr. Nanami. How could you do that? Most of our clientele just order one drink and maybe a listening ear.” 

There were a lot of things Kento lacked but looks were never one of them. The gift of having the perfect genetics made academics a breeze. But, it was now time to use his good looks and gift of gab, inherited from his grandfather. 

“I learn quick. Hire me today and I’ll have every stool filled and the register overfilled in 7 days. I guarantee.” 

Polished, calm, and precise. Nanami excelled behind the bar, his steady hands mixing drinks for the city’s elite. With his sleeves rolled, he perfected the craft of keeping up with mundane conversations mid-shake. His bulging veins, as he held the shaker, made every woman calculate their tip before he served their martinis.  Muscles flexed when he noticed some of the older men who could care less about the young women in cocktail dresses attempting to be mysterious and wanted to know if the blonde keep could do more than be heavy-handed on the gin. 

He was the bar's eye candy, something they should've thought about hiring months ago. 

It's a world where he realized he can control every variable, crafting experiences one cocktail at a time. 

After his first week, they offered him a permanent position. Working midday during the week to keep businessmen and women pleased and one Saturday evening shift a month to keep the younger crowd in.  

The low hum of conversation and soft jazz music filled the dimly lit bar as Kento worked behind the sleek marble counter, expertly mixing another round of drinks for the evening's guests. He wore his usual stoic expression, with the usual white button-down shirt and well-fitting slacks to match. 

He placed a completed cocktail on the bar top, and wiped his hands while checking what needed to be refilled. “Utahime? Could I get some more ice and a few more lowball glasses, please?” he spoke into the earpiece he donned on his left ear. “They seem to be disappearing, and Choso isn't back from his break."

"Yeah. Give me 20. I'm running tables for catering. I'll send it by Takuma.”

“Thanks.”

He wiped down the bar top; a figure slid onto one of the high-backed leather stools in his peripheral with an aura that turned heads without needing to demand attention. 

“What can I get started for you this afternoon?”

“I’ll have a French 75, please. Thank you.” Smooth and assured, your voice rang like a hymnal in his ears. 

Kento gave you a nod, his ability to indulge in small talk temporarily taken from him by your presence. He set to work, measuring gin and fresh lemon juice with his usual care, topped with a flourish of champagne. The drink landed before you in a delicate, chilled glass.

You took a sip, eyes never leaving his. Your nude-colored lips curved into a small but telling smile. "Not bad... but not quite perfect either."

Kento raised an eyebrow, subtly intrigued but keeping his expression neutral. “I take it you have high standards.” 

You chuckled, low and sultry. “I’m a person who knows what she wants, and I don’t settle for anything less.”

Nanami leaned in slightly, his tone dry yet teasing. “Perfection is subjective. Some people might call that 'almost' drinkable."

"Almost isn't in my vocabulary," you replied, eyes gleaming with challenge. You pursed your lips. “Not in business, not in life... and definitely not in drinks.”

He smirked, just enough for you to notice. “I’ll keep that in mind for your next order.”

You swirled the drink in your glass, the fizz of champagne catching the low light as you appraised him. “A man who can admit he’s not perfect? You must have been raised well. Refreshing.”

Nanami met your gaze, unruffled by your attempt to throw him off his game. “I prefer precision over perfection. Perfection tends to make people complacent.”

Your eyes narrowed but with a hint of amusement. “Interesting perspective, coming from someone who works behind a bar.”

He didn’t miss a beat. “Someone has to remind people that the best things in life have room for improvement. Even when they think they’ve already got it all.”

Tilting your head, glancing at the way the simple silver chain rested against his collar. You were impressed but clearly enjoying the game. “You might be onto something. What’s your name?”

“Nanami Kento,” he said simply, as he wiped down the bar.

“Well, Nanami,” your voice is softer but no less commanding, "next time, why don’t you make me a drink that I can’t critique?”

He gave you a rare, almost imperceptible smile. “Challenge accepted.”

Your eyes lingered on each other, the tension electric. You raised your glass, with a smile so poised and self-assured, before taking another sip.

"Looking forward to it," you murmured, low and teasing. Then, you stood and left a 50-dollar tip with your card. You walked away, your perfume lingering in the air.

Kento read your name on the card. His curiosity ran wild with every possible scenario as he watched your backend disappear into the lobby

_

A few days later, the bar's golden lights glowed softly. They reflected off the dark marble counter as Nanami wiped down glasses. His thoughts drifted to the usual routine. He’d swapped shifts, which resulted in watching the evening crowd trickle in, primarily corporate types and high-society guests, and Nanami managed the situation with his typical efficiency and calm demeanor.

But as he adjusted a bottle of whiskey on the back shelf, a familiar presence caught his eye.

You were back.

You entered with the same quiet confidence, this time fitted with a far more casual, sleek outfit paired with heels that clacked against the polished floor. 

Moving with ease, you slipped into the same seat as last time, your gaze meeting his immediately. Your lips curled into a slow smile, almost as if you knew he’d be expecting you. 

“Good evening," Kento greeted, his voice calm with a slight edge of anticipation. 

"Nanami," you replied, leaning forward. Your self-assured energy was hard to ignore. “It's a pleasure to see you tonight. I think I’m in the mood for something a bit more... complex.” 

“Is that so?” he asked, his tone dry but with an undertone of curiosity. “What are we talking about? A Negroni? Maybe a Vieux Carré?” 

You smiled a glint of challenge in your eye. “Surprise me.”

Kento studied you for a moment, then nodded and began his work. 

His movements were precise but fluid as he grabbed a bottle of mezcal and began crafting a Smoky Margarita, layering complex flavors—mezcal for smokiness, lime for sharpness, and a touch of agave to round it out, all topped off with a rim of chili salt. The drink was bold and nuanced, like the woman before him.

He placed the glass in front of you with hushed confidence, waiting for your reaction. 

With a slow sip, your lips brushed against the glass as your tongue sampled the salted rim. Eyes closed momentarily to savor the taste.

When you opened them, your gaze locked onto his. 

“Now this,” you leaned forward, "is much better.”

Kento leaned on the counter slightly, his smirk more visible this time. “Glad to hear it. Looks like I’m learning.”

“Seems like you’re a quick study.”

You held each other’s gaze, the air between thick with tension that had only grown since your last encounter. Your voice dropped to an intimate murmur, barely audible over the ambient music. “So, Nanami... what do you do when you’re not making perfect drinks?”

He raised an eyebrow, amused by the shift in your tone. “I don’t get much free time. I like structure with very little change. But I do have a break coming up.” 

Your smile widened, and there was a glint of mischief in your eyes. “Is that so? And what do you usually do on these breaks?” 

Kento straightened, glancing around the bar. The crowd was calm tonight, his usuals with a small group of beer drinkers. He certainly wasn’t going to be missed if he disappeared a little earlier than usual. “Not very much. But there’s a private spot upstairs. Quiet.” 

“Lead the way.”

Kento signaled for one of the other bartenders, wordlessly handing off duties as he made his way around the bar and approached you. You stood and walked alongside him through the bar.

Turning the corner without paying attention, an inattentive passerby bumped into Kento, a glass of what he could guess was whiskey now soaking the front of his shirt. “Holy shit, sorry.”

“It’s fine.” 

You pressed your lips together, smiling as Kento didn’t let the incident interrupt your determined ascent up the stairs. 

You didn’t speak as you made your way to a barrier, secluded alcove on the mezzanine floor—a quiet corner with a view of the city through tall windows, framed by rich drapes. The world outside was glittering and alive, but here, away from prying eyes, it felt like their own little escape.

Kento stopped near the window, turning to face you as the ambient glow of the city lights bathed them both in soft light. You stepped closer, the subtle scent of your perfume mixing with the full scent of whiskey that stuck to him. He unbuttoned his shirt, uncovering his lean torso and square pecs. 

“You have a talent for choosing the right spot.” You said, your voice lower now. 

“I don’t waste time.” He replied, his eyes locked on yours. 

You smirked, stepping even closer until the space between you was nearly nonexistent. “Efficient. I like that.”

Kento’s pulse quickened though his exterior remained composed. The heat of your presence never wavering as he watched your every move. 

You lightly brushed his arm, a deliberate move to see his reaction. 

“I knew you’d be interesting,” you uttered, your voice soft, teasing, but laced with something deeper. “I just didn’t know how interesting.”

Kento’s lips quirked into a small smile, one that carried more weight than any words he could say at that moment. “You’re not so predictable yourself.”

Your eyes locked. The city lights flickered around you, but neither of you noticed, too caught up in the magnetic pull of something new, something charged. 

You reached up, your hand brushing his collarbone. You licked his whiskey-flavored chest. You languidly licked up to his neck as he sucked in a sharp breath. "Hmm." You whispered while your lips hovered close to his. “I like a man who can keep up."

Nanami’s voice was steady, but there was a rough edge to it now. “I don’t plan on slowing down.”

With a final, knowing smile, he closed the gap between you. His lips brushed yours in a kiss more electric than the city lights below. 

“Nanami Kento.”

“Yes ma'am.”

“When you clock out, my room happens to be on the floor above this one.” You slid your room card into his pants pocket as his hand slid down, pressing you into him. 

Kento pushed you to the wall with a quick yet gentle motion, nudging his knee between your thighs. "You've surprised me."

“How so?" The sudden closeness brought a surge of anticipation bursting in your chest.

"I didn't take you for someone who would enjoy a bit of public play."

You rubbed your wetness on his knee, lost in thought. A simpering moan escaped you. "I don't know what you're talking about, Nanami."

Amused by your attempt to keep it together, he moved his knee forward to elicit another moan from you. "The dampness of my slacks says otherwise." He drowned out the sounds of the late-night rush with the pants he pulled from you.

"Tell me how to please you with precision and I'll follow every direction."

Thank you @/saradika-graphics for the dividers ✨

[harrygoeswest]

Infatuation On A Mutual Level

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

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

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

Word Count: 18,777

~.~.~.~.~

Now

Every morning was the same.

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

Harry’s door opening.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~

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

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

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

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

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

Harry had noticed a lot about you.

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

Distress, probably?

No. He wouldn’t be having that.

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

~

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

Blackpool Tower

🌚 👰🏼❌🧽🍽️🔄

🌝 🙈🖕🏼

👰🏼 😕

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

Rhys Oh for fuck’s sake.

George Whoops.

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

🍉 🤔👰🏼🥄🥄🍱🔄

👰🏼 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣😠

🌝 😒🙄

🌚 🏃🏻‍♀️🏃🏻‍♀️🏃🏻‍♀️

👑 ❌❌❌❌❌❌❌

Translation:

Harry Maybe George should cook dinner again…

George HAHAHAHAHAHAHA no.

Rhys Yeah right.

Abbie No thank you.

You Absolutely fucking not.

Why did all of you have such ridiculous headers?

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

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

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

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

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

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

~

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

Blackpool Tower

👑 👩‍🍳🍝 … 🌚🍝🌝🍝🍉🍝➡️🧊 … ❌🍝👰🏼

Harry snickered.

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

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

🌚 🍉➡️🍉❌🍉➡️🍉❌👑

👰🏼 🚫🚫🚫🚫

“For fuck’s sake.” He muttered.

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s not fair.”

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

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

“Excuse me?”

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

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

“Yes.”

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

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

“Yes I can.”

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

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

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

“You can’t do this forever.”

Chop.

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

Chop chop.

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

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

CHOP.

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

He growled, frustrated. “Stop babying everyone.”

Chopchopchop.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~

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

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

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

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

The perfect man?

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

A man who cared about your wellbeing?

His bedside manner could use some work.

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

Sex on legs.

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

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

Ridiculous?

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

~

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

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

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

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

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

Harry’s phone vibrated.

Blackpool Tower

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

👰🏼 You idiot

🌚 RHYS

🌝 NOOOOOOOOOO

🍉 Pay up dipshit

🌝 😭😭😭

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

~

Then

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shrugging to yourself, you opened it anyway.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

“Friday was moving day.”

“Yes. Today.”

“No. Yesterday.”

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

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

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

~

Now

Harry often thought about that first day.

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

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

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

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

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

Until now, apparently.

“That housemate of yours here?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Why not?”

“Because she isn’t interested.”

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

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

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

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

“What’s up?”

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

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

“Rhys’s friends are here.”

You blinked. “I know.”

“Yes but his idiot friends are here.”

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

“I don’t trust him.”

“Who?”

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

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

“Is he? I’m not so sure.”

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

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

Why not? You mouthed.

Harry pretended to drink from an invisible glass and grimaced.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What? Worth a shot.”

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

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

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

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

“What the fuck…”

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

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

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

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

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

“Happy ending?”

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

“They’re my favourite.”

You gawked at him then. “Really?”

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

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

“Not at all. Sad endings are rubbish.”

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

“Me too.”

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

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

“John Green.”

Harry scoffed. “He’s the worst.”

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

“Load of shit.”

“Exactly!”

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

Blackpool Tower

🌝 🍻🍻➡️🌃➕👰🏼

You were being left alone. Thank God.

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

“Wait…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

~

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

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

“I wanna smash her face into a wall.”

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

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

His eyes were red around the rims.

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

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

You could do it. Nothing is stopping you.

You repressed a growl.

“Coming from you?” He retorted, amused.

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

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

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

“Always. What have you got?”

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

“That sounds dirty as fuck.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You fell asleep before the end.

~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You don’t need to.”

“I think I do.”

“Explain, please.”

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

“How?”

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

“You were unconscious.” He argued.

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

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

“Do you?”

“Perhaps.”

“Perhaps?”

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

You sat up and faced him.

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

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

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

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

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

~

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

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

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

“You’re cute when you’re in shock.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He snorted but remained silent.

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

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

Harry pursed his lips. “Hugh Grant.”

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

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

“I see…” you mused.

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

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

“A fine woman indeed.”

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

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

“Sam Claflin.”

“The king of rom-coms.”

“Exactly. Very easy on the eye.”

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

Thank fuck you shaved, you little scruffy bear.

You mentally flicked your inner tormentor behind her ear.

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

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

You gasped, grabbing his wrist, wrenched yourself upright.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What are we doing?” You asked.

“Whatever you want.”

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

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

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

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

“Mhm.” You managed.

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

He swallowed thickly. “Can I kiss you?”

