#goodbye public health i guess

[ma1dita]

i have no words.

[foxglovegames]

DEV LOG: 2024 Recap

Helloooo everyone!

This year genuinely flew past us. As a studio, we had our ups-and-many-downs, but we're feeling more positive going into 2025. Let's start with what we got done this year before moving onto our plans for the future! :)

⭐Released Trouble Comes Twice: Bonus Stories!

Feels like we released this ages ago, but it hasn't even been a year yet! Back in April, we released the first (and only) public DLC for Trouble Comes Twice. For us, Bonus Stories was a satisfying goodbye to these characters after spending years with them; we hope that players who decided to give the DLC a chance feel the same.

It'll always be a bit bittersweet moving on from a project you've worked on for so long and dedicated so much towards. There's always going to be what-ifs, but we're mostly just proud of what we did achieve and kind of relieved we made it to the finish line haha. If you're interested in reading more about our experience working on Trouble Comes Twice and what we learned, do check out this post mortem we wrote! We hope it offers some insight for players who might be curious and other vn devs who'd like another dev's take.

⭐A tumultuous start for our next visual novel Burn the Midnight Oil

Since the end of 2023, we've worked on and off on our next visual novel Burn the Midnight Oil. The plan was to launch a Kickstarter campaign and demo before the end of 2024 - since it's now Dec and that never happened, you can imagine things did not go as planned ahah... Unfortunately, we experienced several setbacks, one of the biggest being that our lead artist had to leave the project some months ago due to health issues.

It took us a minute to find the right person to step in and take over the character art, but we recently welcomed a new lead artist whom we're incredibly excited to be working with!

So, where does the project stand right now?

Our new character artist is chipping away at the sprites and CGs for the game, which are the main assets we're still missing to finish the demo.

Script is written, edited and coded in

BGs are completed and the UI is close to completed

We're planning to tackle the soundtrack in the coming months, but our composer BellKallengar has already finished an amazing main menu theme! We can't wait for you to hear it.

For our own sanity and the expectations of our players, we're not making any promises or guesses on when you can expect the demo, Kickstarter, or official announcement until we know for certain. The only thing we can confidently confirm is that it's coming in 2025 (unless we're struck by the worst bad luck ever).

We're going to resume regular monthly updates when the game has been announced, but until then, we're sticking o quarterly updates instead so the next one would be in March. (Unless we manage to announce the game before that! A dev can dream.)

⭐PLANS FOR 2025

There's only one concrete plan - officially announcing Burn the Midnight Oil, releasing the Kickstarter demo, and launching our crowdfunding campaign! Melli and I already finished the demo script earlier this year, so we've been working on outlining (and writing) the routes for the full game. We hope to make as much progress as possible on that before the Kickstarter launches. Hopefully, that should save us a lot of time in the long run.

We hope everyone's having a fantastic holiday season! See you all in the new year! 🥂

[drdtshipping]

I humbly seek Whitvid headcanons, those twinks need to kiss 🤫

˚₊· ͟͟͞➳❥ Whit can turn David’s insults into flirty banter super quickly.

˚₊· ͟͟͞➳❥To relieve tension Whit sometimes takes David on surprise trips to a Rage Industry.

˚₊· ͟͟͞➳❥David finally decided to quit his job as a public speaker to pursue a career more suitable for him but he did make a goodbye speech with words of wisdom. Whit heavily inspired the speech. He spoke specifically about finding love and teared up a bit, but he claims it was for the audience (it wasn’t).

˚₊· ͟͟͞➳❥ David made Whit talk to his doctor about his poor sleep and started him on sleep therapy. Now they can sleep in the same bed :D

˚₊· ͟͟͞➳❥ Bonus: While Whit’s sleep got significantly better, David isn’t the best person to sleep with, so Whit took him to a doctor in return. He ended up going to therapy since his bad sleep was based on what-if scenarios and recurring memories.

˚₊· ͟͟͞➳❥David still has the same views on the world, but he feels more hopeful. It wasn’t just Whit’s presence that fixed that, but Whit’s investment in his mental health. The only reason Whit didn’t try and get outside resources for David sooner was because of his poor health (ie. feeling hopeless, depressed, and scared of upsetting David). David almost had a small fit about it until he realized that no one had ever done that for him before– not even mentioned it besides a simple ‘you need help.’ He’s still cynical, but maybe people can change…? Although, he doesn’t believe people would ever want to change.

˚₊· ͟͟͞➳❥D: “Whit, I think I’m ready to take our relationship to the next level…”

W: “A THREESOME?!”

D: “Wh– no! I’m asking to marry you! But I guess we cou–”

W: fanboy screeches “YES YES YES”

(based on a scene in Wedding Crashers)

˚₊· ͟͟͞➳❥ W: “You know, that fanboy you have is pretty cute. If you wanted to date him, I wouldn’t mind.”

D: “Whit, if this is you asking me if I want to break up, stop it.”

˚₊· ͟͟͞➳❥The end of ‘Your Stupid Face’ core. From 4:20 (LMAO)-4:44. That scene is them oh my gosh. Maybe I’ll write it lmao.

˚₊· ͟͟͞➳❥W: “You’re paying!”

D: “Alright.”

W: “Wait– no–”

–Mod Fishy!!

[the-colourful-witch]

A short goodbye, but not farewell! I'm not going to dance around it, so here it is: I'm taking a little break from socials this upcoming month. ( cue: gasppppp) I already mentioned last week that I'm getting a bit overwhelmed by all the content I see daily. I love all the art and the artist that share their work. I appreciate all of it and I really enjoy seeing everyone drawing things that make them happy. I enjoy drawing things myself, and I always will. I've had a few bad weeks creatively. It's not just a hobby, it's my job. I'm working on a big children's book, my first ever big publication. It is a tough project and it's taking up a lot of energy. I want it to look good and I want to deliver quality work for the author, who put her heart and soul into this book. However, it's getting more and more difficult to have faith in my own work when all day, every day, I see all these amazing, talented artists getting book deals, releasing products, making double figures from their art... And I know very well that everyone has their own process, that some of these people have been in the industry for years without getting anywhere, so trust the process. I can and will. I can trust my own process and I will get there eventually. Right now, though, it's hard to stay focused. I'm on my phone too much during the day and it has to stop. For my own health and for my work. So, long story short. I will be off my socials for 30 days, just to see what I can create without all the input from the internet. I'm going to work on the children's book (which is a fairytale book, by the way, so cool!) and on new character designs for my blog. I've started working on the teachers now, which is a lot of fun. Also, I'm working on opening a shop, so I'll put my energy towards that as well. I guess I have no idea what the next thirty days are going to bring me. I'm going to start tomorrow, so today (5 Feb) I will be checking my accounts still, just in case you have questions or concerns :) For now, this is it. I love you guys, and I'm so grateful for the support. Sharing my silly little drawings with you is very special <3

------------------------------------------------------------------------------ PS: I never shared my Meet the Artist 2024 on here! Granted, I did make it for my art Instagram (splashofcolour23) where I post most of my book illustrations and other fun stuff. BUT! I wanted to share it here, too. If you scroll all the way down my blog, like far, far down, you'll see the 2021 (I think) version, with which I started this blog. It's my favourite January tradition every year, so here it is! Anyway, time to go. See you in 30 days!

[captaincouture]

Wildflowers in the Wind

Chapter 1 sneak peek

As a child, Auguste had been mischievous, a fact his father had painstakingly tried to conceal from the court and the public, with only minor success at the latter. The court was too often a victim in his games to be unaware of his nature, and subsequently became wary of him in his young years. Boredom, of course, was the main cause. Everything changed one early morning during late spring in his twelfth year when tiny baby Laurent came screaming into the world.

Mother had been sickly Auguste's whole life, but more so in the months leading up to Laurent’s birth. An experienced older brother to be, Auguste hadn’t paid much mind to Hennike’s approaching ninth month, expecting this pregnancy to be like all the others, fruitless. So when he was summoned in the middle of the night by a servant to his mother’s rooms, he assumed her health had taken a turn for the worst and that he would be saying another tearful goodbye to her, just in case, like all the other times her health had failed.

But tonight his father was there too, and so something was clearly different. Mother was still as lifeless looking as she usually was this late in pregnancy, but the physicians were busying themselves checking between her legs instead of feeding her teas and soups. With weak hands Hennike beconned her baby boy to her bedside, and reached out to him as best she could. Auguste took her frail hands in his and squeezed them tight, “What is it Maman, what’s going on?”

With a steadier voice than should be possible, she responded, “The baby is coming now, Auguste, and I need you to promise me something.”

Auguste had promised his mother many things over the years. That he would stop sneaking away from his history tutors, that he wouldn’t steal councilman Herode’s fancy feather pen anymore, that he hadn’t been secretly dressing up in commoners clothing and pretending to be a cobbler selling shoe shine to the locals. Usually, Auguste’s promises weren’t worth much.

“What is it Maman?”

Hennike grits her teeth through a wave of sharp pain, and exhales in fractions. Auguste waits as patiently as a boy of just twelve can, shifting from foot to foot anxiously. One of the physicians with a funny cap places a wet cloth on her forehead.

“The baby is coming now Auguste, your baby brother, and I may not be here to help raise him-”

Aleron’s voice cuts her off sharply, “Don’t say that Hennike, you’re going to be just fine.”

Maman shoots him a look Auguste can’t decipher and continues.

“I may not be here to care for him like I cared for you, so I need you to be there for him in whatever ways he needs, do you understand?”

Auguste tries his best to keep his sniffling quiet, he can’t let Papa know he’s crying. “I guess.”

“No guessing Auguste, you have to be sure. This baby will not have his mother, so he must have his brother. You will love him, and care for him, and keep him safe, and hold him when he cries, and never let anyone hurt him.” Hennike pauses, breathes deeply as Aleron stands stiffly at her side, and Auguste crawls into the bed with her despite the physician's protests. “He’s coming early, so he will be small and sickly, and will need a lot of patience and love. You’ll do that for him, won’t you, Auguste?”

“Yes ma’am, I will.”

“Good boy, you’ve always had such a big heart, I don’t want you to hide it. Your love should be a privilege to those who receive it, but never a rarity. I love you my boy.”

Auguste chokes the words out, “I love you too Maman, it’s going to be okay.”

Hennike is silent after that, if you don’t count her cries as the physicians mess around between her bent legs where the sheets cover her down to the thighs. Auguste stays laying by his mothers side, holding her hands, and tries not to wince when she squeezes a little too tight.

After a single command from Aleron, which Auguste doesn’t quite hear over his pounding heartbeat, the physicians stop glancing worriedly at Hennike and focus on the baby coming out of her. Whether by chance or as a result, Auguste doesn’t know, but Mamans grip on his hands loosen, and eventually ceases completely as her eyes slip shut.

Auguste tries to shake her back awake, but to no avail. “Papa, something is wrong, Mamam isn’t waking up!”

Aleron’s stony face turns to his son, then his wife, away from the physicians work. He steps to the head of the bed and places a solid hand on Auguste’s shoulder, “Calm now boy, you are a prince.”

Auguste can’t see the moment little Laurent makes his way into the world, but he can surely hear him. Maman must have been wrong when she said he would be frail, since his lungs are nothing but. His screams must echo through the entire castle, waking every servant and courtier from their sleep, and Auguste has never been so afraid in his life.

The physicians pull the screaming bundle away from the bed and clean him off -Auguste hadn’t realized birth was so bloody- and the head physician holds him out to Aleron. At Aleron’s cool stare at the baby and lack of action, the physician with the funny hat gently takes him from the other man's hands and walks around the bed to place the bundle on Hennike’s chest.

The baby's cries soften at contact with his mother but do not cease. The physician with the funny hat takes Auguste’s hands and places them on his baby brother, he whispers just so Auguste can hear him, “He is your responsibility now.”

Aleron does not balk at a physician directing his son, so Auguste nods and stares at baby Laurent for the first time. He is so tiny, and so fragile, Auguste is afraid his new treasure won’t last the night.

But he does last the night, in Auguste’s arms, with Aleron standing quietly nearby. And by the time the bells ring out the morning's tenth hour, Maman opens her eyes and cries as she holds both her boys for the first time.

Auguste has never felt so full of love.

[briamichellewrites]

70

Meow. Bark! When the animals heard a car approaching the house, they gathered at the front door. They anticipated the arrival of their humans. They greeted them as soon as they opened the door. You are home! Hello, humans! They said hello to them and tried not to step on their paws. It had been a long and emotional day. All they wanted to do was relax. Brad stayed at the hospital with Bria and Jon. He would be returning home later. Jon was the highlight of the day because he made Bria happy.

She had the biggest smile on her face when he walked in. He and Dave were both thrilled to have him there because they had been fans of his band, Bon Jovi, when they were younger. Mike remembered listening to them with Bria when they were hanging out at her "party house." She would play their greatest hits album repeatedly. He wished he could go back there. It was private.

He and Jason loved it because they could do whatever they wanted without their parents' knowledge. They never did anything illegal. Rather, they hung out and discussed topics they could not tell their parents. Independence was something they desired as teenagers and young adults. That house was where they had their first kiss. It was also where they got together. That house held so many wonderful memories. He wished he could return there and spend the afternoon.

Dave interrupted his memories by asking what he was thinking. He was simply thinking about innocence. What did he mean?

"Jon reminded me of when Bria, Jason, and I were younger. We would listen to his albums over and over. That reminded me of the house she lived in after graduating from high school. We called it 'the party house.'"

"Are they good memories?"

"Okay, yeah. It’s just… I do not even know what the correct term is. How did life go by so quickly? I guess that is what I am thinking about."

“I don’t know. It goes by before you know it."

“How was your appointment?”

He was so grateful that he pushed him to go. The therapist was an army veteran who had been diagnosed with PTSD. He had to retire due to his diagnosis. A veteran at the VA encouraged him to pursue a career in therapy. He was going to be evaluated for possible PTSD. How about his sleeping problems? He had a prescription for something to help him sleep. It was not addictive.

He felt relieved to hear that. Dave showed him the bottle. It included his name, instructions, and side effects. Good for him. His mental health was not something he should be embarrassed about. He gave a nod. That is what he learned from him, Bria, and Chester. They were both hungry but too tired to cook, so they looked in the refrigerator for leftovers. Dave asked him if he fed the animals. No, he had forgotten. He volunteered to do it.

After taking the dogs out, the rest of the evening was spent in the studio. Mike created beats that could be used on the band's next album, while Dave sat and listened. He needed to do something to help himself relax for the night. He always felt better after listening to music. Dave was just happy to be home, and it did not matter what they did as long as he was with his husband.

Jon and Brad did not stay long because she needed to rest. He had a few days before returning to New Jersey, so they made plans to meet again. If the situation were different, he would invite him over to hang out. Jon understood. When they arrived at the hotel where he was staying, they hugged and said goodbye. Brad returned to the car and drove home, listening to the radio. Ironically, Bon Jovi happened to be the song playing as he drove away.

You Give Love A Bad Name. 1986. He was twenty-three years old and attempting to make it as an actor. Brad Pitt was unknown to the general public at the time. A year later, he landed his first acting job. It was strange to look back and realize how far he would come. Time slipped past him. One moment he was William Bradley Pitt of Shawnee, Oklahoma. Then he became a Hollywood movie star.

He greeted Dave and Mike when he found them in the kitchen. They greeted him. They were all tired, so it was obvious that the night would be quiet. They talked while they ate. Brad was returning to the hospital the following morning. He would probably spend all day there. Mike and Dave decided to stay at home and catch up on housework because there was no reason for the three of them to be there. He was fine with that.

Have they taken the dogs out yet? If they had not already, he offered to do it. That was okay. They took them out when they arrived home. Dave thanked him for the offering. They said good night to Brad after finishing their dinners and went upstairs.

