#i never stopped wearing a mask AND i wash my hands OBSESSIVELY

[weirdmaggedon-2-0]

motherfuckerrrrr uuuUGHH it finally happened......I huave COVID 😭

[goldfades]

LOVE IS THE ONE THING THAT CANNOT BE TAINTED BY FEAR OR DOUBT──FATHER CHARLIE MAYHEW

part two!!!

for this request!!

─ summary | you and father charlie share a bond that goes beyond the confines of your church duties, with your public image as a nurturing servant masking the frustration and resentment you harbor privately. when nun megan grows suspicious and begins spying, she uncovers the intimate, vulnerable side of your relationship, catching a moment where emotions boil over into something more forbidden

─ pairing | father charlie mayhew x fem!mother!reader

─ word count | 6k

─ warnings | few kisses, kinda angsty, pretty wholesome though, nun megan being nosy AF, mentions/descriptions of being longing to be a mother + have a family, forbidden love, ends on a cliff hanger (part 2 coming soon, i just couldn't fit everything in one part)

─ ev's notes | my requests are open if you wanna send anything in! (please do btw i'm obsessed w nicholas LMAO). again this turned out very wordy and self-indulgent, my apologies

ok love u bye!!! pls send me requests!!!!!!

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The faint scent of incense lingers in the air, the wisps of smoke curling upward toward the stained glass windows, where muted beams of light filter through, casting the nave in shades of gold and crimson. The church is quiet now, save for the soft rustle of robes and the shuffling feet of the last parishioners as they take their leave. You remain rooted to your spot at the front, hands clasped in front of you, your gaze lowered in practiced reverence.

You’ve spent years perfecting this image—a serene, dutiful figure in service to the church. The warmth you offer is genuine, but it's also an armor, a shield from the world beyond the altar. You can feel their eyes on you as they depart, expecting grace, expecting humility, expecting nothing more than what you’ve always given them.

But beneath the surface, you can feel the stirrings of something else. The long hours, the endless work, the weight of expectations—it grinds against you, slowly wearing away at the image you’ve created. And no one sees it. No one, except him.

Father Charlie stands beside the altar, his back turned to you as he speaks to one of the deacons, his voice low and calming, as it always is. There’s something about him—something steady, something real—that draws you to him. He’s the only one who understands the pressures you both face, the only one who sees through the veneer you maintain for the sake of the church.

As the last of the congregation filters out, a wave of relief washes over you. The doors close with a soft echo, leaving the two of you in the lingering quiet of the empty church. You allow yourself to breathe, to let go of the tightness in your chest. It’s only in moments like these, when the others have gone, that you can finally be yourself—unburdened by the expectations of the flock, free from the eyes of those who can never truly understand.

But you sense it, don’t you? That something else is watching, something creeping at the edges of this sanctuary, waiting for you to slip.

You feel a prickle of awareness, an instinct, perhaps, that you’re not as alone as you think. But you push it aside, telling yourself it’s nothing—just the remnants of the day clinging to your thoughts. After all, in the safety of the church, what could possibly be wrong?

You step forward, closer to Father Charlie, your voice dropping to a murmur. “They never stop looking, do they?”

He turns toward you, and there’s a softness in his expression—something that tells you he’s been thinking the same thing. “No,” he says quietly, “they never do.”

You exchange a glance with Father Charlie, a silent acknowledgment passing between you. He sees the cracks in your facade, the weight you carry, but you don’t speak of it yet. Instead, you let the stillness of the church settle over you like a heavy cloak.

From the corner of your eye, you notice a figure lingering near the back of the nave, her sharp eyes scanning the room with a quiet intensity. Nun Megan.

She’s always watching, isn’t she? Always hovering on the fringes, her gaze lingering just a second too long whenever you’re near Father Charlie. At first, you thought it was nothing—just her usual vigilance. But lately, you’ve felt her eyes more than ever, probing, curious. She’s never said anything outright, but the suspicion is there, woven into every glance, every pause when the two of you are together.

Today is no different.

She lingers by the back pew, her hands folded in front of her, eyes flicking between you and Father Charlie, as though waiting for something, anything, to confirm what she already suspects. You can feel the weight of her judgment, subtle but ever-present, like a shadow you can’t shake.

Father Charlie hasn’t noticed her yet, his focus still on you as he speaks softly, a reassuring tone to his words. “You know we can’t let this consume us. What we do here… it’s bigger than us.”

His words are meant to calm you, to pull you back from the edge of frustration, but your thoughts are already racing. You glance toward Nun Megan again, just in time to see her quickly avert her gaze, pretending to adjust a candle on the altar. She’s watching—of course, she’s watching.

You wonder if she’s been watching longer than you realize.

“I know,” you say, your voice low. But the bitterness creeps in, twisting your words. “But sometimes I think we’re expected to be more than human. How long are we supposed to pretend we don’t feel anything?”

Charlie’s eyes soften, but before he can respond, you see him glance over your shoulder—finally catching sight of Nun Megan. The tension in the room shifts, subtle but palpable. He straightens, his face smoothing into the calm, composed expression he wears so well. “Sister Megan,” he calls out, his voice gentle but pointed.

She steps forward, her smile small and tight, her eyes darting between you both. “Father Charlie,” she says softly, inclining her head in a show of respect. “I didn’t mean to intrude. I was just… making sure everything was in order.”

Her words hang in the air, innocuous enough on the surface, but there’s something else there, hidden beneath her polite tone. You can see it in her eyes—the doubt, the questions she doesn’t dare ask.

Not yet, anyway.

Father Charlie offers her a kind smile, though you can tell he senses it too. “Everything’s fine, Sister,” he says. “We were just finishing up.”

But even as she nods and steps back, you know this won’t be the last time. She’ll keep watching, waiting for the moment when your guard slips. And when it does, she’ll be ready.

As Nun Megan retreats to the back of the church, your pulse quickens. You’ve held your composure for now, but the unease gnaws at you. The walls feel tighter, the air more stifling. She’s already too close, and it’s only a matter of time before she sees more than you want her to.

Father Charlie steps closer, his voice barely above a whisper. “We have to be careful.”

You nod, but inside, you know it’s already too late. Megan’s already seen enough to suspect—and suspicion, in a place like this, is dangerous.

───

You lay on Charlie's bare chest, still breathless from the earlier exertion. The warmth of his skin radiates beneath your cheek, your fingers tracing lazy patterns along the scars and soft ridges of his chest. The room is quiet, save for the steady rise and fall of his breathing, the muted sound of your heartbeats thrumming together in the aftermath of what you’ve just shared. The intimacy of the moment feels stolen—like something you shouldn't have, but neither of you can resist.

You close your eyes for a moment, letting yourself sink into the softness of him, the way he smells of incense and something darker, something distinctly him. This is the one place where the world falls away, where the weight of your roles within the church, the expectations, the endless eyes watching your every move—they don't matter here. In these stolen moments, you’re not the pious Mother superior they expect you to be, and Charlie is not the solemn priest. Here, in the seclusion of your shared quarters, you are simply you and him.

He lets out a quiet sigh, his fingers brushing through your hair as if to anchor you to him, to the present. You shift slightly, lifting your head just enough to meet his gaze. His eyes are softer now, the usual veil of composure lowered, revealing the tenderness he reserves only for you. There’s a question in his gaze, though, something unspoken yet palpable, like a prayer hanging in the air between you both.

“Do you think she suspects?” you ask quietly, your voice barely above a whisper, as though even here, in this hidden sanctuary, you’re afraid to speak too loudly.

Charlie’s hand stills for a moment in your hair, and he hesitates before answering. “She watches,” he says softly, his tone measured but tinged with a hint of unease. “Megan always watches.”

You bite your lip, trying to push away the knot of anxiety tightening in your chest. Nun Megan’s eyes have been everywhere lately, her presence lingering in corners, her footsteps echoing in halls where no one should be. You can feel her judgment even when she’s not there, like a shadow creeping just behind you.

“What if she knows?” you ask, your voice shaking slightly. “What if she’s already seen too much?”

Charlie’s hand cups your cheek, drawing your gaze back to his. “We’ve been careful,” he reassures you, his voice steady and soothing. “But even if she suspects, we won’t let her tear us apart. Not here. Not now.”

His words should comfort you, but they don’t. There’s too much at stake—too many risks. And yet, despite everything, you can’t pull away. The bond between you both is too deep, too powerful to sever. You close your eyes again, letting the quiet blanket you both, willing the worries to dissolve into the stillness.

But somewhere beyond the walls of this sanctuary, you know Nun Megan is watching. Waiting. And it’s only a matter of time before the veil of secrecy slips, and the forbidden truth of what you share is laid bare.

The silence between you and Father Charlie feels heavier now, like the air has thickened with all the unspoken words and the knowledge that your time together might soon be fractured by someone else’s gaze. You shift your body, propping yourself up slightly on his chest so you can look at him fully.

His brow is furrowed, but he wears the same soft expression he always does when he's with you, the kind that calms your nerves even when the weight of the world presses in on you. You reach out and gently brush a stray lock of hair from his forehead, your fingers lingering for a moment longer than necessary.

"You can’t be the one to carry all the worry," he murmurs, his voice deep and soothing, laced with that unwavering faith that you’ve come to rely on. He places his hand over yours, his thumb tracing circles against your knuckles. “I can see it in your eyes—you’ve been holding too much inside.”

You want to deny it, to say that you’re strong enough, that you can bear whatever comes next, but you know he’s right. There’s too much weighing you down—too many people to answer to, too many demands, and far too many secrets.

“I’m scared,” you admit quietly, the words slipping from your lips before you can stop them. “Not just of Megan… but of what happens if we get caught. What they’ll do to us. What they’ll do to you.” You lower your gaze, the vulnerability of the confession hanging between you like a leaden weight.

Charlie exhales softly, his hand moving to your jaw, tilting your chin up so that your eyes meet his again. There’s something fierce in his gaze now, an intensity that reassures you despite the uncertainty swirling around you both.

“Whatever happens,” he says, his voice firm, “we’ll face it together. They can’t take that away from us.”

“What if it’s not enough?” you ask, your voice barely a whisper. “What if this… this thing we share, this love—what if it’s not enough to save us?”

The church is supposed to be a sanctuary, a place of peace and solace, but lately, it’s felt more like a prison. You can sense the walls closing in, the tension rising between the expectation of holiness and the very human desires you’ve tried so hard to suppress.

Charlie shakes his head slowly, his gaze never leaving yours. “It is enough,” he insists. “Love is the one thing that can’t be tainted by fear or doubt. What we have—it’s sacred in its own way. Even if the church sees it differently.”

For a moment, you let yourself believe him. His words wrap around you like a protective shroud, and in this space—this room, away from the watchful eyes of the others—it’s easy to imagine that maybe, just maybe, he’s right. That what you have can survive the scrutiny, the judgment, and the dangers that loom just outside these walls.

But as much as you want to cling to that hope, the doubt is still there, lurking at the edges of your thoughts.

You don’t say anything else, instead letting your head fall back against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath you. The sound is calming, a tether to the present, to this moment you share together.

But somewhere in the back of your mind, you can’t shake the feeling that time is running out. That soon, Nun Megan will step beyond suspicion and into certainty, and when she does, the fragile world you’ve built with Charlie will come crashing down.

Outside, the wind howls against the old stone walls of the church, a reminder of the world waiting for you beyond this small sanctuary. But for now, for this brief and precious moment, it’s just you and him—together, against whatever comes next.

───

The sun hangs high in the clear afternoon sky, casting a golden light over the open field where the annual church picnic is in full swing. Children run through the grass, their laughter ringing out like tiny bells carried on the breeze, while the adults gather around tables laden with food, exchanging pleasantries and stories. You stand near the edge of the field, watching as a group of children pulls you into their game of tag, their faces lit up with joy and mischief.

You can’t help but laugh, your heart light as you chase after them, the stress and fear that have weighed on you for so long melting away, if only for a moment. The children's energy is infectious, their innocence a brief but welcome reprieve from the gravity of the world you usually inhabit. They dart around you, giggling and shrieking with excitement as they narrowly avoid your grasp, their small hands brushing against yours in passing.

You catch a young girl in your arms, swinging her around in a playful twirl before setting her down. Her laughter is so pure, so unburdened by the weight of the world, and it stirs something inside you—a long-forgotten lightness that you’ve almost forgotten was there.

From across the field, Father Charlie watches you, his eyes softening as they follow your movements. You are radiant in this moment, free from the burden of secrets and suspicion, your face bright with genuine joy as you interact with the children. His heart swells at the sight, an unfamiliar warmth spreading through his chest.

He has always admired your strength—the way you carry so much, how you stand tall even when the weight of your responsibilities threatens to break you. But here, now, seeing you like this, surrounded by children, laughing freely, Charlie feels something different. Something deeper.

It's more than just admiration. It’s a longing, a quiet ache for something more than the life he’s chosen. Watching you with the children sparks a warmth inside him he hadn’t known he could still feel, a yearning for a different kind of closeness. One that he knows is forbidden, yet he can’t help but dream about.

You twirl around with another child, your smile wide as they tumble into your arms. For a brief second, you catch Charlie’s gaze from across the field, and your eyes meet. There’s something in his look that makes your breath catch—a tenderness, a softness that you’ve rarely seen outside the privacy of your hidden moments together. His lips curl into a small, almost shy smile, as though he’s caught himself staring but can’t quite tear his gaze away.

For a moment, it feels as if the rest of the world fades away. The laughter of the children, the hum of conversations, even the sounds of nature—all of it dulls into the background as you stand there, frozen in that quiet exchange with Charlie.

It’s a connection you feel deep in your chest, one that’s always been there, simmering beneath the surface, but is now rising to the forefront, too powerful to ignore.

The children pull you back into the game, and the moment is broken, but the warmth of Charlie’s gaze lingers with you. As you chase after the little ones again, you feel a blush creep up your neck, knowing that even here, in the open, with the church congregation all around, there’s something between you that no one else can touch.

Charlie tears his eyes away, his heart still beating a little faster than before. He forces himself to join in the casual conversations around him, but his thoughts remain with you, and that moment. He’s always been good at keeping his emotions at bay, keeping his desires hidden beneath the layers of duty and faith. But now, watching you like this, he feels those walls crumbling, just a little.

And for the first time in a long while, he allows himself to wonder: What would it be like to have this warmth—to hold onto it, to let it fill the hollow spaces inside him? What would it be like if the life he’d chosen wasn’t a barrier but something that could coexist with the connection he feels with you?

He shakes his head, trying to push the thoughts away. But they cling to him, persistent, like the warmth in his chest that refuses to fade.

As the afternoon wears on, and the children slowly tire out, you make your way back toward the picnic tables where the rest of the congregation was. Your cheeks flushed with exertion, your hair slightly wind-tossed, and you catch Charlie watching you again, and this time, there’s something in his gaze that makes your heart flutter—a promise, perhaps, or a confession yet to be spoken. Charlie begins making his way over to you, a warm smile on his lips.

One of the little girls run up to you once again, practically tumbling into your arms. You giggle, grabbing her waist and pulling her into your lap.

"Mother Y/N, have you ever wanted children?" she asks.

Her question catches you off guard. The little girl's innocent eyes peer up at you, wide and curious, and for a moment, you’re unsure how to respond. You feel Charlie’s presence nearby, his footsteps slowing as he hears the question, and your heart skips a beat.

You smooth the girl's hair back gently, buying yourself a second to gather your thoughts. Children… it’s not something you’ve allowed yourself to think about much, not with the path you've chosen. Being a mother in the literal sense feels like an impossible dream—something meant for another life, another version of you.

Still, the warmth of the child in your lap, her trust and affection, tugs at something deep inside you.

You smile softly, running your fingers through her hair. “I suppose I have,” you admit, your voice gentle. “There was a time when I thought I might have a family of my own one day. But now... I think my place is here, taking care of all of you.”

The little girl tilts her head, a frown crossing her face as she processes your words. “But wouldn’t you like to be a real mama?” she asks, her small hands gripping your arm as if to anchor you to the moment, to the question.

Before you can answer, you feel a presence behind you—Charlie has arrived. He crouches down beside you, his hand brushing your shoulder in a gesture so natural, so easy, that it almost makes your heart ache.

“The way you care for everyone here,” he says softly, his voice warm and filled with admiration, “I think you’re already a mother to so many.”

You glance up at him, your eyes meeting his, and there’s something in his gaze—something gentle and understanding, but also deeper, more personal. His words resonate in a way that goes beyond the roles you’ve both taken on within the church. For a moment, you allow yourself to imagine it—what it would be like if things were different, if you and Charlie could have a life beyond the confines of the walls you’ve built around yourselves.

The girl beams, nodding in agreement. “See? You’re like a mama to us already,” she declares, then wraps her small arms around your neck in a tight hug before hopping off your lap and running back toward the other children, her energy renewed.

You watch her go, your heart swelling with a mixture of emotions. When you turn back to Charlie, he’s still crouched beside you, his expression softened by something you can’t quite put into words.

“You handled that well,” he says quietly, his smile reaching his eyes.

You laugh softly, shaking your head. “I don’t think I was prepared for that kind of question, if I'm being honest.”

He chuckles too, and for a brief moment, the world feels lighter, the weight of everything you’ve been holding inside lifted by the simple connection between you two.

But as the children’s laughter echoes around you and the other parishioners continue with their picnic, you feel the weight of reality creeping back in. This quiet moment with Charlie—this glimpse of what could be—feels like a fleeting dream. You know the path you’ve both chosen is far more complicated than that. Yet, as you stand together in the warm afternoon sun, you allow yourself to linger in this feeling for just a little while longer.

Charlie’s hand brushes against yours, lingering for just a moment, and you know that whatever happens next, whatever challenges come your way, you won’t be facing them alone.

───

The last light of day has faded, leaving the courtyard steeped in a deep, quiet twilight. You stand by the fountain, your fingers tracing the cold, rough surface of the stone. You try to breathe deeply, but frustration gnaws at your insides. On the outside, you wear the same mask you always do—calm, nurturing, and devout. But inside, there’s an ever-present storm, growing louder by the day.

Your thoughts drift back to Father Charlie, to the comfort he offered earlier. His words felt like a balm on your wounds, but they didn’t erase the resentment. The weight of expectations presses on your shoulders—constant demands, endless servitude, all while suppressing the truth of who you are.

Your gaze flickers toward the chapel, half-hoping to see him stepping into the courtyard. But the figure that emerges from the shadows isn’t him.

Nun Megan.

Her steps are silent but deliberate, and her eyes are as sharp as ever. You’ve noticed her watching lately—her gaze lingering on you and Father Charlie, suspicion glinting in her eyes.

“Out late again, I see,” she says, her voice carrying a quiet accusation. She stops a few feet away, her gaze fixed on you, unblinking. “You’ve been spending a great deal of time in Father Charlie’s company.”

You stiffen at her words, but force yourself to remain composed. You know how to wear the mask—how to keep the perfect image intact. “I seek guidance, Sister Megan,” you reply, your voice measured. “Father Charlie offers wisdom.”

Her lips press into a thin line, her expression hard. “Guidance, is it?” There’s no mistaking the suspicion in her voice now. “We all seek guidance, but you’ve been… close.”

The accusation hangs in the air between you, cold and heavy. You feel a flash of anger rise within you, but you suppress it, keeping your voice even. “We are all called to be close to God. To each other, Sister.”

Megan steps closer, her eyes narrowing. “Perhaps. But eyes are everywhere. You should be careful. It’s my duty to protect the sanctity of this place.” Her words are a thinly veiled threat, warning you that she’s watching.

Before you can respond, a voice cuts through the tension.

“Sister Megan.”

You turn at the sound of Father Charlie’s voice, relief washing over you as he steps into the courtyard. His presence brings with it a sense of calm, as if the storm threatening to engulf you has momentarily eased. His gaze flicks between you and Megan, though when his eyes land on you, they soften.

“Is there a problem?” he asks, his tone neutral, but his eyes hold a silent reassurance.

Megan stands a little straighter under his scrutiny. She hesitates, clearly uncomfortable with challenging him, but her suspicion remains. “No, Father,” she says finally. “I was simply offering our sister here a reminder of her vows. It’s important we maintain propriety.”

Father Charlie’s expression doesn’t change. “Of course, Sister. We all must uphold our vows. You may return to your duties.”

There’s a pause, and for a moment, you think Megan might push further. But then she inclines her head and turns away, her steps sharp and purposeful as she leaves the courtyard. The weight of her presence lingers, like a shadow refusing to lift.

As soon as she’s gone, you exhale, tension slipping from your shoulders. Father Charlie steps closer to you, his voice low and steady. “She grows more suspicious.”

You nod, swallowing against the knot in your throat. “I don’t know how much longer I can keep doing this,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. The mask you’ve worn for so long feels suffocating now, the weight of expectations unbearable.

Father Charlie’s expression softens, and when he reaches out, his fingers lightly brush your arm. “You’re not alone,” he says, his voice filled with warmth. “We’ll figure this out. Together.”

His touch sends a spark through you, and for a moment, the weight of your burdens eases. But as you stand there, alone in the darkness with him, you know that the road ahead will only grow more difficult. Still, with him beside you, it feels less daunting.

You stay silent for a long moment, standing there with Father Charlie. His presence should be enough to calm you, but the weight of your thoughts has become unbearable, pressing down harder than ever before.

“I never wanted this life,” you finally whisper, eyes fixed on the fountain’s surface, the soft ripple of water reflecting the sky. “When I was a little girl, I dreamed of something else.”

Charlie says nothing, letting you speak, his silence a kind of permission.

You take a breath, the memories flooding back. “I used to imagine myself far away from here—away from society, the rules, the eyes always watching. I dreamed of having a family, children running through an open field, laughter filling the air. I wanted to be a mother,” your voice wavers slightly, “to nurture my own, not just serve others.”

The words feel strange as they leave your mouth, like a confession you’ve never dared to speak aloud. Even though you’ve lived in service, dedicating yourself to this life, there’s always been a gnawing ache inside you for something more—something that belonged solely to you.

“I imagined a small cottage,” you continue, your voice growing softer, “with a garden, flowers blooming. Somewhere far from this place, where no one could judge me, where I could be free. I wanted to love, to build a life that was mine.”

Father Charlie shifts closer, his hand lightly brushing against yours, offering silent support.

“But instead… I ended up here.” The words hang in the air, heavy with regret. “I thought I was doing the right thing, choosing this path. I thought it would bring me peace. But it didn’t. It feels like every day, I’m giving up more of myself—burying my real desires so deep I hardly recognize them anymore.”

Your throat tightens as a tear escapes, sliding down your cheek. The picnic earlier flickers in your mind, how for a brief moment, you allowed yourself to feel happiness. Real happiness. Sitting under the sun with him, laughing, letting your guard down—it had stirred something in you, something real and raw, a glimpse of the life you had always wanted.

“That picnic…” you murmur, your voice thick with emotion. “For the first time in so long, I felt alive. I didn’t feel like the person everyone expects me to be. I felt like… me.”

Father Charlie’s gaze softens, and he doesn’t pull away when you step closer, his presence like a steadying force. “It’s not wrong to want more,” he says gently. “You deserve to feel whole.”

“I don’t know if I can,” you confess, your voice trembling. “I’ve given up so much already. What’s left of me?”

He lifts your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes, and in them, you see the same conflict, the same struggle that mirrors your own. “There’s still time,” he says, his words a quiet promise. “There’s still time to find yourself.”

Tears spill freely now, and before you can stop yourself, you collapse into his arms, seeking solace in the warmth of his embrace. For a moment, the walls around your heart crumble, and you let yourself feel the ache of all you’ve lost—the life you could have had, the dreams that seem so distant now.

“I wanted a family,” you whisper into his shoulder, your voice breaking. “I wanted to be a mother, to love, to be loved. But instead…”

He tightens his arms around you, his voice barely above a whisper. “You are loved. In ways you may not see yet.”

Father Charlie holds you close, his arms steady around you as your tears soak into his robe. The dam has broken, and there’s no holding back the flood of emotions anymore. You cling to him like he’s the only solid thing in a world that’s crumbling beneath your feet, each sob rising from a place so deep it scares you.