All you could do was nod.

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

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

You liked all of it.

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

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

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

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

“Neither did I.” You said breathily.

“Thought about it a lot.”

“Me too.”

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

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

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

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

“Jesus Christ,” he hissed.

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

“Keep going.” He practically begged.

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

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

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

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

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

“Harry!”

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

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

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

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

“This doesn’t make sense to me.”

“What doesn’t?”

“This,” you pointed between him and you.

“Why doesn’t it?”

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

“Many times.”

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

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

“Why?”

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

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

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

“Are you sure?”

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

“I don’t know… some men are pigs.”

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

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

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

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

“Is that a good thing?”

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

“Really?”

“Yeah. You’re very distracting.”

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

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

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

~

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And me.”

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

“You don’t have to do that.”

“But I want to.”

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

“Pleasure.”

“Now go back to sleep.”

“Yes sir.”

~

“You look different.”

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

“What do you mean?”

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

“Right…”

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

Embarrassed heat filled your body.

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m not!”

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

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

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

“Okay.” You nodded.

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

Blackpool Tower

👑 ❌😃

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

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

👰🏼 🤯🤩🤯🤩🤯

🌚 🎉🎉🎉

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

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

“Right… will everyone come?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No.”

“Please?”

“No.”

“Bore.” She scoffed, and swished away.

~

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

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

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

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

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

“You never irritate me.”

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

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

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

“That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

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

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

“Did you?”

“Mhm. She’s not exactly subtle.”

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

“Did you give it to her?”

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

He smirked. “You getting possessive of me?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Too far.” He pinched your waist

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

“How long left on your cycle?”

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

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

“Yes… why?”

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

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

“Oh,” you spoke, voice caught.

“You okay with this?” He asked hesitantly.

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

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

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

“Can we take these off?”

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

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

“Not in my jim-jams, no.”

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

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

“Sure thing, cutie.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Any time you like.”

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

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

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

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

“I’m not joking.”

He gave you a challenging look.

“Want me to prove it?” You offered.

Was it even worth the question? “Always.”

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

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

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

“Sir.”

~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Cute. But…

Not Harry.

Your inner tormentor smirked.

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

“Um… Wonderwall.”

You gagged, and Dad scoffed. “Next.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll just change and be back down.”

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

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

Ah shit.

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

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

“Can I borrow some makeup?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That was my plan all along, actually.”

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

“Noted, thank you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It was good having an extra nice body.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ah. Not as ignorant as she appears, then.

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

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

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

“-We’re not having sex.” Yet.

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

“Loud and clear.”

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

~

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

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

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

“Because it’s obviously your favourite.”

“How’d you work that one out?”

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

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

He lifted a brow. “Did you?”

“No.”

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

“What’s going on?”

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

“Me too.”

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

“I like this, Harry. Us.”

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

“You make it easier.”

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

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

“That’s a very big compliment.”

“I mean it.”

“I know you do.”

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

“Tell me about your nightmares.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~

“You are filthy.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Filthy. Yes, I know.”

He grinned. “Yeah, but I like it.”

“Really?”

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

You hummed out a laugh. “Interesting.”

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

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

“I’ll let you go shower.”

“Okay.” You murmured, delirious.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re so sexy.”

You bit away a timid, flustered smile. Bashfulness wasn’t sexy.

He stalked you like a wild cat as you lay back. His mouth and hands descended on you again, searching and exploring every inch of you, searing hot and wet kisses into your skin.

His hands slipped into your pyjama bottoms, feeling around your arse again before he tugged them down your legs, leaving you completely stark under his burning gaze. A strangled moan fell out of him while he regarded your naked form, hands smoothing and squeezing your hips, your waist, your boobs.

“You’re so fucking soft.” He said the words like praise.

You laid your hands on his as they travelled over you, and he pushed his mouth back to yours in that same eager dance as before. He ground himself against you, hard as a rock underneath his joggers, and it was doing all sorts to your core. Your heartbeat fell down and down again to your middle, slick heat flourishing between your legs.

“Please, Harry,” you begged him, pushing his hand down.

“What do you need?” He asked, a little cruelly, as if he didn’t know exactly what you needed.

“Touch me.”

The man gargled at you. He was fucking strangled. He traced between your thighs delicately to the point it tickled, and swiped a finger easily in a stripe up your folds, wetness collecting.

“Like that?”

“Yes.” You wriggled under him, desperate for more. “More.”

He played with your clit teasingly, enjoying the way you squirmed. “More?” He asked as he slid a finger into your waiting heat.

A small cry left you. It wasn’t enough and he knew it. “More.”

“Bossy, aren’t you?”

You whined. Now you were the one being carnal. You gripped his head tightly and kept your mouth to his, tongue abrasive and lashing.

While he wound you up in the most irritating way, you found your own ways to move him on. Your feet dug into the backs of his thighs and pushed downwards at an attempt to budge his joggers off. You didn’t want to wait anymore. You wanted him in all his solid glory, right now.

“Are you trying to take my bottoms off with your feet?”

“Yes.” You grunted.

“Oh,” he gave you a dark laugh as his kisses trailed back down your front, “that’s gonna cost you.”

He licked around your belly button, the warmth of his hands vanishing from your body to push his joggers down. He gave your cunt the shortest, most mind-blowing piece of attention with his mouth, dragging noises out of you that you weren’t even aware you could make. Then he turned you over without warning, on your front, and tugged your arse up to rest against his crotch.

You gasped, excited by the somewhat aggressive nature he’d taken on. Your Harry - soft and gentle as they got - man-handling you. You peered at him over your shoulder as he produced a square foil wrapper from somewhere and ripped it open with his teeth. He watched you watching him as he rolled it down his shaft, drawing your attention to it - visually, anyway - for the first time. You had to swallow the lump in your throat.

“This what you wanted, darlin’?” He asked as he smoothed his hand over your arse, but his gaze never left you. “You want me to fill you up with my cock?”

“God yes.” You said without a hint of a waver.

“You want it like this?” He lined himself up, fisting himself at the base, and glided the head of him through your wet, parted, waiting folds.

“Yes.” You whimpered. “Please. Please please please.”

He made that noise again, his large fist grabbing your hip as he hovered at your entrance, and then he thrust himself inside you.

A ripping, searing pain had you wanting to scream so loudly you had to shove your face into the mattress to muffle it. An ache blossomed in place of the initial pain, one that was all too familiar and yet quite unfamiliar. It had been absent, like a friend who lived too far away. Now it homed itself inside of you like it belonged there. Perhaps it did, and the only way to quell it was to entertain it.

“Jesus fucking Christ, you feel good.” He hissed, his hands squeezing your hips and your bum in turn.

Harry pulled out, enough that only his head remained inside you, and then he gave another powerful thrust until he completely filled you. “So fucking good, my God.”

He started moving, in steady, sharp movements. He didn’t want slow. Hell, you didn’t want slow. You wanted fast and hot and sweaty, and that’s exactly what he gave you.

Harry started fucking into you so viciously you could feel it in every part of your body, from the jiggle of your tits to the shake of your arse to the rock of your hips. Oh, and the stretch of his cock as he buried deeper and deeper inside you. Every part of your body was aflame with need, a desire, a craving to be fucked into oblivion.

His hands were on your hips again, fingertips digging into your skin. He rocked you back and forth in time with his thrusts, not that you needed him to. You were doing that all on your own.

He grunted and hissed through every single powerful drive of his cock into your cunt, your name tumbling out of his mouth over and over again.

“Harry,” you whimpered, “harder.”

He growled and obeyed, pistoning inside of you.

“Yes, oh fuck yes.” You cried, head burrowing again.

You felt him on you, all over you then, his chest against your back, lips kissing your shoulders and his arms with a vice grip around your middle. His skin was tacky, as was yours. You were surrounded by a cloud of packed heat, like a humid summer day.

“You are…” Harry began to say, panting in your ear, and his head shook against you, “fuck, I can’t even think straight.”

You moaned, lifting up and twisting your head in search of him. He caught your chin and brought your lips to his in another deep, claiming kiss. You wanted every kiss to be like that from then on - owning, possessing, asserting. You were his and you wanted him to know it.

He gave another round of punishing thrusts before he made a winded noise, “Turn over,” he pleaded, “I want to see your face.”

A whimper fell out of your mouth when his thickness disappeared from inside you, and he helped you onto your back before he got straight back in there. He was low over you, chest on your chest, hand on the back of your thigh, and his eyes roamed your face while it contorted with pleasure.

He hooked your leg over his hip and went harder. Harder, faster, harder, faster. Your head lolled back and a string of curse words fell out of your mouth. His lips danced across your chest and you tangled your fingers in his hair to keep him there. There was nothing better than being worshipped by a mouth. Especially Harry’s mouth.

He licked and sucked over your skin until your boobs and sternum were littered with little purple spots of lust, and honestly you didn’t care. You wanted them all over you. You wanted yours all over him.

His hips never stopped moving - pushing, pushing, pushing you towards a beautiful, glorious high like a high-speed train ploughing towards a dangerous cliff edge. God, you wanted that edge and you wanted it now. You wanted to be flung off it whilst securely attached to the man currently pushing you there.

You pulled Harry’s mouth back to yours, holding your body to him as you clenched, milking him towards his end and yours. You needed it. Your head was about to explode with rampant thoughts and you needed to wash them away.

“Fuck, Harry,” you whispered, neck and shoulders spiked with heat. It radiated off you.

“I know.” He groused and bit your lower lip. “I’m fucking close. So fucking close, and I’m gonna blow if you keep doing that.”

“Please do it,” you begged, clenching again to feel his growl in your mouth, “come, Harry.”

And boy did he fucking come.

His body wracked with a shudder, movements ceasing as you wrapped yourself tightly around him. His muscles rippled beneath your fingertips while he came, oblivious to your own masterful undoing.

You calmed together, lips moving in tender kisses until your breath was caught again and your limbs were sore. You deflated when Harry abandoned you to clean himself up, and you dipped into your bedroom to do the same when you found the strength.

When he came back you snuggled up to him in his bed, between his legs with your head on his chest. His lips grazed through your hair, breathing light and content.

“I am… fucking obsessed with you.” He mumbled.

You traced your fingers over the hair and the swallows on his chest, a warmth filling you, like an acceptance. Being wanted hadn’t mattered to you until now. Until Harry.

“I… am also quite infatuated with you. And I have been for some time. Just… quietly.”

“You been sniffin’ my bed sheets while I’m at work?”

You giggled and nuzzled closer to him. “No. Not recently, anyway.”

“Not recently?”

“I’ve never sniffed your bed sheets, Harry.”

“I wouldn’t mind if you did.”

“I’m weird, but I’m not that weird.”

“But you’ve been infatuated with me for ages.”

“Not enough to go into your room and sniff your bed sheets.”

“Did you do anything a bit weird?”

“No.”

“Really? Not even… a little… you know?”

You gave him a bewildered look, and he waggled his eyebrows at you.

Haha. You totally did that, you creep.

“Maybe.” You murmured, hiding your face again.

He chuckled and held onto you tightly. “I did, too. Feeling’s always been mutual, darlin’.”

You heaved a content sigh. “I’m glad it was. I really do like this. Us.”

“Me too.”

~

Harry had been living life with a permanent spring in his step. He had you, living in the same house and sharing a bed, cooking at dinner time, shagging at night time, and just generally being wonderful, fantastic, gorgeous, brilliant you.

Tonight you were at your dad’s house with your sister so he was cooking alone, but George was in the living room watching one of those daft culinary competition programs on Channel 4, the commentary filtering out with an occasional expletive. Abbie and Rhys were out but would likely be home soon. You’d be back eventually, too, and he liked knowing that nowadays you came home to him.

Rhys and Abbie came back first. Harry had decided to join George in the living room, too intrigued by the shouty drama on Come Dine With Me to ignore it.

Abbie gasped at the TV. “This is the one!” She squealed.

“What one?” Rhys demanded. “Oh, yes!”

“What am I missing?” Harry asked, a little bewildered.

George shushed everyone with a finger to his lips. “I’ve been talking him through it but I want him to see.” He flailed a hand in the couple’s direction.

All four pairs of eyes glued to the TV, a vetted interest in the argument unfolding. The contestants from that week’s episodes were gathering in the final host's living room, bank notes spread in a circle atop a silver tray and holding up a scroll wrapped in red ribbon.

The front door of the house opened again, and in you waltzed, a baffled look on your face. Very rarely did you come home to find everyone in the living room.

Abbie squeaked your name, begging you to join before it kicked off on the telly. “Come on, quick.” She patted the space between her and Harry, conveniently.

His eyes were no longer interested in the TV drama, only in you.

“In fourth place is… me.”

“Ah,” you said in recognition of the scene on the telly as you sat down. Your arm brushed against Harry’s as you tucked your right foot under your left thigh, and caught yourself before you settled into his side like you normally would.

A chorus of patronising oohs filled the room from the contestants on the screen. The host was shaking his head.

“Wait, is this the-,”

“You won, Jane.”

Barking laughter filled the room from the housemates, including Harry, but the host didn’t stop there.

“Dear Lord, what a sad little life, Jane.”

“You’ve got that on a T-shirt!” Harry swatted George’s arm.

“Damn right I do.” He grinned. “Cultural icon.”

“You, or the bloke having an aneurysm?”

“Both.”

“... grace of a reversing dump truck.”

More squeals filled the room, as if the entire scene hadn’t been a meme for years now.

Abbie patted your shoulder. “Did you see the video of Penn Badgley doing this?”

“Obviously.”

“Wait, I wanna see.” Rhys frowned.

Episode forgotten, Abbie found the clip on her phone and showed it to everyone.

“Oh my God, I think I’m going to hear it in that voice forever now.” George muttered, a wistful look in his eyes.

“Shall we watch a movie or something?” Abbie suggested, a hopeful look in her eye. “We never do anything all together… it would be nice.”

“I’m up for that.” Rhys grinned, because why would he ever turn down one of his girlfriend’s ideas?

“Yeah, me too.” George nodded.

All eyes turned to you and Harry. You couldn’t very well say no now, it would look odd. Especially if you both did, which is what you both wanted to do. There were two perfectly good beds upstairs, one of which needed to be destroyed. That wasn’t very well going to happen if you both sat on the couch and watched a film with your housemates.