As they prepared for bed, Mike reminded him to take his medication. Oh, yeah. He opened the bottle and removed the necessary pills. They tasted terrible without water. He cupped his hands under the faucet and drank the water to wash away the taste. Mike had to laugh when he asked if that helped. Yes, it did. How did it taste? It had a chalky taste. He made a face.

“Ew.”

“I’m bringing a plastic cup up here tomorrow.”

“I’ll try to remind you.”

They slept late the next morning. Brad left a note informing them that he had taken the dogs out and left food for the animals. He would inform them when he was on his way home. The animals appreciated having their humans around. Instead of rushing somewhere, they stayed at home with them. They went out with the dogs for some exercise. They enjoyed chasing each other around the backyard.

Kate was chasing Misty when she abruptly came to a halt. She looked behind her and noticed her using the restroom. When she was finished, they resumed running around. Mike kept his phone in his pocket, just in case. He took it out after feeling it vibrate. It was Jason. He asked his brother why he was calling him, as he did not think he would be able to use his phone in rehab. Uh oh. Dave could tell by the tone of his voice and facial expressions that things were not going well.

"Jay, I am exhausted. I love you, but I need a stress-free day. You do not know what Dave, Brad, and I are going through. Bria is in the hospital with cancer. I will come to see you tomorrow, okay? Please give me 24 hours."

When he finished talking, he hung up frustrated. He asked what happened. Jason wanted him to attend a family therapy session. He seemed to feel the need to tell him something. Dave instructed him to take deep breaths. He did, and it helped him relax. Whatever it was, it could wait until the following day. He was at home, resting with his husband and pets.

After a while of playing, the dogs became tired. They ran back inside to get some water. Yum, Yum! It tasted delicious! The home was quiet and peaceful. Mike absorbed it for a moment. It was as if his stress level had decreased. Perhaps he and Dave could take a nap later. Just the two of them. That seemed like an amazing idea.

@zoeykaytesmom @feelingsofaithless @alina-dixon

[missmarymaywindsor]

I hope you can answer this question I will ask you. What kind of mother was Queen Mary (Mary teck) to her children?

Everyone says she's a cold, bad mother. When her youngest son, Jony, died, I wonder how she came to accept his death. I wonder if she fell into depression. When a mother loses her child, it's so hard to deal with this indescribable pain How did Mary deal with it, then her son George, Duke of the city, and later his son George VI (Duke Albert of York), who became king.

With thank you my dear friend @collarsncrowns for helping me answer this! ♥️

Apologies for your wait in my answering! Hard to believe maybe but I’ve only recently discovered where my askbox is 🙈

The misconceptions are especially evident with Prince John, who according to Churchill’s book as well as other books like Richard Dent’s “The Life of King George V”, Prince John was adored by much of his family including his parents and the King and Queen were not embarrassed by him at all. He was not often in public in an official capacity due to both health reasons and stigmas related to epilepsy at the time. Nevertheless, John absolutely spent time in public throughout his life, albeit in a more “unofficial” sense: he went on outings with friends and family, such as going to sweet shops and (as seen in the above photograph) visiting the London Zoo. In a nutshell, his parents adored him. With all that said though regarding the children, it should be noted that during that time period aristocratic and royal parents often left most of the actual “parenting” to nannies. This is true in the case of Queen Mary as well, but it is noted in Alexandra Churchill’s book that Mary and George did spend more time with their children than most upper class parents tended to during that period.

In regards to John’s death and the Queen’s feelings, it is clear she was extremely saddened. Before she found out he died, she had been writing a letter to Bertie, but when she came back and went to finish the letter after learning of son’s death and visiting him, she could scarcely write much more. She also wrote in her diary something like “am heartbroken” and “miss the child very much indeed”. Before John’s funeral preparations, the King and Queen returned to Wood Farm to sit with their late son at his bedside again, and after the funeral they revisited his grave again just one day later. May saved a lock of Johnnie’s hair and had some of his flowers pressed. She also saved some of his things for his siblings and gave his books to his best friend…the books had the note “in memory of our dear little prince”. George and Mary spent the next several days answering condolence letters and they were in mourning for the next couple months. So although it is not certain if Mary experienced depression, the loss was no doubt devastating.

As for her son George, I am not sure what her reaction was but they were extremely close and she was no doubt heartbroken. In her photo album, shortly after his death, she labeled a recent photo of him with an extra endearment…I think it was “my precious Georgie”. As for Bertie, I know she wasn’t able to attend the funeral but she watched the procession from her window. I believe the story goes that the only time she spoke during the viewing was whispering “there he is”, which at least in my opinion is incredibly sad. Other than that I know she did make a comment how she had lost three sons without being able to properly say goodbye, which is heartbreaking. Again, I am not sure about depression and how Queen Mary coped with the last two sons, but if I were to guess she probably threw herself into her work: WWII at the time of her son George’s death and helping her granddaughter Elizabeth II navigate her new role after the death of Bertie

Hope this helps! ♥️

[disco-cola]

you know what I think is crazy? The media and many western politicians were soooo quick about sensationalizing that „Hamas beh€aded 40 Israeli babies“ horror story that turned out to not even be real. But when a few days ago they released two more hostages, 85 yr old yocheved lifshitz and 79 yr nurit cooper they took from a kibbutz, and as shown in the video filmed during the release the older one turned around and said shalom which means goodbye or even peace in hebrew and even shook the hand of one of the Hamas members who turned her over to representatives of the Red Cross and then both got airlifted out of Gaza back to Israel - even tho this is HUGE NEWS i would say it wasn’t in the headlines the way it should’ve been. I looked it up and in the most read German newspaper (which is pure pro Israel propaganda like the fact it is the most read German newspaper makes me rip out all my hair) it doesn’t mention ANYTHING about the handshake or the interview (I’m gonna get to this). It basically says well yeah two more hostages are back but don’t forget Hamas is bad and Gaza deserves this. Not kidding. The video, of course, wasn’t shared but just described and the sentence ended in „Hamas are laughing and acting nice towards the old ladies but don’t fall for it it’s propaganda“. They however printed a photo of Yocheved Lipshitz smiling to a family member which got the caption „first smile in freedom“ 🫠 And then following her release the 85 yr old woman gave a public interview and while she did say she was beaten during the drive (and of course an abduction is an abduction like let’s be real about this it is awful in the first place) she also said that while in captivity, they were treated well and that there were doctors and other medical personnel and women taking care of their health and hygiene and that they were sharing food and this is why she did the handshake. Despite her husband still being held captive over there. I read a lot of Israelis are „furious“ at her for the handshake and the interview. I guess that just doesn’t fit their agenda and imagery they have been trying to create. Then again a lot of people were also mad at the brother of hayim katsman who was killed at the kibbutz on October 7. The brother publicly stated in an interview that this is not what his brother would have wanted since he was a peace activist and his killing shouldnt be used as justification and that I literally have to quote this from the interview „what Israel is doing now is very clearly not for the security of anyone. The real reason is just revenge and killing and distraction from the failure of Israel to protect its citizens.” Where are the sensationalist headlines in the big newspaper articles about this? No instead people are being MAD at Israel’s OWN VICTIMS 🤡 again I feel the need to also state this is not supposed to mean „omg Hamas is so nice 😊“ like no, there’s still like what 200 people in captivity (and I really do hope they all get treated as well as the woman said and also all survive the bombings brought on by their own homeland) and it also doesn’t change anything about the fact that from what i read around 1400 israelis have violently lost their lives since October 7 (just for INFO at this point bc I want to mention both: the latest info I read was that around 6700 palestinians didn’t survive the last 20 days) - but it really does make me wonder why a lot of people supporting israels actions are mad at the woman instead of at least celebrating her getting out alive and as she says apparently rather well on top of that??? and why the brother of the man who got killed said from the start „what I’m gonna say will upset a lot of people“ and he was right like…

[iviarellereads]

Nona the Ninth, John 5:20(1)

(Curious what I'm doing here? Read this post! For detail on The Locked Tomb coverage and the index, read this one! Like what you see? Send me a Ko-Fi.)

(No icon) In which someone describes a miracle... of sorts.

In the dream, she said, “But that’s it? They shut you down—it was over?”

Though she doesn't remember moving, they're at the top of a hill now, looking out at a great plain. To the left it's clean, to the right is "a huge confusion of rubble and metal and foliage".

He tells her it wouldn't really begin for another year. The official story is that the investors decided to rethink the project, but John knew, somehow, that they invested in something else instead. He just couldn't find it. Then the project leaked, and the whole public knew that the world wasn't going to make it. The economy tanked, and people panicked.

A- panicked because their severance money was now nearly worthless. C- panicked because she was being recalled to England and didn't want to go, didn't want to leave N-(2) behind, didn't want to admit they were dating but everyone knew. M- panicked because what the hell were they going to do with all the bodies in the shutdown procedures.

That last got to John, too. He knew all the bodies by name, like friends, after working with them so long. They couldn't be cremated or buried safely.

I didn’t have to worry about the public or the media—we had a pet cop, P—.(3) She’d made detective by that point; was going on to big things in the MoD. Knew G— from way back, and G— and I were both hometown boys, so P— kept the heat down for us.

John takes most of the blame, in the aftermath of the leak. M- and A- could have gotten new jobs, but John would never work in the field again. He told them to leave him behind anyway, but none of them did.

It was such pandemonium. I mean, the worst was yet to come, but it was like the crisis had been announced all over again. Like you’d sprung this on us out of nowhere, like you’d never said you were sick.(4)

There's the Mars installation, but there's only room for five million people there, and they can't feed them yet. The Kuiper platform(5), the installation on Uranus in-progress… there's just not enough room for everyone, and no time to scale up. The cryogenic project would've let them get everyone to Tau Ceti,(6) and then they could work backward.

It was about giving you breathing room, you know?(7) I knew I wouldn’t live to see you get well, but I wanted to stop you hurting.

John didn't panic, though. He kept working, as much as he could, with what they had, nonstop before time really ran out. A- asked if John was taking any "Class As"(8), but he wasn't. A- told M-, who came and accused him of being on meth and coke.

I was all, Yeah … Coke Zero. She didn’t laugh. I laughed. He said, I guess I’ve always thought any pun was automatically funny.(9)

The electric guy said they couldn't keep using "three percent of the country’s electricity" for the vats. The health board guy was a jerk, and kept saying they had to dispose of the bodies on-site in ways John thinks the person he's talking to would have hated. But, he told them, those bodies were his friends. Saying stuff like that probably worried A- even more. G- kept insisting John was fine, but he'd always say John was fine, no matter if he wasn't.

Out of nowhere(10), they said it was lights out that night. John knew the bodies would degrade immediately outside their vats.

I had to let them go. I went around to everyone, talking to my favourites—I know it was weird having favourites, but let’s bloody face it, I’d gone weird—not even saying goodbye, just saying it’ll be fine, hang on for me, kia kaha, kia māia. C— made appeal after appeal after appeal. No dice.

The power was cut, one minute after six, and everyone was waiting when it went.

John goes quiet, and she asks what happened. He smiles, "a strange fleeting thing with teeth."

“Most of the bodies got the melt, like we thought they would,” he said. “Damaged beyond repair. Their brains liquefied almost immediately. But, Harrow … all the ones I touched, all the ones I loved … they stayed incorrupti(11)

So ends Day One.

=====

(1) "For the Father loveth the Son, and sheweth him all things which himself doth: and greater works than these will he shew him, that you may wonder." Sheweth would be interpreted today as "showed" or "shows". So the verse is in context of a Father (God) showing his Son (Jesus) marvels that he may also do. Quite relevant in the case of bodies not rotting because John loved them most, since he later develops necromancy. On the other hand, the A1Z26 brings us to THET, which makes no sense yet but if you got the impression that there are more of these… Well heck, you can look at the table of contents or flip through your copy, and see more, but there may be a spoiler there, and I'm pretending you don't see them but might want all available interpretations up to the point we reach. (2) Nigella, Cassie's cavalier. (3) Pyrrha, of course. Being a cop in her history? That could explain a lot if this is real. (4) Who does he think he's talking to? (5) The Kuiper Belt being a range of objects sort of out beyond Neptune (6) A star about 12 light years from our solar system, apparently very similar to our Sun, so the hope would be that there's a planet to set up on. (7) Wouldn't any person alive also be going with them? How would leaving give her breathing room? Unless… Well, you can draw your own conclusions. But why would John be talking to her? How? And why would she have Harrow's name here? (8) New Zealand, like the UK, split illicit drugs into Class A, B, and C. Class A includes but is not limited to meth and cocaine, probably the most likely things A- thought John was taking. (9) So, Gideon came by it as honestly as it goes. (10) It's not REALLY out of nowhere, John. They were trying to work with you and you took too long. (11) The first necromancy. And yes, it cuts off like that. On purpose.

[morgan-reblog]

just saw a tweet with states about what is the most used in each county to travel (car vs public transit vs walk) and saw some people being very fucking negative about how expensive cars are, how bad it is for the planet/health and whatever else and saying how they dont understand why people take cars so much.

but I feel like these people don't realise... depending on where you live you lowkey need a car to drive yourself if you wanna go anywhere.

Like where I personally live (somewhere rural-suburban in Canada, where I feel we have something similar to the US). if you don't have a car you better kiss goodbye to go anywhere easily if at all.

Buses? In the morning, from 5h to 10h, one comes every 30 minutes which only goes towards a terminus with more buses. Then that's it. Afterwards, buses come back to town in the afternoon, from essentially 16h to 19h, its about every 20-30 minutes.

Better not want to go out on weekends because then it drops to a bus every 2 hours between 7:30 and 19:30.

Even in bigger towns / small cities with more buses than whatever rural region gets it's not that good. Even more so since they redid the whole circuit and now it made rides longer than before for people.

The only place where it's kinda reliable is in the big city, where you also have the subway (which surprise surprise, doesn't cover all the big city and leaves huge gaps).

So I guess we can forget using public transit if it sucks so bad in rural-suburban regions (which, where I live, is a good chunk of places).

Wanna walk or bike? Not everywhere has side-walk and cycling paths, you need to walk on the side of the road. Also, unless you live somewhere close to where many stores are, you have nothing that is within a reasonable walking distance.

closest grocery store or Walmart to me? 57min by walking (or 15min by bike, where I need to bike on the side of the road in gravel)

closest mall that has many mixed stores? an hour by bike

Those travel times are just not doable, especially for groceries in summer if you have refrigerated/frozen stuff, while in winter it's cold as fuck up here and there's often lot of snow.

I genuinely feel like people who hate cars so much just live in countries where there are a lot more options aside from needing to own your own car if you wanna go anywhere by yourself.

Because you know what? If it was viable, I too would like not to have to drive fucking everywhere. I too would like to not be stuck in fucking traffic (which am lucky to avoid most of the time). I too would like to not have to pay for expensive gas and car maintenance. I too would like not to have to buy an expensive car.

But the reality is that I can't do that unless I want to be stuck at home and not be able to go to work. reality is I can't ask for a fucking lift from people I live with because our schedule just doesn't work for that sadly, especially with mine not being fixed. reality is the society I live in is built around using car, especially in rural-suburban regions.

so before shitting on people who use car and complaining about all the bads of it, maybe wonder why so many people are using cars. Pretty a lot of them would be happy to not have to be burdened with all that comes with it.

[cathulucos]

Helpful Chat

TW: Christianity, Death

Adora smiles softly and Alice walks Marlo off to find his mother. Adora goes to her room to mull over everything they’ve gone through today. Marlo’s death has conflicted her more now. His friends and family are strong though and will make it through.

Adora decides to go to the living world to walk and hopefully get a better understanding of the living world. Maybe she’ll be able to talk things over with Xander. Flying down to an active city she walks around hidden to the public eye. 

“Leave him the fuck alone how bout that!” a familiar voice yells out.