“I thought… I thought if I buried those dreams long enough, they’d go away,” you murmur into his shoulder. “But they haven’t. They’ve only grown louder. I see families, mothers with their children, and it’s like a knife in my heart. I want that—so much it hurts.”

You pull back just enough to look up at him, eyes searching his face for understanding. His brow furrows, concern etched into every line. “I feel trapped here,” you continue, voice cracking. “I’ve spent my life giving and giving, but no matter how much I give, I can’t find peace. All I ever wanted was a simple life, with love. But instead, I’m… this.”

Father Charlie’s hand comes up to cradle the side of your face, his thumb gently brushing away a tear. “You’re not alone in this,” he says, his voice soft but resolute. “I see your struggle, and I feel it too. Every day I ask myself if I made the right choice. If this is what my life was meant to be.”

The vulnerability in his words makes your breath hitch. You’ve never heard him speak like this before, never knew he had the same doubts gnawing at him. It’s both terrifying and comforting at once—knowing that even someone like him, someone who always seems so sure, is just as lost as you are.

“I don’t know how to keep pretending,” you admit, your voice a fragile whisper. “That picnic, earlier today… it felt like a glimpse of the life I could’ve had. And for just a moment, I was happy. Truly happy. But then it all came crashing back—the guilt, the expectations. The life I chose. It feels like a prison.”

Father Charlie’s thumb pauses on your cheek, and he lets out a slow breath. “I understand,” he says quietly. “More than you know.”

The air between you feels heavy, thick with unspoken truths and shared pain. There’s something unspoken in his gaze, a longing that mirrors your own, and for a brief moment, you wonder if he’s wrestling with the same thoughts—if his dreams have also been sacrificed for a life he’s no longer certain of.

“I never thought…,” you begin, but the words catch in your throat. “I never thought I’d feel this way, here of all places.”

His hand slips from your cheek to your shoulder, his touch warm and grounding. “Feelings are complicated,” he says softly, his eyes never leaving yours. “Sometimes, we think we’ve made peace with our choices, but deep down, our hearts tell a different story.”

A silence stretches between you, heavy but not uncomfortable. There’s something raw and honest about this moment, like the two of you are finally shedding the masks you’ve been wearing for so long.

“I don’t know what to do,” you admit, voice barely audible. “I feel so lost.”

Father Charlie’s gaze softens, and he leans in just slightly, his face close. “You don’t have to have all the answers right now,” he murmurs. “But you don’t have to face this alone.”

The weight of his words settles over you like a blanket, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you allow yourself to believe that maybe, just maybe, you don’t have to carry this burden on your own. Maybe there’s room for something more—something real.

Your heart races in your chest, and you take a shaky breath, eyes locked with his. The closeness between you feels electric, every nerve in your body attuned to his presence, to the quiet intensity in his gaze. It’s dangerous—this connection. You both know it.

But in this moment, it’s all you have.

───

The church bells have just finished ringing, signaling the end of Sunday Mass. You stand outside with Father Charlie, your heart still heavy from the morning’s sermon. The congregation begins to disperse, everyone offering quiet blessings to one another as they leave. You and Father Charlie remain, lingering by the old stone archway. It’s quieter now, the sacred stillness of the church grounds wrapped around you both like a secret.

He turns to you, his gaze soft and familiar, and you can feel the pull between you—stronger now than ever. The unspoken connection that had simmered all week after your vulnerable conversation feels unbearable in its intensity.

“I shouldn’t…” you start, but your words falter as he steps closer, the warmth of his presence radiating into the space between you.

“I know,” he replies, his voice barely above a whisper. But the way his eyes flicker from yours to your lips betrays his struggle, mirroring your own.

Before either of you can talk yourselves out of it, your lips meet in a kiss. It’s soft at first, tentative, but it quickly deepens, fueled by the weight of everything you’ve been holding back for so long. The world seems to disappear—just the two of you in a moment stolen from time itself, as your heart pounds wildly in your chest.

The kiss is both a comfort and a confession, a silent surrender to everything you’ve been too afraid to say. You clutch the fabric of his robe, pulling him closer, needing to feel the solidness of him, to anchor yourself in this forbidden moment.

But then, a gasp—a sharp intake of breath that slices through the intimacy like a blade. You break apart, breathless, and turn to see Nun Megan standing at the edge of the churchyard. Her face is a portrait of shock and disbelief, eyes wide, hand clasped over her mouth as though she cannot believe what she’s just witnessed.

Your stomach drops, cold dread flooding your veins.

“Goodness…” she whispers, her voice laced with horror, “what have you done?”

Father Charlie immediately steps back, but the damage is done. The air is charged with accusation, and you can see the betrayal written across her face. The weight of your actions crashes down around you, guilt mixing with panic.

“Megan, it’s not—” Father Charlie begins, but there’s no stopping her now. She turns and rushes back toward the church, her steps frantic as if she’s running to report what she’s seen, to stop the corruption before it spreads further.

You and Father Charlie are left standing in the aftermath, the kiss lingering on your lips, now tainted with the knowledge that everything is about to change.

↳ make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated !

↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

[morellywrong]

Missing Out

Ethan Landry x afab reader (fem pronouns/nouns)

Warnings: stalking, obsession, Ethan's a pretty lil psycho, descriptions of murdering and torture, Ethan is actually fucked bro, reader is wearing a dress, Ethan is kinda neuro-divergent- coded (real), both Ethan and reader will be bi-coded because I said so, also some gross lil things in there for fun :)

Part 1 (?)

"Hey, y/n!" Ethan beams as he catches up to you, on your way to your morning class.

"Oh, hey Ethan...you sure are chipper this morning." You chuckle softly as he adjusts his bag strap on his shoulder.

"Yeah, I don't know, I guess I slept pretty good- I had a productive evening." He beams softly, walking alongside you, matching his usually long strides to better fit yours.

"Oh yeah, get all your work done?"

Flashes of the previous evening washed over Ethan's mind, his grin only growing.

"Please! Please, I didn't do anything!!!" The boy sobs, his eye swollen, lips bleeding and a deep gash on the side of his neck hes desperately trying to keep pressure on with his broken hand.

"...that's where you're wrong...you got in the way." Ethan hisses, his voice modulator clipped into the inside of his signature Ghostface mask, wiping the blood slowly from his knife.

"Please...please..." The boy begs helplessly, tears running down his cheeks, snot bubbling under his nose as he backs away weakly, only for his back to be met with the wall.

"Please, please...." Ethan mocks him, stepping closer, his heavy boots thumping against the concrete of the warehouse he'd dragged his latest victim to.

"No one will hear you scream...no one will remember you...not even her...youre nothing..." The boy yelled out in anguish, choked sobs becoming more and more liquidated-

Ethan snaps back to reality as he turns towards you again, still smiling brightly.

"Yeah, it was....good, I got everything finished sooner than I thought."

"Wow...maybe I should get you to do my coursework sometime." You chuckle softly, nudging his shoulder with your elbow. Heat spreads across his face as he lets out a breathless laugh, looking away.

"Y...yeah, well, maybe..." He mumbles, his dimples showing as he glances back to you.

"Oh, are you going to the frat party later tonight? Tara, Mindy and Anika invited me....Chad'll be there too..." You hum, offering the idea with a small grin.

Ethan's heart hammers in his chest, feeling that type of love sickness his Dad used to talk about with his mother.

Well. Before Wade had all his children assist in killing their mother. Ethan tried not to think about it too much.

"I...I'd love too, y/n..." He whispers, his pupils dilated so much one would assume he'd taken something to help him focus more on his studies.

Or watch the sky melt.

"Cool....uh, wanna meet at the party? Quinn offered to drive us girls there and back, since she'd got a date tonight..." You giggle slightly, even though you're glad there'll be a designated driver.

"Sure, uh, I've, uh, never really been to many parties, though. I get a little nervous in crowds." He lies, brows creased together, portraying that awkward, shy boy you know him as.

"Don't worry. You can stick with me the entire night....I don't drink much anyways..." You beam softly as you stop outside your class.

"I'll see you after Econ?" He nodded quickly, propping up on the balls of his feet briefly to try and contain his excitement.

"See you. Meet for lunch?"

"Defintiely. I heard there's pretzels today." You smirk softly as he lets out another breathless laugh.

"Yeah...." He murmurs in a slight daze as you walk into the lecture hall, giving him a small wave before leaving his sight.

He leans back against the wall, holding onto the straps of his backpack as his cheeks heat up even more, biting the inside of his cheek with an uncontrollable beam plastered on his pale face.

You had spent lunch with Ethan, sat on the grass outside one of the lecture halls, laughing together about how crappy most of the lecturers are, and exchanging mild stories about how boring your days were. But soon enough you had your last classes of the day to attend, afterwards he walked you to your dorm building.

He always insisted on walking you all the way to your dorm room, claiming it was safer.

"There's a psycho on the news, haven't you heard??" He beams playfully at you as you playfully push at his arm. He's been mentioning it ever since the first disappearances.

"Please, I'm not important enough of a target, let alone being noticed by some killer." You roll you eyes as he watches you take your keys out of your bag pocket.

Keys that he definitely hasn't got like 4 copies of each key on there. He's pretty sure one of them is just for a small indoor window, and another is to your old locker key that you still have on your keychain for some reason- even though he defintely has a copy of your current locker key.

It's the stupid little things he likes in life, after all. And something about you not caring to throw the old key out just makes him love you more.

"Nah, maybe the killer is secretly targeting you...maybe he's watching you sleep-" He grins playfully, watching you send him an unimpressed look.

"Alright, get out of here, you're not supposed to be in this building anyway...I think we'll be at the frat party at like 9, ask Chad, I'm sure Tara's told him all the details." You smirk whilst tapping the side of your nose playfuly. He taps his in return, grinning. It was no secret those two were grossly infatuated with each other.

"I'll see you later. Text me if you need anything." He responds like clockwork, a usual closing response he offers to you out of the kidness of his heart. And definitely not obsession.

"I will." You insist with a chuckle, before closing your door and leaving him beaming by himself crazily once more, rolling onto the balls of his feet once, twice then three times before he catches himself, correcting his body language quickly.

"You look so fucking good!" Tara beams, a shot or two already in her system, deciding to pregame before the party as you got ready with the other three party-goers.

She stood behind you, admiring your body as you stand in front of her bedroom mirror.

"I don't know...it's a bit revealing..." You mumble sheepishly as you glance at your reflection, at the new dress you had bought the last time you were out with the girls.

"Shut up, no one will care, if anything, it's a good thing, dummy." Mindy beams from the couch, Anika fixing the back collar of her shirt, both also a little tipsy.

"Yeah, girls and guys are gonna be all over you."

"Chad'll keep an eye on us though, he always does." Tara smiles gently as she helps adjust the straps on your shoulders, her fingers leaving a small tingling feeling against your bare skin.

"More like he keeps an eye on you." Quinn smirks from the doorway, eyeing your outfit up and down with almost hungry eyes.

"Nice dress, y/n...hey, you guys ready?" She holds up her car keys with a small shake, the metal jingling in her hand.

"Yes! Let's fucking go, girls!" Mindy exclaims, standing up and grabbing her girlfriends hand.

"Let's go!!" Anika grins brightly.

"Let's go, cmon!" Tara grabs your own hand in her's, practically dragging you behind her.

When you arrive the party, it's pretty much already at full force. Drunken jocks, flashy cheerleaders, theatre kids talking loudly in the corner, math wizz's awkwardly stood in their small gaggles. It's refreshing, in a way, to see the students enjoying themselves and taking a break from studying.

"It's fucking loud..." You mumble, glancing over at the giant speakers in the corner and the 'DJ' set up the frat house had set up for the party. Your ears strained as you winced, before gasping.

"I feel like i'm inside the fucking speaker!" Chad beams, his voice making you and Tara jump as he places a hand on your shoulder, the other on Tara's shoulder. His head appeared between you, but he was grinning at Tara.

You glance behind him, beaming softly as you spot Ethan stood there. He looks like he's already spacing out, disassociating from the crowd once he realises how loud and chaotic it was.

In reality, Ethan's zeroing in on a girl staring at you. She's one of the cheerleaders. Bitchy, blonde, ditzy, pretty stereotypical but there she is. She's whispering to her friends, gesturing towards you and smiling as they all giggle.

He's trying to figure out if she's making fun of you or if she's into you. Either way, he's going to paint someone's walls with her blood by the end of the night.

"Ethan?" He glances down at you, a smile breaking onto his face beyond his control.

"Hey! Sorry, uh..."

"I get it. I space out at parties a lot. It's jut so overstimulating sometimes." You reassure him, nudging him softly with your shoulder.

"Y....yeah, that's it! Sorry, I tend to space out pretty often..." He plays it off, before his eyes snap to your outfit- the tight dress you'd decided to wear, before he forces himself to meet your eyes, respectfully. He needed to have patience, he didn't want to creep you out or scare you away from him- at least not /yet/.

You didn't need to know about the cameras hidden in your dorm room.

"Hey, wanna grab a drink? I'll stay with you, don't worry." You offer, speaking over the music.

Ethan grinned a little more sternly than he had intended to as you playfully link your arm with his, his cheeks lighting up- he was grateful for the dark lighting of the frat party. The only real light was LED lights that blessed the room with a purple and red glow.

He glances back over the cheeleader, she's glaring at him, her knuckles tense as she grips her plastic paper cup so tight it starts to crinkle and strain. He just sent her a dark look, before walking with you to the kitchen of the frat house- where the alcohol is.

[yanderambling]

OMG IM SO GLAD YOUR DOING THESSE!!!!! Can I please please get Aschanti (submissive royal) with F I M and S??❤️❤️Thank you so much for writing!!!

yandere alphabet ~ Aschanti

(submissive monarch!yan x pining knight!reader)

full alphabet here <3

Fight [How would they feel if their darling fought back?]:

Aschanti would immediately cave to any resistance you showed them, unless they felt they were at some risk of losing you completely. In the event that they were forced to keep you against your will, Aschanti would never raise a hand back to you in violence- they probably wouldn’t even try to defend themself. Even if you hit, kicked, and spat insults at them, Aschanti is certain that you’ll come to understand in time, and so they will meet all of your offenses with nothing but gentle placations and a patient smile. They would keep you away from any deadly weapons out of necessity, and if you proved persistent then they would reluctantly promote a temporary personal guard, just to keep them alive long enough for you to realize how you really feel for them. It would break their heart to see you so upset, but Aschanti would gladly let you take out your frustration on them as much as you needed.

Ideals [What kind of future do they have in mind for/with their darling?]:

Aschanti rarely lets themself dream that far into the future, so certain are they that you could never return their affections the same way. But, when they allow their mind to wander, Aschanti fantasizes about leaving it all behind with you, just abandoning the courts and royal obligations and taking to the country with just your hand in theirs. They find guilty pleasure in the thought of becoming your housewife, taking care of you and your shared home by serving you, and letting you care for them in turn by telling them what to do, how to be. Maybe, one day, Aschanti could cook your meals (and pretend they’re your live-in servant), do you laundry (and get to sniff and taste your clothes whenever they want), and even help you wash your magnificent body (need they go on?)<3

Mask [Are their true colors drastically different from the way they act around everyone else?]:

Aschanti wears a couple of masks, even around you. In public, they are remarkably composed and confident, they are widely renowned for their poise and natural leadership. But, when it’s just them and you, they find it harder to keep their cool, they become notably more uncertain and deferential, more open about looking to you for direction- but they still try to maintain a regal air about them so as to not lose your respect. On their own, however, Aschanti is nearly unrecognizable from the esteemed ruler known throughout the land. They spend most of their alone time thinking about you, taking stock of their collection of your things, touching themself to the scent of you lingering on the clothes they practically smother themself with- they’re really just a needy mess when there’s nobody around to impress, and they feel no small amount of shame from their desire to show themself to you like this and let you do as you like with them…

Stigma [What brought about this side of them (childhood, curiosity, etc)?]:

Aschanti has always felt they were forced to take positions of authority because of their royal status, but they’d always really wanted to just let go and leave the control to someone else; you’re the first person they ever felt safe enough to even entertain the idea with. Before you, they never let themself dream of giving up their control as they so deeply wished, but once they’d been in your capable hands it became impossible to stop. Really, you’re the reason they’re like this, so obsessed with retaining the stability and comfort you provide them. You just make them feel so safe and secure, so wholly taken care of- it’s a feeling they’ve always craved, and you’re the only thing in the world that has ever sated them~

thanks so much for reading! feel free to send a request <3

check my pinned post~

[saintsenara]

#9 and/or #29 for Severus x Sirius?

thanks for the ask, anon!

[ship ask game here]

9. baths or showers together? do they like elaborate ones with bubbles and flower petals?

[our scene opens in number twelve, grimmauld place, in the marble shower enclosure in the master bathroom]

"sirius, get your hands off me! do you have any idea how many people die from falling over in the shower?"

"i'm not trying to fuck you, severus, I'm trying to get you to wash your awful hair."

"very witty. and to think i was going to offer to put a sticking charm on you so you wouldn't lose your balance. but i suppose i'll just have to leave you to sort yourself out..."

"you are the most evil man in the world."

-

[later, we find our heroes jammed at either end of a magnificent, claw-footed bathtub, filled with a mountain of pink bubbles. sirius is wearing a deep-cleansing mud-mask.]

"this is ridiculous."

"stop complaining, severus, i'm the one with the tap poking into my back."

"if you must insist on us taking ridiculous bubble baths together - sirius, is that a water lily? - then we should at least use a bath that can actually fit two people into it."

"i always wanted to have sex in the prefects' bathroom..."

"you and half the school. it's why we had to seal it off."

"but surely you can still get in there..."

"there are many advantages to being headmaster, sirius."

29. what is something they can never agree on? how do they meet in the middle?

harry.

severus mellows, of course, after the end of the war, but all that means is that he likes watching voldemort's death scene over and over again in a pensieve. he still think harry is reckless, foolish, stupid, terrible at potions, lazy, arrogant, profligate, and obsessed with his own celebrity. sirius points out that he's also brave, merciful, kind, talented, and surprisingly willing to suffer through weekly brunches with them both.

they agree to disagree, and instead work on outdoing each other in how they dote on their namesakes and godsons.

james sirius is exactly as ruthless and quick-thinking as both the men who gave him his names. sirius buys him his first toy broom and endures a week of shouting from molly when he falls off it and breaks his collarbone [both harry and ginny agree he was actually pretty close to executing a perfect wronski feint]; he helps him through the animagus transformation and assures james that it isn't funny that his form is a pygmy puff; he buys him exclusively scarlet and gold items for a full eighteen years of birthdays, until james tells him he's now in a cottage-core pastel-boy era and he needs to get on board; and he breaks down in tears of pride when james is hauled out of the wizengamot for interrupting a session on crime to demand they make it an urgent priority to defund azkaban.

albus severus, in contrast, is subtle and sly. severus teaches him all the requisite techniques not only to be a good potioneer but also a magnificent cook and al is molly's favourite grandchild as a result; he adores all the shared in-jokes they have as the only two slytherins in an extended family of gryffindor idiots; he teaches him how to lie fluently and shield his mind from intrusion, which works on everyone except professor mcgonagall [a fact he sees fit to mention with glee to the headstone in little hangleton cemetery reading tom marvolo riddle: woe unto the wicked! it shall be ill with him]; and, when lucius malfoy tries to forbid the relationship between al and scorpius, because he's not simply content with being a terrorist, he's a homophobe as well, severus punches his old friend in the face, never speaks to him again, and goes off for dinner with the potters. which he doesn't actually hate doing.

lily luna's godfather is hagrid. it's chaos.

[nataliaphantomhivesblog]

Newsflash: Dazai cares for Chuuya

Before reading any further, I will be talking about stormbringer, so spoilers ahead!! Translation credits go out to: @popopretty on tumblr, make sure to give this kind human some love and appreciation<3

Also if you want to read the first few chapters of stormbringer: @buraihatranslations is currently translating it, give them much love and appreciation as well, they deserve it!!

Honestly, I have been so obsessed with Soukoku lately and I think the reason behind this is because when it comes to Soukoku, their feelings for each other are not as easy to grasp as love or hate, it is much more profound than that. There is care, hurt, trust, resentment, companionship, bitterness, and consideration...And ironically enough, thats just the tip of the iceberg.

If we break down their individual feelings towards each other, it will be easier to understand their bond.

On Chuuya's end, his feelings are much more clear due to his expressive personality. He wears his emotions on his sleeves, he can try and hide what he feels towards Dazai but his true feelings tend to unravel easily.

He sometimes tries to mask his feelings towards Dazai by throwing insults, but his facial expressions are enough to contradict what he is saying.

Chuuya's feelings towards Dazai can be easier to comprehend. He obviously feels this certain betrayal due to the fact Dazai left the Port Mafia. Not to mention, he and Dazai have always had a rivalry relationship.

In the Soukoku wiki page, it is stated that Chuuya is aware of Dazai not experiencing a proper childhood, therefore allows him to act as childish as he can and lets him tease him relentlessly. I don't know how reliable this source is, but either way I think its worthy enough to add.

In the Dragon head conflict when Dazai was out of sight, Chuuya told Mori to forget about Dazai. That was until Hirotsu mentioned a microscope, Chuuya quickly realizes it was code language because he remembered a previous conversation where Dazai says he needs a microscope to be able to see Chuuya properly.

The moment he figured out it was a tracker, Chuuya did not hesitate to jump in and rescue Dazai. But here is the catch: No one but Chuuya knew about the microscope, if Chuuya really didn't care for Dazai he wouldn't have mentioned the microscope and kept all this under wraps, leaving Dazai in a mess.

Chuuya trusts Dazai with his life. He never hesitates to leave his life on Dazai's hands when it has to come to it. Chuuya and Dazai have known each other for years, for Chuuya to be able to trust Dazai that much is because Dazai also cares for him too, right?

The answer here is yes, Dazai cares for Chuuya. In a superficial level, it doesn't seem like Dazai truly cares, but I can assure you that he does care for him. Weather you like to think of his care in a platonic or romantic manner, the care Dazai has for Chuuya is undeniable and extremely significant for Dazai's character.

I think that stormbringer establishes this idea even further. There is one specific moment in this light novel that shows his genuine concern towards Chuuya's well being:

"There is one problem." Dazai cut off his sentence hesitantly. "It has nothing to do with the sucess rate of the plan. It is a matter we have to overcome in the end but... It may require some time to decide."

"What's with you?" Chuuya raised his eyebrows at Dazai. "Stop dramatizing it. Just hurry up and say it."

"I said earlier about this control spell to open the 'gate' that is used to reset the command inside Chuuya, right?" Dazai spoke with a strangely restrained voice. "If we use that, the logs of the command formula that were written in the past will be erased. That means...even if the memory erasure was used on Chuuya in the past, the traces of that will be erased as well."

"What?"

"I told you before right, the memory erasure command. The only way we can confirm if Chuuya is human or not is to check the history to see if the memory erasure command was ever used. It means..." Dazai looked at Chuuya with eyes that he had never looked at him before. Those eyes were serious. "If we use that control spell, the method to confirm if Chuuya is an artificial personality created by a string of code, or just a normal human being, will be lost. For good."

The time had stopped.

Chuuya opened his eyes and looked towards Dazai but his eyes were not seeing anything. The wind blew between the two of them. Even so, Chuuya did not blink.

"Verlaine became like that because he was tormented by the curse that he was not human. That only is enough of a big problem. The matter of being human or not." Dazai looked at his pocket watch, gave it a glance and continued. "I can delay the time until the plan starts for about two minutes. I will send an order for my men to wait... You can think about it alone for a while. Cuz I guess its hard for you to collect your thoughts with me around."

Having said so, Dazai turned away and walked down the stairs, leaving Chuuya alone.

Dazai fixated in his pocket watch. Two more minutes. Too short for a life decision. But he couldn't afford more than that.

Inside Dazai's head, he was planning a procedure to swith to an alternative plan in case Chuuya refused, at a tremendous speed.

This section in stormbringer is personally one of my favorites, this is a very rare moment between both of them, but especially for Dazai. Like I stated earlier Chuuya wears his emotions on his sleeves, therefore even if he tries to mask his care with insults, its still painfully noticable that he genuienly looks after Dazai. Chuuya also sometimes show a vulnerable side of himself to Dazai, especially after using corruption.