“Yeah, sure.” You finally said, because you hated the way everyone was looking at you.

“Go for it.” Harry managed, much worse at hiding his disapproval than you were.

“How are we going to decide, then? ‘Cause I don’t really watch the horror films you two are into,” George pointed between Abbie and Rhys, “and Harry probably only watches underground indie movies or something.”

Harry had no idea what gave him that impression, but the laugh that came out of your mouth - hearty, loud and delighted - was worth the assumption.

“Why don’t we all write a movie name down on a piece of paper that we’ll all like - a comedy or something - and do a raffle.”

“Okay, but who’s choosing?”

Harry rolled his eyes and waited for the inevitable to happen. George and Abbie fought for five minutes, both arguing that one of them should choose, and then the decision was given to you as the honorary house mediator. Everyone wrote their choices down on a scrap of paper and dropped them all into one of Rhys’s beanies. Then you closed your eyes, body screaming reluctance at having to be the decision-maker, and plucked a folded square out.

Your mouth lifted at the corners. “Shrek 2.”

Snacks were brought in, beers were shared out, and someone pressed play on the film where it had been queued up.

“Wait!” George screamed.

You all looked at him, bewildered by his dramatics. He’d even stood up.

“What?” Rhys gave him a baffled look.

“I wanna sit in the armchair.” George pointed to the very one Rhys sat in. “I don’t wanna sit in a couple sandwich. A third wheel is bad enough, but a fifth wheel is a disaster.”

“What are you talking about?” Harry asked, laughter nervous and the ultimate giveaway.

“Oh fuck off if you two think we don’t all know you’re a thing.”

Your body tensed. Harry could feel it, the way you went from soft to rigid in a split second. “What?”

“We’ve known for ages.” Abbie said with a sweet smile.

“Yeah, like, the second Harry moved in.” George rolled his eyes.

“But we haven’t been-,”

“-Maybe not the whole time, but definitely recently. I can hear the floorboards creak, you know.” George gave you an accusatory glance. Curse him living directly beneath you. ���Amongst other things.”

Harry wasn’t sure whether he was relieved or whether he wanted the ground to swallow him whole. His cheeks and the tips of his ears had turned pink, and you looked like you were in shock. “Right…”

“I am slightly offended that you didn’t want us to know.” Rhys folded his arms. “What did you think was gonna happen?”

He had a point. What did you think was going to happen? Mild ribbing and inappropriate jokes? It wasn’t exactly any of their business what the two of you were doing on the top floor, but that didn’t mean you’d needed to hide everything from them. Why had you stopped yourselves from being affectionate when around them? They were your friends. You all had inside jokes and a group chat and emoji code names. They were like a second family in a way. Even though you all enjoyed your own company, you liked each other too.

“I think… for a while we didn’t really know what was happening.” Harry finally spoke, twisting in his place. “We just started hanging out and it kinda grew from there.”

“I called this on day one, by the way.” George said smugly.

“It’s true, he did.” Abbie nodded, still smiling. “Two good-looking people at the top of the house? Recipe for heaven.”

“We’re happy it finally happened. Just… don’t hide shit like that from us. We’re all friends.” George was back to scowling.

“Friends.” Rhys cooed, like Jay from The Inbetweeners.

“Anyway, now that’s all out there, can we start the film please? Or it’s gonna be my bedtime.” Abbie flailed her hand around.

The movie started, everyone settled into their places, and you managed to find a comfortable position against Harry’s side.

Even though you chatted along with conversations and laughed at the telly, Harry knew something was off. You were still tense, and you didn’t touch him like you normally would. He wanted you in his arms, not pushed awkwardly against his side. He wasn’t sure if it was because you were uncomfortable displaying affection in front of other people, but whatever it was he wanted to make it go away.

He shifted at one point in an attempt to wrap an arm around your middle, but instead you moved further away. That utterly terrified him.

As the movie credits rolled, everyone started to move, ready to get to bed for the night. Except you.

“Guys,” You said, quiet as a mouse, but everyone heard you. Because you never stopped anyone for anything, “can we all have a chat?”

Dread nestled itself into Harry’s stomach. A chat? About what? Everyone? Why did everyone have to be present? What was going on?

The housemates sat back down, if a little tentatively, gazes wary. You finally gave Harry your attention, if only fleetingly with a worried smile.

“Are you alright?” Abbie asked and pulled your hand into hers.

Harry leaned forwards.

“You’ll all be getting an email tomorrow, but I wanted to tell you in person.” You licked your lips, stare heavy on the stone floor of the living room. “Dad is selling the house.”

~

A little piece of your heart broke that evening when your dad told you his plans to sell. It was a place that you had such an odd relationship with, because while it cost a lot of money and caused a lot of financial problems, it also brought you a family you never asked for and a man you never dreamed of having.

You knew your dad would try and hold onto it as long as he possibly could because it had become your home, and he’d been in bits over dinner as he broke the news. He cried, so you cried, and then your sister cried, too. Everyone had been a mess.

“What?” George said, dumbfounded. Hell, everyone was dumbfounded.

“It’s the last thing he wanted to do, but it’s kind of burning a hole in his pocket and we can’t afford it anymore. Between the leaking second floor and dodgy plumbing there’s also woodworm and stone repairs and all sorts of other crap I don’t want to bore you with.”

“You found this out today?” Abbie asked, bottom lip trembling.

“Yeah, an hour or so ago. I’m really sorry, guys.”

“Don’t be sorry.” Rhys frowned.

Abbie crawled across the small gap between her and you and wrapped her arms around you. “We get it. It’s old, it’s a bit rickety and it needs a lot of TLC. We all know your dad gave it all the care he could afford and it’s okay that he can’t afford it anymore.”

“How long do we have to find new places?” George asked, biting his lip.

“As long as it takes to sell. Given the condition of the place it could be fuckin’ ages.” You managed a laugh.

“If your dad needs us to do anything, he just needs to let us know. And we’ll make sure it’s tidy as fuck for viewings and shit.”

“Thanks, Rhys.”

The housemates starting shifting again, collecting up their bits and leaving with softly spoken good nights. You still didn’t move, and neither did Harry. After a quiet minute or so, he slipped his hand into yours and gave it a gentle squeeze.

“What are you thinking?” He asked in a gravelly whisper.

You took a deep breath, nibbling away at your lower lip. “That I’m scared.”

“Scared?”

“Mhm.”

“Scared about what?”

You turned to face him, cataloguing every crease of worry on his handsome face. “Us. What this means for us.”

He gently cupped your cheek, his thumb stroking over your cheekbone. “What do you think it means for us?”

“Well, I don’t know. I’m scared it means the end, when I don’t want it to. I’m scared that what we’ve been doing is just… convenient? And now that we have to leave it won’t be so convenient anymore and it will be over.”

“You don’t want it to be over.” It wasn’t a question.

“No. Not even a little bit. I… I don’t want a night without you ever again. I can sleep with you around. I can breathe. I need to breathe, and I can’t do that without you. And part of me hates that I need you, but I do, and the rest of me that doesn’t hate it tells me to fuck everything to the wind. Because it’s not just need, it’s also a want. I just want you around, like you have been. Presence is such a funny thing when it comes from different people, but yours… I like yours. A lot.”

Harry spoke your name in a low voice, gaze on your mouth as he smoothed his thumb across your lower lip, “I don’t want it to be over, either.” He meets your gaze again, cool, calm and collected. “I really hoped it wouldn’t be at any stage ever, least not because we have to leave the house and find another one. I’ve been living with you for three fucking years and I also don’t want to have to spend a night where you don’t live with me. Hell, it’s not even a fucking option. I know you love this place because it’s your family’s, but I don’t care where we live as long as we do it together. I’ve been looking at other places since the day I moved in, and the only reason I haven’t bothered to leave is because you kept me here, whether you meant to or not. And now we have to leave, and I’m sure as shit gonna take you with me, because I can’t live without you.”

You stared at him for a moment, and then launched into his arms, tackling him into the sofa. You peppered his face with kisses until he caught your lips and held you there, happy in the knowledge that you needed each other and that was absolutely fucking okay.

“You’re special to a lot of people, but especially to me.” Harry mumbled into your lips. “I’m selfish enough to not let you go.”

“I don’t want you to.”

“Good.”

You remained in the lounge for a little while longer, wrapped up in one another, until movement began upstairs and you decided it was probably time to head upstairs to bed. Before you made it to the stairs, Rhys and George appeared in front of you. Rhys looked apprehensive and George looked irritated he’d been dragged out of his room again.

“What’s going on?” You asked, cocking your head.

“Abbie’s in the loo so I’m gonna make this real quick before she comes back.” Rhys threw a wary glance over his shoulder. “I need your help.”

~

Every morning was the same.

This week it had been, anyway. You woke up with the sunrise, wrapped in Harry’s arms, and you listened to his heartbeat and his unconscious breathing for a blissful twenty minutes before his alarm went off. Then he’d fall out of bed with a reluctant yawn, mooch his way around the room and disappear into the bathroom to get ready for work.

Upon reappearing he’d head to the kitchen to make a coffee and leave a cup of tea on your bedside table, then a kiss on your lips, and then you’d watch the man who defined ‘sex on legs’ leave your apartment from the comfiest spot in the bedroom.

Today was the same, but different. He wasn’t going to work today, and neither were you. It meant longer in bed, with enough time for sexy shenanigans, then he’d make for the bathroom, bring you tea afterwards and breakfast.

You spent the day in bed, right up until 5 o’clock when you had to get up and go out to give your keys back.

Yes, your dad had managed to sell the house. It had taken a while, but it got there. The new owners were moving in tomorrow, and you’d all arranged to meet your dad and your sister there to do a final ‘handover’.

George had moved into a studio flat in the centre of town but spent most of his nights at his boyfriend’s place. Rhys and Abbie had finally bought that house they always wanted, out of town but easy to travel into. And you and Harry also had your own place, still renting and in the city, but it was yours together, and that was all you wanted.

“Are you nervous?” Harry asked as you walked up to the front of old Blackpool Tower.

“I’m not the one that needs to be nervous.” You shrugged, even if you had been the one to help Rhys with most of the planning.

He’d been a lot of work over the past few weeks. After he initially asked for your help he spent so long searching for the damn jewellery he forgot about the rest of it. You had reminded him on many occasions that it didn’t need a big song and dance, but he insisted, because he wanted it in the house you’d all shared with her favourite people to witness it.

The garden was lit up in the early evening with fairy lights and candles. George, your sister and your dad were already at the far end waiting for Rhys and Abbie to arrive. You gave over your keys - dad had the house professionally cleaned even though you had offered, because it was too big a task for one person.

Blackpool Illuminations

Rhys We’re nearly there…

Yes, Rhys had really named the group chat for the planning committee ‘Blackpool Illuminations’.

You stood next to your sister who wrapped herself around your middle, and Harry kept hold of your free hand.

“I hope she says no.” Your sister said, and Harry snorted. “Just for a laugh.”

“I don’t think Abbie has it in her to say no to Rhys.” You mused.

Five minutes later the couple in question turned up. Abbie had no idea what was going on, obviously. She’d been told they were going for dinner and then for a walk. The walk was always supposed to end here, at the old house.

Abbie gasped at the sight before her, hands on her mouth as she moved through the garden. “What’s going on?”

Behind her, Rhys swiftly dropped to one knee and presented the ring he’d spent months agonising over. “Abbie,”

You all watched and listened as Rhys spent five minutes talking about how perfect his girl was for him. It was very typical Rhys - overboard and unnecessarily long. Most things maybe could’ve been kept for his wedding vows.

Just as your sister was about to explode from restlessness, Rhys finally asked, “Will you marry me?”

“I would’ve said yes five minutes ago.” Abbie giggled, nodding, and held her left hand out.

George and your sister started hollering, your dad was pretending not to cry, and you fell into Harry’s hold again, watching the happy couple with a warm smile.

“I hope to God they don’t ask me to help plan the actual wedding.”

Harry chuckled and pressed his lips into your temple. “I’ll make sure they don’t.”

Your sister presented herself in front of you with an assured look on her face. “When are you two getting engaged, then?”

Harry choked behind you, and you gave your sister a bewildered look. “Reel it in, please.”

“What?” She shrugged. “Being in love suits you. A wedding would really suit you.”

“A wedding isn’t something you arrange for an aesthetic, sis.” You reminded her.

“Speak for yourself, but I do recommend heavily considering it.”

After she turned away, Harry lowered his mouth to the shell of your ear. “I wouldn’t mind marrying you.”

You tightened his arms around you. “One day.” You said with a kiss to his palm.

His smile imprinted on your cheek. “One day.”

~.~.~.~.~

Thank you so v much for reading if you make it this far. It’s a long one, I know. The longest one shot I’ve actually ever done. Much love to you <3

[killerkillerkillher]

Save a Horse, Ride a Sorcerer

Summary: You're a stable hand that helps care for the town horses. You're also romantically involved with most wanted man in the country.

Inclusivity tags: Reader uses he/him pronouns, refers to themself as a man, and has a penis. Some religious references, but Reader beliefs remain undefined.

Cw: Nothing crazy. No sex (this time) but is referenced. Takes place between 1850-1870 USA. You get lots of kisses. First person but NOT an oc, I promise with all my heart <3 mdni!!!

"I won' dat boy strung up and hung, ya' hear me? I say—I said, did you hear me?"

I sit on the inn proach, watching the sheriff wind up a posé of young and blood hungry men. In the deputy's hand is a wanted sign, a well created sketch of this state's most wanted criminal on the forefront of it. The name Satoru Gojo : Wanted Die or Alive is written below it with a heavy reward posted underneath.

Ten grand. A fellow like me could do a hellava lot of things with money like that. Man must have wronged Rockefeller himself to have a fortune that size on his head.

"Folk said he's was due west around midnight. We leave now and we can catch 'em in the town over come sun down." The sheriff's horse shakes its head out, eyes finding me before his human's do. "I trust you'll care for my horses, boy?"

I pull my cigarette from my lip, smoke making the corners of my eyes sting as the white rolls along my face. I toss a half assed salute his way, and he takes it for me being intoxicated and bitter, which is a fine enough response in his book. He takes his party of young and impressionables—they're all broke, jobless, looking to make a name for themselves just as we all are—and rides out of town due west.