Adora looks over shocked and sees Xander, but he looks different. His wings are hidden and his third eye is gone. His fashion and hair have stayed the same. His eyes, pink as ever, have anger in them as they glare at the older lady he’s addressing. Adora steps closer to fully witness the situation.

“You’re insane! You’re all insane!” The lady says before huffing off.

Xander turns back to the young boy he was protecting and smiles. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, thank you, sir,” he says smiling hugging him.

“Xander?” Adora says softly. His eyes flicker up then back to the young boy.

“If you’re okay then I'd best go, I have errands to run. Stay safe, ok,’ Xander says before walking away. The boy nods watching Xander leave oblivious to the angel following the secret fallen cupid. Turning a corner with little people Xander hides, “Adora, what are you doing here?”

“I wanted to talk to you about a mission I just had… and failed,” she says softly looking down.

“Failed? How badly?” Xander says softly watching his friend.

“He died. But it’s confusing. He likes the afterlife, but we said goodbye to his family today and it wasn’t nice. He cried and he was sad and so were his friends and family. But when he was alive they were ignoring him, who he was. He was trans and he wasn’t able to really transition and… he feels free now I guess but,”

“Death is complicated Adora, even in ideal situations there’s mourning. There’s always gonna be someone sad, from family, from friends, from the deceased themselves. They may miss their old life, childhood, companions, or body. You just need to give the support you can,” Xander explains.

Adora nods tearing up again being reminded of all who she hurt.

“Don’t cry. It’ll be okay. You just need to learn and adapt,”

“How do I help someone who doesn’t want to live? Who wants to hurt? With only persuasion? I hurt him. I hurt him so much, he died because of me,” Adora cries hugging Xander.

Tensing at the sudden contact Xander hugs back patting her back. “There’s a few ways: therapy, journaling, walking. I’m sure your classes will go through them. But if they don’t I can show you afterwards.”

“You can? But don’t you help people by being there physically? Since you’ve fallen?”

“Yes, but I know a thing or two about humans, and how they cope from living down here for so long. Don’t worry. I’ll help you okay,”

“Thank you so much, Xander,” Adora says calming down smiling softly.

Xander smiles back nodding while Adora lets go. “If you ever need something, Adora, in the human world, I’ll tell you to reach me. In case you need advice or something, but don’t use it too much. I don’t want you to get in trouble,”

“Thank you so much, Xander. I’d appreciate that so much. I promise I won’t use it much, just in emergencies,”

Xander nods before taking a deep breath. “Hold your hands close to your heart, vision me clearly and call my name. You have to put a lot of focus into it,”

Nodding, Adora smiles softly waving. “Thank you. I’ll be off then. Goodbye,” As she flies off Xander watches curious as to what will happen with her.

Adora finishes the week by observing Marlo’s family and friends and making sure Marlo transitions well to the afterlife. A pamphlet arrives at her dorm telling her what classes she will be taking.

Adora’s Class Schedule

Humans Mental Health 1000 building 100

Dealing With Death 1200 building 333

Human Angel Safety 1400 building 210

3 months

If you fail these classes you will have to retake them 

Only three classes for three months, it’s only her first mistake so it's natural they don’t overbook a new angel.

Adora smiles softly nodding to herself setting the pamphlet on her desk. These classes will help her with her future. After these classes are done she'll still be on leave for 9 months to continue studying on her own through books and visiting the human world. 

[silverknightpiece]

Silver was still in his uniform from where he just came from dinner, having forgone going to his room for ruminating in the public area after he had been left to his own devices. The suddenness of wanting a response or two was what caught him off guard, not the rampant fear of something else in his heart or head. He's never been the type to act first, so it felt strange to crave to ask first with no idea what he was searching for. The third year who gave him advice was naturally so happy-go-lucky, but the advice had only given him solace for a few days. Maybe this wasn't the best idea to air out his less faithful thoughts? He has always been silent about personal business unless it directly affects the world or the people around them. He can forgo counting on his hands because of the sheer amount of times he's had to tell Sebek to quiet down or his father to stop messing with the gullible a bit. As annoying as he may be at times for nagging, he may have a good laugh at the stupidest moments of this school life they've had together.

"Of course, the days will come to an end when we have to move on from studying." Though, if the libraries back home were given more imports from the world, maybe the studies at home would continue. The phrase you never stop learning was something his father encouraged, and Silver agrees with it everyday he resides in this school. But that was besides the point, even as Silver spies a book or two he's not familiar with amongst the pile. "But for now, we'll be leaving behind Malleus and father for our studies after the year ends, and I know I'll be gone in time as well. Of course, one year to deposit each of us back home is nothing in the grand scheme but..."

But said school life was also the issue that bugged his mind. The blatant talk about leaving the next year all across the third years was civil and very few were going out of there way to extend their contacts to all who they care for. Second years were far more gracious and very open to saying goodbye and wishing them luck, and first years were mixed at best. Some haven't made those connections yet to be anything but nonchalant, some are courteous, and some will genuinely miss their third year companions. Silver wishes he could say he was as courteous as some of his fellow sophomores at the thought of who would leave but... he'd be wrong. The path before him was obvious, but something was always overshadowing something else inside of him.

His father's health... to the third years goodbye... to his want to stay in contact with more then just S一... to the lack of connection back home... to Malleus's position...

Silver keeps himself measured and as unflappable as always, as he knows that Sebek sounds harsher than he is generally. And if Sebek really was upset, he couldn't blame him. Not only had he seen the other was studying and still bugged him, but Silver had insinuated something Sebek probably did not fear much for, at least, compared to Silver.

"Temporary as it is, yes." He answers honestly. "We both have something to go back to and it will not change our duties, and... I guess I know it will be bitter for me to leave in the end, having gotten a taste of something new. Something not from home. You've always been more adaptable to people then I." And he believes it, even with how unvarying the other gets around a majority of people outside of Diasomnia. He's almost dispirited as he continues. "I guess I'm just not able to comprehend this lose just yet..."

continued from here,   with @silverknightpiece​

THE RARITY THAT IS SEEING DIASOMNIA SEPARATE is truly only a matter of classes.   had it not been for an unavoidable case of schedule conflict,   they would likely never part ways with one another;   not only out of loyalty to their own,   but also out of duty.    loathing the times where he could not be at his young master’s side,   often running himself ragged just to ensure that he could escort malleus to class  —  as well as make it to his own.   this was not an extra step that silver was often taking precaution to as well,   a clear case of sebek’s own habit to be overbearing towards those who did not need such.   reconvening for a meal during that day was the small solace they had;  before they would not see one another till the end of the night again.  

most on the outside would see silver & sebek as attached at the hip;   appearing so with their duties aligning,   as well as having similar clubs,   similar goals.    most of their lives had lined up so perfectly,   but it didn’t stop him from being acutely aware of all of the moments that they were not together.   school life would never truly allow for him to forget that no matter how hard the fae worked,   he was still a year behind his human companion  —   effort could do nothing to change the way that time passed.  

his nightly routine was regular,  undoubtful that silver could find him in the same place  —  sitting on his bed with his legs crossed,   back perfectly straight.    before him,   a pile of books;   and while to most they may have look like a mess,   it was organized strategically to his study plan for that night.    meticulously,   yet semi - messy,   notes lined before his knees.    sebek’s attention was drawn from his work only when his name was called,   eyes hesitant to leave the pages.    “  were you expecting to take up studying for the entirety of your days?   or did you intend to become someone befitting of your title?  ”   while his own prodding about school life may come off cold  —  he was not nearly as talented at forming lasting bonds with his peers as his counterpart.   in his eyes,   night raven university was a mere stepping stone to becoming their young master’s retainer.  at some point,   he did intend to put books aside &   pick up a sword.  

placing his pen down,   deeming the other’s conversation above his studies for the moment.   sebek was always quite forceful about his opinion,   by nature he was loud when it came to expressing himself as well.   “  there is no intention for us to separate,   not unless you believe there is  —   i will stay at lord malleus’ side forever.   worrying about inevitable happenings will only waste time you can better yourself.   we’ve parted before,   but some things are temporary.  ”    his calm for saying things in the moment was striking,   knowing that the moment malleus would graduate before the two of them  —  sebek would be the first to weep.  

[unholyevilness]

In celebration of my first actual post, let's have something fairly fitting to myself; queerness. Prompt: Aot men being trans (nsfw) - Eren, Reiner, Zeke, Jean

cw. afab genitalia mention, praise and degradation, squirting, sex toys, armpit kink, golden showers, public sex, dubcon because alcohol

Reader is written gender neutral!

Eren

Eren struggles a lot with his mental health due to his gender identity, so it takes him a while to warm up. The testosterone played a big role in having sex with him more comfortably, he just cannot say no when you offer to suck his tdick like a starving whore, praising him for how big he gets when he's excited, all swollen and dripping at the same time. It's so very validating for him, but he also loves exploring you from the inside with his strap. It's rather average because he wants to keep it as realistic as possible, skin colored and 6 inches. Despite the mental fight with his body, Eren knows he has a pretty face without bragging or being an ass about it, purposely blessing you with his lewd expressions and putting on a show for you. He lets the sweat beads run down his face, and it makes him look like a God. You call him divine, and he squirts into your mouth.

Reiner

Our sweet sir Braun turns off his brain when he's having sex, and he doesn't even have control over it. You take advantage of it by shoving as many of your fingers as possible into his hole, teasing him about how wet he always gets and the obscene noises his cunt is making. He loves having you run your fingers through his pubes, it's such a natural way of being for him. It reaches his belly button, and you love tracing his happy trail with kisses and bites, having mastered the perfect balance of worshipping and humiliating him. When you stick your nose and face in the crook of his armpit for the first time, he moans more out of surprise rather than pleasure, but he quickly grows to love how experimental you are, always coming up with new ways to rock his world.

Zeke

Just like his brother, Zeke is very discreet about it. He's neither very comfortable nor proud of his body, so he doesn't have sex a lot. The issue is, he's a pervert, which doesn't really help the fact that he already struggles with opening up to someone about his gender identity; he fears rejection and usually receives it at the very latest when he reveals his dark desires. He's embarrassed about it, but he can't swallow the craving that comes with seeing you. He wants to cover your entire body with bottles of cumlube, piss on you, wholly destroy you in abandoned alleyways late at night when you've said your goodbyes to your co-workers. He's not confident enough to have you go down on him, so he does it for you religiously. It's one addicting way of scratching the itch within him without getting naked, so he moans obscenely, loves sending vibrations through your whole body, fully indulging in and devoted to messily making you climax. Sometimes when he's really horny, he shoves whatever he can get his hands on up his cunt, unable to function properly and giving in his primal needs.

Jean

Jeanny boy would buy the biggest packer he can get his hands on and bait you into thinking it's legit, feeling up your body and flirting with you at a party with little to no shame. After successfully dragging you home, he pours you two another round of wine and lets some of it drop onto his crotch. "Oops-" he says, "Guess I should get this off of me." and starts to fiddle with his pants, unzipping them teasingly slow as your hungry eyes follow his every move. He doesn't miss the adoration in your eyes, and grabs a fistful of your hair, gently positioning your head between his legs as he places each of them next to your body, left and right, both of you seated on his couch. It all happens too fast for you to comprehend it properly, Jean is riding your face in no time, mindless filth leaving his mouth. He's vocal, and you're left speechless. "You looked like you wanted to say something, I hope that's not true. Good toys don't really speak unless I am done playing with them." He excuses his behaviour by stating its his way of coping with his gender identity and you would punch him in the face for it, but he's far too handsome for you to miss out on this lay, and his pussy gets you hypnotised.

I totally wasn't projecting with this.

[kazuchii]

Could i have some fluffy headcanons with Diluc, Zhongli, and Albedo who have an s/o with really dark eyebags? Like they sleep fine at night but the eyebags just...won't go away

GN!Reader with Eyebags w/ Genshin Boys

A/N: Thank you for requesting! This request was actually really easy for me since I too, struggle with eyebags that just won’t go away XD Sorry this took a bit! I've been a little busy. Hope you enjoy it!

Synopsis: The Genshin boys are a little worried about your eyebags, thinking you're not sleeping at night.

Characters: Albedo, Diluc, Zhongli

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: N/A

Masterlist

Albedo didn’t seem worried at first when it came to your eyebags. He just assumed you weren’t sleeping very well.

Honestly, I doubt Albedo gets well rested at night. He probably stays up late doing alchemy stuff after all. He always advised you to go to bed ahead of him for you to get the best sleep possible.

Whenever he would come to bed, you’d always be passed out under the bedsheets.

So when Albedo noticed your dark eyebags, he was puzzled.

You seemed to be sleeping like a log at night. You were always passed out and dreaming away whenever he arrived home to your shared bed.

The only hypothesis to this he could speculate was that you were indeed staying up late at night. Were you possibly staying up late at night waiting for him?

This only made Albedo more concerned. He told you that there was no reason for you to stay up late waiting for him. But you went and did it anyway, resulting in you passing out at night waiting every night.

The guilt Albedo felt made him mess up a couple of times the following day. Items would slip out of his grasp the moment he let the guilt surface.

He confided to Sucrose about the issue, his head in his hands.

“Well Mister Albedo, shouldn’t you just…be honest with them about your concerns?”

So that night, you were getting prepared for bed. Just as you sat on the bed, the door slammed open.

You jumped a little, swinging your head to the maniac that decided to scare you just as you were about to head to bed for the night.

Albedo stood there, a serious expression planted on his facial features.

“Albedo?”

“Stop staying up late for me.”

An awkward smile crept up onto your face, cocking your head off to the side.

“What do you mean?”

“Your eyebags. I’ve noticed them. You need to get more sleep.”

“But Albedo-“

He wasn’t listening to you though. His face morphed into a more sincere, worried one as he moved towards the bed.

“I want what's best for your health. Please stop staying up late waiting f-”

“Bedo, I don't stay up late for you.”

Albedo froze on the spot, blinking as his brain shut off.

“I go to bed on time each night. Who said I ever stay up late for you? Bedo, I love you, but I’d rather sleep than wait for you for hours.”

He was almost offended by that statement.

“But...your eyebags.”

“Oh, yeah they won't leave no matter what I do. Probably payback for staying up late years earlier. I should probably try some sort of cream to get rid of them.”

As you blabbered on and on about your eyebags, Albedo was still trying to restart his brain. Sure he was the one who had originally told you your health was more important, but why did that statement hurt so much-

For the past few days, you’ve hardly been able to get a single glimpse of Diluc. He’s been so preoccupied with his work that you never see him, you only hear him bid you goodbye early every morning.

The only people to keep you company was the maids working at his mansion. They would take care of you by making any meals and just cleaning throughout the building.

Meanwhile, you just did whatever you pleased.

I mean, this was your home as well so there wasn’t really anyone stopping you. You’d just do whatever you felt like doing at the moment.

But you got to a point where you were bored. You missed the feeling of Diluc and the warmth he always had radiating from him. You craved the feeling to be wrapped up in his arms.

You wanted to feel loved

So since absolutely nothing was stopping you from doing whatever you pleased, you decided to go on a little adventure.

And by adventure, I mean taking a little trip to Mondstadt and stopping by Angel’s Share.

Diluc never exactly said you couldn’t visit while he worked, but I don’t think he ever thought you would so he never said anything.

It was late into the evening when you finally reached the gates of Mondstadt. The exhausted guards greeted you with a lazy wave as you passed by them.

It didn’t take too long to find Angels Share.

Creaking open the door to Angel’s Share, you peeked your head in. The bar was completely deserted besides a single man residing behind the counter; Diluc.

“Diluc!”

Diluc’s head perked up instantaneously.

“(Y/N)?”

He rushed out from behind the counter to come to greet you at the entrance.

“Love, what are you doing here? You should be back home getting ready for bed.”