Dazai on the other hand is extremely unreadable. Its hard to understand his true intentions and if he really cares for people or only sees them as a pawn. In this moment though, Dazai was being painfully genuine. Dazai literally prioritized Chuuya over the mission. He was already thinking of coming up with an alternative plan just in case Chuuya refused, obviously the sucess rate of the alternative plan would be lesser than the actual plan Dazai had in mind, he choose Chuuya's wellbeing over a mission.

In this section, Dazai wasn't throwing jokes or witty remarks, he was being serious. Because Dazai knows how desperately Chuuya wants to be human. He knows how important being human is to Chuuya.

Dazai wasn't manipulating Chuuya by giving him the chance to decide, we can see that Dazai was literally showing a lot of hesitation when mentioning this to him, we also get to see what Dazai was thinking, and we can tell he wasn't thinking about manipulative his movements in any way. All of this wasn't coming out of manipulation, it was coming out of pure care.

After six steps, Dazai reached the stair. He stepped on the stair and started walking down. Three steps down the stair, he heard a *clang*, a cool sound of metal echoing behind him. It sounded like the metal was kicked by the sole of someones shoes. The moment Dazai realized what the sound was, Dazai turned around in surprise.

There was already no one at the top.

Dazai was dazed for a moment, then he loosened his lips and laughed.

"Trying to act cool, huh?" Dazai smiled, both annoyed and relieved. Then he turned on his radio and sent out his order. "Chuuya has sallied, everyone get ready for battle."

I personally love this part so much, relief washed over Dazai the moment he noticed that Chuuya was going to go through with the first plan, which proves my point that he wasn't manipulating him and how Dazai was under a lot of stress because he wasn't sure if the alternative plan would be as effective as his original one.

Yet he still was willing to go through the alternative plan if Chuuya refused, because Dazai values him and regards his wellbeing.

Dazai was being surprisingly gentle in this section, he was being honest. There was no ulterior motive behind his actions here, just a boy looking after his partner.

"So i'm going to send an order to my men to prepare for action... Is that okay?"

"Of course it's okay." Chuuya turned to Dazai. "Why are you asking me such a thing?"

Dazai didn't answer right away.

That was an unusual expression. It's like he was trying to say something, but he had to arrange the words in his head to decide where he should start. An expression he rarely shows.

This was right before Dazai drops the bomb to Chuuya about the memory erasure command. He was even asking for Chuuya's opinion on sending his men to get ready, this was the first time Dazai ever showed actual concern without masking it with witty remarks. You can tell that Chuuya isn't used to this.

And when you think about it, when Dazai and Chuuya have missions together, Dazai always uses corruption as a last resort and he always allows Chuuya to make the decision if they will be using it or not.

I personally belive that the main reason Chuuya trusts Dazai with using corruption is because The Sheep used to exploit his powers too much, but Dazai leaves the decision to use corruption up to Chuuya. Dazai understands the physical and mental toll corruption takes on Chuuya and therefore leaves the choice up to him.

Theres another section in stormbringer that I really enjoy, it doesn't necessairly show solicitude but I still think this should still be taken into consideration:

"You seem pretty confident that Chuuya is human, don't you?"

"I am," Dazai laughed with a sigh. "There is no way a man-made code could create such a personality that I detest so much."

Throughout the whole story, Dazai is more than determined that Chuuya is human. The main reason Dazai finds Chuuya so intresting is because of how frighteningly human Chuuya can be, because of the fact that he always wears his emotions on his sleeves, something Dazai rarely does himself. Thats personally a nice sentiment from Dazai's end, even when Chuuya struggles completely when it comes to believing in his own humanity, Dazai still can't help but see him as a human being.

Also I am aware that Dazai literally said he detests Chuuya here but he also sighed and laughed while stating this, showing us that he isn't being serious about hating him.

And its not only in stormbringer were he shows his concern towards Chuuya. In fact, in this following manga pannel Dazai is telling Chuuya that if he is willing to listen him, he will stage his own escape so that Chuuya doesn't get punnished.

Honestly, if Dazai didn't care enough for Chuuya, he wouldn't have mentioned this to him. Chuuya didn't care enough to realize that he literally unwillingly freed Dazai which would get the pm mad at him, so the fact that Dazai is literally helping him out is no doubt out of care for him. If Dazai didn't have any regard for Chuuya he would've not staged his escape or mentioned anything to Chuuya, eventually incriminating him.

There are many misconceptions when it comes to Dazai's feelings towards Chuuya, people think that he doesn't care for him due to the fact that he left the Port Mafia, leaving Chuuya behind. But heres the thing: Dazai's intentions had nothing to do with Chuuya. He left the organization for his own good, he left it to fullfill Oda's wish.

"If Dazai cared for Chuuya then why didn't he take Chuuya with him?" the reason is simple, he knows how much the PM means to Chuuya. In stormbringer it is shown that Chuuya feels as if his humanity is attached to the people he is loyal to, in this case its the port mafia. Verlaine wanted to get rid of the pm because he believed that the pm is what kept Chuuya's humanity, eventually making Chuuya believe that he is only human if he stays loyal to the pm. Dazai knows this. Thats exactly why he didn't take Chuuya with him or even explains to Chuuya why he left, he knows it would be selfish to basically rip Chuuya's sense of humanity apart.

I have a feeling that if Dazai told Chuuya about the real reason he left the Port Mafia, Chuuya will not only feel conflicted about being in the pm, but he would also have an inner conflict with himself as a human.

People also think Dazai may not really care for him because of the fact that after the fight against Lovecraft he actualy deserted him, maybe that part was truly just supposed to be seen as simple humor, but either way I want to talk about it. Chuuya's only request to Dazai was to take him back to base safe, so why did Dazai leave Chuuya behind?

I mean he has carried Chuuya back to saftey before with no problem, for example in stormbringer when Chuuya uses corruption for the first time Dazai carries him back to the billiards bar and not to the mafia’s base so that he could say goodbye to his passing friends.

The reson behind this is because Mori needs to know that unlike Dazai, Chuuya is absolutely loyal to him. Leaving Chuuya the way he did will make Mori believe that these two really are at each others throats and that Dazai is insignificant to Chuuya. Making it seem that for Chuuya, the mafia comes first before anything else.

Therefore Dazai established Chuuya's saftey within the mafia since not only does Mori want these two to be hostile with each other, he doesn't want Chuuya to eventually turn against him if he truly found out more about Dazai's true reason of departure. Then again, this isn't canon but it is a logical assumption.

Not to mention that although Dazai did leave him behind, he folded Chuuya's coat and hat before taking his leave. There is also an an extra chapter where Ozaki Kouyou was talking with Chuuya but when he left he forgot his coat, which made Kouyou came across the coat; where she noticed a badge sewed inside saying "Name: Hatrack", she smiled fondly thinking to herself that some things just never change, in this case, Dazai and Chuuya's bond.

Dazai literally took his time to sew this into his coat just to tease him, it was a simple gesture but it shows us how their dynamic will never change. No matter what these two go through, they will always share a bond that consists on teasing, trust and underlying care.

All of this actually makes that theory of Dazai planting a bomb under Chuuya's car for the sole reason that the PM doesn't find Chuuya as an acomplice who aided Dazai on his escape much more feasable.

For Dazai to just plant a bomb under Chuuya's car with no motive makes no sense because if Dazai's true intentions were to simply mess with Chuuya, he would've most likely made it clear at that time. Dazai always has an underlying motive behind his actions, and in this case it is very likely that he did that for Chuuya's sake.

Don't get me wrong, I am aware that the bomb incident could've just been a comedic moment and I shouldn't look too much into it, but there is still a posibility, right?

These two hold so much trust and care for one another, yet they also hold a lot of bitterness and resentment. In the end the good aspects of their dynamic outweighs the bad.

Either you see these two in a platonic or romantic way, you can't tell me that their bond isn't significant.

Thank you so much for reading!! I wanted to talk about this for a while because I feel like people misinterpret Dazai's feelings towards Chuuya a lot so I hope this clears up things a bit<3

[luxeavenger]

Tie My Feet To Rocks And Drown

Paring: Bucky Barnes x female!reader

Words: 4841

Warnings: NSFW (18+ only), light angst, pining, falling in love, love confessions, blood and injury, canon typical violence, frottage, oral sex (f receiving), sex (piv), Bucky Barnes''s metal arm (it's a warning, okay?)

NOT FOR CONSUMPTION BY MINORS.

Main Masterlist | Ko-fi

You’d take him any way you could get him.

Sometimes that means opening your door at 3am to find the soldat leaning against your doorframe. Long hair matted with blood, sweat soaked into his leathers, and a grimace on what you can see of his face. You quickly become an expert at removing his leathers, with their many buckles and hidden snaps. When he shows up like this you don’t let him peel his clothes off by himself, because he’s usually been shot or stabbed. Blood is the currency he’d have to pay to undress himself. He says he can afford it, but you refuse to let him try.

So you have a new hobby. Collecting surgical instruments, little packets of suture, lap sponges, a cautery pen. You hoard thick gauze pads, cloth tape, wound wash, bandages. Your first aid kit is massive now, because you worry if you use the needle and thread out of your sewing kit he’ll end up with an infection, even though he quietly insists that isn’t even possible.

He peeks through your curtains into the pitch black night and tells you he’s hiding from his handlers. He’s gotten good at hiding, but they’ll find him eventually, because they aren’t the kind of people who leave weapons lying around. You don’t know who these people are, or what will happen if they find him, but whoever the bastards are, they keep him muzzled. He calls it a mask, but you know a muzzle when you see one. When you take it off of him his pupils blow wide, he breathes heavier. It’s as if simply exposing the bottom of his face is an act more intimate than sex.

He begs in a soft voice for you to fuck him. He’s always so careful with you, but he insists that you bitemarkscratchbruise, because it’s the only way he knows how to be touched. His unique brand of tenderness. He needs permission to be someone other than the soldat. To be treated as someone other than the asset. To forget who the Winter Soldier is. To feel something other than the violent and uncaring touch of strangers. You give him that permission with your lips, your tongue, and your teeth. Still, you sneak in little drips of devotion. You feed him microdoses of affection. You sew him up, then you ride his cock while he holds you with hands stained in blood that isn’t his. He whispers promises that he’ll never forget you, even if his handlers force him to. When dawn comes he disappears quick as a whisper in the wind.

Every single time you wake to find him gone, you’re left wondering if you’ll ever see him alive again.

You’d take him any way you could get him.

Sometimes that means you’re at the market about to start your car and the passenger door opens and closes and he’s there beside you. He wears civilian clothes now: jeans, a faded hoodie, a trucker hat pulled low on his forehead, and broken in shitkickers, leather soft and soles worn from all the time he spends running. They’re the armor that hides how hard he’s become in exile. His sad, stained-glass eyes never stop darting back and forth, even when he has you doing 80 down the interstate, running away from someone only he can see.

This man has no name. You greet him as soldat the first time he appears next to you in the car and he flinches as if you’d struck him. He softly replies I don’t do that anymore, and motions for you to drive. You ask him what to call him and he won’t say anything besides I can’t and it’s not safe. This man is obsessed with keeping you safe. Just by virtue of knowing him, he insists you aren’t, though he never says from whom.

This man never comes to you hurt. Not on the outside anyway. This man comes to you hunted. He comes to you haunted. He comes to you when he needs to hide but he’s too afraid to hide alone. He has spent too long in exile, and sometimes the quiet makes him wish for death. It’s impossible to forget the things he’s done when the only voice he hears is his own.

This man is harder than the soldat. He’s corded thick with muscle. Swollen and heavy and solid as stone, like a feral animal that knows nothing but the constant fight to stay alive. You wonder how he came by his new thickness. Certainly not a gym, he can hardly stand to be indoors, so being in a gym surrounded by strangers would make him crawl right out of his skin. This man uses his muscle in a way the soldat never would. He’s rough. He devours your pussy, supporting your entire body, perching you on his biceps, he holds you to his face with nothing but his preternatural strength. Fucking you with his tongue until the front of his henley is soaked with your juices, and your voice is hoarse from crying out your pleasure. He manhandles you onto his cock, giving you what you’re desperate for, and taking what he needs. Squeezing your hips until they bruise, curling a shiny silver hand around your throat, sucking and biting marks into your neck and chest.

He can’t bear to leave you unless he also leaves something to remember him by.

You’d take him any way you could get him.

Sometimes he doesn’t come to you at all. Half the world vanishes and you are left alone. You wait for him. You hope for as long as it makes sense to hope. But he never comes. You break a thousand times a day because that’s how often you think about him since he stitched himself into your heart. You refuse to consider that he may be dead, because without him the whole world is full of pins and needles that pierce and bleed you with every movement you make. You refuse to entertain the thought that he’s still alive, because that would mean his absence is self-imposed, intentional, like the empty hole in a noose just waiting for you to slip your neck inside.

On the days where you feel like you’ll drown in your tears, you idly wonder if anyone else is out there missing the man with the chestnut hair and ocean eyes.

You’d take him any way you could get him.

Joy bubbles in your heart when, out of the blue, there’s a knock on your door at 3am. Your pulse gallops because your heart and soul knows it’s him—he’s finally come back to you. He hasn’t forgotten you after all. Seeing him here, far away from where you were the last time you looked upon his fine face, comes as no surprise. No matter where you go, he can find you, it’s one of the many gifts he possesses. You fling open the door with tears in your eyes. Your face is cradled against a familiar shoulder, your lungs fill with a familiar scent, you’re crushed against a broad chest, and spun around in strong arms. Your eyes aren’t the only ones that sting with tears. God, doll. How I’ve missed you, his laugh is full of joy like straw spun into gold. You haven’t heard his voice in years, but it slips back around you like a second skin, comforting, warm, familiar.

His dark hair is short now, and his prosthetic arm is shiny and new. He doesn’t mumble or mutter anymore. Now, he looks at you when he speaks, smiles with his eyes, and laughs with his whole heart. Without reservation, he finally gives you his real name: James Buchanan Barnes—Bucky. At last you have a word for him that isn’t some transient alias, temporary terms for a man who never sits still. When you call him by his name his delight is etched into every line of his face.

Bucky tells you everything. He tells you all of his names—all of the men he’s ever been—all of whom add up to be James Buchanan Barnes. It takes the better part of the morning for him to go through it all. While he talks in his deep, gentle voice, you get glimpses of all the men you remember: the soldat, the nameless man; along with ones you’ve never met before, the impulsive old soul, the good man who belongs to a long ago war, the one who turned to ash at the feet of a great man. He speaks through the dark, well into the day. He shows you a notebook, reverently pinched between the fingers of his new vibranium arm. He tells you about his therapy, and his new friend Sam, and the whole new family he has because of Sam. Unburdening himself takes years of worry off his handsome face, and decades of guilt off his shoulders.

You hold him and whisper soothing words when PTSD flashbacks lock up his muscles and strand him in the past, where the sky is full of fire, and the air is pregnant with bullets. You trace questing fingertips over areas where you’d lovingly stitched up perforations in his pale skin, searching for scars but finding none. He speaks in languages you don’t understand, words that mean longing and rusted and furnace and daybreak, words that make him tremble as hot tears shine in his eyes and scorch trails down his cheeks. He paints pictures with his words of a place he calls Wakanda, but he makes it sound a lot like heaven. Where he was called White Wolf by people who had no reason to respect him but did anyway, and had the source of his greatest shame—the gravest violation foisted upon him in all of his long years—plucked carefully from his head by one woman and was confidently declared a cured and free man by another.

He tells you about the one he loved more than anyone else. A life stretched unnaturally long like his own, but walked on a vastly different path. Steve held Bucky’s heart in his hands, and was oh so gentle with it, until he wasn’t. Bucky talks of the stinging pain of a betrayal he’d never dare name as such in the light of day, and of love and the bitter pain of love’s loss. He sobs until his knees buckle and bile claws its way out of his throat until he’s retching in your kitchen sink. He doesn’t understand how it’s possible to love someone with such fervor, and survive not being loved like that in return. A thin layer of resentment festers below the surface; an infection he’s slowly tweezing out from under his skin with the help of his therapist. He stares at his hands, and talks in fits and starts about the man who tore his heart out of his chest, and left him with nothing but a ragged hole, full of raw meat and splintered bone, that tore and bled with every agonizing breath.

He tells you he’s slowly putting all those fractured pieces back together, but these things take time.

When you reach out to hold his hand, he smiles at you, kissing your knuckles and holding tight to you. He calls you petal, doll, and peach. He calls you by your name, and his face lights up from within when he does. His stained-glass eyes change color with his moods, a shifting prism filled with so many blues you couldn’t name them all if you tried. His body language is different, because Bucky isn’t hiding any of himself from you anymore.

When he finally sighs, and looks at you with eyes that hide no secrets, you stretch. It’s almost lunchtime, and you offer him coffee and sandwiches.

‘Sure doll, I’d love that.”

Your back is to him, so you can’t see the soft look of love that falls over his face as he watches you putter around your kitchen. Just one side of you he’s never met before, because he was always running. You hum quietly to yourself while the coffee maker spits and sputters in the background. His heart aches for this domesticity. Mornings sleeping in, late nights watching movies, dinners, parties. Peace. He wants all of it. And he wants it with you, but he’s never learned the words to ask this of anyone.

You slide a plate onto the table with a stack of sandwiches on it. He smiles at you, creases crinkling the corners of his eyes. “Thank you,” he says softly, shyly.

“Of course,” you smile back at him, radiant as a sunbeam, he’s blinded in the face of such light.

The ghost of something mars his features, just an instant, gone as quickly as it appeared. Anxiety? Worry? Pain?

“Is everything okay?” you ask, smoothing a calming hand over his shoulder.

Bucky licks his bottom lip between his teeth, and chews on it before nodding. His eyes dart away from yours, but he immediately brings them back, like he’s been working on making eye contact along with everything else.

His eyes are soft, vulnerable, “I just really want to kiss you.” His eyes flit away again. He’s worried you won’t want this Bucky as much as you’ve wanted the others.

His eyes go wide when you plop down into his lap and wrap your arms around him. He kisses you with abandon, and you yield to him. Pulling you against him, and framing your face with his hands, he licks his way into your mouth, and tangles his tongue with yours. He kisses you like he has all the time in the world for you. His full, soft lips turn up at the corners, smiling into the kiss.

You have no idea how long you and Bucky kiss. You’re making up for all the years of rushed embraces, sparse kisses, and quickies. He doesn’t want to rush with you anymore, and you’re delighted to indulge him.

Eventually you break the kiss to tug at his shirt. You try to pull it over his head, but he grabs the hem to stop you.

“Are you sure, peach? You don’t have to,” his eyes clearly communicate that he doesn’t think he deserves what you’re offering him.

“James Buchanan Barnes,” you start, using his full name, not to scold, but because you love the way it sounds and you love knowing it at last, “I have wanted you since the first time I scooped you up from the side of the road, when you were soaked in blood, but refused to let me take you to a hospital. I’ve driven two thousand miles away from my home just to help you run from the men who hurt you. I’ve cried over you, sewn you up, worried about you every moment of every day you weren’t in my life. Of course I want this. I’ll always want it—want you—no matter who you are. It’s always you, and it’s only you. Please believe me when I say I want you, Bucky. All of you.”

His eyes search your face, and you let the truth of what you’ve said show on your features. Apparently he’s satisfied with what he sees, because he helps you lift his shirt off. You move to straddle him so you can smooth your hands over the broad expanse of his chest. Bucky’s eyes flutter shut and he hums a happy noise. You pepper his lips, neck, and scruff-covered cheeks with kisses until he’s smiling again.

You shrug out of your shirt, and reach behind you to unhook your bra. Bucky’s hands stop you. “No, doll. Let me do it, okay?”

Your hands go back to Bucky’s chest, leaning into him as he unclasps your bra and slides it down your arms. Your nipples pebble in the cool kitchen air. Bucky palms your breasts, thumbs teasing the stiff peaks, pinching and tugging them until you’re shuddering and moaning.

His hands float down to the front of your shorts. He pops the button and rakes the zipper down, sliding his hands down the back of your shorts to cup your ass while he kisses you breathless.

You’re eager to have him inside of you again, so soon you’re standing to shimmy out of your shorts and panties. Bucky eyes you with hunger, his eyes sporting lust-blown pupils, and the outline of his stiff cock obvious in his jeans. He looks more confident now, finally convinced that he need not be so delicate with you.

He pats his leg, “Can you ride my thigh, petal? Wanna see you come apart for me.”

You sink down to straddle his thick thigh. His vibranium hand automatically goes to your neck. You’re plenty wet already, and your juices soak into his jeans.

He hisses a curse, “Fuck. Already so wet for me. Need you to soak my thigh, kitten. Do that for me, and I’ll fuck you so good.”

You grind down onto him with a groan. The metal hand on your neck squeezes gently but firmly. You start to rock your hips and his hand presses you down onto him without impeding your movements. His right hand tangles in your hair, and he devours your mouth with an aggressive kiss.

You’re whimpering into his mouth while the wet spot on his leg grows. The rough denim on your sensitive clit is inexorably dragging you toward an orgasm. Little electric shocks zing through you with every roll of your hips. Your orgasm coils in your guts like a spring, until it finally snaps. Your thighs tremble as you thrust and shake your way through the spasms.

“I forgot how gorgeous you are when you come, petal. Thank you for helping me remember.”

He stands, wrapping your legs around his waist. You point him through the house until he finds your bedroom. He tosses you onto the bed, quickly stripping off his jeans and boxer briefs and climbing onto the bed.

He settles between your thighs. Big hands pushing them wide. He kisses over the soft skin, making his way to your cunt. He licks a slow stripe up your slit, savoring the taste of you.

“So fucking sweet, doll. Always taste so sweet.” He pushes two warm fingers into you, languidly thrusting and twisting them while he teases your clit with his agile tongue.

You groan, twisting your fingers into his short hair. “Oh, Buck. You feel so good.”

Steve’s nickname for him falls easily from your lips. It rankles him when people use Steve’s nickname. But when you say it, it heals a small piece of his heart. Of course the two people he loves most—in this world, or any other—would call him Buck. It makes him giddy, and goosebumps crawl over his skin.

He sucks your clit, rolling it on his tongue, until you tug his hair to get him even closer to you. A deep growl bubbles up out of his chest, and it goes right to your pussy.

“Oh fuck, Bucky,” you gasp, “harder. More. God, please. Feels so good.”

He pulls his fingers out of your cunt, using them to spread your lips open and spears his tongue into your slit. His cool metal thumb moves to your clit, and the cold is a completely different sensation, though not unpleasant, and your hips buck.

“Fuck, yes. That feels so good. Don’t stop.” You tug his hair again to make him stay, as if there was a snowball’s chance in hell that he’d be anywhere else right now.

His scruffy beard burns your thighs and pussy lips, making you squirm. He snakes his arms around your thighs, and presses his palms over your stomach, holding you still so he can tongue fuck you with vigor.

You gasp and moan and curse, and it sounds like music to him. His cock is twitching and leaking, trapped between his stomach and your blanket, a hot, sticky puddle forming under him.

His tongue traces back up to your clit, making you whine, “Jesus, Bucky. I’m so—fuck—I’m so fucking close. God, ‘m gonna come,” you chant, “please, please, please.”

He slips three thick fingers into your pussy, and it pushes you over the edge. Your back bows up off the bed, and you fall apart, choking on his name, and coming on his fingers and face with a slick rush of fluid.

He finally comes up for air with a passionate curse. “Jesus fuck, kitten. Almost forgot how fucking pretty you sound when you come.”

Everything from his nose down is soaked and shiny with your juices. His hair is a mess from your fingers carding through it. He looks completely sinful when he crawls up your body, and it’s all manner of sexy when he captures your mouth in a kiss, and the taste of you fills your senses.

He takes his cock in hand and drags it through your folds. He growls at how hot and wet you are for him. He slowly starts pushing in, and you realize you’d forgotten how thick he was. Your eyes roll back in your head with a long groan as he stretches you. Your cunt makes the filthiest noise, and slick dribbles down your crack to soak into your bedspread as he fills you.