When they're a good distance away, I finally stand and slug my way to the stables. The summer heat is killer, a sweat breaking out on my hairline when all I'm doing is walking, and I only get some reprieve when I slide into the stables. The place smells like hot animal, dry grass, piss. I do my best to shovel the horse shit, to turn the dirt and keep the hay fresh, but the stable hand before me was a poor worker and that smell had already clung to the walls long before I had any say. I make my way past the donkeys and the sweet mama mare that came in with a pretty girl on her back a week previous. No, I head for the stall in the far back that's padded up with hay and extra leather supplies.

Tugging open the door, I kick around the hay until my foot hits something softer that an old saddle. Instead of reaching in for it, I pull my leg back and kick it harder. It jumps, groaning in pain as a head of fluffy white hair pokes from the feed. The dastardly criminal, the arrogant bastard, the wickedly handsome, the Satoru Gojo wakes up from a drunken stuper, raising his torso up as he rubs it in pain.

The man has caused me more trouble than he's worth at this point. Hiding him like I do could get me strung up by my toes right beside him if we were caught because the sheriff and every other authority out there wouldn't want to hear from me that I couldn't help myself. Satoru has charm that no one man has any right to have, and he's a walking sin, one that no human has could do justice based on his wanted poster sketches.

They say the devil wanders the earth trying to lure men into sin with promises too sweet, and it's sad to say that if he were anything like Satoru, I would have followed him tripping and stumbling.

"Get up, outlaw." I lean against the stall door, watching him blink away last night's alcoholic haze. For a man as feared as he is, he sure is a light weight. It took one and a half beers to get him flushed in the face, and four to get him tripping over himself. Said something about western drinks hitting harder than the shit from his country, but I wasn't really in the mind to listen to him past that.

"What time is it?" He grunts in a heavy accent, wincing at the light that filters into the stall. He pats around the hay blindly until he finds a set of tinted spectacles to slide onto his nose. "My head... fuck." He massages the dip of his nose.

I look at my pocket watch. "Just bout 2, but I forgot to wind my watch this morning, so give or take a' hour." I wind it as we speak. "Came ta wake you 'cause the sheriff deputy justin' left to head to Bucksteel. You leave now and you could hit the river near Hacienda Nueva by tonight."

"And you?" Satoru hums, an easy smile falling on his flushed lips as he picked straw from his hair—it's funny how easy he shakes off the hangover. He blinks those eyes up at me—pretty blue things that I swear God made by taking pieces of the sky and sticking them right into his irises—like he wants something. Something I certainly can't give.

"Wh'about me? I'm not the one with a fortune on my head. I ain' got a need to run like you do, outlaw." I pull a long drag from my cigarette before pointing at him. "Just get yer ass up and move along before I get in trouble too."

He pushes himself up to his feet, gracefully masking a stumble as he closes the distance between us. I follow his movements, not budging as he slide his arms around my shoulders. I've got to anchor my head back a tad, lips brushing his as he scratches at the base of my scalp. If it were anyone else, I'd tell them to get the hell off me, the summer heat being the biggest cockblock nature could hand us. But it's not. I'd sweat until I melted into a puddle for the taste of Satoru's skin, the feel of his lips, brush of his fingers on my back.

"The road would be better if you were on it with me, you know." He mummers, slipping small chastise kisses between his words. I take the cigarette from my lips and blow the smoke down. He hates the smell of it. I drop it and stomp it out.

"'m sure." With a hand on his nape, I pull him into a proper kiss, lips meshing like they're meant to fit together. Satoru may hate the smell, but he sure loves the taste that burnt tobacco leaves on my tongue. He sucks it into his mouth before mashing our taste buds together. It's sloppy, it's heated, and a string of spit keeps us tied between every breath.

His hands wander, grabbing at my shoulders, the hard earned muscles of my arms, the softer bits of me along my sides. All of it, he's hungry for, and I can't say I'm much better. My hands gravitate to his chest, groping his pecs as the flat of my palm pushes at his nipples.

Like a fire work, it's all hot burning action, sparks glowing and making shivers run through me. But then it's gone, just the same. I make myself pull away—it hurts to ignore Satoru's confused "Ah?" as his tongue still hangs out his mouth, dripping with our mixed saliva with those half lidded eyes—hands sliding down to his waist with plans to stay there.

"Ya gotta go, 'Toru." I urge. If he doesn't, I might just forego my restraint and bend him over against the wall right this moment. Now that would really get us in trouble.

"And here I was hoping for another taste of last night." He pouts.

He'd somehow gotten me into the bar when he rode into town last evening sporting a pack full of cash and an empty stomach. He'd bought half the town drinks, to which would get any man to ignore his bounty if you drowned them in enough liquor. He'd been sweet, throwing me glances and mouthing less than appropriate things across the room as sky had turned dark. His luck would have it that the woman serving my table thought she'd been the one on the receiving end of his flirts. That'd sparked the two of them flirting, which not only stepped on my nerves but her father's too. Daddy sheriff didn't like his daughter blushing pink and pretty for the fiendish foreigner outlaw, leading me having to cover for his ass again. He ended his night sleeping in a horse stable while the sheriff and his men searched for him, maybe or maybe not after receiving a jealous dick down from myself.

I never considered myself the jealous type before, but a man has his limits. Though, it's probably a futile effort. Like pirate has a woman at every port, I'm sure I'm just sending him away to another bed warmer over in Hacienda Nueva.

"Come on now," he tugs as the sleeves of my shirt. "Do I have go and talk to what's-her-face to get you all worked up again?"

"Ya mean Lottie?" I laugh, pressing my forehead to his. "You talked to her half the night and can' even remember her name?"

"Someone fucked me so hard I forgot it." He grins back. I grip his sides harder, and he takes that as a sign to lean back in for a kiss. I peck his lips, then lift him by the waist and move him out the stall.

"A'right, lover boy. Yer losin' daylight."

"I'm losing you." He sounds upset, tone edged with a genuine ring that it rarely carries. It's hard to tell with him sometimes. I've heard him use that tone in the past just before shooting someone in the back when they decided to give him grace. There's no telling when he might turn on me after sounding so soft.

"'m not going anywhere." I huff, pulling his gelding from its stall. It's nostrils flair before it bumps its head to mine in greeting. I pat it's cheek, feeling it's newly sleek coat. The poor thing needed a sponge bath after he came with cakes of mud in his fur and his hooves in a dangerous state. Gojo is lucky I know how to handle a horse, or his would be far worse off. "And if I do, it won' be far. You'd find me."

Satoru stays quiet as I secure a saddle into the gelding's back and brush its hair from its face. I can feel his eyes on my back, then his hands around my waist before he's slotting himself against me. Huffing a sigh, I gently loosen his grip so I can turn in his hold.

"Yer thoughts 're loud, outlaw. I can hear 'em from out h're." I cup his cheek. He's got skin softer than its got any right to be, so soft I'm sure sweet Lottie would be jealous. Thumb running along his jutted out lips, I kiss it to make it slip back into place. "None of that. Quicker you go, quicker you'll be back." I assure him.

He frowns, but nods anyway, and starts to fish something from one of his saddle bags. An envelope is suddenly between us and pressed to my chest.

"For you." That frown softens. I take it and flip it open. If I didn't stop myself, half the town would have heard me hollering from the sight of a thin stack of money shoved inside. The bills are crisp and straight like they came right from the mint, or like they'd been ironed into uniform neatness. This is the most money I've ever seen in one place.

"What the hell is this, Gojo?" I hiss, shoving the envelope back to his chest. The outlaw rolls his eyes before laughing.

"Only you would get mad at a gift like that." He hums fondly, pressing a kiss to my nose. I wrinkle it, cheeks heating up at the unusual sweet treatment. "Won't you let me take care a ya'?"

"People don' "take care" of men like me. You'd do better giving this to that bar girl's daddy and begging for his forgiveness."

"Let me be the first then." He kisses my nose again, my cheek, under my ear. I doubt it's pleasant. I'm caked in sweat and dirt and tobacco stink, but he kisses me like I'm something sweeter than life and he'd do anything not to stop. It's not treatment I get often. Most look at me and see grit, all rough desert rock and room temperature whisky coated afternoons. Few ride through here wanting me, and fewer still want anything more than a warm man in their bed. Satoru continues to prove himself an ugly duck by not looking at me the same.

"If I can't pamper you on the road, I'll do it here." He hums against me neck. "When I find you next, you better be in a better town than this one, stud." He finally pulls away with a wistful smile. "Where should I find ya'?"

"I said 'm not—"

"Humor me. If I come back in a month and see you ain' here, where would you be?"

I roll my jaw, thinking over whether it's really worth telling him. Of course it is. Who wouldn't want someone out there pining for them, for the next time they'll meet.

"The west. Rumors have it there's a few gold mines popping up and word hasn't reached the east coast yet. You look for me and you'll find me in a mining town. Webber's Creek'll be yer bes' bet."

"I got it." He pecks my lips one more time before slipping his foot into a stirrup and pulling himself up by the saddle horn. I pat his thigh, and guide him to the back of the stables and out the back door. "Next time I find you, I'll have enough money to buy you that cabin and farm you wanted."

"And the three piece suit too?" I muse. He talks like the envelope in my pocket couldn't do just that.

"That too. We can stay the winter there and hide from the world." He's smiling big at that thought, and I'm ashamed to say I am too. "Maybe get a dog."

"You've got big dreams, Satoru." I still as the sun beats down on us, squinting out at the desert plains. Gojo gazes at me from atop his horse with those sparkling sky blues, and bends at the hip to lift my chin. I push up on my toes and meet him mid way in an quick, heart wretchening kiss.

"Your dreams are my dreams, stud." He whispers against my lips. My heart skips and falls, slipping down into my gut where is kicks and wriggles happily. This is a story that'll end in heartbreak, I know it. I shouldn't get so worked over a man that could be shot dead by tomorrow, and the only way I'd find out would be from the absence of his wanted posters on the saloon news board. He's bad for me, will make me sick in the end. But those honeyed words of his are just enough to keep me stuck.

"Sweet talker." I laugh, though my humor really isn't in it. Shoving him back, I take a step away. We keep near each other like that and we'll get attached at the mouth again, never to say goodbye. "Get on now, I'm getting tired of saying it."

"Sure thing." He slips off his spectacles and tugs his bandana up from his neck to cover his eyes. He tugs a wide rim black hat from his saddle pack next and secures it on his head.

"I'll be seeing you," He grins. I lean back against the stable and fish my pack of cigarettes from my pocket. I wave at him with the box in hand and unlit tobacco in my mouth.

"Either in Webber's Creek or hell, outlaw."

I stand there, watching him grab his reins and stir his gelding up and out of town. He doesn't turn back—never does—and I don't look away until he's a tiny speck getting washed away in the blurring waves of heat.

Finally, I take that envelope inside with me, and with an old brittle donkey looking over my shoulder, count out exactly how much he gave me.

Five hundred dollars, lined up in a thin, glossy row of one hundred dollar bills. It's more than I've made in the 9 years I've spent traveling, and I'm sure if I showed this to my ruddy cheeked sixteen year old self, he'd faint. Satoru meant it when he said he wanted me out of this dead-end town, because if anyone here found I was carrying cash like this, they'd beat and rob me on the spot. Now I really have to leave, maybe find a bank that can break all of this down into smaller bills for me.

I sigh and look over my shoulder at Daisy the donkey. "How far you reckon you could take me on those legs of yours?" The old girl blinks slowly, clueless.

I'll have to go and steal a horse then since there's no ranch within a few miles of here. My palm rubs into my eye until I'm seeing colours. Give it to Satoru for turning a series of flings into an entire new journey for me. He's got me whipped past saving, and I can't help but think again that Satoru Gojo is far more trouble than what he's worth.

An: chapter 2 is written and will star Nanami, Yuuji, and a secret third person. Will publish... eventually...

[iliketangerines]

Hi! I don't know if u take requests but I'd love to see smut for professor!johnny cage x student!reader (legal), anyways love your work ! <3

no one needs to know

a/n: i gotchu snookums, had this marinating in my head for a couple hours. i'm never letting down the fact that his last name is carlton canonically, and yes i am referencing that one mod skin of his.

pairing: dom!professor!johnny cage x afab!student!reader

warnings: nsfw (MDNI), power imbalance, blowjobs, pussy eating, fingerfucking, praise kink, humiliation kink

you’re failing Dr. Carlton’s class on physics, but you’re a senior in your final semester, and your scholarship money doesn’t cover past the allotted four years

you’ve done everything you can possibly think of: going to UTA hours, going to TA hours, going to study sessions in the library, making your own study groups

everything except going and making an appointment with the professor himself

you weren’t going to lie, he was attractive, and you and your friends have gushed a few times about how he hot he is

and you’ve most definitely stared at his veiny arms for far too long in the class and the gray streaks in his hair just seem to make him hotter than he already is

but he was your professor

but you’re also failing your class, and you’re desperate to figure out why all your tests are marked in red, and so you make an appointment with Dr. Carlton to go over your homework

you arrive, and you raise a shaky hand to knock at his door

he tells you come in, and you crack the door open; he’s got his button-up shirt sleeves rolled up to give a perfect view of his thick forearms and you calm yourself

you enter and close the door behind you and sit down in the chair in front of his office

the room is full of memorabilia: posters of movies hung up on every corner and photos of his friends pinned up to the walls, and wow apparently like attracts like because all of his friends are attractive

concentrating back on the task at hand because maybe you stare a little too long at the photos of him and his friends, you pull out your homework from your backpack and ask him, Dr. Car-

but he interrupts and tells you call him Johnny and flashes you a bright smile, and you nearly melt in your seat

but you soldier on, and start going over your homework with Dr-sorry Johnny, and he comes over to sit next to you and leans in close to figure out what you’re doing wrong

you’re nearly dizzy with how close he is, how he smells like expensive cologne, but you continue and rub your thighs together subtly to try and alleviate the pressure on your clit

if Johnny notices, he doesn’t say anything, just points at the paper and tells you exactly where you went wrong in your equation and running his fingers through his hair

halfway into the office hour, you’re nearly a teary mess: you can’t seem to get anything right, and you want to drop out of his class

you technically didn’t need his class, but you thought it would be fun to get a physics minor but the add/drop date had passed and you’re about to cry in your professor’s office