“I missed you, so I wanted to come to see you. We haven’t been spending much time together after all.”

Diluc could feel the heat rising up to his face. How could you say that without being embarrassed in the slightest?

The smile on your face wasn’t helping his situation whatsoever. But soon enough, his eyes caught something off about your appearance.

“Love, have you been sleeping well at night?”

“Yeah, why?”

“You’ve got dark eyebags underneath your eyes.”

Oh yeah, you forgot those were there. You were so used to them being there that you forgot all about them.

“Oh, yeah. So, they refuse to leave no matter what I do. I get at least a solid eight hours of sleep every night, but they just don’t seem to want to leave.”

“Have you tried different treatments?”

“I have tried all the possible ones here in Mondstadt, but nothing seems to be working.”

“Perhaps something to help you could be located in Liyue…”

“You don’t have to do that for me!”

But Diluc wasn’t having any of that. He lifted his gloved hand, cupping your cheek, and gazed towards you lovingly.

“Love, I hope you realize the things I’d do to make you smile.”

Zhongli never expected him to fall for a mortal. When you came into his life, at first he was a little concerned. After all, you were just a human with a limited life span. If he were to get attached, he would be forced with leaving you behind. He would be forced with watching you age and eventually pass on.

So, when he first felt the bubbly feeling inside his chest whenever he would spend time with you, he was wary. He tried to distance himself from you, but in the end, it didn't go as planned.

He still became attached, it was just something he couldn't prevent.

Now he finds himself with you whenever he can. He'd rather spend time making memories with you than worrying about your fate.

Although, whenever the two of you would go out, you were the one who always ended up paying.

"My love, I don't have any mora."

"Expected. But luckily, I brought some with us."

He was always grateful for having you at his side. When he told you that he was actually the Geo Archon, he expected you to not believe him and find him weird.

But strangely enough, you believed every word he told you

This man has been a puppy following you around ever since. He adores it whenever you hold his hand in public; it always brings a smile to his face.

He also worries about your health constantly. After all, you're mortal.

So when you met with him after his work was completed for a little date in Liyue, his eyes were wide with concern.

"My love, have you not been getting enough sleep at night?"

"Yup! I've been sleeping perfectly fine."

Zhongli was suspicious of that statement.

"Are you positive?"

"I'm 100% positive, Zhongli. Trust me, if I was having issues sleep I would tell you immediately."

"Then why do you have such dark eyebags underneath your eyes?"

"Not really sure. They don't seem to want to go away. I get a solid eight hours every night, too. I guess I'm just stuck with them."

"Do they bother you at all?"

"I mean, the only issue is when people look at me funny because of them. Otherwise, I forget they exist."

Zhongli didn't like that one bit. He didn't mind that you had the eye bags, but what he did mind was that people would give you looks due to them.

"I"ll find something."

"Huh?"

"I'll find something that'll help fix your eyebags. I'd rather not have people giving you looks because of them."

"You don't have to do that! It's perfectly fine."

But Zhongli wasn't listening to a word you were saying.

"I'll find Childe. I'm sure he'd be happy to pay for anything I'll need-"

"Wait!"

[ericspinkhair]

unexpectedly becoming a sugar baby

pairing: ceo!sunwoo x fem!reader

word count: 3.4k

synopsis: reader is desperate for money so she has sex with her boss

warnings: lots of oral and fingering, use of vibrator in public , office sex, sex for money

a/n: wrote this yesterday instead of studying for my final. the exam went well tho :) also please send in requests!!!

masterlist + requests

to say you were desperate would be an understatement. today you had received an eviction notice that stated that you had exactly 30 days to either pay back all the money you owed your landlord or leave your apartment.

due to your mother's illness you had to pay for all her medical bills. your father hadn't been in the picture for a long time so you alone were responsible for your mother's health. you couldn't just let her die. but because of all these costs you hadn't been able to pay your rent and now you were on the verge of homelessness.

never in a lifetime did you imagine that you would be begging someone for help. you felt so helpless that you honestly didn't really care how you got the money.

you decided to ask your boss for a raise and were prepared to work your ass off in order to get it.

mr. kim's office was on the fourth floor of the company, one you barely had ever been to. normal employees were usually only to be found on the lower floors so taking the elevator up felt wrong.

you were determined, however, to not let your pride get in the way. the money was more important than how you felt.

you knocked on the door twice. as if to make you feel even more nervous, it seemed like mr. kim waited extra long to respond.

when you entered he was sitting behind his desk. he didn't even look up at you so you just stood there awkwardly, unsure what to do.

'why don't you just sit?' he finally asked annoyed and closed his laptop.

you quickly took a seat and tried to put up a professional front.

'what can I do for you, um…' 'y/n,' you helped him out. 'right, y/n. what can I do for you?' he asked.

'I would like to ask for a raise, sir. you see, I am usually the first employee to enter the building and also most of the time the last one to leave. I do my work reliably and deliver solid results. my coworkers are pleased with me and we also get along well. I think I contribute a lot to this company and wanted to ask whether it would be possible to raise my pay.' you really tried to not make it seem like you had simply memorized all of this and forced yourself to speak slowly but firmly while looking him in the eyes.

mr. kim didn't respond at first but opened his laptop.

'to my understanding you have been working here for a very long time already. your pay is already the highest it can get. there is no way for me to raise it because there is no room for improvement.' he sighed and waited for your reaction.

you started sweating. this wasn't going as planned. you hadn't known that you were already receiving the highest pay. you were barely able to afford food with your current money.

'please, sir. I will do anything you ask of me. I don't care how many extra hours I'd have to work. I can do it. I promise. please give me a chance,' you begged him.

he was intrigued by you. why were you so desperate for the money?

'first, why don't you tell me why you are so keen on a raise?'

was your boss even allowed to ask you such personal questions? you answered anyway.

'my mother has cancer. I am the only person paying for her medical expenses and the treatments are all very expensive. I am about to get evicted because I cannot pay my rent.'

he seemed to be deep in thought. his gaze on you was intense.

your heart skipped a beat when he placed his hand on yours.

'y/n, I'm extremely sorry that you have to deal with all of this. I wouldn't want anyone to have to experience the same thing. believe me when I tell you that I want to help you. you know what? come back tomorrow. I have an idea how I might be able to help but I need to think about it further. would that be alright for you?'

it felt like a huge weight was lifted off your shoulders. you didn't care about what you had to do. you stood up, bowed deeply and thanked him over and over.

he let out a deep chuckle. you were cute.

the next day you came back again in the afternoon. this time he answered the door quicker and his attention was focused on you from the start. the energy felt much different than the day before. he seemed excited and was smiling at you. this had to mean good news, right? he shook your hand and pressed firmly while looking you deep in the eyes.

'y/n, I came up with an idea to help you. but it is less conventional and it depends on how much you are willing to do.'

'mr. kim, I will do anything,' you assured him. the smirk he flashed you threw you off guard.

'okay then. first, I'd prefer it if you called me sunwoo as we'll be seeing more of each other if you were to agree.'

this lowkey felt like crossing some boundaries but you wanted to please him.

you nodded eagerly. 'okay, sunwoo it is.'

'so my idea is that there are certain things you can do to earn money. I will pay for everything with my own savings and you will receive it in cash. we will start off easy and over time I'll add new tasks. of course, you have the freedom to choose whether you want to do them or not. that is completely up to you.'

the look of confusion on your face must have told him you didn't fully understand.

'it's hard to explain. I'd rather you figure it out by trying it. since today is friday, the task I'll give you is for monday. I would like to choose an outfit for you. I'll send it to your apartment and you have to wear exactly what is inside the box. if you were to do this I'd give you $20 cash.'

that was a weird request. why would he want to decide what you were wearing? did he not like your outfit? did you look disgusting?

'let me get this straight. you pick an outfit for me and if I decide to wear it I get money?' you ask him to see if you had understood correctly.

'exactly. that doesn't seem so bad, right?' you shook your head. it was whatever.

'that's great. you'll receive your outfit and I can't wait to see you in it on monday.' you didn't know if you were imagining it but it seemed like he was eyeing your body. h god, he definitely didn't like what you were wearing.

$20 wasn't much but still more than nothing. and apparently the other tasks would be worth more. guess you had to start somewhere. with the money you could at least afford something to eat.

you say goodbye and continued with work until it was time to leave.

you waited anxiously all weekend for the clothes. sunday you decided to go for a walk and when you opened your door you almost tripped over a package.

on monday morning you tried on the outfit sunwoo had picked out for you.

the white blouse was a bit see through and a bit too tight around the boob area but looked neat otherwise. the black skirt hugged your curves perfectly and made you look quite sexy in your opinion. he even picked out a bra, underwear, stockings and high heels for you. the note he had left clearly stated to wear exactly and only what was in the box. so you did.

you usually wore something more simple and loose but you didn't feel too uncomfortable in this look.

when you entered his office his eyes lit up.

'I'm glad you wore this. it looks very good on you.'

you were sure you blushed a bit at his words. you weren't really used to receiving compliments from men.

'I like it too,' you admit. sunwoo smiled contentedly.

'so would you like to do the same tomorrow? I'll send you another outfit,' he asked you.

this one wasn't bad at all so you agreed. he handed you $20. when you stood up and walked out the door he couldn't stop admiring the way your butt looked in the skirt. tomorrow was going to be even better.

the blouse was almost the same one. however, this time the skirt was a lot shorter. it ended at the middle of your thighs. but that wasn't even the weirdest thing. this time he had forgotten to send you panties.

you felt very unsure what to do. the note clearly stated to only wear what was in the box.

you sighed and pulled down the skirt as much as you could. this would have to do. as long as you were just sitting, everything would be fine.

you went about your day and some time in the afternoon you were called into sunwoo's office.

you were wondering whether or not to tell him about the missing underwear but decided to keep your mouth closed. panties didn't seem to be a topic to talk about with your boss.

'today, I want to offer you an additional task. you will receive your $20 dollars for sure and you can make another 30 by cleaning my office. what do you think?' he proposed to you.

that would be $50 in total. you needed all the money you could get.

'of course. just tell me what to clean and I will be happy to help.'

everything was going according to sunwoo's plan. he was excited and told you you could start by dusting the shelves.

your eagerness was cute and he watched you out of the corner of his eyes.

some of the shelves were higher up so you had to stretch to be able to reach them. when you did your skirt rolled up higher and he was able to see the just the outline of your butt cheeks. he unconsciously licked his lips.

for the rest of the week you continued these two tasks. but you noticed that the underwear kept on missing and the skirts also progressively became shorter.

this was a struggle when you were cleaning and organizing his office. you were aware of your skirt rolling up and you were hoping that sunwoo wouldn't notice.

of course he did. that had been his intention all along. when you bent down he could sometimes get a glance at your pretty pussy. he couldn't help but get hard at the sight of this and palmed his bulge through his pants.

in one week you had received $220. you would have been more happy if you hadn't gotten another bill from the hospital asking you for another $1200. the health care system was simply fucked up. whatever the next tasks were, you had to do them.

on monday you were cleaning his office again. you wanted to pick up some files but you struggled reaching them from the highest shelf. you felt your skirt roll up again.

'wait. I'll help you,' sunwoo announced and walked over.

you gasped as you felt something hard poke your thigh as he stood behind you to reach for the files. when he took a step back you saw the clear outlines of his hardened cock.

unable to hide your surprise, sunwoo laughed.

'this is all your doing.' so he did notice your skirt roll up. wait. had he given you these clothes with this in mind?

'do you want to touch it?' he asked.

you just blinked at him. what? were you perhaps still dreaming? it was possible that you were having a wet dream about your boss. sunwoo was very handsome and you had to be blind not to notice.

'if you help me get rid of it, I'll promise you $100.' he knew you were thinking hard. you couldn't keep your eyes off his bulge, clearly not sure what to think of this.

this was against all the work protocols but you would kid yourself if you said that you didn't want to. not only was he very attractive but you'd do a lot for a mere $100.

you reached for his belt. sunwoo smirked; he had won.

you pulled his pants down and were immediately greeted with his veiny cock.

'you aren't the only one not wearing any underwear, my dear y/n.'

so that had been intentional. interesting. you realized you must have been very naive to have believed that he had simply forgotten to put panties in the boxes.

you started by rubbing the tip softly with your thumb. it was pretty and pink and already leakined pre-cum.

you felt strangely good about having this kind of effect on someone. with a few pumps his dick was completely hard.

sunwoo propped his hands on the desk behind him and leaned back in bliss.

deep moans were escaping his beautifully luscious lips while you were pleasuring him with your hands.

you decided to put your left hand you use as well by massaging his balls.

'fuck! when did you learn to do this so well?' sunwoo groaned.

during high school you had had a lot of sex. it made you feel good and you enjoyed it. now your experience turned out to be lifesaving to you. well, he'd probably pay you even if you weren't as mind blowing.

'hmm, practice,' you simply state.

'if this is already so good I wonder what your mouth can do, baby girl.' being called that aroused you way more than expected. this was so exciting.

'I'll give you another $100 if you suck me off.'

before sunwoo knew it you had already wrapped your lips around his cock. you skillfully bobbed your head up and down. when you looked up at him with big eyes he swore he was about to explode.

with most of the dick in your mouth your other hand was continuing to knead his balls.

he was coming close quickly and grabbed your hair so you would stay still.

he proceeded to fuck your mouth harshly. you felt spit running down the sides of your lips and tears escaping your eyes as he buried his cock deep in your mouth. you tried to relax in order to deep-throat him properly.

he came hard and emptied his load in your mouth. to prove a point, you swallowed it and then opened up to show him.

panting hard he said: 'fuck you're just amazing!'

you looked absolutely delicious with your face full of cum. he had a good feeling you were the right person to do this with.

you licked off some of the white liquid from your lips and smirked at him.

this was definitely not what you had expected what you would be doing but you weren't one to complain.

sunwoo quickly disappeared to search for some paper towels to clean your face. his employees couldn't see you like this.

after your face was clean again he handed you $250. 'you deserve it.' 'thanks.'

he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear and leaned closer. 'maybe we can do more tomorrow.' ooh, sounds exciting.

'then I'll look forward to seeing you.' with a wink you left.

you wondered how much money you would get for some sexy time with your boss.

the next morning, you couldn't fully button up the blouse he had sent you. the top buttons had to be left open and a lot of cleavage was visible. this horndog!

this time you actually received some underwear but only for a special reason. you found a pink mini vibrator in the box as well.

so you were walking around with a vibrating stick up your pussy. you didn't want to come in front of your co-workers so you turned it off whenever you got too close and waited to calm down.

'did you have fun today?' was the first thing sunwoo said to you.

you laughed ironically. 'I had so much fun pretending I wasn't being masturbating in front of everyone…'

he made you turn around and lifted up your skirt. the outline of the vibrator was visible and he could see your panties shaking.

with one quick move he pulled your underwear down and took the vibrator to turn it off. it came out with a wet plop and juices were running down your thighs.

sunwoo surprised you by sucking on the wet vibrator.

'sit on the desk,' he commanded you.

you did as you were told and sunwoo spread your legs wide apart.

he inserted his index and middle finger which slipped in with ease. your pussy made wet noises as he pushed them in and out of you.

finally having privacy you allowed yourself to make sounds. he made intense eye contact while fingering you, loving the way your face was scrunched up in pleasure.

you wrapped your arms around his neck and started kissing him. his tongue easily won the fight over dominance and started exploring your mouth.

you two were basically just sucking each others faces off until he broke off the kiss and lowered his body. he attached his mouth to your clit and started sucking. you pulled at his hair in pleasure and had a hard time controlling your breathing. damn, he was skilled at this as well.

when he felt you clenching around his fingers he withdrew them and you let out a disappointed noise of protest.