You’re both panting and sweaty by the time he bottoms out. You clench around him to relish the burn, and he growls a curse.

“Feel so full, Buck. God, you feel so amazing. So good. Please just move. Fuck me.” You know you’re babbling, but you’re powerless to stop while you’re impaled on Bucky’s dick like this.

He draws out of you slowly, making sure you feel every raw inch of his shaft, until it’s just the tip of his cock resting inside your entrance. He pushes back in hard and fast, slapping his hips against your ass, splitting you open and making you cry out his name.

He hooks your legs over his shoulders, and the new angle makes him feel even bigger, like you can feel him all the way in your throat. Each time his cock punches into you it knocks the breath out of your lungs, and all you can do is hold on for dear life while you melt underneath him.

He’s pounding into you, and everything is so intense you can’t form a coherent thought. Bucky's cock is driving plenty of noises out of you, but you couldn’t form words right now if you wanted to. He is not similarly afflicted though. He’s grunting all sorts of filth into your ear.

“Fuck kitten. So goddamn tight. Squeezing my cock so hard.”

“Fucking drenched, peach. My soaking wet fuck toy.”

“Taking my cock like a good girl.”

“Keep screaming for me, kitten. Gonna fill you fulla come.”

“Cunt feels so good. Want you to come on my cock,” the last one doesn’t feel like a statement, and when his thumb goes to your clit you know it for what it is—an order. “Now, Y/N. Come for me.”

You fall apart for him wailing his name so loud you’re glad you don’t have any neighbors close by. Your pussy gushes, soaking you and Bucky, filling the room with slick squelching sounds.

Bucky looks between your bodies, groaning at the way his cock is all shiny with your wetness.

“You got one more for me, doll?” he urges, “come one more time for me, like a good girl, and I’ll let you rest.”

You whimper, “‘S too much. I can’t.”

“You can. You’re such a good girl, I know you can.”

You whine a curse, and nod at Bucky. He smirks and coos praise at you. “There’s my girl. So good for me. Gonna make you drown my cock, kitten.”

Bucky rolls you both over so you’re above him. Now every roll of your hips drags his cock over your g-spot and immediately you feel a heaviness starts to settle in your core.

“Oh fuuuuuuck,” you groan. Hands going to Bucky’s chest to steady you, you sink your nails into his pectorals just to hear him hiss.

Bucky growls, “Mine. Fuck, kitten. You’re mine.”

The building weight crescendos and you orgasm sweeps over you, and you come all over Bucky, soaking his stomach and thighs with a hot rush of slick, and you keen, “Yours, yours, yours, oh fuck, ‘m yours.”

Your pussy clenches around him, sucking him back into your body, and he fucking whimpers, and the sound nearly makes you come again.

He plants his feet on the mattress, grabs your hips with a bruising grip, and fucks up into you hard and fast. Finally his hips falter, his rhythm stutters, and his cock swells and bucks inside of you, drenching your slick channel with come. Bucky fucks you through his orgasm, pushing cream out around his cock.

He pulls you down onto his chest and wraps himself around you, planting gentle kisses over your face and shoulders, whispering soft words of praise, punctuating each compliment with a kiss.

Eventually he rolls you over onto your pillow, and scoots off the bed, disappearing into the adjoining bathroom. He cleans himself up in the sink, and wets a washcloth with warm water. He uses the washcloth to gently clean you up, wiping sweat and come off your skin with the tenderest touch. Then he scoops you up with his vibranium arm so he can toss back the blankets with his other hand. He slides you in the bed and chases after you, wrapping the blankets around you both.

He’s on his side with the blanket tucked under his prosthetic arm. It’s not the first time you’ve seen it, but it’s the first time where you’ve felt comfortable enough to really focus on it.

“Y/N, why are you crying? Did I do something? Did I hurt you?” The flash of fear you see looks out of place in his cerulean eyes.

“No. You didn’t do anything wrong at all, Buck. It’s just-” you gesture at his shoulder, “Can I?”

“Of course,” his relief is nearly palpable, “anything you want, doll.”

You’ve got this brand new ache in your heart. You trace gingerly along the mass of scar tissue that surrounds his prosthetic shoulder joint. The scar is raised, and pink, and still so angry looking after all this time.

Quietly you ask, “Does it hurt?”

He confesses, “Sometimes. But it also lets me help people.” He tells you about how he ripped the door off an armored police van recently. People inside would have died without him, and it tested the limits of his endurance, but in the end, any discomfort he’d felt disappeared in a wash of relief when everyone inside of the van emerged unharmed because of him.

He cups your face with his vibranium hand and, for the first time, you notice the nearly imperceptible humming and whirring noises that issue from the arm.

He flexes, showing how the individual plates on the arm were able to reconfigure, to make the artificial muscles appear to flex, and how the plates are able to interlock in a way that make it nigh impossible to break his grip unless Bucky wills it.

“It’s really beautiful, Bucky. Truly a work of art.”

“Shuri really knocked it out of the park when she designed it. I’m not sure what I did to deserve the help of the Wakandans-”

“Bucky Barnes, listen to me,” you interject, taking his face in your hands, “you deserve the world. Do you hear me? I’ve thought so since the very first time I stitched you up, and my opinion about that hasn’t changed a single time in the last decade. And if you promise not to run away from me again, I’ll spend every moment we’re together making sure you don’t forget it.”

His eyes have gone a pure crystalline blue, and they’re filled with naked adoration. “No, petal. ‘M not going anywhere. Not anymore. I’m here as long as you’ll put up with me.”

Tears bite at your eyes, and you laugh past the lump in your throat. “How’s forever sound?”

“Pretty great, actually.” A smile breaks over his face like a wave. His eyes are a startling sky blue, and you’ve never seen him look this… happy.

You smooth a hand over his scruffy jaw, “I love you, Bucky.”

He leans into your palm, “I never thought I’d hear those words again, never thought I deserved to. I love you, Y/N. I’ve loved you since the first time I laid eyes on you.”

A heaviness is lifted from your heart, and replaced with the bright, earnest light of Bucky’s love and adoration. You see tears gather in his eyes and wonder if he feels similarly.

“So, petal, I hope you don’t have plans tomorrow.”

“Why? Are we going somewhere, Buck?”

“Delacroix, Louisiana. I’ve got some family I want you to meet.”

[sweet-dreamins]

good to me (s+f)

○ pairing: sakusa kiyoomi x afab!reader

○ word count: 1333

○ summary: sakusa is a thigh man

○ content: he eats you out like a man starved, excessive use of the petname baby, lots of spit

○ a/n: i couldn’t stop thinking about how much sakusa loves thighs

sakusa kiyoomi (26) is obsessed with your thighs, in every way imaginable.

his eyes are practically glued to them whenever you wear skirts or shorts. the way the fabric gently swishes around your skin makes him lightheaded. the gently swaying of your skirt only makes the constant voice in his head louder, telling him to reach out and squeeze.

in public, the amount of self-control he displays is quite admirable. you can always tell when he’s fighting himself or daydreaming about your thighs because of the rosy blush peaking over his mask. usually he can settle for a hand on your thigh when you sit next to him.

in private, it’s a totally different story. he simply cannot get enough. when you’re at home, you can typically find him lying down between your legs, wearing your thighs as earmuffs. he loves to fall asleep there, feeling your warm softness gently squishing his face. 

when he manages to stay awake, he ends up teasing you, accidental or not, you can never tell. he places the softest of kisses all over your skin, sucking every so often. when he reaches your stretch marks, he traces over them with his tongue, leaving gleaming lightning bolts in his wake, sending sparks throughout the rest of your body.

you’re certain that’s his favorite way to relax, but for you it has the opposite effect. luckily, he doesn’t need that much convincing to move a little higher, considering that’s his second favorite way to relax. 

locks of black curls fall gently, brushing against your tummy here and there as kiyoomi mouths at your skin. what had started as a leisurely cuddle session, with sakusa casually resting on your thighs as you scrolled on your phone had evolved into this.

he has his arms wrapped around your thighs, your legs draped over his shoulders. who knows how long he’s been kissing, biting, and licking away at your inner thighs, you certainly don’t. your skin is gleaming with his spit, from where he’s traced over your stretch marks over and over again. the warmth of his breath hasn’t left you once because of how closely he’s holding you against him. 

you’re trying to be good-no, you are being good, you’re being so good for him! you’ve been keeping your squirming to a minimum, so as not to distract him. you don’t want to interrupt his relaxation, you know that he’s just trying to unwind, he’s not trying to rile you up...right? still, even though you don’t think he’s trying to rile you up, you’re fucking soaked. the ‘accidental’ brushing of his chin and jaw against your pussy certainly hasn’t been helping, not providing nearly enough stimulation.

he glances up at you through his curls, but you don’t see. you’re too busy staring at the ceiling, chewing away at your lip, with your hands curled into fists. at first, he genuinely just wanted to play with your thighs, but five minutes in he had a new goal. he wanted to see how long you could last. he’s surprised you haven’t said anything, only letting out the tiniest of whimpers every so often.

after looking at your furrowed brow and bitten pout, he sees how hard you’ve been trying to be his good little baby. warmth blooms in his chest because of how precious you are...but part of him still wants to hear you beg at least a little bit. he leans his cheek against your thigh,

“baby, what’s wrong?”

you clear your throat and choke out, “hmm? nothing, nothing’s wrong, everything is fine!”

“oh, okay…..you sure?”

“yup! everything is fine!”

your voice is strained and so is the fake smile on your face. he should take pity on you, he really should. he goes back to nibbling at your thighs, only this time his ulterior motive is very apparent. he inches closer and closer to your panties, which are three shades darker since this ‘cuddle’ session started. you’re about to scream in frustration, only realizing now that, he is definitely doing this on purpose. before you can do anything, he lets go of your thighs and pulls away completely. a whine slips out from the back of your throat before you can stop it.

he hovers above you, with a soft smile, his sweet brown eyes staring into yours,

“you’re really good to me, so, so, good to me, baby.”

he gently kisses your cheek, then your neck, making his way back down your body. gently pressing kisses all over your chest and tummy, until he’s back where he started. his voice drops as he murmurs,

“you’re so good to me, even when i’m teasing you.”

you open your mouth to scold him for knowingly teasing you, but all that comes out is a pitiful moan when he flattens his tongue against your panties and drags it up the center.

“let me be good to you.”

he hooks his fingers around the waistband and slowly pulls your panties down, your wetness sticking to your lips and the fabric. he smiles even wider when he sees how truly soaked you are, your cunt gleaming in your arousal. he cooes,

“oh my poor, poor, baby, i made you wait too long for me, hm?”

you nod quietly, looking at him with wide eyes and your bottom lip poking out. he tightens his grip on your thighs, fingers digging into the flesh.

“don’t worry, you don’t have to wait a second longer, pretty baby.”

he doesn’t waste any time teasing your hole, instead immediately sucking on your clit. instantly your hips jump and your back is arching off the bed from the much-needed relief. he puts his forearm across your lower tummy to keep you pinned down, not letting you get away from his mouth. he swirls his tongue around your clit as he eases two fingers inside of you.

whines fall freely from your mouth, pleas of don’t stop, please don’t stop, and crying out to him over how good he’s making you feel. you were already dripping before he had touched your pussy, but now you’re gushing all over his mouth. he keeps on licking and sucking and kissing your cunt, you can hear how messy he’s making you. the squelching of his fingers thrusting into you, and the wet smacking of his lips against you, and his rumbling groans, fill the room.

your face is burning but you can’t bring yourself to care, letting yourself get lost in the building pleasure. you run your hands through his raven curls, gently pulling and trying to bring him even closer. your mouth has been perpetually open since he started, never-ending moans coming from you, and you’re sure there’s some drool escaping your lips. your breathing starts getting faster and faster, chest rising and falling rapidly,

“ah! ah! i-i’m close, please don’t stop kiyoomi!”

you didn’t think it was possible but he quickens his pace, thrusting and curling his fingers even faster, sucking and licking even sloppier than before. your skin feeling hotter and hotter, as though fire is coursing through your veins, a light layer of sweat coating your body, as you get closer. your climax finally washes over you, a final cry escapes you, cottony clouds filling your brain as you melt into the bed. everything is light and warm and hazy and you can faintly tell that kiyoomi has slowed down.

he sits back on his haunches, breathing almost as heavy as you are. you look up at kiyoomi through half-lidded eyes, already drowsy with your orgasm. gosh, he’s so pretty. his broad chest, heaving up and down as he practically towers over you. he looks down at you with a hungry gaze, the entire bottom half of his face shining in a combination of his spit and your slick. you struggle to mumble out,

“you’re all messy.”

he chuckles at your astute observation, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“it’s only going to get messier, baby”

[sweetsweetemo]

storytime, back in 2020, i had a mental breakdown due to covid, and my paranoia caused me to take cleaning to another level. the germophobia my mom exhibited got to me, and soon enough i was wearing masks and using sanitizer in my own home, rewashing every dish before using it, avoiding touching my own family and dog, and most importantly, keeping myself in an all-out stage of quarantine.

whenever something i deemed "dirty" would touch something else for any amount of time, that was now dirty and needed a full clean as quick as possible before it started making everything else dirty as well.

once, i wasn't sure if my mother washed her hands after waking up, and when she touched my mug of coffee I had to throw the coffee out and rewash the mug while she wasn't watching.

if someone touched my clothes, i had to change them.

if someone touched me, i had to take a full bath including washing my hair and scrubbing my whole body, and then brush my teeth. because the dirt would have spread by the time i was in the shower, right?

i have never, in my life, gone through that much stress.

now, i don't have OCD, and im not a germophobe, that's not the point, the point is that im mentally unstable and have paranoia, as well as delusions and hallucinations. COVID is very serious, and i was never careless with it, but that amount of stress was unnecessary and harmful to me, long-term.

after the paranoid state started to die down, my stress also did, and slowly, i stopped feeling the need to clean obsessively.

this was not the first or the last stage of paranoia that ive gone through, but it was for sure the worst. it lasted for about 3 months and i had no way to cope with it, my hair started falling out, i was losing weight and, literally, throwing up and crying due to the utter exhaustion i felt from worrying that much, all day, every day, without break.

so if you're reading this, and you're the person sending me asks telling me to kill myself, and that you're watching me through my windows, and that you're going to hack me and grab my passwords and publicly doxx me...

i hope you have a nice day.

because you'll never be able to affect me nearly as much as my own brain once did, as much as you want to hurt me, you'll never have nearly enough power to do so. you are weak and fragile in the face of my real life problems. the words you write to me are nothing but a sad string of thoughts that needed a scapegoat. it holds no sincerity.

i hope you have a nice day, because then you'll be too happy to send such pathetic attempts of hate to someone you know nothing about.

and then, after you have a nice day, you can grab your keyboard and shove it up your asshole

[alpacaparkaseok]

Make a Move

➣ Pairing/genre: roommate!Hobi x reader

➣ Premise: You thought ‘Hope’ was a girl, but looking at the hot dude currently claiming to be your roommate, you might be wrong.

➣ warnings/tags: pure fluff, reader gets a lil sick for a minute

➣ word count: 4.6k

➣ a/n: this was a commission by @hobi-gif for Army for AAPI! Thank you so much for commissioning this, I hope you enjoy it! You guys, check out ways to get involved in this awesome cause by clicking the link!

--

You look down at the application, and back up at the person standing in front of you. Down, then up.

Twice more, just to wrap your mind around the dumbest mistake you’ve ever made.

“Umm…Hope?”

The man fidgeting nervously before you manages a bright smile. “Yep. That’s me!”

Again, you stare down at the application. “I…you’re the one moving in?”

Hoisting the heavy-looking box higher in his arms, the man – Hope if he’s to be believed, offers a strained nod. “Yeah, it’s sort of a nickname…Hoseok. I’m Hoseok.” He looks around, poking his head through the doorway to your small apartment. “Mind if I set this down? It’s kinda heavy…”

You step aside in a daze, watching as Hoseok sweeps inside and sets the box down with a thud on the counter. A moment later another head is peeking inside before carrying in another box.

“Hey, I’m assuming you’re one of the roommates?” The newcomer asks, sweeping some of his ashen-blond hair off his forehead and extending a hand out to you. You take it with some trepidation.

“I am. And you’re Hoseok’s friend?”

“Namjoon. Just stopping in with a few of his things. Oh,” Namjoon waits until Hoseok walks back outside before continuing, speaking to you in a hushed tone. “I just wanted to say thank you. You know, for letting him move in. Ever since our landlord found out we had seven people instead of six, it’s been hard trying to find a place but Hoseok was adamant he be the one to move out. Did want to separate the others-”

“Wait, woah,” you hold up a hand, effectively cutting him off. “Seven? Seven people living in one tiny apartment?”

Namjoon tilts his head to one side, brows furrowed. “He didn’t tell you? That’s why he moved out; someone had to. Our apartment has a six person limit, so once our landlord found out Hoseok volunteered to be the one to move out.”

It appears that Hoseok hasn’t told you a lot of things.

“I…no, he didn’t mention that.”

Namjoon moves on, unphased. “Anyway, I just wanted to say thank you for taking him on. It’s nearly impossible to find a place this time of year, and we weren’t sure if you would be chill with having a male roommate, but it really means the world. This way he can stay close to us-”

“Close?”

“Yeah, we live just a few blocks away. He didn’t say that?”

At that moment Hoseok walks through the door, still wearing that sheepish smile that he directs at you.

“No. He must have forgotten to mention that, too.”

--

           Once Namjoon has left and Hoseok gets into organizing all of his things, you set up camp on the couch. Book in hand, you can’t help but assess your new roommate.

           A part of you wants to get rid of him, but another part of you is interested to see what might unfold from this strange situation. You’ve never had a male roommate before, and if Namjoon is any representative for what this man’s friends look like…

           You suppose it’s not too much of a pain to allow Jung Hoseok to stick around for a little while.

           Hoseok hums to himself, occasionally making little sound effects as he puts a bowl away or opens a cupboard. Every once in a while he’ll ask you a question, like, “Is this spot free to use?” or “Are you allergic to anything?”

           You’re nearly heading to bed when Hoseok knocks softly on your door. Your rooms are on opposite ends of the apartment, something you find yourself being extremely grateful for tonight. The knowledge that a stranger is chilling in your apartment is enough to have you feeling a little worried.

           It’s simple. Sure, Hoseok seems nice enough. Friendly even. But he’s too attractive to be normal.

           “What’s up?” You ask, opening your bedroom door to see Hoseok with his arms full of shampoo and other shower items.

           Despite the large bottle of Pantene blocking his chest, it’s easy to tell that he doesn’t have a shirt on beneath his robe.

           Indeed, the sight before you is enough to have you clutching the doorframe until your knuckles are white in an effort to not gape.

           Wearing nothing but basketball shorts and fluffy white robe, Hoseok shuffles from one foot to the other. “Oh, I was just wondering if you had any preference about where I put my things in the bathroom. You know, if the left side is specifically yours or something like that.”

           “Huh?” You shake your head, forcing yourself to only look at his eyes. That turns out to be even worse, in some weird twisted way. “Oh, yeah. Well, I tend to put most of my stuff on the left side of the vanity. But you can put your stuff wherever. I’m not worried about that.”

           Hoseok nods, taking a step back. He bids you a quiet goodnight before retreating back down the hallway.

           A few seconds pass as you remain in your doorway, thinking hard.

           No, you’re not worried about sharing a drawer in the bathroom or putting the A/C on a lower setting, as he asked you about earlier.

           You’re just worried about the fact that you’ve never found a pair of basketball shorts more attractive than just now.

           Basketball shorts paired with nothing but a robe?

           “This is gonna be great,” you mumble to yourself, closing your door and leaning against it. Only when you hear the sound of the shower going do you allow yourself to relax. “I’m gonna die.”

--

2 weeks in

           “I’m headed to the store, you need anything?”

           You pause, assessing the contents of the fridge. “Um…eggs?”

           It’s not very often the two of you are in the apartment at the same time, your schedule being polar opposites. However, it’s always relatively friendly. Still a little awkward, but always cordial.

           Hoseok – or Hobi, as he’s repeatedly invited you to call him – scans his little list. “Already on the list. Anything else?”

           “You already put eggs on the list? Like, for me?” The two of you by no means share groceries.

           Hobi shrugs. “Yeah. I figured you were nearly out since you eat them like every morning.”

           “Hey, not every morning-”

           “Every weekday morning.” He wiggles his eyebrows at you. “Tell me I’m wrong. I��ll wait.”

           You groan. “Yah, just go. I’ll text you if I need anything.” Turning back to the fridge, you utter out, “Annoying little-”

           “What was that?”

           “Nothing!”

           You wait until you hear the door close to let out a sigh. “Huh.” You didn’t even realize that he would notice those kinds of things. It’s a strange feeling, having someone notice even the most mundane parts of your routine.

           You…like it?

           Opening up a few of the cupboards, you realize that you’re nearly out of bread. You grab your phone, pulling up Hobi’s contact and calling him. He picks up after a couple of rings.

           “Hey, did you remember something else?”

           “Yeah, would you mind picking up some bread, too?”

           “Oh, good one. Um…” you can hear him moving around, and you swear you hear the click of a pen before he speaks up again. “Wheat, right?”

           Again, that strange feeling stirs in your chest. “Right.”

--

2 months in

           “I’ve never met anyone as obsessed with skincare as you.”

           Hobi chuckles darkly, beginning to apply his night mask to the other side of his face. “I doubt you’ve ever met anyone with such oily skin before, either.”

           You lean up against the doorframe, resting your head against the side of the door. Hobi continues applying the crème, looking utterly focused on the task. His forehead scrunches up in little lines as he looks up, rubbing underneath his eyes.

           If you’re being completely honest, it’s adorable.

           To put the icing on the cake, he begins humming to himself and leaning in closer to the mirror, making you chew on the inside of your cheek. It’s horrible enough that he has to be wildly endearing, but does he really have to be so cute?

           It’s exhausting.

           “It smells good,” you sigh out, eyes drifting shut. Hobi’s good looks isn’t the only thing that’s been exhausting to you lately. School is trying its best to wreck you and you hate to admit that it’s doing a great job of it.

           “You want some?”

           Eyes fluttering open at his question, you furrow your brows. Hobi is looking at you in the mirror, chewing on the inside of his cheek. He squeezes out a bit of the night mask onto his finger, turning to you.

           “You already washed your face, right?”

           “Mm.”

           “Good,” he nods more to himself than to you. “Close your eyes.”

           Giving him a distrustful look, you realize that you’re too tired to bother bickering with him at the moment. Instead, you close your eyes and hold your breath.

           A moment later the cool feeling of Hobi’s fingers dabbing the cream on the tip of your nose. He repeats the action all over your face, his other hand coming to cup your chin as his thumb absentmindedly traces your jaw.

           You suddenly feel extremely off balance, swaying on your feet. Hands shooting out to steady yourself, you instinctively cling to the front of Hobi’s sweatshirt. He chuckles lowly, making you tighten your grip.

           “Don’t fall over,” he mumbles, beginning to rub the night mask into your skin.

           You don’t say anything, settling for an annoyed huff. After a moment, Hobi takes up humming the same tune he was before. The two of you settle into a comfortable daze, your shoulders relaxing as the seconds tick by.

           “You know,” Hobi muses as he switches to your right cheek. “We’re pretty good roommates. Don’t you think?”

           “Mm. I’m still angry you put ‘Hope’ on your application, though. That was a dirty move.”

           Hobi’s laughter has you opening your eyes just to catch the expression of happiness he’s sure to be wearing. Sure enough, his head is thrown back and his heart-shaped smile in on display, the sight tugging at the corners of your lips.

           Catching your eye, Hobi smirks. “How can I ever make it up to you?”

           You purse your lips, melting a little at the concentrated pout that forms as Hobi resumes applying the night mask. He’s moved up to your forehead now, making your eyes drift shut again.

           “I vote you make me French Toast one of these weekends.”

           “Oh, and that’ll solve it?”

           “No, but it’s a start.”

           He chuckles quietly, pausing and then tapping lightly against your cheek. “All done.”

           Opening your eyes, you see the slightly confused look in Hobi’s eyes as he squints down at you. “What?”