Johnny sighs and leans back, saying that he’s not sure you’re going to pass the class, and you nearly drop to your knees to beg, that you’ll do anything to pass his class

instead, you just let out a quiet ‘oh’ and start packing up your things to leave and go and eat a tub of ice-cream and cry until you can’t see

he puts a warm hand on your thigh, and you freeze, a hot flush spreading over your face as you realize how big his hand is compared to your thigh

he says there is something that you can do to improve your grades, he raises an eyebrow up at you, eying your figure up and down

you suddenly feel conscious of what you look like, dressed in a baggy t-shirt and a knee-length skirt, but he leans back in his seat next to you, spreading his thighs and tells you that you’re smart and you can figure out what he wants

you tremble in your seat at what he’s implying but put your stuff back down and kneel down on the floor in between his legs, mouth beginning to salivate at the thought

you say you’ve never done this before in a quiet voice, but he just stares down at you and says that’s okay, a small smirk on his face, and that he’ll help you

you unbuckle him with shaky hands and pull down his pants to reveal his cock

he’s only half-hard but you’re already nervous at at how big he is

you pump him to full hardness, and he’s biting his lip and wrapping his hands around yours to show him how to give the tip extra attention and to give consistent strokes

eventually, you lean your head forward and give his the tip of his dick a test kiss, and you feel his cock twitch in your hands

so you keep giving his cock little kitten licks and listen to his breathing get more uneven

eventually, he grows tired and tells you to take the tip of his dick in your mouth and to mind your teeth

you listen to him and he groans at the sight of your lips stretching around his girth

he gently guides your head up and down his dick, relishing in how warm and wet your mouth is, and you’re focused on how his heavy cock feels on your tongue

he starts guiding you lower and lower until the tip hits the back of your throat, and you pull back, gagging and coughing as you try to get some air in your lungs

he’s patient, waiting for your coughing fit to pass before he tells you to try again, to breathe through your nose this time

your face is red, but you obey and try again, going slow and breathing through your nose as you take him deep into your throat

you’ve started to rub your thighs together, hoping for some friction, and you dip your fingers into your panties to relieve some of the tension

he notices this and laughs, saying how you’re such a dirty whore for enjoying this

you whine around his dick, and the vibrations have him biting his lip and letting out a low moan

he lets you bob your head up and down his cock slowly, and you pump your hand around what doesn’t fit in your mouth

after a while, he pulls your head off of his dick, and tells you to stick your tongue out while pumping his dick hard and fast

you do so, and he groans at the sight of you so compliant and submissive and cums all over your face

a couple spurts land on your tongue and once he’s done cumming, watching your face intently, you swallow the small amount that you can, and Johnny groans and drags you to your feet

he props you up on his desk and stands in between your legs so that you’re forced to spread your thighs wide for him

he flips your skirt up and laughs at the cute pattern you have on your panties, and you blush, turning your head to the side

he grabs your chin and orders you to keep looking at him, and then he gets onto his own knees and rubs at your pussy through the fabric of your panties

you whimper and clench around nothing, and he chuckles at your reaction before leaning into your pussy and licking at your clit

he eats your pussy through the fabric, lapping at you desperately while you grind your hips into his face

finally, he pulls your panties to the side and sucks on your clit while pushing one of his fingers into your cunt

your hips buck up but one of his arms keeps your body still, and he just hums around your clit

you whimper at the sensation, resisting the urge to throw your head back as he watches you bite your lip to try and keep the volume to a minimum

his finger was thick, much thicker than your own, and you wonder distantly how he’s going to fit his cock inside of you

Johnny just continues to lap at your clit, pumping his finger in and out of you before adding another

he pokes and prods at your insides, until he crooks his fingers just right and you let out a loud whine at the sensation

his eyes brighten, and he fucks his fingers ruthlessly into that spot, sucking and flicking your clit like a mad man as you can barely hold your thoughts together

your face burns red as he maintains eye contact with you, but when he winks at you, you go over the edge and cum all over his fingers

it feels like it lasts forever as he fingerfucks you through your orgasm, but eventually the high fizzles out, and you’re panting like you’ve just ran a marathon

he removes his fingers from your slick pussy, an obscene squelching sound as he does so, and stands up so his cock grinds into your folds, and he places his wet fingers on your lips

you open your lips, and he puts his fingers in your mouth, and you suck on them, whining again as you feel yourself leaking wetness onto his desk

Johnny smiles at you and reaches behind you with his other hand and pulls out a condom from his desk drawer and puts it on

you think through fuzzy thoughts if he had prepared for this beforehand, but before you can give much more though, he presses his fingers down on your tongue, and your mind goes blank

he slips on the condom and rubs his dick over your pussy a few more times before slowly sliding in inch by inch

you both groan at the contact, and Johnny squeezes his eyes shut

he’s never had a pussy so tight and wet in his life, and he’s only holding onto a thread of control

you, on the other hand, are panting, tears pricking at your eyes at the stretch

you’ve fucked yourself on toys before, yes, but none of them were quite as thick as Johnny and you can’t help but whimper in pain and pleasure as he finally bottoms out

he thrusts into you slowly, letting you adjust to the thickness, and before long you’re a whimpering mess on the table

he removes his fingers from your mouth, a string of saliva still connecting the two, and uses his soaked fingers to rub at your clit

you yelp at the contact, still sensitive from his tongue earlier, but he just shushes you, telling you he can’t have the others hear him

and so the only sounds in the room is the wet slap of his hips against yours and your quiet whimpers and his sparse grunts

he’s whispering things into your ear the whole time, how you’re doing so well for him, how pretty you looked on your knees for him, that you’d be better at cocksucking than getting a diploma

your pussy clenches around his cock at his words and your face grows warm at the thought of only being a fuck toy for him, not having to think and only bring a dumb slut for him

Johnny keeps on talking, thrusts getting sloppy and rough as he loses control and gets close to cumming

when he leans into you, lips smashing against yours, you cum on his cock, a loud whine that he muffles with his lips as he cums into his condom

he continues to thrust in and out of you after you’re both done cumming, lips never leaving yours as he kisses you greedily

finally, he pulls away from you and wishes he could take a picture of how you look: dazed and fucked-out

he pulls out of you and ties off the condom and throws it into the trash and pulls some wet wipes out of the drawer to wipe you and himself down

when he’s down cleaning you up, it looks like nothing has happened except for the fact that both of your lips are swollen and red

as you pick up your bag to leave, he gives you one last kiss, squeezing your ass, telling you to expect a bump in your grades and how often to meet him

then, he leans down to your ear and tells you how he saw you drooling at the pictures of his friends earlier and maybe he’ll let them have a piece of you too

you shiver and nod, and he gives you a smack on the ass as you leave, a promise for what’s to come in the future

[dronebiscuitbat]

Hi! I have something new to show you guys.

Oil is Thicker Then Blood is my baby, and it's not ending. There's still more I wanna write and explore.

However, I haven't tried my hand at a human AU yet, and I wanted to, it's gonna be a side work, so probably not updated as often, but I hope you all enjoy it regardless. Since I had fun writing the first chapter! (Is rated as Mature! So nothings being held back here. It's pretty adult and pretty dark.)

Give me a Reason: Chapter 1- "Uzi Doorman"

Pale morning light bounced off blackout curtains not quite pulled tight enough to keep it at bay, the small tendrils of light broke through, drawing shapes of light on a deep purple blanket, bunched and tousled by a fitful sleep. A small body lay halfway off the bed, fair skin exposed to the bedroom air, eyes screwed shut and drool pooling out of their open mouth, a frame of violently purple hair rested of their head, the natural black only showing through at it's roots.

A soft snoring was the only sound in the dimly lit room, stuffed full of band merch, anime posters, and a touch of macabre, a fake human skull on their desk, a dreamcatcher in the shape of a pentagram hung on the wall, and purple L.E.Ds were spread like a vine growth, draped over everything, painting everything in a soft violet glow.

There were clothes and papers littered all over the carpeted floor, far more then could be accumulated in just one night of neglect, instead being a sign of something more chronic, the snoring continued, filling the space

Then, in an eruption of noise, the phone lying next to the mattress rung out it's morning tune, an 8 bit rendition of an anime opening that while may have been fun to listen to at some point, it's use as an alarm had made it's charm rapidly shift to hatred.

The body jolted awake, muscles all tensing at once as a very loud grunt escaped their mouth, they stretched and fumbled their way to grab the phone, missing several times before bringing it close to their face and quickly silencing the alarm.

“Uuuuuuggggghhhh.” A disgruntled cry left their mouth, and moth their arms ended up above thier head as the gazed at the ceiling in retrospection, wearing a black pair of boyshorts and a tee with a faded, nondescript band printed on the front. They looked at their phone, eyes a deep magenta as they squinted, looking at the time.

It was 6:30 in the morning, too early, in this person's opinion as they rolled their eyes before rolling over entirely before facing the black, grey wall.

“Uzi! Get up! You have school!” A voice called from behind her bedroom door, Uzi sighed deeply, nibbling on her lip as she tried to find the energy to get up and get ready.

She found it difficult to find, forcing her brain to send the correct signal to her arms and legs was like trying to pull teeth, but eventually, after much forcefull squirming she finally managed to sit up, her joints groaning in a way that shouldn't be normal for someone who's only 19.

She stood, groggy and irritated though what else was new. At a resounding 4,8. She yawned, scratching her head and only made her already impressive bed head look like a tangle of briars.

“I'm up!” She yelled through her door, voice montone despite her volume, while she heard no response, she seemed satisfied she'd been heard, and stepped over the mess on the floor to her closet, where she quickly picked out shorts, a purple tank top, and a hoodie made by one of her favorite bands “Dead Batteries.”

She was lucky to have a bathroom connected to her bedroom, so she made her way to it, stepping over more junk to take a shower for the first time in like 3 days, she hadn't been stopped by anything, not really, it had just been not worth the effort when she had nowhere to be.

She washed herself and her hair, causing just a little bit of the dye to come out in her hands, staining them pink, she rolled her eyes, oh well, she wasn't going to be making a good impression anyway, everyone already knew who she was.

She got dressed, throwing on her purple socks, boots, and beanie before walking out into the combined kitchen and living room of her house, her father, Khan, a bald man with a mustache, steely grey eyes, and age lines on his face was making breakfast, eggs, bacon, with a side of toast.

“Good morning! I made breakfast!” His voice was naturally deep, but right now it was loud and booming and immediately made Uzi wince at it's intensity.

“Thanks.” She offered quietly, sitting down and eating absent-mindedly as she looked over a the television they had mounted on the wall in the kitchen, it was turned to the news, and Uzi had to surpress another eye roll.

More Prostests at the JCJenson head office today, the popular technology company facing heated backlash after it announced a campaign to delve more into their recent exploration into artificial intelligence, despite the recent controversy after a government sting operation found human brain scans within thier internal documents.

“Dad, please watch something other then the news. It's nothing but rage-bait.” She hummed with egg still in her mouth, Khan didn't seem to pay any mind to his daughter however, as he was too focused on the television.

“Don't talk with your mouth fill honey.” Was all he said, and Uzi closed her mouth, breaking her eyes from the screen onto a new one, her phone, where she scrolled through pictures her classmates had posted over the summer.

Her eyes landed on a picture of Lizzy, self-proclaimed “Queen of Mean.” Of Copper High, though Uzi had to agree, the girl was always doing her best to make Uzi's life a living hell, this picture only continued that. Lizzy was pretty, gorgeous even, with her immaculate blonde hair and strangely florescent pink eyes, she was skinny, yet muscular from being on the cheer team. And the two peice pink bikini showed off her figure even more.

Uzi would think she was hot, if she wasn't such a bitch.

She only half finished her breakfast, scraping the rest of it into the cats, Salem's, bowl, who purred and danced around her legs in thanks, Uzi scratched the black cat's head, before finding her backpack by the door and slipping it on, it was faded, and while it used to have two cute little bat wings they'd since been torn off, leaving two little black scars where the wings should have been running down the face of it. It was whatever, it was just a backpack.

“I'm headed to school!”

Khan was still too busy looking at the TV, but Uzi left anyway, sighing to herself as she put black earbuds in her ears to listen to nightcore as she walked to school.

Her pace was slow, she was in truly no rush to get to her destination anytime soon, or really, at all, if she could get away with it, she'd simply ditch and then buy some mushrooms off Sam, her kinda freind/dealer. But she couldn't, not now. There was a reason she was still in high school at 19, that being one of them.

So she grit her teeth and bared it, stopping to stare at the school building, being a classic, flat roofed high-school made of red brick and tears before heading inside.

She wasn't late, couldn't be late. With her guidance counselor breathing liquor fumes down her neck about her attendance and very thin ice she was on with the rest of the schoolboard, so she at least attempted the bare minimum of being on time, and actually showing up.

She only had one more year of this anyway. Though west she planned to do after was up for debate. Probably somewhere between homeless and prison if what the police told her dad was true. Which it was.

She knew her homeroom, it was the same as last year, but her saving grace was that Lizzy and her best friend Doll wouldn't be here this year, as they had already graduated. So no more getting shoved into lockers and being blamed for shit she didn't do.

She did plenty already to get her in trouble, she didn’t need help, thank you.

She expertly weaved her way between the tall, sweaty high schoolers and walked onto her homeroom, Mr. Brown was sitting at his desk, looking over his itty bitty glasses to read the newspaper.

Who the fuck read newspapers in the year 2024? This dumbass man, apparently.

“Uzi. Didn't expect to see you again this year.” He said before she had a chance to sit down somewhere, she looked at him blanky.

“Bite me Mr. Brown, you know damn well why I'm here.” She snapped back, knowing that he knew why she was back, it had been him that had caught her high in class, and him that decided to call the on campus police on her, and got her suspended, and was the one that got her held back a year.

Granted, she was the one high, but if you thought she was going to take credit for her own behavior then you haven't been paying attention very well, now have you?

“And with that attitude, you'll likely be back next year.” He still didn't feel the need to look at her, taking a sip of his coffee instead, she felt a feral hiss claw its way out of her throat, but chose to just sit down, though she slammed her backpack down a little hard.