'don't worry. you'll have more soon.', he laughed at you. he quickly took off his pants and pulled you off the desk. he turned you around so your ass was facing him.

he started rubbing his thick cock between your ass cheeks and coated it in your juices. every time he got into contact with your tense pussy a shudder overcame your body.

he lifted your leg and placed your foot on the table. the angle from when he thrusted into you from behind was just perfect.

sunwoo attached his lips onto your neck and started leaving hickeys there. at the same time he was kneading your breast through your shirt.

he had barely ever felt such a perfect pussy around his cock. the way you took him in seemed too good to be true.

while his dick was still inside you, he lifted you up and placed you on all fours on the floor.

he grabbed your hips so tightly that he left red marks on them. at this point, he was just uncontrollably slamming into you while you were losing your mind. you were screaming his name loudly, glad that you knew no one could hear you.

as you could feel both of you getting close, he pulled your upper body up to his chest and wrapped one hand around your neck.

the pressure he applied was just enough for you to see stars but not enough for it to be unpleasant.

the lack of oxygen stimulated your senses even more and while repeatedly screaming out sunwoo's name you finally came hard on his dick.

with a few more thrusts, sunwoo's hips started stuttering as well and he shot his load into you. while riding out your highs he was just fucking his cum right back into you.

when he finally pulled out, a pool of his semen started dripping out of you. you suddenly felt so empty. his thick cock had filled you up so good that you were already missing it.

while you were still catching your breath on the floor, sunwoo had gone to get paper towels.

when he came back, however, he seemed hectic.

'I'm so sorry. there has been an emergency and I need to leave right now. I'll leave these here as well as the money.' he placed everything on the desk and walked back to the door.

he turned around one last time. 'I hope we can do this again.' he smiled at you.

you later saw that he had left you $750.

kind of becoming a sugar baby had never been your plan but you didn't mind it. if only the circumstances had been better.

[songbirdstyles]

white wedding.

summary: your estranged aunt leaves you her estate in her will with the stipulation that you have to be married to receive your inheritance. luckily, harry is more than willing to help.

pairing: best friend!harry styles x reader

warnings: fluff, smut, angst if you squint.

song inspo.: white wedding - billy idol

word count: 13.4k

You weren’t too close to your Aunt Alice for the entirety of your life - there’s a picture, you think, hung in your parents’ house of her and some of your other family members, crowding around your bassinet when you were just a baby, her face turned up into a scowl amid everyone else’s gleaming grins, and it was a lovely foreshadow into your relationship with her. She sent you $10 on your birthdays and Christmas (an amount that your father had always scoffed at when he thought you weren’t listening - ‘she’s a goddamn millionaire,’ he’d hiss to your mother, ‘and the most she can spare her only niece is $10?’)  and you could remember, when you were 9, seeing her at a family reunion where she sat at a table pressed into a back corner and nursed glasses of wine during the entire event.

It goes without saying, you suppose, that she wasn’t the kindest lady. Your mother had told you how Aunt Alice cut off your father for some reason nobody could quite discern and, so, she never held a much larger place in your life than a mere branch on your second grade family tree project -

But, still. It’s rather difficult to regard the dead in such a negative manner so you try and focus on the good parts of your late aunt. Twice, she wrote ‘love u’ in your Christmas card. And, at said family reunion, when you walked over to her table to say goodbye before you left, she delivered a sloppy, strangely wet kiss to the side of your face that smelled distinctly of chardonnay (a scent you hadn’t quite been able to place until years later.) And - 

“Are you alright?”

Harry’s voice snaps you out of your thoughts, gazing out the rain-streaked car window at the night sky with an odd air of sadness surrounding you. You had been trying to hide the slight dash of sadness you feel at the memory of your aunt by disguising it with a mask of sleepiness that has you leaning your forehead against the cold window, eyes squeezed shut. But Harry can read you like a goddamn book - like the back of his hand. It’s what best friends are for, you suppose.

“I’m fine,” you tell him, tilting your head away from the window to glance at him in the driver’s seat. And, the truth is, you are fine. It’s not as though you’re entirely too saddened with the news of Aunt Alice’s passing. She’d always had health issues, according to your parents, and you’re not sure what, exactly, has sealed her fate - you’re simply more confused by it all. “Well - when we were leaving the movies, I got a call from my dad. My aunt died.”

You can hear Harry’s sharp intake of breath and there’s a brief hesitation where you know he’s trying to gauge how you feel about it. “Oh,” he settles on, turning to look at you in the eye when the car rolls to a stop at a red light. “M’sorry, love.”

You shrug, glancing down to squint at your fingernails in the darkness of Harry’s car. You’d begun to pick at the baby blue nail polish he’d delicately applied the night before (they matched his, naturally) and it really is a nervous habit you should work on, but you can’t be bothered right now. “We weren’t close,” you admit, leaning back against the headrest. “It’s just weird, is all.”

“Are y’sad about it?”

“Not quite,” and it’s the truth. “She was wealthy, though. I think she wrote novels or plays or something - I’m not sure. And I was, apparently, her closest living relative that she didn’t despise.”

He clicks his tongue softly, making a left when the light finally switches to green, and his eyes shift back towards the road. “Left y’somethin’ in her will, did she?”

“Her countryside estate,” you confess, voice soft - it’s not the climax of your story but it certainly sounds like it should be, and you can see the confused crease in Harry’s eyebrows when you look up at him. “I looked the address up online, Har - it’s gorgeous, 6 beds and 7 bathrooms. I guess we had similar tastes in that regard.”

“Y’don’t sound too thrilled, for someone who jus’ got their dream house handed to ‘em on a platter.”

“There’s a stipulation in the will.”

“Ah.”

You smile tightly. “I’ll only inherit the house if I’m married.”

It’s something you’ll never understand. Aunt Alice never married and lived in that grand old house (your dream house) all by herself, and if you’d known about your role in her will perhaps you’d have argued it with her in person - the hypocrisy of it all, how goddamn unfair it was. And it’ll kill you - truly kill you - to see that house go to whoever her next closest living relative is who she doesn’t hate. Probably some third cousin twice removed, considering how great she was at cutting people off.

And Harry sits for a moment in silence, considering it. “Seems very - very - can’t think of the word.”

“Sexist? Unfair? Dumb?”

“All true,” he agrees, giving you a sympathetic smile, and it makes you feel the tiniest bit better, even if it’s just for a moment. “Barbaric, maybe.”

“I hate her,” you declare, crossing your arms over your hoodie-clad chest, and you most certainly don’t, but you’re angry enough to mean it in the moment. When your father had told you, you hadn’t thought about it too much - besides being confused by the entire thing, being left a house by a relative you hardly knew - but saying it out loud makes you angrier, squeezing your eyes shut. “Would you know she never married? How does that make sense?” “It doesn’t,” Harry repeats, and you glance out the window, lifting your palm to wipe at the cloudy stain your forehead had made against the glass - you’re just less a minute away from your apartment building, and you rip your phone from Harry’s charger and shove it into the pocket of your hoodie. “She left you time, right? T’get married? Tha’ seems only fair.”

You snort, ignoring the way his lips turn up into a smile at the noise. “She gave me a year. I mean, I’m 23 - I wasn’t intending on settling down for another couple of years.”

If you were less distracted, perhaps you’d see his responding silence for what it is - time to think, gears grinding in his head, as he pulls into the parking lot of your apartment building and leans over the center console to wrap you in a hug. Harry’s a talkative person and he’s only really quiet when he’s got something on his mind, but you’ve got something on yours too (probably more than he does) so you ignore it. And his soft murmur into your hair of ‘I’ll pick you up tomorrow for breakfast’ sounds every bit as distracted as you feel so you simply pay it no mind.

It’s easier that way, for now.

 --

 “I’ve been thinkin’ about your situation.”

You raise your eyebrows at Harry, bent over his plate of French toast as though he hadn’t spoken at all. His sunglasses are perched at the end of his nose so you can see his eyes - which, in your opinion, defeats the purpose of even wearing the stupid things in public. But, whenever you two go out together, he insists on wearing them, along with a grey beanie protecting his infamous head of curls from any wandering eyes, and the bizarre attempt at a disguise always makes you feel like you’re having breakfast with a burglar. 

“Not much to think about,” you shrug, popping a forkful of omelet into your mouth and chewing thoughtfully. “I was just mad about it last night, you know. Heat of the moment, sort of thing.”

“I’d be mad, too,” Harry tells you, and it’s getting more difficult to ignore the way his words send heat creeping up your neck, and you glance down at your plate of eggs with a small smile gracing your face. “Not jus’ heat of the moment, either. Really mad. S’bullshit.”

A second of silence passes, and you let his reassurance settle over you - simply having him agree with you on the stupidity of the entire situation makes you feel a thousand times better. Even if you don’t get the house (and you’ve already progressed into the last stage of grief over almost certainly losing it - acceptance) at least you’ll always have Harry, and maybe that’s enough.

But the house would be nice, too.

“What were you thinking about?” You question, lifting your eyes back up to meet his through his tinted glasses, and if there wasn’t the barrier between your gazes you’d be able to note the nearly shameful glint in his eyes as he digs into his stack of sugary sweet toast, doused with maple syrup and towered high with fruit. “About the situation, I mean.”

Harry begins to speak once more just as you reach over with your fork to nab a piece of banana, and he swats at your wrist as you pop the slice of fruit into your mouth. “Don’ steal my banana, babe,” he tells you, eyes narrowing in mock anger, and you roll your eyes at the name. “Anyway. S’not totally crazy, that you could get married in less than a year.”

Yes, it is, you want to reply back, but you can tell he’s ramping up to something important, so you rest your fork on your plate and furrow your eyebrows at him pointedly. Truthfully, even if the love of your life happened to be sitting in front of you, you’re not sure you could go through with marrying them, anyway. It’s such a heavy commitment and, God, you thought you’d have more time. Time to explore and experiment and not settle down (in your dream house) just for the sake of it.

“What if we got married?”

And that - is not what you were expecting him to say.

You’re not sure if he’s kidding or not so you give it a minute before responding in any capacity. Just stare at him, and he makes a point of hooking his pinkie in the center of his sunglasses and tugging them down his nose just a bit so you can see the absolute lack of amusement in his eyes. He’s all business, goddammit, as if he hadn’t just basically proposed to you in the middle of eating your fucking omelet.

But you can’t be sure he’s serious, and you also can’t be sure that the way your stomach flipped wasn’t because of a particularly egregious sip of chocolate milk and not the prospect of marrying your best friend. So you lean back, crossing your arms over your chest. “Are you kidding?”

Harry just shakes his head, grey beanie sliding up just a bit for one chocolate coloured lock of hair to escape the confines of the dumb hat. “M’being dead serious, babe. I’ll get down on one knee an’ prove it, too.”

“Don’t do that,” you beg him, reaching out to grab at his wrist when he makes to push himself out of his chair, and his wide grin only sends your stomach into another set of somersaults. “Jesus, Har.”

“Horrible idea?”

You don’t respond right away, grabbing your glass of chocolate milk and wrapping your lips around the straw. It’s a few seconds to process the request in all its glory - marrying your best friend, even if it’s just for show, is a lot. Sure, all you’d really have to do is head down to a courthouse (you could do it today, even - if you wanted to, and you’re not sure you do.) It’d be easier than searching hopelessly for the love of your life and arrange a wedding in less than a year, and you’d be able to walk the halls of your aunt’s gorgeous estate, decorate it how you please, and - ideally - your relationship with Harry wouldn’t quiver in the slightest.

Well, maybe that’s why you’re hesitant to begin with. Because it would quiver - or because it wouldn’t - or because it’s plain weird to marry your best friend. Even if it’s for a good cause (your dream home) and even if he suggested it in the first place, because he cares about you and wants you to be happy.

That’s sweet.

Maybe it would be a glorious fuck you to Aunt Alice in death. It isn’t as though anyone would know about the inauthenticity of the union but you would, and that’s all the revenge you need for her adding such a silly stipulation to her will, anyway. A marriage born not out of love, but out of need - sure, it’s not exactly how you wanted your life to go, but it’s better than watching the estate go to someone you’d never met before. You could get married and get divorced in the time frame she’d given you to find love in the first place and it would hardly be a blip in your life plans, and certainly not in Harry’s. It isn’t as though he’d suggest it if the marriage would ruin anything for him. 

Sure, you’d prance around family parties with him on your arm to sell your faux romance to your family. Only one or two, though, his arm around your waist, and it wasn’t as if your parents hadn’t already begun to question whether your close friendship with Harry ventured into something further. And, when it’s all said and done, when the house is officially in your name and you can begin shopping for furniture to make it your own, it’ll be easy to sell the divorce - he’s touring, you’d tearfully proclaim, and the stress was just too much on our relationship. And then you’d both be happy, right? For the most part, anyway. Still best friends with no hassle at all, and you get your house and he gets the popstar life without the settling down part.

When you’ve swallowed your gulp of chocolate milk, it’s nearly worrying how much you’ve thought about the proposal.

“It’s not a horrible idea,” you begin, eyes diverting downward to where Harry’s fingers are fiddling with a straw wrapper. “I mean, it could be pretty easy.”

“Very easy.”

“We just elope -”

“Could do it today, even -”

“I haven’t agreed yet, Mr. Styles - but we would elope, and then I’d get the house, and maybe I’d bring you to a family reunion, just to sell it, and then we’re divorced.”

He raises his eyebrows, glasses sliding further down the bridge of his nose until their purpose has been completely obliterated, and his eyes are on display for the goddamn world to see. “Unless we fall in love an’ live happily ever after - no divorce necessary, m’love.”

Bastard. Your stomach flips again but you just roll your eyes, picking up your fork and lifting a shaky bite of eggs up to your mouth. “Shut up.”

You’re almost certain you’ve made up your mind but you still make a show of thinking about it, slowly chewing on your omelet and focusing your gaze on a paper napkin resting on the ground beside Harry’s chair. It’s almost too easy, the entire process, and maybe that should make you nervous, just a little bit, that the idea of marrying him feels so relaxing. But - well - if you had to choose anyone in the world to marry in order to fulfill a stipulation in your aunt’s will, it would have to be Harry.

He’s looking at you eagerly when you look back up at him, and you’re not sure why he’s so excited about it - not like there’s anything in it for him - but it’s something you’ll think about later.

“I can’t believe I’m agreeing to this,” you tell him, watching the way his grin spreads across his face like wildfire, and you can’t help yourself from smiling, too, “but I am.”

In seconds, Harry’s reaching across the table, grabbing your hand in his larger one, and just the way your heart jumps at the feeling of your palms pressed together should certainly have you rethinking your enthusiastic yes. But then he’s picking up the straw wrapper he’d been fiddling with, and it’s twisted into a makeshift wedding ring, and he’s sliding it onto your ring finger with a wide smile like a fucking puppy -

God. You’re in too deep already, and you’ve only just agreed.

 --

 For the record, you’d rethought your decision many, many times since agreeing.

You’d drafted out the text for Harry for when you inevitably will change your mind - a block of words confessing to him that you’d reacted too quickly and you think it would be best if you simply forfeit your inheritance, but you can never quite gather the guts to do it. And every time you copy and paste the note from your notes to your text thread with your best friend, something always stops you -

The photos of the house from the real estate website you’d seen it on.

Harry’s wide grin as you accepted his offer.

FIngers delicately sliding on an engagement ring made of a paper straw wrapper, and the next day when he’d shown up at your door with an actual, real engagement ring.

Naturally, you hadn’t sent it. You’d deleted the note entirely, too, embarrassed with even looking at your words of defeat sprawled on your phone screen. Sometimes, though, you wish you had fucking sent it. Nearly two weeks after accepting the proposal that still hasn’t progressed from feeling like an absolute fever dream, you’re sitting with Harry at Aunt Alice’s funeral, his arm hooked around the back of your chair and the other clutching a glass of wine that he’s hardly taken two sips of.