           He blinks. “What?”

           You nod at him, “You look confused or something.”

           “Oh.”

           When he doesn’t answer after a long moment, you step back into the hallway. “Alright…I’m heading to bed. Thanks, Hobi.”

           His brows are furrowed as he turns back to the mirror, the confusion only growing. “Night.”

--

3 months in

You’ve quickly come to learn that there are pros and cons to having Hoseok as your roommate.

           One very strong pro is the fact that he’s a clean freak. You swear you haven’t had to worry about vacuuming for the past three months, he always beats you to it.

           “What are you doing?”

           He pauses mid-fold, eyes wide as he looks up at you. “…folding.”

           “My laundry?”

           He glances down at the shirt in his hands as though just realizing that these are your clothes. “I…yeah. Yeah, I am. It’s just, you left your basket out here by the couch so I figured I might as well fold it and put it away if you’re gonna leave it out here.”

           The passive aggressive tone in his voice rolls off your shoulders, knowing that he didn’t intend it that way. It’s obvious to tell that something is on his mind as he continues to you’re your shirt and place it atop a neat pile beside him.

You find yourself sitting cross-legged across from him and silently joining in on the impromptu folding party. Once you finish, Hobi clears his throat and avoids eye contact with you.

           Perhaps it has to do with the fact that he accidentally grabbed the same pair of lacy black underwear at the same time as you, which ensued in an awkward match of tug-of-war that you quickly won once he realized what he was holding.

           “So, the guys are doing a thing tonight.”

           You blink, pulling the folded laundry toward you and getting up. “…ok.”

           Hobi’s face lights up in a grin, and he jumps to his feet. “Really? You’ll come?”

           Perhaps it’s the utter joy you see in his eyes or the way he’s currently shaking your shoulders and causing the socks on the top of your pile to tumble to the ground, but you burst out laughing.

           “Hoseok!” You shout through your laughter. “You didn’t even invite me!”

           He immediately stops shaking you after that, scrambling for some form of a response. Swiping one of the pairs of socks that slipped to the ground, he kneels down on one knee and looks up at you with a giddy grin.

           “Would you do me the honor of accompanying me to visit my friends tonight?” With no shortage of sound effects, he offers up the socks as though proposing to you with a priceless diamond ring.

           “You’re an idiot.”

           Hoseok’s smile only grows. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

--

           Hobi’s light knock on your door goes unnoticed as you slumber on, completely dead to the world. After you had put your laundry away, you felt a wave of exhaustion overtake you.

           He knocks again, and this time you rouse just enough to grunt out something incoherent. He slowly opens the door, poking his head inside.

           “You still gonna come with me, sleepyhead?”

           His chipper voice makes you wince, your head pounding. “Mm, jus gimme…” you close your eyes again as the dull light filtering in through your blinds is enough to send you spinning. “…a sec.”

           It’s quiet for a moment, and you think that Hobi must have left. A second later, however, you hear him padding across your floor.

           “Are you sick?” He answers his own question as he places his hand against your forehead. “Oh, jagiya, you’re burning up.”

           The pet name has your temperature rising a bit more. “Mm fine.”

           Hobi chuckles softly, taking care to be quiet. “Have you eaten? Where’s your water bottle?” They’re all rhetorical questions apparently, because moments later he’s scooping your water bottle off the floor and tiptoeing back out of your room.

           After what feels like hours later, Hobi sidles back into your room with a full water bottle, some soup he must have microwaved, and another glass of liquid. It’s steaming, the scent making you scrunch up your nose in distaste.

           “What…” you can hardly muster up the energy to finish your sentence. Hobi perches on the edge of your bed, carefully placing everything on your nightstand.

           “It’s medicine. Drink it, and it’ll help. But first you need to sit up.”

           Easier said than done. Your body is exhausted, and your arms shake a bit as you attempt to scoot back against the headboard. Cheeks burning a brighter red, Hobi thankfully doesn’t comment on it. He just patiently readjusts your pillows and tucks your hair behind your ears with meticulous movements that have you smiling softly.

           “Ok,” he sighs out once that’s been taken care of. “Now, eat some soup…” his words trail off as he hands the bowl off to you. He watches as you bring the spoon to your lips, mumbling, “Blow, it’s hot.”

           Fighting the urge to roll your eyes, you follow his instructions. Once you’ve eaten over half of the soup and feel too full to continue, he hands you the steaming cup that has you scrunching your nose up all over again.

           “C’mon,” he urges, “my mom used to give this stuff to me all the time when I was a kid. It works like a charm, promise.”

           “Mhm.”

           “What?” He crosses his arms, frowning. “You don’t believe me?”

           You shrug, mindful of the full contents of the glass. “It’s just easier said than done, that’s all.”

           “Here, I’ll take a sip to show you that’s it’s not bad!” Reaching for the cup, you burst out into a fit of laughter as Hobi stares down at the liquid with unabashed terror. He clears his throat and squares his shoulders. “Right…just one sip…”

           Blowing across the surface carefully, he sacrifices his tastebuds. The instant he swallows, he thrusts the cup back into your hands and dives off the bed. “Ach!” He rushes out of the room, no doubt heading for the kitchen. Indeed, a moment later you hear the faucet running and wonder if he just decided to shove his head under the running water instead of wasting time on grabbing a cup from the cupboard.

           With your water bottle on hand, you attempt to chug the medicine. It’s horrid, making you gag, but you continue until the contents are drained. You’ve just managed to drink some water to rid yourself of the lingering taste when you hear Hobi’s phone ring.

           “Hey hyung,” he’s still in the kitchen, but you can hear him clearly. “Oh, yeah…I don’t think we’re gonna make it. No, it’s not that, she said she’d come.”

           You freeze, holding the still-warm cup close to your chest. For some reason, your stomach does a little flip when you hear the way Hobi’s tone changes as he speaks about you. It’s infinitely softer, something you don’t recall hearing before.

           “She took a nap and woke up with a fever-” he pauses. “Yeah, I just gave her medicine. But she needs to rest. She’s exhausted. What? Ugh, really Jin? I’m not-” The sound of Hobi shuffling about has you leaning closer to the open door, trying to hear what he’s saying. His voice is much quieter when he speaks next, but you can still hear bits and pieces of what he’s saying. “I can’t just make a move on her while she’s sick, that’s unethical!”

           Clapping a hand over your mouth before he can hear you snort, your eyes widen. Make a move?

           On you?

           “Yah, quit it. Tell everyone I say hey, I’ve gotta go.” Again there’s a pause, quickly followed by an annoyed hiss. “See, this is why I never tell you anything.”

           He quickly says his goodbyes after that, and you scramble to appear normal despite your pounding heart. You hear Hobi’s sigh from the kitchen, and you wish you could know what he was thinking.

           “Alright,” Hobi calls, heading back into your room. The second he enters you feel as though you’re seeing him for the first time. “Let’s get it- oh, you already finished it?”

           You blink, suddenly blinded by the sight of his adoring smile. As he settles down on the edge of your bed, you manage a feeble nod.

           “Jagi,” again with the pet name, “you look exhausted. Let me take the dishes and how about you go back to sleep?”

           Despite the fact that you literally live in the same apartment, the thought of Hobi leaving you alone in your room has you stalling. “Uh, who called?”

           There’s a flicker of panic that’s quickly replaced with an easy smile. “Jin hyung, he was wondering where we were. Don’t worry, I told him we weren’t gonna be able to make it.”

           You’ve heard plenty about Jin – truthfully about all of Hobi’s friends. You were excited to meet them tonight, after hearing so many stories.

           “I’m sorry,” you frown, still clinging to your glass. “You can still go, if you want.”

           Hobi looks at you like you’ve grown a second head. “Why would I…? No, I’ll stay here with you. Can’t leave a sickie on their own, you know that.”

           Groaning, roll your eyes. “I feel like an idiot.”

“If you’re an idiot, I’m an idiot.”

You snort, setting your glass down before you cause an accident. “Isn’t it, ‘if you’re a bird, I’m a bird’?”

Hoseok shrugs, a smile playing on his lips. “Close enough.”

He holds your gaze for a few seconds too long, but neither one of you look away first. Instead you bunch up your blankets in your fists and offer him a crooked smile. “Thanks, Hobi.”

His eyes linger on your smile, his lips mirroring it. “Anytime.”

--

4 months in

           Nothing has changed, and yet everything has.

           Ever since you fell ill, you’ve been jumpy. Anytime Hobi accidentally brushes up against you as he reaches for something in the kitchen, whenever he knocks on your door, even when he calls you from the grocery store. It all makes you jump and sends your heart racing.

           “You’re so dramatic.”

           You look up at Yuri, your most brutally honest friend. “…ouch?”

           She shakes her head, sinking down lower in her seat across from you. You keep boxing up your leftover food to take home, wondering if Hobi would like it.

           “I mean it. You’ve been freaking out about this guy for over a month now without doing anything about it.”

           You pause, looking at Yuri with wide, pleading eyes. “What am I supposed to do? He’s my roommate!”

           “So what? Your lease is up in a few weeks, isn’t it? If it backfires, just move out.”

           You snort. “Easier said than done. I can’t just up and move whenever I like, you know.”

           “You can’t or you don’t want to?”

           “Shut up.”

           “I refuse. Now,” Yuri checks the time on her phone. “tell me what you like about him.”

           “I never said-” you sputter, but Yuri holds up a hand and cuts you off.

           “Actions speak louder than words. He’s literally your background on your home screen.”

           Ok, that sounds like a bit much. It’s true, though. A week ago Hobi finally got to take you out to meet his friends. Together you went on a midnight hike (something you’d honestly never do again) and found a breathtaking view at the top. His friends, specifically Jimin and Taehyung, had practically shoved the two of you together for an impromptu photoshoot under the night sky.

           The photos are a little blurry and dark, but you love them. Enough to add one as your background. “But you can’t actually see us in the picture, it’s just pretty-”

           “Sure it is. You two make a cute couple.”

           “W-we do?”

           Yuri jumps up, clapping her hands and startling a couple just a few tables down. “Aha! See, you do have feelings for him!”

           “Ok, ok,” you hold up your hands in surrender. “Just sit down.”

           Once she’s taken her seat again and apologized loud enough for the couple she scared to hear her, you lean in close over the table. She rubs her hands together, looking every bit the scheming friend she is.

           “Alright, let’s plot, shall we?”

--

           Hobi checks the window for the eighth time in under five minutes, brushing the curtains aside to see if your car is in the lot yet. It’s not.

           “C’mon Jung,” he rolls his neck, bouncing on his feet. “Calm down. Keep it chill. Everything’s fine.”

           Everything is not fine.

           Things haven’t been fine for months now, something he’s been able to deny to an impressive level. Last weeks, however, the lie came to an end.

           His friends loved you. Like, ranted and raved about how funny and cool you were until he was worried he needed to organize an intervention. Then, the icing on the cake.

           Yoongi had grabbed him while you were hiking back down, sandwiched between Jin and Jungkook. He nodded down at you, turning a knowing eye to Hobi.

           “So…when’s that gonna happen?”

           Hobi played dumb, frowning at Yoongi. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

           “Hoseok, c’mon.”

           You laughed at Taehyung, who jogged up ahead. He was quickly joined by Jungkook. Hobi’s pretty sure his heart stopped beating as you turned around, searching for him. Once your eyes found his, your smile widened.

           Yoongi laughed at his side. “You’re whipped, and you don’t even realize it.”

           Indeed he was. Dangerously so, if he was going off of the amount of times he’s knocked on your door to ask you out only to change his story at the very last moment to ask you something stupid instead. You never seemed to mind, just laughing at his strange questions and teasing him mercilessly.

           “Ok,” Hobi whispers to himself, still bouncing on the balls of his feet. “You’ve got this. Just rip it off like a Band-Aid. Quick and to the point.” He tilts his head to one side. “But not the painful part. No pain.”

           He’s in the middle of his pep talk when the sound of your key in the lock alerts him to your return. Hobi is standing in the middle of the living room, looking like an idiot. Naturally, he shoves his hands in his pockets. Yeah, that makes him look less like an idiot.

           The second the door opens and you step into the apartment, every thought eddies out of Hobi’s mind.

           You freeze, not expecting Hobi to be standing in the middle of the living room impersonating a lamp when you got home.

           “Hi…?” Hobi swallows at the sound of your voice, watching your every move as you slowly lift up the bag of leftovers. “I brought home leftovers if you want some…”

           “I need you to go out with me.”

           Now you’re really frozen, staring up at Hobi as his eyes widen at his own words.

           “What? What for?”

           “For me.”

           You slowly close the door behind you, setting the food down on the counter before turning to face Hobi again. “For you?”

           He nods, a panicked look in his eyes. “Yes. For me.”

           “Hobi, I don’t understand. Do you need a plus one or something for an event? Is that what it is?”

           Removing his hands from his pockets and taking a step towards you, Hobi shakes his head. “What? No, I need- I need you.”

            It’s a good thing you already set the food down. “Me?” You squeak out, looking your roommate up and down as he takes another step.

           “Us.”

           Clearly there’s been a communication error. Hobi brushes his hair back from his face, chewing on his bottom lip before coming to a stop before you.

           “Us,” he repeats, voice low. “I need us to be a thing.”

           “O-oh.” That’s all you can manage as you try to recall if Hobi has ever looked at you like this before. It’s hard to contain yourself when you realize that he has, however he’s always been quick to mask it with something else. Or, more often than not, a silly question.

           “Will- can you…” he stops, taking a deep breath and closing his eyes. Without his gaze on you, you gain a bit of courage and raise a hand to cup his cheek. His eyes fly open, and he offers you a shy smile. “Do you want to go out with me? On a date?”

           Craning your neck, you hold your breath and plant a kiss on his cheek. You delight in the way he instantly flushes, garnering more courage by the second.

           “Yes.” Then you arch a brow. “I have one condition, though.”

           Hobi’s eyes are half closed as he looks down at you, appearing as though he’s slipped into some euphoric realm. “Hmm, anything.”

           “I demand French Toast.”

           Dissolving into a fit of laughter, Hobi sinks to the ground, taking you down with him. You protest, but not too much. Holding you tightly, Hobi subsides in his laughter enough to wink down at you. “French Toast it is.”

--

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© alpacaparkaseok

[watchmegetobsessed]

Eunoia - Harry Styles

a/n: i’ve been meaning to write a piece filled with just fluffy, domestic moments through a relationship, and that’s when i created Flora in my mind. wrote it with an OC bc i had very specific traits and stuff in my mind about her and it didn’t feel right to write it with y/n but feel free to read however you’d like it! but i think Flora is a delightful girl, she is a teacher and a free spirit, i think you’ll like her!

pairing: Harry x OC (Floortje ‘Flora’ Hoven)

word count: 9.5k

masterlist

Eunoia (n.) Beautiful thinking: a well mind.

Harry is always looking forward to times when his days aren’t filled from morning to midnight, traveling all around the world, meeting dozens of new people at various new meetings. Don’t get him wrong, he loves the buzz his life comes with, but one can drive this lifestyle only for a while before getting tired. He now appreciates his calm periods, when he is not living out of his suitcase, he has the time to drop by a café and enjoy his morning coffee sitting down instead of grabbing it in a go-to cup and chugging it down in his car. When he can just take a walk when the weather is nice enough and his favorite is when he has the time to just look at things without a rush and appreciate them.

He has built up a habit of going to the same coffee place since he got off tour and jumped right into his well-deserved months off filled with meditation, resting and focusing on himself after giving so much for the world. It’s just two corners down his place, falling perfectly into his way to the gym and now he even has a favorite table in the corner, because it gives him a great view of the place but the vines hanging from the ceiling masks his presence enough that people don’t often notice him there, providing some privacy for his morning coffee.

It was his third day here when he first noticed her. She was sitting at the table by the window, near the door, deep in a book, another pile waiting for her on the free seat next to her as she intensely made notes of her reading. She had her wild, curly hair in a puffy bun on the top of her head, clearly just thrown into it haphazardly when she started working. Her ivory frame glasses kept sliding down the bridge of her nose and thy seemed a bit too big for her face, but they overall fit perfectly with her knitted sweater and dungarees. And Harry couldn’t look over the fact that she had little sunflowers painted on her nails. That instantly made him smile as he adorned her from afar.

As the days passed and Harry spent almost all his morning at the same spot, he started seeing or more like noticing her more often. She always sat at the same table and Harry figured it was because of the natural lighting coming through the windows that came in handy, because she was always either reading and making notes, or doing something crafty, mostly origami, he noticed. She often had her laptop open with tutorials on different origami works that she was trying to make herself, not always succeeding, but she got it right most of the time, a triumphant smile plastering across her face every time she finished a piece, her dimples digging deep into her round cheeks. Harry couldn’t stop herself from smiling whenever she held up the finished work and adorned what she just created. He often wondered what happened to the little creations afterwards, but she just usually shoved them into her backpack before leaving.

By the fifth or sixth time he has seen her, he already knew her order. Vanilla latte with a sprinkle of cinnamon on top. Large sized, of course, so she has something to sip on while she typed away on her laptop or finished reading another book.

Harry caught himself looking for her on mornings when he didn’t see her, which were usually Mondays, Wednesdays and Thursdays, but one Wednesday, when he had an early meeting for a change with his team, he arrived before 8 am into the place and for his biggest surprise, there she was, sitting at her usual table, drinking the same drink as always. Later, Harry found himself coming earlier on those days just to find her there yet again and he figured her work schedule must start earlier on those days.

As the days went by Harry started to play with the thought of walking up to her. He wondered if she has noticed him as well, but it seemed like even if she did, his presence didn’t impress or bother her at all which just irked his curiosity about her even more. But every time he thought about finally talking to her, he decided against it, feeling like he would just be an intruder in her morning sessions. Until one day, the chance was handed to him on a silver plate.

She is doing origami once again on this particular day, making little cranes, one after the other, using different colored papers to make them form out a mess rainbow on her table. It’s a quiet morning, only a few more people sitting around at place. It’s been quite windy the past couple of days and today seems to be the worst, the trees are being tossed around by the howling winds outside, but it just makes it even cozier to sit inside in the warmth, enjoying a nice hot drink.

Harry finds himself watching her intently as her delicate fingers work on the paper, one crane following the other, she is starting to have a whole army of them.

An older man walks into the café and as he opens the door wide, the wind is quick to run into the place, knocking over everything that’s not heavy enough to stay still and the paper cranes are the first ones to start flying off the table.

“No! Darn it!” she gasps, her hands grabbing after them, saving just a few, but most end up on the floor, somersaulting away from her table. Harry is quick to jump to his feet and come to her rescue, lending her a pair of helping hands as she gathers her creations. “Oh, thank you!” she breathes out softly, her eyes meeting his and for his biggest surprise… she doesn’t seem to be stunned or even surprised by him, as if she doesn’t know who he is.

Maybe she doesn’t, it’s a possibility, he tells himself, smiling at her as he collects the cranes from the floor.

“Guess they wanted to be free,” he jokes, setting them on the table with the rest.

“It wasn’t my brightest idea to do it on such a windy day near the door,” she chuckles, looking over the bunch she’s been working on for the past thirty minutes.

“May I ask why you need so many paper cranes?” Harry inquires, leaving out the part that he’s been watching her do her origami for weeks now.

“Oh, I want to make decorations out of them, hang them up in my classroom. I’m a teacher,” she adds smiling.

That’s the most fitting job he could ever imagine for her, she is definitely the cool and adored teacher every kid is obsessed with.

“Wow, and how many do you need?” he asks, the stack of paper at the edge of the table looks quite a lot and he wonders if she wants to use them all for the cranes.

“Well, as many as I can make before my fingers fall off,” she jokes. Harry notices her freckles from up close that have been hidden behind her glasses until now. Her hair is in two space buns today and she is wearing a striped shirt with light-washed jeans and colorful sneakers. The sunflowers are gone from her nails, replaced by tiny daisies, but Harry likes them just as much as the previous flowers. They fit her well.

“Do you… I would love to help, if you want,” he finds himself offering, not even thinking about the question before it slips his mouth.

“You sure?” she asks, seemingly surprised but she definitely doesn’t find it weird that he just offered to help her.

“Yeah. Looks really calming and I haven’t made one in so long. Want to see if I still remember the steps,” he smiles.

“Take a seat then,” she nods, returning his smile. Harry goes back to his table to grab his stuff and join her.

“I’m Harry, by the way,” he introduces himself as he takes the empty chair at her table, holding out his hand for her that she gladly takes.

“Floortje, but everyone just calls me Flora,” she smiles.

“Never heard that name, what’s the origin of it?”

“It’s Dutch. My dad is Dutch, he came up with the name as well and my mother liked it. It means little flower, nothing grandiose,” she chuckles, reaching for another paper to start her next crane.

“Do you have a Dutch last name as well?” he asks, but then realizes she might not feel comfortable sharing her full name just yet. “You don’t have to tell me your last name though, if you don’t want to.”

“It’s alright,” she chuckles. “It’s Hoven, which is Dutch, but you pronounce it pretty much the same as you’d if it was a simple English word, just with a softer V in the middle,” she explains, her fingers working easily and fast on the thin paper, the crane is already starting to form. Harry reaches for a paper himself and tries to recollect his memory of the steps.

“Were you born in the Netherlands too?”

“Yes, I was born in Eindhoven, but we moved here when I was five. But my Dutch is still just fine, luckily. My dad refused to talk to me in English when we moved, he said he won’t have his daughter forget her mother tongue just because he is getting paid more here,” she explains with a soft chuckle as she finishes up the crane, putting it to the pile.

“I always envied bilingual people. Must be great to speak two languages that easily,” Harry wonders, eyes fixed on the paper as he is trying his best with the crane. It’s slowly coming together, though it’s not as pretty as Flora’s.

“It’s not that fun when I suddenly forget a word in one of the languages and then spend twenty minutes trying to remember when I know for a fact I know the words, it’s just stuck on my tongue.”

Harry laughs, finishing up his creation, holding it up and Flora looks at it as well. It’s a little crooked and one of its wings is longer than the other, but overall, it’s a decent first one.

“You don’t have to use it if you don’t want to,” he chuckles, putting it to the others.

“What are you talking about? It looks great!” she smiles, taking it into her hand, looking at it from all angles, smiling widely as she places it back to its peers. “It’s a nice one, and after all, it’s not your job to make cranes, so you’re fine,” she jokes.

Harry reaches for another paper as he thinks about if she knows him. Does she know what his job really is? Not that he expects everyone to know him, but she seems his age and it’s been quite impossible for him to meet someone close in age to him and not know a thing about him.

“Yeah, origami is definitely not my job,” he hums and then adds: “You… know what my job is?”

Flora glances up at him, a small smile tugging on her lips.

“Is this your way of trying to find out if I know you or not?” she smirks, tilting her head to the side, and it’s already a giveaway that she is very much aware of who she is sitting at a table with.

“I know, it was lame,” he huffs awkwardly.

“No, it was alright. And to answer your question, I do know what your job is, Harry Styles,” she replies.

“Sorry for asking around about it, you just seemed so casual and unbothered when you saw me, I thought you have no idea who I am.”

“I’m a teacher, my job is to treat everyone the same, I take equality very seriously. I don’t want my kids to think I put any of them above the rest, but I do the same outside of school too. Or do you want me to gasp and stutter now that you are sitting here?” she teases him making him laugh.

“That’s not needed at all.”

They work on their cranes in a comfortable silence and just as Harry thought, it’s quite relaxing, his thoughts slowly clear out, only focusing on the little birds he is creating. Then he glances up at Flora and suddenly his thoughts are filled with her once again. Now is his chance with her, he doesn’t want to leave this café without at least asking for her number even when he knows that he will surely see her around, just like always.

“Can I ask you something?” he speaks up as they both keep folding the colorful papers.

“Of course.”

“I hope I won’t sound creepy or something, but I’ve seen you around a lot and noticed how much you read. Is that just your hobby or…?”

“First of all it’s not creepy that you have noticed me, it’s flattering, because I have noticed you as well,” she smiles, paying him a quick glance.

“Really? I had a feeling you haven’t even seen me.”

“I did, but I thought you come here for the same reason as I do; to have some peace for yourself.”