The room steadily filled in with students, a few she recognized from the year below her last year, a few more she didn't, most didn't pay her any mind which she preferred over the other options, the attention she got was usually negative.

A very tall figure caught her attention, someone she really didn't recognize, because she would have definitely remembered them. They were male presenting, had a shock of decently long platinum blond hair that went down to his shoulders. His eyes were amber, though so bright they were almost golden, and honestly, he looked like he was about to hurl.

His hands tapped together in what was obvious to Uzi as some type of self-regulatory behavior, and he looked to be trembling with anxiety, eyes scanning over the mostly filled room. They made eye contact.

A wide, sunny smile broke onto his face, she felt as though she was almost flashbanged by it, she blinked before she turned away from him, she really hoped that he wasn't in her class and was just lost, because she had a feeling she'd have to find some way to ditch this kid if he did.

“Nathaniel, go sit down, you're in the right class.” Mr. Brown spoke up, and Uzi quickly looked around at the empty seats, only to realize the only two were near her, the one in front, and directly beside her.

Fuck.

He found the seat next to her, making her curse a few more times internally, he looked around again, either trying to see if he knew anybody or maybe catch anyone else's eyes to speak to.

Before he turned back to her with another massive ass smile.

Double Fuck.

“Hi, I'm Nathaniel, but you can just call me N.” His voice was just as bright as his smile and Uzi kinda just wanted to keel over and die rather then interact with him, Jesus, he was like a walking sunbeam.

“Uh, Uzi.” She replied in a noncommittal fashion, though the one letter nickname intrigued her just a little bit, it reminded her of anime.

“Oh, like the submachine gun?” He cocked his head curiously, still smiling, Uzi didn't even really want to look at him, but she was appreciative that he knew that. Her mom had been really into guns, what can she say?

“Yeah.” She replied simply, giving him nothing to work with in terms of more conversation, not her fault, she hated small talk and eye contact, both of which he was trying to initiate.

“Oh, um sorry, I just recently moved here, I don't know anyone, I can stop talking if you want.” He suddenly turned sheepish, and he was doing the tapping thing with his hands again, Uzi almost winced, as much as she didn't exactly want to talk to him, he suddenly looked too much like a kicked puppy, and it was wearing on what little empathy she had left.

“Nah, I just don't talk much… you can keep talking.” She offered, she could at least do that right? Let him talk without the expectation of her responding? Yeah, that was fine, he was probably in just her homeroom anyway, and once he met some more people, he wouldn't talk to her anymore.

“Oh! Uh okay!” He glanced around again, before focusing back on her.

“I like your piercings! They look cool!” Uzi looked surprised for a moment, she didn't remember putting in piercings this morning, but she felt her ears and sure enough the two black studs and the small gauge were there. Oh right, she hadn't bothered taking them out.

“Thank you?” She really didn't know how to respond to that, she never really got compliments ever, especially not about her piercings, most people just told her they looked “unbecoming.” or “god awful.”

“You're welcome!”

“Morning class.” Mr. Brown began, standing up and addressing his class from the front of the room, N immediately turned his attention to him, making Uzi have a sigh of relief internally.

“I'll be passing out your schedules, make sure you read it and memorize it, most of you already know the layout of the school, so there's no excuse to be late to your classes.” He was always monotone, which was unfortunate because he normally taught history, making an already boring subject even more boring.

Uzi picked up her phone again, putting one of her earbuds in, on the side opposite to the one N was on, so he could still talk if he wanted, and began a scroll through Tumblr, there wasn't really anything new, but it was something to do with her hands, so that was something.

“Hey, uh… wanna see if we have any classes together?” N was turned towards her again, holding his schedule in front of him and again looking a little nervous.

Uzi groaned, not out loud, but internally, she wasn't creeped out, she knew what guys were like when they were being creepy, and this wasn't it, but he was being so friendly, it was putting her off, people weren't this friendly, not for no reason. She just couldn't understand what his was yet.

Next ->

[bqstqnbruin]

Quinn Hughes Teacher AU

Hi hello I wrote a teacher AU with Quinn where this can go one of three ways: 1. this becomes a series with Quinn and Cat and we watch that happen 2. I do it where it's a different player and FMC in a teacher AU universe type of thing or 3. nothing comes of this besides this one thing

Anyway, it's nearly 1:30 am after my best friend's wedding weekend so this is being yeeted into the wild. @nicohischier I finally gave you something with a happy ending, so happy belated birthday (please let this be enough 😭)

Teacher AU series

Warnings: None

WC: 1268

________________________________

“Mr. Hughes?” Quinn hears while he’s packing up his bag for the day. He looks up from his desk, one of his students standing under the frame of the doorway, one of the posters he had hung above it just last week already starting to come down. 

“Um,” he hesitates, trying to hide the fact that he didn’t really remember which of his students this was as she walked slowly into his room. She leaned against the desk, a nervous look on her face. Join the club, kid. “Sarah, right?”

She grimaces ever so slightly, trying not to look offended. “Sienna.”

Quinn sighs, shaking his head. “Sorry, Sienna. Still trying to get names down,” he lets out a nervous laugh, Sienna just nodding her head slowly. “What can I do for you?” 

“Can we go over the quiz I took today? I don’t think I did well.”

He had to try to stifle the laugh. She had to have been in the class that took the quiz that morning. There was no way those quizzes were going to be graded before tomorrow. Quinn checks his watch, finding the stack of quizzes on his desk and stuffing them in his backpack along with his laptop. “I actually need to head out for a meeting, but can you come back tomorrow?” Sienna nods her head, a smile on her face as she says goodbye to him. 

Quinn let out a sigh, plopping down on his seat and covering his face. Today was unreasonably long, only one free period on his schedule as it is getting tied up with him trying to figure out what his ‘year long goals’ were. The only thing he could think of was to survive his first year of teaching. Thankfully, Kate helped him figure out a way to say that in a way that would please admin, but he never thought doing that would exhaust him the way he did. 

He makes his way to the faculty meeting, some of the teachers still lingering outside the library talking. He couldn’t wait until the day he was able to not stress about a meeting the way they did, leaning against the wall with what was probably a third or fourth cup of coffee as if they didn’t need to be inside. 

The powerpoint was already being projected on the screen when he walked in, almost every seat already taken at the tables the students normally used during the day. One of the only seats he saw open was next to the one person he was too nervous to sit next to: Cat Mathis. She taught in his department, had already been there teaching for a few years even though she was younger than him, and not only did he catch on to the fact that the students loved her, but that she was the kind of teacher he wished he could be. They were supposed to be sharing a class together, him teaching one of the four sections while she got the other three, but he had been too scared to ask her for help. 

“Is anyone sitting here?” He asks, his hand resting on the back of the chair next to her. She looks up from her computer, the school letterhead on her screen that one of the other teachers told him was for letters of recommendations for seniors, and smiles at him. She tells him to go ahead, his legs shaking with nerves like they did back on the first day of school. 

The meeting starts, Quinn looking around and seeing some of the other teachers taking notes, making him nervous that he should be doing the same. He looks at Cat’s computer, her gaze fixated on the screen in front of her and not on the meeting. If she could do that, why couldn’t he do the same? He pulls out his computer, figuring he could do some work while he was at it, including trying to figure out what he was supposed to be teaching when his students came in the next morning. 

A message pops up on the corner of the screen, Cat’s name appearing with it. How’ve the first few weeks been?

He lets out a sigh, trying to hide the smile that he was fighting against on his face. Exhausting.

Sounds right. Everything going ok? He knew she could see him hesitate, Quinn seeing the smile on her face turning into a worried look out of the corner of his eye. I have to head back to my room after this, come with me?

Quinn looks at her, a genuine smile on his face as he nods at her. His mind wandered the rest of the meeting, not taking in a single piece of information that he probably was going to need later. It ended before he could realize the hours was up, Cat gently resting her hand on his shoulder to snap him out of the trance he had fallen into.

They walk back in silence to her classroom on the other side of the building. Cat sits down at her desk, Quinn awkwardly standing by the door while looking up at her walls. The two of them had a lot of the same posters hanging, which made sense when he considers the fact that they teach the same thing. 

“So,” Cat breaks the silence, causing him to jump. He tries to pass it off as putting his bag down, the smirk on Cat’s face telling him she saw right through him. “What’s been going on?”

Quinn shakes his head. He felt like he barely had time to process most of the first few weeks of the school year, answering that question felt impossible. “Is it always going to be this hard?”

Cat smiles at him again, a warm feeling running through Quinn as she shakes her head. “No, you’re just finding who you are as a teacher.” Quinn cocks his eyebrow at her, leading her to laugh. “I sound like that shitty PD person from in-service. But, I’m not wrong. When I first started, Kate told me that my first year is meant for mistakes. It’s meant for finding how you want to teach, what you want to emphasize, and working out what is the best for you and your students.”

Quinn nods, sitting down. He stares at Cat for a moment, studying her face. God, she made him nervous. “You know the handbook, pretty well, right?”

Cat nods. “The AP my first year made all the new teachers practically memorize it.” 

He could feel himself getting even more nervous. “What does it say about teachers dating?”

“Each other?” He nods again, getting up and grabbing his bag. If this went the way he thought it was going to go, he needed to be able to leave as soon as possible. He could see the corners of her mouth turn up for a moment, his heart racing as he over thought that as a good sign. “As long as one isn’t in a position of power and it doesn’t interfere with their work, teachers dating each other is fine.”

“So, in theory, we could date?” 

Cat nods, biting her lip. “If we both wanted to, yes.” 

“I want to,” Quinn says, a little too fast for his liking. “If you do.”

Cat lets out another laugh. “Mr. Hughes, is this your way of asking me out?”

Quinn drops his head, feeling his cheeks getting red. “It’s going about as well as my lessons, but yes, Ms. Mathis, I’m trying to.” 

“I’d love to go out with you.”

[no-phrogs-in-hats]

Baby Steps Part 1

Larissa Weems x fem!reader

Summary: Larissa and reader begin their journey to becoming parents

Warnings: Needles, pregnancy, mentions of PCOS (PCOS girlies unite), blood

A/N: Okay, so a lot of you wanted me to write a Larissa x pregnant!reader and I've decided to make this a tiny series. I was gonna make it a tiny continuation of If I Could Turn Back Time, but I forgot in the epilogue that they adopted a student so oh well. Tiny Larissa x reader series! Also I know I could've just had Larissa shapeshift a dick, but I'm not up for writing that.

Also lmk if you wanna be tagged in the next part<3

Read Part 2 here

It was in the dark of your bedroom that you whispered her name, “Larissa?”

“Hm?”

You felt her arms tighten around your waist. “What do you think about…children?”

“Children?” She sat up and leaned over you. “Well, I think I have to like them since I’m the principal of a school.”

You sighed, smiling softly as she pecked you on the lips. “That’s not what I meant. I mean…a…family. What do you think about a–starting a…family…?”

Your heart began to race. It had been on your mind for months and all you were waiting for was the courage to bring up the topic. You were anticipating Larissa’s reaction, every scenario in your head ending with the phrase, “Maybe we should get a divorce.”

But, instead, when she laid back down behind you and pulled you into her embrace, she placed a kiss on your neck and smiled. “I would love nothing more, my darling.”

Larissa held your hand as you sat on the table at the doctors office. The sterile white paper underneath you crinkled with every move you made. 

“The doctor should be in shortly,” the scribe said, smiling before tossing her gloves out and leaving the room. 

Your eyes wandered the room, noting the diagrams and pieces of maternity art that hung on the beige walls. You giggled as you watched Larissa blow into a latex glove before letting it go and watching it fly around the room. You sobered up immediately when a soft knock on the door was heard.

“Hi!” The door opened and a short woman with frizzy hair walked in. “I’m Dr. Curan. It’s lovely to meet you.” She took a seat on the rolling stool in front of the computer, opening your file on it and skimming through it. “So, I see that you’re here for an evaluation.”

“Yeah, we’ve decided to, uhh…start a family. But, as you can see,” you said, gesturing between yourself and Larissa, “we kind of need help with that.”

The doctor smiled. “Well I can help you with that. Were you thinking in vitro? Intrauterine?”

“Intrauterine,” you answer. “Of course, though, in vitro is okay if it’s necessary.”

“Okay! So, the first thing we’re gonna have to do for intrauterine–or artificial insemination, whichever one you wanna call it–is a fertility test.” Dr. Curan looked over your chart once again. “I can see in your chart here that you do have PCOS, so that can affect your fertility. Other than that, you’re healthy and you’re young, so my hopes are high for this.”

“And what does the test consist of?” you heard Larissa ask.

“Part of it will be a blood test,” the doctor said. “This one will measure two hormone levels. The first is the follicle-stimulating hormone. Its main job is to control the growth of eggs in your ovaries. And the second hormone is anti-mullerian. It’s produced by the follicles themselves and the more anti-mullerian you have, the more eggs you’re probably going to have.”

“And the other part?” you asked.

“The other part will be the antral follicle count,” Dr. Curan explained. “It’ll be performed by a transvaginal ultrasound. Basically, we’ll count how many follicles are in your ovaries. And, after that, we’ll go over the treatment plan.”

Waiting for the sonographer, you laid on your back with your feet in stirrups. You watched as Larissa, with arms folded in front of her, looked closely at a framed poster with fun facts about the female anatomy.

“Did you know this?” she gawked. “Prehistoric females had an average of fifty periods in their lifetime! And the average woman will use 11,000 tampons in her life! That’s bonkers!” She looked back at you, meeting your surprised look before turning back around to continue reading. “Oh, look at this! A contraction can give a force that equates to roughly 1,938 kilograms of pressure! That’s 4,272 pounds! Women’s breasts can grow up to three cup sizes while pregnant! Their blood volume increases by fifty percent and their heart can grow bigger because of that! This is incredible! I can’t believe I never knew some of these!” 

“Larissa,” you huff, “you need to stop reading these off to me, otherwise I’ll schedule a tubal ligation instead of an intrauterine insemination.”

She pursed her lips and smiled at you before walking over and taking your hand. Larissa leaned down and placed a kiss on your lips, “Oh, you’ll be fine, darling.”