You’re on your second glass already, and it’s barely been an hour. You’d signed the guestbook and hooked your arm with Harry’s and introduced him as your fiance to exactly one of your great-aunts, and you’d been so nervous that Aunt Shirley could see right through your faux-engagement that you’d practically downed your glass the second her back turned. 

“This is so weird,” you confess to Harry, shifting closer to him so no one else around you can hear. Not that there is, per se, anyone else around you - not many other people are sitting down, but you and Harry were one of the first people to arrive, so you’ve given yourselves a pass to sit down for a while. “Isn’t it weird, Har?”

“S’only weird if you make it weird,” he murmurs back, and you would roll your eyes at how maddeningly calm he is if you weren’t desperate to keep up your pretense as loving fiance to the funeral goers whose wandering eyes may turn to you two. “And, babe, you’re makin’ it weird.”

Your lips spread into a smile and you lift your glass of wine to your lips, taking a small sip before bringing it back down to your lap. No matter how many times you scream at yourself, internally, that nobody knows you’re not engaged and to calm the fuck down, you can’t stop your leg from bouncing up and down, showcasing your nerves in the most outward way you possibly could. “Wonder when my parents are getting here - should’ve texted them and told them separately. Did you tell your mum?”

“Told her the truth,” Harry tells you, tilting his head into yours in a way that feels so natural you swear you could stay this way forever. “You’re not tellin’ your parents the truth?”

“Bless my mum,” you sigh, “but she can’t keep a secret to save her life.”

Harry exhales a soft laugh, eyes darting around the room full of people before landing back on yours, and your gazes lock for just the briefest of seconds before he’s glancing down at your lap. “Y’don’t have t’do this if you’re uncomfortable, y’know. We can jus’ say - the pressure of m’job was too much.”

“I’m not uncomfortable,” you tell him, which is true. You’re nervous, for sure, but he could never make you uncomfortable. “And, ironically enough, that’s my excuse for when we divorce.”

Your voice drops to a near breath on the last word and Harry’s head drops back with a bark of laughter that’s entirely too loud for the setting you’re at but you can’t bring yourself to reprimand him. “Always talkin’ ‘bout our divorce,” Harry breathes, tilting his head closer to yours so his mouth is close enough to your ear that you can feel his breath, hot against your skin. “What if we fall in love, babe? No divorce then. Don’ y’want us t’live happily ever after?”

“I don’t think that’s going to happen,” you roll your eyes, even if you’re almost positive you will (or already have) and shake your head at Harry’s resulting chuckle. “Been best friends for nearly five years, haven’t we? If we were going to fall in love, I reckon it would’ve happened already, Har.” 

“You’re right,” he agrees, voice oddly soft and sounding just sentimental enough for you to narrow your eyes suspiciously at him - but before you can question him further, his eyes dart down to where your leg is still frantically bouncing up and down. “Bloody hell, love - bouncin’ your leg so much. Y’look like a nervous wreck.”

“Thanks,” you begin, and whatever else you’d been meaning to say dies in your throat as Harry’s arm shifts from around the back of your chair and his hand comes down firm on your leg. His fingertips brush your knee and his palm lays soft against your thigh, just high enough to gently brush the end of your black dress and you wish you could control the way your stomach flips again and again like a fucking gymnast.

It’s to keep up appearances, you tell yourself. So people don’t think I’m so nervous. But it feels so nice, so natural in a way you hadn’t expected, feeling his hand resting on your thigh like it belongs there, fingertips drumming against your knee which most certainly isn’t bouncing anymore.

Your eyes flit up to his, narrowing them ever so slightly as if to sniff out his intentions, and out of the corner of your eye you can see two familiar figures walking in the high arched doors of Aunt Alice’s service. Your parents break off from each other nearly the second they enter, your father skirting off to greet some of his cousins and your mother’s eyes scan the room filled with relatives before landing on you and Harry.

“Mum’s here,” you tell Harry, pushing yourself to stand, and the feeling of his hand dropping off your thigh is a sensation you absolutely despise. He stands soon after you, adjusting the cuffs of his black button down shirt, and for the first time since the funeral began, you can see the beginnings of nervousness creeping upon him. A light pink flush works its way up his neck to his cheeks and he brings his hand up to run through his hair, inhaling a shaky breath. “You look nervous, Har. You’ve met my mum before.”

“S’different. Now we’re engaged.”

“Not too different.” You hook your arm with Harry’s, patting his hand with yours, and he gives you one grateful fleeting grin before you begin walking over to your mother. She’s bent over the guestbook, scribbling her name with the feather pen resting beside the log. You stop walking when you’re just a couple paces behind her, waiting for her to turn around and see you two - and your voice drops to a hushed tone as you reassure Harry. “I think she already sort of thought we were dating anyway - so she won’t care too much.”

“Wait - she did?”

“Hey, mum!”

 --

 You’re getting married in a week.

And, sure, you’d known that the entire process would move quicker than you could imagine but it still feels surreal and you still reckon you haven’t thought it through enough. It’s worsened (or, in some way, bettered) by the absolute adoration your family had immediately adopted towards Harry after meeting him just a few days ago, your aunts pulling you aside at the funeral and the repast that occurred after and whispering in your ear about what a handsome man he is! 

Well, they’ll certainly be disappointed when, in a month or two, you pop in to the next family gathering and announce that you two had gotten divorced as quickly as you’d been wed. Harry will be your ex husband and, at that point, surely people would be suspicious at the speed of which everything had happened but - hey - you’ll have your house and your best friend and that’s all you really need, isn’t it.

Yeah.

Slowly but surely, you’re coming to peace with it, and Harry’s certainly making it easier by being so zen about it all. His nerves at the funeral had been just about eradicated because your mum loves him, which you knew, and your father had seemed positively overjoyed at the news of your engagement, but they’d both seemed rather disappointed at your decision to elope instead of spending the time planning a big white wedding. And you’d expected that, but you figure that, by the time your second marriage inevitably rolls around, it’ll be real (realer than whatever you’re feeling for Harry, because you’re still not sure) and your father will walk you down the aisle and you’ll be able to go shopping for a big gorgeous wedding dress like you’d always dreamt of wearing.

You haven't even bought a dress. The one you’re wearing now, staring at yourself in the floor length mirror propped against your bedroom wall, is one you’d purchased for your college graduation to wear beneath your gown - simple and flowy, falling to just about your mid-thigh, and the only redeeming quality for even being considered a wedding dress is its white color. Still - it isn’t as though it’s a real wedding, in the traditional sense, so it doesn’t make sense for you to spend too much on a gown you’ll don for a trip to the courthouse and then get sad whenever you look at it again, post-divorce.

No, you don’t think you like it. You’d liked it for your graduation but for a wedding (your wedding) you wish you had something just a bit nicer, and you want to strip out of it and change back into your jeans but Harry’s sitting in your living room, waiting for you to model the stupid thing for him, and you’d hate to disappoint him. So you inhale softly, run your hand down the fabric, soft beneath your fingers, and reach for the door.

Harry’s on his phone when you step out of your bedroom, slowly shutting the door behind you, his body looking strangely large where he’s perched on the small loveseat in your living room. Everything in your apartment seems too small for him - or just too small in general - and it’ll be a nice change to live in a house where you can hold gatherings of more than 5 people without feeling like sardines in a can.

“Har,” you call, reaching down to tug the ends of your dress just a bit further down your thighs as you step further into the living room, bare feet padding against the plush rug your parents had gotten you as a Christmas gift the year prior. “What do you think of the dress?” You can hear the click of his phone as he turns it off, dropping it on the cushion beside him, and heat creeps up your cheeks as his gaze turns to you - you should feel self conscious, the way his eyes roll up and down your body, drinking in every bit of your dress, but you fucking love it. Love the way his lips part into a small o and upturn into a grin, how he pushes himself to stand and close the distance between you two until he’s hardly two inches away from you, how he reaches down to pick up the end of your dress as though examining the fabric.

“Do you like it?” You question as Harry drops your dress, letting the fabric fall back down around your thighs. “Wasn’t sure if I did.”

“I love it,” he tells you, immediate and forceful and you can tell he means it with his whole chest - maybe you love it, too. “Y’look beautiful.”

“You don’t think it’s too simple, do you?” Maybe you’re fishing for more compliments but you allow yourself to do it shamelessly. “It was my graduation dress - remember?”

“I do remember,” Harry grins, tugging at the bottom of your dress, and keeping his hands busy is a nervous habit of his that you’ve grown to recognize from a hundred miles away, but you can’t think of why, exactly, he’d be nervous now. “Looked so pretty, walkin’ across tha’ stage. I was so proud.”

You smile, gaze dropping down to where his fingers are fiddling with the skirt of your dress, and you think you’ll wear this dress every single goddamn day if he reacts as positively to it as he is now. “You sound like my dad.”

His nose scrunches when you look back up at him, and your heart twists inside your chest. “Don’ make it gross.” You simply shrug, bringing your fingers up to drum against his shoulders through the fabric of his Fleetwood Mac shirt, his muscles flexing ever so slightly beneath your touch. “M’being serious, though. I love the dress. Y’make the prettiest bride on the planet - m’a lucky man, aren’t I.”

From the moment you walked out of your room you’ve been feeling heat burning your cheeks but it doesn’t stop you from gently smacking his shoulder. “Stop it - you’re gonna make me blush.”

“Looks like y’already are, Mrs. Styles.”

Should that name make your stomach as topsy-turvy as it does? 

You shake your head, smoothing your palms over the front of your dress to both eradicate the wrinkles that adorn the fabric and to wipe off the sweat cropping up on your hands. You don’t think you’ve ever been so nervous around Harry before and you can’t quite place your finger on why, but it’s getting more difficult to look him in the eye with your heart pounding as fast as it is. “I’m not gonna be Mrs. Styles for another week.” 

Harry exhales softly, fingertips tapping against your hip and you hadn’t even realized how close his hands were to that spot of your body - but it feels comforting, his touch on an oddly intimate part of you. “I can’t wait,” he says, and you can’t, either. “Makin’ me a very lucky groom, babe.”

Hearing him call you babe could make you go crazy if you focus on it for too long, so you don’t - and it’s hard to focus on much other than Harry himself as his head drops down, forehead pressed to yours, and oh God you can smell his fucking gum, and if you tilt your head up ever so slightly -

Is he going to kiss you? You think your heart will explode but you’ve never wanted anything more so you tilt your head up, just a bit, grip tightening on his shoulder, and you can feel his breath growing warmer against your face -

The sound of Harry’s phone ringing in his pocket snaps you out of your haze.

“Fuck,” he mutters, hands dropping off your hips, and your head drops downwards with a soft groan. It was so close. You could feel his breath against your face and how did that fucking opportunity pass you by? - “S’my mum. Fuck - m’sorry.” And you’re not sure if he’s apologizing for the call or what had (or, rather, had not) happened but it doesn’t matter.

One glance at the phone he’s tugged out of his pocket shows that he’s right - Anne’s contact photo smiles up at you and you give Harry a small nod, faking the smile you’re not feeling, before taking a step back against your plush carpet as he turns around, back to you, phone pressed to his ear.

“I’m gonna change,” you whisper to no one in particular. Harry’s head turns just a bit so you can catch the apologetic look on his face before he’s loudly greeting Anne, and you’ve never liked eavesdropping on their calls. So you turn and head to your bedroom, shutting the door firmly behind you and turning to stare at yourself, wide-eyed, in your mirror.

He almost kissed you.

He didn’t - but would he have? If Anne hadn’t rung him - would he have leaned down, breathing shaky, like how it always is when he’s nervous, and ever so gently pressed his lips to yours? And you would’ve known exactly how it feels to be kissed by him, whether it would be as dream-like as all the times you’ve dreamt of it. His hands on your hips, yours on his shoulders, bodies slotted together until your hands are roaming and you’re pushing him on to the couch, sliding into his lap and his hands would roam to your thighs -

It doesn’t do well to think about it now. You don’t want to get yourself too worked up about it - that doesn’t do anyone much good - and you don’t want to take too long to change. So you inhale a soft breath, smooth your clammy palms back over the front of your wedding dress, and you allow yourself one final glance in the mirror at the attire you’ll be donning in a week’s time before reaching around to your back, fiddling with the zipper until you can begin to tug it down.

 --

 You and Harry haven’t talked too much since you showed him your dress, and it’s probably not very great etiquette for an engaged couple, but you two have never been normal anyway.

He sent you a picture of the suit he’s wearing and it’s as every bit unconventional as your excuse of a wedding dress, and you told him that - how you would be a pair for the books, the opposite of what a regular married couple looks like. And you texted him just yesterday and asked if he would make you two a reservation at your favourite restaurant for dinner after the elopement (he always tended to get the nicer tables, and you don’t pretend not to know why) and he sent you back two thumbs-up emojis in response.

You’re getting married in three days, though. It would probably be best to talk about it with him before you cross that bridge but it’s never been one of your stronger areas, so you leave it be for now.

“Are you alright?” Your friend questions, tilting her head in so you can hear her against the thumping music of the club. Your friends had insisted on dragging you out for a bachelorette party the second they hard of your engagement and it would be out of character for you to refuse a night of drinks on them - even if you’d rather stay home and think about Harry and all the things you should’ve done when he was at your apartment. Getting drunk out of your mind does seem preferable to wallowing, though, now that you’re out and about and well on your way to getting smashed - so you turn to Olivia and nod once, a simple jerk of your head.

“I’m fine,” you tell her, reaching over to grab the cocktail Amy had gotten for you and bringing the straw to your lips. “Just thinking about Harry.”

Amy snorts from her spot across the booth, dipping her finger into her empty shot glass and licking up the droplet she collected. “Can’t believe it took you two so long to get together.”

“And I can’t believe you didn’t tell us about it,” interjects Olivia, reaching over to grab your glass out of your hand and taking a sip of your drink. “How long have you two been together again?”

Fuck. You’re in the grey area between being tipsy and being drunk and you can’t remember how long you and Harry had claimed to be together. Was it a year or two years? You think it’s a year - you’d wanted to go as low as possible with your answer. Did we say six months? That seems too low. “I’ve liked him since I’ve known him,” you answer instead, which is absolutely the truth, and Amy and Olivia are both too drunk to ponder about your evasion of the question. “Loved him, even.”

Your fingers brush against your phone, sitting on the table face down, as your friends playfully swoon - the last time you’d texted Harry was to tell him you were going to the club, and you hadn’t checked to see if he responded. It’s always been a habit between the two of you to text where you’re going, in case something happens, which seems oddly barbaric at times but you’ve always appreciated it.

“You’re so lucky,” Amy informs you, reaching across the booth to intertwine your fingers. She gets sappy when she’s drunk and you can tell from the distinct crack in her voice that she’s mere seconds away from bursting into tears and professing how much she loves you and Olivia - you don’t ever quite enjoy being around to see that. “I mean, really. You and Harry - we always knew it would happen -”

“I should call him real quick,” you mumble, watching as her eyes water over, and Olivia rolls her eyes with a grin as she scoots around the other side of the booth so Amy can throw her arms around her. You grab your phone and push yourself out of the booth, maneuvering through the crowd of people until you’ve reached the bathroom.

It's a single stall and the club is small enough that you only have to wait a minute or two before a thoroughly shitfaced woman stumbles out of the bathroom, a piece of toilet paper stuck to the bottom of her shoes, but she’s gone before you can point it out to her. You brush it off with a shrug and shut the door behind you once you’re inside the bathroom - it smells like Febreze and mint soap, and the scent of the mint reminds you of Harry’s breath and you really need to call him, don’t you.

You’re scrolling through your call log before you can wonder if calling your best friend who you’re in love with while you may be quite drunk is a bad idea - the phone is ringing just as you begin to - and he’s picked it up just when you realize you’ve made a mistake.