“Ah, I see,” Harry nods.

“But to answer your question, I’m working on my second degree.”

“Oh, what’s that about?”

“Special education, speech therapy to be exact,” she tells him and Harry is even more stunned by her. Education is already a field not many can handle and then there is Flora, who didn’t just take up on it, she jumped right into it, pursuing a second degree in special education, a hard and challenging part of this job.

“Any particular reason why you chose it?”

“I have a younger brother, he is ten years younger than me, so he was already born here, but he was taught Dutch too. However, it wasn’t as easy for him as it was for me to speak two languages at the same time and he has developed some speech errors. Nothing major, but it was enough for him to be bullied in school. I saw his face every day when he came home and lied to our parents that everything is fine but then he cried to me in my room when they weren’t around. I don’t want any other kids to go through that, I’d love to be the one to not just help them come over their speech errors but also make sure they are treated the same way as everyone else.”

Harry hasn’t even noticed that he stopped working on his crane, he is now staring at her in awe, completely stunned by her. The more he learns about her the more he thinks she is a literal angel sent from above and that he can’t let her slip from his hands.

Flora looks up at him and finds him staring, a blush appearing on her full cheeks.

“Sorry for staring, but I just… this is so beautiful. Your passion about education is just one of a kind, truly. And the way how you made it your whole career and everything, I’m just… blown away,” he admits.

“Well, you made a career out of your passion too, didn’t you?” she chuckles softly.

“I did, but your story is just a little more touching,” he smirks. “Flora, I’m gonna be honest with you. I’ve been meaning to come up to you for a while and now that we officially met, I just—I would love to take you out on a date and get to know you better.”

She blushes again and Harry notes how well the pinky shade fits her even if she probably wishes she could control it more.

“That would be lovely,” she smiles shyly and grabbing a crane from her pile she grabs a pen from her bag and writes her number to the wing of it before handing it over to Harry.

He loves that she could have easily just typed it into his phone, yet she chose to do it this way. He smiles down at the crane and puts it into his bag, securing it as if it was his biggest treasure.

When Flora opens her door for Harry she is still wearing her apron that’s filled with tulips, a pair of simple jeans underneath it with a bright yellow shirt. Harry smiles as he leans down and greets her with a soft kiss. Ever since their first kiss he has been obsessed with stealing one whenever he has the chance. Their first one was nothing grandiose, such a simple and mundane moment but for him, it was perfect. They were visiting a gallery, he chose the exhibition hoping she’ll be a fan of it since the theme was botany, all paintings connected to flowers, gardens and plants and he was right. Flora was stunned, fascinated by each painting as they stopped at one after the other, taking their time to adore the works. They were looking at a painted garden filled with colorful wildflowers around a small cottage in the distance. Flora’s eyes wandered over all the tiny details as Harry stood close to her. She then leaned closer to point out her favorite flower and once they realized just how close their faces were, he just easily closed the gap and kissed her softly, surrounded with art, but he was convinced she was his favorite masterpiece he has ever seen.

“Hi, sorry, I’m a little late, dinner is not ready yet,” she huffs letting him inside. “Had to stay at the school a little longer than expected.”

“Don’t worry. Can I help with anything?” he asks following her into the kitchen, putting the bottle of wine he brought into the fridge to keep it cool until dinner.

“No, it’s fine. I just need about fifteen minutes to finish up the veggies,” she smiles at him and tiptoeing she steals a quick kiss. Harry hasn’t been the only one obsessed with kisses. “Make yourself home.”

Harry leaves to use the bathroom quickly and on his way back he finds himself wandering into her bedroom. He has been in her home just a few times before, only spending short minutes here when he was picking her up but now he has time to actually look around, hoping she won’t mind him snooping around.

Her whole place is just as colorful as she is always, each piece of furniture a different style and color, yet fitting so well when you see it as a whole. The quilted patchwork blanket over her bed is definitely homemade, each patch has a different flower on it while the left lower corner has Floortje embroidered into it. Harry wonders if it was made by a friend or family member, either way, it’s surely a special piece.

Her dresser is cluttered with rings, perfumes and endless amount of hair ties. She has complained before that her hair stretches her elastics out so fast, she keeps buying new ones every month. The little armchair in the corner is covered with a few of her used clothes, ones she’ll wear once more before putting them into the laundry basket.

As he walks over to her nightstand that’s filled with books, at least seven piled on each other, his eyes stop over something that makes his heart flutter.

A crooked little paper crane is sitting on the edge of the nightstand, the one he made the first time they talked, to be exact. Harry takes the bird and looks at it in awe, surprised that she kept it to herself. However he doesn’t find it odd, not even a little bit, since he has also kept the one she wrote her phone number onto, it’s sitting on his desk in his study.

“Found something interesting?” Flora walks in and Harry’s head whips towards her, feeling like he was just caught. But the warm smile on her lips is a telltale sign that she doesn’t mind him looking around.

“You kept it,” he states matter-of-factly, holding up the paper bird.

“Of course I did,” she nods, walking closer. “It’s a special one.”

“Thought you treat everyone and everything the same,” he teases smiling as he puts the crane back, his hands finding her waist.

“I guess there are a few exceptions,” she smirks slyly, her hands running up on his arms until they reach the base of his neck.

“Am I an exception?” The corners of his mouth curl up as he places the bird back on her nightstand and circle his arms around her waist.

“Did I say that?” she teases him. “I think I called your work a special one.”

Harry narrows his eyes at her, pretending to be hurt at her words, but he can’t push the growing smile back from his lips. They’ve been seeing each other for only over a month, but it was enough time to make him completely hooked on her. He is amazed by her in every possible way, feeling like he could never get enough of the ray of sunshine that Flora is. His favorite thing is that she makes him feel so normal, just an average guy dating a girl he met at a café. Not once did she treat him any different because of what he is and it’s just the feeling Harry has been looking for for such a long time.

“Come on, dinner is ready,” she smiles, pecking his lips before peeling his arms off of her frame, taking his hand as she pulls him out of the bedroom, however they surely end up in there again sometime after dinner, but with way less clothes on.

Harry watches as Flora plays with the bubbles in front of her, picking some foam up into her hair, watching it move around on her wet palm before blowing on it gently, her delicate fingers poking at the small bubbles that escaped from it. His hands are caressing her sides under the warm water that was once hot when they first got into it about an hour ago.

It’s been a lazy Sunday, Flora arrived early in the morning and went plant shopping. Her home has always been filled with plants and Harry has grown a liking to all the greenery, wanted some more in his house as well and Flora was more than happy to help him pick out the ones that are the easiest to take care of. Then they cooked lunch together, watched a movie and cleaned up the mess they made in the kitchen before running the bath. Harry has been loving these domestic days, lounging around his or her home, wearing comfy clothes and not caring about much of the outside words, just enjoying each other’s company.

“Remind me to buy peanut butter the next time I’m going grocery shopping,” she speaks up, leaning further back against his chest while Harry rests his chin on her shoulder, his arms tightening around her waist under the layer of bubbles.

“What do you need it for?” he hums, nudging her hair with his nose, her curls ticking his face, but he doesn’t mint it.

“I want to make cupcakes for the kids next week.”

“What for? Is there gonna be a special occasion?”

“No, they’ve just been super nice lately, we set up some new rules in the classroom and they’ve been really good following them.” Harry hums, loving how she is so eager to treat her students, he is convinced she is easily the best teacher he has ever came across.

“So peanut butter, huh? I think I need some too. Been dying to eat a good burger with some peanut butter.”

“I cannot believe you put peanut butter into your burgers,” she chuckles, peeking at him over her shoulder.

“Don’t bash it when you haven’t even tried!” he defends himself, kissing her cheek softly.

“The Aztecs would be so disappointed,” she sighs turning back forward, so she doesn’t see the puzzled look on Harry’s face.

“The Aztecs?”

“Yeah, they technically invented peanut butter,” she nods, as if it was common knowledge.

“Do I want to know why you know this about the history of peanut butter?” he chuckles softly.

“Well I had this kid last year who was obsessed with it and I started looking up fun facts for him for mornings when he looked a little moody. Then the others started enjoying it too so it became our morning thing that I told them a fun fact about anything.”

“Oh really? Tell me one then!” he asks smirking, pressing a kiss to her shoulder.

“Okay, um…” she thinks to herself. “Do you know what the Olympic rings stand for?”

“I do not,” he shakes his head.

“The five rings stand for the five inhabited continents of the world, united by Olympism.”

“Sounds logical,” Harry nods. “Tell me another one,” he asks.

“Are you going to make me tell you all my fun facts?” she chuckles, turning a little so she can look into his beautiful green eyes.

“Maybe. I like it when you talk like this,” he smirks playfully.

“Like what?”

“Like… smart. I love how you know all these little things about the world and teach it to not just the kids but to me as well.”

“You don’t think I’m a smartass?”

“Why would I?” he questions, eyebrows furrowed.

“I used to be picked on in middle school because I liked to learn, more than what was required.”

“That doesn’t make you a smartass, baby. You don’t go around, correcting every tiny mistake around you. You use your knowledge to educate, like you should.”

Flora smiles softly at him, his words bringing the sense of reassurance she’s been seeking for so long. She pecks his lips shortly before turning back forward.

“Do you know how many days a billion seconds make up?” she asks, smiling to herself.

“I don’t.”

“11 574 days. That’s a little over 31 years.”

“So I haven’t lived a billion seconds in my life just yet,” Harry states, doing the quick math.

“No, you haven’t,” she smiles, mostly at the fact that he didn’t just listen to her little fun fact, but also thought about it a bit deeper.

They stay in the bath until the water gets cold and Harry keeps asking for fun facts and Flora gladly tells him whatever comes to her mind.

Harry finishes up the fresh salad, filled with Flora’s favorites: cherry tomatoes, feta cheese and corn with some kale, baby spinach and garlic dressing. He even sprinkled some sesame seeds on top, now he is pretty proud of his work, it looks like something influencers would snap in an aesthetic photo to their Instagram feed.

His bare feet tap against the hardwood floor as he makes his way to Flora’s bedroom where she is still curled up on her chair in front of her computer, her hair in a mess on top of her head, glasses perched up on the bridge of her nose. She hasn’t moved much from the spot in hours, intensely working on her thesis that should be finalized within the next two weeks. She has been gradually working on it over the last few months, in no mean she is behind, but she’s been extra nervous about making it as good as she wanted it when she started and Harry has been nothing but supporting about it, knowing how much it means to her. So he’s been her moral support, making sure she eats, gets some rest and doesn’t get herself too worked up about her research. She appreciates his efforts and though she often feels bad for neglecting him lately, he made sure to assure her, he’ll be right here when she is finally done with it.

Harry walks around the mountain of books on the floor she has piled up from the library these past two weeks as he walks up behind her while her fingers type away on her computer so fast he can barely believe she even understands what she’s typing.

“Hey,” he softly calls out, leaning down he kisses her cheek, holding the bowl of salad in front of her, drabbing her attention, making her gaze move from the screen to the food in front of her.

“Oh, hey! Is this for me?” she asks with a soft smile, lifting her head so she can look at him. Even with the circles under her eyes, the messy hair and worn out t-shirt that she’s wearing, he thinks she is the most wonderful creature he has ever seen.

“Yeah. Come take a break, yea?”

She doesn’t protest, just saves the file before moving away from the desk to the bed along with Harry. She props herself up against the headboard, a tired moan escaping her lips as her spine rests against the pillows under her back. Harry hands her the salad and she digs right into it, only just now realizing that she’s been feeling hungry for the past two hours, but ignored it entirely.

“How much do you have left?” Harry asks nodding towards the computer.

“I’m finishing up the last part, then I just have to write the abstract and then…” she explains, popping a tomato in her mouth. “It’s just gonna be the formatting. I think I’ll be done by Wednesday.”

“That’s great,” he smiles proudly. He has always admired how hardworking she’s been when it came to school and her profession. He could never imagine himself do the same, especially because he didn’t even finish high school. He used to feel a little self-conscious about it when they first started dating, afraid that she might think less of him because he didn’t finish his education properly, even though it was never something that bothered him. But Flora assured him that it makes absolutely no difference in her opinion about him.

“It’s not about the papers or how many schools you’ve finished. It’s about how you see the world and if you are willing to learn when it changes around you. And I think you are perfect in that department, your curiosity and openness makes you an excellent learner,” she told him without even thinking about it.

Harry lies on his side next to her, one hand propping his head up while the other one wanders to her thigh, massaging it gently. She hums to herself, enjoying the food he made and he can’t help the smile that creeps on his face. He loves taking care of her, especially because most of the times it’s her that takes care of him. Cooking for him after a long day at the studio, putting his laundry away while he is in an online meeting or writing him a list for when he goes grocery shopping, Flora has been watching out for him through these little things, but now it’s finally his turn to give it all back.

He’s been thinking about asking her to move in with him for a few weeks now, he just hasn’t been brave enough to bring it up, thinking that she might find it too early for such a big step, seeing that the two of them have been dating for a little over nine months. He’s been playing with the thought of coming home to her every single day, waking up next to her in the mornings, watch her form his home more to her liking, creating a space for the both of them, making it a home not just for him but her as well.

As she finishes up her salad, completely oblivious to what Harry is thinking about, he decides to bring it up once she is done with her thesis, not wanting to bother her in any possible way until she is finished.

“Mm, this was lifesaving, thank you,” she sighs, leaning over she kisses him softly as her appreciation for the sweet gesture. “I’ll finish up this one paragraph I’m in the middle of and then we could watch a movie. But strictly without subs, because I’m done with words for today,” she jokes, making him laugh as he takes the empty bowl from her hands.

“Sounds good,” he nods. “I’ll clean up in the kitchen and find something to watch while you finish.”

“Thank you.” As they both get up from the bed, she pulls him down for another kiss, Harry’s free hand finding the small of her back right away. “I love you,” she whispers against his lips, his heart fluttering in his chest at the words he has heard before, but it never fails to stun him.

“I love you too. Now go, finish it so we can cuddle,” he smiles, smacking her bum gently before they let go of each other.

“Ja, pappa. Dat klinkt fantastisch. Ik zal het hem vragen. Ja.” Yes, dad. That sounds fantastic. I’ll ask him. Yes.

Harry listens to Flora talk to her father on the phone as she applies her lip balm, the one she uses every night before going to bed. He loves it when she talks in Dutch, many tend to criticize the language, but not Harry. Or maybe it’s just because he only hears Flora talk it and he loves everything she does.

“Ja, dat is goed. Dank je. Tot ziens, pappa, ik hou van je!” Yes, that’s great. Thank you. See you soon, dad, love you!

She ends the call and switches the light off in the bathroom that’s been not just Harry’s but hers since she officially moved in with him just last week. Harry finally built up the courage to ask her opinion about the possibility of living together in the near future once she was free from the worries of her research and thesis. For his biggest surprise, she was on the exact same page as him, definitely a fan of the idea. So three weeks later they started slowly moving all her stuff over to his until her apartment completely emptied out. Now all her belongings are splattered across Harry’s home, they haven’t found the perfect place for everything just yet, but it’s slowly starting to feel like home for the both of them.

“Dad called, asked if we would go over for dinner this weekend,” she tells him, moving around the bedroom as she takes her little hoop earrings off, placing them in the shell she uses as a jewelry holder on top of the dresser. She is wearing a pair of yellow sweatpants with one of Harry’s shirts, nothing underneath them, just how Harry loves it.

“It’s cute how you always tell me it was your dad, but he is the only one you speak Dutch with,” he chuckles lowly as she climbs to bed, pulling the covers over the both of them.

“It comes so naturally, I don’t even realize I’m switching languages,” she admits smiling.

“Dinner sounds lovely,” he nods, getting back to what she was talking about before.

“Arnold is bringing his girlfriend too,” she smirks, her eyes sparkling from excitement.

“Your brother has a girlfriend now?” he hums, eyebrows rising at the new information.

“It’s the girl I saw him with at his basketball game last month. They made it official like two weeks ago.”

“And he is already bringing her home? He is not beating around the bush,” he chuckles. “Is it going to be the first time the girl meets your parents?”

“Yeah, so it’s gonna be exciting,” she nods, cuddling to his side.

Flora is playing with the little cross pendant on Harry’s chest and he is watching her delicate fingers flipping it over, her fingertips tickling his chest a little in the process.

“When we have kids, will you also teach them Dutch?” he suddenly questions, the words just blurting out of his mouth. Flora lifts her head, resting her chin on his chest as she looks into his curious eyes. She stays silent, but a small smile is tugging on her lips for sure.

“What?” he asks, feeling a little nervous. It’s the first time he is bringing having kids up, but he definitely has been thinking about it, especially since she has moved in. They haven’t been dating for that long, but Harry is one hundred percent sure he is in the long run with her.

“I just… love how you said when and not if.”

“Well, it’s a question of when for me. What about you?”

“Same goes for me,” she smiles warmly. “And yes, I do want my children to speak Dutch. It’s important to my family and me as well. How does that sit with you?”

“Totally fine. In fact, I always envied kids growing up who were taught another language so early in their childhood. Would love that for my kids as well.”

“Dan is het geregeld,” she smiles widely at him.

“What’s that mean?” He furrows his eyebrows.

“I said that, then it’s settled. We’ll have some cute, bilingual babies,” she chuckles, half jokingly, half seriously.

Today has just been one of those days that were doomed from the moment Harry opened his eyes. He has been overwhelmed with stress lately, working on new music, but his studio sessions haven’t been as successful as he wanted them. He is also flying out to LA for two weeks in just a couple of days and he has to miss Flora’s mom’s birthday this weekend, which has been torturing him with guilt ever since he found out he can’t push his trip back.

This morning it felt like the universe just plotted against him. He slipped in the shower, broke a glass in the kitchen and successfully ripped one of his favorite jeans when he was getting dressed. He had a one way ticket cranky city, turning Harry into a moody little child. It didn’t take him long until he started a fight with Flora over the smallest, most ridiculous thing. It started with how Flora misplaced a bowl in the cabinet and took him two moments longer to find it than usual, then they ended up disputing about every little thing about each other they’ve been finding annoying, but neither of them voiced their feelings about them.

Flora, on the other hand, was not in the mood to argue with Harry so early on a Tuesday morning and she chose to just walk away and let him stew in his own anger. Harry knew the moment he heard the front door shut that she was mad at him: she didn’t kiss him goodbye like she does every day before she leaves.

He took a cold shower to cool him down and clear his head, get his thoughts straight so he can apologize like she deserves. Getting into his car he drives to the florist he usually goes to when he needs flowers for whatever occasions. The old lady greets him with a warm smile and upon describing what he envisioned, she immediately knows what to create for him this time. The result is a giant, colorful bouquet that reminds him of Flora in every possible means.

Driving down to her school he is met with an extreme amount of nostalgia even though it’s not even the school he went to as a kid, but it still brings back some memories.

The security guard immediately stops him when he walks into the building, but once he has explained him the situation, the old guy gladly tells him which classroom is hers so he can go and surprise her. His footsteps echo in the empty hallways as it is the middle of the second period, all students are locked up in their classrooms, lucky for Harry, because he surely can’t deal with teenage girls recognizing him right now. Holding the flowers in one hand he stops when he finds room 414 and he can hear Flora’s voice coming from inside, enthusiastically explaining something about penguins and it makes Harry smile.

Even with such a horrible morning behind her, she is still giving one hundred for her students. He brings up his hand and softly knocks on the door, interrupting her speech.

“Come in!” she calls out and Harry opens the door, popping his head inside first, then holding up the bouquet of flowers, making the kids start chattering in excitement at his arrival while Flora is staring at him shocked.

“Miss Hoven, do you have a moment for me, please?” he asks with a shy but charming smile. She quickly gains back control over her features before turning to her class.

“Please start working on task two and five, I’ll be right back,” she orders, but the chatter doesn’t die down so she raises her voice at them. “This is not how we act when we have guests, guys!”

The kids are quick to quiet themselves, eyes curiously switching between their teacher and the intruder at the door.

“Miss Hoven, is this your husband?” one of the kids, a little blond boy asks.

“No, Michael, he is not. Harry is my boyfriend,” she answers calmly, heading towards the door.

“Wait, I know him!” a girl exclaims gasping. “He sings the watermelon song!”

“Lilian, no discussion now. Do the tasks!” Flora tells her before walking out, but keeping the door open so she can hear what’s happening inside. Her cheeks are flushed and eyes wide when she finally looks at Harry again. “What’s—What’s this?”

“These are for you,” he clears his throat, handing her the bouquet. “And I came here to apologize for being such an arsehole this morning. It wasn’t your fault, I’ve just been crankier lately and I took it all out on you. I’m very sorry.”

Flora’s eyes soften on him as she takes one of his hands with her free one, giving it a squeeze.

“I said some nasty stuff too, so I guess I’m sorry too,” she sighs, her anger and frustration from earlier now long gone.

“I brought that out of you, so I’ll take the blame,” Harry chuckles softly. “But the point is that I’m sorry.”

“Well, you are forgiven. You were even before you came here,” she assures him smiling warmly. “Why don’t we order something tonight and just get lazy on the couch?”

“You said you have some tests to go through.”

“That can wait. You’re leaving in two days so I want to spend time with you.”

“So we won’t get our tests back tomorrow?” they both hear a muffled voice coming from inside and Flora chuckles shaking her head as she opens the door wider and steps inside. A small group of kids run back to their seats, but not fast enough to not get caught.

“Lilian, would you mind telling me why you left your seat without permission?” Flora questions the girl who just rolls her lips into her mouth, pretending like she hasn’t even moved all along. Flora sighs stepping outside once again. “I gotta go now, but thank you for this. They look beautiful,” she tells Harry.

“I love you,” he murmurs and leaning down he kisses her quickly, feeling like he is breaking rules even though he is not a student or a teacher here.

“I love you too,” she smiles back before walking back inside and shutting the door. Harry stays for a minute, just out of curiosity to hear if the kids ask her some more questions about him.

“Miss Hoven?” a girl calls out and Harry bets it’s the same nosy girl who recognized him.

“Yes, Lilian?”

“You have a nice boyfriend,” she exclaims, earning a soft chuckle from Flora.

“Well thank you, Lilian, but let’s get back to our new unit. Let’s see the tasks you had to solve!”

The splashing sound of vomit arriving to the toilet hits Harry’s ears once again as he is rushing up the stairs with a glass of water and the Emetrol his hands that he dug the kitchen cabinets through for. Arriving to the master bathroom he finds Flora just where he left a few minutes ago, kneeling in front of the toilet, arms on the rim as she is taking a deep breath, hoping to calm her stomach and stop throwing up finally.

“Oh baby, here. Found you some Emetrol, this should help,” he coos gently, sitting down to the marble floor next to her he places the water beside him as he pours some of the liquid medicine into the cap for her. She lifts her head, skin pale as the wall, the dark circles under her eyes make his stomach churn, he hates to see her in this condition and wishes he could just help her.

“Thank you,” she mumbles, her shaking hand takes the cup and she downs the medicine before taking a few sips from the water. “Harry, I’m so sorry for ruining our date,” she sighs in defeat.

“Oh shush. Don’t you dare apologize for being sick,” he shakes his head, putting the Emetrol aside before he towers above her to redo her hair so it doesn’t fall to her face. Today marks their one year anniversary and though they only planned to go out for a nice dinner, nothing extra, Flora still feels bad they had to cancel on their reservation when she started throwing up this afternoon. She’s been feeling nauseous ever since she ate that leftover casserole for lunch. She had a feeling she should have just gotten rid of it, but she hated wasting food so ate it. Big mistake.

Harry’s fingers delicately work on her curls, piling them on the top of her heat before he secures the bun with professional movements using the elastic he tends to wear on his wrists, just because Flora always loses hers. He likes to keep one on him as well. His long haired days trained him well, her hair is neatly kept out of her face as she frowns, feeling her stomach churning again.

“Can I do anything else for you, baby?” he gently asks, pressing the back of his hand to her forehead to make sure she doesn’t have a fever, but she feels alright. She probably just has to get rid of the bad food.

“Can you please get me a wet washcloth?” she asks faintly. Sitting to her butt she leans against the wall beside her with her eyes closed.