Standing at the sink, you watched out the window as your hands worked idly, scrubbing away at dirty pots and pans. You were lost in your thoughts when you felt a presence behind you. Arms wrapped around your waist and you gasped as hands slid to your hips and lips skimmed over your neck.

Low groans from Larissa vibrated over your throat as she kissed and nipped at the exposed skin. “It’s seven o’clock. Maybe you should put a hold on the dishes.”

“Maybe you should be patient,” you retorted. “A few more minutes won’t make a difference.”

Larissa hummed, “Talking back? You know, Christmas is coming up next month. I’d hate for you to end up on the naughty list…”

“Have any punishments in mind?” you quipped. 

You could feel her heavy breath on your neck as her hands wandered more. Down to your ass, up to your waist, over to your breast. “So, so many,” she murmured into your ear. 

You could feel one of her hands keep you steady as the other one retreated from your body. They returned shortly and one of them pulled your shirt up over your belly. “And–Ow!” 

A sharp pain in your lower abdomen caused you to jolt, and after five seconds Larissa stepped away. You glared at her as she giggled to herself and recapped the needle on the pen. She pressed a kiss to your cheek, “Just think about our future child. When you’re done here, I’ll be in the bedroom…waiting for you.”

Later that night, beneath the warm comforter and cold air, your naked bodies, slick with sweat, were locked in a tight embrace.

“Maybe we could ask Vlad,” you giggled.

Larissa laughed and tightened her arms around your waist, pulling you closer. “Vlad? Really?”

“Mhm,” you joked. “He’s good looking. He’s athletic. He’s European. He’s the whole package, Larissa.”

“How about we choose someone from the donor list,” Larissa suggested.

You sighed, “Fine. As long as they’re attractive. I don’t want an ugly kid.”

“You are ridiculous.”

Your leg bounced up and down as you sat with Larissa in the waiting room. 

“What if it’s negative?” you ramble. “What if we’ve done all of this stuff for nothing?”

Larissa’s hand went to your knee, squeezing it lightly to calm your fidgeting. “Then we’ll do it again if you want. Darling, you’re young. You’re healthy. We have plenty of time. And if you no longer want to do it, there are other options.”

When your name was called, Larissa took your hand and walked with you into the room. She sat beside you as you had your blood drawn, talking about names and if the baby would have powers like you, what color to paint the nursery and if you should start looking for a bigger house.

The phlebotomist stood up after bandaging your arm. “Alright, whenever you’re ready, you’re all set. Let me know if you feel dizzy or lightheaded and I’ll get you some juice. It’s a Friday, so you should expect the results in your chart on Monday or Tuesday, and if you haven’t by Wednesday, feel free to give us a call.”

Monday morning, your heart was racing. Your anxieties would be cured sometime that day–to be replaced with elation or disappointment. When? You didn’t know. And you hated it. The entire day moved at a snail’s pace. You could hardly focus while teaching and kept checking your phone every time it buzzed. This happened so many times, in fact, that you had to silence it altogether. 

At lunch, you checked your phone again, but to no avail. It was during the last class of the day that you were sitting at your desk and grading papers while the students had free time that the buzz of your phone made you almost sick with anticipation.

New message: ‘Hello! You have one (1) new test result waiting in your chart. Questions? Call (802)44…’

You thought the bell would never ring. However, when it did, and your students flooded out of the room, you followed suit with your phone in hand. Rushing up the stairs, you had made it to Larissa’s office in record timing. You knocked quietly on the door and when you heard a faint voice beckoning you to enter, you did.

“How was your day?” Larissa smiled as she put away files in a desk drawer .

“Long,” you sighed, giving her a peck on the lips before sitting down. “But, I got an interesting message…The test results are available.”

Larissa froze. “What are you doing? Open it!”

“But, what if it’s negative?” you said.

She took your hand in hers, eyes softening and her voice lowering. “My darling, if it’s negative, it isn’t the end of the world. Like I said a couple weeks ago, this isn’t our only option.”

“Right…” You took a deep breath and sighed. “Well, here we go.”

You unlocked your phone and opened your online patient portal. The words at the top of the screen make your insides turn.

One (1) new test result!

You tapped on them. 

Lab results - Blood

Pregnancy

Result:

Positive

[agoraphobic-artist]

Kuro shit <3

A parcel of Japanese items recently arrived and these are specifically the Black Butler items from my haul.

The first item is a double sided mini poster. Absolutely loved the art by Yana; I almost managed to snag the separate images as collectable cards but it wasn't meant to be, so I settled for this version instead. I don't mind to much though as on the flip side is this adorable doodle of them travelling.

Had to pick these cuties up! I only have a couple of items for Soma and Agni in my collection, since they hardly have any merch. These are from a line of keychains marketed for "Book of Circus", they originally came on a cardboard backing that could be folded out to display them but unfortunately it had aged poorly so they will be hung elsewhere.

I came across this sealed Funtom Cafe Tea tin by accident when perusing for something else entirely. I had seen similar shadow outline designs used on previous merchandise but not this particular piece.

I am so glad that the tea inside expired in 2018, because this meant that it was no longer a consumable food product and could be sent from Japan to the UK.

Also, had to just mention how the seller had packaged this up. The tin was bubble wrapped up and sealed with London themed washi tape and inside was a little hand written note... Very cute.

I don't know why but I had completely forgotten to buy this coaster when I ordered the other one of him!? It is Diedrich... Enough said....

I also purchased this amazing "Wall Bang/Kabe-don" G-FANTASY Poster of Sebastian Michaelis.

How could I not?

The edges of the poster are uneven from where his original owner removed him from the magazine, but once I have fixed that he will be ready to get situated into a frame.

Finally, I have the Kuroshitsuji Black Label Night Garden Perfume!

I had been searching for this item for a long time. Previously, I was either unwilling to pay the hefty price tag or I was told due to its nature that it could not be shipped overseas to me.

I will post about it in more detail separately but it is stunning and arrived in New condition, and with zero international shipping problems.

Not part of the Japanese Proxy shipment but just wanted to draw attention to @questtneo's Etsy.

Absolutely amazing seller and gorgeous artwork. Please show them some support <3

I ordered the "CaroCiel Print"

(I don't know if it was intentional but it reminds me alot of the "Artfx J statue", with Phantomhive atop his Chess Knight horse.)

And I bought both the Ciel and Sebastian from their coffin shaped pin selection as well.

[highvern]

Track 3: Cyber Sex - Doja Cat

“We freak on the cam, love at first sight, just a link to the 'Gram”

Pairing: Jeong Yunho x reader

Genre: Smut, 18+

Warnings: camgirl!reader, whipped/loser!yunho, flirting, strip tease, cyber sex, butt plug, sir kink

Length: ~900

Note: finally finished. hate it! next is yeo and idk when it'll be posted

Like, comment, reblog, enjoy!

Mixtape Series: Late Nights Masterlist

main masterlist

Connecting imurangel with uknowme…

The black screen buffers into a dark bedroom. Or what you imagine is a bedroom given the layout; posters haphazardly hung on the walls, a basket of laundry off in the background. All warmed with a soft glow of the lamp resting on the bed side table just in the corner of view.

“Hi,” you smile at the camera, observing the man illuminating your screen.

He’s cute. Much cuter than you expected. The few times you auctioned off a private show like tonight you’d been met with men old enough to be your grandfather or guys who’d never seen the inside of a shower stall. But money was money and you put up with it as long as the deposit cleared your bank account. 

User uknowme is already defying your usual expectations. Dimples and a shy grin answer you. His ears burn red already and his lips fail to release any of the words they silently stretch around. 

The twitch of your lips is visible in your viewfinder; a genuine smile at his nerves before you throw him a bone. “What's your name, cutie?” 

“Ugh… it's Yunho. I’m Yunho.”

You roll the letters around your tongue, “Yunho.”

The speakers echo his sharp inhale at the sound of you tasting his name. 

Leaning back on your hands, you press your chest forward and draw attention to the low cut of your top. He specified this outfit, or at least some version of it. “Whatever you’re comfortable in.” Most men want you in some cheap lingerie or a shoddy halloween costume. Easy, simple, straight forward. A nuisance to wear but for what they paid you’d suffer the infernal straps or itchy lace.

But tonight, you stressed more about it than ever before because no one extended such consideration. And that was before you knew who was on the other side of such an innocuous request. The silky white pajama set you settled on at the last minute was perfect. 

At least, Yunho seemed to think so. 

“I..ugh…like your top?”

“Thanks! It's a little different than what I usually get to wear.”

“Yeah, some of the stuff on stream seems like a pain.”

Puckering your lips in a pout, you reply. “You don’t like it?”

“No! I mean yeah I like it I just— you look good no matter what you have on.”

The bumbling nervousness is delicious, especially from someone it seems so out of place on. For the first time, part of you wishes he was in your room. At the mercy of your teasing touches, where you can watch the blush bloom across his face as you goad him; maybe see if it bleeds down his chest as well.

“You think so?”

“Yeah, you’re beautiful.”

Now you blush. No one had this effect on you. At least not in this space where people eagerly shower you in cheap compliments in hopes you’ll reward them with your body. And yes, Yunho did pay for a private show but something about him screams earnesty; like you’re really that pretty to him and he’d be happy to just talk even if you were covered from head to toe with a paper bag over your head.

And it makes you want to surprise him.

“Yunho,” you revel in the way he squirms just from his own name, “do you wanna see the rest of my outfit?”

Yunho nods, eyes tracing the strap of your tank top skating down the curve of your arm. 

Jumping to your feet, you step back in the frame. The satin shorts are just as revealing as any pair of underwear you own. He can glimpse more skin that peaks in and out of view as you give a slow spin; the crease of your thigh, the curve of your ass, and a peak of white lace panties melting against your skin. You can feel Yunho’s eyes take in what you flaunt for him, as if he’s in the room with you and not however many miles away in his own solitude.

“I picked it out for you.” You chime over your shoulder.

The smile on your face is sweet on the surface but sadistic satisfaction runs deep at how so few words fluster him so easily. And his inability to do anything other than provide a choked reply only deepens the ravine.

Cute.

“Do you wanna see the rest of it?”

You're at a proverbial fork in the road. You could take off your top and let Yunho see your bare chest first or you could turn, take off your shorts, and show him the jeweled buttplug he listed as one of his kinks. His reactions make you eager, hungry to see how far you can push him and what you’ll be rewarded with when Yunho reaches his limit.

And the final nail in the coffin, “Sir?”

There's a pause, long enough that you doubt you read the questionnaire right. But Yunho brings himself back up to speed in no time.

Leaning forward, his entire demeanor changes. The tips of his ears still burn red but his face morphs into a controlled impassivity. If you examine him close up, you're sure you’d see the remaining anxiety linger just below the surface. Laying in wait to take over at the first misstep. But you aren’t about to let that happen when you’re just starting to get a taste of what hides beneath such a cute face.

“Show me, pretty girl.”

-

Taglist: @tomodachiii @cvpidyunho @miniseokminnies @ddaengpotate @arycutie @gaebestie @primoppang @gyuguys @mine-gyu @doremifasire @missminhoe @toplinehyunjin @crvs4vldtn @prettygyuuu

© highvern. copying/reuploading/translating my work anywhere is strictly prohibited.

[flowercrowngods]

oooohhh liminal spaces my beloved,,,,

I would LOVE to see you write number 3 (moving out and checking your now bare rooms if you left anything, either it be materials or memories) with Steddie!

klausi! 🥰🤍 thank you for indulging me, beloved! this got a little too introspective and too projecting but oh well

no. 3 — when you're moving out of a house and checking your room when it's almost or completely empty and sorted out

It takes him a while to realise what that feeling is that overcomes him; what to call that weight that’s been so firmly lodged inside his chest that he feels like his steps and movements have actually slowed down lately.

A lump in his throat and a heaviness in his bones is not necessarily new in this house, not a new sensation to feel within these walls, reinforced day by day, morning by morning, night by awful night.

But now, seeing it like this, there is a new emotion. A new heaviness. And Steve takes it all in as he lets his gaze roam over the empty floor, still dirty and dusty because he hasn’t the strength or the energy to clean it all again. He takes in the walls, splotched with light and shadow and the echo of pictures and posters that hung there for years, leaving behind only a trace of their shape on the wallpaper, untouched by sunlight for years.

They’re spectres of who Steve used to be. Spectres of versions of him — genuine and pretend alike.

He stares at the spot where a picture frame hung for as long as he can remember, just a tad off centre from the plaid wallpaper in a way that never ceased to make Robin complain.

He wonders, staring still, if he will hang up the picture frame again in his new place. If it will be off centre again, just for Robin. Just for a reason to smile. If he will keep that version of him, or if it will stay behind as a spectre within these walls, too.

One last victim for them. One last thing for them to take.

It’s a silly thought. Dramatic, really.

Just as dramatic as Robin, who refused to come upstairs with jim again for one last check, claiming If I go upstairs with you again and have to deal with your melancholy face, Steven, I will actually burn this place to the ground.

She’d flicked her Zippo at him in a way that was almost cool, and it almost made him tear up right then and there.

He will hang up that frame again. Maybe replace the picture, take one of Robin with her Zippo, put it right above the front door, just a little to the left.

Steve‘s eyes begin to sting as he tries to take a deep breath, tries not to give the awful wallpaper its old power back, tries not to feel so small. So big. So displaced.

His knees buckle at the same time as his resolve does, and he sits down on the floor, the plush carpet a familiar sensation against his palm.

He hates this room. He’s going to miss it so much. It was his prison. It was his sanctuary. It was never his, and yet he hates the idea of it becoming someone else’s. Nothing good happened between these walls. Every happy memory he has are linked to them. He is a stranger to this room. It knows his every secret.

He wants to burn this place to the ground and leave and never return. He wants to sit here forever and watch the discolouration deepen.

He wants this place to be his home. And yet he knows it never will be. He doesn’t know if he can make a home.

A tear runs down his face, and he doesn’t know why. Maybe it’s relief. Maybe it’s regret. Maybe it’s grief, or overwhelm; or maybe it’s all of them and more.

There is a knock, gentle and careful, sounding against the door frame. It has never been tapped like that. Will it know such gentleness again?

“There you are,” Eddie says, lingering behind Steve, his steps not approaching. Not encroaching upon Steve and his heavy little moment.

He wipes at his face and turns around, flashing what must be a pathetic rendition of a smile.