“Hey, babe,” Harry says from the other end, voice crackling with the poor reception in the club. He sounds groggy and raspy and you can tell you’ve either woken him up or he’s trying to go to sleep, and you don’t actually know what time it is, you realize. “What’re you up to?”

“I’m at a club,” you tell him, and you can hear his soft exhale of air and you can practically picture the slow smile spreading across his lips. “I’m out with Amy and Olivia - they wanted to take me out for a bachelorette party or something - s’kinda dumb, I dunno -”

“Are y’drunk? S’just, you’re slurrin’ a lot -”

“I’m tipsy,” as you sit back on the closed toilet seat, fingernails digging into your thigh. You don’t actually know what you’d called him to say but four days without talking to Harry seems like it’s setting some sort of record and you hate it. “Just wanted to call because - um - well, I miss you.”

For a second you think the call may have broken up - you can’t hear much beside his soft breathing, and you pull the phone away to check if it’s still connected. But then he sighs softly, and you’re quick to press your phone back to your ear. “I miss y’too, m’love - ‘course I do.”

“That’s sweet.” You hum softly, kicking your toes against the tiled bathroom floor. “I thought you might be mad at me.”

“Why would I be mad?”

“Dunno,” you shrug. “That’s why I was confused. But you haven’t texted me much.”

You can fucking sense him rolling his eyes. “Well, y’didn’t text me either. I thought you were mad at me -”

“I’ve been thinkin’ about what happened the other day,” you interject, and you know you wouldn’t be telling him this if you weren’t teetering more towards being drunk instead of tipsy, “and I really wanted to kiss you, you know. I mean, I thought you were going to - and then it didn’t happen.”

“Well, m’mum called.”

“Would you have done it if she didn’t?”

There’s a pause for only the briefest of seconds before Harry says, “‘Course I would have.”

Your heart flutters inside your chest and you lean your head back against the wall, nails digging further into your thigh and it’s difficult to hold back the grin that threatens to split your goddamn face in two. God, he would have. He would have kissed you - does he love you like how you love him? It seems fucking unreal, like something you’d dream up in your deepest sleep. You’d never thought Harry would ever feel the same way, even as you got a fucking marriage license together and planned out the dinner you’d eat after your elopement and -

You can’t think of a single other one of your friends who would fucking marry you for any reason, house or no house, life or death. And who would you do it for? Not Amy, not Olivia, even if they asked you nicely. It’s a commitment - a huge one - one that you wouldn’t be willing to do for anyone.

But you’d do it for Harry, in a heartbeat. You know you would. You’d have the fucking dress on before he could finish asking, and isn’t that what you had done, really? He hadn’t had to convince you much at all. You’d been willing from the get-go.

“Really?” Your voice is barely a breath, a soft exhale of air, reeking of the giddy joy you’re feeling at his proclamation. “Don’t lie to me.”

“Y’know I never lie to you.” Harry sounds nearly offended at the mere idea. “You are m’fiance. Comes with a code of conduct.”

You roll your eyes, and just then there’s a loud knock against the door - you jump violently, phone nearly slipping from your grasp. For a minute you’d forgotten you’re in a club bathroom and you know you’ve been here far too long to be appropriate - you’ll give yourself just one more minute to talk to Harry. “What about when we get divorced? Gonna lie to me then?”

“Always talkin’ about the divorce,” he murmurs, and his voice sounds so full of adoration that you’re nearly overwhelmed by it. “D’you have such little confidence about the strength of our relationship?”

If it were up to you, you’d be with Harry forever - but you can’t tell him that, not yet. “It’s not as though it’s a traditional relationship, you know. I don’t think most marriages that began for the sake of a house inheritance last too long,” you smile, feeling heat burning up your face even if he can’t see you. “Just generally speaking.”

“Hope y’got the statistics t’back that one up -”

Another louder knock shakes you again, and you jump up as though someone had set you aflame. Your phone nearly slips out of your clammy grasp once more and you clear your throat, lowering the device to your shoulder and calling, “Just a second!” to whoever’s waiting impatiently outside. You raise your phone back to your ear and clear your throat again. “I’ve gotta go, Har. I’m in the bathroom at the club - been in here a bit too long.”

“Aright,” Harry says, and you can hear soft shuffling from the other end, audio still crackled by the reception. “Breakfast tomorrow?”

You tilt your head to the side, scrunching your nose up before remembering he can’t see you. “I think it’s tradition for the bride and groom not to see each other before the wedding, isn’t it?”

“Now you’re a stickler for tradition?”

“I’ll see you at the courthouse, Har,” you tell him, before pulling the phone from your ear and hanging up. For a second you can’t move, staring down at Harry’s contact in your phone with a giddy grin that surely makes you look like some child in a candy store - and, in a way, you are - and it’s only a third knock at the bathroom door that has you scrambling out the door, giving an apologetic grin to the girl waiting impatiently.

 --

 Being married - for the record - doesn’t feel too much different than before.

There’s a shiny ring on your finger that Harry had bought, and when you glance across the table where he’s sitting, clutching his menu, you can see the similar wedding ring on his left hand - it’s simplistic and small and contrasts with the rest of his clunky rings and it makes you feel strangely warm inside when you spend too long looking at it. And, even after you and Harry had talked at the club, your ‘post-elopement’ dinner doesn’t feel entirely different than all of the other dinner dates you’d shared before the entire situation began. It’s familiar and sweet and his ankle is hooked around yours under the table, forcing a permanent heat onto your cheeks.

Harry rests his menu on the table, fingertips drumming against the laminated paper, and you similarly drop yours to look at him. “Think m’gonna get the spaghetti.”

It’s a testament to the slight air of awkwardness surrounding you both that the only thing he can think to talk about is the food he’s getting - but you’ll play along. “I like the raviolis,” you tell him. “Think I’ll get those.”

He hums softly, pushing his menu further into the table. “Can y’believe tha’ we’re married? I can’t. Seems so weird.”

“Doesn’t feel that different,” you disagree, toes tapping against his ankle beneath the table. “It’s not like we didn’t go out for dinner together before we got hitched.”

“We’re playin’ footsies under the table, babe.”

You grin down at your napkin, resting on your lap on top of your wedding dress. “Be careful or I’ll kick you, Har.”

His ankle tightens just a bit around yours beneath the table and you could watch that small smile spreading across his face for the rest of your life. “Y’wouldn’t dare - don’t y’love me?”

Yes, you do, so you resist the urge to unhook your ankle from around his and deliver a swift kick to his calf - just rest your palms on the table, scratching lightly at the rustic wood of the table. It’s hard for you to even pretend to be mad at him when all you can think about is how much you want to climb over the table and straddle him - as his wife you suppose it isn’t an insane thought, and you’re nearly certain he’s feeling the same way. Hadn’t he told you he would have kissed you if he hadn’t been called by Anne? Maybe you’ll get a chance to do it again - later. You’ll never give up the opportunity again.

“When d’you get t’move into the house?” Harry questions, leaning in just a bit in his seat. 

“A few months, I think.” You shrug. “Reckon I’ll start redecorating before then, though. I’m already looking at furniture - I’ve gotta save up for most of it, though. Might sell my apartment before then.” There’s a pause, and then you shrug once more, picking at a crack in the table. “I’ll probably move back in with my parents.”

Harry’s eyebrows are raised when you glance up at him, fingers paused in their drumming on the menu. “Are y’kidding? We’re married. You can move in wit’ me.”

“I can’t ask you to do that -”

“Not asking, are you? Even if we didn’t just elope at a courthouse, you’re still m’best friend. Can’t have you moving in t’your mum’s basement.”

You smile softly, flattening your palms against the table and craning your neck to examine the ring - proof that it had really happened, that you’re really married. It still doesn’t feel quite real, no matter how many times you and Harry casually talk about it. “Was gonna live in her attic, actually.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “I’ll pay f’the furniture, too. Don’t look at me like tha’ - s’our house. Needs t’be ready f’when we move in.”

You hesitate, trying poorly to conceal the way your grin is arching further upwards at the mere prospect of what he’s hinting at. Living with Harry? Jesus, even if you weren’t in love with him, living with him sounds like an absolute dream, only made better by your feelings for him. And picturing walking through an Ikea, searching for furniture, feeling his arm around your shoulders as you two look online for decorations - if heaven were a place on Earth, it would be your Aunt Alice’s estate, soon inhabited by you and your husband. “Well, we’ll talk about it, alright?” you land on as your response. 

For a moment, neither of you say anything, and the silence isn’t as stifling with awkwardness as it had been before. Then Harry reaches over, resting his hand overtop of yours, fingers instinctively intertwining, and your heart nearly splits itself in two - he initiated it, holding your hand, and maybe you shouldn’t feel so surprised but you can’t fucking help it. Your scalp is tingling and you swear your eyes are going to bubble over and his hand feels just as soft and beautiful as you’d expected - as you’d always dreamed of.

You’re not sure when, exactly, there would ever be a better time to tell him than now, so you clear your throat and squeeze his hand and confess, “I’ve liked you for a really long time, Har.”

Sharing your feelings isn’t necessarily your strongest spot but you’re feeling egged on by absolutely everything, and the way Harry brushes his thumb against your palm encourages you to continue. “I mean - since we met, basically - but I never told you. Never thought you would like me back.”

“I did,” he interjects, and you look up at him with furrowed brows. “Liked you back, I mean. Clearly - hope y’didn’t think I’d run off an’ marry anybody this fast.”

“I just thought you were being nice.”

“You’re silly, then.”

“A real idiot,” you proclaim, rubbing soft circles into the back of Harry’s hand, and you swear you’ll never let go unless someone fucking rips you away. “Guess I should’ve figured it out, then - seems like we did everything in the wrong order, right?”

Harry snorts, a noise that draws the slightest attention from an older couple sitting at a table beside you, but neither of you pay them any attention. “Get married first, fall in love second.”

“I was already in love,” and you’re not sure why, exactly, you had said that but it feels right and true falling off your tongue so you decide, pointedly, not to regret it.

There’s no hesitation when Harry responds, voice laced with the authenticity you’re so desperately craving - “Reckon I was, too.” You barely get a minute to process that and how it’s making your stomach do flips and turns like an Olympic medalist before he’s standing up, fingers still interlocked with yours to pull you up with him. “How d’you feel ‘bout a sleepover tonight?”

“A sleepover?”

He barely looks at you as he fishes through the pocket of his dress pants to pull out his wallet. “Not like we haven’t had them before.”

That’s true - you’ve slept over at Harry’s house so many times, it’s like a second home to you - but you have a distinct idea that, based off of your previous conversation and the wedding rings shining on both of your fingers, this sleepover will be just a bit different. 

“Skipping out on the reservation, then?” you question, squeezing Harry’s hand as he tosses a $50 onto the table - a significant overkill for your lemonade and his Coke but you suppose he’s feeling rather generous today. “I am rather hungry.”

“We’ll eat at my house,” he insists, leading you through the maze of tables with a grip that’s so tight, you wonder if he’s having the same qualms as you are about never letting go. “Y’like pizza, don’t you?”

 --

 You’ve been in Harry’s house more times than you can count, but it’s never been like this.

His hand is still firm in yours and it’s a feeling you adore - even if his palm has gotten clammier with every second, every step you took closer to his front door, and you can practically smell the nervousness rolling off of him. It’s not unlike the worry that’s overtaken you because you’re not quite sure what he’s expecting - only know what you want to happen and you pray to any god above that your desires align with his.

The sound of Harry shutting the door is the only crack of noise burning through the otherwise thick silence surrounding you. Neither of you had known what to say and the car ride was taken in comfortable silence, hands clasped and heads bobbing to soft music playing on the radio, but being in his house is different - there’s no music, no excuse for Harry to keep his eyes off of you, nowhere to lean your head and pretend to be resting your eyes while your heart uncontrollably thumps against your chest.

In ways, it’s better. Most ways, in fact.

Slowly, you turn to face Harry, fingers drumming against the back of his hand. His breathing is heavy and his eyes never leave yours, and you’re reminded remarkably of trying on your dress for the first time in front of him and your position hadn’t been too unlike this one - maybe now you can do it right.

It feels entirely natural, tilting your head up until you can easily slot your lips to Harry’s. They’re soft and plump and he kisses you back with a vigor you hadn’t quite expected - deepening it before you have the chance to react, his free hand that’s not clutching yours roaming to your neck and you can’t ignore the way your stomach flips at the feeling of his hand on your throat. But then his hand keeps moving up, palm pressing to your cheek in such a sweet gesture that doesn’t at all match the intensity with which he’s slipping his tongue into your mouth - your hand lands on his waist, gripping the flowy material of his dress shirt, pulling his body as close to yours as you can get.

You only pull away to catch your breath, grip tightening on his shirt to ensure he won’t move away - you need him close to you, need to feel his body against yours - the bulge near his thigh that you can feel against your pelvis, hardening with every second that passes.

“Why’d you move?” Harry questions, voice soft and vulnerable and you can’t help but lean up and land another kiss to his mouth. 

“Had to breathe, Har,” you murmur, smoothing your hands against his waist and the wrinkles you’ve surely created in the fabric. His fingers brush the edge of your jawline and you can feel your skin growing goosebumps beneath his touch.

He simply hums in response, ducking his head down to kiss you again. It’s sweeter this time, soft and fluffy but you don’t want that now - God, you want his hand around your neck and his knee between your thighs but perhaps that’ll have to wait for another time. You’re needy for just about anything you can get and if that’s sugary sweet kisses, a touch so gentle you could trick yourself into believing it isn’t there, then you’re more than grateful.

Harry’s teeth dig into your bottom lip, hard enough to have you moaning into his mouth and your nails dig into his through his shirt - the resulting whine into your mouth has you smirking against his lips, pushing your hips further into his. It’s the clearest way you can think of to tell him that you need him beyond kisses and touches.

“Jesus,” he breathes and you can feel his cock, twitching against your thigh and it’s a sensation you never thought you’d be able to experience outside of your deepest dreams - it feels twice as good as you’d imagined. “Gonna make me go crazy, babe.”

That’s exactly what you want.

“Hey,” and you pull away from him, his forehead dropping against yours, his breath still hot on your face, “don’t we have to fulfill the tradition of consummating the marriage?”

He laughs, a loud exhalation of air rather than his true barking laugh, but you smile anyway at the sound. “S’not the middle ages - no one’s expecting us to, if y’don’t want to.”

“Of course I want to.” Harry’s hand slides backwards into your hair, pulling the strands into a ponytail and tugging and your resulting moan has him smirking like a smug bastard against your lips. “God, Har. I really want to.”

It seems that that was the exact response he’d wanted - you get one last lingering kiss to your lips before Harry’s pulling away, hand falling away from your hair and other still interlocked with your own. You don’t have a second to question where, exactly, he’s leading you but then he’s tugging you through the foyer and down the halls and up the staircase you’ve grown to know so well - the trek to his bedroom has never seemed so viciously long until now, but by the time Harry swings open the door, you feel as though you’ve been walking for hours instead of barely a minute.

“On the bed, babe,” he directs you, all raspy tone and dominance lacing every last syllable and you can’t ignore the gush of arousal you can feel rushing straight to your core. It’s the stuff that makes up dreams, really, his fucking voice, and you know just the four simple words would be enough to get you off for years from now. “C’mon.”

You wouldn’t dream of disobeying - your footsteps are nearly completely silent on the carpet as you walk over to the end of Harry’s bed, pushing yourself up to sit on the plush duvet, sinking into the mattress that feels like an absolute cloud compared to the rock you’re used to sleeping on. For a brief second, he doesn’t move - just stands and stares at you, chest heaving through the baby blue dress shirt that your needy grasp had wrinkled. Then he moves, shutting the door with a barely perceptible click before making his way over to you, gazing up at him with heat blazing in your eyes.