Harry nods and he is on his feet in a blink of an eye, grabbing a washcloth from the cabinet and wetting it in some cool water. He kneels in front of her and starts gently tapping it against her cheeks, forehead and neck, wiping off the thin layer of sweat.

“This is not how I planned to spend our anniversary,” she groans with a frown, making him chuckle.

“We agreed, the anniversary is postponed. Don’t even think about it.”

“But I wanted to look nice for you, even bought a new dress.” She pouts her lips at him, eyes opening narrowly, glistening from the tears that watered them while she was throwing up.

“You always look nice, baby,” he softly tells her, letting her take the washcloth before she places it over her forehead.

“Even now? After you saw me throw up four times? We have very different versions for the word nice, H,” she jokes with a soft chuckle and Harry is thankful to see her smile, even if it’s still very faint and tired.

“Even now, baby,” he nods smirking and he is not lying. Though the situation is saddening, Harry still enjoys taking care of her, being the one she can rely on even on her worst days.

They sit on the bathroom floor as the medicine slowly works and she finally gets rid of the urge to throw up. Then Harry scoops her up and undressing the both of them, he helps her take a nice shower before dressing her in clean clothes, tossing their dirty ones into the laundry basket, noting to do them sometime in the morning.

When Flora is settled under the cover, head comfortably sinking into the pillow, she immediately feels her eyes closing, the strenuous afternoon has successfully sucked all her energy right out of her body. Harry brings her another big glass of water for the night and just to be sure, puts a trashcan next to her side, if things go south again. When he gets under the covers she is already half asleep, but she hums when his fingertips dance down the side of her face.

He allows himself to shamelessly admire her as she finally falls completely asleep, her lips parted as she slightly snores, but she looks so peaceful, the painful frown he saw on her face all afternoon is now gone from her beautiful face. He hasn’t fully wrapped his mind around how an entire year has passed with such a wonderful creature by his side. As their anniversary was coming up, he caught himself thinking about what the future is holding for them more often. There were so many things they needed to experience together, so much to see and do as partners and Harry couldn’t wait for it all to come.

As he lies in the bed next to her, a smile tugs on his pink lips at the thought of the possibility of spending the rest of his life with Flora. His future has never seemed brighter than in that moment.

“This is harder than I thought,” Flora admits, focusing on the instrument on her lap, trying to figure out if she is holding down the accords the right way, but a moment later Harry’s hand covers hers on the neck of the guitar and he fixes her fingers on the strings until they are in the right position.

“Like this. Try it now,” he murmurs, his chin resting on her shoulders as she is standing between his legs, back leant against his chest. Flora has been begging him to teach him a few accords on the guitar and today finally brought the moment Harry would turn into her master.

The two of them are sitting on the bed, Harry only in his underwear while Flora is in one of his hoodies with only her panties covering the lower parts of her body. Harry came back from a week-long trip to New York and they haven’t left the bed too much since he set his feet inside the house, only emerging from the bedroom to fulfill their other physical needs.

Flora’s fingers strum against the strings and the instrument comes to life, giving her a clear accord finally, bringing a triumphant smile to her lips.

“You are a natural talent, baby,” he smirks, giving her hips a gentle squeeze before kissing into her neck.

“Don’t tease me, I’m trying!” she warns her playfully, playing the chord again, loving how she can create such a beautiful sound with the instrument.

“Mm, you’re coming for my career?”

“Oh, surely. I think I would make an excellent rockstar,” she nods confidently, making him laugh.

“You are so not the rockstar type. More like the chill indie singer who dances barefoot on stage.”

“Yeah, but I could spice it up a little and make it rockstar-y,” she explains and glances back at him over her shoulder. “Don’t you think I would look hot in one of your stage costumes? Sparkly suit and all?”

“Oh I know you’d look amazing,” he nods eagerly. He has spent quite some time imagining her girl in one of his suits and he quite liked the thought. Flora chuckles as he puts the guitar aside before she turns around and straddles him, her knees on each of his sides.

“Yeah? I would need a better name, mine is not too fitting for a star,” she explains. “Easy for you, your name is basically the most perfect name for a rockstar.”

“You think so?” he cocks an eyebrow at her, his palms coming to cup her bum as he tilts his head backwards since this position makes her the taller one for a change.

“Harry Styles? Oh please, it’s like Anne knew she would give birth to a legend,” she scoffs making him laugh.

“I’ve been told it’s a nice one,” he shrugs smugly. “I think it’s the surname.”

“It’s pretty cool, yeah.”

“What if you had the same? Flora Styles? Sounds pretty badass,” he suggests and at first, she doesn’t even realize the hidden meaning behind his words, tasting the name so obliviously.

“Flora Styles? You might be right, the surname sounds very cool,” she agrees and it amazes him how easily it went over her head.

“You like it?”

“Mhm,” she nods, her hand reaching for the guitar once again, but Harry stops her, taking it between his as he blindly finds her ring finger that is now ringless.

“Do you like it enough to actually take it?” he questions, hoping she would get the hint now where this is heading. She blinks at him a little puzzled but it’s until she realizes that his fingers are fidgeting with her ring finger, more specifically where a ring would sit on it, his fingertips gently caressing the skin around it.

“Harry?” she gasps with wide eyes as she just watches his grin grow wider. “This is not… Are you--?”

“What?” he chuckles, feeling entertained how she lost all her smug confidence all of a sudden. “What’s it that you’re trying to say?”

“No, what is it that you are trying to say?!” she snaps back, still in shock about what he just implied. “Was this your sneaky way of… proposing?” she asks, whispering the last word as if it was a curse word.

“Why do you act like we have a forbidden love and marriage cannot be even mentioned?” he chuckles at her.

“Because I was shocked! Not that bad now though, you haven’t pulled out a ring so I guess it was just a cruel joke.” She narrows her eyes at him, kissing his smug grin shortly, but Harry is definitely not done with her just yet.

“I wouldn’t be that sure about it, baby,” he warns her before gently pushing her off her lap to get off the bed. Flora’s eyes widen as she follows him walk to his suitcase that’s still lying on the floor next to his dresser, waiting to be unpacked. He digs under his clothes before pulling out a small velvety box, making her gasp immediately. Harry gets back on bed as he holds out the box in front of her on his palm, not opening it just yet.

“Did you buy that in New York just this week?” she asks with her mouth hung open.

“I didn’t. I’ve had it for about a month, I just took it with myself because I was afraid you’d find it,” he chuckles as he plays around with it between his fingers. “Have been planning on it for a while, but I couldn��t come up with anything so then I just decided to wait for the right moment and go with the flow,” he explains.

“And this is the right moment?” she questions, her heart beating in her throat as her gaze is switching between Harry’s green eyes and the box in his hand.

“Felt like it, yeah,” he nods, the corners of his mouth curling up.

Silence settles between them as they both just wrap their heads around the weight of the moment. Harry’s heart flutters in his chest, a little afraid it’s too early. They’ve been dating a little over two years now, marriages have been tied way earlier in a relationship before, but Harry feared Flora would feel it too rushed just yet, however the question is out there now. Or is it?

“Well, are you gonna ask it?” she questions and as Harry’s eyes flicker up to meet her gaze, he is met with that playful challenge in them that he adores so much.

“I just asked,” he mutters.

“No, you asked if I would take your name. That’s not a proposal,” she reminds him and he realizes she is right. He never actually asked the big question.

So he finally pops the lid open revealing the vintage diamond ring he bought a month ago when he was just out and about. The moment his eyes laid on the jewelry, he knew it’s the one he’d like to see on your finger and bought it right away.

“Floortje Hoven, will you marry me?” he simply asks, his dimples digging deep into his cheeks as he smiles widely at his lover.

“I will,” she nods, her heart hammering in her chest as she watches him take the ring out of the box and carefully put it on her once empty ring finger. Still holding her hand, he brings it up to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to the ring before leaning in he connects his lips with hers.

-

Thank you for reading! Please like and/or reblog if you enjoyed!

[digitalstowaway]

A really terrible flu goes through the prosecutor's office one year, and no one seems to be safe. Klavier watches everyone around him get hit with it. It feels like every day a different office neighbor calls off. Investigators and detectives stay clear of the building and still manage to get sick. Even the chief takes a week off and comes back pale and thin.

Klavier brags to Apollo how he's one of the last men standing. He's in perfect health already, and he's been obsessively sanitizing everything and washing his hands. But Apollo still tells him to stay away until everyone's healthy again.

"You could be carrying it! And I don't want to get sick. Don't breathe in my direction."

Klavier is offended, but Apollo is stubborn. He says they can go on one date that month only because they already bought tickets (months in advance) to a see a community performance of the Nutcracker. But Klavier needs to wear a mask the entire date, and there'll be no hand holding or kissing.

"You wound me!"

"I don't want to get sick!"

So a week goes by. More prosecutors get sick. The ones who don't pick up court dates and investigations in an effort to stop the entire legal system from grinding to a halt. Klavier still feels fine, and he's still quite pleased with himself the night before the play.

He spends the evening talking to Apollo over the phone like a teenager and deciding what to wear. It's a matinee performance so Apollo says they can make time for an early lunch beforehand as long as Klavier promises he's feeling okay. Klavier says of course. He's never felt better, and he knows the perfect little lunch spot they can go.

He tucks himself into bed and wakes up 14 hours later like he got hit by a truck with Apollo leaning over him.

"You're sick."

"I'm not."

"Then you stood me up. I waited for you to show up for 20 minutes before I felt a little pathetic. The waitress offered to comp my coffee."

"What time is it?"

"It's almost one."

"The play's in an hour! Move, I need to get up. Give me ten minutes."

Apollo firmly tells him he's not going anywhere. He has the flu, and he's going to stay in bed and rest until he's over it.

"I don't think you can even sit up, Klavier."

"I can. Watch... Am I doing it?"

And Klavier feels so awful for making Apollo miss the ballet. He was really looking forward to it. But Apollo doesn't complain and makes him lunch and brings him tea and juice and water and medicine. He's tender and doting, and Klavier's never seen him so quiet and gentle before. It surely can't be the same man who rattles the walls of the courthouse with his objections.

Klavier apologizes at the end of the evening and tells Apollo to go home. He doesn't want to get sick, after all.

"I'm not leaving you to boil alive from this fever. I'm staying the night in case you get worse, okay? Trucy caught this last week, and Mr. Wright said it wasn't good. Her fever spiked at 103. I'm not risking the same happening to you when you're alone."

Klavier thinks about poor little Trucy Wright.

And then he thinks about Apollo staying with him, and he thinks about how no one's really taken care of him before. He thinks about all the bugs and chills he's rode out alone.

He accepts Apollo's help.

[sinfulslanders]

Affection 

Pairing: Trapper x Fem!Reader

Request: @crow-beasty “May I request Trapper x Fem Reader where the reader dresses like a housewife from the 50's and trapper has an obsession with winning the Readers affection? Thank you!”

Warning(s): Danny (Ghostface) being an asshole.

Word Count: 1.5k

Note: Okay so I have like three different versions of this but this is the best one in my opinion. I might post the other one because I really like it but this is the best one (in my opinion) that fits what you requested for. Also, thank you for requesting!

When Trapper first saw you during the trail, he couldn’t help but stop and just observe you. He hadn’t seen many survivors dressed like you before. You were wearing a navy blue dress with a matching blue ribbon tied in your hair, it was a very modest look. You must’ve been the new survivor all the killers were talking about. He’s heard that you were very polite to the killers, even while you were on the hook.

He honestly thought it was an act until he had more trails with you, he began realizing that was just how you were. Once that settled in, something else began settling inside of him. Feelings of some sort. He wasn't like the other killers though, he was loyal to the entity and ignored his feelings to satisfy the entity’s needs. He tried to ignore the feeling but he always did feel guilty for hooking you, sometimes you even smiled at him and told him it was okay. Gosh, why did you have to be so nice?

As his feelings began to crack through the box he kept them in, he would hear the things Ghostface would say about you. Vulgar and earthy things about you and the signature navy blue dress you wore. He tried to ignore it at first but once he accidentally stumbled across you and Ghostface meeting, he couldn’t ignore it anymore. You were too perfect for that vile creature, you deserved better, you deserve someone like.. him.

That was when he decided he would have you. You were going to his but he’ll do it by showing you how he was much better than Ghostface. He was an old-fashion type of guy so he couldn’t take you out to a restaurant or go open the car door for you. He didn’t even have a suit to wear and he definitely didn’t know if flowers even grew in this realm. But that wasn’t getting to stop him, he’ll just improvise some stuff.

He didn’t outright start letting you escape every game, but he did start he started letting you do your little tricks on him like he had no idea what you were doing then would mysteriously lose track of you. Then by letting you complete a generator before chasing after you or he would let you get some time in the basement before getting you. Until finally, he would let you get the hatch if you were the last one alive or he would let you open an exit gate.

Of course, he did have to sacrifice you sometimes but it was way less than all the other survivors. He did hear the entity asking if he was beginning to favor you and he confirmed it. The entity was upset but couldn’t do anything since he was still doing his job. He did start asking the entity for a favors. Small things like a suit and return he would be more efficient with his work. And with that, he started becoming extra brutal during the trails, especially the ones you weren’t in.

Survivors started noticing how things were different for you when it came to Trapper but you thought nothing of it, though, you had noticed the signs. He gradually let you escape during the trails and you wanted to ask him for his reason but you didn’t want to seem like we were overreacting. You and Trapper never had a conversation just like everyone else but you did know that some killers had their favorites and some decided to take that further. You just hoped that wasn’t what he was trying to do to you.

Luckily, all your worries were washed about when Trapper wanted you to meet him for the first time. He got all dressed up in his suit and did his best to be presentable. When he saw you looking for him just a few feet away, he had to take some deep breaths before he stepped out from behind a tree with a blanket and flowers in hand. He walked up to you and couldn’t help but gawk over how beautiful you looked.

You were wearing a long skirt with a white button up tucked within the skirt and had a white ribbon wrapped in your hair. Trapper on the other hand had on a regular suit except didn’t have a coat to wear. He wanted to impress you so bad by saying something cool but he couldn’t get the words out, so he just handed you the flowers. You accepted the flowers with a genuine smile and thanked him.

“So Mr. Trapper, what did you want from me?” You looked at him while smelling the flowers, they smelt like real flowers. You wondered how he was able to get these since everyone told you flowers only exist during a certain time period. Trapper held his hand out and you placed your hand within his, he lifted your hand to his mask and “kissed” the top of your hand. He lowered your hand and looked into your eyes.

“Want to take you on a date.” He said as best as he could, he didn’t talk very much so he has to get used to using his voice and letting people hear it. You stood there contemplating whether he was being serious or not. He did get you flowers and he was all dressed up, he put in all his effort so maybe he wasn’t joking. You nodded, “Oh okay, I.. accept.” In the pit of your stomach you could feel butterflies, just what did he have planned?

He walked beside you then turned to face the direction he had come from, he held his elbow out for you to wrap your arm around and smiled under his mask when he felt you snake your arm through. You two walked through the forest for a bit before you came to a clearing. He quickly laid down the blanket and he showed you a wine bottle along with two mugs. “There weren’t any wine glasses, my apologies for that.”

You laughed and shook your head, “It’s fine, I really appreciate you doing this for me.” Trapper relaxed and slightly nodded his head. He walked on opposite of you and waited for you to sit down before he did. He opened up the wine bottle and poured some for you then some for him. “You can call me Evan, (Y/n).” You nodded and you both began to talk to each other about random things, like past hobbies, favorite things, just anything that interested you guys at the moment.

You don’t know how long you were there but Evan could hear the entity warning him about time almost being up. “I’m sorry but it’s almost time for us to go.” Evan drank the last bit of his wine then stood up with ease, he held out his hand and you grabbed it to help yourself up. “Evan, I really had a nice time with you. you did all of this for me and I just can’t thank you enough.”

You gripped his hand harder and cursed at yourself, you knew he was doing this for that reason but you wanted to hear him say it. “What are you trying to get out of me?” Evan paused and thought, he knew that he wanted you, for lust or for love he had no clue. “I don’t know yet, but I know I want you.” Your eyes widened and you gulped, you laughed out of embarrassment and released his hand. “I will do everything I can to convince you if I have to.”

Evan picked up the blanket, mugs, and the wine bottle and wrapped them up within the blanket. After he was done, he held out his elbow again and waited for you to snake your arm through. You were hesitant this time but you did as you did prior. There was silence as you both walked back, neither of you knew what to say. As you arrived at the place where you met, you removed your arm and turned to face him.

“Well, then I guess you better start planning more dates.” You smiled and walked away, heading towards the camp. Evan watched as you walked farther and farther away until you were no longer seen. “Wow, Trapper, didn’t know you had a thing for gals like that.” Evan turned around at the familiar voice while mentally sighing, Danny. He had his mask on but Evan could still tell he was grinning, he didn’t have time for Danny’s little games so he just walked past him.

“I wonder who’ll get her first.” That made him stop in his tracks and peak over his shoulder, only to see Danny walk beside him. “I bet she’ll come to someone like me, someone.. experienced.” Evan clenched his jaw and turned his head away from Danny. He walked off not wanting a kid like him to have the opportunity to get him upset. Evan knew he was going to win you and your affection, even if he had to play against someone like Danny.

[lorelylantana]

The Difference

I was inspired to write by some of the amazing @ghostgirl19posts‘s work for Febwhump and with permission I’ve decided to write a little epilogue for the Ganon’sChampion!Link chapters, the first of which can be found here but you should also read parts two and three for this to make sense.

Overall rating: T

Warnings: Emotional Manipulation, unhealthy relationship that grows to be slightly less unhealthy.

“Did you really believe that anything would be different?”

No, she supposes she didn’t. Not really. She isn’t that stupid.

Zelda sees the dead sincerity in his eyes when he speaks, but the relief at Ganon’s fall has sparked a rebellious streak in her. She won’t let him get off that easy, so she masks her dismay with an apathetic flip of her hair.

“Just as well,” she hums, the picture of a bored princess, “As far as I’m concerned, my job is done so long as the kingdom isn’t actively on fire. I see nothing wrong with lounging about for the rest of my days. If you want to do all the paperwork, be my guest. In the meantime, I’ll be in the library. It’s been too long since I’ve read a good book.”

She doesn’t wait for permission, slipping out of his arms and breezing out the door. He stands there a moment, shocked into silence. He likely would have called after her if he wasn’t rooted to the spot by the dread sinking in his body.

“ . . . Paperwork?”

Despite Link’s insistence otherwise, Zelda did begin to notice things were different. The changes were small, incremental, but no less potent. She was not so foolish as to let her guard down, but a drop of water can cut through stone through sheer persistence.

Zelda woke up in the middle of the night needing to go to the bathroom. This was an increasingly common occurrence as her midriff expanded to accommodate the child growing there. She lay on her side, Link curled around her back and his hand on her stomach. The day after Ganon’s assassination his rooms were cleared and refurbished to house the new royal couple. 

The first difference. Their rooms were divided no longer. At first, Zelda assumed that he was tired of having to summon her and this unification was an attempt to streamline his path between her legs. She thought it a decision driven by lust, but she had to admit that their nightly escapades had decreased. He still took Zelda into his arms often enough, unwrapping her with painstaking, almost precious care and leaving her skin open to be devoured. But there were also nights like these, where the days were long and Link seemed to sense her fatigue and was content to simply lie wrapped around her, his hand never straying from her abdomen. Zelda wondered if he was as tired as she was, adjusting to kingship, but most of her husband’s mind was still a mystery to her.

Her husband.

There was no royal wedding. No dress. No grand feast to celebrate Zelda’s return to royalty. There was only an acolyte and a set of documents to be signed before she was once again dragged off to bed. They couldn’t find a priest, so they said their vows in front of the closest alternative. 

Zelda yawned and slipped out of bed to relieve herself. While she was washing her hands she took a moment to consider her reflection. 

Zelda knew there were aspects of her marriage that were unacceptable, she knew that.

But there was no denying the privilege afforded to her as queen, even if she was only a puppet. Her hair still shone, her eyes were bright, and her cheeks full. A far cry from the gaunt, weary state the servants were in. She shuddered to think of how her citizens looked outside the castle walls. The conquest of Hyrule was her fault. It was her failure to claim her birthright that brought this ruin upon him. Yet here she stood, safely tucked away, insulated from the Calamity’s devastation. 

Sometimes, when she was honest with herself, Zelda had to admit there was a part of her that was grateful for Link’s command that she stay within the castle. His mandate, cruel though it was, gave her a plausible excuse to hide from her mistakes. The castle walls were high and thick, strong enough to shut out the guilt that was her obligation. 

Zelda jerked her head to the side, unable to look herself in the eye any longer. She padded back into the room. Instead of heading straight back to bed, though the promise of warmth against the late fall evening was tempting, she was drawn to the window. The guardians still roamed the streets of the shattered Castle Town. They were malicious no longer, only patrolling out of ancient duty, but none dared approach. Above all the ruin, the sky was clear of Ganon’s hateful red. At least she could see the stars. 

“Come to bed.”

Zelda turned to where Link lay, staring at her. She supposed he finally lost his patience with her idling. If she were a more fanciful woman, Zelda would think he was fussing over her standing in a room that chilled when the fire died in the hearth. She returned to the massive bed Link claimed as theirs and sat down, kicking her slippers off before sliding back under the lush, heavy comforter. Link’s hand was back on her stomach before she settled, an imitation of a caring husband so convincing it was cruel.

She didn’t cry, because tears were a cry for help she didn’t deserve.

Before her growing stomach prevented it, Zelda spent most of her days firmly ensconced in Link’s lap as he looked over documents. He refused to ask for the help any of the few conquered noblemen that still lived, as he insisted such an action was beneath him. Besides, what better way to remind the captive queen of her place than to make her explain all of this bureaucratic nonsense? 

“What exactly is the point of a crop rotation?” he huffed as he read the agricultural proposal over lunch. Zelda finished off her sandwich before answering.

“Different plants require different nutrients from the land to grow. If you grow the same crop in the same field every year, eventually those nutrients will deplete. Switching things up gives the soil an opportunity to regain those specific nutrients while reducing the amount of bad harvests.”

Link hummed as he signed his approval of the proposal. All of this drivel was really giving him a headache. He reached for the last half of his sandwich, but Zelda got there first, plucking it off of his plate and sinking her teeth into it. Child crafting was a hungry business, after all. 

Link disguised his failed reach by redirecting it around Zelda so his arms circled her waist, both hands resting on her stomach. He supposed a sense of entitlement was a good quality for a queen to have.

He didn’t need that sandwich anyway.

The powers that be must have finally resigned themselves that he was here to stay. They must have given up on his downfall, and instead must have focused on encouraging what little virtue he had. They must be, for such a petty generosity to be rewarded by the baby’s first kick.

“The baby kicked!” he gasped, craning his head over her shoulder to look down at where her tummy peeked out under her breasts. 

“Yes, love, I noticed,” Zelda deadpanned, then they stilled in tandem.

Love. A word that had no business between them. Obsession, perhaps. Possession. But ‘love’?  It was laughable. Link opened his mouth to say something castigating, something harsh enough to bring back the status quo.

“Careful.”

Link’s head jerked back in surprise. She didn’t turn to look at him, ignoring him in favor of taking the apple from his plate, so he pressed.

“What did you say?” Who was she to caution him?

“Merely making an observation,” she said, turning her hand this way and that, regarding the fruit with a critical eye, “After all, what upsets the mother threatens the child.”

A chill ran down Link’s spine. Perhaps, even after all this time, he had underestimated her. He didn’t have the luxury of composing himself at his own pace, because she had turned to him. The calculating, sharp look in her eye brought him to heel.

“Wouldn’t you agree?” she asked.

Link’s hands started rubbing again, and his lips dropped to her shoulder. He had surrendered, but he wasn’t sure if the victor was Zelda or his own traitorous heart.

“Yes, dearest.”

Zelda hummed in response, bringing a hand up to comb luxuriously through his hair. He sighed, and she brought the apple to her lips, biting into it with a satisfying crunch.

After all, a marriage bed is an arena of equals.