“Yeah, I’m here, just…” He clears his throat. “Just checking, y’know?”

Eddie smiles, kind and patient, like he sees right through him. “Checking and getting stuck, hm? Happens to me all the time.”

Steve shrugs.

“Can I come in?”

“Sure. I’m done anyway.”

Eddie hums, murmuring something that sounds a lot like No, you’re not. And Steve sags into Eddie as soon as he comes to a stop beside him, leaning against his leg and feeling the soft fabric of Eddie’s worn denim against his cheek. Like this, his head is at the perfect height for Eddie to run his fingers through his hair.

“You wanna talk about it? Or just sit in silence ‘til getting up is an option again?”

Steve doesn’t say anything, too focused on feeling all these things that the emptiness of his childhood bedroom makes him feel. All that fear, all that relief, all that anxiety and the nervousness and the excitement and the freedom and the yearning. For a home.

For picture frames off centre, for candles and fairy lights not just around Christmastime, for dinner with friends and finding that you don’t have enough dishes yet for everyone and then just eating stew out of a mug when all the bowls are gone already. Late night dancing and conversations and singing not just in the shower, arranging and rearranging a room until it’s just right and realising that a year or two has passed already and you’ve still not changed the makeshift lightbulbs in the hallway.

He wants a home. And he wants to make it, to create it, to build it from nothing but hope, love, and just enough craziness to not give up after the first failed attempt.

“Hey,” Eddie says at some point, and Steve didn’t realise there are more tears now until Eddie’s wiping them from his face, the warmth against Steve’s cheek gone now; replaced by the sleeves of Eddie’s hoodie. “It’s okay, I’ve got you.”

And he does. Steve falls forward now, into Eddie’s arms, and clings to him.

“I wanna make a home.”

“You’re gonna make a home, sweet thing.”

“But what if I can’t? What if it’s always gonna be like this?” Steve pulls back, wiping at his face, looking at Eddie now, whose hands are now in Steve’s lap, keeping him so, so warm. “So full of… nothingness and regret and just. Just empty.”

Eddie smiles and leans forward, his nose almost touching Steve’s. “You’re the least empty person I know, Stevie. You’re moving in with Robbie! That place is gonna be a home the moment you two set foot in it. And then we’re gonna paint your walls, we’re gonna go to the hardware store seven times a day because you two suck at decision making, but it’s okay, because it’s a process. And you’re gonna be so, so good at it. And you’re gonna have a home, okay? You’re gonna make it. Build it. Create it. And you get to start over and over and over until it’s right.”

Eddie’s hands have found their way into Steve’s hair again, lightly scratching at his scalp in soothing circles.

“And you know what’s best about homes?”

Steve shakes his head, hanging on Eddie’s lips and his words and all of his warmth.

“They’re a community effort. Meaning you have us to help you. You ain’t gotta do it alone. Robbie and I are gonna build your home just as much as you will, yeah? And we’re gonna be so annoying about it.” He ends his little speech with a manic little grin that never fails to get a laugh out of Steve, even if this one’s a little watery.

He breathes a little, and sighs at last, the tears finally stopping. “Do you really mean that?”

“What that I’m gonna be so annoying?”

“No, that one I know,” Steve grins, and Eddie cackles at that, leaning in to kiss him on the nose. “No, I mean… Do you really think I can do this?”

Eddie’s expression sobers into something more genuine. “I do. If there’s anyone who can make a home, it’s my boy Steve fucking Harrington. And do you wanna know why?”

He nods.

“Because you’re my home.”

The smile he gives Eddie before closing the gap between them for a proper kiss is one that these walls have never seen before.

The afternoon sun comes streaming in through the windows one last time just as Steve gets up, pulled into Eddie’s arms. It leaves the room tinged in gold for Steve one last time.

It’s goodbye. It’s farewell. It’s Steve, moving on.

🌷🤍 the prompt list

[adobe-outdesign]

DHMIS Easter Eggs and Background Details

A huge list of a bunch of background details, foreshadowing, and Easter Eggs I noticed on my second watch-through. Note that I’m only including things that are fairly obscure, rather than “obvious” items others have already pointed out (so I’m not including the symbol sightings, for example). Feel free to add on with anything I missed.

Episode 1

In the theme song, Red Guy is “you”, which makes sense as he’s usually the audience surrogate character

Among the briefcase’s papers is a sticky note with 1906 on it

Right as the briefcase leaves, the last line is “you can be the ones who dig a hole for a funeral” as foreshadowing to the next episode

Everyone’s name tag in the factory has their name except for Yellow’s, which just says “employee”

When Bird is talking to Red in the office, he says that they’ve only been there for “9 minutes”. This is at the 14 minute mark and they got to Peterson’s at 5 minutes in, so they have indeed been there 9 minutes

According to the Carehound poster, Peterson’s is closed Mon–Sat and is open for exactly 4 minutes at 10 PM on Sun

Red Guy framed and hung the fax the fax machine gave him on the wall

Before the song starts the briefcase is rushing off to his job, but when the song ends he tells Brendon it’s time for his bath (as in, they’re going home). Meaning that teaching/torturing the puppets was the job he was rushing off to

Episode 2

The orange with eyes that was in the very first DHMIS short is in the BG when Red checks his ID card

The gel teacher appears as an inanimate object while Duck’s in the bathroom during the Big Day song

The tissue box says “sad squares” on it

Yellow’s red overalls from the ending of the DHMIS 6 short appear on his bed

The make your new friend box claims the new friend is not, in fact, toilet trained

The cassette that Duck plays is the same song from the end credits

Stain mentions “some people think we’re in a simulation” during their song, which references both the end of the OG series and episode 6 of this show

The shovel at the end of this episode cameos at the end of the original DHMIS 6 short as a teacher

There are a bunch of maggots by real!Bird’s feet at the end before they start the song

Episode 3

The Chuddle Dollops are “warm lasagna flavor”

Lillie and Todney switch their shirts from brown to black and white stripes while at their house for some reason

The picture Todney holds up appears to show Yellow holding a very Dead Duck by the leg

When Todney and Lillie are measuring their heights, the names on the wall are “grandma”, “Todney” and “Lily” (spelled with a Y)

When they measure Yellow’s height, they also measure his feet. They’re getting his measurements so they know what size to make the outfit they stick him in later

Duck has the toasted bread slice child from earlier on the table when Red drops in

Episode 4

That triangle thing from the original series shows up on the bookshelf early on

The apple teacher from the last episode also shows up on the shelf, surprisingly not eaten

The pamphlets Warren holds up for the restaurant-style meal include one for Grolton’s Chiken

The trio’s digital style avatars from DHMIS 4 show up in the BG when they go online as well as the “nothing” sign from 2 and the clown painting from 1

There’s a phone in every ep so far, probably as a reference to the role phones played in the OG series. A phone ringing is what leads Red into the office in 1, Red says you have to schedule to use the phone in 2, Lily and Todney cut the landline in 3, and there’s a phone in Yellow’s brain that Warren uses to order food

The search results on Colin include “long faced individuals in YOUR area - looking to chat!” and “long faced man VS horse - the ultimate long face showdown!”

Episode 5

The recipe note on the fridge says “rat shin”, “pie”, and “egg soup”

The photo in the kitchen background changes to a different photo each ep

Bird’s clipboard includes “one Jason” at the bottom

Bird individually counting tiles instead of counting it as one floor is valid considering the floor extends infinitely during the blackout in 6

If I’m not mistaken Red walking into another room is the first time that’s ever happened in either the show or the shorts. Usually it just cuts to them already in a different room

There’s another phone on the wall in the living room

The train teacher’s eyebrows fall off in bike form and remain gone while in car form

Mullhoven’s name is on a signpost (and the teacher) during a song transition, and the poster under it says that this is a “neighborhood watch area” with a picture of a woman (maybe meant to be Lelsey? though it doesn’t look much like her)

Roy’s face is on a pirate flag

1906 reference on the second bus, which reads “terminal 196″ in all of the destination windows

The car has a worm button in it

Bird says “we’ve already seen a dead horse”, even though they haven’t

Mini-Tony on the dashboard

Time Child’s digital clock reads 19:06

Mulhoven is spelled differently every time it shows up

Some of the Mulhoven signs include “Nice Hair”, “Nice Road”, and “It’s shoes”

Another sign says “Quiz Night Fun: Every Morning (It’s fun!)”

People have pointed out the Roy cameo in the neighbors shot, but Duck is also a few windows down

One character is dressed like Lily (blonde girl with striped shirt and a red letter), though the letter appears to be “I” instead of “L”

Episode 6

The bill is from Roy-Electric and it’s for 19.06 pounds

Electracey’s last two numbers on her neck are 96

Final phone is the fake phone with a real phone in it. Duck also has a phone during the blackout

Drawing with the dead Duck from Episode 5 of the OG series pops up in the BG during the shredder scene

Crossword includes “Roy”, “gravel” (a nod to DHMIS 3), and “aspic” (DHMIS 5)

When Electracey is malfunctioning the sunlight outside flickers with the indoor lights, hinting at the dollhouse thing

One of the chalkboard drawings says “aspic” and another says “Roy”

Clayhill is also on the chalkboard but scribbled out

The electric clock in the house reads “20:06″ (as in June 20th)

The urn that Red smashes has Duck’s face on it, meaning it’s once again another dead Duck

Sketchbook is lying dead beside the other teachers in front of the fridge

The fridge from the opening also shows up, with the same character pictures (and Duck with a powerdrill, the one used for Stain in episode 2)

There’s a decapitated Duck with a TV where the head should be, which lines up with Yellow breaking the doll in the next scene

The symbols on the book are as follows: Red’s eyes, decapitated Duck and Yellow heads (Yellow’s showing him with wires instead of blood), Roy coin from Ep 1 with a worm, battery with a worm, shovel, Tony, and Yellow’s severed hand from Ep 1

[ang3lthoughts]

Warning: underage smoking, 15!chuuya, Chuuya is a stupid loser in love, reader and Chuuya are VERY a tiiiiny bit emo/scene. Dazai and Chuuya are roomies!!! Shotgunning, Chuuya and reader do kiss a little O,o

Do‼️not‼️smoke‼️nor‼️drink‼️unless‼️you‼️are‼️the‼️legal‼️age‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️ I cannot stress that enough!!!! This is pure fiction. Not real at all. Smoking kills!! Not cool!! (Is it working guys am I the next DARE)

Reqs open btw!!! :3

🍎🍎🍎🍎🍎🍎🍎🍎🍎🍎🍎🍎🍎🍎🍎🍎🍎

Chuuya didn’t know how long he had been looking in the mirror for. He wanted to make sure his eyeliner was perfectly smudged, his hair was perfectly messy, and his room was fit to match your liking. Posters were hung all over his wall, his laundry was (mostly) neatly put in a basket minus the few shirts and pants that were scattered around. His Millionares, My Chemical Romance and Pierce the Veil cds were “coincidentally” the ones on display because he knows you like them.

A knock on his bedroom door made him stop dead in his tracks. Were you here? He rushed to the door excitedly like a puppy when its owner comes home. “He- oh ew it’s just you.” Unfortunately, it wasn’t the one he expected, but his stupid roommate Dazai. “Were you expecting someone else, Chuuya~?” He flashed Chuuya a grin “it’s none of your business, brace face. What do you want?” “Not too much about my braces, pepperoni pizza. Have you seen my nail polish? You were the last one to use it” “I put it in the bathroom you idiot”

“Oh! Chuuya! Hey!” before their banter could grow further, a head popped out from behind the wall “[name]. Hi.” His voice was breathy. “Wait. How’d you get in here without keys?” Dazai questioned, peeking behind Chuuya to make eye contact with you “oh! The door was wide open.” “Fuck!” The brown haired man rushed down the stairs. “Cool bandages!” You yelled from afar.

Chuuya closed the door and put on music. You immediately recognized the song and hummed along, swaying while idly sitting criss-cross on his bed. “So… what’s in the bag?” The boy questioned. You grinned at him and shoved your hand in the bag making an annoying crinkling noise “I’m so glad you asked!” You pulled out a box of splat hair dye and a baggie of pre-rolled weed.

“Which one d’ya wanna do first?”

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“Okay. First I gotta light it. Then you put it to your lips and inhale. Juuust like a cigarette. ”

It was embarrassing for the the male to admit to his crush that he had never gotten high. Of course he had smoked before, but only nicotine-infused products. not anything that would get him too fucked up. Luckily, you didn’t tease him about it like a certain suicidal maniac would. If anything, you seemed excited to show him the ropes. “Cigarettes are just the less fun version of joints. When you smoke it so often the headrush just wares off and it’s no fun anymore” your rambling fell to deaf ears because all he could focus on was you. Your plump lips, adorned with piercings, the worn-out skunk stripes matched his freshly done ones from the previous activities together, your black-painted nails went with the black stained tips of your fingers from the hair dye... He could spend every hour studying everything about you.

He finally snapped out of his trance when you lit the plant. “Open your mouth for me, chuu.” what? You had just explained how it was like a cigarette, so why did you want him to open his mouth? He complied anyway and made eye contact with you as you took a looong drag. Grabbing his face, you exhaled smoke into his mouth and he immediately inhaled all the smoke you gave him. His cheeks blossomed into a fiery red from how intimate the moment was. The eye contact between the two teens in love was a gaze as intense as the piercing rays of the sun.

Oh my god. holy shit. That was so fucking hot. Oh my god. is she gonna pull away? His head was racing. You gave him a toothy grin and put the joint right up to his lips, not daring to pull away. He inhaled the weed. a harsh taste hit his mouth immediately. He shakily exhaled and you leaned in, capturing his lips in a kiss. He wrapped his arms around your lower back as you crawled ontop of him. Pulling away as a string of saliva clung onto the both of your mouths, you exhaled the smoke that was previously in chuuyas mouth.

Mind clouded with lust and the high hitting him at the same time had his whole world spinning. You sat up, straddling his waist and taking a hit. “You feeling it yet, baby?” You exhaled. He giggled drowsily and nodded “Cmere. Wanna kiss you again.” He pushed your back down so your lips could touch again.

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GRRRR I LOVE CHUUYA. LOBE LOBE LOBE HIM.

Reqs open btw!!! :3