Perhaps you’re expecting him to push you onto the bed, to fulfill the dominant tone he’d held before, so it is a bit of a surprise to see your best friend (your husband) dropping to his knees before you, fingertips ever so gently trailing up and down your calves.

The bedroom is so silent, save for your panting breaths and Harry’s shaky ones and you reckon he may be more nervous than you are - you’d expected him to handle all of the confidence between you two but his fingers are shaking as he pulls off your heels, resting them side by side on the carpet at the end of the bed. Chills crop up over your skin as his gentle touch roams up your legs, landing on your knee, and your breath hitches in your throat as the man you’ve loved for nearly 5 years leans in, lips landing a soft kiss to the top of your calf.

This isn’t what you had expected - him fucking worshipping you, on his knees - you’d never pictured it in a million years. And maybe it’s proof of the difference between him and the other guys you’d been with - your ex-boyfriends and flings had always been worried about their pleasure, never paying you any attention, and Harry couldn’t be closer to the end of the spectrum. Your entire body feels warm beneath his watchful gaze and touch, how he brings one hand up to snap firmly when your eyes flutter shut. 

“Look at me,” Harry directs, and despite the slight strain in his actions, his words still hold a never-faltering dominance that he’d had before. “C’mon, babe. I don’ want you to look away from me - can y’do that?”

It’s a task that’s easier said than done, but you nod anyway, swallowing thickly as Harry redirects his attention back to your legs. His hand, resting delicately on your left knee as though you’d break if he put too much pressure, slides down the length of your leg until he’s grasping your ankle, kneading the soft skin in his grasp while his lips linger at the top of your knee.

Using his grip on your ankle, Harry hoists your leg up onto the bed without warning, your toes digging into the end of the bed - uses his other hand to push your thigh outward so you’re on display for him like a goddamn feast and his smug grin proves that he can see just how wet you are, soaking through the white lace panties you’d chosen for the occasion. Heat blooms up your cheeks as he presses an open mouthed kiss to your thigh, teeth grazing your soft skin, and then he gives a dramatic inhale and - that’s -

You reach down, bracing both palms on the side of his face and forcing your husband (husband!) to look at you in the eye. He looks confused by your interjection and apologetic and that isn’t what you were going for but you hadn’t expected him to want to eat you out - most guys didn’t.

“You don’t have to do that, Har,” you murmur, giving a pointed glance to your lap that he’s been eyeing like it’s his dessert. “I won’t be mad.”

And Harry looks almost offended by the prospect of not wanting to, like you’d insulted him - “I want to. D’you not want me to?”

“Yes,” you reply, your voice hardly above a breath, and when he begins to pull away you continue. “No! I mean - yes, I want you to.”

He grins, wide and toothy and reminding you of exactly why you’d fallen for him in the first place, and you settle back into your spot on the bed with your nerves almost completely eradicated. He wants to - he’s not doing it because he feels obligated - it’s already a step up from any other guy you’d ever been with.

Fingers trail up your thighs as Harry’s lips close around the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, cheeks hollowing as he sucks a deep purple hickey, and you lift your hips just a bit so he can hook his fingers in the waistband of your panties and begin to tug them down. The crotch area is practically dripping with your arousal and it takes a bit more force to tug it away from your cunt but once they’re gone, Harry grabs your ankle again and straightens out your leg, making it easier for him to tug the offending material down your body and toss them away from the bed before resting your foot back on the edge.

You can hear his shaky breathing as he pulls his lips away from your thigh, thumb smoothing over the mark he’d left as if to prove it exists. You’d get it fucking tattooed if you could - to forever commemorate this experience - his mark in such a secretive place, just a breath away from where you need him most.

“Jus’ - jus’ tell me if y’want me t’stop,” Harry tells you, eyes interlocking with yours once more, and you jerk your head up and down once. “Lean back f’me, then - not too far, jus’ a bit - still need t’see you.”

So you lean back, propping yourself up on your arms, a barely reclined position from how you’d been sitting before. It’s easier to see him as he grabs the hem of your dress, tugs it up just a bit, but when you lift your hips so he can pull it out from under your ass he doesn’t comply - well, perhaps he has other plans with it, doesn’t want the dress to come off just yet, and you can respect that.

The time it takes for Harry to duck his head beneath your dress, tongue flicking against your overly sensitive folds, seems like fucking years even if it’s hardly a second, but when he does your hips instinctively jerk forward into his mouth. His eyes are flashing when he looks up at you and you breathe out a stream of apologies, heart thumping in your chest, fingernails digging into the comforter beneath you. “Don’ move,” he directs, and you nod again and again and you don’t stop until his lips close in around your clit.

Your head drops back with a low moan as Harry’s teeth graze your clit, cheeks hollowing as he sucks the sensitive nub like it’s what he was born to do. The bottom of your dress covers the top of his head so you can’t see what he’s doing - you have no idea what his next move is and it makes the pleasure rolling through your body that much better.

“Fuck - fuck, Har -” the only two words you can think to moan roll off your tongue like a mantra, your back arching upwards despite his warning not to move but he doesn’t mention it - just drags one hand up, fingertips light and dancing on your thighs until he can splay his forearm across your lower stomach, effectively pinning you to the bed. Your hand moves from digging into the sheets to digging into his scalp, tugging at the loose strands of hair that smell ever so slightly of gel and it makes your heart swell to imagine him putting product in his hair for the elopement - but before you have time to dwell on the sweetness of the sentiment, that talented tongue is licking a thin stripe up your folds before flicking your clit and you’re brought back to reality. “Fuck.”

“Feel good?” Harry mumbles, muffled where his face is pressed firm to your pussy and the vibrations of his words reverberate against your clit, sending a chill up your spine, and you let out a low whine at the sensation. 

“Yes,” you breathe in return, tugging at his hair just a bit, the strands forming a makeshift ponytail like he’d done to you before. “Feels so good, Harry, god -”

His head pulls back just a bit, hem of your dress dropping to just the tip of his nose so you can see his eyes - smug and glinting and you’re sure that, if you could see his mouth, those lips would be upturned into a smirk and practically dripping with your arousal - but he goes back in just as soon as he’d pulled out, burying his face in the apex of your thighs and you collapse back against the bed with a shout.

Whatever order he’d given you to maintain eye contact disappears. It isn’t as though you can see his eyes anyway, and you couldn’t stop yours from rolling back into your head if you tried. Ecstasy rolls through your body and, God, you know you’re close already, thighs tensing under where Harry’s palm kneads the soft skin, hard enough that you’re sure you’ll see bruises tomorrow. Your cunt clenches and flutters around the emptiness you’re yearning to get rid of and your back arches up again, Harry’s restraint on your torso not enough to stop it now, and you’re so fucking close.

“Harry -” you moan, digging your fingernails into Harry’s scalp and relishing in his responding moan to your clit - “gonna cum, Har -”

He doesn’t say anything - but you can feel his tongue continuing its work, up and down your folds and circling your clit and that’s response enough. Your hips jerk into his face, back arching as you grasp his hair tight enough that it has to fucking hurt but then you’re cumming and -

“Oh, fuck!”

Your voice is high pitched, cracked with a desperate sob right in the middle of your words before you’re holding Harry’s head to your pussy, his tongue working your clit like he was born for it, his low moans muffled against you. The hand previously holding down your torso slides up your body until he can shove his hand into the top of your dress, tugging it down so your chest is. He plucks at your nipple before grasping your tit, full in his palm, and the added stimulation prolongs your orgasm, hips rolling against Harry’s working mouth.

You can’t see straight when Harry pulls his head out from the bottom of your chest but when your vision focuses you’re beyond thankful. His chin is glistening with your arousal, tongue poking out to lap at the moisture on his lips and he dons that shit-eating grin you’ve grown to know so well. You usually see it when he wins a board game or when you’re celebrating something - seeing it on his face after he’s finished giving you the best orgasm you’ve ever gotten is certainly different but not unwelcome by anyone’s standards.

There’s a second where all you do is lie back and catch your breath - staring up at the ceiling above you, chest heaving as the aftershocks race through your body. Harry, meanwhile, pushes himself to his feet, muttering a small groan about God, m’fuckin knees and gettin’ too old for this, aren’t I?

Lazily you hold your hand out towards him, wiggling your fingers, and he reaches out to interlock your fingers again. “How was that?” he questions, voice soft and almost insecure and it’s a sharp contrast from the dominance he held before, but you know it’ll come back.

“I think you’re a natural at that, Mr. Styles,” you tell him, squeezing his hand in reassurance as you pull him closer to you until his knees hit the bed and he’s forced to collapse on top of you, grin cracking onto his face. “Gonna undress me?”

“‘Course,” Harry murmurs, leaning down to place a brief kiss to your lips, but before you can lift your head to deepen it he’s rolling off of you, shifting onto his side and shuffling upwards so his head rests on the stack of pillows. You raise your eyebrows at him - it isn’t as though he can take your dress off from that position - but, as though he can read your mind, he raises his hand and pats his lower stomach pointedly. “Climb up, babe.”

For what seems like the millionth time today, you can feel heat pulsing in your cheeks but you hope it doesn’t show - just sit up, swing your legs around so you’re straddling Harry, hands on his chest and gazing down at him like the God he seems to be. His hair is splayed out on the pillows beneath him, bottom lip tugged between his teeth, and you can’t help yourself - lean down to land your lips to his again, and this time both of you allow it to deepen. His hand starts at your cheek like it had before but you reach for it, fingers wrapping around his wrist and maneuvering it downwards until his palm is wrapped around the column of your throat, and he squeezes once experimentally.

You moan softly, hips rolling against the pointed bulge in his dress pants, and Harry’s eyebrows raise. “No fuckin’ way,” he breathes, squeezing again just to hear the way your breath catches. “Gonna be th’fuckin’ death f’me.”

You’re fine with that, and you reckon he is too.

You reach behind you, tapping along your back until you can reach the zipper. You’ve only tugged it down an inch or two before Harry’s free hand replaces yours, dragging the zipper down as far as it can go before reaching for the bottom of the dress. It’s gone in an instant - tossed off the edge of the bed, to be worried about later - and you can feel his fingers fumbling with the clasp of your bra before it comes undone, and then you’re naked.

You’d expected yourself to feel more embarrassed, or perhaps just nervous, and maybe it’s the effects of your previous orgasm but you’re feeling surprisingly calm - or maybe it’s how Harry looks up at you like you’re some sort of goddess sent from above, as though he’s never seen anything more beautiful.

It does wonders for your self esteem, truthfully.

“Gonna undress me, then?” Harry questions, hands smoothing up and down your thighs, eyes drinking in every bit of your exposed body on top of him.

You hum softly, pinching at the soft material of his shirt. “I don’t think so - want you to fuck me in your fancy clothes.”

“Well, if I’d known tha’ was an option -”

“Do you want me to put the dress back on?”

“No!”

You grin down at him before rolling your hips over his again, and it’s the last thing you manage to do before his grip lands on your hips and he’s flipping you over - your head lands dangerously close to hitting the headboard but it’s worth it, seeing him above you, fully clothed, pupils lust-blown and wide.

It hardly takes a second for Harry to undo the button to his pants and the sound of the zipper being undone is like music to your fucking ears - you spread your legs, letting him slot his body between them and oh, you can feel the tip of his fucking cock it’s right there and -

The first movement, Harry pushing himself inside of you, has you throwing your head back against the pillow, the moan coming from your throat mixing with a cry. He’s big - certainly bigger than you’d ever expected and bigger than any guy you’d been with - feels like he could split you in half if he wanted to but he stops, hands smoothing up and down your body, and you make a point of reaching for his hand and interlocking your fingers.

You’ll never grow tired of holding his hand, you think. Not for a while, anyway.

“How’re you doin’?” he questions, voice strained, and when your eyes shift back to him you can see the droplets of sweat beaded on his face. “Jus’ - jus’ tell me when, alright?”

“When,” you breathe almost immediately. You hadn’t needed too much time to adjust but you need him to move - you’re so pent up and you know it won’t take long to take you to your second orgasm but, God, he needs to fucking move. “Please, Har - please, fuck me.”

It doesn’t seem he needed much more encouragement than that. With one final move of wrapping his free hand firm around your neck and giving another small squeeze, Harry pulls out agonizingly slowly until just the tip of his cock remains in your heat. Just as you open your mouth to beg him to move again he slams back in with a force you hadn’t anticipated, your body rocking backwards of its own accord with the weight behind the thrust.

It’s exactly what you’d needed, though - fast and rough and his hand, cutting off your airflow just a bit, just enough to have you quivering beneath him. The low groan that rips out of his throat, reverberating through the humid bedroom has you pushing your hips up to his, trying to deepen where he’s buried inside of you to the hilt but you’re not sure how much deeper he could get. Feels like he could split you in half with every desperate thrust, every rut of his hips into yours and yours back into his.

“Oh - god - m’fuckin’ good girl, so tight around m’cock -”

Another rush of arousal gushes straight to your core with his filthy words and your head falls back into the pillow with a high whine, nails digging into the back of his hand as his other one tightens grip around your neck. It makes every desperate moan and cry that much airier and you can tell Harry likes it, staring down at you as his hips pound yours with absolutely no mercy and you don’t want any, anyway. It’s the subject of every single fantasy you’ve ever had about him, rough and hard and the sound of skin slapping skin overpowering your needy noises.

You’d never dreamt it would feel so good.

“Oh god, Harry!” Your eyes are rolling back into your head as your free hand trails down your stomach, shaking fingers focusing on your ignored clit and beginning tight circles around the nub. The jolts of pleasure that run through your body are - god, fucking amazing and you know you’re close, hardly need anything else to tip you over the edge. “Gonna - gonna cum, Har -”

It’s a testament to, perhaps, the long-growing tension between the two of you that his head drops backwards with a cry of me, too in a tone that’s so desperately vulnerable and it’s exactly what you’d needed - the reminder, in the midst of the rough thrusts and desperate moans, that this isn’t a one time thing. If you both allow it, it’s the rest of your life, just like this - and, God, you’ll allow it.

Your cunt clenches around your cock as you cum, eyes rolling back into your head and body spasming beneath him. In the midst of it Harry pulls out and you don’t get a second to question the sudden emptiness before you feel a familiar warmth hitting your lower stomach, and you open your eyes in time to see your husband, hand working at his cock as ribbons of cum spurt onto your stomach.

(You think you could cum again just from the sight but - well, you’ll hold back.)

His breathing is choppy and desperate, broken occasionally by a needy moan until he’s finished and he collapses on his back beside you, hands still intertwined with no intention of letting go. Nothing needs to be said - not yet - not for a little while, where you’ll talk about it more. 

A little while ends up merely being a minute or two before Harry swings his legs over the edge of the bed, hand still clasped in yours, and makes to stand up - it’s only your tightening grasp on his hand that forces him to stop, glancing behind him to look at you.

“Don’t,” you plead, throat already feeling sore and voice raspy. “Just - another minute, alright? Then clean up.”

He hums softly but you know he won’t resist the prospect of just a brief cuddle - one of the few things you hadn’t done often when you were just friends, because you knew that, if Harry held you as close to him as he is now, lips pressed to your forehead, you wouldn’t be able to resist telling him how you felt about him.

Doesn’t matter now, though. And his arms feel so warm around you, clammy palm still pressed to yours like a fucking couple in middle school but you wouldn’t dream of letting go. It’s all so - so peaceful, lying with him and listening to his heartbeat as you rest your head to his chest, listening to his heartbeat thumping as fast and hard as yours is.

And - well. Barely a month ago you were convinced your Aunt Alice was the worst woman in the world - a hypocrite and an asshole, set out to taunt you by lording your dream home over you and snatching it away when you couldn’t find a husband in time. But now? Feeling Harry, landing soft kisses again and again to your forehead, you figure she’s not so bad, after all.