Perhaps the statement was insensitive, but being a pregnant queen of a ruined castle did have some perks. Primarily, it was the absolute lack of regard for decorum. Despite the circumstances, Zelda felt a lighthearted thrill of walking around the palace, once a place of rigid etiquette, in nothing but a nightgown and silk robe. Link’s insistence, of course. When her corset was no longer comfortable to wear, Link inferred that her dresses would be too tight as well. He could have had new ones made, but why bother with garments that would have to be altered half a dozen times? No, it was far more efficient for his queen to lounge about in her nightgowns. 

Of course, the knee length hem had absolutely nothing to do with it. Link didn’t even notice when a knee length gown in the first trimester stopped at the top of her thighs in the third. Or the fact that Zelda stopped wearing anything underneath when putting something on became difficult. Irrelevant, all of it.

If he happened to capitalize on the opportunities it afforded to him, fine, but that was an entirely separate matter.

Zelda stretches, trying to release some of the tension in her back, before falling stiffly back into her chaise. It was absurd, but the moment he realized she could no longer fit in his lap he’d commissioned a modified chaise specifically for her and had it brought to the office. She said it was overkill, but he didn’t care. That said, her back had grown to appreciate the reclined seat and cushions.  

Still, one couldn’t help the stiffness that came with sitting for long periods of time. Perhaps she should take a turn about the room? Zelda swung her legs down, then started probing for her slippers. Surely they must be in the same spot she left them? Still, with her stomach as large as it was she couldn’t really see.

Link knelt on the floor next to her, having gotten up the moment he saw her sit up. He took her foot in his hand gently while the other reached under the chaise to pull out the missing footwear. He delicately put the slipper on one foot, perhaps wary of hurting her swollen ankles. He repeated the action with her other foot before wordlessly helping her stand, even though he knew she didn’t need it.

At least, she thought she didn’t. Turns out, fate had other plans, and Zelda felt an intense cramping in her lower abdomen, causing her to double over with a start.

“Zelda!? Zelda, tell me what’s wrong?”  

She looked him in the eyes, the same concern held in his grip supporting her arms shining in his eyes.

“Call the midwives.”

The night was quiet. Link would swear that it was the first peaceful moment since Ganon’s rise. Although, it’s entirely possible that this tranquility was an illusion born of the chaos of the day preceding. Now his lovely wife was sleeping, exhausted, in the bed while he sat in a chair next to her. 

The baby in his arms huffed, and Link’s attention was drawn from the Zelda sleeping in the bed to the one resting in his arms.

They had to name her Zelda. Of course they did. Other names didn’t seem to fit.

The people of Hyrule couldn’t be trusted to look after his daughter, they were losers! How could they be trusted with someone so precious when they couldn’t even win one war? They couldn’t, simple as that. No, the only ones who were capable of looking after little Zelda were himself and his queen, no others. 

But then who would run the country?

Link supposed he could carry on, leaving the childrearing to Zelda as he made sure any and all threats were eliminated before they even looked at the castle. Baby Zelda squirmed, one of her arms coming loose of her swaddling and slapping him in the face.

What was he thinking? Zelda couldn’t hone these raw battle instincts. She can’t even do a backflip, much less after giving birth. Besides, why should she get all the time with the baby? He’s the king! He should get to do what he wants, and he wants to raise his little girl. Zelda can handle affairs of the state well enough. Not right away of course, she needs time to recuperate, but after a few months she should be more than capable of take Hyrule’s reins while he looks after the little one.

“Come here,”

Link looked to the bed, Zelda was sitting up. He moved to help her, but she waved him away, pulling herself into a sitting position with a wince. Once she was settled he slid under the blankets. Zelda undid her nightgown, allowing their sweet daughter to latch on her breast. She winced.

“Does it hurt?” he asked with a frown. She shook her head.

“It’s a bit uncomfortable, I’ll get used to it.”

Link put an arm around her shoulders and gently pulled her to him. She leaned on him, resting her drowsy head in the crook of his neck, and Link was overcome. He couldn’t fight anymore. It was time to admit defeat.

He pressed his nose into her hair, “I love you.”

When his statement was met with silence, he thought she had fallen back asleep, or perhaps his whispered words were lost in the crown of her head. Then, like a dream, she answered.

“I love you, too.” 

Outside, a cool breeze blows through the land, a sigh of relief as the first sprout pushes through the earth, marking the beginning of a new era.

[hwrryscherry]

The one with the Christmas Eve, eve.

blurb: Harry and Model Y/N are spending christmas in the French Alps with their families and suddely realizes they didn’t have any time to go christmas shopping this year.

word count: 2.8K

author’s note: Heeey guys, so I'm editing with my phone and I'm not able to add the "read more" tag but I'll do it in the morning🥰 I hope you enjoy♥️

christmas song of the day: Sleigh Ride by The Ronettes

December 23rd, 2020.

house near La Clusaz

— What are you doing? — You'd ask Gemma a you arrived at the first floor leaving the stairs behind you. You observed your sister-in-law with a bunch of wrapped boxes on her hands as she walked towards the huge christmas tree settled on the living room on the left side of the enormous fireplace. Gemma crouched down beside the tree and placed the enveloped boxes on the foot of the tree while you walked towards the big and comfortable brown sofa and sat on the same prop for your things.

— I'm putting the presents here. They were up there in the room and I already started to think it’d break or something — The woman told you while placing the boxes under the tree — And also because it looks nicer like that though. You and Harry should put yours here too.

— Sure, it looks more like home this way — You said agreeing with Gemma and then got up and walked behind the sofa where you placed your palms over it  looked at her — I'll get them, they must be in Harry’s suitcase — You smiled tenderly at her and walked again to the stairs, where you went up step by step until you reached the top floor and walked up to your room. When you opened the door carefully since when you left the room Harry had just entered the shower, you came across Harry with a towel wrapped around his hips giving you an excellent view of his exposed chest and arms tattoos as he placed the items of clothing he planned to wear on the bed.

— Love, I was thinking that we should've gone skiing yest... — Harry started to say the moment he noticed your presence in the room.

— We have a big problem, Hazz — You interrupted him bringing all his attention that were previously in the clothes for the you. He noticed the look of despair that you had on your face and felt the concern take over his body — A huge problem! — When saying this, you rubbed your palms on your face and Harry approached you in a quick pace, gently touching your arms.

— What happened? Are you okay? — Harry'd ask while carefully examining your face and body with his green eyes looking for any sign that you'd have been hurt in any way.

— I'm okay, that's not it! — You said taking a deep breath and then sighing to take your gaze against his — We forgot that we had to go christmas shopping — You'd say with a long breath coming out of your nostrils as you watched Harry frowing in completely silence as he actually noticed that none of you remembered of buying any gifts. The thing is, with Harry filming Don't Worry Darling and you doing so many shootings you both would always say "oh let's go tomorrow" and then you'd never actually go and it turned out that you totally forgot about it — How could we forget it? Oh my god, your mom's gonna be so upset and today is Christmas Eve eve, there's no way we'll find something for them and I panicked and told Gemma that their gifts were up here and...

— Love, love, love — Harry'd interrupt you as he rushed towards the bed and grabbed his clothes to start dressing up — Let's not panic! There's a christmas market down in La Clusaz. I bet there must be something good left! — Harry would say trying to convince himself more than you actually. He'd feel completely bad and shattered by giving no presents to his family. But he was kinda right though. The house you rented were up in the mountains but a fifteen minutes drive would take both of you to a commune that had a beautiful Christmas Market and as christmas day is so close it probably should be open.

— Yeah, sure! — You'd agree going directly to the small closet there was in you guys bedroom that you organized both of your clothes in there yesterday and grabbed some warmer clothes because it was probably the coldest it's ever been since the day you both got here, but thank god it wasn't snowing at this moment.

— Ok but what if they want to come with us? — Harry said as he put on his sleeves and later on his snow coat alongise with his beanie.

— We'll tell them we're going on a date! — You'd fastly say back as you changed your sweatpants to a legging and following it with jeans, and then changing your hoddie for a heavy coat of yours and your slippers for snow boots — I'm sure they won't try to follow us on our date.

— Yeah that'd be weird! — Harry would agree with you taking his phone and putting it inside his pocket and then his mask. Remember how the mask made your face warm in the summer? Thank god it makes your face warmer now. — I'll go downstairs and starts the car and then I'll just say that I was planning it and ye' didn't know.

— Ok! — You'd tell him as you searched for your phone on the mess sheets from the bed, as you found Harry's gloves, you'd take it in your hands and show them to him — Won't you use it?

— No, I'm good! See you downstairs! — Harry'd say as he left the room and walked downstairs leaving you alone in the room. And also, unlike Harry, you weren't wearing a beanie when you got downstairs.

— Oh, you look pretty! — Anne would say with a big smile on her face at the moment she'd see you leaving the stairs while putting your gloves on. She'd come closer to you with your newly washed mask on in her hands — We didn't know you both were having a date, dear! — She would complement as you'd put on the mask on your face feeling a little tense from her words. It's not like you don't know how to lie, you're good at it. It's just that you love this woman so much and it's hard to lie to her.

— Oh yeah, I didn't too! Harry said it was a surprise! — You'd say while putting your phone inside your 2005 Re-edition Prada bag that was actually last christmas gift from Harry. God, you wanted this bag for so long and you got so happy when Harry gave it to you that you couldn't stop thanking him for almost a week after christmas — We should be back soon, though! I don't know how much time is gonna take — You'd add stoping your movements and looking at the shorter woman's face.

— It's okay, darling! — She'd say giving you a warm hug before walking with you towards the door — Now go have some fun! — She'd say happily as you walked towards the car that Harry had rented too. God, the air felt so cold. Of course you lived in NYC for years, and you are used to snowy weather but this feels ten times colder. You'd rush into black SUV that Harry rented feeling the warmness almost instantly when you sit in the passagers sit and put on your sit belt.

Harry started driving directly to the commune center with the GPS instructions and honestly, you were glad that you had a GPS because you could never tell the difference on the way because all you could see was snow and mountain until you got in center. 

You both were so surprised when you left the car after you had parked it. Of course, it was dead cold but it was so pretty. It felt like you were inside a christmas movie with all the lights and decorations and the cute houses with all those people going ice skating and walking around the christmas market with a christmas song in the background. It felt like a heaven made of christmas.

— This must be what heaven looks like — You'd say as you and Harry walked hand in hand towards the christmas market getting a chuckle out of Harry. He knew how much you love the christmas spirit and all it came together with it. It just felt so great, and he learned to love it just as much as you do with the time.

— Do ye' have any idea on what we should buy? — Harry asked as you both first entered the market that was actually a little too crowed for being so early in the afternoon.

— I think that for your mom, we should get her new crystal bowls because you broke hers last christmas and for — You'd say casually remembering last christmas when they were all playing games together and Harry was a little too excited about winning the game and a little too wine drunk too to realize that he was one step away of breaking Anne's brand new crystal bowls.

— Hey, I still feel bad for that, let's not talk about this! — Harry'd say on a playful way making you let out a chuckle as you looked at the many stands options of presents to buy.

— Ok, I'm sorry! But anyway, I think we should get Gemma something classy and cute, maybe with a little...

— Pride and Prejudice vibes — Harry'd interrupt you making you turn your gaze to him seeing the boy with raised eyebrows at you — You say this every year!

— Yes, and she loved all the gifts we gave her in the past 2 years! — You'd say convincingly as you started to walk inside the market basically dragging Harry with you — Imma buy my mom a light spot necklace, you know? That one with only a small diamond in it? She's obsessed with it lately.

The first thing you'd buy would be your mom's necklace.It'd take you a while to find it, but it was so worth it because it was just like the one you have and you knew she would love it. The cute french woman, the seller was an old lady with white hair and a very sweet voice and it's been a while since you've put your french in work so it would really nice to talk to her. She'd tell both of you that she plans on spending christmas with her grandkids on their house and then later appreciating the christmas fireworks. The thing is that both you and Harry loved to know people's story, it's easier to understand and like someone when you know it's story of life and what made it be who it is.

Later you'd start looking something for Michal, which was probably the hardest thing ever because Michal is the kind of person that will like whatever you give to him so it's hard to think about something special and it's a proven thing when it's already the fifth stand that you ans Harry stops at to look for something to him.

— Why is this so hard? — Harry would say looking through some very cute sweaters.

— I know right! — You'd add as you looked through the many jewels it had on the stand — I'll go finding something for Gemma, and you find something for Michal! — You'd say starting to walk away from him and being stopped by the man's rough voice at you making you turn around to look at him.

— Why do I have to choose anything for him? Why don't you do it? — He'd say making you go silent for a moment as you thought about a good excuse about him finding it alone. You know Michal likes anything but you don't want to be the one to find the "wrong" anything.

— I mean, you're a guy! You know what guys want for christmas, love — You carefully say touching his arm as you approached him — And by the way, you've known the guy for five years, and I know him for two years so you'll do it! — You'd say with a convincing smile on your face as you petted his arm.

— Ow so that's the game? 'Cause I've known Gemma for 26 years! — He'd argue back.

— Yes, but she likes me better! — You'd say grabbing a bracelet with the letter G in it and observing it closer to your eyes.

— What do ye' mean she likes you better? I am her brother! — He'd say making a huge deal about the "brother" part. You'd roll your eyes at his little drama and then you'd show him the bracelet.

— Yeah, whatever! — You'd say — See, you could ask if you can buy this bracelet with the letters G and M and I think it would be the perfect gift for him! I'll go find Gemma's one! — And you'd leave. Harry would be kinda shocked on your presenting skills. It surprises how you can see one thing and transform it into the perfect christmas gift ans he knows that you'd call it your natural talent and maybe it was.

For Gemma, it would be a lot easier and right after Harry finished buying Michal's gift, he'd help you with Gemma's gift. You'd buy her two of them because it was just perfect for her. First, Harry would find a beautiful journal with major vibes from Fairy Academia and you both think it would be so useful for Gemma because she's always travelling and discovering some new things and with this journal she could write it down and read it 50 years from now and remember the good old days and the great experiences she experienced. And the second one, you bought her a bracelet that had "sisters by heart" written in it because you and Gemma had the best relationship ever and you knew you could count on her through the good and the best at this is more than what you could ask for.

At last, you both bought the crystal bowls for Anne and god, it was the hardest thing to find. Specially because it was already Dec 23rd and most actual stores was closed now. When you finally bought it, all you could do was to tease Harry about it asking him to please don't break those too. Poor Harry, he really felt bad about it and he really wishes he never made such a mess but it became a funny story to tell and to tease him about.

Later on that day, you'd grab some lunch too because you finished your shopping by just a couple of hours before it was actually dark and you'd just agree that what you and Harry said to Anne didn't have to be a total lie and you could actually have a date and enjoy some alone time.

You both would choose a very cozy restaurant called Les Rhodos, for the grace of god it wasn't very crowed and you both chose a sit by the window so you could eat with the most phenomenal view of the snowy mountain. The restaurant had a lot of details in stone and wood which brought all the alps vibes to it.

You'd both chose burgers to eat and it would honestly taste like one of the best burgers you've ever eaten in your life. Harry'd order a special type of beer to him that was literally green. You don't know how, but it was. You'd talk. You'd talk about last christmas, this christmas and what you expected from next christmas.

— Do ye' think that we'll ever tell them about we forgetting to buy their gifts? — Harry would ask in your drive back home while you admired the sunset by your window. The sky was lilac with a bit of orange and pink and for a moment you felt like you were inside the movie Brother Bear from Disney and all it missed was the northern lights, which you'd totally search on google if it happens in the french alps and you'd find out that it's possible but also really rare.

— I definitely think they'll notice it, H! — You'd say trying to contain your laugh. It's not like you both bought the worst gifts in the world; you bought amazing gifts but it's not what you usually buy and your families will notice it, but they'll appreciate the fact that you both really tried to get them something nice and I mean, it's christmas. Enjoy the holiday experience.

[angelicichor]

Some N//SF//W headcanons for some of my favourite slashers bc I can't sleep:

Michael Myers (RZ) :

• It's no surprise that he is rougher in bed, dominating is what he does and it comes to him easily, with that huge body of his

• Yet there's always some gentleness to his movements, an awareness that you're weaker than him and he needs to be careful with you, because even if the idea of you breaking at his touch is arousing, the fear of losing someone precious to him (again) keeps him focused.

• His fingers are trained both in craft and destruction, so I can say that him fingering you? A dream come true. He's watching you every time, a coy smile on his face, learning from your reactions as you melt in his touch. And every time you come just a bit quicker.

• If you really want to be D E S T R O Y E D - bite him. Literally. Don't draw blood though because he is going to probably almost kill you for that. But biting? Oh boy. Get ready to be set in fucking place. He's the monster here, he hurts you, not the other way around and he'll make sure you remember that.

• He'll make it a point not to use his knife though, he wants to show you HIS own power, so you fear him, not the damned weapon. He switches them out like toys anyways.

• I you go down that route prepare for pain. And I mean it. That man killed enough people to know where to press for your bones and muscles to scream under his touch, he'll dig his thumbs into your jaw as he grinds against you, choke you just with his knee on your chest when he's getting his dick hard, shove his hand down your throat, making you gag or choke, smilling the whole time, watching your tears form. You started this so see it through, he has MANY ideas on how to make you crumble.

• And trust me? You'll love it.

• Now the most surprising part? After he'd come and you're a panicked mess on the bed, half aware of everything around you, you'd feel your body lift slightly, then something warm envelop you.

• That's Michael, lifting you up, pulling you close to him and lulling you in his arms, using his raspy voice to calm you down, to tell you you're safe now and there will be no more pain... Until next time, that is.

Thomas Hewitt:

• Oh, Tommy's a kind giant, alright. Had his fair share of practice in careful touch making his masks, but there's some of that butcher roughness in there too, so expect his fingering to be a bit more... Insensitive.

• He'll be too absorbed with looking at your adorable expression to realize he's being a bit too rough, too mesmerized by the way you pull his hair and moan to see that his pace is too quick. If you want a slower and calmer ride, take the lead, whisper his name and pull his gaze a bit higher, to your eyes, let him absorb your beauty and use that to guide his movements.

• He loves you too much to resist you if you want to call the shots for a night, but just this once, okay? He ain't a bottom, Charlie taught him 'better' than that.

• Don't tease the boy too much though, because he ain't afraid to push you over the table and give you a solid ass slapping session. In this house discipline is all, and you're definietly lacking in it if you think you can grind against him like that and not take responsibility.

• But oh is it delightful to hear this man's aroused laugh when you beg for forgiveness, his firm hand decisively slapping you muscle, just in the right spot to make you squirm, leaving the flesh reddened for more than a day and you unable to sit properly.

• And just when you think he's done and you're off the hook he hauls your ass down into his basement on his shoulder and lies you down on a still bloodied table, pressing against your heat with his erection, chuckling lowly at your gasp as you feel just how hard he is.

• You don't have to wait long for him to slam into you, filling you to the brim, bit of pre-cum on his tip. He's always such a delicious fit.

• Still, while he's not slow in his movements he ain't brutal like Mikey either. It'd rather say it depends on whether he wants to make you both feel good or make you suffer just a bit longer.

• If there's blood involved though, he ain't gonna be waiting for nothing, it does something to him, even if it's not yours, he just adores that metallic smell, it makes him so light headed. He loves painting on your body with it too, but only once he realizes you ain't scared of a bit of gore. If you're squeamish he'd never even consider bringing you into the basement.

• In all honestly if you're into blood play, just pass him a knife and give him the sweetest smile you can, he'll catch on, don't worry. He's a damn professional too, so don't worry about fainting form blood loss, he got you covered.

• But his biggest secret is... He's a slut for rock and metal music. Greet him with Slipknot or Korn playing in your bedroom in the evening and he'll quickly be over you, eating you alive with his gaze, those hungry, hungry eyes.

• He ain't a dancer but let me tell you, he'll time his thrusts perfectly to the song you're playing, it's uneven, seemingly chaotic, rough, then soft, heated all the way through and you're loosing yourself to it, just as he is.

• Don't call him an animal, but he's definietly a beast then, clawing at your skin as he goes deeper, growling into your ear, one hand choking you into obedience and other bruising your hip in his obsessive grip.

• Even through the loud music you can hear and feel his heartbeat against your back. He wants you close, wants to use his strength to make you come and feel every single vibration of your body as you do.

•Make sure to scream if he bites you, remind him to control his instincts just a little bit, or moan, he'll stop his biting to laugh quietly and nuzzle into your neck.

• How?? THE FUCK??? CAN HE GO FOR SO LONG?!? You're already trembling under him, unable to move a muscle and he's still pounding into you mercilessly, enjoying the dominating force he has over your comparably tiny body. Each time your insides clench against him he pushes back, assuring that it welcomes him back.

• And somehow he manages to finish just as Vermilion ends. You are unsure whether this is just dumb luck, or if he really has so much self-restraint to hold it in for so long.

• I hope you have a towel or a handkerchief at hand because when he comes he comes loads, especially after longer sessions.

• He'd love for you to keep it inside though, our Tommy has a mayor breeding kink and even if you can't or won't give him children, he loves, LOVES seeing your trembling, defeated body filled with his cum.

• Oh and PLEASE do be vocal when he fucks you, it keeps him going. You're so cute when you call his name too...

Brahms Heelshire:

• Ah yes, the stinky wall boy. He actually showers, believe it or not, just not too often. It's hard to believe but it's true, though running and climbing through walls will get you dirty, there ain't no getting around that.

• Brahmsy doesn't really enjoy fingering, not you, not himself, he's more of an oral guy, more of a receiver, obviously, he's a brat after all, but when he gives, he gives it all and his tounge is amazing. Praise him and he'll give you the best orgasm you ever had with just his mouth.

• Most of the time it's hard to remember Brahms is a grown man, well, aside from the visual reminder that is. He is always so obedient and loves to follow his schedule, it's rare for him to actually act how his testosterone is telling him to. He's a good boy, you can be sure of that, especially when he's using his child voice.

• But there are days when his cover gets blown and you can tell immidietly, especially from his smell, sweet and warm, inviting you closer. It's almost as if he was in heat, keeping close, way past your personal space, grabbing you whenever he can, squeezing tightly at your hips, your chest, pulling your hands up to his face to give you soft, porcelain kisses.

• Then at some point the mask goes away, letting you stare in awe at his sly smile, his hooded eyes, lightly squinted to fit his expression, and a small lick of his lips lets you know that tonight you're his.

• Those nights are long and passionate, as each thrust tells you how much he adores you, your voice, your body, your you. His childish voice goes away so that the man of the house can speak and it makes you shiver as he calls your name, giving you small 'I love yous' and praising how good you feel, calling you his, only his.

• And to your utter surprise he makes sure that this night you come first, that you're satisfied before him, letting his bratty demeanor rot somewhere in a corner just for today, so he can treat you with the love and care you deserve for doing the same to him every single day.

• You're his darling and he makes sure to let you know that.

• Though those nights are very special to you, sometimes it goes a bit wilder.

• Sometimes the existence of a bed is forgotten and he swoops in from one of the hidden entrances and pulls you into the wall, mask already missing, so he can bite into your neck, make you scream in surprise, massaging your crotch messily, hastily, so he can get what he wants so much quicker and without you complaining.

• He takes you against the wooden walls, your moaning voice echoing through the skeleton of the house, hitting you right back and bringing that sweet blush back to your face.

• Don't try to order him around, "pretty please". He needs you, not your complaining right now. You can scold him later, he'll take it willingly, but in this moment he needs to let go, loose himself in you, chase his own release before yours so he can calm this heat down.

• Then just as you can feel him getting close he'll pull out and finish with his own hand outside of you like a proper gentleman. Except he comes on your thighs, so now those pants you were wearing? Yeah, those need washing.

• And if you're understanding to him after those 'accidents' you might expect a late night visitor, willing to make amends and give you something he forgot to give you earlier, with his lovely, lovely tounge and long, slim fingers. Make yourself comfortable, he's going to make sure you don't regret being patient.

• Also Brahmsy is a big fan of tying you up once you introduce him to the concept. Try it, he's very creative.

Hope you enjoy me being thirsty on main, may make part 2 if I'm feeling sleepless again or if anyone wants me to but haha I ain't a writer ( or at least not a good one, I usually write for myself but that shit ain't good... )